#and leave it there and go on to my next task | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

Text

Family Man 1

No warnings except that this is NOT a dark fic. Non-dark fics will be tagged as lightficsyouneveraskedfor but will be posted on this blog.

Character: Jake Jensen (The Losers)

Trope: Single-dad

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reads this unusual posting from me. I typically swing in the other direction on fics but something lighter was calling.

Please reblog and leave some feedback if you read. You are appreciated and adored 🩷. Please have a wonderful day, week, year, etc.

You feel the white tweed with accents of gold and beige. It’s nice but you’re not sure about something so... stainable. As much as you’d love to be a pastel queen, your pragmatism often keeps you along the darker ends of the spectrum.

You push the hanger to the side and wince as another scrapes sharply from across the store. You glance over at the man baring his teeth at the ugly noise. His eyes dart around behind his thick lenses and he carefully lifts the hangers as he browses the rainbow of button up shirts.

You turn back to your own hunt for a sale rack gem. You have no problem paying full price but you’ve always loved a good bargain. Even with the percentage off, this place isn’t exactly cheap.

“Daddy, how about this?” The tiny voice tinkles through the soft din of the store. The jazzy overlay of music recedes beneath the chirpy tone.

“Hmmm,” a deep hum. “I don’t know if it’s my colour.”

A huff and a stomp. “Daddy, what is your colour? Orange?”

“Hey, it’s my favourite shirt.” The man argues.

You peek over again. It’s the same man that scraped the hanger on the bar. He looks down as he talks to the girl, hidden behind the rack of shirts. His neon tee shirt does stand out among the neutrals and muted tones.

“I looked. They don’t have that colour.” The little girl harrumphs.

Her small feet stomp away. You catch the back of her. She has a head of wild curls and almost drags the suit jacket as she tramps away. She reaches up to hang it back on the peg, standing on her tip toes.

Her dad clucks and goes back to frowning at the shirts. He sighs and looks around. He scratches his beard then smooth his hair beneath his palm. His eyes dart around as if he’s lost.

He stares at the associate with another customer. He chews his lip and bobbles his head in indecision. His daughter bounces back to him.

“Find anything?” She asks.

“I’m trying,” he looks down at the rack. “I don’t know...”

“You need help, daddy.”

“You’re my help,” he insists. “How about this? Does it bring out my eyes?”

He brings the seafoam sleeve up next to his face as he bends.

“You look yellow,” she pouts. “Daddy, it’s important!”

“I know,” he sighs. “Trust me. I’m well aware.”

You pull yourself out of the scene. Oops. You shouldn’t be so nosy. Huh, this is a nice dress. Bold. Peach.

You unhook the hanger and examine the gold buttons. It’s got a bit of a vintage touch to it but it’s business appropriate. You check the size as the other garments on the rack ripple.

“Excuse me, missus,” the small girl startles you as you lower the dress to see her. “My daddy needs help and he’s being a butt.”

You grin but don’t laugh. You nod at her, “oh?”

She points across the store as the man examines a tie clip intently. It’s sweet. She cares a lot for him. You tend to avoid strangers but this is harmless.

“He does?” You ask.

“Yes! He’s going to be the boss now and he needs to get a suit but he doesn’t know what size.”

You listen intently. You put the peach dress back.

“I’m sorry, but he’s not listening to me,” she puts her hands on her hips. Her curly hair gives her a lionish appearance.

“Oh, sure, I can try,” you agree. You don’t have much to do anyway. It’s your day off.

“Thank you, missus.”

She turns and leads you cross the store. You follow a pace back, your nerves stirring as you get closer to the man. The task you’ve agreed to sets in as he looks up through his drooping glasses. He pushes them up on his nose and blanches.

“I’m so sorry,” he rushes around the table of ties and hits his hip. He hisses and puts his hand on his belt. “Did she do something?”

“Daddy!” The girl whines at him. “No, she’s here to help.”

“Oh? Help?” His eyes flick everywhere but you. “Uh, I’m fine--”

“He’s not,” the girl argues.

“El,” he warns and focus on his daughter. “Please. What did I say about talking to strangers?”

“Throw the left hook first,” she sticks her tongue.

“I-- I never said that,” he blusters. “Where did you even get that from?”

“It’s okay,” you laugh lightly. “If you need any help, I can try. Er, it’s a big store.”

“Uh huh, big,” he agrees evasively.

“Ummm,” you look at him. “I guess I am a bit of stranger still. Im...” You introduce yourself. “And you two?”

“Elita,” the girl proclaims. “And this is my daddy.”

He rubs the back of his neck and smiles at the floor, “Jake.”

“Elita, Jake, nice to meet you.” You peer around. “So, I hear we’re suit shopping.”

“Trying to,” he mutters.

“Elita said you got a promotion,” you feel a bit better seeing how nervous he is. He slumps his shoulders and clasps his hand behind his back as if trying to make himself smaller. “Congratulations.”

“Oh, it’s... one desk for another. Gotta go into the office two days a week now.” He shrugs. “But it means I can pay for her soccer uniform.”

“And toys! Lots of toys.”

“Oh, yes, very important,” you agree. “What’s your favourite?”

“Not for me,” she rolls her eyes. “Daddy has so many toys--”

“Elita,” the man hisses. He takes a breath and makes himself look at you. “Thanks for humouring her but you really don’t have to--”

“You look lost,” you say gently. “And everyone’s busy so... what are we thinking? Black? Grey? Maybe a blue? Beige?”

His eyes flit back and forth as if he’s making calculation. His face twists with confusion. “I don’t... know.”

“Well, we could start with your measurements,” you suggest. “Try a few things on, figure out what fits.” You turn and go to a rack of jackets. Here.”

You take a black jacket from the middle of the rack. You slip the hanger out and offer it to him. Hesitantly, he follows and takes the jacket. He pulls it on. The sleeves are too tight and short.

Elita laughs, “daddy, you look like a giant.”

“You would know, pip squeak.” He slips the jacket off.

“Okay, what size...” you take it and check the tag. “Alright, so going up...”

You hang it and trade it for a few sizes above. That one is too big. You go back down.

He pushes his arms through the sleeves and the jacket lays perfectly. He pulls the front together and rolls his shoulders. He looks down at himself. “Does it fit?”

“Is it tight at all?” You prompt.

“No...”

“There’s a mirror,” you point past him.

“Oh, uh, duh,” he spins and marches up to it. His daughter follows, clapping her hands.

“Daddy,” she squeals, “you look like an adult.” He pouts and sends her a furrowed glower. She giggles. “Doesn’t he, missus?”

“It fits really well. And it’s versatile. You could even pair it with a nice polo,” you suggest.

He stares at his reflection. His cheeks pinken and he sways indecsively. “You know a lot about clothes?”

“I’m no fashionista but my closet it about to burst,” you say. “What’s your inseam? We’ll find some pants to go with it.”

“Uhhhh,” he coughs and faces you as he pushes his shoulders up. “My inseam?”

“Your jean size? The numbers usually help.”

He chews his cheek. “I... El,” he waves her over, “come here.” He reaches behind him and rolls his belt over behind him. “What does the tag say?”

She gets behind him and lifts the back of the jacket. “Daddy, I can see your undies.”

“Shhhh,” he hushes her. “El.”

She reads out the numbers. He stands straight and huffs. He looks at you. “What she said.”

“Hm, okay, well, that should be easy.”

You look around and find the matching slacks. As you filter through the hangers, the silence nips at your ears. You sniff and glance over at him as he takes off his glasses and wipes them with the tail of his tee shirt.

“You going to celebrate the big promotion?” You ask.

“Er, no, I wasn’t--”

“A party!” Elita interrupts. “Yeah! We could get pizza and cake and—and—you could come too!”

He gives you a desperate looks and mouths, “Sorry.”

“That’s real nice of you. I’ll check my calendar.”

“Daddy,” she nudges her father as she lowers her voice, “tell her she has to come.”

He tilts his head helplessly. You chuckle.

“How about I bring the pizza? As a congrats.”

Elita hops, “yay!”

#jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #drabble #series #family man #au #daddies and dreamboats #the losers #lightficsyouneveraskedfor

112 notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 2 months ago

Text

Sharp Dressed Man

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky looks good in a suit, and it isn't fair how easily he turns you on.

Word Count: Over 2k

Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), referenced oral sex (f. receiving), feels, sweet and spicy fic, established relationship, vulnerability, being in love, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Tower Shenanigans based on an anon ask. ❤️ Thank you to the lovely @buckybarnesfic, @soelstress, @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for looking it over and assuring me it wasn't garbage. Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was still getting ready for the day while you made him breakfast. It was the most important meal of the day, and neither of you would let the other skip it. Thankfully the rest of the team had already eaten and were elsewhere, otherwise everyone would try to steal something; except for Bob because he wouldn't take food without asking. Not to mention the last time John tried to steal one of Yelena’s meals he almost lost a finger.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee cut through the last traces of sleep, warming you up as you loaded the plates with various foods and set them on the island. You rinsed the dishes and cleaned the counters while you waited for Bucky, doing a silly little dance in-between tasks. It wasn't your day to tidy up the kitchen, but you weren't going to be a jerk and leave it a mess.

“Someone’s happy this morning,” Ava said from behind you, and you somehow didn't jump at the sound. You were all getting used to her phasing in and out of the rooms. “Let me guess. Morning sex?”

Was it obvious since you were only in your robe and underwear? “Maybe,” you teased.

The wonderful ache between your legs was a nice reminder of how Bucky woke you earlier, making you shiver. You felt his fingers and tongue working you over before you opened your eyes, and you barely recovered from your first orgasm before he had his cock in you. It wasn't rushed either. He took his time, making you feel every delicious inch as he thrust slow and deep. Even when you came again he didn't stop.

“‘Attagirl,” he smiled against your lips while you trembled beneath him, his body effectively caging you in. “But you can give me one more. I know you can.”

“Bucky,” you whined, wanting nothing more than for him to fill you to the brim.

“Just one more, sweetheart.” A hand moved between your bodies so he could play you like a well tuned instrument. “One more and I’ll give it to you.”

You did, and so did he, your name tumbling from his lips as he spilled into you. Who wouldn't give Bucky another orgasm if he gently demanded it? Three orgasms wasn't a bad way to start the day. A girl could do much worse.

“Lucky,” she smirked, snapping you out of your thoughts when she snatched a bite of food from Bucky’s plate. “Mmm. Remind me to have you make me breakfast the next time you have morning sex.”

“Hey!” you yelled, but there was laughter in your eyes when she took another bite and phased away. “You’ll pay for that!”

“Who will pay for what?” Bucky asked when he walked into the room, making your breath catch in your throat.

Bucky's hair was tucked behind his ears today, bringing your attention to his steel eyes before you took in the rest of him. His suit was tailored impeccably to his large frame, and he wore it well. He carried himself with composed ease, his steps deliberate and head held high. His presence demanded attention without appearing arrogant, which was tough to balance. He was all man.

He was your man.

“Fuck me,” you breathed.

Bucky may not be a Congressman anymore, but he would have had your vote for anything and everything he ever wanted.

His eyes flashed with unmistakable lust and pride as he walked toward you, making your stomach flip. “Already did.”

“You did, and you can do that again later,” you said, reaching up to trace his mouth.

You smiled when he kissed your fingers. It was an honor to touch him and that wasn't at all an exaggeration. You noticed how tense he got when some got too close to him, but not you. Never you.

“So, I look handsome?” he asked casually, adjusting his tie. “Not that I’m trying to look handsome. I’m only wearing this since I have a meeting, and I might get a few dirty looks if I show up in tactical gear.”

You almost teased that he was fishing for a compliment, but you saw just a flicker of his confidence waver as he waited for your answer. “Suit or tactical gear, you’re the most handsome man I've ever seen.”

He breathed out, his confidence back in full force. “I’m glad to hear that.” Sliding a hand over the curve of your hip, his fingers dug in, a protective and possessive touch, when he brought his mouth to your ear. “And I may have to wear suits around you more often since it turns you on so much.”

You tried to play coy, as if your nipples hadn’t peaked and your clit didn't throb. “Who said I'm turned on?”

Bucky chuckled and lowered his head, his teeth nipping your neck and drawing a whimper from you. His lips moved up to find your ear again while you tried to keep your breathing steady. “Don't have to say it, sweetheart. I can smell you,” he whispered. You couldn't hide anything with those heightened senses of his, a blessing or a curse depending on how you looked at it. “Ruined your panties the second I walked in here.”

Your eyes closed. He was right, the smug bastard. Damn him. Damn him to Hell. No, not there. That was too cruel. Your bed would do nicely.

It was insane the more you thought about it. The man could breathe and it would send your libido into overdrive. Feminism? Where did it go? One murder strut or grumpy stare and it went out the window along with your panties. One smile and it melted your insides.

What had he done to you?

“You're unbelievable,” you sighed.

He pulled back, searching your face. “What do you mean?”

“I was a strong and capable woman before I came here,” you said, the words sounding ridiculous as soon as they left your mouth.

“And you still are,” he assured you. Bucky was one of your biggest supporters, always.

“It’s just… Do you have any idea what that’s like? To just look at someone and get turned on?” You stepped out of reach and gestured to him. You asked yourself some days how Bucky Barnes could possibly be real. How did someone like him exist? “You breathe and I get aroused. That isn't normal.”

No other man had that kind of power over you, body or heart, until him.

The warm chuckle from your boyfriend had you fighting not to smile. “One, we’re not normal. Two, your breathing turns me on, too. And three, I do know it’s like to just look at someone and get aroused because that happens when I look at you,” he said, taking your hand to bring you back to him. He placed it against his crotch and grew harder under your touch. “We’re a match made in heaven, Hell, whatever you want to call it.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks. You two were a good match. “It isn't just arousal when I look at you. It’s…” You took a breath and gripped his jacket with your other hand, trying to be careful not to wrinkle it. “You smile at me and…”

“And what?” he asked, catching your eye and softly smiling.

You swallowed, your eyes suddenly misting over before you dropped your hands. It was alarming how quickly your emotions took over in regard to Bucky. “I see a future with you there.”

Bucky cupped your cheeks when you tried to duck your head. He had stripped you bare more than once, but saying something like that made you feel more vulnerable than when you were naked. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“You have the power to break me,” you whispered, your eyes shutting. Not to hide, but to keep the tears at bay. “Which should be terrifying, but it’s very exhilarating.”

To give that much of yourself to another, to trust them to that extent, wasn't easy. But if life taught you anything, it was that it was too short and you had to seize every opportunity to live it to the fullest. Who better to do that with than Bucky Barnes?

You cleared your throat when he didn't say anything, his eyes a storm of emotions when you opened yours. “Your breakfast is getting cold. You should-”

He surged forward, his lips covering yours. The pad of his thumbs brushed your cheeks when he deepened the kiss, coaxing you to open your mouth to his. Emotions surged through you, your heart nearly overflowing as you held onto each other. You felt everything all at once and let yourself be swept away.

He slowly broke the kiss allowing you both to savor the lingering touch of each other's lips and take a much needed breath. “You could break me, too, but you won't,” he said, his forehead resting against yours as you attempted to calm your racing heart. “Just like I'd never break you.”

It was a vow that resonated in your core, a declaration of love, one that had you kissing him again and silently promising the same. “Match made in heaven or Hell, huh?”

“And where you go, I’ll follow,” he smiled.

You'd follow him, too. “Well, right now you need to eat breakfast and head out so you aren't late for your meeting.”

He groaned and refrained from rolling his eyes. “This suit is coming off as soon as I get back,” he said, much to your disappointment. Or maybe your delight.

“Right when you get back?” You bit your lip. “Will you use the tie on me?”

“I can,” he smirked, making your body heat up all over again. “Can have a little fun in the office, too. Pretend I’m your boss and-”

“Or I could be your boss since I'm strong and capable,” you teased.

He moaned, seemingly into that idea as he backed you against the island. “Boss or not, I’ll still bend you over the desk or have you sit on it while I eat your pretty pussy.”

You whined. There was no stopping Bucky when he was hungry. He’d spread your legs and stay between them until you cried, lap up every drop and still want more.

His hands roamed your body, forgetting all about breakfast. “Fuck you raw and fill you up just the way you-”

Bob cleared his throat, both of you turning toward the sound. How long had the poor guy been standing there? “Just getting a drink,” he said, quickly going to the fridge and avoiding looking at you. “I’m not even here.”

“Sorry, Bob,” you smiled sheepishly when he grabbed his drink and bolted. “We should probably rent a hotel room or something soon and give the team a break.”

You and Bucky could be extremely private some days and others there was no stopping you. How the team put up with it you had no idea. Maybe because you made each other happy. It still had to be slightly obnoxious for them.

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his handsome face, too. “Or we could always do a campout on the roof so we aren't too far away,” he suggested.

You smiled as you imagined it. Looking out over the city and watching the stars before cuddling up in a tent. A cabin getaway was also something to keep in mind for the future when you two could take a break together. Peaceful, quiet. Something just for the two of you.

“A roof campout sounds nice,” you said.

“Good,” Bucky smirked before he picked you up and set you on the island. “Campout later. Right now I want breakfast.”

“Bucky, your meeting.”

“I won't be late.”

You didn't resist when he opened your legs. “Ava said no more fooling around in the kitchen since we eat here,” you reminded him. Alexei would probably encourage it. “And I just cleaned up, and you haven't eaten the food I made.”

“I’ll clean up the mess,” he winked as he crouched down. “And I’ll eat after I eat.”

And he did.

We deserve this. Bucky deserves this. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

3K notes · View notes

satrs · 3 months ago

Text

Hands Off! Or Not?

SYNOPSIS. The forbiddenness of it all so tempting, and restraint a thing of the past. To which depraved and perverse lengths are they going for you truly?

FEAT. XAVIER. ZAYNE. RAFAYEL. SYLUS. CALEB. xfem!reader

TAGS. MDNI! NSFW/DARK CONTENT! DUB-CON! sexual intercourse. unprotected intercourse. extremely pervy guys/acts. perverse actions. making out. jacking off to you without ur knowledge. blowjob and slight roleplay in zayne's. throatfuckin. SOMNOPHILIA in Sylus. watching u shower in rafayel's. shower sex. rafayel and caleb are kinda manipulative. dIrty talk. praise. size kink. oral, panty stealing and cunn!lingus(?)in calebs. Caleb cumin on ya panties lol(nasty ho). They r js nasty and pathetic, man. PANTY SNATCHER CALEB!!!

✎ A/N; Felt cute might delete later Hihi^^ Idk what's gotten into me but M' LOVIN' IT WUHUUU! Hope y'all are doin well and enjoy! xoxo

XAVIER ♡ Snatched!

Xavier, your reliable, caring neighbor.

You just entrusted him with your keys, begging him to tend to your plants while you're out for work since he's off for the week. And he gladly agrees.

But strangely, every time you come home, your plants look more withered than the day before. When you check on them, they're not even watered.

When you confront him about it, he just mentions how he waters them early in the morning so they dry by the evening. And with his slick words, you believe him.

Then, some of your things start appearing in the strangest places. Your lip gloss on the kitchen counter, a scarf on your bed, even panties you don’t remember wearing showing up in your dirty laundry. Weird.

You brush it off, blaming yourself for your forgetful nature, going about your morning routine before heading into another exhausting day of work. Just one more day, and then you won’t have to bother poor, busy Xavier with these tasks anymore.

Xavier, your reliable, sweet, and caring neighbor, moves on instinct as he checks the time, quick to hurry to your apartment door, unlocking it with ease.

Since the day you gave him your keys, it’s been the same routine.

He slips into your apartment after you leave, scanning over your belongings—your scarf, your lip gloss, even the forbidden rose toy you think is hidden in your drawer next to the bed. Anything that carries your essence is an item he’ll examine.

His first mistake.

And once he musters the courage to go into your panty drawer, he’s doomed before he even realizes it. Snatching a pristine pair of white lace panties, he lays back on your bed, taking a deep inhale of the sheets still coated in your scent before his hand travels down to free his aching cock.

His second mistake.

Lustful eyes scan the lace in his other hand as he wraps the flimsy material around his girthy length, his grip tightening as he strokes himself, imagining it to be your tight pussy instead, his head falling back against your headboard.

If this is wrong, dirty, even perverse—then why does it feel so damn good?

He could drown in your scent, stay in your bed like this forever, take panty after panty, repeating the same process over and over again.

He continues, lost in his pleasure, not even noticing the front door opening, the approaching footsteps, or the door creaking until—

"Xavier?"

His eyes snap open, panic surging through him. Before he can explain himself, his mouth falls shut, embarrassment creeping up his face.

"M’ just—"

"Just casually jerking off with my panties, right." You stand before him, arms crossed, a raised eyebrow aimed at his vulnerable form. But your gaze drops, lingering on his cock, still hard, still wrapped in your lace. And fuck, does it look good like that.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "You know what? You're lucky. I could use a little stress relief."

He watches in utter disbelief as you strip off your top, bright eyes soaking in your bare breasts, your perked nipples. His breath hitches when you step closer, knee dipping onto the mattress beside his hip, lustful gaze locking onto his.

"Wanna have the real deal?" You lower yourself onto his lap, heat pressing against his still-throbbing cock. "Then take it, you perv."

You don’t have to tell him twice.

His hands fly to your hips, pulling you down, a shuddering groan ripping from his throat as your soaked cunt draaags over him so deliciously.

His fingers dig into your flesh, thumbs brushing reverently over your waist, your thighs, committing the feel of you to memory.

His third mistake — nah, this is a blessing.

"Fuck," he exhales, voice raw. "Yer' for real?"

You roll your hips, smirking when he hisses. "What do you think?" Your fingers trail up his chest, tracing trembling muscles. " You could still leave. You can help yourself, can you?"

Xavier swallows thickly, hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. "N-no, wanna' stay," he murmurs, voice husky. "Wanted this forever— been waitin' for so long."

You hum, dragging your fingers along his jaw before gripping his chin. "Then show me."

"Heh, I'll show you, alright."

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, down your sternum. His tongue flicks over your nipple, making you arch into him, gasping as he sucks it into his mouth, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your flesh, caressing your tender skin. He pulls back just enough to watch as he drags your soaked panties down your legs, letting them drop carelessly to the floor. His eyes darken as he spreads your legs, settling between them with a predatory gleam.

"So fucking pretty," he breathes, running his fingers through your slick folds before pressing a teasing kiss to your cheek. "Ohh, wanna feel ya'— pleaseee, lemme' get nice and comfy in yer' warm pussy, angel."

A shiver runs through you at his possessive tone, your body burning with anticipation, sending an electric shock right to your aching clit. "Then stop teasing and take what’s yours, Xavier."

He groans at your words, positioning himself at your entrance before sloooowly pushing in, the stretch making you moan as he fills you inch by inch. His head falls against your shoulder, panting against your skin as he finally bottoms out.

"Warm, s-so warm," he grits out, hands gripping your hips as he pulls back before thrusting in again, setting a deep, slow pace that has you whimpering beneath him. "Wanna stay like this—inside ya'—fuckkk."

Your nails dig into his back, urging him to go faster. And he does, movements rough, desperate, as his cock spreads you open, massaging your g-spot with his viciously, throbbing tip.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans and curses filling the room, Xavier presses his forehead against yours, lips ghosting over your mouth, the incredible stretch causing your tongue to loll out weakly and he happily laps up your saliva, sucking on your wet muscle.

"Give it ta' me—fuckkk, all of it," he coaxes, thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate motions, "Make a mess on me, c’mon, ya can't shy out now."

“G-gonna give it to me, yeah? Promise?” His voice is strangled, thick with lust as his thrusts grow frantic, erratic. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising, as he chases his high, grinding deep with every desperate snap of his hips.

You nod frantically, heat coiling in your stomach until it snaps, pleasure crashing over you. Your body tightens around him, and Xavier lets out a strangled groan as he follows, spilling his thick cum inside you, coating your walls in slick white as he buries his face in your neck, panting heavily.

For a moment, you both stay like that, tangled in each other, bodies slick with sweat until he pulls back just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling his lips.

"Oops. Forgot to water your plants today."

You huff out a laugh, pulling him down for another kiss, robbing a hiss from him as you slightly shift, cock springing to life inside you.

"Figured."

ZAYNE ♡ Doctor's Orders.

Zayne hates how much of a pervert he is.

He tells himself he should stop, that he should have some damn self-control, act like the composed professional he's supposed to be. But it’s just too tempting—especially when he catches those inviting glimpses of you during medical check-ups.

Like when he presses the stethoscope to your chest, fingers accidentally brushing over your soft skin as he pulls away. Or when you bend over, reaching for your toes for some 'spine check' he made up while he can’t help but admire the perfect curve of your ass.

He really can't help it.

It’s bad enough in his clinic, but it's so much worse when he does house calls.

You sit there so obediently, following every command, trusting him so completely. And it doesn’t help that you're dressed in ridiculously tight pajamas, your breasts practically spilling from the neckline, your thighs fully exposed, leaving little to the imagination.

Fuck. He could wreck you right here on this damned couch if he weren’t supposed to be acting professional.

"Alright, now open your mouth wide. I need to check your throat."

Lie.

You comply, lips parting in a teasing "ahhh," making a show of it just to get a rise out of him. And oh, does it work.

His grip tightens around the tongue depressor as he guides it to your tongue, watching you, trying so hard not to let his gaze meet yours because if he does—he’s done for.

But then his hand trembles, just enough to push the depressor a little deeper.

You gag. Loudly.

His cock twitches violently, and he swears he can feel a bead of pre-cum leaking into his briefs right then and there.

"M’ sorry," he mutters hastily, barely able to form words. "Feeling a bit off today. Been a long one. Can I use your restroom?"

"Of course! Are you alri—"

Before you can even finish your sentence, he's gone, practically sprinting to the bathroom.

The second the door is almost shut, he’s already fumbling with his belt, shoving his pants down and gripping his hefty cock, hissing as he wraps his fingers around the thick, aching length.

God, he’s horrible. Pathetically horrible.

He’s jacked off to the thought of you more times than he can count, but never in your home. Never with you just outside the door.

And the worst part?

He wants to get caught.

It's evident— his groans slip past his lips a little too loudly, the wet sounds of his strokes just barely muffled by the rush of running water. And he doesn’t even try to lock the door, leaving it cracked just enough—a silent invitation, a trap.

His hand moves faster, his mind spiraling into filthy thoughts, how much better would it sound if you were gagging around him instead of that damned wooden stick? If you looked up at him, lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowed, eyes teary?

"Fuck—"

His breath hitches, his body tensing—he’s about to—

"Z-Zayne? What the—!"

His eyes snap open, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose as he whips around.

And there you are. Standing in the doorway, lips parted, gaze locked onto his hand wrapped around his cock, glistening with pre-cum.

For a split second, shame claws at him, heat burning up his neck—until he sees a smirk creeping onto your lips.

"M’ sorry," he breathes, voice rough, unrepentant, "but you’re a vixen of a patient, you know that? Teasing me with your tight little outfit. You planned this, didn’t you?"

You tilt your head, playing innocent, though your eyes gleam with mischief. "Doctor... I think you’re just imagining things."

His grip on the sink tightens when you step closer, sinking to your knees before him, your breath ghosting over his swollen tip. And you giggle, giggle as you watch pre spurt out of his slit as your hand creeps up his thigh, doe-eyes locking with his.

You grasp him, a teasing flick of your tongue sending a sharp jolt through his entire body.

"Unbelievable," he huffs, fingers instantly tangling in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. "I’m not imagining things, trust me."

And then, with a firm push, he guides your mouth onto him, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as your lips wrap around his cock.

"Let's finish yer' check-up. Open wiiiiide— ya' know the drill. " His smirk deepens, hips rolling forward, forcing you to take him to your throat, the delicious gag you let out makes his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

His hips snap forward in a slow, deliberate thrust, dragging a needy whimper from your throat as he sinks deeper, stretching your lips around him further. His breathing is uneven now, heavy with restraint, but his control is crumbling, and you can feel it in the way his fingers flex against your scalp, the way he hurries to throw his fogged glasses of, his muscles coil under your touch.

His thrusts grow sharper, more demanding, and you take it, every inch of it, his cock sliding deep into your throat, eyes tearing.

The filthy, wet sounds of your mouth working him fill the small bathroom, along with his ragged breathing, the curses slipping past his lips as his body trembles beneath your touch.

You drag your nails up his thighs, feeling the way his muscles tense, how he shudders when you hum around him, sending vibrations straight through him. He groans your name, voice rough with need, his head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coils tight in his gut.

And then you dare to contract that tight throat of yours, squeezing his mushroomy, rosey tip so tight, he's starting to feel dizzy now.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" His voice breaks, a low growl vibrating in his chest as his thrusts falter, his entire body seizing under your touch. His grip tightens, almost bruising, but you welcome it, relishing the way he shudders, how his knees slightly buckle.

With a final, deep thrust, he spills into your mouth, a sharp curse falling from his lips as he rides out his release with weak bucks, his fingers still tangled in your hair. His chest rises and falls in harsh, uneven breaths, his body trembling as the last waves of pleasure crash over him.

His heavy breath fills the tight space, fingers now sliding through his disheveled hair as his cloudy gaze falls to your messed up face in awe, hair tangled from his firm grip, tearing eyes examining him as you happily swallow his hot semen, cum slicked lips stretching into a big smile right after.

Your knees dig into the floor as you tilt your head to lap up a droplet of semen trapped to his tip in delight.

"So," he catches his breath before reaching for his glasses with shaky fingers, swiftly putting them on,

"Same time next week?"

RAFAYEL ♡ Steambound

Rafayel is nothing if not considerate, letting you shower at his place while your apartment complex deals with yet another plumbing disaster.

You appreciate it, really. His shower is just as extravagant as the rest of his house—sleek, modern tiles stretching from floor to ceiling, the entire bathroom almost as big as your whole damn apartment.

Steam curls into the air, thick and heavy, wrapping the room in a heated mist. Water cascades down your tired body, and you close your eyes, exhaling softly, relishing in the warmth as it soothes your muscles.

But you don’t notice the faint crack in the door, nor the tall figure standing just beyond it, or predatory eyes locked onto your naked form through the glass, tracing the curve of your back to the soft swell of your ass.

Who could blame him?

He noticed you didn’t lock the door, and as he listened to the rhythmic patter of water, felt the humid air creeping into the hallway, he told himself to just take a quick peek, just to make sure you don’t need anything. A towel, maybe. Then he’d be on his way.

Why is he even lying to himself?

He always does this—always tries to craft reasonable excuses for his own depravity.

This isn’t the first time you’ve showered at his place, and it sure as hell isn’t the first time he’s watched you.

He’s perfected the art of lingering just out of sight, watching through a barely open door, catching glimpses of your reflection in the mirror as you undress in the guest room he swears he never uses.

Or when you step out of the shower, towel wrapped snugly around your glistening body, droplets still clinging to your skin, he’s there, lurking, memorizing every inch of you, maybe even letting his hand drift lower, palming himself through his pants as he drinks in the sight, knowing that just watching won’t be enough.

So, when he's feeling extra risky, he'll sneak a peak into the shower, like right now, unbuttoned pants hanging low as he slowly strokes his aching cock to you soaping your body with his body wash, in his shower, your hands gliding along your delicate skin and he wishes, prays he could touch you like that.

You mindlessly pour the shampoo into your hair, turning just right for him to catch a glimpse of your exposed front, tits on full display. Your eyes are cautionary closed, careful not to get any of the product in your eyes.

And he's taking full advantage of that.

His head rests against the doorframe, low-hanging eyes and mouth agape as he tries to sneak a peak at your cunt, but he's just too far away.

What a shame.

Desperate to catch a glipse, he lets out a frustrated huff, maybe a little too loud, causing you to halt in your tracks, turning your head with cautiong, eyes closed covered with remnants of bubbles.

"Rafayel? Is that you?"

Your voice cuts through the thick steam, startled and unsure, and it makes his stomach clench, as his hand tightens desperately onto his bulky tip and his breath stutters. His name so sweet on your tongue—he shouldn't react like this, but he can't help but stroke his heavy cock firm in his palm, faster, stronger.

A shiver runs down his spine, his grip tightening around himself again, a quiet muffled moan slipping past his bitten lip, overwritten by the dripping noise of the water, his ears flush red. Damn it.

This wasn’t how he planned to spend his night, fisted around his cock, your scent thick in the air, soap and you making his head as cloudy as the humid air around him. But you’re here now, close enough that he swears he can feel the warmth of your body beyond the veil of condensation.

And maybe it’s reckless—no, it is reckless, but desire makes him bold. He exhales sharply, letting his hesitation crumble, and before he can overthink it, he pushes past the fogged glass and steps fully into view.

Your reaction is instant. A sharp gasp, eyes going wide as you stumble backward, water cascading down your bare shoulders. Your hands, trembling, fly up to shield yourself, though they do little to conceal the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your chest, the way droplets cling to your flushed skin.

His gaze darkens, tracing every detail greedily, hunger curling low in his stomach. His lips twitch, amusement flickering beneath the heat in his stare. That trembling attempt at modesty, those blown-out eyes staring at him like he's some kind of dangerous animal—like he’s something hazardous— God, he might cum right there.

"Mind if I join in? The shower is big enough for two, no?"

Your throat bobs as you swallow, eyes darting between his face and his tall, sculpted frame while he cautiously steps closer—dripping, bare, utterly unapologetic as he stands before you.

Everything feels so hot, from the hot steam to his body so close to yours, to the lingering feeling in the pit of your tummy. You should scream, slap, cuss him out, but,

"Y-you, you perv" , is all you can muster, your whole body tensing as your eyes linger at his straight, heavy dick maybe for a little too long.

Fuck, this is turning you on.

Rafayel watches every shift of your expression like a predator drinking in the scent of his prey.

Embarrassment and conflict, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying just how hard your heart is pounding.

But beneath it—Oh, he sees it. That flicker of something curious, enticed, even, something that makes his blood run straight to his already painfully hard, pounding length.

"I prefer the term 'enthusiast'. Plus," he's inching closer, finger reaching behind to turn off the flowing fountain of water, "I let you shower here for weeks, ya owe me, ya' know."

Droplets cling to his skin now, sliding over every defined muscle, down the sharp lines of his abs, following the ridges like they’re tracing a path meant for your eyes to follow.

You press yourself against the cool tile, heart hammering against your ribs, but you don’t look away. You can’t. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, hard, thick, aching.

And he’s not even trying to hide it.

"I don’t owe you anything," you manage, but your voice is weak, your body betraying you with every shaky inhale, every slight tremble he notices instantly.

Rafayel smirks, watching you intentively. "Oh, cutie," he drawls, rolling his shoulders as the warm water cascades over him, washing away the last remnants of restraint. "You don’t even believe that yourself."

Coral eyes trail lower, drinking in the sight of you of your glistening skin— the way some bubbles still slide down your curves, clinging to the peaks of your breasts before slipping down between your thighs.

"Look at cha'," he murmurs, thick voice drenched in lust "Fuckin' perfect."

You shift under his gaze, thighs pressing together, but it’s useless—he sees everything. He always does.

Your breath stutters, heat licking up your spine, but you shake your head, desperate to deny it. "That’s not—"

His fingers swiftly trail lower, slipping between your legs, rubbing just once over the slick, buttony clit, and you nearly collapse.

Rafayel groans, his forehead dropping against yours for a moment, his breath coming out ragged.

He hisses, other hand forming into a tight fist, holding onto his last bit of sanity — if there's even anything left. "Yer' cute cunny 's sayin' sometin' else," precise fingers glide down to tease your fluttering hole, "You sure you want me ta' stop?"

Your mind his clouded, gaze hazy, shaky hand coming up to trace down his slim waist, halting just above his pelvis.

A whimper escapes you, gasping when he grips your thigh and hikes it up around his waist, pressing you closer, his cock gifting your clit a quick, addictive kiss.

"You could’ve locked the door," he breathes against your ear, his voice dripping with amusement, sin. "You could’ve told me to fuck off the second I stepped inside. But you didn’t."

His lips graze your throat, nipping at the delicate skin, making you squirm.

"You wanted this, didn’t you?" he growls, rolling his hips, letting the thick length of him drag against your slick folds, teasing, taunting. "You wanted me to come in and give this pussy some proper lovin' hm?"

A broken moan spills from your lips, nails digging into his shoulders, but he only grins, reveling in your unraveling.

"Say it," he demands, voice laced with need and desire. "Tell me you want this — want me, and I'll treat this needy cunny sooo good."

His digits find your clit again, circling it lazily, his teasing touch making your legs shake.

"Tell me," he repeats, pressing the head of his cock right against your entrance, barely pushing in, just enough to make you feel the stretch, make you crave for more.

Your head falls back against the tile, lips parted, body trembling, and as the words spill from you in a breathless whimper— he loses it.

Groaning, his patience snaps as he slams his mouth over yours, tongue plunging deep, stealing the last bit of your resistance. And before you can even register it he’s inside you, stretching your walls so meanly agape, your breath halts in your lungs.

"Ohhh, baby" he growls against your lips as he fully bottoms out inside you. "Finally— fuckkkk, finally. Was so tired of js' watchin' ya'."

You can feel him everywhere— his tongue tangling with yours, desperate claws on your thigh and hips, his selfish cock spreading you so lewdly, so meanly, you almost don't notice the bulge in your tummy— almost.

"Goddd, g-gonna be the death of me, cutie", his words come out in a quiet whisper as his eyes fall down to his cock marking a visible spot on your tummy, bullying his way into your cervix.

He picks up a quicker pace, deep thrust jolting you further up the cold tiles.

And each appearance of his cock against your belly, each little sound he swallows from your bitten lips make his balls tighten, threatening to pump his load deep into you.

"Ya' feel even better than I imagined. So greedy, suckin' me in so damn deep."

And he has imagined. So many times.

But now? Now he doesn’t have to anymore.

SYLUS ♡ Home Sweet Home!

Sylus always had a calculated mind, being two steps ahead of everyone around him- even you.

So once in a while when you're sleeping over at his place, he takes the sleeping-gap you both have to his advantage. Well, more often than he'd like to admit.

This has become quite the routine once you come over, he'll spend time with you, then leave for so called buissnes late at night. Sure,, he had a lot to do as the Leader of a criminal organization but sometimes? he just drove off around the corner of his home, waiting, preying.

He's purposely come home later than usual, sitting in his car as he watches you in his room through Mephisto, getting ready for bed.

He's waiting, watching intensly with his leg tapping the floor of his car as he watches you get into the bed with a defeaded sigh, the long wait of waiting for Sylus return now overwritten by the need to sleep.

So once he notices the lights turning off, your regular breathing indicating that you're far off into the dreamland now.

That's when he strikes.

The door creaks open, closing with a soft click! as Sylus steps into the dimly lit apartment.

You're sprawled out on his bed, breathing softly, body tangled in the blood-red sheets, wearing only his shirt, the fabric barely clings to your body, slipping off one delicate shoulder, the hem riding up just enough to tease a slight view of your panties.

His pupils blow in excitement, silver eyebrows raising in amusement.

"Would you look at that," he muses, voice thick with something sinful.

The bed dips as he climbs in, tugging the blanket you curled yourself into to crawl inside it, your warm, resting body spurting excitement right to his cock,

He watches you sleep, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing while palming himself through his pants. He never touched you —he would never—but God, the temptation burned.

And once he hears your sleeping form mutter a silent moan, he tenses.

What could you possibly be dreaming of?

He fights internally, fingers twitching, itching to touch you.

His suspicions solidified once a short gasp spilled from your lips, your thighs clenching under the sheets as you shamelessly moan his name in your sleep.

He pushes the blanket aside, exposing your flushed form with eyes scrunched together, thighs twitching as your hips rock against nothing.

"S-Sylus. Need you."

God, he can't help himself.

You said it yourself, you need him. So you wouldn't mind if he gives you just what you're craving for, right?

The bed dips as he climbs over you, one knee pressing between your legs. His fingers ghost along your exposed thigh, pushing the fabric up further, revealing more of the soft skin beneath, careful not to stir you from your peaceful slumber.

Sylus exhales slowly, forcing himself to move with precision and restraint. His touch is featherlight, tracing the delicate curve of your thigh, reveling in the way your skin shivers under his fingertips.

You're so warm, so soft—his perfect little prize wrapped up in his sheets, whispering his name like a prayer even in sleep.

His cock strains against his slacks, aching, desperate. But he won't rush. No, he intends to savor this. Thoroughly.

Carefully, he brushes his knuckles along the inside of your thigh, eyes locked onto your face, watching for any sign of wakefulness. But you only sigh, legs parting slightly in response as if inviting him closer.

With painstaking patience, he lets his fingers skim the edge of your panties, tracing the damp fabric stretched over your core. The moment he feels the warmth, the wetness gathered there, a deep, shuddering breath escapes him.

Fuck.

You're dreaming of him.

He palms himself through his trousers again, exhaling sharply at the realization. His perfect girl, all worked up because of him, soaking through her panties in the middle of the night, writhing against the sheets, lost in whatever sinful fantasy has her gasping his name.

It's almost too much to bear.

You shift in your sleep, a tiny sigh leaving your lips as goosebumps leave a trail on your skin from the remnant of his delightful touches.

"I'm home, honey." he hums, teasing.

His large hands slide beneath your shirt with a rough, determined purpose, fingers splaying wide as if he means to carve the shape of you into his memory. His palms are calloused, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin, and the way he grips your waist—firm, unyielding, and he wonders how you've not even woken up yet despite his desperate claws.

Breath stuttering, low and ragged, followed by a guttural groan that rumbles deep in his chest as he feels the heat of your bare flesh beneath his hands like it’s driving him out of his mind.

Leaning in without hesitation, mouth finding your exposed shoulder, lips dragging with tenderness. He doesn’t kiss so much as claim, lingering long enough for his teeth to graze the sensitive skin before moving lower.

He trails downward, tasting every inch like he’s memorizing the way you shudder beneath him.

His grip tightens, possessive, almost bruising, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left to breathe, to think—only the pounding of your heartbeat against his and the searing heat coiled between you. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, tongue flicking out, slow and hot, before his teeth scrape lightly, dangerously, earning a desperate sound from deep within you.

“Wakey, wakeyyy,” he hums against your skin, voice wrecked, with a teasing undertone. His hands slide higher now, beneath fabric and hesitation alike, and everywhere he touches feels like it’s burning, unraveling you thread by thread.

"Were you waiting for me like this, baby?" he hums between open-mouthed kisses, voice like warm honey, " all soft and ready for me?"

A pleased sound rumbles from his chest as you sigh in response, your body instinctively shifting closer to his heat. He watches the slow rise and fall of your breath, the way your lashes flutter ever so slightly, the unconscious parting of your lips so inviting.

His hands spread your further thighs apart, a pleased groan escaping his throat as he comes face to face with your dampened panties, outline of your needy cunt plastered so firmly, he can't look anywhere but.

He doesn't shy away, his hunger mounting as he palms himself through his slacks, the thick outline of his arousal pressing insistently against the fabric.

"Beautiful," he breathes, grinding his freed cock against you, hanging firm above his lazily undone pants, pre staining your panties even more, the wet spot now bleeding further into the cotton material. He watches with rapt fascination as your body reacts instinctively—your thighs twitch, a soft whimper escapes your lips, your hips lift ever so slightly, longing for more.

His cock twitches at the sight.

"Mmm, that's my good girl," he praises, slipping his hands beneath your thighs, hoisting you up just enough to slide your panties to the side before aligning his pulsating crown on your clenching hole.

Sylus pushes in slowly, letting out a long, deep groan as your warmth stretches around him. The feeling of your needy cunny—hot, tight, wet—makes his head spin.

"S-Sylus?! When did you—hngggh!"

Ah, you're awake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed over with sleep, a dazed confusion mixed with pleasure contorting your features as you register the delicious stretch filling you up.

"M' sorry, sweetheart," he hisses, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice strained with restraint. "Couldn't help myself."

Your hands scramble to grip his strong shoulders, your nails biting into the firm muscle, legs lazily wrapping around his waist, still heavy from sleep, pulling him deeper. The sensation sends him reeling, and he rolls his hips forward, sinking further until he’s buried his pulsating cock to the hilt, brushing against your cervix ridiculously fast.

"Nghhh! M-more."

He chuckles, breathless and cocky. "Mm, patience, baby. I always give you what you want, no?"

His thrusts start slow, deep, and deliberate, dragging against your sensitive walls. He watches you, utterly enthralled, drinking in the way your lips part, how your nails dig into his skin, how your body shudders beneath him.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs against your lips, voice filled with pure adoration. "Always—such a perfect girl for me."

"B-been waitin' for you for so long,", your breath comes in short, shaky gasps, your body still adjusting to the overwhelming fullness. But Sylus doesn’t stop—he won’t stop. He needs this. He needs you.

"My sweet, poor darling. But I'm here now, and 'm not leaving anytime soon."

His pace picks up, hips slamming into you harder, deeper, hitting that mawkish spot that has your toes curling, your moans turning breathless.

"Yeahhh," he growls, his grip on your thighs tightening. "You see? Told you I—hahh— always take care of you, hm?"

You can’t speak—you can only whimper, nodding frantically, back arching as pleasure crashes through you. Every thrust drags against that spot, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, the heat pooling in your belly threatening to snap.

"Words, baby," he demands, grinning against your cheek. "Tell me."

"T-taking so much care for me! A-always fuckin' me sooooo good—!"

His groan is primal, his thrusts turning erratic. His lips are on yours in an instant, swallowing your moans in a messy, desperate kiss. His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your aching clit, rubbing fast, ruthless circles over the swollen bud.

Your body snaps.

Pleasure explodes through you, hard, hot and overwhelming, your walls clenching down around him like a vice. Your legs tighten around his waist, back arching off the bed as wave after wave crashes over you, your voice breaking on a strangled cry of his name.

"Fuck—fuck, sweetie," he groans, his rhythm stuttering. Your tight, convulsing heat sends him over the edge with you, his breath hitching, hips twitching as he buries himself as deep as he can go, spilling his hot spurts of cum inside you with a strangled, guttural grunt.

For a moment, he stays there, buried deep, catching his breath, his body trembling against yours. Then, a lazy smirk pulls at his lips.

"Gorgeous fuckin' mess," he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss against your jaw

You let out a soft, contented whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.

And by the determined glee in his eyes, you know he's not done playing with his prey yet.

CALEB ♡ No Shame!(What for?)

Your breath stalls in your chest, heart hammering against your ribs as your mind scrambles to make sense of what’s in front of you.

Panties. Your panties.

The delicate lace, once delicate, is now stuck together in places, soaked through with his cum. The sheer amount of it—thick, messy, so obviously fresh—makes your stomach tighten, not with disgust or fear, but something different.

Your fingers tremble as you hold the fabric aloft, staring, your pulse roaring in your ears.

This isn’t possible. It can’t be.

Sweet, wholesome Caleb—the one who always looked after you, who laughed at your dumb jokes, who ruffled your hair like an annoying big brother—there’s just no way. He couldn’t possibly be this perverse. He couldn’t have been stealing your underwear, jerking off into them like some depraved animal, desperate to soak them in his filth.

Right?

This was just supposed to be a quick peek into his room for any of his dirty laundry while he's showering to throw it into the machine alongside yours. Well alright, maybe you also wanted to check for your favorite missing pair of panties, just to be sure.

And there they are, the proof right here, warm and glistening between your fingers.

You’re so stunned, so utterly paralyzed by its sheer indecency that you don’t even hear the dropping water halting, the bathroom door open. Don’t even sense the presence behind you—not until you hear that soft, unmistakable click!

Your entire body jolts as realization slams into you.

You turn too fast, nearly stumbling, your breath lodged in your throat as your gaze collides with his.

He's bare-chested, still dripping from the shower, skin gleaming under the soft bedroom light, droplets of water trailing down his defined abs before disappearing beneath the loosely tucked edge of his towel, blocking the door, leaving no escape.

You’re trapped.

And the way he’s looking at you, amused, dark-eyed, and slow-smirking— so damn shameless, makes your stomach tighten in the worst possible way.

"Snooping around my room? That’s so unlike you, pips'."

His voice is smooth, unbothered, as if he isn’t standing there half-naked, as if he doesn’t see the ruined panties clutched in your trembling grasp.

His gaze flicks downward to your hand, to the lace still sticking to your fingers with his spent desire, to be exact.

Heat scorches through you. A sick, embarrassed thrill coils in your gut, because oh god—you’re still holding it.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through other people’s things?"

You drop the panties like they burn, but it’s too late.

He knows you’ve seen them, knows you’ve realized what he’s done, knows you’re still standing here, trapped in his room.

"You weren’t supposed to find those, y’know," he muses, taking another step closer. The damp heat radiating off his skin encloses you, his fresh and clean scent washing over you, making your legs go weak.

Your breath shudders unable to do anything but watch him come closer and closer, the towel on his hips hanging dangerously low.

"What’s wrong?" he hums, tilting his head, mocking innocence dripping from his voice. "Cat got your tongue? Or," he leans in, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath ghost across your cheek, "Are you just wondering how many other pairs I’ve got?"

Your pulse pounds, deafening. The way he says it so casually, so fucking bold, makes it obvious. This isn’t the first time, fuck— he’s been doing this for god knows how long.

"Caleb," you finally choke out, his name barely more than a whisper.

"Let's make a deal, sweets," he murmurs, reaching up, up, up— his fingers trace your wrist, featherlight, teasing, and playful, "I'll stop stealing them if ya' let me get a taste of the real thing. How's that sound, pips'?"

And your hesitant nod, bitten lips, and glazed eyes are all he needs as his strong hands grip your waist, twisting you around, forcing you backward.

Your back hits the mattress with a gasp, the soft give of his bed swallowing your weight. The room spins, the scent of him, clean from his shower, wrapping around you, suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

This is wrong.

He's on you, caging you in, hands moving quickly to remove your short pants from your legs, your shirt riding up in the process, panties on full display, and not to mention the prominent wet, stain riiiight at the center of where he imagines your needy cunt to be.

Oh so you want this as much as he does, huh?

His arms are braced on either side of your head, towel hanging low on his hips, barely clinging on. His damp hair drips onto your skin, cool against the fire burning beneath your flesh. His muscles flex above you, broad shoulders dwarfing you, leaving you breathless under his weight.

Who are you trying to fool?

You wanted this, hell- maybe even prayed for your panties to be in his possession, prayed for him to finally touch you, to have him between your legs like this,

And your prayers have been heard.

His knee spreads your legs without hesitation, without shame, pinning you open beneath him. And before you can even think, his head dips down, his mouth right at your thigh, his nose dragging against the heat between your legs.

"Never seen this pair before," he breathes, his voice rough, heavy with something filthy.

Your whole body locks up because god—he’s so close, pressing his face against your panties, nuzzling the damp fabric, so shamelessly, so utterly desperate, taking a big whiff of your scent, making you wail in embarrassment.

A deep, guttural, fucking shameless moan wrecks from his throat, so obscene, so needy, that you feel the heat of it pulse straight to your needy pussy.

"Fuckkk," he groans, dragging his nose up, nuzzling slow, breathing deep. "Ya' smell so damn sweet, baby."

Your hands fly to his shoulders, weakly pushing, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he presses in deeper.

"Didn't think ya' could keep ts' cute cunny hidden from me, did ya'?" he purrs, hot breath fanning against the wetness he’s indulging in, dropped gaze engulfing your expressions whole.

And then—

His tongue. Right against the fabric, mere atoms away from your bare clit, slow, deliberate kitten-licks draaaag over the damp lace, so close yet so maddeningly far, and your head snaps back against the mattress, a moan spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

His breath left him in a rough chuckle, fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to rip your lace apart right then and there.

"H-hey, no peeking!" You try to scold, your hands darting down to grasp his hand threatening to get rid of the fabric—but Caleb's faster.

Hand snapping yours away, a low growl retorts, a primal sound that sends heat licking down your spine.

He loves your panties, he really does. But right now, he just wants to fucking tear them apart.

"Baby, ohhh — babybabybaby," he groans against your hidden folds, rolling his hips once, twice against the bed, watching as your head tipped back, a sharp gasp leaving you.

"C-Caleb—"

That was all it took for him to finally lose it.

With one swift movement, a loud riiiip! echoing as he tears your panties from you, exposing your aching pussy bare before him.

He doesn't tease. Doesn't wait.

A low, primal sound resonates before he crashes headfirst into your soaked cunt. His hands take control, gripping your thighs, dragging you forward until your soaked heat is pressed firmly against his eager mouth as he bucks his hips into the bed like a desperate mess.

A sharp cry rips from your throat, legs locking around his head as he fills you with his tongue, forcing you open. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, biting teasingly, sucking onto your clit with such a devastating grip your mind goes blank.

"Yer' fucking drenched," he groans, voice tight with restraint. "So eager for me, hmm?"

Each drag of his tongue scraping the inside of your hole, his nose repeatedly bumping into your throbbing clit sends pleasure detonating through your core, deep and merciless, making you cling to his hair with desperate fingers. The room's air is thick, humid, filled with the obscene sound of sloppy spurts of your juices coating his face, the sharp gasps, the deep grunts of a man losing himself in you— in your pussy.

His tongue presses down harder on your clit, circling in tight, devastating licks that had your thighs trembling around his head.

Every time his tongue drags over you, his hips jerk in rhythm, grinding pathetically against nothing but air and friction, chasing the sensation like a man starved.

But it’s the way he works his tongue that sends you spiraling, spelling out his name over your throbbing, swollen clit like a brand.

C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-

Each letter feels like it’s seared into you, curling perfectly around every sensitive nerve, his mouth obscene in its devotion. There’s nothing measured about it now, nothing held back, just raw, consuming need as he devours you like you’re the only thing tethering him to sanity.

"H-hahhh, fuck!—" Your voice wrecked, high-pitched, barely coherent. Your nails bite into his scalp, desperate for something to anchor you as your body teetered on the edge.

Your fingers twist tightly in his hair, yanking hard enough to make his head tilt back for a moment, his groan reverberating straight through your core. The sound vibrates against you, deep and guttural, sending a sharp jolt of electricity ripping down your spine.

He doesn’t falter, if anything, the rough pull only spurs him on. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and glazed, pupils blown wide with hunger, and the sight alone nearly undoes you.

“Feels good, baby?” he rasps against your hole, his voice wrecked, teasing, but tinged with something almost desperate.

The plap, plap, plap of his hips rutting against the sheets with shameless abandon, towel long abandoned on the floor somewhere, matching the frantic curl of his tongue as he snaps his hips up, the sound of his slurping assault lewd and filthy.

"Give it ta' me, c'mon. Allll of it," Caleb mutters, vibration hot against your folds, his grip tightening, the muscles in his arms flexing as he slams you firmly, deep into the mattress, leaving no room to move.

The pleasure crested, blinding, and almost unbearable. Your whole body locked up as the first wave of your orgasm slammed into you—violent, tearing a broken, breathless scream from your lips, your tongue helplessly dangling from your open mouth, slick saliva dripping onto the sheets.

But Caleb doesn't stop.

He keeps going, arms locking around your thighs, forcing them up, up up, harshly against your stomach in a mating press, dragging out every last pulse, every aftershock, every clench of your walls around his wet muscle.

"That's it," he groans, voice ragged with need. "So fucking—shiiitt—tasty fuckin' pussy—"

Your body convulses, pleasure still rolling through you in relentless waves, too much and not enough at the same time. Your thighs shake, breath coming in ragged gasps, vision hazy as your orgasm drags on—longer, deeper, more intense than you’d ever felt before.

"Fuhh-fuck!—"

And as you come down from your soul-shattering high, arm dapped across your face to catch your breath, his hunter eyes bore into your form, hand sneaking down to snatch the destroyed piece of fabric from the valley of your ass, swiftly stuffing them under his pillow.

Bingo. Another one added to his collection.

3K notes · View notes