#Parts for Slitting Machine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muletia · 2 months ago

Text

✧˖° 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

mer!optimus x human!reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

summary: optimus waited for his mate for a very long time. but just when he was starting to lose hope, you decide to save him from loneliness. after so many years you finally heard his song. his mate. you.

word count: 5200

optimus is barely in this chapter btw. but don't worry, he will get more desperate later ^^

oh, and I couldn't resist throwing two polish easter eggs somewhere in the middle hehe

The first thing you hear upon waking is the rhythmic murmur of waves gently striking the shore. The soft sound soothes the initial flickers of disorientation, cooing deceitfully so your body doesn’t sound the alarm just yet. Unfortunately, you fall right into the trap.

Your eyelids seem to weigh several tons as you try to lift them, alarmed by the cocktail of not knowing where you are, why you’re here, and how you got here. With great effort and after several attempts, you finally manage to do it, but the blinding white light sabotages your success, forcing you to shut them again.

Each blink seems to shake off a few more kilograms from your eyelids, and eventually you manage to regain some control. Just enough to squint them into a narrow slit, a poor defense against the light, but enough not to go blind within seconds.

The view before you says little. Grains of sand, losing detail with every further centimeter, form a bleached-yellow stripe that stretches all the way to the horizon, the only part of the landscape you recognize. Just above the sand, a luscious blue sky announces fair weather, interrupted only on one side by faint streaks of green. Palm leaves, you conclude, as your brain sluggishly processes the gathered information.

Did we already land on the beach? you wonder, because you really do feel like you're on vacation. The pleasantly warm sand heats your torso, while the ocean mercifully cools your legs up to the knees, whispering with the sound of the waves that you don’t have to do anything anymore. No worries about corporate work. No stress about endless traffic jams right when you’re rushing to the office, or hot water getting turned off on a chilly day, or another cockroach infestation in your kitchen.

Hmm. This is nice. Wrapped in comfort, you close your eyes again, wanting to enjoy your vacation for as long as you can. You wonder why you chose to lie flat on the sand instead of using a beach chair, but you blame it on being tired. You didn’t really miss the chair all that much. The sand was nice, warm. And so clean, almost impossibly so. You wouldn’t mind lying here for your entire vacation. All five days of it.

Probably couldn’t be bothered, you think. It was a long trip, and you don’t have many days to rest. You have to make the most of every second of doing nothing before you’re dragged back into the chaos, chronic stress, and confined spaces. It’s nice here. Wonderful. You just hope someone wakes you in time for the return flight. You wouldn’t want to waste your already-paid tickets, and the plane definitely won’t wait for latecomers.

The plane.

You furrow your brow, not understanding why the mere memory of a flying machine caused a sharp jolt of pain in your head. Perfect. Just what you needed on vacation, a completely unnecessary pounding in your skull, disrupting your lazy lounging on tropical beaches and sipping coconut drinks surrounded by handsome men and beautiful women practically begging for a quick, steamy vacation fling.

But wait… if you were lying on the beach at your resort, why weren’t you hearing the usual mix of foreign languages and broken English? Why aren’t you hearing anything at all besides the waves and your own racing heartbeat?

Something’s not right. Something is ver much not fucking right. You would never venture alone onto an unmarked beach because why would you? Why take the risk and ruin your vacation?

Where are the people? Where’s the laughter of children and the occasional drone of small plane engines?

Where… are you?

With a speed worthy of light, you lift your head, and then your torso, supporting your weight with your arms. Only now do you realize something is pressing into your neck. You’re choking, some unknown object is tightening around your chest more and more with every second, like a constrictor snake robbing you of precious oxygen.

You have to get rid of it. You have to claw it off, throw it away. With clumsy, chaotic movements, your hands fumble around your neck, fighting the strangler, digging in your nails just to make it let go. Just so you can breathe again.

The enemy relents after a few desperate attempts, when you finally decide to pull it over your head, a task far from easy, considering how tightly it clings to your body. You throw the snake with all your might, and it lands in the sand several meters in front of you. At least now you can breathe again, celebrating the return of this rather useful skill with several deep breaths.

But the sense of freedom and relief doesn’t last long. It abandons you once more when you finally dare to look at what was robbing you of air.

And your entire world stops. Your heart ceases to beat, your lungs freeze mid-motion. Every microscopic process down to the atomic level defies the passage of time.

What you threw off was a life jacket.

And suddenly, everything comes back to you, like a high-speed train, knocking all the air out of your lungs.

Looking out the window and seeing the plane’s engine on fire.

Screaming, chaos.

“We ask that you remain calm and put on your life jackets.”

Getting slammed into the hard walls and something sharp grazing the front of your shin.

And then being swallowed by the ocean. How easily you disappeared into its depths, fighting helplessly against gallons and gallons of water until the jacket pulled you up to the surface, where the situation was just as tragic. The burning plane slowly sinking into the sea, bags floating around you.

And bodies. So many bodies.

You tried to swim to one of the floating bags when a stronger wave dragged you underwater again.

The memories come alive all at once. They catch up to you, enveloping you in a storm of sensations. Falling from the plane, crashing into the cold, churning ocean.

Swallowing water. You must have involuntarily gulped down quite a bit. Eventually, even your lungs remember the uninvited guest, now coughing up traces of nonexistent water in a rattling wheeze, still recalling the vile, wrong feeling of salty water washing through the inside of the organ.

Trying to piece the story together, you come to the conclusion that you lost consciousness just below the surface, already preparing to extinguish your lungs that burned from lack of air.

And then you woke up here. The life jacket was kind enough not to let you drown, and the ocean merciful enough to spit you out onto some island, though you don’t feel particularly grateful, not when your odds of survival still hover dangerously close to zero.

You feel like you're about to explode.

“Oh no, no, no. Please,” you sob. “I want to go home.”

You consider curling into a ball and crying the stress away right here, but when a particularly strong wave soaks your already-wet shorts, bringing a new wave of discomfort, you find the last bits of strength in you to crawl further inland, tail tucked between your legs.

Your thoroughly soaked sneakers, one with its shoelace untied, leave marks on the wet sand before sinking into the dry stretch, where you decide to stay for your meltdown. You drop onto your butt, pulling your knees close to your chest, and break into sobs, finally letting go of all the nightmares haunting you.

You have no idea how long it takes for you to pull yourself together. How much time you needed to cry before your mind began analyzing the situation? Half an hour? Five hours? Ah, if only your watch had stayed loyal instead of falling to the bottom of the ocean. And you can forget about your phone, once glued to your pocket.It divorced you the moment the fight for survival began on that plane. That’s exactly how your luck plays out.

“Well, I just had to fucking go on vacation.”

You say aloud, though the only recipient is the endless horizon of the now-calm ocean. You envy its peace, its ability to tame rage. If only it had used that power during your flight, maybe you wouldn’t feel the urge now to charge the largest organism on Earth with your bare fists. Maybe you wouldn’t be throwing handfuls of the cleanest sand you’ve ever seen just a few feet in front of you, your bare feet digging into it, skin still wrinkled like a raisin. Your sneakers and socks are drying nearby, but you bitterly suspect they won’t be fully dry by the time you need to wear them again.

Even the wind dares not show its face, as if sensing your grief, your fury, your despair, and all the other emotions that should never have appear during vacation. The sun doesn’t scorch; it hides shyly behind a few thin clouds, looking for an excuse not to show up today.

Perfect weather. Too perfect not to mock you.

Hey, see how beautiful your vacation could have been? Too bad, you get to rot on a deserted island instead.

You’re barely holding yourself back from screaming, crying, curling up into a ball, and kicking sand with your feet. All at once.

Just the thought of moving makes you want to cry. Actually, any thought does. You tried to get a grip and focus on what matters most, survival, but it’s still too soon to muster any resolve. Or maybe you’re just too weak? Too used to comfort, to the ease of city life, you’re not ready to let it go.

The truth is, you’re scared. No, you’re terrified. Fleeting sparks of reason urge you to release your primal instinct, to return to the wild animal within, struggling to survive in untouched nature.

But you don’t want that. You don’t want to be an animal, not yet, clinging desperately to the remnants of your old life, warding off thoughts like fire against wolves snarling for food, drinkable water, shelter, warmth. Things so trivial and easy to come by before, you never even imagined you’d need to fight for them, with your steady job and uncomfortable apartment, but at least four safe walls.

You lower your head onto your knees and pull them closer. You want to remain modern, not primal, so you chase the wolves away again. This time they retreat into the dark as you close your eyes for a moment, but you know they’ll return. And soon.

Despite your still-swollen eyes and nose clogged from crying, another sob shakes your chest, drawing out a deep, ancient human stress, long forgotten by many.

More precious minutes burn away doing nothing, but even in your hazy state, you notice the shift of the palm shadows on the beach. Your quiet alarm bell. You need to move, you tell yourself. Now.

Just get up. That’s all. That will be your first success.

Desperation flickers to life again as you consciously swallow, your saliva sluggishly dragging down your throat that now feels like sandpaper. Suddenly you realize how badly you need water. When was the last time you had anything in your mouth that wasn’t saltwater?

It’s not enough to make you embrace your current predicament, but it is enough to get your pampered city ass off the ground. Which your long-unused legs do not appreciate. Forced into bending, then suddenly straightened, they refuse to cooperate, stiff and tingling from inactivity. Thankfully, after a few wobbly steps, you regain control of your body, grab your sneakers and socks, and begin walking along the shore, where the waves gently devour the sand, tracing a path and border for your feet to follow.

You’re a long way from being a survival expert, but you try to follow logic. Or at least what’s left of it.

First, you check for injuries. Something you really should’ve done immediately, but upon waking up... well, you were a little preoccupied. You extend your arms, turning them slowly, bracing for the worst, broken or dislocated bones, but feel relief seeing only a few bruises on your forearms and a dull ache in your shoulder, likely from the chaos on the plane. Nothing alarming, nothing to worry about yet.

Your legs seem to be fine, too. Also peppered with bruises of all sizes, but your joints haven’t been swallowed by swelling. The only new feature is a long but shallow wound down your shin, already sealed with a black scab.

Great, you think. You can now focus mainly on finding water.

You briefly lift your gaze from the shoreline littered with shells and tiny scuttling crabs fleeing from the two-legged intruder, and peer into the island’s thick jungle.

You know you’ll have to go in there eventually. Face nature head-on. Face the wild. You’ve been putting it off for too long. Curling into yourself was just an excuse, a way to nurture the hope that this is all just a cliché nightmare you’ll wake up from any minute now. But deep down, you know it’s not a nightmare, not a dream. It’s something far worse because it’s real.

The wolf of thirst bites at your throat again. You push it away one last time, continuing your slow walk along the shore.

Soon, you tell yourself. Soon you’ll head in there, find water, find something to eat. You start laying out a plan, praying it’ll be as simple in practice as it seems in your mind. Surely, there must be some exotic fruit here, right? The island looked far too big not to grow anything edible.

Ugh. You just want to go home already.

You turn your head toward your new nemesis — the ocean — scanning the waves for familiar shapes of suitcases, bags, or backpacks, proof of civilization, but the ocean senses your hatred and hides its treasures from you. You see nothing. The water has swallowed your hopes.

Your expression drops, sours. You promise yourself that you’ll never set foot on a beach again. Yeah, next vacation, you’re going to the mountains. So many choices. The Alps, maybe the Tatras? You’ve heard the Bieszczady Mountains are beautiful this time of year. Just you, trails stretching for miles, a cozy cabin in the middle of nowhere, and zero sand.

But first, you have to get off this island. If I even make it off, you think bitterly.

You will, you convince yourself. You definitely will.

Someone will start looking for you eventually, someone will notice that an entire plane disappeared in the middle of the ocean. Mhm, just a few days of survival. Once you’ve figured out a source of drinkable water, found some food and a safe place to shelter, you’ll draw huge SOS signs across every beach. Yes, you’ll get out. It won’t be easy, but you will.

Your auto-pep talk fills you with new determination. It’s just a few days. You’ll manage, definitely. By the end of the week, you’ll be asleep in your comfy bed again, you think with enthusiasm. With that boost, you keep walking another dozen meters along the shoreline, scanning for any loot among the waves but quickly give up, as the rhythmic crashing of water only sharpens your thirst.

Drinking water. Now.

You glance toward the green mass of vegetation swallowing most of the island. It makes it hard to gauge the island’s shape or size, but you can tell it’s not small. The beach stretches endlessly like a runway, paralleled by a line of coconut palms heavy with their armored fruit. You make a mental note to return to them later with an exceptionally sharp rock.

You slide on your still-damp socks and sneakers, wincing at the unpleasant wetness enveloping your feet, then take a cautious, tentative step into the wild, into the unknown and the primal, and the green of exotic flora swallows you whole.

At first, navigating the sparse greenery is easy. You just have to occasionally push a leaf aside or duck under a branch. The problems start later, as the vegetation thickens and spiderwebs begin appearing everywhere, always with eight-legged residents at their centers, along with a variety of beetles and ants. The last two don’t make you want to catapult out of your own skin in fear, at least.

Finding your bearings doesn’t come naturally. Large and small leaves blur into one endless shade of green, but now and then you manage to spot a landmark to guide you back. An odd-shaped tree, a big rock. To be extra sure you won’t get lost in this breathing green labyrinth, you find a dry stick and start scratching an X into every third tree, marking the path in both directions.

You’re just about to give up hope of finding anything useful when suddenly the thicket begins to thin, tempting you with open space and pumping new energy into your legs, urging you to speed up. The dryness in your throat is unbearable now. You’ve soothed it a few times by forcing yourself to lick drops of water off leaves, but honestly, you’d rather never do that again.

You know survival on a deserted island means doing weird things. But still, you feel… humiliated, french kissing leaves for a single droplet of water. This is not how you imagined your exclusive vacation.

“It’s no longer vacation, you idiot.” you hiss.

You part a leaf blocking your view and can’t help the smile forming on your face.

“Or maybe... it kind of still is?”

A large lagoon greets you with open arms, framed by a beach of pristinely clean sand. The pool in the middle glistens with dark, but clear water, surprisingly deep for a lagoon.

You let out a quiet, appreciative whistle.

“Wow. It’s beautiful” you say aloud, only to purse your lips into a thin line.

Really? You’re already talking to yourself? Bit early to be going mad.

You scan the length of the lagoon with your eyes, wishing you could be here under completely different circumstances, when your gaze locks onto something... familiar. You squint, slowly moving toward one corner, where sand fades into solid ground, and with each step it becomes clearer. The mass of green you took for ivy and bushes is actually shaped like something man-made.

That “something” turns out to be the crumbling remnants of a stone house. Cracked and neglected, finally caught by the passage of time, merciless even to the strongest of materials.

The house has no roof and is missing one wall, but the remaining three offer tempting shelter from wind and potential rain, should you plan to (which you definitely don’t) stay here more than three days.

The problem is, if you want to get off this island, you’ll need a clear view of the ocean, something the narrow lagoon outlet doesn’t provide. But surely there’s no harm in spending one night here, right? You can already picture a fire in the center of the ruins, the warmth, grilled fish over the flames...

And you’re not sure if you’re successfully gaslighting yourself or if some ancient force is now in charge, but suddenly the cracked walls, floor overgrown with moss and weeds, and a massive branch sneaking in through what might have once been a window seem... cozy.

Honestly, your apartment back in the city wasn’t much better.

That thought convinces you to settle here for at least one night. And when you look toward the corner where a tree has also sought refuge, you spot several large papayas growing near its trunk, and you know: this is your camp. Your lips curl into a smile as you realize the fruits are ripe and hanging low enough to grab. Just a little jump and you are now clutching two plump fruits to your chest. You even kiss one in joy, unable to believe how fucking lucky you are.

You won't die of hunger! And you'll quench your thirst a little while you're at it. Really, it couldn't be better.

But, alas, you’ve just never had good timing.

The sound of water breaking pulls you out of your bliss. Before you even have time to process what’s happening, you press yourself tightly against the cracked wall, right beside a rectangular cutout that probably once served as a door, and you cover your mouth with your hand, forced to hold the large fruits with just one arm, which, practically speaking, is no easy task.

You hear dripping water and loud splashing sounds, the kind you associate with a large body leaving the water, but it’s the volume of those sounds that worries you the most. You have no doubt that whatever just crawled out of the water is big. Huge, even.

A whale? An orca? You try to guess, unconvinced that it's worth risking your life just to satisfy your curiosity. But you instantly disprove every guess with what you already know about those animals.

Still, you want to look. You know it’s stupid and it could end in disaster, but you want to. Just for a moment, for a second. You’ll peek out gently, careful not to make yourself an easy snack or target, and you’ll slip back to your beach silently.

Mhm, you’ll even let that thing have your (when did it start being yours anyway?) little corner, you won’t hold a grudge.

But you have to peek. Just for a second.

Undecided, you gently bite your lip.

You’ll look. But just for a millisecond.

But the very moment you stick out even a millimeter of your head and eye, you know you’re a liar. The millisecond is gone. Then a full second. Then a second more. Then a third. And you can’t move.

He’s beautiful, unearthly. Not belonging to your world, ripped straight from fairytales and legends, teasing your brain just enough that it no longer knows whether what you glimpse from the corner of your eye is even real. Or maybe such a drastic relocation into entirely unfamiliar conditions was enough to start seeing things?

A merman. A real merman.

Your jaw nearly hits the floor, but you shut your mouth just in time before a startled squeak can betray you.

The creature is enormous, roughly the size of an orca, though you know that the tail hidden beneath the lagoon’s surface could easily stretch your estimation by another meter or two. What draws your eye is the exotic palette of colors decorating his smooth skin. Muscular arms sunken into the clean, wheat-colored sand blaze red, though the crimson is interrupted by streaks of grey that trail down his forearms to his neck, where they fan out toward a white underbelly. His head, adorned with a crest rising from the center of his forehead and extending into a long dorsal fin, suddenly bursts into a pastel navy blue that flows down his back to the massive tail — a mishmash of the entire color wheel.

Humanoid. Too humanoid. Toying with your understanding of human beauty’s uniqueness. And yet here it is, just a safe dozen or so meters ahead of you, breathing. If you squinted, he really could pass for a person.

To keep yourself from going insane and to chase off intrusive thoughts, you pinch your forearm. Ouch. You’re real. But that also means he is too, giving you one more reason to go crazy.

Unable to tear your eyes from the siren monster, you decide to examine him more closely. You focus on his face, bizarrely human, yet ancient. Nothing like the stony mugs of instinct-driven animals. You feel like deep thoughts are swirling behind that blue skin, thoughts that also brim in those enormous, azure eyes. The distance between you is small enough that you can even make out the emotions running through him.

He looks sad. Pitiful, even, if you could compare the size and glint in his eyes to a sorrowful puppy, which your brain tries and fails to reconcile with the scarred body, head, and a face bearing the marks of a long life. You know instinctively this creature has years of survival behind him, every second of existence spent fighting for access to basic needs.

Which might also mean he's well-versed in the art of hunting humans, you realize with dread. You can only guess what makes up his diet, but judging by the sharp claws on his long webbed fingers, you suspect he’s not a peaceful herbivore.

Not that you’d risk an interaction with him just to test your theories. No, you'd really like to get back home in one piece.

Great. So now you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. There’s no way you’re getting out of here without catching the siren’s attention. In fact, no matter where you go from here, there's a chance of encountering him again, and you really, really didn’t want to find out if he’s a man-eater.

Or worse — a hungry man-eater.

You glance around, looking for a wide enough gap in the foliage for a silent escape, but you're not even given the chance to take a single step. Your shoes are nailed to the earth by...

Singing.

A siren's song.

Mournful, pleading, and so raw that you hold your breath, afraid of it interrupting his piece.

It reminds you of the whalesong you’ve heard in documentaries, but each chirp, whine, and groan is loaded with sorrow and bitterness, bombarding your heart, even if you don’t understand the lyrics. You don’t need words to grasp the melancholic message, one that cuts through interspecies barriers.

The siren doesn’t stop singing, feeding his hidden audience new verses, each as depressing as the last. Like a newly discovered song, you can’t stop listening. All your senses retreat to make room for sharper hearing. You inhale his song, fill yourself with sad sounds, experiencing his suffering as if it were your own. Even if it’s just a trick to lure a tasty human snack out of hiding.

That slightly tempers your emotional response.

Right. Of course.

Maybe he knows you’re here. Feels you. Smells your tasty human flesh and is trying to coax you into the open like you were some kind of takeout.

You blink a few times, shaking off the last traces of compassion, proud of yourself for seeing through the sad facade of those puppy-blue eyes and the angsty concert. In the blink of an eye, you remember you need to get back to the beach, your only chance of spotting a ship or a plane in the patch of sky not covered by trees, because he already won the fight for the cozy shelter.

You return to searching for an escape route when suddenly, you freeze.

Your entire body blue-screens, and it must have rearranged every organ inside you too, because now you can feel your heartbeat in your ass. Because to your left, right by your head, a giant brown tarantula is slowly crawling along a cracked wall. So close you can see every hair on its abdomen.So close you can hear the soft tippy taps of all eight legs.

Oh, fuck.

“AHHHH!”

Your body reacts faster than common sense can remind you that the real predator, the one that could actually kill you, probably shouldn’t know it has company. You leap right, springing through the remains of a door straight onto the warm sand surrounding the lagoon.

Still clutching two papayas tightly to your chest, you try to stay upright on your wobbling, jelly-like legs, but it’s no use. You drop to your knees, the soft sand cushioning the pain. You know you should be running, right now, immediately. You urge your legs into action, begging silently but desperately for your own body to cooperate, but your rapid, ragged breathing drowns out your pleas.

When you realize that an immediate escape is no longer an option, all you can do is curl into the fetal position, forehead kissing the warm sand.

Hmm. Nice feeling, you think. You wouldn’t mind dying surrounded by the softness of this tropical, clean beach.

You hear nothing but the whistle of air sucked through your lips.

Nothing else.

Nothing...

You freeze.

You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes are now the size of dinner plates.

For a moment, you wonder how the hell you’re still alive. How come you don’t feel claws and teeth ripping through your flesh like a piece of paper? The agonizing pain of muscles tearing and bones shattering while you’re eaten alive, disappearing into the siren’s jaws. Bite by bite, until the last memory of your existence belongs to him.

But nothing like that happens. All your tissues are intact. You are neither bitten, nor scratched, nor swallowed alive.

Why the hell are you still alive?

Out of stupidity or curiosity, though you suspect it's more the former, you decide to make eye contact with the predator.

Slowly, you lift your head, gradually rediscovering his form. Milky white belly, swirls of red and grey skin on his chest, and finally, his head, flanked by small, bristling navy fins.

Still beautiful. Majestic. Enormous.

But as potential prey, can you allow yourself the pleasure of such hidden compliments? You wonder if deer also think like this before being devoured by wolves. Do they finally recognize the predator’s beauty only moments before death?

The humanoid face is turned toward you, expression frozen in comforting, familiar shock. The enormous eyes, adorned with remarkable white pupils, have doubled in size, and his mouth has fallen open, giving you a limited glimpse inside.

Teeth. Sharp teeth, undeniably those of a meat-eater.

For the second time that day, you feel some incomprehensible force rearranging your organs.

A flicker in the blue eye. A twitch in the human-like torso. A subtle lean in your direction pulls your heart from your ass back into place, and with it, apparently, the feeling in your legs, because suddenly, you’re ready to care about your own survival again.

You never believed those myths about time slowing down in the face of mortal danger. You thought that was a tired trope from action movies, overused to the point where you physically rolled your eyes whenever you saw it on screen.

But apparently, it’s very real.

Because there’s no other way to explain how slowly the creature’s expression morphs a few meters in front of you. His brow furrows, jaw opens and closes again and again, chewing, analyzing.

As if wondering what to do with you. If this pitiful, miniature oddity before him was even worth using as a toothpick?

To eat or not to eat? That is the question but you don’t want to know his answer.

Your body gambles on the oldest bet known to humankind.

You go all in on running.

Faster than you've ever moved in your entire life, you bolt toward the green thicket.

You could swear that the pathetic, almost pleading howl behind you and the shifting sound of something slithering across the sand belong to the siren, but you don’t have the courage to turn your head and confirm it.

You disappear behind massive leaves, blindly trying to make your way back to the familiar beach.

And ever after a long while, you can still hear the lamenting wail creeping up behind you.

#muletia writes #optimus x reader #optimus prime x reader #transformers x reader #merformers #merformers x reader #obsessed!optimus #mer optimus #for the singing and dreaming

386 notes · View notes

hw4-l1z · 6 months ago

Note

OMG I JUST REMEMBERED YOU DO ATEEZ TOO

CAN YOU DO OT8 BP! HEADCANONS LIKE YOU DID WITH SKZ

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

BOYPUSSY SUPREMACY 🛐 made myself horny writing the last part 🥲

Sub!bp!Ateez x Dom!gn!Reader

Cw: gender neutral but reader has a dick//boypussy// pussy eating// fingering// use of toys// lingerie// unprotected sex// squirting// overstimulation// bondage// face sitting// thigh riding// public sex// slight dollification// bit of power!bottom!seonghwa

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Hongjoong

Cutest most sensitive pussy ever

He'll always trap your hand between his legs whenever you play with him

You know how sensitive he is so you'd always rub his clit in gentle circles which gets him SO wet

Anytime you do something he finds hot or even if you're teasing him then he'd clamp his thighs together as he feels his panties starting to soak through

And my god he get WET

If he was sitting on your thigh whilst you tried to tease him he'd end up leaving a wet patch behind on your thigh

Sometimes it's so bad he has to actually change his clothing before anyone else but you notices it

It's why he begs you not to do anything when he's in outfits given to him by the staff since it's not his

He has quite a big clit with a hood which you'd surprised at the amount of other guys he's been with STILL couldn't find it...

But you'd always be right on point with it

I would imagine he had quite a bit of hair on top

Not like a bush but still quite a fair amount

He can squirt but it takes alot of time and effort to make him do it so you never do it unless you REALLY want to see him squirt

Salty in taste but you'd absolutely devour him cause you love how he tastes

Seonghwa

OHHHH MOTHERRRRRRRR

He'd wear such BEAUTIFUL panties

Only for them to get completely soaked through...but HEY that's what washing machines are for

Let's just start of to say...he does squirt but like hongjoong it takes him some times to get there

So more of a creamer but god he looks beautiful when he cums

Lip sucked between his teeth, eyes dazed and glossy, back arched as his hips jerk a little

Will moan so pretty for you as you eat him out.

One hand circling his bud whilst the other grips his thighs harshly

You'd eat him like he was your last meal on earth

His clit is small but sensitive asf

He's usually clean shaven but will sometimes let some hair grow out

He likes to shave it into certain styles though if he's keeping the hair

I'd see him more on the brownish side

Like a light brownish colour

He tastes sweet though and you LOVE it

Sometimes you like to make it taste even sweet by rubbing a lollipop between his folds and eating him out after

He can definitely still be on the more dominant side

That pussy can drive you crazy 😵‍💫

He's so tight

And he clenches around you even more when your cock is inside of him

He sends you into another world when he's riding you

He's sooooo fucking good at riding you cock

He'll force about 4 loads out of you before he's even cum once

He likes it raw

Sorry actually

He LOVES it raw

Wants you to fill him to the brim everytime

You'll always need towels under you when fucking cause it gets messy

Your cum mixed with his own release oozing out of him at once

If he's riding you, you'd feel it dripping down your cock and balls

The pussy is FIREEEEE

Yunho

Bald, slender pussy 😋

And oh he is just MADE for your cock

His walls wrap so perfectly around you

Squeezing so tight as you take him apart

Pillow princess part 1.

Let's you do all the work since he gets too weak and sensitive the minute you start touching his pussy

Shakes when he cums

He doesn't get superrrr wet but still enough for your finger to glide between his slit

Tastes like PUSSY

You swear the scent and taste of it is like some kind of drug

Your eyes rolling back as you turn into a fucking animal

Growling and snarling as you vigorously eat him out

The way he reacts to his clit being touched or rubbed is SO adorable

You love to make him cum multiple times with a vibrator held firmly to against his bud

Creamerrrrr

He releases so much cream when he cums

He's not a squirter unfortunately, you've tried many times

Yeosang

Ohhhh make him wear so many cute lingerie sets

He's so embarrassed when wearing them but he knows how much you love it

You'd always ravage him when he's in pretty clothes for you

And especially seeing that little wet patch on the panties

Drives you CRAZY

His smell is quite strong but AMAZING

Makes you feel like your going into rut once you catch a scent of his arousal once his panties are off

Sweet in taste

Too much will make you feel full

SO tight

You've tried stretching him more to get him to loosen up a bit more

But it doesn't work

Always needs a few minutes once you're inside him to adjust

You love how much he tightens even more when he cums

Loves to ride your thigh

Will make a wet mess on thigh

PINK

Cutest pussy ever

Small clit that's very sensitive

Can squirt but it doesn't happen often

Probably waxes, I don't see him being hairy down there at all

San

Where do I even start...

Veryyy sensitive and produces so much slick

His panties are ruined because of how wet he gets all the time

Waxes but sometimes has a small triangle patch of hair when he can't be bothered waxing fully

It's definitely pink

Squirts only when you eat him out or finger him

He's SO good at riding your cock

It's like pure ecstasy

He's got some strength to his legs so he can bounce on it for quite a while until he gets tired

So so so squirmy when you play with him

Holding his hips down against the bed as you fuck him with your fingers

He looks so cute struggling to move :(

Tie him up and tease the fuck out of his pussy

Using vibrators and dildos on him as he just sits there and cries unable to do anything

Would love to ride your face and cum all over it

Rocking his hips back and forth on your tongue as he moans so loud at the feeling

Mingi

Pillow princess part 2.

Will just lay there and let you do whatever you want to him

Usually has no hair but when he does he decides to experiment with it to make it looks pretty

He's dyed it pink before and you thought it was actually quite cute

Although he tried to bleach it blonde once and...yeah bad idea. It hurt alot for him

Shy but a huge cockslut

He's always horny for you and wants you to fuck him almost everywhere you guys are

But he's always do shy about asking

He's almost like a doll when fucking

He's so limp like he's just your doll to fuck whenever you please

You can do anything you want and he won't complain about it

He just lays there whimpering and moaning

You realized why he's so limp all the time one day though

It's because of how sensitive he is inside his pussy

Your cock hits all those prefect spots and makes him weak

You found this out when you fucked him in one of those mini bathroom stalls and he had to stand up for it

He was bent over the little sink as you pounded his hole from behind

His legs kept on giving out and you were basically holding him up the entire time or else he would've ended up on the floor

You found it adorable how weak he got

Pretty pink and sickly sweet

Wooyoung

Pillow princess part 3.

Only does nothing cause he's a brat and wants you to put the work in

So when you're punishing him you lay back and make him do all the work

He can't refuse it either since he's incredibly horny and has nothing else to help him but you

Gets tired so quickly

He's just not used to having to do all the work

He'll end up begging you to fuck him eventually

He's bitter-sweet in taste but you'd never miss a chance to get your mouth on him

Don't see him as a squirter tbh

Big nose big clit 😼

Turns into putty in your hands as soon as your cock is in him

Acts like a brat yet is a little whiny bitch when you fuck him into the mattress

Basically tried to make you suffocate when you eat his pussy

He doesn't mean to but it just feels too good he can't help but push your face into his core and squeezes your head between your thighs

Jongho

Chubby pussy 🙏

He's so cute and sensitive

Super shy super shy

He wants to moan so loud when you eat him out but he's too shy

He just bites his lip and grips your hair tighter

You LOVEA when he sits on your face but he's so scared incase he suffocates you or something

But that's what you want

So once he's finally straddled over your face you slowly pull his hips down until his pussy is flush against your tongue

You get so carried away and pull him down further whilst keeping his thighs locked in place with your arms

Rides your thigh almost all the time

It's his favourite thing to do

It just feels SO good on his little clit. He'll cum everytime

He's so incredible sensitive and cries everytime you fuck that he actually prefers anything but penentraition

Doesn't mean you never get it or it's necessarily a rare thing but he just gets so overwhelmed and he feels pathetic

Doesn't help that the lack of being inside him drives you a little crazy so when you do fuck, you're rough

It doesn't hurt, it's just too much for him to handle

You can rip about 3 orgasms out before you've even came once

Arms wrapped around him tightly as his heads buried into your shoulder

Fucking him so hard and deep whilst he just sobs

FUCK I'M MAKING MYSELF HORNY BYE-

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

469 notes · View notes

plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 4 months ago

Text

let the band play

one-shot

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: This is the last straw. While out on recon with Butcher and Hughie, Ben went into your bedroom and used your favourite shirt to clean himself off. You're going to let the smug idiot know exactly what you think about him. Trouble is? He likes it.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben being his own warning again, language, creative insults, smut (panty-sucking, p in v, clitoral stimulation, cum on face, biting, sucking, licking, kissing, throttling, rough sex, slapping), misogyny, dirty talk, degradation, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 3,930

A/N: OKAYYYY, I got another one written and I lowkey (very, very highkey, actually) love nasty, mean, rough Ben more than I can ever put into words. Can you even imagine the pure hate-fucking this man is capable of? Ungh. <3 This one was inspired by a song... if you wanna give it a listen, then please do: "Let The Band Play" by Badflower. It's dark and gritty and just delicious for the tense vibes of this one-shot. As always, please give me feedback, if y'all feel like it. Until the next one! All the love.

"Oh, you lazy, no good, deadbeat Lying, woman-hating, piece of vile fucking scum You fucking downright piece of shit I'll spit on your grave, I'll make you suffer I'll massacre you, you fucking bastard You vile piece of shit, I'm coming for you You hear me? I'm coming for you! I'm coming for you! Ah!

And let the band play"

Let The Band Play - Badflower

The rhythmic slosh of the washing machine filled the cramped space, a dull, ceaseless churn that did nothing to tamp down the blistering heat rising in your chest. Your arms were folded tight, foot tapping against the scuffed linoleum, jaw clenched hard enough to make your teeth ache. The faint smell of detergent curled in your nose, too clean, too artificial, grating against the raw fury pressing like a hot coal against your ribs.

You weren’t even supposed to be here right now. You should’ve been upstairs, knocking back whatever cheap whiskey was left in the cabinet, decompressing after another long recon run. Instead, you were here, waiting for your shirt—your favourite black shirt—to be scrubbed of his fucking filth.

Because Ben had gone into your room. Again. He’d slithered his way into your space while you were out with Butcher and Hughie, ransacking your drawers, shifting your weapons, mixing your bullets in the wrong order—his usual bullshit. But this time, he’d taken it further. This time, you’d picked up your shirt and felt it, the crusted, stiff stain scraping against your fingers before your brain even caught up with what it was.

That fucking bastard.

The worst part? You weren’t even surprised. You’d known for a while now—panties disappearing, small things out of place, the gnawing suspicion sitting ugly in your gut. He’d been toying with you. Pushing, needling, waiting for you to catch on. And now you definitely had.

The door creaked behind you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. The air changed when Ben walked into a room—went heavy, charged, dangerous. That insufferable, lazy swagger, the barely-there drag of his boots, the scent of cologne and gunpowder and sheer, unrepentant arrogance.

“You’re stompin’ those pretty little feet like you got somethin’ to say, sweetheart.”

Your teeth snapped together so hard your molars screamed. His voice was dripping in amusement, thick with condescension, his usual cocktail of shit-eating smugness and predatory glee. He’d been waiting for this. Fucking waiting for it.

Slowly, you turned, arms still crossed, eyes slicing up to meet his with a glare sharp enough to slit his throat. He was leaning against the doorway like he had all the time in the world, watching you, his gaze hungry, expectant.

“I’m going to kill you.”

The words were calm, measured. Deadly. They only made him grin wider.

“Yeah?” He took a step forward, slow and deliberate. “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?”

Your nails dug into your palms. “You know exactly what.”

Ben hummed, tilting his head like he had to think about it, like he wasn’t fully aware of what he’d done, like he wasn’t thrilled about it. Then—mock surprise, all wide eyes and fake innocence.

“Ohhh,” he drawled, lips curling. “You mean your little t-shirt?”

The rage that slammed through your system nearly made your vision white out. He knew. He fucking knew.

“Are you—are you fucking serious?” Your voice came out strangled, barely contained. “You—you used my shirt? You went into my fucking room and—“

“Oh, come on,” he cut you off, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you were wearin’ it.”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

Ben chuckled, a low, dark thing, rich with enjoyment. He took another step closer, and you barely stopped yourself from stepping back. You wouldn’t give him that.

“You’re gettin’ all worked up over a little mess,” he mused, voice syrup-thick with mockery. “What, you never had a guy come on your clothes before?”

Something inside you snapped.

The next thing you knew, you were shoving him—hard. He barely moved, but it didn’t matter. You wanted him to feel it. You wanted him to know that if you had a knife in your hand right now, you’d be planting it between his ribs.

Ben laughed.

A deep, rich, obnoxious fucking sound, like you were the funniest thing he'd seen all day. Like your rage was a fucking delight to him. His grin stretched wider, slow and deliberate, his eyes glinting with something sharp and dangerous.

“Aw, c’mon now,” he drawled, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve. “That all you got?”

Your hands curled into fists. “You are a scummy, vile, dirty old man,” you spat. “You’re just an old fucking dog, and I shouldn’t be surprised that you can’t be trained, because you can’t teach old dogs new tricks.”

Ben preened. Actually fucking preened. His broad shoulders straightened, his smirk turned smugger, his eyes burned with excitement.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, faux concern dripping from his tone. “Keep twitchin’ that little eye of yours like that and you’re gonna pop a blood vessel. Then what? No man’s gonna wanna fuck you.”

Your nostrils flared. Your pulse roared in your ears. Oh, fuck this.

Your hand snapped out, grabbing the first thing within reach—the bottle of fabric softener sitting beside the washing machine—and hurled it at him.

It hit him in the chest with a solid thud, and the bastard laughed.

“You’re real fuckin’ feisty, you know that?” He taunted, shaking his head. “Maybe if you weren’t such a mouthy little fuckin’ bitch, you’d actually get laid.”

Your vision blurred with rage. “And maybe if you weren’t such a festering, antiquated, deadbeat, woman-hating piece of shit, Payback wouldn’t have sold you out to the fucking Russians!”

His expression flickered. Just for a second. Just for a fucking second. And then his grin turned razor-sharp. His entire body shifted, and before you could register it, he moved.

He was on you in a breath.

One second, the space between you still existed—thin, crackling, electric. The next, gone. Ben stepped into it, filled it, drowned you in it, his body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go. He was all heat, size, weight, a walking, talking fucking menace with that razor-blade smirk cutting across his face.

“Say it again,” he murmured, low and lethal, a dark, dangerous purr that slithered up your spine and coiled in your gut.

Oh, he was furious. You could see it in the taut set of his jaw, in the slight twitch of his fingers, in the barely restrained tension vibrating under his skin. But it wasn’t just anger. No, it was something else, something filthy, something that made his nostrils flare and his chest rise just a little too quickly.

He liked it. He fucking liked it.

So you gave it to him.

“You’re a no-good, perverted, misogynistic, chauvinist fucking cunt.” Your voice was steady, vicious, every word sharper than the last. “And if you ever step foot in my fucking room again, I’ll kill you. For real.”

His smirk twitched. Something flickered.

You weren’t done.

“You’re not a fucking war hero, Ben. You never stormed a goddamn thing in your life. Your entire legacy is bullshit—a propaganda piece for a country that doesn’t even fucking remember you. You’re just a relic of Vought’s past, and even they didn’t want you anymore.”

The groan that rumbled out of him was filthy. Deep, appreciative, dragging through his throat like smoke and sex and something far, far worse.

His hand slid down his front, blatant as all hell, and he palmed at the hard line of his cock through his jeans—adjusted it, made a whole goddamn show of it, a smirk creeping across his mouth as he let his head tip back just a little.

“Fuck, you’re really gettin’ me going now, sweetheart.”

Your stomach turned. Your lip curled into a vicious scowl, disgust and rage flooding through you all at once. You swung for him. Fast. Hard. Unforgiving.

He caught your wrist mid-air. Effortless. And then he moved.

A sharp yank, a forceful shove, and you were bent backwards over the still-rumbling washing machine, your spine curving against the vibrating metal, heat searing across your back from the sheer force of it. The room tilted, the whir of the machine filling your ears.

Ben’s weight pressed down, locked you in place.

One huge, brutal hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you down, thumb digging against your pulse, while the other clamped down on your hip—heavy, immovable, possessive.

A slow exhale ghosted across your cheek, the warmth of it infuriating, unbearable, suffocating.

His voice was a murmur, low and deep and satisfied as all fucking hell.

“Now we’re talkin’.”

“Get the hell off me.”

Your voice was sharp, but the angle was all wrong, your body bent backward, pinned at an unnatural curve against the still-running washing machine, his hand locked around your throat, fingers flexing just enough to remind you he could tighten his grip whenever the fuck he wanted.

And he laughed. Again.

That deep, gravel-rough chuckle, smug and entirely too entertained, rolling through his chest like you’d just told the funniest joke of his goddamn life.

“Sweetheart, I could pop your fuckin’ head off right now if I wanted to.”

Your teeth bared, rage coiling tight and vicious in your gut. With a sharp growl, you surged up, trying to fight against his hold, trying to push through the weight of him—

He used it against you.

Fast. Effortless. Completely, infuriatingly controlled.

His grip tightened around your throat, his other hand locked down hard on your hip, and suddenly, you were being lifted, hauled up like you weighed nothing. The room tilted, the washing machine’s hum shaking through your spine as he set you down on the edge—your thighs now spread around his waist, your body trapped between the vibrating machine and the sheer, unrelenting weight of him.

One of his hands clamped down on your hip, fingers curling in deep, holding you in place while his other shifted, the grip around your neck moving—repositioning—until his forearm was suddenly braced against your throat, keeping you folded against the machine, against the wall, against him.

And fuck.

Your breath hitched—not just from anger.

He felt it. He heard it.

That small, involuntary whimper that spilled from your lips the second he shifted, the hard, thick length of him dragging against you through your clothes—through nothing but layers of fabric.

His grin sharpened.

Head tilted, eyes dropping low, slow, deliberate—watching exactly where his hips were pressed up tight against yours. Then, back up to you. Those green eyes burned—mocking, amused, completely, utterly in control.

“You wanna get fuckin’ spread open, doll?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing down the humiliation pooling hot and unbearable in your gut. Your body was betraying you.

Every slow, deliberate grind of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat rippling through you, the thick, heavy length of him dragging against the growing dampness between your thighs—and he knew it.

Of course he fucking knew it.

Your fingers curled against the vibrating metal beneath you, desperate to keep some grip on your sanity, your dignity, your fucking composure. You still had fight in you. You weren’t going to let him see you fold.

Your lips curled, voice dripping in mockery, even as your breath hitched.

“Surprised you can even still get it up, Grandpa.”

His grin was wicked.

Then—pressure. A sharp, sudden grind, his hips pressing hard into yours, forcing the full, thick line of his cock against you, pinning you in place with nothing but pure weight and heat and dominance.

Your breath punched out of you in a soft, humiliating whimper.

Ben just grinned wider.

“That feel like I got any performance issues, sweetheart?”

His voice was thick, syrupy and dark, the rasp curling at the edges, drenched in amusement. His forearm pressed harder against your throat, not cutting off your air, but reminding you—reminding you exactly who was in control.

Your hands twitched, nails biting into the fabric of his jacket, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

Then, his mouth dipped lower, his voice dropping into something slower, heavier, more dangerous.

“I know you wanna get fucked by me.”

Your stomach flipped. Your body went rigid, your breath caught hard in your throat.

His smirk stretched wider, all sharp teeth and victorious smugness.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he murmured, tilting his head, his hips rolling slow and steady, rubbing deliberately, cruelly against your aching core. “When you think I’m not watchin’. When you think you’re bein’ real fuckin’ subtle.”

Your brain screamed denial, denial, denial, but fuck, fuck, fuck—

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Your mind flickered back—to the safe house gym, to the few times you’d ended up in the same room, both of you training, ignoring each other, keeping your distance.

Except you hadn’t really been ignoring him.

You remembered it too well—the way your gaze would drift, the way your teeth would sink into your bottom lip without thinking, watching the sheer power of him, all raw, solid muscle, all sweat-slicked, feral fucking strength, the way he moved, like a goddamn beast barely caged.

You had watched him.

And he’d fucking seen it.

“Shouldn’t feel too bad,” Ben continued, his voice low and thick, that tone dripping with mock sympathy. His hips rolled forward again, slow, deliberate, grinding his cock hard against you, dragging that pressure right over your aching, humiliatingly wet core.

“I watch you too, doll.”

Your breath hitched.

Oh, fuck.

“Barely hold myself back from comin’ over n bitin’ your fuckin' ass when you’re doin’ squats in those stupid little shorts.” His voice went rough, nearly gravelled, all hot and smug. “Y’know the ones, sweetheart—the ones that look like they’re painted the fuck on.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Because your eyes had flickered down—without thinking, without meaning to—and suddenly, you realised you were wearing those shorts right now.

Your body went rigid, heat flaring over your cheeks, over your chest, a full-body flush of anger, humiliation, something else.

Ben’s smirk widened. His forearm pressed harder into your throat, cutting off just enough space to make you feel the pressure, to make your breath catch.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips nearly brushing your jaw. “I noticed.”

Your stomach flipped.

His hips ground into you again, the full, thick line of his cock pressing exactly where he wanted you to feel it.

Then—his voice dropped into something low, dark, final.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time. Real nice.” His smirk twitched. “Do you wanna get fuckin’ split open—” another sharp grind, your body jerking at the friction, your mouth parting in a whimper—“or are you gonna keep pretendin’ to be the little modern feminist pussy we both know you ain't?”

The word tore from your lips before you could even think.

“Once.”

The second it was out of your mouth, he moved. His lips slammed into yours, all teeth and heat and hunger, a brutal, ravenous collision, his tongue licking into your mouth like he was trying to devour you from the inside out.

He growled into the kiss, biting, sucking, wrecking your lips like he had every intention of leaving them swollen and bruised for days. His hand snapped up, tangling roughly in your hair, tugging, tilting your head exactly how he wanted.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

You scrambled for purchase, hands grasping, clawing at his hair, his jacket, trying to pull him closer, tighter, anything—but your angle was still off, your back still pressed at that awkward arch against the washing machine, still trapped by his weight.

You barely had time to process before he grabbed the neckline of your shirt and—

Ripped.

The fabric tore in half with one sharp pull, the pieces hanging uselessly off your arms, baring your heated, flushed skin to the cool air of the laundry room.

Your eyes snapped up, scowling.

“You’re a dick.”

Ben grinned, chest heaving, thrilled.

Then you fisted his own shirt, fingers curling in tight, and ripped it straight down the middle—just like he had done to you.

He laughed, a deep, rasping sound that sent heat pulsing between your thighs. Then he hooked both hands into your shorts, yanked hard—

Riiiip.

The material shredded apart, leaving you in nothing but your soaked underwear.

Ben hummed, voice all mock innocence, the barest smirk curling his lips.

“Oops.”

Before you could snap back, before you could snarl and shove and cuss him out, he shoved you down, pushing you flat against the washing machine, his hands pressing down heavy on your thighs to keep them spread.

And then—his mouth was on you.

Right over your slick, soaked underwear, latching on, sucking hard, loud, obscene, the heat of his tongue pressing hot and wet through the fabric.

A sharp, wrecked sound tore from your throat, your hands flying out to grab for anything—his hair, the edges of the washing machine, the crumpled remains of your shirt.

Ben moaned against you, soaking in your reaction like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking heard.

And then—he did it again.

Ben’s groan vibrated straight into your core, deep and wrecked, as he sucked hard, his mouth sealing over your underwear, dragging the fabric and your aching cunt into his mouth. The heat of his tongue pressed, the wet suction pushing through, and your hips jerked, a sharp, unbidden gasp ripping from your throat.

Then he pulled back, lips slick, breath ragged, eyes burning as he flicked them up to yours.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dark and guttural, half-taunt, half-worship. “Real fuckin' sweet.”

Before you could fire back, before you could even breathe, his hand snapped up and—

Smack.

A sharp, stinging slap right over the spot where his mouth had just been.

A startled yelp tore from your lips, your body tensing against the vibrating metal beneath you, and Ben just grinned, eyes gleaming with something hungry, predatory, insatiable.

You barely had a second to recover before he was shoving his jeans down, just enough to free himself, his cock thick, flushed, hard as fuck, and you were already struggling, fingers shaking as you tried to yank your underwear down.

You got one leg free—

Then he was back on you. His hand slammed against your chest, pinning you back down, your underwear still clinging to your other leg, tangled just above your knee.

“Nah, sweetheart,” he rasped, gripping himself, lining up. “You don’t need to worry ‘bout that.”

And then—

He sank in.

One, long, achingly slow stroke, stretching you open, shoving in deep, until he was buried to the fucking hilt.

Your mouth parted, a wrecked, breathless moan spilling past your lips, your hands clawing for something, anything, nails scraping over the metal of the machine, the bare skin of his biceps, the solid muscle of his stomach.

Ben let out a rough, punched-out breath, his head tilting forward, his forearm tightening where it pinned your throat again.

Through gritted teeth, voice low and shattered, he muttered, “Holy shit, sweetheart—way fuckin’ tighter than I thought you’d be.”

You barely registered the words.

Your mind was already white noise, your body blissed out, wrecked from the stretch, from the sheer, impossibly full feeling of him seated so deep inside you, from the unrelenting weight of him pressing you down.

Then he pulled back.

And slammed home again.

Your head hit the wall, a strangled moan punching out of you as the pressure built, his hand still wrapped tight around your throat, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, keeping you open and helpless and fucking ruined beneath him.

Ben was ruthless.

The hand not wrapped around your throat dropped, his fingers sliding down, knuckles dragging over the plane of your stomach, the sweaty dip of your navel—before they pressed, rubbed, circled your aching clit just right as he kept slamming into you, rough and unrelenting, shoving you higher, higher, higher—

And then he laughed. Low, dark, mean as all fucking hell.

"What happened, sweetheart?" He rasped, his breath hot against your jaw, grinning as your back arched. "Ain't you supposed to be some big, bad feminist? All that moral high ground, all that virtue-signalling bullshit—" he gave a brutal, punishing thrust, making you gasp, your hands scrambling against his shoulders—"melting right the fuck outta your pretty head now, ain't it?"

You shook, legs trembling, your body betraying you, the heat coiling tight and hot and fucking unbearable.

"C'mon, use that big mouth of yours." His fingers rubbed harder, faster, pushing you closer to the edge, his cock hitting deep, hitting perfect with every driving snap of his hips. "Tell me how much you fuckin' hate me, sweetheart. Tell me how I'm a misogynistic piece of shit while you're soakin' my cock."

Your breath hitched, a sharp, wrecked whimper slipping from your lips.

His smirk deepened.

"That's what I fuckin' thought."

He was so fucking smug. So fucking cocky. He was growling into your skin, sneering at your unraveling, at the way your nails bit into his skin, at the way you tightened around him, nearly choking his cock, your thighs clenching, your entire body locking up—

And then you cried out, pleasure ripping through you, your body shaking, spasming, your orgasm hitting so fucking hard it knocked the breath out of you.

Ben groaned, biting hard against your collarbone, his tongue lapping over the mark immediately after. "Yeah, that's it," he gritted out, his cock still pounding into you, working you through it, keeping you locked down, shaking, helpless. "All you fuckin’ needed was a good, hard fuck to get that attitude outta you, huh?"

Your mind barely processed it—not when he was licking and sucking, his mouth everywhere, his teeth scraping rough along your throat, biting at your face, dragging his tongue over your cheek before kissing you filthy and deep—

And then—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The washing machine. Your shirt was done.

Ben stilled for a half-second. Then he fucking laughed.

The second his laughter faded, he was right back at it—pounding into you, all force and greed, using your wrecked, overstimulated body to chase his own high, the smug, cocky bastard making sure you felt it.

His hand dug into your hip, his grip on your throat tightened, pulling you into every brutal thrust, forcing you to take him, take it, take all of it.

“You better hurry up, sweetheart,” he mocked, voice raspy, strained, dragging his teeth along your jaw, pressing a wet, biting kiss just beneath your ear. “You wanna come again, you better fuckin’ keep up.”

His fingers found your clit again, but his movements were deliberate, lazy, cruel—not giving you enough, not letting you have it until he wanted you to.

“Such a good little fuckdoll,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your damp, overheated skin. “So fuckin’ sweet when you’re just takin’ it, huh? That’s what you needed. Just needed to get fucked stupid, yeah?”

You whined, barely coherent, barely able to even snap back at him.

Ben groaned, tension knotting in his stomach, his pace turning desperate, erratic.

“Where d’you want it, sweetheart?” He rasped, voice thick and hungry, hips snapping into you harder. “Inside you? All fuckin’ deep, fillin’ you up, yeah?”

Your brain kicked back online real fucking fast.

“Under no circumstances can you fucking come inside me.”

Ben snarled, gritting his teeth as his pace stuttered, his grip tightening in irritation.

“No fuckin’ fun.” His sneer was vicious. “Fine. You want it on your fuckin’ face, then?”

Before you could even breathe, his grip on your throat yanked you forward, pulling you off the washing machine. Your knees hit the floor, legs still shaking, useless, your mind still spinning as he fisted his cock, his other hand gripping your hair, holding you right in place.

“Fuck, sweetheart—"

With a low, guttural groan, he spilled across your face, his breath ragged, loud, unrestrained, groaning deep and shameless, his entire body tensing as he pumped himself dry, streaking hot, thick ropes over your cheeks, lips, chin.

And then—

"Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Your blood turned to ice. Your entire body locked up.

"Pair of fuckin' animals."

You whipped your head toward the door—and there stood Butcher. One hand on his hip, the other rubbing his temples, shaking his head like he'd just walked in on two stray dogs humping on the sidewalk.

And then?

He turned and walked right the fuck back out.

Mortification. Pure, searing, full-body mortification. You were still on your knees, still panting, wrecked, still covered in Ben’s cum.

And when you turned back?

Oh, he was grinning. That shit-eating, cocky, bastard grin.

Your stomach sank. Because in one hand, Ben was holding—your shirt.

Your freshly washed, still-warm shirt that he’d clearly grabbed right out of the machine while you’d been frozen in horror, looking at Butcher.

And now? Now he was wiping himself off with it. Casual. Smug. Completely unbothered. Once he was done, he tossed it at your face.

“Go on, sweetheart.” His smirk was lethal. “Get cleaned up.”

@mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @itshellfire @nevercameraready @suckitands33 <3

#pfiahc writes #my writing #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fic #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #billy butcher #william butcher #the boys fanfiction #the boys smut #the boys fanfic #the boys

353 notes · View notes

starlinggirll · 1 month ago

Note

hi idk if you're taking requests but could you write smt with art (could be dilf or stanford) and dacryphilia/choking/dumbification... just something freak nasty! i love your writing btww <3

husband!art fucking wife! reader in the laundry room . . . ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

"boys! dinner is ready!" you called out from kitchen, humming to yourself as your two little boys run from their room to the kitchen.

"what do we say to mommy?" art's deep voice cause the twins to fix their posture, putting their big smiles on and saying "thank you for the food, mommy!" that earns a small laugh from art, who approaches you from behind.

"thank you, 'mommy'." art whispers against the nape of your neck, his hand gently pressing against your tummy. "daddy!" samuel's voice cause him to stop midway from kissing your neck. "are you not going to eat?" art smirks, nodding softly.

"ofcourse i am, but my dinner is in the laundry room." "what-" before the twins or you have any questions, he's dragging you to the laundry room, and locking the door. "your food is actually on the table-" he shuts you up with a kiss, caging you against the washing machine.

he's being rough, manhandling you for your stomach to press against the washing machine, taking your jeans off with a rip. "i been waiting all day for you," he groans, his fingers rubbing your folds before he takes his pants down, his cock springing out of his pants against your ass cheeks.

you gasp, back arching like a cat as you bite your bottom lip. "you're already dripping, i beraly kissed you." he teases, rubbing his tip against your slit. "baby pleasee... the boys are just a few-" he once again interrupts you, pushing himself in. your mouth opens to moan, but nothing comes out. you're already so fucked out.

he always had that power over you, with just the slightest touch you would start drooling and trembling. "shh." he whispers against your neck. 4 of his fingers going inside of your mouth, it causes you to gag, eyes rolling back.

"that's it, you're milking my cock so good baby," he groans, his hips stuttering but he keeps his relentless pace, his cock hitting the deepest part of you. you bite into his fingers, chest heaving as you grip his wrists.

"does it feel good? i bet it does doesn't it?" he cups your jaw, making you look at him. "open your mouth." and you do, you always listen to him. the sight of your face, how fucked up you look, aching to be claimed again and again. his hands wrap from your jaw to your neck, restricting your respiration.

he grins, biting deep into your lip. "fuck fuck-" he whimpers, fisting your hair. "im gonna come inside of you, make you swollen and pregnant with my baby." he grins, burying his face into your shoulder. long cock stopping his abuse to your hole.

with a synchronized moan, both of you come, his seed filling you up with cause your legs to fail. "i gotchu sweetheart, i gotchu." he whispers, his hands going under your legs to hoist you up. "im gonna clean you up, then we'll go eat, yeah?" he doesn't pull out of you just yet.

relishing the warmth your inside give him. "you would look super sexy with another baby. or maybe another set of twins?" that earns a small jab at his ribs, your cheek resting against his chest. "maybe."

#challengers #mike faist #art donaldson #art donaldson i love you #art donaldson x reader #mike faist i need you #mike faist x reader #mike #art donalson x reader #artie ˑ༄ؘ #bonniesbluee ۶ৎ

321 notes · View notes

sunarryn · 3 months ago

Text

DP X Marvel #15

They were never supposed to be real.

Danny wasn’t born; he was built—stitched together in a freezing underground HYDRA lab from the broken DNA strands of James Buchanan Barnes, chosen not for loyalty or legacy but for blood. Something about Winter’s cells held a resilience no other subject had survived, even after decades on ice and countless mental fractures. Danny was Subject 077—barely more than a theory made flesh. A prototype for a new line of enhanced operatives. Something that could endure everything and obey nothing but the cold voice of a handler.

Jazz was worse. She was art. Red Room engineering at its most elegant and most horrifying. A near-perfect clone of Natalia Alianovna Romanoff, born of Black Widow blood but grown under their sharp hands and sharper scalpel. Jazz had beauty, poise, intelligence. But she was also an apex predator molded in ballet and murder, just like her source. She had been created to be the final evolution of Widow. A sleeper. An infiltrator. A masterpiece in patience and destruction.

They were never supposed to meet.

But then Vlad happened.

Dr. Vladimirov Masterov—Vlad Masters—was a ghost in every way that mattered. Once KGB, always KGB. They said he’d died during a failed mission in Chernobyl. He hadn’t. He’d gone half-dead. Half-ghost. A twisted result of an experiment gone wrong, his molecules phasing just enough to slip between states. He’d taken the failure personally, refused to fade. Instead, he rose again in America, as Vlad Masters, eccentric billionaire and corporate ghoul. But behind every charity gala and mayoral campaign was a hunger to perfect the science that had torn him in half.

Vlad had overseen Jazz’s earliest combat assessments. He’d taught Danny how to fire a Glock at age six. His affection was obsessive. Paternal in that twisted, post-Soviet way that smelled like iron and vodka. “You’re my legacy, my little phantoms,” he’d murmur, his gloved hand stroking Danny’s hair, like petting a favorite lab rat. He loved them the way a butcher loves the knife.

Jack Fenton—Jakob Fentzen—was worse. A HYDRA scientist with a permanent manic grin and a knack for building machines that did things no machine should. Quantum destabilizers, molecular disruptors, spectral centrifuges—things that turned flesh to glass and time to mist. He’d been the one to isolate the Winter Soldier’s regenerative traits. He laughed through the process. He called Danny “Champ” while inserting tracking chips into his spinal cord. Danny screamed, once. Jack said it was music.

Maddie—Maja Vuković—was quieter. Colder. Her notes were written in blood and brilliance. She designed Jazz’s conditioning routines. Psychological torment dressed up as ballet recitals and etiquette dinners. Jazz learned to disassociate by age four. “You’re perfect,” She would say, brushing Jazz’s red-gold hair. “Natalia was the draft. You are the final copy.”

And then something went wrong.

It was supposed to be a routine exposure. Just a test of the ghost portal Vlad had constructed in the basement of the Fenton Works facility—a decaying front in the Midwest. But Danny fell in. Or was pushed. Or ran. The records blurred.

And then he came back…wrong.

Cells mutated. Energy readings off the charts. Intangibility. Invisibility. An ectoplasmic core that pulsed like a dying star. Not just an assassin now—an anomaly. A walking ghost. They called it a miracle. Vlad called it divinity. Jack wanted to vivisect him immediately.

Danny refused.

That was the mistake.

They underestimated the side effects of individuality. The ghost powers weren’t part of the program. And with them came emotion, conscience, defiance.

They tried to recondition him. Vlad struck him. Maddie drugged him. Jack built something with screaming blades.

Jazz broke protocol. She slit two guards’ throats with a dining knife and pulled Danny out of the operating room. He was barely conscious, bleeding green and crying. She whispered to him the way Natalia might have whispered to herself in a Red Room dormitory: “We go now. Or we die here.”

They went.

They ran.

For three years, the world forgot about the Fenton kids. Until they didn’t.

The Avengers found out during a HYDRA base raid in Belarus. Steve Rogers opened a data file and dropped it like it burned. Natasha Romanoff stared at Jazz’s image and fell silent for an hour. Bucky Barnes had to be sedated after reading Danny’s file.

“A clone?” Bucky rasped, restrained and shaking. “Of me?”

“HYDRA’s final Winter Soldier prototype,” Bruce murmured. “He’s a ghost. Literally. His molecular structure—”

“I don’t care about his molecules!” Bucky exploded. “He’s just a kid. My fucking kid!”

Steve looked pale. “They’re so young...”

“They’re us,” Natasha said quietly, staring at Jazz’s face on the screen. “Our blood. Our sins. Our ghosts.”

They scrambled, but the trail was cold. Danny and Jazz had buried themselves deep. They moved from safehouse to safehouse, mostly living like rats. Danny phased them through walls, hacked ATMs with his ghost energy. Jazz manipulated human behavior like a maestro. They didn’t speak much. They didn’t have to.

“You okay?” Danny would ask.

“No,” Jazz would say. “But you?”

“No.”

Still, they stayed alive.

Until they slipped up.

It was a gas station. A security camera. A moment of laughter—Danny made Jazz laugh, and her teeth showed. That smile ended everything.

Tony saw it first. “Is that the Fenton girl? She’s…smiling.”

Natasha was on her feet before the footage ended. “Get the quinjet.”

Steve was right behind her. “We find them. Now.”

When they did, it was ugly.

The Avengers cornered them in an abandoned church in Chicago. Danny nearly brought the roof down. Jazz went straight for Natasha’s throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Natasha pleaded, parrying the blade with bare hands.

“Then you’re already weak,” Jazz snarled.

Steve took a punch from Danny that shattered his ribs. Bucky didn’t fight. He just stood there, tears on his face.

“I know what they did to you,” he whispered.

“You don’t,” Danny hissed, half-ghost and glowing. “You don’t know what it’s like to be built to die.”

“I do.” Bucky stepped forward, arms open. “They made me too, and I remember every scream.”

Danny hesitated.

That was enough.

Jazz disarmed Natasha and froze.

“You look like my nightmares,” she whispered. “But quieter.”

“You look like a second chance,” Natasha said, and her voice broke.

That night, the church became a refugee camp.

Tony brought blankets. Bruce brought meds. Steve brought silence. Bucky and Natasha never left their sides.

“Don’t touch me,” Danny had growled at first.

“I won’t,” Bucky said. “I’ll just be here.”

Jazz refused food until Natasha force-fed her soup and whispered lullabies in Russian.

“You’ll kill me eventually,” Jazz muttered.

“No,” Natasha said, brushing her hair. “I’ll love you first.”

It wasn’t easy.

Danny screamed in his sleep, glowing and flailing. Once he phased into the floor and didn’t come back for three hours. Jazz stopped speaking for two weeks. She stared at walls. Cut herself just to feel.

Natasha stitched every wound.

Bucky sat beside Danny and read him books about World War II.

“You’re not him,” Danny said one day. “You’re not my father.”

“No,” Bucky agreed. “But I wish I’d been.”

Steve took them outside. Taught Jazz how to ride a bike. Let Danny fly circles around the compound.

But one day, Vlad showed up again.

He appeared in Danny’s room, phasing through the wall like smoke. “Come home, little badger.”

Danny shrieked and attacked. Vlad didn’t fight.

“I miss you,” he said, bleeding green from his mouth. “They won’t understand you like I do.”

“You’re not real,” Danny screamed. “You never were!”

Jazz shot him in the chest. He smiled.

“Perfect aim. I taught you well.”

He vanished.

After that, they didn’t sleep for a week.

One morning, Danny sat beside Bucky on the roof.

“Do you think I’ll ever be normal?”

“No,” Bucky said honestly. “Though you’ll be loved.”

Jazz, curled in Natasha’s lap, asked, “Was I always going to be a monster?”

“No,” Natasha whispered. “You were always going to be mine.”

They weren’t cured.

They were wreckage.

But they were surviving.

And for now, that was enough.

298 notes · View notes

mattsundaes · 11 months ago

Note

Muahahahahahaha~ Let’s give our Iwa some attention; Iwaizumi and bathroom

familiar

hajime iwaizumi x f!reader

The timing has never quite been right for you and Iwaizumi—until a run-in with your ex at a wedding changes everything.

wc: 2.6k

c: 18+ only, best friends to lovers speed run, hurt/comfort, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (f!receiving), cum eating, past infidelity (not iwa)

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND - PART V

“Tell me what you need.”

Your nostrils burn from the cloying, floral scent that hangs heavily in the air of the oversized bathroom as you sit atop the sink’s white marble countertop, head leaning back against the ornate mirror.

Iwaizumi squeezes your knee when you don’t respond, his callused fingers gently grasping the bare skin exposed by the slit in your dress—if only by consequence, rather than a conscious choice.

“A time machine,” you mutter, voice thick as you blindly reach out for the box of tissues you spotted near the faucet when you walked in.

A hand brushes against yours, followed by the soft press of the thin, white square against the hot, angry tears streaming down your cheeks.

“That’s above my pay grade,” he grumbles, “but I can go punch him if you want.”

You choke out a watery laugh, your fingertips colliding as you take the tissue from him and dab at the corners of your eyes before crumbling it into a ball.

In hindsight, you should have known your ex-fiancé would be at this wedding, given the unfortunate amount of mutual friends that the two of you share. But of all the brash moves, you certainly weren’t expecting him to walk in with the woman he cheated on you with.

You don’t miss him, not really. Not since it became abundantly clear he’d been fucking his personal assistant for most of your relationship. Not since you realized everything you thought you knew about him was a lie.

It’s embarrassment and anger that fuels the remaining tears still threatening to traipse their way down your cheeks now, tears that soak into the new tissue Iwaizumi’s already patiently holding below your eyelashes.

“To be fair, I always wanted to punch him,” Iwaizumi mutters under his breath.

Embarrassment, anger—and regret for the long-buried feelings for your best friend that now stands before you, his brows furrowed in annoyance and concern in equal measure.

It’s always been there between the two of you, this heady, dizzy feeling—charged and humming like the atmosphere on the brink of a rolling thunderstorm.

But the timing’s never been right. Not back then, when relationships and school and sports and jobs were endlessly in the way. And certainly not now, when you shouldn’t even be hidden away crying in this obnoxiously fancy bathroom with Iwaizumi in the first place—not while he’s dating one of the bridesmaids.

He seems to know exactly what you’re thinking, too, because—

“You should probably go find—“

“—we broke up.”

You blink at him several times, caught off guard both by the admission and the unwavering way he’s staring at you now.

Well, you had thought it was odd that you didn’t see them interact at all leading up to the reception.

“Why?”

He inhales slowly before he responds, “She said I was too involved in what’s going on with you.”

A wave of guilt washes over you as you think about how he was the first person you told what happened—in the middle of the night when you got home early from a trip and found your side of the bed occupied.

The way he didn’t even ask before getting into his car and driving across town to pick you up.

The feeling of your fingers desperately clasping the sleeve of his sweatshirt on the sidewalk as you pleaded with him not to storm back into the apartment, the sight of his clenched fists.

The steady, reassuring warmth of his arms around your tired, shaking frame as he held you close against the passenger side door of his car when your trembling fingers couldn’t pull the handle.

You spent that night in his bed, while he insisted on taking the couch. And in the weeks that followed, after you scrambled to find your own place, he hovered. He checked in on you frequently. He brought you food.

He—

It’s not like you can blame his girlfriend—

“So she—”

It’s obvious that Iwaizumi knows you well enough to anticipate your reaction, the way you begin to shrink in on yourself, because his voice is a little rough as he tilts your chin back up to look at him and says, “No, I told her that she could leave if she didn’t like it, because this isn’t going to change.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze has always been a heavy, tangible thing, but it’s particularly difficult to breathe under the weight of it now.

“What’s not going to change?” you ask quietly.

He leans in a little closer, standing between your legs, the inside of your thighs brushing against his hips. “The way I’m always going to put you first, whether I mean to or not.”

“Iwa—”

His eyes fall shut. “I hated when you started calling me that again.”

You’d started using his given name in high school, but the letters went quiet on your tongue in the years after, a forced wedge of distance.

A necessity.

It felt too familiar, more familiar than he should be to you, to your heart.

You didn’t realize how much it bothered him.

“Hajime,” you correct yourself.

A nearly imperceptible shudder runs through him, and when he opens his eyes, they’re filled with an emotion you can’t quite define, not under the duress of your rapidly beating heart.

“Tell me what you need,” he repeats, slowly and deliberately.

You.

It’s always been you.

Your fingers shake slightly as you reach out to grasp his tie, the silk smooth against your palm as you pull him closer.

“Hajime,” you whisper again, so quiet the syllables barely make a sound as they slide over your lips.

His forehead presses against yours, your noses brushing as he rasps, “You know I’d give you anything.”

A hot, heady rush floods your veins, and you press the heels of your feet back into the cabinet of the sink, if only to ground yourself as the honesty in his words scrapes against your ribcage. Releasing his tie, you carefully let your fingers linger against the side of his neck. There’s a sharp inhale of breath as your thumb makes contact with the hinge of his jaw, though Hajime’s own hands remain planted on the countertop.

The sound of your own given name is like a whispered kiss into the space that lingers between your mouths. “Tell me what you want from me.”

Hajime smells like mint gum and that same goddamn body wash he’s been using since high school.

Your heart stumbles as you breathe him in.

“More than you can give,” you admit, voice wavering under the raw honesty of your words.

He laughs, and it’s a low sound of amusement that rumbles in his chest. “I doubt that.”

Heat and anticipation and disbelief swell rapidly in your chest, and it’s enough to find the courage to finally quell the traitorous, steady itch in your fingertips—which seem to be moving of their own volition as they card through Hajime’s soft, dark, messy hair.

He sighs, and it spurs you on further, letting your hand drop to the back of his head to tug at the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. This earns you a groan that dances haphazardly down the notches of your spine.

“Show me what you want, Hajime,” you tell him, swallowing thickly.

It feels disarmingly natural, the way his hands come up to cup your face, the stroke of his thumbs against the curve of your jaw.

He’s so fucking handsome, it hurts.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss to the tip of his thumb. “Please.”

Despite all the times you’ve imagined this, all the late nights spent staring at your bedroom ceiling, all of the hopeless scenarios you’ve kept tucked way like a well-worn note tattered to the bone at every groove—every little thing your mind has conjured up pales in comparison to the way Hajime’s lips finally come crashing into yours.

With one hand cupping the back of your head and the other sliding down to curl around your hip, Hajime kisses you like he’s wanted this just as badly as you always have. Like he knows every dip and curve along the shape of your lips.

Like he wants to swallow every last molecule that separates your mouth from his.

It’s all-consuming, the damp heat of his lips, the steady pressure of his thumb against your hip bone, the satisfied groan he lets out as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull yourself against him.

His tongue skirts along the seam of your lips, slipping into your mouth as they part to deepen the kiss, and all of the want and need you’ve kept bottled up inside of you spills out into something hot and messy that scorches its way through your abdomen.

Logically, some part of you knows you should probably talk about this somewhere, anywhere but this ornately fancy single-occupant bathroom during a wedding reception.

But it’s difficult to pin down a single morsel of logic when the sole, unspoken object of your deepest desires is currently wrapping his tongue around yours as the large palm of his hand blazes hot where it’s pressing into the small of your back, the pressure of his fingertips burning through the fabric of your dress.

It’s an accident—the way you rock forward into Hajime when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, the breathy little moan that punches out of you at the feeling of his erection pressing into your hot core.

But it’s not an accident when you do it again, purposefully grinding against him, the arousal simmering inside of you cracking open wide as he kisses you harder, groaning into your mouth. One of his hands makes its way up your side, caressing the swell of your breasts that’s been threatening to spill out of the top of your dress since you slipped it on earlier.

“You have no idea how distracting your dress is,” he growls, though there’s no real heat in the sound, only a desperation that curls around the edges of each word as he tugs the material down enough to expose one of your peaked nipples.

You have half a mind to complain when his lips part from yours, a trail of spit hanging between your mouths for a moment, but it’s a moot point when he leans down to swipe his tongue across the pert, sensitive bud.

“Fuck, Hajime,” you whine, fingers digging into his hair as he gently sucks, shameless in the way you rearrange the skirt of your dress to let the cotton of your panties press directly against the black fabric of his pants.

But it’s still not enough to quell the fire in your veins.

“Hajime,” you whimper again, the sound almost embarrassingly needy as you hump the outline of his hard cock.

Hands grasp your hips, the air conditioning in the room cool against your spit-soaked nipple as he abandons it to press his lips to yours while he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties.

“I need you to tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your mouth. “This stops where you say it stops.”

Fingers trailing along the back of his neck, you run your tongue along his bottom lip, too drunk on your desire to feel shy about the words that push their way past your teeth. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

He lets out a rough groan, taking your tongue into his mouth and sucking on it. Gently, he trails one finger down the length of your damp panties. “Like this?”

You shake your head, reaching a hand between your bodies to clasp his shaft, a fresh stroke of arousal unfurling inside of you at the size of it.

Hajime lets out a gravelly, disbelieving sound. “I don’t have a—”

All it takes is an exchange of breathless, needy reassurances about contraceptives and clean tests to find your panties stuffed in his pocket, the buckle of his belt clinking as he frees his cock from the confines of his pants.

He drags his fingers through your slick, dripping folds as you wrap a hand around his cock, stroking him and keening softly, muscles taut with anticipation as he groans over how wet you are.

“And so fucking sensitive,” he mutters when you tremble and moan in pleasure as he slips a single finger into your cunt, his thumb swiping across your throbbing clit.

He hardly fares any better though when you spit into your palm and resume pumping his curved, leaking shaft, his hips jerking forward into the edges of the countertop.

Hajime must feel how tight you are, must know what a stretch it’ll be to plunge inside of you, because he’s deliberate in the way he adds a second finger, and then a third, working your quivering, wet hole open until you’re panting and whining into his mouth begging for it.

Everything inside of your flares white-hot when he finally sinks his cock into the dripping warmth of your cunt, his lips against yours the only barrier to stifle the full volume of the wanton moan that spills from your mouth as you dig your fingers into his shoulderblades and rock forward until he’s balls deep inside of you. The tight walls of your pussy expand and contract against the thick stretch of his shaft, your legs trembling with pleasure.

You want to writhe on his length.

You want to feel the stretch of it everywhere.

You want him to fuck you so deep you feel it for days.

You want to come so hard on his cock you can’t move or breathe.

It’s inescapable—the full depth of this yawning pit of desire, years of dreams that have left you restless and aching for the one thing you can’t have.

Couldn’t have.

But now—

It takes your fucking breath away, the dichotomy of this moment. The way Hajime’s fucking you so hard, the counter groans with each pounding thrust into your wet cunt. The way he’s tenderly cupping the side of your face and looking at you like he’d give you the goddamn world if you asked for it.

(Having him would be enough.)

You’re so caught up in the moment, heart thrumming in your chest with too many emotions to grasp, you’re hardly prepared when the coil of tension in your gut unravels with the force of a whip, a shockwave of pleasure coursing through you as you go tumbling over the edge of your climax.

“That’s it,” Hajime murmurs as he fucks you through it, fucks you through the messy, desperate kisses you slot against his mouth as you moan and whimper.

You can hardly think straight as your orgasm tapers off, your cunt still greedily taking in every inch of Hajime’s cock as he continues to thrust into you, but when his hips begin to stutter, the words leave you in a rush, “Come inside of me.”

Hajime’s thumb presses into the underside of your chin as he breathes heavily against your mouth, muscles tensing.

“Fuck,” he groans, burying himself to the hilt as his pleasure reaches its peak, his cock pulsing inside of you as ropes of thick, hot cum spill deep in your cunt.

It takes a few minutes for either of you to find the wherewithal to talk, the room quiet save for the sounds of your labored breathing and the soft kisses he presses to the corner of your mouth. To the curve of your jaw. To the bridge of your nose.

Fingers toying with his tie again as he tucks himself back into his pants, you watch as he pointedly does not give you back your underwear, instead pushing the flash of material further down into his pocket.

“Don’t I need tho…” you begin to ask, but you trail off as Hajime leans down and spreads your thighs even further apart before bringing his mouth to your cunt and lapping a broad stroke through the pool of cum leaking from your folds.

#iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu #dee writes #spicy sleepover weekend

551 notes · View notes

kpopflowerfield · 7 months ago

Text

daylight | yjh

ღ pairing: jeonghan x barista!reader!

ღ word count: 6.5k

ღ genre: fluff & smut

ღ warnings: cursing, making out, soft sex, pet names (babe, baby, pretty girl), protected sex, (f) reader rides jeonghan, fingering, oral (m receiving)

ღ rating: nsfw, MDNI

ღ networks: @k-vanity @k-library

ღ summary: Jeonghan is moving on from a heartbreak, starting again and making every experience feel new with you.

↠ check out the rest of the tracklist here! ↞

"Yah! Jeonghan! You got to get up!" there was a loud knock on the door following as Jeonghan groaned, recognizing the voice of his roommate, Seungkwan. He groaned out, turning his head to look out the window. The sunlight creeps in through the slits of the blinds. He sat up reluctantly. "Jeonghan?" Seungkwan kept banging on the door. "I'm up already! Keep knocking like that, and I'll have a hole going through my door, jeez," He exhaled, fixing his hair as he walked towards the door.

He unlocked it, hearing the click as he threw the door open. Seungkwan was still standing there with a pitiful look. Jeonghan hated it when people looked at him like that. He wasn't someone to feel sorry for. "You okay?" Seungkwan looked at the elder.

"Just peachy," He gave him a look, seeing the way his eyes didn't change. "Stop looking at me like that," Jeonghan's gaze was sharp as Seungkwan stepped back. Jeonghan wasn't trying to snap at Seungkwan, but he couldn't hold back seeing him look at him as if he was a charity case, which is what all of his friends have been doing lately.

He had gone through a nasty breakup, and that's all there was to it. Obviously, he was going to mope about it and have his moments of wanting to be alone. That was only human, but he guessed it wasn't like that when it came to him. He walked over to the kitchen and got himself a glass of water. "What'd you wake me up for?" He shut the fridge and took a sip from the glass he had just filled.

"I mean, it's noon; you probably won't sleep again tonight. Plus, it's weird seeing you become nocturnal. We also need to go and study. Maybe the library?" Seungkwan avoided eye contact, not wanting to upset Jeonghan any more than he already did.

"Yeah, let me go grab my stuff." He took another sip and then poured the rest down the drain as he walked to his room to get ready, which was changing out of a hoodie and sweatpants and into another pair.

Within moments, the two left their place and headed towards the campus library. Jeonghan opened the door, holding it open for Seungkwan to follow as they walked in. They looked around, searching for a possible table, but didn't see many available. They went upstairs, downstairs, even to the study rooms, hoping someone didn't actually go to their reserved time, but nothing was open. "There's a cafe down the street. Let's go there," Jeonghan's suggestion sounded more like a demand as Seungkwan nodded.

Jeonghan carefully pushed open the door, the bell ringing as he looked around. It had more of an urban aesthetic mixed with some more modern parts. 'Cute,' Jeonghan thought to himself as he studied the brick walls and bright white counters. The tiny bell that hung on the back of the door rang again as Seungkwan walked in.

"Hello!" The bell was a cue for you to call out and welcome everyone. You looked up from the machine you were deep cleaning. Your eyes glued onto one of them for a moment. The way his fingers through his mid-length hair was intoxicating, seeing his soft features as he stared out. It was hard for you to remove your eyes from him as he pulled out a chair at one of the tables and took a seat.

"Hey. Y/N, do we need ice in the bin?" Your coworker, Eunae, called out. That was the only way you could remove your eyes from this stranger. "Oh, uh," You stuttered, opening the ice bin closest to you and the much larger one on the other side. "Yeah, like a bucket and a half would be perfect," You called back to her. She came out, filling the bins and looking at you. "Found yourself another crush?" She teased.

"No, just wondering if they want something," Your excuse was nothing but bullshit as she laughed, shaking her head at you. "Go ask then, weirdo," Your eyes widened a bit at that idea. Obviously, you've gone up to a table before and asked if they wanted a drink, but not someone like him. He was different than the other little crushes you had here and there.

You took a moment to muster up the courage, then walked over to the table. As you got closer, it seemed as if the two were arguing about something. You cleared your throat and smiled cheerfully. "Sorry to interrupt! Can I get either of you something to drink?" The shorter one smiled a bit and looked at you. "Yeah! Can I get an iced americano?" You nodded and looked over at the taller one. "I'll take the same." He didn't even bother to look up.

It hurt your ego that he didn't even move his eyes from the screen in front of him; you nodded and walked away. You made the drinks and peeked over the espresso machine as the taller one had a bothered expression looking at the other. "I don't care about Sooyoung or that she moved on already. Please leave me out of your updates on her. I'm not going to move on right now. My head is fucked thinking about her. I don't need the updates; besides, I'm working on fixing myself right now. I'm not jumping into a relationship," He grumbled; you didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he was talking a bit on the louder side. "Jeonghan," The other one started.

You finished up their drinks and thought to yourself, "Jeonghan." You walked over to them, carefully holding their drinks. "Two Americanos," you smiled. It was definitely a customer service smile instead of your actual smile as they nodded. "Thank you," Jeonghan finally lifted his head to look at you. His mind started racing for a moment. He couldn't remove his eyes from you as he walked away.

Seungkwan moved his leg over, kicking the side of his leg lightly. " What?" He looked at him. "Dude, you're eye fucking her...After saying you don't want another relationship." Jeonghan's face was expressionless as he shrugged a bit. "I can look all I want. That doesn't mean I'm hopping into a relationship." Seungkwan couldn't help but roll his eyes in response.

Jeonghan finished what he was working on and stood up, walking towards the register. You walked over and smiled. " Can I help you with anything?" He nodded a bit, his face seeming to relax from the scowl he had sitting at the table. " I'd just like to pay," you nodded and rang him up, adding a discount to it.

"Oh, I thought it was more," He looked surprised by the price and paid. You handed him his receipt, a soft, rosy color spreading on your cheeks. "Have a great rest of your day," you smiled at him as he nodded, giving you a soft smile and looking at your name tag. "You too, Y/N,"

You hated when people said your name at work if it wasn't one of your coworkers. You realized quickly after starting that customers would use it too much that they abused it. But hearing your name come from those sweet lips, he had made butterflies flutter in your stomach. You watched as he turned and sat back down with his friend.

You cleaned up the counters and looked around, not wanting to be a creep, and stared at him longingly from behind the counter. Watching the gorgeous, tall, slim figure pick up his bag and leave. You seemed disappointed that you didn't say much other than your usual customer service script you had. A few days went by, and you only had small shifts here and there. Even though you only saw Jeonghan one time, you consistently clocked in with the hope of being able to see him again.

You heard the bell ring as you finished stocking the cups. " Welcome!" You threw out the plastic and turned around. " Oh," You smiled a bit and walked over, seeing his face again. "Iced americano again?" You smiled at him as he looked at you. He seemed a bit surprised that you remembered him but was more than happy to realize you recognized him.

"Did you want decaf? It's a bit late," You realized you might have been crossing a line and stared at the espresso machine. "No, I need the caffeine right now. I have finals coming up." You nodded and smiled at him. "What major?" You looked at him over the counter. "Visual arts, more so in photography and journalism," He watched as you carefully put the lid on, waiting to hear the click of it connecting before handing him his drink.

"Dual major?" You looked at him, impressed, as he nodded. "That's why I need the caffeine," His laugh seemed a bit awkward and weak. "I don't blame you. I tried college, but it wasn't for me," You confessed as he listened. "I put it off for a while. My friend I was here with the other day helped convince me when he applied. Everyone I graduated high school with graduates in the spring, so I'm three years behind,"

"Gap years work for a lot of people." You nodded. You watched as he took a sip of his coffee; the bitter taste was comforting to him. " I got to be honest with you," You looked at him, almost studying him but hoping he didn't pick up on it. "Yeah?" He couldn't help but question; you were so captivating to him, and he loved hearing every word leave your lips. "I don't understand how you like Americanos," You laughed softly.

He looked at you surprised. "You don't like them?!" He sounded almost offended. "It's way too strong, plus it's so insanely bitter. I give you credit." You giggled as you spoke playfully, and he shook his head. "They're so good. The bitterness is the best part. You're actually able to taste the coffee and not all the flavors and milk." You listened to him; he sounded so confident in everything he said.

"Let me make you something; I think you'll like it," You looked over at him, seeing he was already halfway through his coffee. "Alright," He walked back over to the register. "Are you allergic to anything?" You looked at him as he shook his head. "I can have everything but dairy, but sometimes it upsets my stomach." He watched you as he worked. Hearing the scream of the milk steaming, he seemed in awe as you poured in the frothed milk, watching the simple design you created on top. You closed the lid and handed it to him.

"Try it," you looked at him. He picked it up, sniffing it first, then took a sip. His body filled with warmth, and he smiled. "What is it?" He opened the lid. "Vanilla latte: one extra shot so you get your strong coffee taste and vanilla soy milk." He looked at you and smiled. "Well, keep this in mind; this might become my usual."

You nodded with a grin. " What's your name?" You didn't want to be weird that you remembered him from your "accidental" eavesdro ping. " Jeonghan," he looked at you, admiring you as you nodded. " Well, nice to meet you," you smiled widely.

"Ditto," He smiled back and looked at you. " How much for the latte?" He stared at the register as you waved your hand at him. " Free," He huffed a bit, then thought. "Do you take tips?" You nodded a bit, and he smiled, looking around the dead cafe. "Come here," You walked around the bar and headed over to him. The smell of his cologne bringing you closer to him. He looked at the pocket sewn into your apron and dropped a bill in. "Thank you," he thanked you as you reached in and went to give it back to him.

"Nope, that's yours for your amazing customer service," he winked a bit as you shook your head. He looked at you and smiled. “Alright, I'm going to go now. There's a lot to study," he laughed a bit. "Have fun," you teased. "Do you work tomorrow?" He watched you, his eyes traveling all over your body as you walked behind the bar, bending down to grab a rag to start cleaning.

"Tomorrow night and the next day, I work in the morning," You never told people your schedule, no matter how attractive, but you couldn't help yourself and you could only hope it wouldn’t be a mistake. "I'll see you then," He walked out as you still had that smile plastered on your face.

He did come the next day and the day after. You kept talking each time and coming up with a new topic. Each conversation never ended, as there was always something new that you both could talk about. The next day, you finally got the confidence and looked at him, mesmerized by the way the light from the sun was hitting his eyes revealing the mixture of chestnut and amber hues. "Can I get your number?" You asked him as you interrupted the silence that crept over, but to your delight, he nodded and smiled. "Absolutely, give me your phone,"

You pulled it out from your back pocket and handed it to him as he typed his number in for you. "There you go," He smiled softly, handing you your phone back. You tucked your phone away, sending a quick hello text beforehand. "Would you like to go on a date?" He looked at you, his spontaneity catching you off guard. "A date?" You questioned, your head almost tilted to the side, resembling a puppy dog which made Jeonghan’s heart melt a bit. "Yes. You and me. Maybe some dinner, and we can see what we decide on after," He looked at you, hoping you weren't questioning it because you didn't want to go.

"Okay," you answered, and he looked at you, his eyes meeting as he smiled at you. "I'll text you later; I have to head to class." He checked the time quickly as you nodded at him. " Sounds good! Don't stress too much," you called out as he walked out.

Jeonghannie: When are you off this week?

You checked your phone, laughing to yourself at the name he had given his contact.

Y/N: I took off this weekend :)

Jeonghannie: Perfect

You stared at your phone, the excitement filling your body for the rest of the day, knowing you were actually going on a date with him.

Jeonghan smiled as he looked at his phone. Seungkwan nudged him a bit with his elbow. "What?" Jeonghan whispered as Seungkwan lifted his chin, looking at the chat he had open. "That's the girl from the cafe, isn't it?" Jeonghan locked his phone and placed it on the table in front of him. “Yes. She asked for my number, so I gave it to her. That's all," Seungkwan nodded a bit hesitantly as he didn't fully believe him about it being just a friendship. "Fine, we're going on a date this weekend." Seungkwan's eyes opened widely, and he was in utter shock hearing him say those words.

"Stop freaking out about it," He mumbled as Seungkwan still stared at him. "I thought you were 'fucked in the head,'" His eyes glared into Jeonghan as he quoted him. "Yeah, but it's been over for a while now. I'm not going to keep pitying myself with the idea of where I fucked up. I'm not going to continue blaming myself when I didn't deserve what Sooyoung did. It didn't matter what I did for her when we were together; I did everything to keep her happy, but it was for nothing. I'm moving on. Not going to keep messing up my head," Jeonghan sighed, finishing up his rant.

"Good," Seungkwan whispered as he nodded at him. Class finished up as he walked out with Seungkwan. "So, is the cafe where you've been going almost every day?" Jeonghan smiled to himself with a faint blush. "Yeah. There's a cute barista; I had to at least talk to her a few times," Seungkwan snickered a bit. " Shut up," Jeonghan laughed, a smile setting in on his face.

He fixed his hair in the mirror, making sure he liked the way it looked as he grabbed his wallet and keys and walked out to the living room where Seungkwan was studying. "I'm leaving now," he said, walking towards the door as Seungkwan watched him. "Wow, look at you," he teased, seeing him so dressed up. "Don't wait up." He laughed as he walked out.

Jeonghannie: I'm on my way now!

Y/N: Okay! Drive safe

He smiled at your message as he got in his car, driving carefully to your place. He parked, grabbing the flowers he had bought for you out of the passenger seat and walked up to your apartment and knocked. You opened the door and smiled, seeing him.

He looked at you in awe. The little black dress you were wearing hugged your body and showed each curve you had perfectly. "Wow." He couldn't keep it in and had to let the words escape his lips. He smiled at you, admiring your body, and you did the same to him. You both had a very classic idea for date night. His black dress pants and white shirt looked incredible on him, but you knew he'd look stunning in anything.

"Oh, these are for you," he carefully handed you the bouquet he purchased. You looked at the deep red color of the roses, and your face started to match that shade. "They're beautiful," you smiled, opening your door more to invite him in. You walked over to your kitchen, grabbed a vase, and filled it with water and the food that came with the flowers as you carefully placed them in the vase. " Thank you," you looked over at him.

"Of course," he already felt himself falling for the way you smiled at him, the way your eyes had a grin to them. " I'm ready to go whenever you are," you looked at him as he nodded, standing up from the stool he found himself sitting in.

He walked with you down the stairs and checked his map application. "It's a quick walk if you'd like to do that, or we can go by car. Your choice," He looked at you. "It's nice out so that we can take a walk," You grinned up at him, his heart melting a bit inside as he thought for a moment. "Let me just get my jacket from the car." He walked over to a newer-looking sedan. You watched from the stairs of your building as he practically jogged back over to you. "Okay, we can go now," He smiled, putting the jacket on and walking with you.

He wasn't actually cold, but he figured that if you were after dinner, he could give you his jacket like in the rom-coms he swore he hated but still used to watch. He walked next to you as you headed to the restaurant. "Good evening," the hostess smiled as Jeonghan smiled back. “I have a reservation; it should be under Jeonghan." He watched as she looked in her book. "Table for two?" She looked up at him as she highlighted a part of the restaurant in purple.

She grabbed two menus and walked you to your table. You looked around the place in a bit of awe as you'd never been to a place like it. More than thirty tables were scattered around just in the main dining room. The hostess led you to the back of the restaurant, placing the menus on a round table. The table was beautifully set with a darker green tablecloth, faux candles that were flickering in the center, and a fawn-colored napkin placed on each side that wrapped up your silverware. The hostess pulled out your seat as you sat down, going to push your chair in until she did it.

Your expression must've looked surprised by the way Jeonghan stifled a laugh. You looked at the menu and quickly snuck a peek at Jeonghan. "If you don't like the menu, let me know; we can go somewhere else,” his voice was almost a whisper as you nodded. "I'll be good," You smiled at him as he nodded. "I like Italian," You reassured him as he nodded with a smile. "Have you ever been here?" He looked at you. His eyes looked so dreamy as you shook your head. "I've never been somewhere this fancy,"

You looked around, studying the area around you. The place was dim, but you could still see Jeonghan clearly. Before you could get too lost in your thoughts, the waiter came up. "Good evening. My name is Insu, and I'll be your waiter tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?" Jeonghan checked the menu one more time and then looked at you. "Do you drink wine?" He watched as you nodded, and he looked at the waiter. "Two glasses of the best Chardonnay you have, please," The waiter nodded and smiled at the two of you. "Any appetizers? I'd recommend the raw bar sampler or crab cakes or even a Caesar salad to pair with your wine." He suggested as Jeonghan nodded, and you smiled. You placed your order and looked at Jeonghan. "Do you have Venmo or something?" He shook his head, laughing a bit.

You pouted slightly. "Seriously, this meal is like half of my rent. Let me pay you for my portion." You were almost begging as he shook his head. "I asked you out, plus it's a date. I'm not going to make you pay for your meal at a place I picked." You realized it wasn't worth playfully arguing as Jeonghan was very set on not having you pay, so you backed down. "How have classes been?" You smiled at him, changing the subject. He shrugged a bit. "They've been okay. I mean, finals are happening in about a month, so I'm going to have to start cramming because half the classes go in one ear and out the other." He laughed a bit.

You listened to him as he talked about his classes. You started to regret not going, but you were also more than grateful that you didn't have to stress out studying for a grade that would make or break your future. "Sorry, I don't mean to yap so much; how has work been?" He looked at you, feeling bad that all he was doing was talking. "It was good; I don't know why we've been so understaffed a lot, but I've picked up a lot of hours." Jeonghan listened but wasn't fully grasping your words. He looked lost while watching your lips move. Nothing sexual was being said, but he couldn't help the dirty thoughts that flooded his brain. The dark rose-shaded gloss that covered your lips made him picture where else it would look just as perfect. He licked his lips a bit and took a sip from his wine. You smiled at him innocently as you finished talking.

"How long have you been there?" He posed another question so he wouldn't look as weird for staring at you like you were dessert. His eyes traveled around what he could see. "About three years," You nodded as he nodded back, looking a bit surprised to hear about your longevity in one place. "Where do you work?" You smiled at him, wanting to figure out how he had so much money that he could throw at a meal. "Oh," He seemed a bit flustered. "I don't. I'm focused more on school right now. Luckily, my family lets me buy using their credit card for now." He sounded embarrassed, like he didn't want to tell you. He read your expression as you nodded. "I do want to get a job once I get my degree," you nodded again; you weren't expecting it, but you weren't too surprised seeing his new car and the fancier clothing he’d wear just to stop by for some coffee.

You watched him sign the check and stood up, pulling your chair out for you as you got up and walked towards the door with him. You held your small clutch purse tight to your body as a chill came over you from the late-night breeze. "Cold?" He questioned a bit as you nodded. You saw him take off his jacket quickly and place it around your body. He wouldn't verbally say it, but he was a bit proud of the moment he wanted to happen, which was actually playing out.

He walked with you back to your place as you smiled up at him. "I had an amazing time. Thank you for dinner; next time, it's on me," He looked down at you, a gentle smile spreading on his cheeks. "You want another date with me?" He questioned as a faint blush spread on your face. "I mean, if you'd like another one with me?" It came out as a question as he nodded. "I'd love to go out with you again," You stood at the door of your apartment.

"Want to come in?" You questioned as he nodded a bit. "Sure, as long as it's not a hassle," You shushed him a bit as you pulled your keys out of your bag and unlocked your door, letting him in and following after. You locked the door behind you as you put your purse on the counter. Your apartment was neat and bright from the white counters and backsplash mixed with the bright white LED lights. "Make yourself at home," You bent down a bit to take off the heels you were wearing. He walked over to your couch and sat down.

"Do you want anything? Water? Coffee?" You looked at him. "I'll take a water, please," He looked over at you. You nodded as you grabbed two bottles and walked over to him, handing him one and opening the other one for yourself. You sat down on the couch next to him. "Thank you again for dinner," You took off his coat and placed it on the back of the sofa next to him. "And thank you for letting me wear that," You brushed off the back of the coat, ridding of a few pieces of your hair.

“Anytime,” His eyes wandered, looking over every inch of your body. He studied every curve of your body, the way your tits sat perfectly in that tight dress. He felt so worked up as his eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. You noticed and moved in closer to him. "Do it," Your voice was soft as his eyes darted to meet yours, he was a bit surprised that you caught him. He placed his hand on the side of your face gently as he kissed you. His gentle lips were soft and needy as he pulled you in closer to him.

You held onto his shoulders as he pulled you to sit on his lap. His tongue moved in sync with yours as you had your arms loosely wrapped around his neck. You pulled away, putting your forehead on his to let you both catch your breath. "I got my lipstick on you," You started to wipe it off with your thumb as a smirk crept onto his face. "Can it go somewhere else?" He gave you such a suggestive look, making your stomach backflip.

"Oh yeah?" Your voice was low but playful as you leaned to whisper in his ear. "And where is that?" You playfully unbuttoned his shirt. He moved you carefully, making you giggle a bit as he leaned to whisper in your ear this time. "I want to see those beautiful lips wrapped around my cock," He was forward, not wanting to play with you. He stood up as your eyes followed him. "I can make that happen," You murmured.

He threw his shirt off, and then his pants followed within moments of you agreeing. You looked at the length that was being compressed in his boxers. He pulled it out, looking at you as you sat on the couch. Your eyes stayed locked on his cock. He was bigger than you expected, but you weren't going to complain. You wrapped your hand around his thick base and started to move it. Twisting and moving it up and down. Soft groans escaped from his lips as you put his cock in your mouth.

He pressed his lips together, loving the feeling of the warmth your mouth gave him. "You're such a pretty girl," He breathed. Your eyes connected with his as you swirled your tongue around his tip. "Fuck yes," He groaned under his breath. You kept your pace as your cheeks hollowed against his length. The warmth of your mouth made him moan. He watched your head bob up and down as your hand still worked on jerking him from the base of his length.

He pursed his lips, not wanting to cum just yet. He tangled his fingers in your hair. "Get on the couch," His voice was gentle as you pulled away from him. He helped you stand up and kissed your reddened lips. "Sit," You sat down on the couch like he told you to. He pushed your stomach lightly to have you lie down. He kissed your lips, biting down carefully as he reached under your dress and pulled your panties down. Throwing them somewhere in your living room.

He smirked to himself as he felt your wetness. You shivered a bit at the feeling as he pushed his middle finger in gently, moving his finger slowly before pulling out to rub your sensitive bud. You moaned against his lips as he moved his finger carefully, not wanting to overwhelm your body with his touch.

His fingers played with your wetness, moving from your soaking wet cunt to your swollen clit. Every motion had you moaning out. "J-Jeonghan," You stuttered as he smirked, placing kisses on every available place of your body. His fingers moved in a come-hither motion. "That feels so fucking good," You mewled out. He loved hearing your words of encouragement as he continued.

His foreplay was sending you into a deep state of euphoria as he watched you. "Do you want to go further?" He wanted to make sure you actually wanted to fuck and not just play with each other for now. "Yes," You couldn't help but plead. "I want your cock in me so bad, Jeonghan," You were begging him at this point as he moved his fingers away from you. He grabbed his pants off the floor and opened his wallet. Grabbing the gold foil and ripping it open, he slid on the rubber from inside.

"Are you okay with riding?" He spoke so sweetly as he sat down next to you. You nodded at him as you slid off your dress. He stared at your figure in awe as you moved to hover over him. "Take your time," His voice was gentle as you nodded, slowly sinking onto his length. Moans slipped out of your mouth as he groaned, feeling your tight opening wrap around him.

His hands placed themselves on your hips as you slowly started to move. He grunted as you slowly rolled your hips against him, feeling your walls adjust to him. "You're doing so fucking good." He couldn't help but praise you, and it was helping as your pace picked up as you bounced on him. He watched your tits for a moment before pulling you in closer to him, taking one of him in his mouth as he flicked your nipple with his tongue.

"Oh fuck, Jeonghan," You whimpered as he continued; his tongue started to swirl around your nipple as you groaned, and he moved to the other side of your chest to repeat the same actions. He held your ass before taking control of the pacing for you. His cock pushed deeper inside you. His thrusts were more desperate than yours were as they made you cry out his name.

"You like that baby?" He smirked a bit as your cheeks deepened in color at the sudden pet name. "Fuck yes," You purred. The sound of your thighs hitting filled the room, and his thrusts started to become pounds as you cursed and yelled out his name. "God, you're so fucking perfect," His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. Your moans grew louder as he covered your mouth. "We wouldn't want a noise complaint, would we?" His eyes were dark and full of lust as you bit your lip.

He removed his hand from your face and placed it on the nape of your neck, pulling you into him as he kissed you. His saliva spreading on your lips from his sloppiness. He watched your expression for a moment as he pulled away. "I'm going to fucking cum, Jeonghan," Your eyes rolled back as he continued to move his hips into you. "Do it for me, babe," He cooed.

You felt your body dissolve into pleasure as your walls spasmed against his dick. He groaned as he pulled you in closer, biting your shoulder lightly as his cock twitched inside as he climaxed. You felt his grip on you loosen a bit as he panted. "You're so beautiful," He looked at you, his hair sticking to his forehead as he smiled up at you. "You felt so good; I'm sorry I took over," He apologized as he fixed your hair and then put his hand on your cheek.

"It's okay," You blushed. "I liked it better when you started fucking me," You admitted smiling a bit. "I also didn't mean to take you out to dinner and fuck right after the first date." He laughed a bit shortly. "I wasn't planning on it either," You confessed to him. "But it was a heat of the moment thing, and I think both of us enjoyed it. Or at least I did," You smiled at him as he nodded quickly. "I enjoyed it a lot,"

You got off of him and walked to your bedroom to grab yourself some clothes. You walked out and saw he had already put his pants and shirt back on. "I'm going to go home, okay?" He looked over at you. You checked the time on your stove and saw it was eleven thirty. "Alright, thank you for dinner and everything, Jeonghan. I'd love to go out again," You smiled up at him as he nodded. "I'll text you," He kissed your cheek as he walked out.

Once he got home, he saw Seungkwan waiting for him. "How was your date?" Seungkwan looked over as Jeonghan tossed his keys on the counter. "It was good. I had a really, really good time, and I think she did too." He looked through the mail on the counter as Seungkwan studied him, seeing his disheveled hair that was sticking to his forehead. "Did you guys just have dinner?" He questioned.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes as he responded. "Yep. Dinner, and she invited me to her place afterward," Seungkwan nodded. “Are you seeing her again?" Jeonghan nodded in response. “I'd love to. She's perfect, so I want to keep seeing her." He finally looked over at him.

Y/N: I hope you made it home safely! I really appreciate everything from tonight. Would you like to go and see a new movie that comes out next week? I'm off Thursday and Saturday.

Jeonghannie: I would love to! Thursday is the only day I don't have class, so that would be perfect.

Y/N: See you then

Jeonghan smiled as he put his phone away. "I'm heading to bed, night Seungkwan." He walked to his room and shut the door behind him.

You spent your days counting down in between each date the two of you had. It took Jeonghan a bit, but he finally, as Seungkwan would say, "Grew a pair" and asked you out.

The two of you grew inseparable, and you became close with Seungkwan, too. Once you moved in the three of you ended up doing a lot together. When they were having cram sessions you’d always make sure to come home with coffees to give them. Jeonghan felt so lucky to have you in his life, especially at that moment. He sat in his chair, looking around at the stadium full of people.

"Welcome, families and graduates," the dean's soft voice said as he spoke into the microphone that didn’t help his voice reach the whole stadium. He continued his speech about the college, and the ceremony began. You searched the chairs from high up, trying to see if you could find Jeonghan. The list of names went on and on.

Y/N: I can't find you :(

You sent your message and kept looking around.

Jeonghannie: I'm three rows in front of the last. Middle of the row!

He looked down and searched. His mahogany-shaded hair didn't stand out from the crowd, but once he started moving, you could spot him, seeing the yellow top of his cap.

Y/N: I see you, pookie <3

Jeonghannie: I can't see you :( That's unfair

Y/N: Wait until after ;)

He smiled at your message and put his phone away, as his name was close to being called.

"Yoon Jeonghan," The dean called out as Jeonghan shook his hand. Holding the diploma close and taking his photo op with the dean and others from the administration.

You cheered for him, watching as he looked around and finally made eye contact with you. He smiled so brightly as he sat back down in his seat.

Y/N: Look at my smart, handsome, and perfect graduate boyfriend!

You giggled as you sent your message with a picture you took of him.

Jeonghannie: God, I love you

You smiled at his message as you waited for the ceremony to wrap up, it took another forty minutes but once they announced the last name and thanked everyone you made your way out of the stadium. Then, you walked out to the main campus and waited for him with a bouquet of crimson carnations that coordinated with the school's colors. You looked around eagerly, waiting for him.

You heard his laugh as he spoke with someone else, and your face lit up when you saw him. You let a few people pass before you ran up, practically jumping into his arms, and he held you. "I'm so proud of you," Your voice was gentle as you spoke into his ear, kissing his cheek as he squeezed you a bit. He kissed your nose and smiled. "I love you so much, Y/N,"

You watched as he pulled away from the hug. You held the flowers and smiled at him. Your expression became a bit confused as he got on one knee, pulling a box out of his pocket.

"Like every day, I want to make it about us, not just me or you. I want to be with you every day for the rest of our lives. I love you more than I could even put into words, Y/N," You watched as he took a deep breath and opened the box. "Will you marry me?" Your mouth was left agape as you stared at the beautiful rock he was holding out to you. You realized you didn't say anything and smiled at him. "Yes, absolutely." Happy tears came down your face as he stood up, sliding the ring on your finger gently before placing a kiss on your lips.

367 notes · View notes

0bticeo · 1 year ago

Text

lurk | feyd rautha

part four of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 3.)

summary:

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

wc: 1.6k

tw: political machinations, reader being inches away from killing everyone in the damn place including feyd, kissing, biting, mentions of breeding, possessive & needy feyd, sub!feyd, oral (fem receiving), fingering, hallway sex.

you’re getting tired of dreams.

there’s terrible, terrible purpose dripping from their edges. you see it all - snapshots of horror, fractals reflecting endless bodies dropping to the ground. sixty one billion people, dead. ten thousand worlds burning, the universe begging for respite under your brother’s crushing fist.

paul. little mouse, whom you’ve shielded all your life, whom you’ve sparred with, crysknife pressed against his throat, his shield a feeble protection against your blade. something shatters. blades. so many of them. your blade. jamis’ blade. feyd-rautha’s blade.

your dream has you standing in what you know to be the emperor’s ship, shrouded in bene gesserit veils. two silhouettes stand against the bleeding sun of arrakis.

the realisation embeds itself in your mind, marble-carved. fate is looking down upon you and tells you: one of them dies in the end.

when you wake up, there’s a scream dying on your tongue.

you don’t know where you are. you don’t know where you are, why your side is on fire, why you taste blood in your mouth.

slowly, you rise, heart beating furiously, breath laboured. i must not fear. your fingers dig your sheets. the infirmary. fear is the mind killer. you close your eyes, will yourself to breathe. fear is the little-death that brings total -

a hand settles over yours, bone pale fingers weaving with yours. warmth settles on your shoulder. you relax, ever so slightly, leaning into the touch, burying yourself in the crook of feyd-rautha’s neck. he’s all sharp edges, honed to deadly perfection. in the quiet midnight of geidi prime, he softens for you.

“what troubles you?”

you wonder if you should tell him. of the golden path, paved with blood, so much blood it clings to the soles of your feet, you see it rise, rise, eager to seize you-

a low mumble of your name.

“dreams are messages from the deep,” you whisper in the crook of his neck.

his hold tightens over you, brings you closer to the warmth of him, thumb running over the smooth skin of your belly, over your unborn child growing there. from your position, you can feel it, the way his vocal cords vibrate. he’s purring, soothing you bit by bit.

you tilt your head, hand coming to cradle his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek.

“i should be plotting your death.”

a low chuckle, a flash of almost eagerness in his eyes.

“i don’t doubt you will.”

his hand wraps around your neck, resting on the soft skin of your throat, bringing you closer to him, shifting your bodies until you’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck. you could strangle him. you could use the voice. ask him to take the knife you know rests on the bedside and slit his own throat like the harkonnen beast he is. use it yourself.

but you’ve sealed your fate the moment you stepped on arrakis. so instead, you let the darkness swallow your confession.

“i don’t want you to die.”

“i won't,” he mumbles against your lips, words like an oath as he kisses you.

they say the beat of a butterfly wing can cause a tempest on the other side of the globe. you wonder what tempest will be borne out of the fury beating in your chest. here goes: morning comes. the spice rules it all, even the baron’s affairs, so he gathers his troops to make a planetary governor out of feyd-rautha.

the glorious sun of geidi prime shines its lifeless light upon you all.

the finest harkonnen soldiers, ruthless hounds barking their sovereign’s name in fervent adoration, thousands upon thousands of ants stretching as far as you can see. they corrupt it all the harkonnen, eating away at the horizon. waiting.

you’re waiting, too, hands folded before you, lone silhouette clad in dark robes, veils like a mask before your face. bene gesserit, the court calls you.

not quite.

by bearing feyd-rautha a child, you’ve gained a modicum of respite. the bene gesserit will spare you, the mother of their precious kwisatz haderach. they will keep your survival a secret and bury it behind inscrutable eyes.

plans within plans within plans. you’re a pawn in the baron’s meaty hands, he’s a pawn in yours, and the bene gesserit have been pulling the strings for ninety generations.

your gaze flits to the scene before you. feyd-rautha harkonnen, clad in dark leathers, silver embroidery like pauldrons over his shoulders. the mass of his uncle hovers above him, a hovering beast eager for power. two meaty hands encompass his face - absolute disgust coils in your chest as you watch vladimir harkonnen kiss his nephew. he kisses back. a show of dominance.

the soldiers howl his name, earth trembling under the clamour. they salute, arms crossed over their heads, a living, breathing organism, synchronicity at its peak.

arrakis has a new ruler.

a hand clasps over your wrist, drags you away from the adoring masses, in the sweet darkness of the palace’s hallways. you’re pinned against the wall, and feyd-rautha looms before you, terrible hunger burning in his eyes. slowly, he lifts your veils, high enough to bare your mouth to him.

“my lord-”

you’re cut off by his lips on yours, eager, desperate, savouring you like fine arrakean spice-wine.

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

he nips at your ear, grin sharper than his blade as he sinks to his knees. slowly, intimately, a shadow curling at his mistress’ feet. he unravels you, nails raking up your thighs, liquid desire burning in their path.

“eyes on me.”

your eyes snap open. oh, he’ll be the death of you, with the way his eyes freeze you in place, willing, begging for his touch. you shiver, a low, needy sound escaping you.

he grins, a flash of black teeth against the liquid darkness of your robes. shadows will swallow you whole - he will swallow you whole. already is, with the way he trails kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking in the meat of it until blood drips on your skin.

he’s lapping at it, hands wrapping around your leg, spreading you apart inch by precious inch until he fits the broad expanse of his shoulders in the space he’s carved for himself. he raises his head, leans his cheek against your thigh, nuzzling in its softness. there’s blood coating his lips, sweet like forbidden fruit, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

“exquisite,” he purrs, nail digging in the blossoming mark he’s left, until your hips seek his touch.

he puts his mouth to you. you bite your lip, hard, as you feel him tease you, tongue lapping at you like sweet pomegranate, skilled fingers coaxing pleas for more. the cold of his silver ring has you keening - you're melting against him.

it’s obscene, how the only sounds you can hear are the pleased moans of your lover, the squelching of your juices dripping down his face, his wrist. it’s too much, too fast - your nails dig into his nape, bringing him closer. fucker’s purring, hands digging in your hips. he’s making a feast out of you, and you’ve never seen prettier sight.

feyd-rautha, kneeling at your feet, a pretty, pretty blush dusting his cheeks, his soft mouth on your cunt, ruining you as he denies himself sweet release.

“feyd-”

a jolt - he’s just nipped your clit, and you’re falling apart with his name on your tongue, burning, melting in the pits of desire. you grow boneless, faltering on unsteady legs. he pulls you to him before you can fall, kissing you, moulding his devouring mouth to yours.

distantly, you register that he’s breathless, that he’s pressing you against him, that you can feel the dampness at the front of his pants.

his voice is a low, needy rasp.

“you taste divine, my dear.”

there’s a commotion. someone, somewhere, is calling. a servant. a feast is prepared. blasphemy - the baron is a beast, and he will not have his nephew leave without obscene amounts of food. good. it leaves room for you to plan - you’re running out of precious, precious time. there are too many variables for you to act alone, yet you are.

you’re sitting at feyd-rautha’s side at a banquet table. on you watch, a mockery of a bene gesserit, nails digging in your palm. there’s a knife before you, of course. the baron’s sitting at the head of the table, stuffing himself until he’s about to burst.

repulsive.

you could do it now. put an end to the harkonnen, avenge your family. plunge that knife in the baron’s throat and watch him die like an animal.

but revenge is best served cold. you remember princess irulan being seated in front of you. you remember the emperor at the head of the table. you remember his knife slicing through unknown poultry. a falcon. he’s doomed your family to death.

the emperor is old. paranoid. anybody would’ve seen that the atreides were far too loyal to even consider rebelling against him, rising influence or not. someone convinced him otherwise. the truthsayer, reverend mother gaius helen moriam.

you take a bite of your own meal and find it tasting like ash. the only dish you yearn for is revenge.

you want the baron dead. you want the emperor stripped of his power. you want to watch the split second of horrified realisation on the reverend mother's face.

you want them to burn, and burn they will.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @moonsoulk @alexandrainlove @saturnhas82moons @coureurs-de-bois9 @kamcrazy123 @beebeechaos @avidreader73 @yzuposts @jaiuneamesolitaiire

#obticeo writes #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #bald freak supremacy #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha x you #dune smut #austin butler smut

717 notes · View notes

cleo-fox · 1 year ago

Text

Conquer

Part 2 of 5

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: The king intends to take a bride. You just never thought it would be you. (Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Chapter Summary: It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Chapter Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, edging, teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, orgasm delay, semi-public sex, light Dom/sub. (see series masterlist for series warnings)

A/N: I realize that the GIF I'm using for this chapter is TVA!Loki, but the attitude is very much in keeping with this chapter, so I decided to forgo accuracy in favor of thirst. Also, you may be thinking "Part 2 of 5? I thought this was going to be 3 chapters!" Me too. Welcome to what it's like being in my brain: even I don't know what's going on here.

The wedding night isn’t the end of the sex, of course.

The immediate, sharp need for your first coupling is gone, but there’s a dull and persistent ache that keeps you coming back to his bed every night (and several times during the day). Loki is equally ravenous, if not more so.

While you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re going to fuck him, you still don’t like being the one to initiate sex. It sounds silly, but it feels like admitting to a vulnerability that you’re not prepared to acknowledge, let alone act on.

The problem is that your sex drive has skyrocketed since the wedding.

You’ve heard about this happening—the saying soulbonds are meant to be consummated, but some are more thorough than others didn’t come out of nowhere. You just didn’t think it would be a problem for you, especially once you found out who your soulmate was.

You were wrong about this, of course—you are constantly horny. Your mind is a cineplex of perversion, constantly playing memories of the times that he has fucked you, ways he might fuck you next, his hands, his lips, his tongue, his annoyingly perfect cock. It makes you want to run your brain through the washing machine, like a couple of Tide pods and an extra rinse cycle might fix this.

But the part that drives you crazy is that he always seems to know when you’re in these moods and he always manages to claim the upper hand. It is—like so many things with Loki—profoundly irritating.

It’s all physical—your conversations are limited to the mundane or the utterly filthy. It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.

You can feel his gaze caressing your body as you walk down the stairs to meet him. Your dress is gold and glittery, and hugs your curves while the slit sneaks just high enough that you know the fashion blogs will call it daring. You keep your eyes on your feet and your hand on the railing as you navigate the stairs in your heels. Normally, Loki would comment on that—something about how you needed proper education in comportment, you were a queen, queens don’t stare at their feet, people expected elegance, blah, blah, blah. Tonight, though, he’s silent as he takes you in, which you know means that he’s particularly enchanted by how you look. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to feel sexy and confident, to enjoy the fact that the most powerful man on the planet has been rendered speechless by how you look.

Are you ridiculously horny? Sure, but you’ve got it under control. You can hold out for an evening and you’re pretty sure Loki hasn’t figured it out. If he had, he almost certainly would have said something inappropriate when he offered you his arm. He’s probably going to be distracted by the gala anyway. Why had you ever doubted yourself?

When the two of you get into the limo, you remember why.

The moment the door shuts behind you, Loki is pulling you close, his hands cupping your breasts and then sliding down to your thighs while his lips latch on to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as though his intentions are in any way unclear.

“You need to come. I can smell you.” He’s hiking up the fabric of your dress.

Well. So much for him not noticing.

Your cunt clenches. “We’re in public.”

“Those windows are tinted and the partition is up.” His breath is warm on your neck as the fabric of your dress pools around your waist.

“I can still wait.”

“Oh, I don’t think you can.” His fingers slip between your legs (when did you spread your legs for him?), gently grazing the gusset of your underwear, which you know is embarrassingly wet. “Soaked already,” he breathes, rubbing your clit through the thin fabric. “You need to come.”

“I-I c-can—I can wait until—oh fuck.”

He pushes the fabric of your underwear aside and lightly teases your clit with the tip of his finger.

“You can’t,” he rasps, lightly nipping at your earlobe. “You’re such a greedy, needy little thing. Your cunt is insatiable.”

He presses his first three fingers together and rubs your clit in a big, broad circle that makes your back arch.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your hands flexing against the seat. “Fuck, just like that.”

“I thought you said you could wait?” he says with that mocking lilt to his voice, the one that makes you simultaneously want to punch him in the face and also ride him hard and fast and a little rough.

“Shut up,” you grit out.

He laughs low in your ear. “Oh, you don’t mean that, I know you love it when I talk you through it.”

You hate that he’s right.

“You love hearing about how tight and wet you are, how hard I am for you.” He drops his voice lower. “How hard I’m going to fuck you.”

You can’t help the quiet moan that falls from your lips.

“Yes, you love it when I talk to you like this,” he purrs. “And I love hearing what an utterly filthy, wicked girl you are.”

You whimper, despite your best efforts to keep quiet.

“Oh, I like that little noise,” he says, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Let me hear you.”

“I hate you so much.”

You’ve said this to him before and like all the other times, he simply laughs. “Hate me all you like, darling, but you and I both know that you love what I do to you.”

You bite your lip and try to focus on the pleasure that’s rising in your hips.

“Has anyone ever made you come as hard as I do?” he muses, like he’s just making casual conversation. “From the way that you scream and beg for it, I imagine that there haven’t been very many that were capable. Your cunt has quite clearly been neglected.”

You’re going to ignore what he’s saying. That’s what you’re going to do. There’s no reason to listen to any of what he’s saying.

“The truth is that you need me, don’t you?” he says, nipping at your ear. “You need me because I know exactly what to do to sate your needy little cunt. I know exactly how to make you scream.”

You hate how close you are, hate how the impending rush of your orgasm has basically rendered you speechless, save for a few incoherent whimpers.

He brings his lips close to your ear, lowering his voice to a growl. “What would those pitiful Midgardians say if they knew their queen was such a needy little slut?”

Instead of delivering a stern rebuke, you come hard. Incredibly hard—it is arguably one of the most intense orgasms he’s given you yet, blazing through your body with a ferocity that leaves you shaking in its wake.

And he notices.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he purrs as he rubs you through the aftershocks. “I felt how hard you came, how utterly desperate you are for me to fuck you.”

“Loki, please,” you breathe.

He tugs at your underwear. “Take this off.”

Your first instinct is to challenge him, but the fabric is now uncomfortably damp and you desperately need him to fuck you, so you lift your hips and slide your underwear down and off your legs without any complaint. He takes it from you and sticks it in his pocket.

You expect to hear the clink of his belt buckle followed by his silky smooth voice ordering you to sink down on his unfairly perfect cock. Even though you’ve just come, you want more. You always do with him.

(You decide not to think too much about that last part).

Instead, though, he smooths his hair and settles back into his seat, looking out the window. After a moment, you clear your throat expectantly.

He glances at you, utterly casual. “What is it?”

Your eyes narrow. He’s playing dumb and you both know it.

“You made me take off my underwear,” you say, biting back a sharper reply.

“I did.”

“So…fuck me.”

He gives an amused little chuckle that makes your palm itch to slap him. “Darling, we’re in public, that would be unseemly.”

You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself. “You’re full of it.”

His gaze turns smoldering and stern. “And if you want to be full of my cock later tonight, you’ll change your attitude.”

You’re not sure if it’s the absence of underwear that makes you feel more aroused than usual or if he’s awakened some latent perversion you were previously unaware of. Possibly, it’s both.

Your breath hitches and he smiles like he knows he has the upper hand.

“Do you want that?” he says. “Do you want me to fill your tight little cunt with my big cock?”

You’re so far gone that you find yourself nodding before the thought of being contrary can even cross your mind.

“Well, then,” he says, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his tuxedo jacket, “you’re going to have to earn it.”

You huff out an irritated sigh and yank the skirt of your dress back down. “You’re an ass,” you say with a scowl.

“And you’re going to do exactly as I tell you or you won’t be coming at all.”

You stare at him, lips parted in the start of a complaint.

“And however much your pretty cunt is aching right now, I imagine it will be twice as worse tomorrow with no release,” he says. “If I’m feeling generous, of course. I could always make you wait longer.”

You close your mouth, biting back the urge to scowl.

He smirks. “That’s my good girl.”

Your cunt throbs. By the end of the night, your thighs will surely be sticky with your own arousal.

“This is unfair,” you grumble, crossing your arms and sitting back in your seat.

“Behave,” he says as you approach a rather impressive set of gates. “We’re almost there.”

A flick of his wrist sends seidr racing along your skin, smoothing your hair, straightening your dress, and fixing the smudge of lipstick at the corner of your mouth.

Your underwear remains in his pocket.

You have a feeling it’s going to be a long evening.

The Minister for Finance is giving a presentation. You’re not entirely sure that you would have been able to follow it under normal circumstances, but certainly not with Loki’s hand up your dress.

The two of you are seated at your own table—it’s one of the more stupid formalities he insists on, though you suppose it’s advantageous in this instance. His actions are obscured by the table and tablecloth and probably a little magic, but your heart is still racing with the thrill of it. His movements have been slow and deliberate, and the result is that he’s effectively been edging you for the duration of this forty-five minute presentation.

It feels incredible; it’s agony. You love it; you hate it.

“You’re being a very good girl,” Loki murmurs to you at one point and that alone nearly sends you over the edge.

“You’re a jackass,” you whisper back to him.

He chuckles. “If you want me to let you come once we get home, I’d suggest changing your tone, my love.”

You resist the urge to scowl, but only barely. “You made me come in the limo over here because you said I couldn’t wait,” you point out. “What happened to that philosophy?”

“It was supplanted by a desire to see what happens when I tease you for several hours.” A wicked smile curls at his lips. “Besides, I love how tight and desperate your cunt feels when I make you beg for me.”

You always come hardest when he makes you beg for him. You’d never admit it, though.

“I’d think you’d be more concerned about getting caught,” you say. “What do you think that would do to your image?”

“Oh, I think it would do wonders for my image,” he says. “Attentively tending to my wife’s needs despite potential social embarrassment? It’s rather feminist of me, don’t you think?”

“Okay, first of all, that is not what femini—” Your voice cuts out as he rolls his finger in a particularly devastating circle.

“What was that, my love?” he asks, voice thick with faux concern, his true intent easily betrayed by his shit eating grin. “You seem distracted.”

You’re not entirely sure if you’re tensing your muscles in anticipation of an orgasm or in an effort to stave it off. “You’re awful.”

His voice drops. “But I’m making you feel so very good, aren’t I?”

You take a deep breath, trying to soothe the tightening knot in your belly, even as your body is begging you to rush toward it.

“Aren’t I?” His tone turns stern and you hear the implied order loud and clear.

“Yes,” you bite out.

“Yes what?”

You swallow. You’re starting to get close, closer than he’s let you get so far. “Yes, you’re making me feel good.”

He smirks. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?”

You nod, taking another deep breath through your nose. Keep it together.

“I could let you come,” he muses. “Everyone’s watching the presentation. You could be quiet, couldn’t you?” His pace increases just slightly, enough for you to start to feel the tempting, shimmery tendrils of release. “Do you want that, lovely?”

It’s not a good idea, but you nod anyway.

“I had no idea you were so filthy.” His fingers are massaging your clit more firmly and you bite back a gasp because you know it won’t be long. You’re trying to keep a straight face, but you’re struggling. You are so deliciously close.

“Are you going to come for me?” he asks quietly. He knows the answer.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

But just as you’re about to start to tip over the edge, Loki’s hand retreats and the building pressure in your hips diminishes back to that steady, throbbing ache just as the Minister for Finance concludes his presentation.

Loki is smirking like he expected this. “Ah. Unfortunate timing.”

You may kill him.

“You did that on purpose, you ass,” you hiss at him.

“Oh, you’ll thank me for it later,” he says, his voice dropping low.

You scowl at him, though you suspect he’s probably right.

You get a slight reprieve during dinner, but only in the sense that Loki’s hand is no longer up your dress. Your aching arousal remains, coating the inside of your thighs. Your heartbeat seems to be pulsing in your clit, the muscles of your cunt aching as they clench repeatedly around nothing.

While his hand is no longer up your dress, Loki continues to be as unhelpful as possible.

“Shall I let you unravel on my tongue?” he murmurs to you during the main course. “Or do you need my cock first?”

“I think you need to stop talking,” you say as evenly as you can muster.

“Whatever for?” he asks with the sort of feigned innocence that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Surely you’re not concerned that I’m going to make you come simply by telling you what I want to do to you.”

You take a slow sip of your water.

“Or perhaps that idea appeals to you?” he asks, dropping his voice even lower. “Do you want me to make you come in front of all of these people?”

There’s something about the idea that’s admittedly appealing in a taboo sort of way, though you aren’t quite sure you actually want to pursue it or if you’re just so desperate that even objectively bad ideas sound good.

“Truly, I doubt you could keep quiet,” he says. “You and I both know how much you like to scream for me and I’ve been teasing you for what, three hours now? But perhaps that’s what you want. You were about to come for me earlier. Perhaps you want them all to know what a needy little sl—ah, Stefan! So good to see you again.”

Loki has seamlessly directed his attention to the Swedish official who has approached your table. His ability to be charming and personable is irritating, particularly when he’s often been uttering absolute filth to you mere seconds before. Meanwhile, your brain has completely short circuited—your thoughts stopped being anywhere near coherent when he started touching you under the table during that presentation and your cunt is pulsing. You manage a polite smile and a pleasantly vague expression that you hope hides the fact that all you can think about is Loki throwing you down on the table and fucking you until you can’t walk straight and you’ve screamed yourself hoarse.

“You conducted yourself quite well,” Loki says softly once the man leaves. “I’d never have guessed that you’re hiding such a needy, sloppy cunt under that dress.”

You take a deep breath. “What’s to stop me from slipping off somewhere and taking care of things myself?”

His eyes flash a little dangerously and you hate how much it thrills you. “If you do that, I’ll see to it that you don’t come for a week. At least.”

You are irritated with him, certainly, but you are far more irritated with yourself for being even remotely aroused by his words.

“You’re insufferable,” you hiss instead.

Loki smirks and leans in to whisper in your ear. “We’ll see how you feel a few hours from now when I’m buried in your tight cunt.” His breath ghosts over your ear and it takes everything in you not to shiver. “I suspect I’ll find you much more agreeable. You always are when you need to be fucked.” His voice drops even lower. “And I know how much you need it.”

Your legs are shaking and you wonder how you’re going to make it through the rest of the evening.

You almost come during the concert.

It was probably easier for them to set up the orchestra on the same stage as the presentation, but it means that you’re still sitting at the same table as before, which gives Loki more than enough cover to continue touching you. His hand is creeping back up your dress before the oboe even plays the tuning note and while he’s still going slowly, it’s been four and a half hours and your body is aching for release in a way you have rarely felt.

His fingertip skates across your clit just a little too quickly and firmly and suddenly, you’re poised right on the edge. One more stroke of his fingers, just one more slight movement and you’ll come.

It’s a split second decision, so quick you can scarcely think twice about it. You desperately want to come, but even though you almost let it happen earlier, you know that a stifled public orgasm isn’t really what you want. You want him to hear you scream—you don’t want to hold back.

And you want to be good for him. You want him to reward you for being good, you want to be his good girl—

You shake your head to dismiss that thought and grab his wrist in a silent warning. Quickly, he moves his hand away, sliding it to your knee. Your cunt shudders and aches, the pulsing throb of your arousal even stronger than before.

He brushes his lips against your ear. “Oh, very good, darling. You’ll be rewarded for that.”

“You could reward me now and take me home,” you say pointedly, though it would probably be more effective if your voice wasn’t so shaky.

He chuckles, draping his arm around your shoulders. Every so often, you’ve seen a candid photo of the two of you in People or one of the other celebrity magazines and you’re always taken aback by how normal you look. You imagine that it would be the same if someone were to take a photo right now—you’d look like just another couple cuddling and canoodling instead of…whatever it is you actually are. Soulmates who hate each other but fuck like it’s their job and the rent is due? There’s no easy way to classify your relationship, which you suppose is for the best: this is not the sort of thing that should be common enough to have its own word.

“We still have quite a bit to go.” He brings his index finger—the same one that had just been up your dress—up to his lips and closes his eyes like he’s tasting something divine. “Norns, I can taste how desperate you are.”

You cross your legs in the hope that it will alleviate the pulsing ache between your thighs (it doesn’t). “You’re not helping.”

“Of course I’m not,” he says. “I told you, I want you begging for me by the end of the night.”

“How have I not already exceeded that threshold?”

He smirks. “I like to be thorough.”

Five minutes later, his hand is back between your thighs.

“Let’s try that again,” he murmurs. “Do you think you’ll be able to resist a second time?”

Somehow, you do—and two more times after that. By the end of the concert, your heart is pounding, your legs feel like rubber, your cunt is dripping, and you’d easily sell your soul for an orgasm.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” says Loki. He’s been full of praise and filthy promises and you can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

“Can we please go home?”

He chuckles. “Of course not, that would be rude.”

“I have a hard time believing you’re concerned about rudeness, considering where your hands have been this evening,” you say with a pointed look.

“You wound me.” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it grudgingly, your legs wobbling slightly. “Now. Come help me charm the Minister for Defense. I need him to be much more cooperative about sharing intelligence.”

The only good thing about schmoozing with Swedish officials is that Loki can’t have his hand up your dress while doing so. Even so, he still finds ways to be constantly touching you—a hand on your lower back, your elbow, your shoulder, your waist. These things shouldn’t be erotic, but he somehow manages to make them so. Every brush of his fingers against your bare skin is agony: you are burning for him.

You watch the clock tick through another hour and a half while trying not to let anyone on to the fact that you’re keen to leave. Time feels like it’s dragging—even when the event officially ends, it still takes another thirty-seven minutes for you to say your farewells and make your way out to the front where your limo is waiting.

Your legs are shaking as Loki helps you into the limo. He slides into the seat next to you and you find yourself leaning into him, unable to resist any longer.

The door shuts.

“Loki—” you start to say.

“When we get home,” he says promptly.

“You can’t possibly—”

“Oh, I can.” He pulls you into his lap. “I’ve been hard for you all evening,” he purrs in your ear, settling you so that the thick column of his cock presses hard against your ass. “Do you know how many times I nearly dragged you off to some empty room to take you up against the wall?” He brings his mouth down against your neck, teeth pressing against your skin just hard enough to almost hurt. You tilt your head to the side to give him better access, guiding his hands to your spread thighs.

“Do you know why I didn’t?” he murmurs against your skin.

“Because you make terrible choices?” you say before you can think it through.

His low laugh rumbles deliciously against your throat. “No.” His hands slip underneath the hem of your dress, fingertips skating along the tender skin of your inner thigh. Your hips roll forward almost unconsciously, your breath hitching.

“I didn’t because I know that you need to scream for me,” he says. “Just as much as I need to hear you.” His fingertip grazes your slit. “And you know that we can’t do that properly in the car.” His finger strokes your clit and you moan. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, tracing a slow circle over the sensitive skin. “I don’t think that I’ve ever made you this wet.”

“Loki—”

“I’m not giving you permission to come yet,” he murmurs, adding just a little more pressure. “I need you to be good for just a little longer.”

You let out a whine that you’re not at all proud of as he moves his hand away to gently massage your inner thighs. “Loki, please.”

“Be good.” His voice promises pleasure and punishment and everything in between and you feel drunk with desire.

“I’ve been so good,” you say, bringing his hand back to your cunt. “Please just let me come.”

“When we get home.”

“Just once. Please.”

He chuckles and brings his lips up to your ear. “You know that I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You know I always take care of your needy cunt. I always make you come. You just need to wait a little longer.”

“I need to come now.”

“Think about how good it’s going to feel if you wait just a little longer.”

“It would feel good now.”

“It will feel even better in our bed.” He rolls his fingers in a slow circle on your clit. “You know it will.”

You whimper, rolling your hips with his hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this desperate,” he says. “I’m rather partial to it.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you grumble.

“Oh, I’d advise you watch your tone, darling,” he says low in your ear, sliding a finger inside you, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit. “I don’t want to deny you, but I may have to if you keep being so pert.”

As if to make a point, he slides another finger inside of you and you find yourself once again on the edge. You grab his wrist, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to hold back the rising tide within you.

“Oh, good fucking girl,” he growls and the pride in his voice makes your cunt clench hard on his retreating fingers. “You want to come so badly, but you’re being so good waiting for my permission.”

“God, this had better be worth it,” you say as you wait for the pulsing ache between your thighs to recede.

“It will be,” he murmurs against your neck. “You know it will be.” He shifts you in his lap so you face him and guides your hand to his cock. “Do you feel how hard you’ve made me? I’m aching for you.”

You rub his shaft, working your way up to catch the tab of his zipper between your fingers. He looks at you, eyes hungry, a smirk curling at his lips.

Slowly, you pull down the zipper.

“Oh you wicked thing,” he purrs, a low groan escaping him as you wrap your hand around his shaft and slowly begin stroking him. He’s rock hard and throbbing, and your hand quickly grows slick with his precome.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his ear. “I want you to fuck me,” you say, flicking your tongue against his earlobe.

He chuckles. “Are you trying to flip the tables on me, darling?”

You’re a little miffed that he figured that out so quickly. “Would that be so bad if I was?”

He laughs again. “You’re adorable.” He slides a hand along your inner thigh and back under your dress. “But I think we both know who’s really in charge here.”

Even the possibility of his hand touching your cunt has your breath quickening and your hand faltering in its rhythm on his cock.

You’re not about to admit defeat, though.

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” you say, trying to keep the quaver out of your voice. You give his cock a few long, indulgent strokes. “We’re nearly there already. All I’d need to do is move a little closer.”

He chuckles, his hand sliding up to lightly tease your folds. “I would have made you warm my cock the whole ride back,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather, “but I don’t think you could have done it without coming. You’re too sensitive.”

Your lips part like you have something to say, but all rational thought and the entirety of the English language has fled your brain and even more arousal is pooling between your legs.

Loki smirks like he knows all of this and he briefly strokes you from your entrance to your clit before withdrawing. “Ah, we’re nearly home,” he says, moving your hand away and patting your thigh before tucking himself back into his trousers. “Let’s make ourselves presentable, shall we?”

You climb off his lap and straighten your dress, but don’t even bother trying to fix your hair or makeup. You stumble out of the car a minute later, hoping that you don’t look like you’ve spent the entire evening poised on the brink of orgasm.

Loki, of course, is annoyingly put together. He wraps an arm around your waist and leads you forward.

“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you when we get to our rooms,” he says under his breath as you make your way into the foyer.

“That had better be a promise,” you say.

“I thought we established that I’m the one who gives you orders—”

“We established nothing—”

One of his advisors—Sigurd, the same one who spoke to you in the hotel when he found you—is approaching Loki at a brisk clip.

“Your majesty—”

Loki barely takes his eyes off of you. “Later,” he says, waving a hand in Sigurd’s direction.

“Sire, it’s urgent.”

Your heart sinks. Loki stops and turns to Sigurd, eyes sharp, mouth pulled into a firm line. “It had better be.”

Despite the intensity of Loki’s expression, Sigurd looks unbothered and remarkably calm. “We received new intelligence on the matter you inquired about earlier, your majesty.”

Loki’s expression darkens and you realize with a sinking sensation that he has to go deal with whatever this is. “A moment,” he says to Sigurd before turning to you.

He lowers his voice so that only you can hear him. “Go to our rooms,” he murmurs. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You nod and he leans in, brushing his lips against your temple. “Be good for me.”

A thrill runs through you.

By the time you get back to your rooms, though, you’re a little annoyed. He’s been teasing you for hours and when you finally get home, he suddenly has another work thing?

It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating.

Though admittedly, he did look pretty surprised and annoyed by Sigurd’s sudden appearance. It’s probably not fair to blame him for that.

Probably.

You take your time getting undressed, mainly in the hope that it will somehow hasten his return or trick you into thinking time is passing quickly. Not that you’re looking forward to him returning for any reason other than sex. You still hate him—you just really need him to fuck you. That’s all it is.

You hesitate for a long time over the collection of silk nightgowns in your wardrobe. Should you put something on? Should you just wait naked on the bed? A silky green number catches your eye. He’d probably like that. He’s pretty predictable when it comes to that sort of thing—put on his colors and he goes feral. With any luck you won’t be wearing it for very long, but you might as well do what you can to facilitate that outcome.

You contemplate underwear and decide there’s little point, given that tonight’s set is still tucked into his pocket.

You situate yourself in the middle of your bed and try not to think about your throbbing cunt. It would be so easy to get yourself off, but you know that it won’t be as good.

You need him.

You try to ignore the thought. It’s just physical. That’s all it is. You’re on edge from being teased all evening. It doesn’t mean anything.

You wait.

It’s late when you finally hear the door click open, followed by the tap of his dress shoes on the floor.

You sit up in bed, your eyes roving greedily over him. His suit jacket is gone and his tie is draped around his neck, shirtsleeves rolled up. You are loath to admit it, but it’s incredibly hot.

Before you can even get any words out, he’s striding across the room, eyes hungrier than you’ve ever seen them. His clothes disappear the second he hits the bed, followed swiftly by your nightgown. Seconds later, he’s on top of you, mouth seeking yours, cock pressing insistently against your stomach. Your hands are just as greedy, skimming up his back and combing through his hair.

“Have you been good for me?” he murmurs as he nudges your thighs apart.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?” he asks, his voice stern.

“No,” you say.

He knows you’re not lying and the hungry smile he gives you almost makes it all feel worth it. “Good girl,” he growls. “Do you want me to fuck you now?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he drags his cock through your slickness. “Please.”

He chuckles as he lines himself up at your entrance. “I know, darling, I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Your cunt is so slick and sensitive from his hours of teasing that just the act of him sliding inside of you feels like you’ve reached your own personal nirvana.

“Oh, fuck.” Your voice comes out in a whimper and your legs tighten around his waist to hold him in place because he feels so overwhelmingly good.

Loki lets out a low groan as he eases inside you, catching his lower lip between his teeth as his brow furrows. “Perfect.” He leans in to kiss you as he starts to move. His first thrust is slow but even so, it draws a whimper from your throat. He’s always felt good, but this is transcendent.

“Oh god, please don’t stop,” you gasp.

“I won’t, my love.” His voice is tender as he moves with an aching, slow precision. “Not until you’ve had your fill.”

For the first time this evening, you let down your guard. Every time he’s touched you tonight—even before the gala in the limo—you’ve had to hold back to some degree. You haven’t been able to give into it, to let yourself be completely unbound and unguarded. But now when he’s moving inside of you, you have the freedom to just be and feel and it’s exquisite. Every thrust of his hips, every reverent caress of his hands, every sigh or groan is an opportunity to discover a new kind of heaven.

“You were magnificent tonight,” he murmurs, sliding his hand between your bodies to rub your clit. “Even with my fingers playing with your pretty cunt under the table, you looked every inch a queen. My queen.”

He’s never talked to you like this before and it makes your body sing. You arch, rolling your hips with him as the building wave inside you rises impossibly high, as though every orgasm you almost had this evening is starting to arrive all at once. The tension in your hips is equally fantastic and unbearable, a supernova of sensation that may destroy and remake you all at once.

“Filthy girl, I can tell you’re getting close,” he purrs, tilting his hips so he hits the spot that makes you tremble. “You act so prim and proper in public, but it takes so very little to turn you into my perfect little slut when I get you alone.”

You are approaching the peak, the whirling center of the storm building inside you. “Loki—please, I can’t, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, darling. Soak my cock like a good girl.”

You always come the hardest when he’s inside you and this is no exception. The pressure in your hips is suddenly and spectacularly ablaze with a shimmering euphoria that draws a raw and primal moan deep from inside your chest. You are a fountain of sparks, all the tension and desire of the evening finally reaching its apex. You have yearned for this all night and the resulting blaze is spectacular.

His pace is still slow, but Loki’s eyes are wild and you get the sense that his composure is hanging by a thread. Though his eyes occasionally flutter shut as your cunt convulses around him, his gaze is locked on you in a kind of wonder.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel when you come on my cock?” he rasps.

Even in the throes of utter bliss, you need to hear his voice. “Tell me.”

“I would create entire worlds and walk through the fires of their destruction just to feel you come.”

You shudder out a sigh. “More.”

He picks up his pace just slightly. “I would flatten mountains and raise valleys and reverse the currents.”

“More.”

He’s hitting that aching spot inside you again and the rolling tremors of the aftershocks are starting to coalesce into another building wave. You moan and his hand moves back to your clit, slick fingers pressing and rolling in just the way you need.

His eyes shine, bright with lust as his hips and fingers work diligently to unravel you again. “I would take down the stars and bring the heavens to the earth…”

His words are making you dizzy and his movements are coaxing the pressure inside of you into a cyclone that you know is going to take you down.

“Loki, please.” These are the only words you know because your entire world is him moving inside of you, inevitable as the sunrise, the architect of the heavenly destruction and renewal that is building and building in your hips.

He shifts so his weight is entirely on his elbows, bringing his lips up against your ear so you don’t miss a single word. “I would lay my crown at your feet and forsake my name…just to feel you come on my cock.”

The coil in your hips snaps and unfurls into a starry, sparkling oblivion that has you crying out his name over and over like he’s your ending and beginning, the center of your universe. Your eyes are shut against the onslaught of intense sensation, but you can feel him reaching the blissful height he’d been speaking of. He groans and slurs out a few incoherent oaths before succumbing to you and filling your pulsing cunt with his hot release.

His mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you like he means it as he slows to a halt. You lie together for a long moment, hearts beating wildly against each other.

This felt different than other times. There was an intensity there that had nothing to do with the sex. You don’t know what that means, other than it’s definitely not any kind of feelings for him. It must be something else. You’re certain it’s something else.

“I didn’t realize I’d be called away upon our return.”

You’re so distracted by your thoughts that the sound of his voice startles you slightly.

“Oh, um, yeah, I figured…it seemed unexpected,” you say.

He lifts his head to look at you, green eyes intent. “Trust that there are very few things that could have pulled me away from you in that moment.”

He’s being sincere. It’s not what you expect and that scares you a little, though you can’t quite articulate why. The idea that he would care whether you thought he’d intentionally extended your wait hadn’t even occurred to you. You don’t really know this side of him.

“So, it wasn’t like…making a proclamation designating June National Peanut Butter Month.” You know you’re deflecting, but you don’t know what else to do.

He frowns. “That can’t possibly be a real thing.”

You shrug. “It might be. Lots of governments do stuff like that. Maybe you should consider it.”

His smile is slight, but brief as he stretches and slowly eases out of you. “I will leave that to others.”

There’s a beat of quiet and you suddenly find yourself desperate to fill the silence. “What did they need to talk to you about?”

He looks at you sharply and you wonder if this was the wrong thing to say. Loath as you are to admit it, this conversation has fostered a flicker of warmth between you, a fact you only notice now because of its sudden absence.

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he says as he rolls off of you. It’s not unkind, but it’s also not warm, and the discussion is clearly closed.

Part of you mourns the loss of that little spark of closeness, but a larger, louder part is intent on pretending it never existed in the first place.

“Suit yourself.”

You’re annoyed and you roll off the bed and go about your evening routine with a little more clattering and stomping than is strictly necessary. There’s a lump in your throat that you don’t understand and you’re full of feelings you can’t define. You eventually settle on the bed with your back facing him, glaring at the wall like he can see you.

But then he reaches for you in the darkness, his arms winding around your waist, nose nuzzling against the nape of your neck as he pulls you to his chest. And instead of reading him the riot act, you let him hold you and let yourself relax into his embrace, fingers twining around his. You sleep better like this, you tell yourself. That’s the only reason you’re allowing it. It’s nothing to do with him.

You’ve told yourself that every night since your wedding and every night, it gets a little more difficult to believe.

Next chapter

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson smut #loki x female reader smut #loki fanfiction #conquer

685 notes · View notes

pricetagged · 7 months ago

Text

The usual from me, I'm afraid. I'm back at my nonsense, typing up wife-hunter John while I take a break from tidying my apartment (: Here's part iii! (there will be more reader/john in part iv )

Masterlist l Previous

Content: More stalking, manipulation, voyeurism & marital sabotage. John's a bad man and I want him viscerally <3

----------------------

It tears at him, rends flesh from bone with sharp little teeth. Corrugated. Rusty. It poisons his bloodstream, boils blood to madness and burns to feverish pitch.

It's a trap of his own design, and he just had to poke at it. He set it up, jaw wrenched wide and trigger taut and, god, he had to touch it. Had to feel the bruising pleasure bloom then give to something sharper. Sweeter.

In his more reflective moments he wonders if setting up the cameras was a good idea. He's a possessive old bastard and he's torn; not because of any hand-wringing morals, no. No, but rather that he's left himself licking along the knife's edge, close enough for it to cut if he presses hard. He can touch it. It's in his grasp, but he's not fully confident that he's the only one wielding it.

There are too many variables still.

And it's left him here, testing the pressure of the razor-sharp rim and wanting to dig deeper. (He fisted at himself harder than usual that night, flesh aching and engorged and throbbing as the cold metal of your wedding ring bit at the veins and ridges of his length).

The screen is his most hated ally. Pixels and light; the blue sheen. The static blur that raises the hair on his arms as he caresses your image. It's the sweetest torture, watching you boxed in by the four corners of a machine. Gazing on only the impression of you, shadowy and reflective, pacing the monitor. It's peiskos, but wrong. He has you in his home, but can only see and touch you in artificial impotence. It drives him wild, makes his throat ache and his head hot watching you, but not knowing how you taste.

That's not him, he thinks, having something that he can't fully possess. Even the bottle of 1926 Macallan locked in his cellaret has been cracked open, rolled around the palate and savoured before returned to the shelf. Locked safe behind glass, yes, but within reach.

He has to see you again. The trap is tightening, and isn't it funny that it's caught him too?

(His hand moved faster, pleasure simmering as he watched your wide eyes turn glossy and your voice grow thick. 'I don't know where it went! It must have fallen off in the garden, I swear!' Even being unable to taste it, to lick at your tears and feel you tremble-

-it had him tensing his thighs, body clenching in anger and heat as he listened to your apologies. As he listened to your pathetic, half-hearted moans. The way you gave in so sweetly, so eager to please and make good. Your husband's disgusting, breathy grunting. Weak. Unsatisfying-

-But it had his palm tightening around the tacky, swollen flesh at his tip. Slit leaking as the rage boiled his blood and sent it south in a paroxysm of rapture).

He sees Buck before he sees you. It's a necessary evil. No, that's not quite right. It's inevitable; it's reasonable. He needs to lay the bait, shuffle the leaves over it and let nature take its course.

It's a classic pub. A real boozer, where the floor is always slickly sticky and the walls are a cheery, tobacco-stained yellow. The kind of place that serves only pork scratchings and pints.

Your husband didn't expect to see him there. Fox in the henhouse, only he's too stupid to realise that he's the bird.

"System is running well, mate! Thanks. This round's on me," he claps at John's shoulder and does admirably well at hiding his nerves.

It has him smiling into the pint glass, schadenfreude as your husband subtly stretches his aching palm and paints on a wary smile.

(Foot hovering just above the spring; steel teeth ready to -)

"You here alone?" John sips at his drink, eyes scanning the dingy room until - yes, there in the corner he sees a familiar Union Jack cap. Good lad.

"No, no. My mates have just left. Like to linger, you know, for the company," he sends a wink to some pretty thing nursing a G&T by the window.

"Not enough company at home?" he tries to make it light, hoping that the gravel in his tone could be mistaken for interest. And it is, really, if prey drive could count as mere 'interest'.

Buck scoffs, rolling his eyes in a way that looks a lot like rolling belly-up. 'Tell me I'm a real man, look at me! I've got the pick of the flock'. "You know how it is. Gets boring, fishing in the same hole all the time, eh?"

"I wouldn't know," he hums, eyebrows drawn low in faux-consideration. Meets him dead in the eye, lets the mask drop for a just a second. Let's the words come out flat and dangerous. "I've never had a problem reeling in what I want."

The words linger, settling heavy and awkward in a way that has him licking his teeth. Tension so thick he can chew it, feel the fat and gristle rend under the strength of his jaw. It's heady watching the way your husband flounders, not sure how to react until the pack leader backs up and loosens the canines at his nape. Lets him breathe. It's a joke, really. Go on. Laugh. And he follows suit so easily. It's almost boring, he thinks, with eyes cold and muscles frozen under his fake smile as he watches the man chuckle.

"You've gotta stay, Price, that's a good one. One more drink, c'mon." Funny. He thinks that it's his right to give orders. He thinks that John's staying at his command.

John taps twice at the foamy rim of the glass. Catches his sergeant's eye from across the room. "Sure, why not."

It's time.

It's masterful, really, how well Gaz slips over. Greets Buck like an old friend. Drops hints and in-jokes that have the man chuckling along as his eyes flit about with confusion.

"Can't believe I've run into you, here. I thought I'd seen the last of you when you moved house, what, a year ago?" Kyle slides into the barstool on the left. Boxes him in, piggy in the middle. "Still with that finance company?"

"Yeah, yeah it's been a while," he trails off. Too proud to admit that he doesn't know Gaz. Has never met the man. John can feel the way his eyes keep flicking towards the side of his face. Needy. Histrionic.

"You lads catch up, have fun. I'm away for the night," he sets the empty glass at the bar with a soft thud. Makes a show of introducing himself to Gaz and waving the two of them off.

In the cool air of the smoking area he has a moment of fika. Cars roll by on a distant road. The muffled sound of laughter and murmuring filters through frosted pub windows. The rich, heavy smoke of his cigar swirls around and around until he's closing his eyes in the haze. It's slow, calming, and he takes a moment just to appreciate the hand that he's about to play.

He thumbs over the smudged screen of your husband's phone. Only 2 missed calls and 1 text.

>>Sorry to go on at you, but you said you were finishing work at 5 today. It's nearly 8 now. Can you at least let me know where you are? We were going to start that series tonight and I've been getting worried waiting for you :/

Poor, sweet thing. Polite, too. All love and care wasted on the pathetic, juvenile lump slumped over the bar right now.

(It whets his appetite, seeing how well-trained you are. How you toe the line, defer to the farcical rules set out for you in your relationship. 'Stay at home. Don't blow up my phone.'

Would you come to heel for him? If a weak, useless hand could shape you so well, what could a strong one do?)

<< Sorry, baby. I goty caugtht up at the pub w some friends. HAd a few drInks. Cmome and get me? [LOCATION SHARED]

He flicks the stub of the cigar away as he pockets the phone.

Curtains up; show about to begin.

He settles into his seat, a well-worn booth. Threadbare, stained upholstery and faded coasters. It's shadowy here, tucked away in the corner but offering a perfect line of sight to the door. And right by that very door is Gaz, your husband, and the pretty thing from earlier.

The bell jingles; wind whistles in.

Gaz lets his grip slip, lets your husband slump in the seat until his head is resting against the neck of the woman he was chatting up. Fingers inching up her thighs as she laughs and flirts back.

"What..?" it's too noisy in here to hear you, but he's listened to your voice over and over. He knows just how your pitch is rising. The slight crack on the final consonant.

You stand, face screwed up as you try to make sense of the situation. But two plus two can only ever equal four, and your husband's hands up a skirt can only ever equal-

"Hi, gorgeous. Here to meet someone?" his sergeant grins up at you. Plays the charmer so well. "Got an empty seat with us, if you fancy it."

There's a little bitterness cutting at the furl of your lips. You're holding it in so well but, god, the words must burn, coming out like bile. "What, sure that I'm not interrupting something?"

"No, no. He said he's just having a little fun. Said he wants something warm before he goes home to his bitch wife," Gaz chuckles, leaning towards you like he wants to whisper a secret. "Bit sick of hearing his complaining, if I'm honest. Makes her sound like a right harpy. But you could take my mind off it."

"Not sure about that," he sees the way your chest hitches. Sees the sob that you swallow down as you steel your expression. "I am the 'bitch wife'."

And it's magnificent. Kyle's played his part so well; stuck to the script like he's performing at The Globe. An ad-lib here, an improvisation there. He hands you a napkin, rubs at your shoulder as he looms over the treacherous tableau he fashioned for an audience of two. You, and John. Ache and Hunger; betrayal and mastery. He maneuvers you, keeps you from causing a bigger scene as he hauls your husband by the scruff of his jacket. Choreographs the steps so that John can see every last microcosm on the universe of your face.

It's his set, his design. He's the architect, director, and audience all in one.

(And that foolish, stupid player of yours tugged at the lure. Found himself swinging, tied up in the string).

--------------------------

Ik reader wasn't really present here, but had to get the ball rolling (: Also I've been stressed and not sleeping so forgive me for this being a bit...

And yes. John stood there and put all the typos in that message on purpose. Unhinged.

#also u can decide whether or not buck was really ranting about his wife to gaz #but i imagined it as an elaboration on gaz's part because he's good at his job and has to make his captain proud (:#báirseach writes #captain john price #dark john price #john price/reader #john price x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw3 #cod mwii #cw stalking #cod x reader

288 notes · View notes

shonen-brainrot · 2 years ago

Text

Racer!Bakugo, who meticulously customizes his racing suit because winning races is as much about intimidation as it is about speed.

Racer!Bakugo, who approaches every race with a fierce determination, channeling his competitive spirit into strategic maneuvers and precise turns, never allowing anyone to question his position as the top racer.

Racer!Bakugo, who views each race as a battle, where the roar of engines replaces the clash of quirks, and the checkered flag becomes his victory banner.

Racer!Bakugo, who takes pride in his sleek, aerodynamic racing helmet adorned with his hero emblem, a symbol that strikes fear into the hearts of his competitors and lets them know they're facing the best.

Racer!Bakugo, who, despite his competitive edge, secretly enjoys the camaraderie of the racing community, sharing tips and challenges with fellow racers while always aiming to outshine them on the track.

Racer!Bakugo, whose fiery determination to win is only rivaled by his passion for perfecting the art of racing, constantly pushing the limits of both himself and his high-speed machine to set new records.

Racer!Bakugo, who, when not burning rubber on the track, spends his downtime meticulously maintaining and upgrading his racing vehicle, treating it like an extension of himself in his quest for dominance.

Racer!Bakugo, whose victories on the track are always followed by a triumphant celebration with you, his girlfriend.

Racer!Bakugo, whose post-race celebrations often involve impromptu sex with you. He thrusts forcefully into you doggy style, delivering a series of smacks to your ass while commending you on how well you're taking his cock.

Racer!Bakugo, who also takes great pleasure in eating your pretty pussy out while you lounge on the hood of his racing car, legs invitingly spread wide for him, and your heels digging into his back, driving him closer to your slit.

Racer!Bakugo, who never turns down a pre-race thrill, especially when it involves you giving him head in his racing car, your lips working wonders on his throbbing cock while he enjoys a cigarette, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted.

Racer!Bakugo, who is madly in love with you, his most devoted fan, and he frequently expresses gratitude to the heavens for the fortuitous day that brought you into his life.

#ru writes 🍬#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo fluff #mha smut #mha fluff #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo headcanons #mha headcanons

811 notes · View notes

dogo-argentino88 · 20 days ago

Text

Im addicted… to my roommates dog… Part 5 (Ff) (F/dog) (huge cock) (drool)

*this story is fictional and all characters are 18+ and everyone is consenting*

As I lay there on the couch Sophia inches from my dripping wet pussy, I couldn’t help but tell her the truth. “I couldn’t get him to fit, I was too scared.” I confessed and I reached down threading my fingers in her hair as I saw Magnum mount Sophia. His paws digging into her as his angry purple member fought for purchase. “I wanted him to fuck me, I wanted him to fill me up to the point I couldn’t take anymore but I couldn’t.” I said pushing her face roughly into my pussy lips. I moan ripping out of me and I felt her face. Her tongue dipping into my hole as I grind my clit against her nose. “I was too afraid, so I let him fuck my mouth.” I said as I watched Magnum’s thick dog cock find its hole and slam inside Sophia’s wet pussy. The sound it making telling me just how wet Sophia is. Wet was debatable though, I had no idea if Sophia was enjoying this, or if the liquid I saw was Magnums thick drool that lubricated all of her holes. I had her face shoved so hard in my slit I could barely hear her moans.

I watched as he hammered into Sophia’s pussy, moaning as he licked her back, and his paws dug into the beautifully tan skin of her sides. Dragging her face harder into my pussy, I let go. In that moment, Sophia wasn’t a lover, she wasn’t something to consider, she was our fuck toy. Solely for something to grind my pussy on, and a warm hole for Magnum to stuff. I used her face grinding my hips from her chin all the way up to her forehead, my pussy lips swallowing her face almost as beautiful as her pussy taking that dog knot over and over as it grew. Not being able to see exactly what I wanted from this angle I closed my eyes. Going back to the other night as I watched not one but two knotted cocks disappearing into her, stretching her so much. I screamed as my cum gushed out of me, all over Sophia’s face. Drenching her entirely and without missing a beat Sophia’s mouth latched onto my clit sucking had, ripping another squirt from my pussy that she drank happily.

The sound of Magnums huge balls slapping hard against her wet pussy was beautiful. Imagining his heavy balls slapping her clit with each thrust. Again refusing to deny my self one second of pleasure I pushed Sophia’s face through my slit once more and her body began shuddering as Magnums thrust became sporadic, a clear sign Sophia just finished and Magnum was close.

Sophia looked up at me, her face drenched in my pussy juice, from her hairline to the tiny drips off her chin. “He knotted, get up. Take off your shirt and lay on your back under the fuck machine.” She said and I obliged, exposing my double D breast and flabby stomach, excited about what was going to happen. The height was perfect, there was just enough room for my head to fit underneath the thrusting bar. Waiting patiently for Magnums cock to deflate long enough to pull out of Sophia’s pussy.

Finally I felt Sophia mount my chest. Her legs on either side of my head as her ass was backed up the machine, poor Magnum’s thick cock was pulled to the side still lodged inside his owner. “Get ready.” She said before reaching behind her to gently grab the huge knot of an eleven inch dog cock buried inside of her and pull it out. With a wince and a pop, a gush of dog cum came streaming out of her pussy directly onto my tits, before she could leak anymore she slammed herself back onto the dog cock dildo. The sudden fullness of her pussy making the dog cum squirt out of the ring of her stretch pussy and onto my face.

I sat there shocked for a moment, at the sight before me. The massive purple knot buried deep inside of her without moving. the dog cum slowly leaking drip from her abused hole onto my face. “Clean my pussy, and maybe I’ll let him breed you next.” Sophia says as she turned the thrusting on to long and deep. I am shocked for another moment before I realize that the cum is squirting out as the cock thrust inside. I quickly lick my lips, and set to cleaning her pussy and the surrounding dog cum leaking out on each thrust. Sophia’s moans fill the air, mixed with the slurping sounds of me drinking the dog cum from her stretched and used hole.

I feel a long wet sloppy tongue across my nipples, licking the cum that had leaked out originally from my tits. I moaned against Sophia’s pussy as I realized Magnum was licking his own cum off me. “I know you are not done with your dare but I have a truth for you Natalie. I want to see Magnums huge cock stretching this tight little pussy.” I felt her pushed three fingers into me, the intrusion making me moan. At that she slammed her pussy down on my face, grinding against me as the thick purple dog knot pushed in and out of her. I felt her shudder and some pussy juice leaked from around the knot. I happily lapped them up and I felt Sophia grab my legs pulling my ass up pushing something underneath my lower back. The object was hard and the position was uncomfortable, not understanding what was happening. It left me with only my upper back pushed against the floor, Sophia’s pussy that was still being fucked pinning me down by my face. A long wet tongue pulled through my slit and I shuddered as one lick from Magnums sloppy tongue made me shudder and my pussy clench on nothing.

“That’s it big boy, bring me your cock.” I heard Sophia say as I focused on a new batch of cum leaking from her pussy. Licking the edge of her hole once more. Picking my lips and sucking, trying to get every last drop of the thick good dog cum that was still somehow leaking out of her. I felt Magnums familiar weight as his paws wrapped around me, his drool dipping directly on my tits and the head of his huge cock sliding up my folds as he fumbled to find my tight hole. Panic seized me, I wasn’t ready for his size. My hands moved to Sophia’s legs trying to move them off of me, but my head was locked in place by Sophia’s pussy, my pussy locked in place by Magnum as her humped again through my slip, the pointed tip of his cock hitting my sensitive bud pulling a moan out of me. Another, and this time the tip jammed into my clit making me moan louder as Sophia pushed her pussy down on me once more, grinding against my face.

“That’s right, just like a bitch in heat.” Sophia said grabbing one of my nipples and pulling hard. “Magnum needs to breed, and like a good little whore, you’re going to eat his cum from my pussy while he wrecks that pretty little hole of yours.” Sophia said as I felt the head of Magnums cock teasing my entrance.

Once he realized the tip of his cock was in the right position Magnum rammed his cock home, the pain was almost unbearable, like being ripped in half, the burn of being stretched and filled beyond repair. Without missing a beat Magnum pulled his thick eleven inch dog cock out of my pussy almost to the tip before he slammed into me up to the hilt. The pace relentless as Sophia moaned on top of me, grinding her pussy on my face. “I wish you could see the way your pussy is sucking this massive dog cock in. You’re squeezing him so tight.” She said pulling on my nipple again. The pain hurt but it also felt so good, my pussy dripped down my slit as his huge dog cock pumped in and out of my abused hole. I had waited so long for this and all I could do was lick and suck Sophia’s pussy as she ground her slit over my face again and again. Unable to move my hips I just had to lay there and take the long thick cock that was pounding into me. Knowing I would never be the same again, I would never be able to live without dog cock or cum.

I felt the base of his cock swelling as his thrust became more frantic, deeper as he drove himself inside harder and harder. Bottoming out in my cervix, the pain feeling so good until finally, I yelped as he jammed his knot into my tight hole, thrusting his hind over and over, the feel of his paws scratching my side and Sophia coo’ed how well my pussy had swallowed her dogs cock. He was filling me up with his cum, so much so I felt it leaking out of the sides of my pussy. The feel of his hot dog cum filling me so perfectly had my pussy clenching around him again. So close to coming undone. Leaning forward Sophia latched onto my clit and sucked hard and that all that I needed before I was thrown into abyss. The most earth shattering orgasm I have ever had being pinned down by a stretched pussy while my hole throbbed with a monster dog cock knotted inside of it.

I moaned as Sophia sat up on her knees before pushing away the fuck machine. Quickly sitting on my face once more. “Now it’s your turn to get clean.” Sophia said as she drove her tongue between my slick folds. Slurping up the dog cum leaking out of me. It wasn’t long before Magnum came to help, both tongues moving over my slit at once. I know I said this a lot but that, was the best orgasm I have ever had.

That my friends, was the start of and addiction I have never been able to kick. Sophia and I lived together for the next year or so until I met my husband and started dating him seriously! In that year Magnum not only wrecked Sophia and I weekly, but we also adopted another dog. A German Shepherd, which helped Magnum, because poor boy have six holes to stuff stretch and fill for two bitches in heat. I’m lucky my husband is so amazing, sometimes he fucks me while our dog claims another hole. A bullmastiff named tiny, I know everyone complains about their drool but really, it is the best lubricant.

#k9 cock #beast kink #knotty girl #knottybitch #k9 k!nk #b34st #d0ggystyl3 #kn0tting #d0ggy kn0t

56 notes · View notes

greyskyflowers · 3 months ago

Text

I'd love a fic where the Avengers are tentatively trying to accept Bucky, and he comes off as this kind of emotionless, half person that they can't really get to know or related to.

He's terrified of Hydra getting him again, though. To the point where he'd rather die than risk them getting their hands on him.

And it humanizes him enough for the others to get attached.

Something with Steve and Bucky staying in the tower while Bucky recovers, and Tony who's only letting this slide because it's Steve and even though he's very upset angryfuriousdevestated he knows deep down that Bucky is a victim in all this too.

And the others are doing well with it. Cautious but open.

They all know what happened to Bucky, part of the agreement with him staying in the tower with Steve was that all the info was available for them to see, so they knew what exactly they were getting into.

Bucky keeps to Steve's floor and doesn't interact with them too much. Sometimes with Sam, occasionally with Natasha and Clint.

He's still intimidating as hell. Even when all he does is follow Steve around and avoid meeting their eyes too often. They can tell when he enters a room, all the hair on their bodies standing on end, even though half the time they don't even hear him.

He's not allowed any weapons, and he has to be monitored by Jarvis constantly.

Sometimes he has nightmares and they can hear it even on different floors. Sometimes, someone hits one of his triggers accidentally, god there's so many and it's a toss-up between them getting attacked or him going silent and submissive in a way that makes them sick. And adds an extra layer of disgust and fury to everything that happened to him, because nothing good happens when people like the ones in Hydra get their hands on people like him.

There's still a disconnect between what they read about him and the him they see around the tower. He's controled, with the occasional episode or outburst, but overall he keeps a tight hold on his body language and doesn't speak much.

They don't doubt it happened, there are videos and recordings with the files and they still see some of them when they close their eyes.

But... it's like he's got it all shoved in a small box somewhere. He's still like a machine in a lot of ways.

That's just what he shows them, of course. They've seen some of his breakdowns when he's out in the tower with Steve, and it's different. Steve gets to see all the bad, all the fallout and aftermath, and they don't envy him.

But then Hydra comes looking for him.

And he loses it. Not in a violent, winter soldier way, but in a terrified don't let them take me god please please don't let them take me away.

Hydra has him locking up. Terrified, desperate, trying to hide himself in whoever is close enough to him, and ready to slit his own throat if it means Hydra won't get him.

And none of the Avengers are going to let that happen. Steve would kill them all, but also, they're not going to let that happen.

They're not.

And he just kind of curls into whoever is with him. Wild-eyed, shaking, completely lost in his head, and begging for them to not let Hydra get him please please please

And if he gets too upset scared or Hydra gets close enough that it actually starts to become a realy worry that they might manage to grab him, he starts begging for something so he can end it himself. They're going to get him, just kill him please please please. He can't do it again. He can't.

It takes him a long time to calm down after those. He clings to the person he was with, still not quite out of his head yet enough to realize the threat is gone and only knowing that whoever he was with kept him away from Hydra so they must be safe. He knows Steve trusts them, so Bucky trusts them.

It's unsettling to realize he also probably trusts them to end it if they need to. And with that is the horrible realization that it would be a kindness to do so, if the other option is Hydra.

They don't discuss it. No one says what they're all thinking. That they might do it. Should do it if that's the only option left.

Bucky knows what's waiting for him if Hydra gets him back. The Avengers know it, too.

It would be a mercy. For him and Steve.

They're not sure what Steve would do or what his thoughts are on it, and absolutely no one is volunteering to start that conversation with him.

It's a little terrifying to have Bucky stuck to them like that, shaking and lost in his own head. He's a monster of his own, strong and skilled, experienced, and violent. They're letting someone that could easily kill them, curl up and seek safety in them.

The truth of it is, it's ugly. All the trauma and horror and fear that they hadn't seen on him before comes out. Desperation for safety, and if not that then death, is always a heavy thing to see.

They're suppose to help people, stop the bad guys, and all that other hero stuff. They can't seem to figure out how to stop Hydra though.

They can't tell Bucky he's safe because he's not. They can't promise Hydra won't get him because they might.

They can promise Hydra won't have him for long, between the hell Steve would bring down on the whole world and the others right on his tail, but they wouldn't need a lot of time.

So, they lie sometimes. When the threat is gone and Steve's not there yet, Bucky still lost and mumbling please over and over, and they don't even know what's he's asking for anymore but they want to give it to him.

So they say Hydra won't get him. They promise that Hydra will never get him again. They promise he's safe.

They keep him close, let him cling and curl into them because he's a raw, gaping wound and they can't bring themselves to let go and expose him to the world yet.

They ignore the wet lashes against where he's curled his face into their throats or chests, petting through his hair, and keeping up reassurances and promises that they don't necessarily have the power to keep... but they all need it.

If anyone deserves to feel safe, it's this man.

And they know Steve is gone to them if Bucky goes again. The two of them are going together this time, even if it means the end.

●●●●●●●

And one time Hydra almost gets him. Steve separated from them and Hydra always knows that their best chance is seperating Steve and Bucky first and Hydra working on separating the rest of them.

It was working.

Bucky went from blind, frozen terror to a horrible, desperate hope and scrambled, managed to get his hands on one of the guns.

It was against his temple before any of them could even move towards him and the empty click it made when he pulled the trigger was louder than anything everything else happening in that moment.

They honestly thought he had managed to do it before they heard the click. A numb voice in their heads asking how the fuck they were going to tell Steve. How they were going to get over this themselves because holy shit.

They thought they were prepared for something like this. There was always a chance that something would trigger Bucky and they'd end up having to kill him, even if Steve would hate them for it and he would, but they hadn't realized how attached they'd gotten. How protective they felt over him.

There was no hesitation when he pulled the trigger and he asked them sometimes, when Hydra was too close for comfort, to just kill him rather than let Hydra get him but they always thought deep down it was just something he said because he was scared, that he didn't really mean it. But there was intent behind it. He had made it clear that if they wouldn't do it, then he would.

They don't need to tell Steve later, thank god because they don't have the words yet. He saw the gun with Bucky and if there had been a bullet in it, he knows Bucky wouldn't have wasted it by aiming at one Hydra agent out of the many there.

✨️✨️

There are so many things that could have addressed/shown with Bucky's recovering and I just wish we'd seen more of it.

If you have any fics recs, let me know~!

I'm slowly working my way through ao3 but some of the best fics I've found so far I've found through other people and the fics have like one tag on them besides the pairing, so I would never have found them on my own.

#stucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes recovering #the avengers #fic ideas #brainstorming #tagging this as poly because its the avengers #deep in my bucky feels today fam #doing superhero things with greyskyflowers #did i get this idea and frantically type it on my phone during my lunch break before i forgot #yes

87 notes · View notes

urmomschocolatemilk · 10 months ago

Text

Simon Riley x Alternative!fem!reader

I went thrifting td with a friend and got this idea. Reminder that my inbox is open ghost headcanons and requests

If there was one thing Simon knew about you from the moment the two of you met, it was that you loved to sew. Almost every piece of clothing you owned was handmade or altered. You’d cut up shirts, using the lace or frill at the top and add it to another piece of clothing. You’d tailor dresses and shirts for your friends and family and always patch up Simon's on base uniform.

You weren't sure what made sitting in front of the sewing machine, eyes trained on a certain strip of whatever you were working on that was so therapeutic but it was. Not only was it that you loved the art of sewing, but in-store brands never seemed to have something you liked, or fit your personal style, so being able to make your own clothing really came in handy.

Your birthday was coming around and Simon, being the best boyfriend he was, had already picked a restaurant and booked a reservation. What you didn't know however, was that he’d been learning to sew for the past couple of months because he wanted to make you a dress that you would absolutely adore. He knew nothing he could buy would cut it, and he also knew that you loved handmade gifts. So, he found that this was the perfect gift.

Now Simon knew what you liked about your clothes and what you didn't. For example, you didn't like light tones because you felt they highlighted any hyperpigmentation you had. Or that you didn't like to wear dresses with too high a slit on the side because you felt that it caused the fabric to fall weirdly around your legs.

Even with all this knowledge Simon didn't want to get it wrong. He wanted this gift to be perfect and as previously stated, something you’d adore. So, he stole your sketch book, which contained every preview of a design you’d created in the past year and flipped through it. Taking mental notes of each similarity and alteration.

The week after that Simon enrolled in a regularly scheduled sewing class to begin working on his project. Simon did feel out of place there, especially at the start. He was the only man there, let alone a 6’2 military buff, but the instructor didn't treat him any differently, and he didnt pay any mind to it either.

“You want this to be your first project?” the teacher asked when Simon first showed her the sketch. He nodded. “This is quite difficult for a beginner. You understand that, yes?”

Simon shrugged ‘It’s going to be a gift.”

Every week, twice a week Simon showed up to class. He never skipped a session. He needed this dress to be perfect. It took a month for him to get it looking decent, and then another half month to get it looking perfect. It seemed he was a fast learner.

Finally, he was able to take it home, and the first place it went was to the dry cleaners. He wasn't going to risk throwing his masterpiece, and more importantly, your gift, into the washing machine to get ruined. Then when he picked it up he folded it neatly and placed it in a gorgeous red velvet box he had bought.

Hiding it was easier than Simon had expected it to be, considering that you lived together and every part of the house was easily accessible to you. The only thing you didn't ever touch was his desk. So, he decided to keep it there, placing it at the bottom of the desk cabinet and neatly stacking some papers and folders around it to keep it concealed.

Finally, the day came around and you were just about ready to begin getting ready for dinner when he stopped you mid-way into the bathroom.

“I want to show you something,” Simon said, taking your hand and sitting you down on the bed. You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly concerned.

“Is everything okay?” You asked

“Just wait here,” he told you, walking swiftly out of the room and into his office. Simon rarely smiled, like really smiled, but when he came back into the room, red velvet box in hand his lips were turned up in subtle excitement.

“What's this?” you asked with a grin, taking the box from him and running your hand over the soft, plush exterior.

“Your birthday present," he answers. Simon is nervous as he watches you lift the lid, placing it gently next to you and taking out the soft fabric in the box. Your lips part in awe as you realize what it is, and you pinch it at the top, holding it out in front of you and letting it unravel itself. He watches as your eyes glaze over it slowly, taking in every detail. You love it.

“Where did you get this?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the beautiful piece of fabric. He swears he can see your eyes glittering in the light as you look at the dress.

“I made it.” He states. You’re already smiling, but when you hear his answer, your smile widens. You look beautiful, he thinks.

“You made this?” You repeat excitedly, your head turning to look up at him. He nodded. “This is gorgeous baby!” You were so touched by the length and effort he had put into something for you. You knew he didn't know how to sew so the fact that he learned to and took the time to learn what you liked and didn't like made your heart bloom with adoration.

“You like it lovie’?” he asked. You nodded profusely, setting the dress aside as you stood and threw your arms around him. Pressing a kiss to his lips you answered.

“I love it.”

#urmomschocolatemilk #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #141 x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty x reader #fluff #simon riley headcanons #simon riley #ghost headcanons #ghost call of duty #alternative #alternative!reader #cod x reader #x reader

162 notes · View notes

justmeinadaze · 10 months ago

Text

Ying & Yang Part 4 (Steddie X You)

Warnings: Older Daddy Eddie (Late 30s)/ Older Dom Mr. Harrington (Late 30s) & Younger Fem Sub Y/N (mid 20s), SMUT, dirty talk, light spanking, light punishment, light choking, praise, FLUFF

ANGST, Harrington goes MIA, tries to intimidate reader and throws a tantrum with Eddie, mentions of Steve's dad and his struggle with relationships. Protective Edward Munson <3. I think that's all.

Word Count: 5232

Series Masterlist/ Donate to Me

Steve’s head shot up when he heard your familiar giggle at the party he was attending.

A couple of months passed since his surprise visit for Eddie’s launch and equally surprising departure. His best friend called him multiple times but Steve just didn’t know how to respond. The messages his best friend left on his machine tore him apart as he replayed them over and over just to hear his voice.

“Hey Steve. It’s Ed. I know you got a lot going on right now but if you could give me a call or text and let me know you’re alright. Y/N and I haven’t heard from you and we’re just a bit concerned. I, um, I love you, man. Talk to you soon.”

One night about a couple of days after the calls stopped, Steve swung open the door incredibly disheveled and coming face to face with you. His normally styled hair was frayed every which way and his button up shirt was hanging off one of his shoulders.

“Y/N, hey. Hey, honey. What are you doing here? Is Eddie with you?”

“No… I came on my own to check on you. You don’t answer your phone and he’s really worried, Steve.”

The sound of glass clanking in his apartment had you both looking as a young lady in her bra and panties placed her glass of wine back down on the table.

“As you can see, I’m fine so tell Ed not to panic. I’ll call him when I’m free.”

Your defensive nature and care for the man you love took over as you stood up straighter.

“You seem free now. Why don’t you take a minute and at least send him a text.”

“I have company.”, he growled as his eyes narrowed.

“Hm. Well, playboy, if we wait for you to NOT have company we’d never hear from you again.”

“What’s the matter, little girl? Jealous? Fuck off, Y/N.”

As he starts to shut the door, you smack your hand against it holding it open.

“I don’t care where you stick your dick, Steven, but I do care about how you treat Eddie. He loves you very much and you’re his best friend. If you don’t want to fuck me anymore, that’s fine. If you don’t want to fuck him anymore, that’s fine. But don’t you dare cast him aside like he’s nothing after everything he’s done for you!”

His eyes darken as he takes a few steps forward backing you out of the doorframe.

“Last time I checked, I don’t report to you. Now this is the last time I’m going to say this. Fuck. OFF!”

You jump as he shouts out his last word and this time you voluntarily take a step back.

“What about Daddy? He needs us both.”

“Daddy knows where he can find me.”, he replies with distain before slamming the door in your face.

Since then neither of you had tried to reach out to him, going radio silent on your socials as well. He missed you both so much but things needed to stay as they were. The thing was…Eddie always answered his calls whether it be day or night but now he wasn’t. Eddie texted him throughout the day to tell him certain things and that had stopped as well. He did try and initiate conversation a couple of days after your visit but neither of you answered.

When he heard your laugh, he thought he was dreaming again. Steve dreamt of you and his best friend every night. But when he pushed the girl he had been making out with off his lap and went towards the sound, there you were smiling at something Eddie was whispering to you as he held you close his chest.

“Hey guys.”

Both sets of eyes met his and he felt like he could melt into the floor with how beautiful you looked tonight in your dark red, elegant dress that had sleeves that rested on your biceps showing of your soft, tanned arms and a slit up to your thigh that had Steve wanting to fall to his knees to kiss up your leg.

Eddie, as always, looked equally delicious with his all-black suit that screamed he was in control tonight of not only everyone in the room but you later that night when you both got to your hotel.

“Hey, Steven. How have you been? We haven’t been able to get a hold of you.”, Eddie replied nonchalantly as he took a sip from the glass he was holding.

“Yeah, um, I’ve just been really busy with work and—”

“Women?”, the music producer chuckles as he gestures behind his friend towards the wide-eyed girl he had just been making out with.

“Yeah, I mean, you know how I am.”, Steve breathily laughs as he turns back around.

“That I do.”

The businessman blinked at his friend’s slightly cold response before focusing his attention on you.

“How have you been, Y/N?”

“She’s been good.”

At Eddie’s interruption, Steve stood up straighter as his ego started to take over.

“Can she not answer?”

“No, she can, but baby girl here told me you were rude the last time you spoke with her and came back home crying in my arms. You hurt the woman I love, Mr. Harrington. I won’t allow you to do it again.”

They glared at each other as your boyfriend kept a protective arm secured around your waist.

“You were right. Daddy knew exactly where to find you; at a party with some random partner’s tongue down your throat while you bury your feelings and avoid being happy. Have a nice evening.”

With that, he turned away from his best friend and led you towards another part of the building.

***

“Eddie, he’s going to make a fool out of himself and do something he can’t take back.”, you whispered in his ear as you watched Steve knock back another shot before making out again with a different girl at his side.

“Hm. He already did when he scared you which is why he’s acting like this.”, your boyfriend replied casually.

“He didn’t scare me. I said I was worried because he seemed so different than the man you introduced me to. I’m not afraid of either you.” At your last sentence, his eyes met yours as you stuck out your tongue in jest making him chuckle. “Baby, I know how much you love me and how protective you are. It’s one of my favorite things about you. You always say I come first but don’t forget, honey, you’re his Daddy to.”

As you speak, his soft chocolate eyes take you in as he absorbs what you’re saying before heavily sighing and pressing his forehead to yours.

“What did an asshole like me do to get a perfect angel like you?”

“I imagine it was some satanic ritual that involved a sword of some kind.”, you tease causing his face to light up as the smile you fell in love stretches across his face.

As quickly as it appeared, it was quickly wiped away when the sound of a subtle gasp and hard smack echoed through the room.

“Fuck you, Steve Harrington!”, the girl shouted before her heels clacked against the floor away from the businessman as he laughed drunkenly.

You began to step forward but Eddie hastily took hold of your wrist and pulled you along behind him as he headed where he knew you wanted to go.

“Steven, get up.”

The man laughed again as he adjusted his body to face you both.

“Naw. I think I’m good right where I am.”

“I didn’t ask if you were comfortable. I told you to get up and this is the last time I’m going to say it. Get. UP.”

Steve did stand but placed himself in front of Eddie till their noses were mere centimeters apart.

“What gives you the right to think you can fucking order me around, Edward?’

“Because you’re mine and misbehaving. Good boys get to party, drink, and have a good time. Bad boys get sent home and punished.”

“Fuck you. I don’t belong to anyone.”, he growled but his eyebrows furrowed slightly as if his own words hurt him.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way; you decide, little boy.”

His amber irises scanned his friend’s hardened features before glancing over at you. You were being a good girl, waiting for Daddy’s next instruction but even he could tell you were extremely tense.

You were worried about them both.

“Fuck you, Eddie. Just let me be me and you go back to your happy life in LA.”, Steve sighed as he swiveled his body to sit back down.

Before he could, however, your boyfriend grabbed his bicep and tugged him towards the exit.

“Come on, baby! I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

###################

The entire car ride back to Steve’s place, Eddie murmured instructions to you mostly making sure you were comfortable and felt safe.

“Usually, I’m pretty gentle with him but this may require a bit of a rougher touch. I want you to stay on the sidelines until I say otherwise but if at any point you get scared or feel uncomfortable just say ‘Red’, sweetheart.”

“Ok, Daddy.”, you coo as you lean your head against his shoulder. “I love you and he loves you to. Don’t forget that.”

His soft eyes meet yours before tenderly kissing your forehead.

“Come on, man. Let’s talk about this tomorrow or some shit.”, Steve whined as Eddie continued to push him down the hallway towards his bedroom. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

His best friend continued to remain silent as he complained, shoving him into the bathroom and turning on the shower. You noticed immediately it wasn’t steaming like it had the last time you showered here but the other boy wasn’t paying attention, completely taken off guard when he was pushed into the standing shower and cold water drenched him.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Are you fucking kidding me?!” Hitting Eddie’s arm to get him to let go worked for a millisecond before he grabbed his collar with his free hand and pushed Steve to his knees. “This is a $3500 suit, asshole!”

“And mine is $2000. Any other pearls of wisdom you want to share, little boy?!”, the man bellowed as held him in place under the water. “You didn’t want to have this conversation the easy way so we’re doing it my way. We could have done this any number of ways, Steven, but you chose to scream and intimidate Y/N. You disappeared the morning after you surprised us with a visit like we were one of your common whores you fuck on any given night. You don’t answer your phone so I’m fucking done.”

You watch as Steve tries to get the upper hand but even you know how much physically stronger Eddie was. While they both went to the gym and worked out, the long-haired boy kept up with his routine better than the other.

The businessman got a good smack to his friend’s cheek but Eddie managed to wrangle his wrists and pin them above his head.

“If I had known you fucking my girlfriend would turn you into a prick like your dad I never would have suggested it!”

Both their movements ceased and under his damp hair, you saw Steve’s jaw tighten. As if he had been holding back, he pushed against the other boy’s hold and used both palms to shove him hard against the other wall before opening the glass shower door and stomping towards the bedroom.

You offered him a towel but he didn’t even look your way, water coating the floor as he walked past. Running ahead of him, you shut his bedroom door and blocked it with your frame.

“Steve, please. Talk to us.”

“Fuck you.”, he growled.

Equally wet, Eddie came around the corner and shoved his friend away from you.

“You don’t talk to her that way.”

“Then tell her to fucking move and you both get out of my house.”

“You know, this didn’t have to be so complicated, Steven. If you didn’t want to be in a relationship with either of us that’s fine. We could have gone back to how things were or just been platonic with each other. We didn’t have to play THIS game.”

“He can’t go back to that.”, you answer for him. “Can you? Because you care about us to.”

When his honey irises met yours, you knew you were right.

“She asked you something. Answer her.”

“I don’t answer to her.”, Steve remarked with attitude as he glared at his friend once more.

“Yeah but you answer to me. Do you care about us?”

Both their dominance oozed from them and a shaky breath left your lips at the sight. Daddy and Mr. Harrington were about to go toe to toe so you stepped out of the way and took a seat on the bed as you watched their dynamic unfold.

##################

“Do you care about us?”, Eddie repeats. “I do. You were always so good to me and the first person to actually make me feel like I could put my wall down. That night in Vegas when you kissed me, I didn’t even think twice about it when I let you make love to me against that glass window.”

“Fuck, baby, so fucking tight. It’s ok. It’s ok. I got you.”

“Mmph…s-s-so fucking big.”

“I know, I know, honey. Do you think you can take a bit more of me?” When Eddie only nodded, the businessman roughly grabbed his cheeks between his fingers and grunted angrily into his ear. “Verbally answer me.”

“Y-Yes, Sir. I want more. Please give me more. Oh f-fuck.”

“Good boy. Just keep your hands pressed against the glass and I’ll give you what you need.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered at the confession and the memory before he took a step closer with a mocking smirk on his face.

“Aw, little Munson thought we were making love? No, honey. I fucked you that night and you loved it. Just like every other night after. That’s why we do what we do. You need me to fuck you and put you in your place.”

“Oh, is that why we do what we do? I thought you needed me to help take care of you when you’re feeling fucking low and to remind you that you’re not the fucking asshole, idiot playboy everyone including your dad thinks you are!”

Steve’s hand clings to Eddie’s bicep as both his arms and body cage him in against the couch while he delivers slow, firm strokes as he thrusts his cock deep into the man beneath him.

“Yes, Daddy. Just like that.”

The music producer’s lips kiss parts of his friend’s back to his shoulders before resting his chin by his ear.

“Just like that, sweetheart? You like the way Daddy fucks you? Yeah, so fucking good. You look so fucking handsome like this taking my cock. Jesus. I know how to make you cum undone, baby. I got you.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you so much. Fuck!”

“It’s not just the sex, Steve. Even you told Y/N I’ve pulled you back from the edge a time or two.

The businessman sits on his bed as he knocks back another glass before refilling it again with the bottle of whisky by his bed. Eddie slides a chair nearby in front him, watching him with careful eyes as he takes a sip.

“I worked really fucking hard on that prototype for 2 years and my father just swoops and creates a cheaper version in 3 months.”, Steve chuckles sarcastically as tears leave his eyes. “Why, man? Why does he do this? He doesn’t fucking care about other people…”

“Hey, hey. It’s ok.”, his friend coos as he takes a seat beside him and presses his head to his chest as he wraps his arms around him. “Like you said, Steve, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I’ve seen all the hard work you put into this. Release it and let people make their own decisions. I’m sure it won’t take them long to realize which product his better.”

“Thank you for coming over, Eddie.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”, he whispers as he continues to play with his hair.

“Please, Mr. High and Mighty! If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have even shown up for that first date with Y/N!”

Your boyfriend’s eyes widen as the flick in your direction.

“Why are you so fucking nervous?”, Steve laughs as his friend disappears from the frame to dig around in this closet. “From what you told me, you were suave as hell asking this girl out.”

“It’s because fate was working in my favor. What do you think of this?”, he asks as he flashes him a couple of shirts. “Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Eddie! Calm down and sit.”, he commands as he waits for the man to do what he says.

“She’s different than the other girls we meet, Harrington, I can tell.”

“That’s good because your ex was fucking awful.”, he chuckles. “Honey, just be yourself and I promise she’ll fall head over heels.”

“That actually comforts me to know you were nervous. You were a bit intimidating the first time we met. You had me the first time you smiled at me though.”, you grin softly his way causing him to flash you one in return.

When his gaze finds Steve again a thought hits him before he shrugs and reaches for your hand.

“Come on, baby girl. Let’s head back to our hotel.”

The businessman’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he watches Eddie pull you towards the bedroom door.

“But Daddy…”

“No buts, princess. If Mr. Harrington doesn’t want us here then that’s fine. We can maintain our distance until he’s ready to talk to us.”

Clinging to him, you allow him to guide you but a few steps from his front door you hear shoes squeak against the wood before Steve slides to your sides, cups Eddie’s cheeks, and passionately kisses his lips.

It was rough and needy as he held him to him and their tongues danced together before the pretty boy fell to his knees to hastily unbuckle the other man’s pants.

This was the first time you were seeing them do something so intimate and you didn’t want to intrude, standing out of the way until Eddie gestured you to his side. His arm wrapped around you and you both watched as Steve wrapped his mouth around your boyfriend’s semi hard cock.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Does his mouth feel good, Daddy?”, you whisper in his ear as you circle your arms around his neck and your fingers play with his hair.

“Yeah, sweetheart. So—mmph—warm and wet. He knows how to use his tongue.”

“He does.”, you smile as you kiss his cheek.

“D-Do you like it, baby? Seeing Stevie suck Daddy’s cock?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Jesus Christ, I love you.”, Eddie whimpers as his lips crash to yours.

Feeling his nose scrunch, you lean away from him as he pants against your lips while the other man takes him as far down his throat as he can; the gags of his throat making your pussy clench.

“Why don’t you help him, Y/N?”

“I don’t want to get in the way.”, you murmur.

Fingers roughly grip your face as your boyfriend forces you look his way.

“Don’t ever let me hear you say that again. You are never in the way, baby.”

Nodding and giving him another soft kiss, you sink to your knees and lightly pet Steve’s head with your own fingers. Silently, he moved out of your way to allow you to take Eddie’s dick into your mouth as his tongue flicked and sucked his balls.

“Thaaaat’s it. Fuck, that feels so good.”

The two of you work in tandem, taking turns before Steve abruptly wraps his hand around your throat to keep you still and kisses your lips with Eddie tip between your tongues.

“Goddamn it, Steven.”

After grabbing his collar, your boyfriend hoisted his friend to a standing position and you eagerly followed as he led him to the kitchen counter nearby. Wrapping your arms around his neck, Steve lifted you onto the marble and tore off your dress as Eddie aggressively pulled off both their suits.

A whimper you had never heard before left the businessman’s mouth and you tilted back to see Eddie gripping his shoulder as he gradually slid into the man in front of him. With his palms placed on either side of you, his head hung as he bit his bottom lip.

To you they both looked incredibly sexy.

With Eddie it was like being on the outside looking in and watching what his dominance looked like on someone else. His beautiful chocolate eyes were dark with need and care as his fingers clung to Steve’s waist. The veins and muscles on his arms were more definite as he thrust into him with water still stuck to his tattooed chest that you desperately wanted to lick off.

Watching this new side of Steve was an experience. The way his mouth fell open and the whimpers Eddie pulled from him had your pussy dripping. To see him be vulnerable like this made your submissive side desperately want to praise and coddle him which you did as you scooted your body closer to his so he could rest his head against your shoulder.

You couldn’t wait to see what Eddie looked like this way.

“Does Daddy feel good?”, you asked in that little girl tone that drove them both crazy.

“Mmph—yes, honey. So fucking good.”

“Daddy likes being told. You should tell him how good he’s making you feel.”

As he cranes his neck, your boyfriend circles his palm around his throat and kisses his lips.

“Your cock f-feels…so good…Daddy. So deep.”

“My cock feels good, little boy? You know what didn’t feel good? Us worrying about you. Wondering if you were ok and you not answering my fucking calls.”, Eddie growled as his palm spanked Steve’s ass making him moan. “Watching Y/N worry and then seeing her cry when she came home after what—mmm—you said to her.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”, he panted out as his eyes met yours. “I’m sorry. I-I-I was scared. I was so fucking scared.”

When his head fell into the nook between your neck and shoulder, your arms held on to him as he continued to apologize causing Eddie to stop moving.

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole. I didn’t mean to scare you either. I just…” Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you leaned your forehead against his. “I’ve never had anyone in life long enough to care about me and definitely no one like you two.”

Your eyes lock with Eddie’s and as if you read each other’s minds, he carefully pulls out of Steve and you hop down from the counter with the businessman’s massive palm guiding you down.

Holding his hand, you walk with him back to his bedroom.

“Be careful of the water, Mr. Harrington.”, you say in your little voice that makes him softly smile. “Did you know I used to be afraid to? Of losing Daddy.”

Shaking his head, he watches you with careful eyes as you fall flat on your back in his bed and guide him till his whole frame is on top of you.

“My last few relationships weren’t bad per say but I’ve never met anyone like Eddie. He’s so confident, sweet, and just so passionate about everything especially me.”, you giggle. “The first time I saw him smile, I knew I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life and that scared me.”

As your boyfriend kneels beside the bed, he pets your head as he kisses your forehead. Reaching between your bodies, you take hold of Steve’s cock and run the tip between your folds causing a little moan to leave his lips.

“Do you know what helped calm me?”, you whisper as he shakes his head once more. “The way he talked about you.”

Opening your legs wider, you both groan as you help slowly guide his length into your entrance.

“Fuck me.”

“Steve, Eddie loves you so much and takes care of you in more ways than you know. You should hear the way he b-brags about you and—mmm—how much you mean to him.” The man’s head fell beside yours as he did little thrusts to push his cock deeper into you and with every warm pant of his breath, your pussy clenched tighter around him. “No matter what, sweetheart, he’s always going to be there for you because you were always there for him. E-Even if you told him to fuck off, he’d still protect you. That’s the kind of man he is.”

As your eyes rolled back and fluttered tightly closed, you felt Eddie climb onto the bed and Steve still slightly before his grunt of pleasure against your neck caused you to open them again just in time to see your boyfriend slide his cock into the man between you both.

“H-He—ahhhh—wouldn’t have introduced me to you this way if he th-thought I’d hurt you. We’re both here for you. Oh my God.”

Eddie leaned down pressing his chest against Steve to reach your lips.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you to. Does he feel good, Daddy?”

“Shit. Yeah, he does.” After placing a kiss on his cheek, Steve catches the other man’s head and locks his lips with his own. “Everything’s ok, sweetheart. I promise. I-I’ll always be here for you.”

“Me to.”, you murmur as you softly smile and caress his face.

Biting his bottom lip and falling completely on top of you, Steve roughly slams his hips into yours pushing his cock deep inside you while thrusting Eddie further into him. The bed underneath you shakes with the force as your fingers thread through his damp hair.

“That’s it, Steve. FUCK! Make my good girl cum.”

A loud repetitive string of uhs echo through the room as he animalistically pumps into your cunt till your body trembles and you cum hard, squeezing his length like a vice as he pushes up onto his palms to roll his hips till you feel his release warm you.

“Good—mmm fuck—good boy. Where do you want my cum, baby?” When the boy doesn’t respond, Eddie pulls his hair to lift his head till his lips hover over his ear. “Come on, sweet boy. Where do you want Daddy to cum? You want Daddy to fill you up?”

“P-Please, yes, Daddy. Cum inside me.”, Steve whimpered and you watched with half lidded eyes as Eddie panted into the other man’s open mouth till his rhythm stuttered, pumping his release into the man beneath him.

#################

Steve wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but when he woke up the sun was just barely peeking through his curtains. Hearing music and realizing neither of you were in his bed, he grabbed a pair of his sweats and went on the hunt.

The smell of bacon hit his nose as soon as he entered his living area and his eyes landed on you with your back to him as you swayed to the beat in one of his button up shirts. A soft melody begins to play and you perk up as you run to Eddie who was by the stove with a spatula in his hand.

“Baby girl, I’m busy.”, he chuckles.

“Oh, come on, grumpy. I love this song.”, you tease as you circle your arms around his neck and he leans his forehead on yours.

Your palms reach up to cup his cheeks and he watches as his friend practically glows before kissing your lips. Turning your head, you notice Steve standing off to the side and let Eddie go to place yourself in front of him.

“You've been fighting the memory, all on your own

Nothing worsens, nothing grows

I know how it feels being by yourself in the rain

We all need someone to stay.”

As you wrap your arms around his waist, he presses your head into his warm chest and rests his cheek on your hair.

“You were alone, left out in the cold

Clinging to the ruin of your broken home

Too lost and hurting to carry your load

We all need someone to hold.”

“I’m sorry I made you cry, honey.”

“Hear the falling and lonely, cry out

Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope?

The end of the day and we're helpless

Can you keep me close? Can you love me?”

“I forgive you.”, you reply into his skin making him laugh as he releases you from his grip and caresses your bottom lip with his thumb. “I love you. You don’t have to say it back right now or anything. Just—”

As you had started to walk away, Steve pulled on your wrist and brought your mouth to his.

“I love you to.”

Your grin grows as you kiss him again before leading him into the kitchen and hopping back up on the counter.

“You don’t have a lot of food in that castle you call a fridge but I managed to put something together here.”, Eddie conveyed sarcastically as he flipped the bacon and reached over to turn off the stove.

“I’m sorry for being so stubborn and saying the things I said last night.” The long-haired boy turned to face him as Steve scanned him over. “I’m sorry for…me.”, he chuckles.

Eddie blinks as he nods, glancing your way before finally speaking.

“I forgive you. We don’t have to jump right in, Steve. We can take this one step at a time and—”

You beamed as the businessman reached for the other man’s face and pressed a firm kiss to his lips.

“You calm down over there.”, Eddie lightly scolds without looking your way when he hears your legs kicks up like an excited child.

“This is all new to me.”, Steve starts as he gestured between the three of you. “Not just the… or the us both being dominate…but being in a relationship in general. I love you to and I’m willing to try. I trust you both.”

“How about we start with breakfast and go from there?”

Nodding, Steve takes the plate that’s handed to him and heads towards the couch where he normally eats if he’s home but as he starts to pick at the food, his arms lift in surprise when you crawl over him to sit on his lap. Softly smiling, he lowers them around you and continues to eat until Eddie walks by to slide more food in front of him.

“She’s going to pick at it. Trust me.”

When he playfully pokes your nose, you pretend to bite his finger making Steve chuckle behind you.

“Hey Steven?”, Eddie calls as he throws himself down on the other side of the sofa.

“Hm?”

“I love you to.”, he grins before tossing Steve an equally playful wink.

#################

@aol19 @livsters @dashingdeb16 @too-efn-old-to-be-here

@yesimabratandwhataboutot @eddiesguitarskills

@scarlet-witch23 @soph342 @micheledawn1975 @thatgurljen @fluffansmut

@chelebelletx @peaches-roses-sins @areiofhope @hugdealer @nerdygamingartist

@bootywizzard @bexreadstoomuch @calumfmu @myherometalhead

Here's hoping these tags work the first time around this time!

164 notes · View notes