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elaci · 22 days

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Just Friends

Patrick and you are just friends, so he shouldn't get this jealous when you get sick of his games and decide you'll spend the night with Art instead.

cw; spitting, degradation, rough sex, choking, unprotected sex, creampies, ruined orgasms

Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | 18+ mdni — special s/o to the anons that helped imagine this up

It’s demeaning, really, the way Patrick Zweig watches you from the other side of the room. You can barely see him, shadows and party-store strobe lights displace his expression for seconds at a time, but when you do manage to hold his gaze long enough to make out the sharpness in it, your skin crawls. Through his eyes, you're no better than the last of his conquests.

You still like the heat of his hatred, though, especially when it's his best friend's lap you sit on. Art Donaldson has an arm around your waist, fingers dug into your side, the pressure light yet insistent. His face is flushed against your neck; lazy kisses pepper your throat. He wouldn't be marking you up for the world to bear witness if Art knew you belonged to Patrick first, but the brunette had insisted you were just friends, it was nothing more than a casual night or three. Now, he gets to watch as Art's free hand trails up the inside of your thigh, waging war against his urge to have you ride his fingers in the middle of the crowded living room.

Art's eyes are closed, lips wet against the expanse of your throat as he sucks a hickey into your skin-- your eyes are locked on Patrick's, who stands across the room, jaw clenched tight and hand wet with the spill of beer from his plastic cup. A sea of bodies act as the barrier between you two, dancing and grinding against each other in the same show of college-aged lust you're exhibiting with Art's hand trailing that little bit further up your thigh. You watch Patrick swallow and take a step back, ready to turn away, but something deep inside of you aches to be seen. You use a hand to lift Art's chin up so that you can plant your lips to his in a bruising kiss. Your blonde tryst responds eagerly, parting his lips, letting your tongue dart in to explore the seam of his mouth. His eyes flutter shut but yours stay open and stuck on Patrick, who doesn't blink as he watches you share spit with his best friend. He looks like a different man.

You pull away from Art slowly, dragging your teeth over Art's lip before leaning back in with purposeful abandon and you can almost swear you see him shudder in turn. One of his hands has slipped under your shirt palming your breast, his thumb rubbing a taut nipple through your bra. The contact makes you moan involuntarily, but it does nothing to distract you from the intense stare of Patrick Zweig who is still watching you. It takes all the restraint you possess not to look back, to ignore the piercing stare that could burn a hole right through the side of your skull. Instead, you give Art a soft but sultry smile and say, "I'll get us another drink, and then we can get out of here?"

"Sounds good," Art gives you a nod and takes his hand from under your shirt so you can stand from his lap. You eye the growing tent in his pants that he has to readjust to sit comfortably, and you smile as you turn to walk to the kitchen while Art follows you with his eyes.

You slip behind a corner into the kitchen where half-emptied bottles of nondescript booze and solo cups of mixers sit precariously along the countertops. You grab one of the bottles and two cups that you hope are clean and start to pour a drink for you and Art. You need this, a good orgasm or two to get your mind off of Patrick and his incessant proclamations of 'just being friends'. You'll fuck Art as a 'fuck you' to Patrick and move on to the next guy that won't make you cum half as well as either of them can. But the bottle is plucked from your hands, spilling over as it's placed down harshly and you're suddenly pressed against the edge of the countertop by someone much larger than yourself, their chest pressing against your upper back, crotch against your ass, arms boxing you in on either side.

This isn't Art; he's too coy for something this crude. This guy, who smells like cigarettes and a deodorant you've smelt too many times before, leans forward until his lips brush against your ear. His breath is hot, fanning your skin in ragged waves. Him. "So are you gonna fuck him?"

"Fuck you, Patrick. We're just friends," you parrot his own words back to him. Just friends, he had said whilst knuckles deep in your pussy, begging you to sit on his face only a moment later. Just fucking friends.

"That's what I thought," he exhales, and his voice is low, rough. You shiver, goosebumps prickling on your arms. The pressure of him on your back slackens and you twist, turning around only to find yourself still boxed in, but face to face with the source of your every wrongdoing, Patrick fucking Zweig. The grin pulling at his lips makes him appear predatory, almost feral. It's an animalistic thing; the look he gives you, hungry and angry and desperate. Like he wants to devour you in whole and spit you out just to taste you again. "Let me rephrase: have you fucked him already?"

No. "Yes." That answer comes quickly enough, even if it sounds a little pathetic in the face of Patrick's glazed eyes. Your hands rise of their own volition, landing on Patrick's chest and trying hopelessly to push him back. "Now get off me."

He doesn't budge, instead leaning in until you can feel his breath ghosting across your lips, noses bumping together lightly, "you're a fucking slut," he smiles, and you want to slap the grin off his face, want to claw into those beautiful eyes of his for looking at anyone but you. You hate him, you hate him with everything you have, you hate that your heart is slamming against your ribcage in response to his words. He's so close he can probably hear it, feel it, taste it on his lips and feel it in his hollowed bones.

You slip a hand from his chest down to the bulge of his jeans; he's hard, and you palm him through the coarse denim. "I'm the slut?" you bite, "what about you, Patrick, huh?" You squeeze him harder, feeling him twitch underneath your touch, "what are you then?"

One hand snaps from the countertop beside you to your throat, fingers digging in hard enough to start hurting. "I'm one minute away from fucking you stupid on this goddamn counter, that's what I am." When you don't dignify him with a word in response, he continues, lips barely an inch from yours. "You'd like that wouldn't you? You just won't fucking admit it."

You’re a moment away from spitting in his smug face when Patrick takes the hand against his crotch and uses it to pull you out of the kitchen in a swift but forceful motion. You trip over your own feet with the speed that he drags you, his grip unrelenting, but you’re able to glance into the living room as you pass to see Art talking to someone you don’t know. You try and get a look at your replacement, but Patrick is too fast, his grip on you only tightening as he takes you upstairs and starts checking doors for a room to push you into.

A chorus of “ooh la la” erupts when Patrick swings open a bathroom door to find a group of people smoking weed on the floor in front of the toilet. You could use a toke right about now. Patrick huffs a half-assed ‘sorry’ before pulling you to the next door and trying it- there's a click and before you can register his success, Patrick is pulling you into the empty bedroom and subsequently pushing you against the back of the door as it shuts. Your hand flies to the door handle in instinct, searching for a lock to turn and ensure your privacy, but it's futile when Patrick has a hand clamped over the handle to keep you from playing with it.

"Let someone walk in," he says. "Let them see just how fucking desperate you really are," he reaches a hand up and grabs your hair, yanking it backwards to expose more your neck. "Just how bad I wanna ruin you."

You slap him hard across the cheek. The sound reverberates through the room as Patrick turns his head only in the slightest to rub the sting away. Though his shock is short lived, he steps closer, forcing you back against the door until you hit the wall with no space left for retreat and he's pressing his lips to yours in retaliation, licking over and over at your bottom lip until you finally give up and kiss him back. This is worse than the stinging cheek of a slap, the wrung heart of knowing you want this more than a drunken clumsy night with Art Donaldson: you want the anger and the hurt and Patrick is kissing you like he loves you just to taunt you. To torment you for being weak enough to let him. For wanting the man that you hate to fuck you against the door. And you do. You want it so badly it hurts more than your ego.

"Fuck you," you speak against his lips.

His reply is a hand to your jaw, rough and mean and lifting your head so he can access the bites left behind by Art in the living room. He dips his head down and licks across every last mark his best friend had bitten into you, painting over Art's spit with his own, staking his claim like a dog with a bone. "Tell me to stop," he breathes out, mouth still glued to your throat.

"Fuck you."

You don't have time to think before Patrick is grabbing at the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down to pool around your ankles; your legs instinctively curl inwards to cover yourself but Patrick pushes your knees apart with both hands and lowers himself between your thighs. He pulls one of your legs up, rests it over his shoulder and looks up at you with darkness in his gaze. Though he's the one on his knees, you're the one at his mercy. His lips curve up at you again and he bites into the flesh of your inner thigh, making you hiss out a gasp at the sudden pain.

"Tell me to stop," he repeats in a growl.

"Fuck you," you spit in return.

"Say please."

Your eyes flutter shut in defeat. "Please."

"I told you," Patrick presses an almost sweet kiss to your clit, "that you're a fucking slut." He moves his tongue back and forth between your folds, and you let out a soft moan, your hips rolling instinctively forward to meet the invasion. You can't help it - you love his tongue, he knows that - you'd beg for it when you were sweeter on him but now... now, all you're capable of doing is arching your hips further into his mouth, hand flying down to the mess of curls atop his head in an attempt o pull him impossibly closer to you.

"Please, please, please..." Your hips thrust harder into his mouth with each syllable that leaves your lips, growing close to sweet release. Patrick moans softly and licks over the sensitive bundle of nerves buried within your folds. You pull hard at is hair, you hope it hurts, you need to be as close as physically possible to him, need it to connect you completely.

And then it happens. It happens in a cold second, one moment you're building to orgasm and the next you're feeling wipe his mouth and stand up with no orgasm from you to show for it. You don't move at first, frozen solid and waiting for something to happen. But nothing does, and when you realise he hasn't moved either you force your eyes open, squinting past the black dots dancing across your vision to find him staring at you with a wide smile.

"What the fuck, Zweig?" you demand, though it comes out more pleading than anything. Your voice cracks. It's embarrassing.

"Art wouldn't have made you cum either," he shrugs, an evil look on his face- you want to cry. You want to shoot your hand down and finish the job off yourself but you know Patrick would never let that happen; he nods to the bed against the wall. Some strangers bed; a full length mirror sits opposite it.

"Don't tell me this is some sick punishment." God, you wish he would stop smiling.

"Just get on the fucking bed."

“F—”

“Fuck me, yeah I know. Move your ass before I fuck that too.”

Your plain lust makes it difficult not to oblige, and you’re walking over to the edge of the bed and sitting down before you can register yourself doing so. The sheets are a dark blue and smell like detergent and dryer sheets, so the thought of fucking on a strangers dirty sheets are calmed as Patrick traipses towards you.

He lands between your legs, eyes darting down to look at your glistening cunt before taking in the rest of you. With a simple nod, he orders your top and bra off, and you’re naked before a ‘fuck you’ can leave your lips. Patrick remains fully clothed, but you think he likes that contrast, that aspect of control. You’re so cock-hungry you let it pass, because you can see the tent of his jeans and there’s little you wouldn’t do to be full of Patrick Zweig right now.

“Open your mouth,” he speaks down at you.

Your lips part, head tilted back ever so slightly as your tongue lolls out of your mouth. Patrick spits directly onto it, the very same saliva that had just mixed with the lust of your pussy now lace your tongue and spill down to your lips.

“Swallow.”

You do, Patrick loves the sight. So much, in fact, that he wastes no time in pulling you to your feet just to press a wet kiss to your lips, swap some more spit, and then turn you on your heels and push you face-down into the mattress of the poor soul who owns this bed. You land with a whine, and Patrick lands a spank to your ass in a silent order to get on your hands and knees for him.

You comply without even thinking, curling your body in the perfect angle to allow Patrick easier access to your aching entrance. Looking forward, you watch yourself in the mirror, a mess of everything you shouldn’t be doing, and Patrick: a mess of everything you should. He lines up behind you and moves to push inside of you, but his hips halt before he makes contact.

His eyes flit up to meet yours in the mirrors reflection. “I don’t want to ever see you with another guy like that. No one but me, you got it? You need to be fucked stupid to understand who you belong to? Sure thing. You need dates and kisses and to call me your fucking boyfriend so you don’t chase the next dick that’ll fill you up? Whatever. As long as it’s me.”

You nod. You want it. You don’t deserve it but you crave it.

Patrick slowly pushes himself into you until he’s fully seated inside you; you let out a groan as you adjust to the stretch of his size. You’ve never quite gotten used to how big he is. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation and he takes that as his cue to start moving. He pulls almost all of the way out of you, eyes stuck on the sight of his cock covered in you.

“Did you just ask me to be your girlfr—FUCK.”

Patrick slams his hips forward and you feel his entire length split you open on the spot. You cry out, loud, long and ragged breaths leaving your body as he begins to pound into your body again and again in quick succession. His hands grip your waist harshly, fingers digging deep into your flesh to make sure you stay in place on the bed.

When you finally do manage to relax, pleasure begins coursing through you like waves on the shores of some vacation beach you couldn’t name. Patrick takes your hair in one hand and continues his bruising grip on your waist with the other.

The repeated snapping of his hips against yours is brutal, skin against skin and sweat permeating the room's heat. With every thrust you’re pushed forward, your eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. You’d lay your head down to rest against the sheets if Patrick wasn’t fisting your hair so tight, pulling your head up to stare at yourself getting wrecked on his cock.

He leans forward, chest pressing against your arched back, a harsh bite to your earlobe, and then the growling words— “could he fuck you stupid like this?”

“Yeah,” you manage, tone dripping with an aching need.

“Yeah?” Patrick loosens his grip on your hair and instead snakes his fingers around your neck, squeezing each side of your throat in such a way your head already feels light. He pulls you up, your back flush against his front as his cock still drills into you; he squeezes further. “Shut the fuck up.”

Patrick trails his hand from your neck to your bottom lip and slips two fingers inside your mouth as he fucks you. You’re full of him from both ends, tasting his fingers and taking his cock in its entirety like you were fucking made for it. There’s something about being taken apart so thoroughly that nearly pushes you over the edge of your climax, though it’s not until Patrick slips his hand, fingers wet with your spit now, down to your clit and starts rubbing it in quickened circles that you’re really melting into his touch.

It isn’t long until you lose your mind, legs trembling underneath the weight of such overbearing pleasure. Patrick’s the only reason you stay upright, holding you against hisself as his hips start stuttering and he falls over that same precipice you just did.

With one last hard thrust that near sends you delirious, he spills into you, filling you up so full with his seed that you already grieve the inevitable loss of it when he pulls out and insists on watching it leak from your pussy in a display of his hood on you.

For now, though, you revel in the haze of laboured breath and the warmth of his sweat-glossed chest against your back. You can feel his heart beating against your shoulder blades in a rapid drumming rhythm. You watch yourself in the mirror, plugged with Patrick’s cock as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder in turn— he’s never done that before.

“Did you mean it?” you ask through raspy breaths, barely above a whisper.

“That you’re a slut?” Patrick grins, biting over the spot he had just kissed, “yes.”

“That you want to be exclusive. More than ‘just friends’.”

“I just came inside of you, I’m still fucking inside of you. We aren’t just friends.”

His voice is thick and hoarse, you can hear the smile forming on his face in spite of his efforts to keep his expression blank. You want to say something more, tell him a million different things that should probably wait until he isn’t plugging you with his cum, but your thoughts are cut off by a heavy knock at the door and the call of your name.

It’s Art, and he’s turning the doorknob.

And his best friend is still balls deep inside of you.

#patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x reader #challengers smut #challengers 2024 #art donaldson

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quintinh43 · 2 months

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One Hundred Kisses

"You lick your lips a lot when you're on camera," you say, watching Quinn's latest post-practice interview.

"Is that why you always insist on watching my interviews? To stare at my lips?" He asks with a smirk, watching you from the corner of his eye as he chops veggies for tonight's dinner.

You look at him with the most serious face you can muster. "Quinn, the only part of you I look at is your lips. You think I know what the rest of your face looks like?"

"Your loss," Quinn shrugs.

"Cocky bastard," you mutter, with a smile.

"You love me," he grins

"You're lucky I do," you say, leaning over the counter to peck him on the lips.

You rest your chin in your hands, taking a break from watching his interview to watch him in present. Standing across from you, making dinner.

He looks at peace. There's a soft look of concentration on his face. The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed upto his elbows, and the muscles in his forearms ripple as he dices vegetables. He's been growing out his hair. The tips curl around his ears, brushing the sides of his jaw, where there's a good amount of stubble growing and you absolutely loved it.

He hasn't shaved since you told you loved the beard, and every morning, when you get to trace his jaw and the short strands of hair prick at your fingers you fall more and more in love with him.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, a he pulls it between his teeth before his mouth settles back into a line of concentration. The grin that splits your face is massive, and you can't help but reach over the counter and peck him on the lips.

He smiles, chasing your lips and pulling you in for a deeper kiss. "What was that for?" He asks with a smirk, eyebrows raised.

You slip off the barstool and pad over to him so you don't have to lean over the counter awkwardly. He puts the knife down, and dries his hands on the dish towel. You cup his face gently, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you admire him. His hands settle on your hips, like it's their rightful place and he squeezes gently.

"I hate that you're so sexy," you pout, bumping your forehead against his chin, "it's so distracting,"

Quinn chuckles deeply, and it makes something pleasant roll in your belly.

"I always wanna kiss you, everytime your stupid tongue, licks your stupid bottom lip, in every stupid interview," you grumble, poking his chest pointedly between words.

Quinn backs you against the countertop, caging you between his arms. "So kiss me then," he murmers, voice dripping with honeyed sweetness as he crowds into your space.

For as long as you've been dating Quinn, he still manages to make you blush with ease. Weather, it's with his saccharine words, or subtle smirk or teasing kisses. Your cheeks flush as his nose skims along your cheek.

"What are you waiting for, sweets?" He hums teasingly, fingers trailing under your shirt, pressing into the warm skin of your waist. "You gonna kiss me or what?" He juts his bottom lip out in a stupid smirk, and your mouth goes dry with want.

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and capturing his lips with yours. He kisses you deeply, lovingly and with purpose, as if you are his only source of air, and you might disappear if he lets you go. He nips at your bottom lip, and you hiss. His tongue is slipping past the seam of your lips, licking into the delicious heat of your mouth.

Quinn hoists you onto the countertop, and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him flush against you. You pull away, pressing kisses across his entire face. " 'm gonna kiss you for every damn time you lick your stupid lips in one of those stupid interviews," you mumble, kissing him between words.

Quinn is laughing, as your lips smack against his skin repeatedly. Across his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the corners of his mouth, along his jaw, you slow down, pressing one final kiss to his lips, and burying your face against the crook of his neck.

"That was a lot of kisses, baby," he hums, rubbing your back soothingly.

"Yeah, well, you lick your lips a lot," you shrug, with a grin as Quinn goes back to chopping vegetables. He goes through the motions of making dinner while you lounge on the counter top, and help wash dishes as he puts them in the sink.

Every time Quinn licks his lip, you make sure to lean over and give him a kiss. "I definitely dont lick my lips that much," Quinn says, brow raised with amusement after you kiss him for the umpteenth time.

"Yes you do!" You protest

"Babe, if you want to kiss me all you have to do is ask," he smirks cockily.

You bonk your forehead against his, and he pouts, rubbing the nonexistent wound on his forehead. You can't resist pulling his bottom lip between your teeth teasingly.

Quinn makes a low noise in the back of his throat, the spatula clatters to the floor, and he is yanking you to the edge of the counter, crowding between your legs and kissing you hard. You yelp as he nips sharply at your lip.

"You're a menace, you know that?" He says with smirk.

"So are you," you counter, leaning in to kiss him again.

"Dinners gonna burn," Quinn grunts against your lips. He makes no move to pull away.

You giggle, shaking your head and give him one more kiss, so the two of you can finally eat dinner.

#quinn hughes #qh43 #yeah idk wtf this is #enjoy i guess #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes oneshot #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n

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risuola · 10 months

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MUG CAKE CRISIS — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Every household has to face a crisis once in a while. Yours came at 2:48am and you had to sweeten your husband's way into peace again.

cw: good old fluff — 0,9k words

Every household has to face some kind of crisis once in a while. Some deal with children – the tantrums or cries that keep the parents awake and as they are forced out of their dreams and expected to face whatever it is that makes their little ones so sad, all of the monsters underneath the beds, the nightmares and fears, they simply take it head on. That’s what makes parents the heroes of their children life’s. Other people deal with partners or the opposite, the loneliness. Sometimes the walls hear things no one else shouldn’t. Arguments, screams and sounds of heated intimacy. There are different types of crises and your house is no foreign to that concept.

You woke up to the soft thuds coming from somewhere in the apartment. The whiney sounds following the, what you figured out to be, furniture noises gave you enough reason to get up from the bed. There was a crisis in your house happening right now, at 2:48am and you couldn’t just let it be, so you wrapped yourself in a blanket, too sleepy to put on clothes on your bare body, slipped into your slippers and padded to the kitchen.

The view that met your eyes was endearing in a way. Gojo Satoru, your husband and a man you love to the extent of infinity, was in the kitchen, wearing only boxers that he probably put on in a rush, because they were turned to the left side, with seams and tag on show. He was frantically ramming through every cabinet, every drawer, every little basket and bowl that could possibly hide something. There was a mess around him, boxes laying around gutted and empty, some doors half-open and most of the things on the countertop moved from their original place creating the overwhelming sense of disorder. But that was a problem for tomorrow, now you had to take care of the man-child strongest sorcerer.

“Satoru, baby,” you called him, but he was too focused on his hunt to even look at you.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he mumbled and you yawned onto the plushy fabric of your blanket. You approached him, wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling your face to his bare back.

“No sweets?”, you cooed, knowing perfectly how the one and only addiction of your husband can wake him at night. Satoru doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke and he only occasionally takes a sip from your coffee, but one thing he’s unable to give up, is sugar. He consumes so much of it, you’re in awe that he still has all of his teeth and in great health as well, and all of his blood tests normal, because you were sure that if you were the one who ate so much caramel, chocolate and whipped cream, you’d probably be dead before your teeth start to rot.

“Can you believe it?” he whined, audibly trying to force his voice to sound soft and calm, but you knew him better than that. He was tensed, soo annoyed, his heart was beating fast as if he was slowly falling into the state of panic, and you exhaled against his skin, hand smoothing over his stomach as you pressed your lips to his spine.

“Told you we need to go get groceries yesterday.”

“You’re not helping, y/n.”

“Oh, my poor husband. Sit down, I’ll make you something, how does it sound?”

He hummed in defeat, desperate to have anything sweet and so he sat down on the chair, as you quickly combined flour, cocoa, sugar and the one almost dying banana that had been laying there for a little too long. Some milk, vanilla extract and baking powder got mixed into the batter as well, and when the concoction was ready, you put it in the microwave.

Mug cakes became your saving grace for hard times like this one, when your husband would wake up in the middle of the night craving something sweet. Some might say, he’s a grown adult, he can manage without eating chocolate in the middle of the night. Well, no. Satoru is a baby trapped inside the 6’3 tall, muscular body, and he’d definitely throw a tantrum if his needs won’t be fulfilled. There was a time he almost teared up when the realization of his stashes being empty hit him.

Over the hot, steaming cake you scooped the last bits of vanilla ice cream that hid in the back of the freezer, away from his sweet tooth because you kept it for the time your period comes and you even managed to squeeze out a little bit of toffee sauce from the lonely bottle in the fridge. Yawning once again, you presented the masterpiece to your beloved man-child, with a spoon and he gathered you to sit on his lap, making sure you are tucked tightly into the blanket.

“I love you, you know that,” he mumbled against your forehead, before pressing his lips there.

“Love you too,” you smiled and lowered your head to rest it on his shoulder, while he began devouring the dessert you made him. You felt his body relaxing as the sugar saturated his bloodstream and you relaxed too, melting against his warm form and knowing that he’s once again happy.

“’m sorry I woke you up at that hour,” he whispered, when after catering his cravings, he carried you back to the bed.

You smiled, cuddling to his chest just few moments later. Oh, how much you love that man. So much, you were okay with getting up at nearly 3 am only to make him a mug cake.

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marnle · 2 years

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My sweet, sweet Dove - Mafia!Bucky x Fem!reader

Summary - Bucky Barnes finds the peace he so rightfully craves in his best friend, the worlds upon his shoulders, yet his lust for you lives on through his darkest of days.

Warnings - smutttt, juicy af, mentions of violence, slight alcohol consumption, grinding etc.

A/n - Hi all, my requests are open! I’ve never really published my works before, so this is all new to me, but feel free to drop a request, and I’d love to see what I can do! :)

Enjoy, safe reading! <3

————

You sauntered into the kitchen, it was incredibly dark, yet a small lamp situated in the corner illuminated the majority of the room, drowning it in a blanket of rusty amber. You grabbed a small glass and walked towards the sink, filling it with cold water, it swirled around the glass as though it were a prisoner, fighting against its confines. You propped yourself up on the marble countertop, it was icy underneath you, a considerable difference to the heat that burned underneath your skin and through your veins. The deep, angered and somewhat laboured voices that previously echoed through the halls had silenced. They’d swirled through the walls, up the stairs, and burst through the windows too. Bucky had informed you that he was working late, you’d understood what he’d meant, yet the scale of debate that evidently had occurred left you feeling drained - and you hadn’t even been in the room.

Bucky was one of your closest friends, your main confidant in the times you needed him most. So when you informed him that you had nowhere to stay, he practically offered his whole life to you, and you took it with his blue eyes piercing what felt like your soul. So you resided in his main estate where he conducted his official work, his official business meetings, you knew he was dirty, and downright inequitable, but his loyalty was unlike any other, your friendship was unlike any other, and you owed him the world and more.

So as you sipped your water, and pondered the evident lack of sleep that laced your features, you didn’t hear his office door finally open after hours, or the trudge of his tired feet upon the dark wooden floor approaching, the leather of their seams making the slightest of noises.

His black silk tie sat loosely around his neck, his mountainous shoulders were tightly winded practically up to his ears, the top buttons of his previously pristine shirt were undone, and said shirt was hanging messily out of his slacks, of which sat loosely on his hips, his brunette hair was unkempt, almost spikey as the last of the gel he’d previously put in began to finally wear away.

“Doll? You alright?” He asked, snapping you out of your trance, he moved opposite to you and plopped himself shakily down on the floor with a large sigh, leaning against the kitchen cupboards behind him, his head thrown back in a show of exhaustion.

You simply hummed.

“Why are you still up?” He queried, running his large hand through his hair, absolutely destroying any remnants of orderliness it previously had maintained. Glaring at the girl in front of him almost alarmingly.

“Couldn’t sleep is all.” You replied, taking another small sip from your glass before handing it downwards towards Bucky. He accepted it, and pulled out a metallic flask, pouring a brown liquid into the mix, swirling it, then drinking it. It burned the back of his throat and warmed him from the inside out. He looked at you curiously, his oceanic eyes bore into yours in order to gauge a reaction. It was silent as you returned his eye contact, you were sure you could hear a pin drop.

“Well, hand it over.” you laughed nervously, taking a gulp of the alcoholic beverage. It also burned your throat, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. You could hear the deep rumble of Bucky's laughter in the background, it sounded angelic to your ears.

“Bad night?” You asked, anxiously pinching the skin of your fingers as you awaited his reply, not wanting him to ever suffer at the slightest. You observed the way his jaw slightly clenched and went slack, how he breathed slightly faster at such, and slowly regained his composure not a moment after.

“Something like that Doll.” he replied, letting out yet another sigh. In complete honesty, the meeting was a mess, his business partner had backed out of a paramount deal, meaning he’d have to find a backup as soon as possible, something that wasn’t likely. This left him open to financial attacks elsewhere. He’d even lost his temper, covering his golden signet ring that sat dormant on his finger in a layer of carmine; the ring you twirled when you felt anxious. His business partner had messed up his ring, his new enemy had messed up your ring, and Bucky had made sure he paid for it.

“Is there something I could do to make you feel any better?”.

He subtly nodded, allowing his stoic exterior only to fall in your presence, something that exhausted him beyond words.

He kneeled and shuffled towards you whilst you sat upon the counter, arms open, knowing exactly what he needed. He pushed his head into your stomach, breathing in your scent, roses and fresh linen, it made him feel safe. His was sandalwood, it engulfed your scenes and knocked the wind out of your chest, just like it always did.

You placed your hand upon his head, stroking your fingers through his hair as you felt the tension leave his large body, you leaned down and placed a small kiss on the crown of his head.

This caused him to gaze up at you, a longing in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, and you were sure yours mirrored them as such.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You whispered at a barely audible level, you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

“Like what?” he replied, his voice breathy and almost desperate.

Your hands moved down from his hair towards his chin, cupping his face as though he was the last living being on earth. Your eyes fluttered between his lips and his eyes, the room was spinning, the air was thick.

“Like this.” you whispered before slowly bringing his face to yours, and placing your smooth lips over his own.

Bucky felt as though his world had stopped, his heart was erratically beating, his head didn’t feel as though it was his own, his body wasn’t his own. The tension had been snapped just as quickly as it arised, and Bucky felt as though he was on cloud nine, there and then he decided that the feel of your lips against his own was the singular most effective high he’d ever encountered, it was a high he was now addicted to, and one he’d never ever let go.

He stilled in your grasp, causing you to pull away.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry.” You muttered, a wave of red covered your cheeks, horrified at what you’d just done. Yet before your brain could sabotage you further, and convince you otherwise, Bucky slammed his lips onto yours, grasping the back of your neck in his large hands. He groaned at the taste of you, a sweetness he’d only ever imagined.

He pushed into your mouth, your teeth collided in a show of desperation and finally requited lust. You slid your hand into his brown hair once again, yet under completely different circumstances.

You grasped his hair, pulling him off of your lips, it made him groan.

“Tell me you don’t want this, tell me you don't Bucky.”

“You know I can’t.”

He picked you up, wrapping his large arms around your torso, his fingers pushed under your shirt, drawing circles upon your skin, skin of which felt as though it were a juvenile flame of the sun.

You tucked your face into the crevice of his neck, his scent was the strongest it had ever been, it blinded you, and you loved it. You dragged your lips across his neck, biting and nipping at whatever skin you could, making his groans rougher, whinier.

He’d walked you both into the living room where he dropped backwards onto the couch, you in his arms. You were sitting in his lap, he was so extremely hard under you that you couldn’t help but tease.

You slowly rolled your hips, the friction causing you both to moan in unison, in pleasure. He grasped your body as though you were his life line, and even though he hadn’t said as such, you both knew it was true for the both of you.

You continued to grind against him, you moved against each other as though you were made for each other. Your moans were beautiful, they made him lose his mind, his great intelligent mind reduced to nothing simply by your presence alone. His hands grabbed your hips for a moment, your face was directly in front of his, you inhaled his breath as though it were your last.

“Doll, I can’t last long like this.” He moaned, more like a whine, in an attempt to keep his composure.

“I bet.” you replied, causing his mouth to fall even further open in a state of disbelief, allowing you to sink your teeth into his lip, stealing even more of his sacred breath away.

Instead of slowing down you sped up, with Bucky’s hands gripping your waist so tightly, you were sure his touch was to be ingrained upon your soul. He ran his hand down towards where you longed for him most, and cupped your pussy, pushing his palm into your clit, causing you to let out a moan that echoed off of the walls, a moan he was sure he’d never forget. He ran his other hand up your body towards your nipple, and twirled it between his fingers, swapping between the two, making you feel as though you were atop of the world. The sight of you was enough for him to come right there, yet he’d only ever imagined this moment, and wanted, no, needed to drag it out for as long as possible, as long as he humanely could.

“Come on baby, let go for me.” He purred, gazing into your eyes as yours fought to stay open.

“Shh, that’s my Doll, let go love.” And you did, your body arched into his grasp, he pushed his palm even further into your clit as you came, creating such delicious pressure, you thought you were going to burst. You wrapped your arms around his body, engulfing him and curling into him to fit his form as though you were perfectly moulded to him as he came too, groaning and bucking his hips whilst his stomach and glistening abs contracted over and over again, he’d entirely lost control, the lust he felt wasn’t matched by another soul.

Your sweaty bodies sat wrapped around each other, breathy whimpers left the both of you as you fought your natural instincts to breathe. Bucky grasped your face, and silently laughed as he brought his lips to yours once again.

“My sweet, sweet Dove, how you’ve had me forever.”

————

Fanx 4 reading bros :)

4K notes · View notes

brain-rot-central · 6 months

Text

Kitchen

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x Female!Tav (the reader is Tav)

Warnings: 18+, dry humping, pregnant Tav, cunnilingus, masturbation

Word count: 1k

Summary: Summary: You're struggling to clean out a pan in your kitchen sink, when a certain someone comes to give you some much needed encouragement.

You're standing over the kitchen sink, mindlessly scrubbing the bottom of a pan that you'd scorched dinner into. You've let it soak, yet it still gives you a hard time.

Cold arms wrap around the small of your waist from behind you. The stark contrast in temperature startles you. You'd be concerned about who this mysterious stranger was, but the sweet smell of bergamot fills your nostrils, giving him away instantly. You melt back into his embrace, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Whatever are you doing, my love?” he speaks softly to you, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

You sigh and tilt your head to rest upon his. “Oh, Astarion. I burnt the pan,” you say with a chuckle. You feel his mouth pull up into a smile against your skin, his hands rubbing your taut stomach over the linen fabric of your dress.

“Did you leave it to soak?” he questions. Astarion begins trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He nips at your ear, causing you to shiver within his embrace.

“I did,” you reply with a huff, “but it's still giving me trouble.” You feel one of his hands begin to trail down your abdomen, coming to rest on your mound.

“Perhaps…” his voice trails off as he sweeps the pads of his fingertips over the seam of your sex. You shutter against him once more, your knees instinctively turning inward as your thighs draw together.

His hips grind against your backside in response and he lets out a soft whimper into your ear. You can feel his awakening arousal, beginning to strain against the front of his trousers. “Keep scrubbing,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Astarion hands move to each side of your hips and he grinds his cock against the swell of your ass once again. He begins to kneel behind you, slowly hiking your dress up your thighs.

You can feel a wet patch forming in your underwear as his fingers brush along your thighs. “What are you doing, Astarion?” you ask, nearly breathless. Your cunt throbs with anticipation as he bunches your dress above the small of your back.

His nose presses into the cleft of your ass and you feel his tongue lap at the dampened spot on your underwear. He groans behind you, the sweetness of your arousal soaking into his tongue. “I'm giving you encouragement, my dear,” he tells you as his hand begins to dip into the waistband of your underwear.

You can't help but grip the edge of the sink in front of you and push your hips back into his face. “Astarion-” you whimper to him.

He pulls your underwear down your thighs, letting it drop around your ankles. His hand comes to rest once more against the swell of your stomach and he presses his face once more into your cunt. He sweeps his tongue from your clit up to your entrance.

Astarion moans deep into your pussy, cock leaking his own arousal against the front of his pants. The vibration travels up your spine and to your breasts. Your nipples stiffen and you release a sigh at the sensation of them rubbing against the inside of your dress.

The hand that was holding your dress bunched above your back now joins the other on your stomach. Your dress falls back toward the floor and over Astarion's head, obscuring him from view. He uses your stomach as leverage to grind you back into his mouth, the tip of his tongue flicking out over your clit.

“Astarion, gods, Astarion…” you moan aloud. Your hand comes up to palm at a breast, rolling it softly in your grasp and you toss your head back, releasing a desperate whimper.

You've all but forgotten the pan lying in the sink. Your body has given into the pleasure, hips bucking wildly against Astarion's face. You brace yourself on an elbow as you lean over the countertop, angling yourself in such a way to ensure proper pressure is applied across your clit with each flick of his tongue.

“Astarion, I- I’m not going to last much longer…”

You feel him hum in amusement into your cunt, his pace never faltering. The sound travels to the walls of your cunt and you instinctively clench around nothing, wishing desperately that something, anything, would fill you.

As you look between your legs, you can see that Astarion's taken the liberty of freeing his cock from the confines of his trousers with one hand. That hand is now lazily pumping his cock, and you can see the pre-cum beginning to gather at his tip. His hips are bucking up into his palm and he moans, deep and throaty, into your cunt.

It's all too much for you, and you feel the coil in your abdomen beginning to wind tight enough to snap. Your cunt throbs, your release imminent, and Astarion plunges his tongue into your entrance.

A strangled cry leaves your throat, the hand on your breast now twisting and pulling your nipple. You can feel your wetness flowing into Astarion's mouth and he drinks, greedily, as if he were parched from the driest desert.

Your vision is blurry from your release, but you watch him buck once, twice, three more times into his palm before he spills over the edge. His moans are muffled as he breathes into your cunt. Cum splatters onto his chest and stomach, dripping down the sides of his fingers into small droplets on the floor.

After a few breaths, you stand straight and turn around. Astarion is still kneeled on the floor, chest heaving. He meets your gaze with hooded eyes, the faintest blush spread across the bridge of his nose.

You run a hand through his silver curls, your own chest rising and falling rapidly. “That was… nice,” you tell him.

A genuine smile graces his lips as he leans forward, placing a kiss on your belly. “You were scrubbing that pan with such anger. I figured you were in need of some assistance.”

Your hand comes to rest over the one on your stomach. You weave your fingers into his and lean down to kiss the back of his hand. “Thank you, Astarion.”

He chuckles, still smiling. “Anything for you and our little one.”

#astarion #bg3 astarion #fanfiction #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion/reader #astarion/tav

624 notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 3 months

Text

Time to Kill

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

summary: during a night out at a club, you bump into a bounty hunter who has some time to kill.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, heavy dub-con, p in v, fingering, degradation, size kink, public sex, biting, mentions of murder, violence, death, guns, crime, etc.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: i will be back to RE after this i just wanted to try something new :) reblogs and comments mean the world <3 for @nexysworld and @kaitkatme cause they put me on jjk and i love them.

“Watch it, bounty hunter,” you scoff, eyes shooting a glare up at the guy who bumped into you and nearly knocked you down.

He returns your sneer with his own, staring down at you with condescending irritation. The fact that he towers over you is almost enough to make you regret the jab, but you bank on being in a crowded nightclub to keep you safe.

His hair hangs down into his eyes, making it harder to see his expression in the already dark hall. Regardless, you feel his gaze raking over your curves before fixating on your face.

“Maybe you should watch it, princess,” he responds. Even his voice sounded skeevy.

The unaffected smirk on his face doesn’t elude you either despite the dim lighting. You roll your eyes and snake past him, brushing the confrontation off in hopes of still enjoying your night. Your first move is going back to the bar and downing a few more drinks. Then you make your way back to the main area to dance.

Your hips sway to the blaring music while the lights overhead bathe your skin in a red tint. The music pounds in the ground beneath you, up through your legs and into your heart. You let your head fall back and get lost in the sound of the drums. Everyone around you seems to be doing the same, bobbing to the rhythm. A sea of strangers moving together.

But as all that happens in your vicinity, you can still feel a set of eyes on you. You sense that same gaze from the hall, watching you as if you were prey ready to be pounced on. Acting as if you’re still moving purely to the song, you twist your head to the side and look around. As you expect, you catch his focus and with him in a brief stare.

You keep moving though, trying to ignore it. Maybe he was still pissy. Maybe he was bored. Either way, it really wasn’t any of your concern. He was none of your business beyond the altercation in the hall. And in your defense, you didn’t even actually know that he was a bounty hunter. You’d only heard rumors about him, the guy with the scar on his lip. He just had that look about him.

It didn’t really matter. The liquor was starting to get to your head. You felt less stable on your feet as you moved your body in between the others making up the crowd. Everything was bright and loud, the seams on your top were scratchy, and your head was swimming.

You begin pushing through people, stumbling towards the bathroom as you need a reprieve from all the action. Your attention is on not tripping or breaking your ankle in the tall shoes you wore, so you don’t notice his figure slithering through the room alongside you.

You walk down that same hallway you’d run into him the first time. Teetering back and forth, you push open the bathroom door. Two stalls stand opposite from the door with a mirror and a set of sinks next to them. You shuffle in towards the countertops, both palms landing on the cool surface. There’s red neon lights in the bathroom too. You have to squint while staring at your reflection.

As you glance over yourself, you realize your sleeve is slipping off your shoulder, and your skirt is a little twisted out of place. You adjust your outfit before leaning closer to the mirror for further inspection. You’re shimmery with a light sheen of sweat, but there’s nothing you can do about that right now. Instead you pull out your lipgloss and swipe it across your pout with a few lazy strokes.

You’re busy tending to your appearance when the door behind you flies open. Your eyes flit to the reflection of the man who walked in. It was that guy. He looked even larger in the confined space of the bathroom. The red lighting shines directly on him, highlighting how his arms bulge as they emerge from his shirt, the way the fabric sits tight on his defined torso. To be real, he was starting to grow on you. But that must have been the drinks talking.

“Wrong bathroom, dumbass,” you say with a roll of your eyes. The drinks were responsible for that line too, dulling the fear that would have overtaken your nerves earlier.

“The other bathroom doesn’t have you in it, does it?” he asks, slipping inside and letting the door shut behind him.

He’s still against the wall parallel to the mirror. You eye him curiously, not making any sudden moves. In sober circumstances, you would be absolutely terrified. Your heart would be pounding, vision blurry, and hands shaking with anxiety at the prospect of a strange guy cornering you in the bathroom. But right now, you just had a muted uncertainty in the pit of your stomach.

“What do you want with me?” you ask, attempting to seem unamused, “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“It’s cute that you think that’s even a possibility,” he responds.

A smirk rises on his face as he steps closer to you. You can nearly feel his body against your back. His face remains clearly visible in the mirror as he stands at least an entire head higher than you. It was obvious from the start, but at this proximity, it was impossible to escape how big he was. Chills erupt across your skin as his hands coast up your arms and rest on your shoulders.

“You weren’t far off the mark before anyways,” he says.

You try to shrug him off, but his hands stay firmly in place. His eyes are locked onto your body, his current target. You were getting a little more jittery, but it wasn’t totally out of fear. Your fingers fumble as you jam your lip gloss back into your clutch.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you reply.

Beyond the strange mixture of emotions inside you, this conversation begins to grow annoying. Remarks that brush past each other instead of making direct hits. And he’s still so fucking smug. It's grating. Apparently your displeasure is visible since he chuckles and runs his fingertips down your jawline.

“Aw, look at that face,” he mocks, fingers coming up to hold your jaw, “Good to know you’re cute while pouting too.”

“What do you want?” you ask with more anger. You try to pry his hand away from your chin, but his grip is tight. There’s no getting it off.

“Impatient,” he chides, though his eyes don’t hold any irritation, “I just thought I’d check on you. Isn’t really safe for a girl like you to wander off all alone. Someone may want to take advantage.”

You try to turn around to push him away, but his hips have yours pinned to the countertop.

“Lucky for you, I have some time to kill before my real work starts,” he says.

His other hand drifts up to your chest, digits lightly dragging over your right breast, slowly moving closer and closer to the center. You hate your body in that moment for the way your nipples instinctively stiffen up beneath your top. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice. Or at least he doesn’t point it out if he does.

“My nerves go crazy before a hit, y’know? I could use some stress relief,” he purrs in your ear, “Judging by how riled up you get, I think you could too.”

A shiver shoots up your spine while arousal simultaneously swirls between your legs. You glare at him through the reflection, but there’s no physical resistance this time. He was really growing on you now. He was pissing you off for sure, but it was starting to circle around to the point where you wanted to take out that rage in a more carnal manner. It doesn’t help when he continues speaking.

“The way you were dancing, I know you wanted someone to notice. Showing that tight ass off, just begging for some attention. Well, you have all of mine now,” he breathes, punctuating his statement with a light smack on your backside.

Heat creeps up your neck as he speaks. It was difficult to prevent yourself from being flustered in these circumstances, but you couldn’t just give in to this shithead. You had to still have some fight in you, right? Trying to keep your voice as firm as possible, you challenge him. “I don’t want it.”

With that simple statement, you jab your elbow back into his abdomen, allowing you to spin around. But that’s all you can do because he acts as if the move didn’t hurt him at all. His hand comes back to your jaw with a harsher grasp. Still despite the rough movements, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by your attempts at rejection.

“Too bad,” he states simply. He boosts you up onto the counter, using your neck as leverage. He slots himself between your legs to keep them spread and maintains eye contact the whole time. “Pretty little brat like you needs someone to show you your place.”

His hand delves between your thighs, pressing against your panties. He watches you closely as he strokes you over the fabric. You tense up a bit at first, a shaky breath exiting your lungs. It felt good obviously, but it was still weird. And on top of that, you couldn’t understand why he wasn’t just getting to the point and taking what he wanted.

He registers the confusion on your face and leans down closer to you. His breath fans across your neck. You can feel his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m not in a rush,” he says simply, “Got some time before my guy gets here. Rather play with you for a bit longer than wait around out there.”

He continues rubbing you through the cloth that separates your skin. He’s breathing heavier as he speeds up his movements, inhaling the scent of your perfume mixed with the liquor you’d both had. A breathy whine leaves you as his middle finger flicks over your clit. You hear him hum in approval before he lowers his head more and lays some sloppy kisses on your neck. He leaves some love bites, more to occupy himself than anything else. His teeth nip at the skin while his tongue laves over the mini bruises.

You’re starting to soak through your underwear. He knows it. He can feel it. The lacy fabric clings to your folds more, letting him feel more of you. A sharp puff of hot air comes from his nostrils, sending a chill over you as it hits the wet skin on your throat.

“You’ve been aching for this since your little tantrum, haven’t you? Probably could’ve fucked you right out there in front of everyone, and you wouldn’t have said a word. Except maybe ‘more,’” he says, his voice low and smooth with his own arousal.

“No,” you object out of instinct. Your words contradict the way your hips begin to buck against his fingers, itching for him to rip your panties off.

“Yes,” he chuckles, taking your hint and pulling the damp article of clothing down.

His fingers slide through your wetness freely now. You sigh with some semblance of relief. Your head rests against the mirror, and you can only imagine the sinful image displayed in the glass right now. You spread open for this man who looms above you.

You shake your head lazily in response to him. Your already-intoxicated mind becomes less focused as the simmer of pleasure starts melting away the functioning parts of your brain.

“Yeah. Just tell me this. Do you do this often, or is it something special about me?” he mocks.

Your response is cut short as he slips two fingers inside you. You gasp at the stretch. You’re pretty sure you’ve had dick before that was the same size as this guy's warm-up. You spread your trembling legs wider for him as your teeth briefly sink into your bottom lip.

“Just shut up,” you whimper, eyes flutter closed as he massages your walls.

“If I had to bet, I’d say this is the first time. You’re all shaky for me,” he teases and gently laps at your pulse point, “And I can feel your heart ready to beat out of your chest.”

He was right about that. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, thumping through all of your body. Your cheeks burn as he continues pumping in and out of your cunt. You tighten up around him, eyes fluttering at the sensation between your legs. Your slick gathers on his fingers and drips down to the marble under you.

“It’s cute really, knowing you’re not always such a slut,” he goes on.

You whine, loud enough that it echoes around the bathroom. His fingers curl within you, leading you towards the edge. One of your hands is flat on the counter, keeping you up right. The other is clasped around his wrist, your nails forming little red crescents on the skin. They dig in harsher as he keeps speaking.

“Like you better when you’re quiet,” you say between mewls and moans.

“I’d say the same for you if you weren’t making all those cute noises,” he says and starts thrusting his fingers in harder, “Got an innocent little thing like you moaning like a pornstar for me.”

Your head spins as the noise of his fingers inside your pussy starts to fill the bathroom. Your ear rests on your shoulder as you slump to the side in your drunken, lust-fueled haze. He just keeps on with his motions, working you right to the brink. Only when you’re writhing and whining like you’re about to lose it, does he stop and pull his digits out of you completely.

A noise of shock and frustration leaves you as your eyes narrow. He cracks a smile, highlighting that scar on his lip. He then tugs you off the counter by your hips. You nearly topple over, but he stabilizes you and walks you to the wall with the door, perpendicular to the mirror. He shoves you against the hard surface, engulfing your body with his own.

He’s breathing against the side of your head, rutting his hips into yours and letting you feel his hardened bulge. You could already tell it was big. One set of fingers holds your head against the wall while the other maintains a bruising grip on your waist.

“Acting pretty fuckin’ needy for someone who didn’t want it,” he grunts.

You catch your own eyes in the mirror and the image before you only has you getting more turned on. He’s all over you, grinding his hips and teasing himself with your flesh. His cheeks are stained with a light pink tint from the combination of desire and exertion. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, pushing the inky black locks out of his eyes. That same hand then ventures South.

He pushes up your skirt over the swell of your ass, bunching it near the small of your back. After a second of admiration, he pulls his cock out. At your current angle, you don’t get a clear view, but from what you do see of how his fist is wrapped around it, you know your expectations are correct.

He taps it against your ass teasingly, and you feel the weight of it. It’s heavy and warm, leaking a bit from the swollen tip. He slides it down and slips it between your thighs. It rubs against your slick folds. You’re already mentally preparing yourself for the stretch, but you still push your hips back at him because you crave it.

“That’s right. You’re learning already. Smarter than you look,” he teases before nudging the tip inside you and inching deeper.

Your guttural moan echoes through the bathroom as you accommodate his size. You feel him pulsing against every part of your insides. You sink further against the tiles on the wall. The bright gleam on them from the red neon lights fades as your eyes droop with lust. You try to say something, but you can’t get any words out.

And cocky as he is, he’s not faring much better. He groans and buries his face in the crook of your neck. His ragged breaths hit your skin that’s shining with more sweat. He watches your arms stretch out more against the wall, and his trail behind. His fingers chase yours and intertwine, flattening you against the surface.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he mumbles against your skin.

When he bottoms out in you, you’re sure you feel him in your stomach, deeper than anyone before had made it. He takes a second to take in before starting to thrust. His skin smacks against yours in a slow rhythm at first. Your eyes roll back at the motions, and your cunt clamps down on him, trying to keep him all the way in, to keep yourself nice and full. He growls as he feels it and sinks his teeth into the flesh of your throat. He bites, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to create an ache, a complement to the satisfaction you felt in your belly.

You yelp at the sudden feeling. It hurt, but you wanted more. It wasn’t good enough right now, too dull. You wanted it to hurt, to feel as prominent as everything else going on felt. The music in the main part of the club still raged on, vibrating throughout the entire building, including the wall you were trapped against. The bass thrummed against your cheek and made your head fog up even faster.

He hums with pleasure at your responses, enjoying the way you slowly unraveled for him. He bites a bit harder before loosening up completely. The marks now forming on your skin drive him wild. He knows they’ll last for days. You’ll feel ‘em in the shower, while you’re getting dressed, when you’re shifting around in bed at night. They’ll last much longer after he pulls out and both of you have left this sketchy bathroom.

Once he’s away from your neck, his eyes lock in on yours, but they’re not making contact. He’s enraptured by the way your gaze remains on the mirror to the side of you. He stares down at you, as if studying your thoughts just from the look in your eyes.

“You got a thing for watching, little brat? You like watching yourself get used?” he pants, “I know I like it.”

That snaps you out of your daze. You glance back at him with something akin to shyness behind your eyes. He’d describe it as cute if the two of you weren’t in a situation that was anything but at the moment.

“It’s alright, keep watching. Watch me fill this tight pussy better than anyone else ever could,” he grunts.

All you can do to reply is whine and whimper, squirming against the wall. And he laughs at you.

“Yeah?” he mocks, “That all you have to say?”

He hooks his index finger in your mouth and pulls at your cheek, shifting your face to a more erotic expression. Any words you got out now would be garbled for sure. His hips continue clapping against your ass, jolting you forward with each stroke. Drool drips down your chin from how your mouth is pulled open. You don’t bother with trying to speak anymore. You just give in to how good he’s fucking you.

“Pretty baby. Such a slut for me,” he murmurs.

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. It’s one of the most intense stares you’ve ever felt, like he’s reaching into your soul, rooting part of himself there. He’s gonna be with you long after this ends and you know it. You moan for him, letting all your sounds of euphoria flood the bathroom. He grins and pistons himself into you harder.

“Driving me crazy, dollface. Look at you, all fucked out, whining cause you don’t even know what to say. Don’t even know my fuckin’ name,” he says.

That really gets you cause he’s right, and you know it. And it should make you feel icky. Should make you want to recoil in disgust. But it does the opposite. You feel like your bodies are melting together, becoming one in your haze of passion.

You turn your head to face the other way, not wanting to confront the insatiable desire you felt. He moves in closer and keeps you pinned against that wall. He’s fucking you just how you like, and you don’t think you’re gonna last much longer. He’s not sure he will either with the way you’re pulsing around him.

“Harder,” you whimper, wanting to actually make it to the peak this time, “Want you deeper.”

“Knew you’d be begging for it,” he says. He gives you what you want though, pumping harder and driving himself even deeper. “You don’t need to know my name. All you care about is that I’m giving this pussy what she needs.”

You’re both climbing to the high point, caught up in your lust for each other. You almost don’t notice the door starting to open, a sliver of the world breaking the small bubble the two of you had made together.

All you see is a pair of eyes widening. They probably freeze with shock when they register your face squished against the tile, your wanton moans drifting through the small opening to their ears. They don’t get to see any more than that though because the bounty hunter’s large palm lands on the door and shoves it closed.

Your own eyes widen and watch how his bicep flexes. He holds it shut, and you’re pretty sure it’d stay that way even if the person tried to open it for another look.

“Not gonna let anyone interrupt before I get the chance to spill every last drop of my cum inside this cunt,” he mutters.

He’s going as hard as he can now. At least that’s what you choose to believe because you’re certain if he used any more force you’d pass out. His cock rams into all your sweet spots like entering a cheat code to get you to cum.

You claw at the wall pointlessly, there’s nothing to grab onto. But you hit the high nonetheless, cumming all over his cock. You gush around him with your release. It feels like your body goes limp, but he holds you up with no effort. He keeps you up and safely impaled on his dick, using you like a toy as he works himself up to the high.

He cums with a loud groan and makes good on his word to spill inside you. You’d have to get a pill tomorrow. He fucks it deep inside you, holding still for a moment as if to make sure he got it all in you. Only then does he finally slide out. He watches the sticky white liquid ooze out of you. It’s starting to drip down your inner thigh when he tugs your skirt back into place.

Your legs wobble beneath you as he lets you go. He steps away, turning around to put his cock away and fix his appearance slightly. You slump down against the wall, reduced to a curled up heap on the dirty floor of the bathroom, looking up at him like he’s a higher power.

You try to catch your breath, but your body feels like it’s tumbling down a mountain as you come down. Your glossy eyes watch him walk to the counter and fish your phone out of your clutch you’d left there. He checks the time before glancing at himself in the mirror. He then turns to you.

Crouching down to your level, he reaches out and strokes your cheek. He pushes some of your hair out of your face to meet your eyes.

“Probably best if you stay in here for a while. Don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. I might wanna do this again sometime,” he tells you.

With that, he rises to his feet again and exits the bathroom as quickly as he’d entered. You’re still grappling with the events that took place. You barely even register the shots and the screaming coming from the main area of the club.

About fifteen minutes later, you manage to get to your feet. You pull your panties up again and fix yourself up as best you can. Then you leave the bathroom. The music is still blaring, but it feels quiet. There’s no one else inside; spare the dead body on the stairs leading up to the private rooms.

Bright sirens wail outside and lights begin painting your skin as you walk to the glass doors labeled ‘exit.’ Your shoes trudge through some blood on the floor and crunch on shards of broken glass. You step outside, dodging people’s questions about your wellbeing and avoiding other groups of people crying their eyes out. All of it feels surreal. None of it really has your focus.

All you’re thinking about is how you could see him again.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro imagine #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen x reader #smut

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ozarkthedog · 1 year

Text

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

summary: you try to be a good gf and make Joel breakfast but he has other plans.

warnings: -> 18+ only | MDNI <- no outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader. smut. Joel is a menace. rough sex. dirty talk. tommy makes an appearance. my stupid sense of humor. no beta.

word count: 1.0k

author’s note: i had to get this thot out of my brain. enjoy! ty for the support @thornsnvultures & @ghotifishreads 💙

☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ♁ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☾

“You look good wearin’ my shirt.” Joel mumbles, stalking up behind you.

You peek over your shoulder at him and smile. He looks tired but happy as you turn back to the stove. You snuck out of bed not too long ago, intent on making him breakfast as a way to say thank you for last night.

He invades your space as you coat the skillet with butter. His bare chest smothers your back as he hooks his chin over your shoulder and slides his arms around your waist with a sigh. “Sleep alright?”

It was the first time staying the night at his place and you oddly felt at home. “Yeah, like a rock. Especially after that marathon sex session.”

Joel chuckles into your neck recalling all the sinful positions and moans he pulled from you. “Thank god for Sarah spending the night at her friend’s.”

The two of you sway softly as you crack four eggs into the hot skillet. His hands slowly wander your body while you work. Those rough, worn hands slide over your belly, graze your thinly covered breasts, and mold around your hips.

“Love feeling your curves under my shirt.” Joel confesses kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear. He slowly grinds his semi hard cock against your ass, the material of his boxers making it easy to glide over your skin.

You gasp and clutch the countertop for support when a confident hand slides down the front of your panties. You shiver under his touch as he casually rubs your tiny nub. “Joel, I’ve got to cook breakfast.” You whine through the sweet pressure.

“Don’t worry about me.” He eases his throbbing, solid length from his boxers before giving it a tug. “I’ll entertain myself.” He says coyly, before tearing your panties from your hips. You yelp from the roughness and almost drop the spatula.

He curses under his breath as he thumbs your already dripping folds. “My sweet girl. Your pussy gives you away.” He ruts against the soft curve of your ass staining your skin with shiny trails of precum. “You like me usin’ you like this.”

The statement makes your belly flip. Your brain goes numb. The room feels unbearably hot and the searing skillet you’re standing over doesn’t help. All you can do is whine and arch your back in response.

“S’ok, baby. I got you.” His fingers drag along your slick seam with teasing caresses. “Gonna take everythin’ I give ya. Ain’t tha’ right?”

You dumbly nod, too strung out to speak besides moaning like a wanton whore as his fingers dip in and out of your tight hole. He works his fingers into you, scissoring and rubbing along your soaked channel, forcing illicit mewls from your throat.

“Best flip those eggs.”

The dark timbre of his voice jolts you from the euphoric haze. You scramble with the spatula and haphazardly flip the eggs just as he notches the bulbous head of his cock against your sopping entrance. Your cunt weeps, dripping sticky arousal down his length as he tips his hips and slowly sheaths his thick cock inside your warmth.

You both moan in unison from the intense pressure as he forms your velvet walls around him. He lets you breathe for a brief moment. Kisses pepper your temple and ease the stress from your brow while you adjust to his massive size. Your core flutters and blossoms as the pain ceases and the searing pleasure begins to rise.

Joel roughly grabs a fistful of his shirt and jerks you back until you’re plastered against him. His left arm splays across your clavicle and secures a large hand over your shoulder, locking you like a vice to his burly frame.

His breath fans your cheek, teeth nipping lightly at your skin. “Keep an eye on my breakfast, girl. I don’t want no burnt eggs.”

He bucks his hips and drives into your core so hard you’d have slammed into the counter if he wasn’t holding you. Your mouth hangs open in shock, spilling sinful moans from your lips with every powerful thrust. His cock barely leaves your warmth for a second as he savagely saws in and out of your heat.

Frantic thrust leaves you gasping and writhing. Your nails dig into his forearms as he holds you steady leaving no room for escape. “Take it all, girl. Be good. Know you can.” He grunts and cruelly grinds his pelvis into your ass.

Your walls flutter and convulse making his chest rumble. His hips drive faster, relentlessly fucking you, desperate to feel you come around his cock. “Your drippin’ down my balls.” He grits against your cheek. “Maybe I’ll use this sweet cunt anytime I feel the urge instead of my hand.”

Skillful fingers slink to the apex of your thighs and draw tight circles around your slippery clit forcing your orgasm to crest. “Thatta’ girl. Make a fuckin’ mess.” Your cunt quivers as you come with a raspy shout and douse his cock with your cream. His sack tightens making him bury his soaked length as deep as he can go with a ragged grunt. He pumps you so full of his seed you think you can taste it at the back of your throat.

Suddenly, the garage door sounds. “Oh, shit. It’s Tommy.” Joel warns before withdrawing from your core with a hiss and carefully stuffing his cock back into the confines of his boxers.

“Fuck, where’re my panties!?” You squeak, while turning the burner off and tugging at Joel’s shirt, praying your ass won’t be on full display.

“Play it cool.” Joel rasps as he locks an arm around your shoulder and drags you over to the island hoping it’ll hide the evidence of what just transpired. Joel’s cum drips down your thighs making you squeeze your legs together with a cringe.

This isn’t going to go well.

Tommy opens the side door and brightens the room with his million-watt smile. “Hey, sorry about the pop in but I was in the area and I’m fuckin’ starvin’.”

He tosses his keys on the table and makes a beeline for the stove. “M’m something smells good. Eggs and…” He noses the air pensively while helping himself to Joel’s overdone eggs, flipping them onto a plate.

You burrow your head into Joel’s chest when the younger man freezes after spying your torn panties on the floor and finally registers the smell.

He stares bemusedly at the older man while pointing to his plate. “Are you serious? Right in front of my eggs?”

💌 my inbox is always open

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller smut

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shibaraki · 1 year

Text

GOD’S LONELIEST CREATION ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: as head of the mothman study you’ve devoted countless nights to observing your subject from behind the glass. you liked to think those many months spent together contributed to a sense of camaraderie, but time is merely a cradle gently lulling you into false security— and shouta is nothing if not patient.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (mention of ovulating), monsters + cryptids au, mothman aizawa, implied monster hunting, captivity, cryptozoologist reader, possessiveness, dubcon to eventual enthusiastic consent, oblivious reader, monsterfucking, mating behaviour, breeding, mentions of size difference (he is 7ft; called ‘little human’ +‘little flame’), vaginal oral sex + tongue fucking (reader receiving), multiple orgasms, non-human genitalia, oviposition (reader receiving; but no belly bulging), unprotected vaginal sex, *slaps roof* you can fit so much plot in this porn!!

wc: 7k+

A/N: now with art of mothzawa!!!! thank you so much, feral!

Tucked away into the seam between Shizuoka and Musutafu is the UA Cryptobiology research centre. In the eyes of the public it was an extension of the nearby UA University and largely harmless. Cryptids kept there are not advertised, atleast, not the living ones.

The building is huge. An architectural giant, and a stain on the natural landscape. You’ve worked there for years yet still find yourself struck by just how foreboding it looks. Head ducked, you slip past the thin crowd protesting by the security gate, staff card hidden in the sleeve of your shirt.

While they are few in number their voices are loud and accusing. You flinch at the vitriol as you try to reach the scanner. There was a small earthquake in a nearby prefecture a few days ago which was the likeliest reason they had gathered here.

On days like this you couldn’t help the thought that no amount of scientific research would wipe away the countrywide consensus on cryptids. Very early on in your career you came to understand why your superiors lied about the live subjects. If these people knew the truth they could probably birth a calamity all of their own.

Unfortunately it is not only the monstrous who are a target. You lock eyes with a guard standing by the gates and slip your keycard into the shallow of your palm. Nodding in acknowledgement, he places the whistle hung around his neck between his lips and the moment you swipe in he blows, hard.

The gate clicks and unlocks with a short beep that is drowned out by the noise. You walk through and quickly push it closed behind you. Thank you, you mouth over to him, scurrying across the lot toward the main doors. He offers a flippant wave in return.

You enter the mouth of the lobby. It is a wide dome shaped room with high ceilings that houses most of the lecture rooms, and acts as a junction to other parts of the facility. Looking up, you can see each floor twisting into a spiral.

Centred is the reception desk; large and circular to make room for five staff members to be seated at any given time. Yamada is there today, dressed with his shirt cuffs pushed to the elbow, waist length hair braided up into a ponytail. He leans dangerously far back in his chair and twiddles a pen between his fingers. Your unease falls away at the familiar sight.

“Yamada,” you intone sternly. A grin pulls at your lips when he startles. The wheels on his office chair squeak as he rights himself. Wide sheepish eyes land on you and narrow in disbelief.

“Don’t do that,” he pouts, dragging himself closer to the desk, casting another nervous glance toward his coworker. “Bully! I could’ve broken my neck”.

“Then you would’ve thanked me for the two months paid sick leave”.

Yamada smirks, peering at you above his yellow tinted lenses “…Touché”.

You rest both arms on the countertop and lean over, holding a hand out to receive the sign in sheet. “You have a good weekend?” you ask, falling back into idle pleasantries while you skim over the names already on the register. Hatsume Mei. Huh, you think. She’s early.

“Kan and Kayama dragged me out drinking,” Yamada admits tiredly, massaging two fingers to his temples and closing his eyes, opening again to glare at your huff of laughter. “Sure love laughing at my misfortune, don’t’cha? I think you’re spending too much time with those ghouls”.

Signing your name in the next blank row, you give a brief glance at the watch on Yamada’s wrist to mark the time. “Comes with the territory,” you murmur, amused by the whine in his voice, setting the pen and register down on his desk with some finality. “Seen Mei today? She signed in already”.

“You bet. That girl is hard to miss,” he slides the sheets toward his front. “Speaking of…” you turn at the amused hum. His pen is pointed left like the needle of a compass leading directly to a familiar figure. Hatsume is clutching her clipboard with a tenuous grip as she scurries through the lobby, pink hair bouncing on her shoulders.

Her gaze finds you and she perks up. You lift a hand to return a wave as she beckons you frantically. It’s not entirely uncharacteristic of her. Hatsume was the rare type— she loved this job. Any small change or news could garner this reaction from her.

The excitable exclamation of your name draws the attention of the people around you, though the intern remains entirely unperturbed, almost tripping over her feet to get to you. “Mei,” you smile, instinctively stepping forward with arms held open in case she stumbles. “What’s all the noise about? Did something happen?”

“Food!” she pants heavily, grasping your forearm for balance. Her eyes are wide and beseeching as if the word alone was enough to explain her enthusiasm. It doesn’t.

Slow, you repeated, “…Food?”

The band keeping her hair tied back loosens while she nods. “It’s the mothman. He’s not eating!”

“He’s not…” you blink. “Oh!” The realisation trickles in, and you find yourself gripping onto Hatsume’s arms with bruising pressure as it washes over you. Your cheeks ache and she mirrors your grin.

Yamada clears his throat, interrupting before you have the chance to speak. “What’s so great about that?” he asks. “Wouldn't that be a sign that he’s sick or something?”

“No,” you breathe. Energy buzzes lightning-quick under your skin. Restless, you begin to shake Hatsume where she stands, and the two of you laugh in astonishment. “It means he’s hoarding!”

“Hoarding?”

“Mothman cryptids will take food back to their nests for their partners but,” the burst of joy dwindles, then. You worry at your bottom lip. “But… previous observations show that this behaviour should come after they’ve met a potential mate”.

“You think we should be worried?”

“I think it’s unusual”.

Hatsume doesn’t wilt. She shrugs your doubts off like water to a duck’s back, bouncing on the balls of her feet and handing over the clipboard. As always, the notes are verbose but organised. Detailed down to the very last time stamp.

There, written in pen, it states that at 11:58 the mothman was seen hovering by the food hatch. It clarified that there were no signs of aggression or posturing. Shouta was simply waiting. Shouta never waits. At 12:00 his usual weekly meal was given and instead of consuming it immediately as he normally would, Shouta gathered the food to his chest and took flight.

You’re rushing off toward the cryptid wing before Hizashi can press any further. Hatsume is at your heel, her quick light-footed steps echoing through the corridors.

The mothman enclosure is immense. Space is required— most cryptids can grow up to seven feet or above, and their wings even taller. Separated from your observation deck by a thick, bulbous glass window, you needed to crane your head just to catch a glimpse of the ceiling, which remained mostly covered by a canopy.

Flora covers the entirety of the forest floor. The foliage is so dense that sometimes seeing further is impossible, which in turn makes your job that much harder; but it’s worth it, for the sake of Shouta’s comfort. Unlike your predecessors, you strongly advocated for him. You viewed him as an individual, another sentient being with autonomy, and thought building a good foundation of trust could only lead to better data overall.

The facility is vastly different to the outside world. Blacked out nest boxes were placed around the area, hidden away for him to choose from however he pleased, as well as broad net columns where he can rest. Your team was instructed to begin adjusting the seasons months ago. Gradually, the temperature was changed to mimic fall. The fauna acclimated, dousing the otherwise dark and dreary forest in a warm colour palette.

Tawny leaves perched loosely on branches like a flock of goldfinches. Camouflaged behind them are two red dots emitting an unblinking glow. It is very unlike him to be this close to the deck so early in the evening. Waiting for more food, maybe. You note that thought down. You see his eyes follow the movement of your pen and smile.

Mothman cryptids are bipedal winged humanoids. They have always been notoriously aloof and difficult to study. Catching them outright was nigh impossible. They’re a highly intelligent species, and very sensitive to their surroundings. Your best bet was to inflict injury first and capture later when an infection set in.

Shouta was different from the start. So unlike his kin that you sometimes wondered if the research collated about him was permissible. He had been wounded badly by nearby collectors and managed to escape, but rather than relocate, he entered the facility of his own volition. You’d heard the stories. An eldritch being prying open the doors, thick steel bending like paper, the employees paralysed with fear, rendered unable to do anything except kneel under the intense pressure of his glare.

They had been so frightened that the shivering malachite bundle in his arms almost went amiss. A Peryton fawn matted with blood. Director Yagi supposedly spit blood of his own when he noticed.

Shouta never left after that.

Everyone figured the rumours were exaggerated. A mothman wouldn’t surrender itself for the sake of another, not even it’s own kind. That is the universal truth— all cryptids are incapable of empathy. Their sole purpose is to serve as the herald of death, and death bringers did not save life. They took it.

While you knew that to be ostensibly untrue it will never matter. Monster hunting was a tradition practiced for millennia. Accepting that they might be capable of emotion would cast doubt upon such practices. More than anything humanity needed justification for their wrong doings; condemning something as monstrous only renders such violence as heroic.

You, however, had a fascination with them since you were a child. Those unanswered questions and curiosities are what led you to cryptozoology, and ultimately, into cryptid behavioural research. Having Shouta’s care handed over to you was a dream come true.

Shouta was averse to people and made that known; keepers could be found petrified by the feeding hatch, trembling in place for hours if they weren’t careful. Which is why your superiors were greatly pleased by his reaction to you.

You couldn’t confidently say he liked you— could a mothman like anyone? But the cryptid was, at the very least, intrigued by his new handler.

Within the first meeting you recorded vocalisations that were previously undiscovered. Soft chittering and clicks, surprisingly pleasing to the ear; it had a hypnotic quality to it that could almost lull you to sleep. The common denominator was you— rather, Shouta only ever made those sounds when you were visibly anxious, and you often toyed with the notion that he was attempting to soothe you.

You tried not to indulge in such hypotheses as not to cloud your judgment. Humans had a bad habit of anthropomorphising the things they cared about. Countless cynics argued that animals do not love, they simply form attachments to those that provide for them. Shouta may only treat you better because you are the first human to show him sincere respect but that didn’t matter.

Whether your place in his life was just that of a nuisance or not, you cared for him and his wellbeing all the same. That’s what made this so invigorating— not only answers to questions that plagued your field for centuries, but the real possibility that your subject might finally have true companionship.

Your mouth twists as your thoughts drift, imagining the smell of decay percolating in one of his nest boxes now that he was hoarding. Shouta could eat anything within reason if he needed to, but his preferred diet was on the bitter side. Rotted fruits and the like which had a more acidic, sour taste to it, though he could be partial to dry pantry food in the hotter months.

Mothman have been known to feast on flesh, too, in desperate times. Though it is rare for them to acquire the taste for human meat; too mild and too rubbery.

If he truly is readying for a mate then he would soon need more food, materials and bedding. The foliage worked as a foundation but you’re aware mothman cryptids liked to weave silk or cashmere into the structure for the young to cling to and eat.

That gives you pause. Your grimace curls into a wide, exuberant grin, that you immediately shield behind the clipboard. We could end up with babies this year, you think. The first to ever be bred in captivity— a near impossible feat.

Shouta’s antennae are fluttering. Their movements fracture the stillness of the canopy and make known his position. You stare long enough for the dark blob amongst the trees to sharpen into a solid silhouette.

A mothman has a wingspan of around thirteen feet. These measurements aren’t entirely accurate, because Shouta refused to allow anyone to touch them, but the sheer size was obvious at a distance even where they remained tucked to his spine, cocooning him in darkness.

They are covered in loose tiny hairs acting as scales for insulation, while creating intricate, iridescent patterns along the inner forewings that can only be seen in moonlight when open— a gift saved in hopes of wooing a mate. Maybe you’d finally get a glimpse this year.

“Hey big guy,” you call out. Your voice jostles his wings and beckons him forward. Shouta balances himself on a thick cedar branch directly across from the observation deck, a rare sight. He is magnificent in the artificial daylight.

Hatsume releases an awed breath behind you. “Gah, he’s always so responsive to you! I’m jealous!”

Shouta barely acknowledges her presence. His attention is steadfast, pinpointed to your every move; unblinking, lest you disappear from vision. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just known me longer, is all,” you demurred, turning to her with a reassuring smile.

But she is seeing beyond you. The hair on the nape of your neck prickles and suddenly a sinistrous shadow stretches across the deck. Mei flinches back reflexively and you daren’t look back. What was ephemeral fear in her features blossoms into wonderment.

Then, a tapping sound that echoes in your chest. It is careful and somehow that makes it all the more daunting. Brushing off the unease, you pivot on your heel, coming face to face with Shouta. Both wings have hunched forward to create a cocoon of darkness, his pale face barely visible.

Another tap, accompanied by a smooth rumble. His large hand is pressed up against the glass. You step closer and his wingspan widens just a fraction. The light reflects in his eyes. He is right in front of you, so contrivedly real-looking that it feels like it must be fake.

Call it curiosity, or stupidity, or an amalgamation of the two. You outstretch your arm. The pane feels cold where your body presumes warmth. You align your palm with his and it swallows yours, fingers splayed open, still unable to reach the width of his hand.

“Hi there…” you exhale, having to crane your head to hold his gaze. Shouta’s jaw shifts as he clicks his teeth and you are reminded just how impressive a mothman cryptid’s hearing is. “You’re acting all out of sorts, huh. Want more food for the nest, right?”

Dark talons leave marks on the thick glass, hairline fractures stemming from point of impact. His gaze darkens. Hatsume gasps when he shakes his head and you can’t blame her. Cryptids rarely communicated directly with handlers.

“No?” you repeat, brows pinched into a frown. Then, to yourself, “Nesting materials, then? Already? But it can’t be, surely”.

The choice is a difficult one. Every potential mate your team introduced Shouta to throughout the years has been adamantly rejected. There was never an effort to impress or prove himself. He either flat out ignored them or attempted to kill them. You want to enable his new behaviours— to encourage it, even — but there was no mate yet.

Pseudocyesis comes to mind. Though this situation is far different, you wondered whether something in Shouta’s environment had triggered these instincts.

The rich baritone in his purr vibrates against your hand. His eyes blink slow and beseeching, full of apparent hunger, emitting that dewy red glow. Distantly, you register the dull scratch of pencil to paper. Rambling whispers fall from Hatsume’s mouth as she writes, documenting everything the way you taught her to.

“I think,” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. Your throat feels dry and the implication behind your next words stings. “I think he wants me to go inside his enclosure”.

A sane person would immediately put their foot down and tell you no. Director Yagi himself would try to talk you down. However, Hatsume Mei is a far cry from sane. She barely considers her own safety, let alone yours.

“What for?” she chimes impatiently. “I noticed he has been keeping an eye out for a specific person all morning— it must’ve been you. Do you think he could really be sick like Yamada said? Since he’s humanoid we can test if our medicines work on him!”

“Mei,” you interrupt, your voice cutting through her exuberance. She shrinks somewhat and you feel bad for being so sharp with her. “No, I’m not sure if he’s sick. And no, our medication only works to an extent. The dose needs to be dangerously high and cryptids burn through it faster than it can be replaced”.

Shouta observes the interaction. The tension in his wings looks ready to snap, and the feathery fingers of his antennae have started to shiver. You take in the sight of your overlapped hands once more and step away, clenching it into a fist at your hip.

“Anyone who goes into a cryptid’s den doesn’t come out,” Hatsume comments, tone uncharacteristically somber.

“I trust him,” you reassured, leveling the mothman with a contemplative stare. He ducks into the fluffy plumage around his neck and glares. “Mostly”.

Hatsume snickers. The weight in your chest lifts and you smile at her. She’s still young. Too young to bear any responsibility for what might happen.

“Something is telling me I have to go in there. It’ll keep me up at night if I don’t,” you continue, adding emphasis with a pointed finger. “This was my idea and mine alone. Do not send anyone in after me. Capiche?”

She gives a mock salute, “Yes boss!”

Each wing with a cryptid enclosure has a staircase leading from the observation deck to a feeding room. You descend the stairs, too aware of Shouta’s stare, which followed until you were out of sight.

The room is dull. Devoid of natural light, furnished only by three large chest freezers and a closet full of linens. There is a hatch the size of a shoebox that can be pulled open to safely deposit food through, and adjacent is a vault door reinforced with steel and concrete.

You open the closet and parse through the fabrics. Admittedly a long shot as far as ‘I come in peace’ gestures go, but the only thing you can think might help. Silk slides petal-soft between your fingers and you tuck it under your arm, joined by another cashmere blanket, smooth and noticeably light.

The vault door requires both a code and a staff card. You input the code and swipe your card. The affirmative beep pierces through your equilibrium. Shouta is not harmless. But you are, and you’re hoping he knows that.

A loud click echoes into the feeding room. You grasp the handle and take one last steely inhale before heaving, struggling with the incredible weight. You curse the door as it groans on its hinges, alerting everything nearby of your arrival.

Mothman feast on anything. Vegetation and flesh, fresh or rotted, but legend always spoke of their hunger for misery. They coveted disaster and fed on it, babe to breast, and somehow grew hungrier the more they swallowed.

You step into the enclosure. The door shuts with a loud foreboding slam and locks automatically.

Shouta does harm to those who would harm him. He feasts on fruit. On cereal and rice. You’d watched him suck through ten packets of coffee jelly, but never misery. If anyone were to ask you, you would tell them that Shouta conjured the very opposite of misery.

You remind yourself of that repeatedly until your thoughts coalesce into white noise. The earth is soft beneath your boots. Something darts through the treeline, gone in a blink, and you feel the hair on your arms stand on end.

Easing into the surroundings, you cautiously call out to him, “…Shouta? You here, big guy?”

A low hum resonates throughout the trees. You feel it more than you hear it, almost like a caress. It coaxes a familiar warm feeling into the pit of your stomach, willing all tension from your muscles until the blankets pinned to your side unfold, falling onto the ground.

A coronal mist has set in, orchestrated by a chattering sound you know well. Your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. It’s harder to breathe now. Shaking, you try to advance. Your body is quickly paralysed by the innate urge to flee.

Shouta’s presence echoes throughout the brush and sinks it’s claws into you— throbs under your skin in time with your heart. But if you ran, would that make his blood sing? Would he interpret it as a challenge to prove his worth, or a rejection for which to kill you?

The air is temperate. That perfect balance between cool and humid. Lush oranges and yellows branch out into every corner. Light bleeds through the thinning canopy, the ground dappled with sunspots. This isn’t such a terrible place to die.

You don’t hear or see him. Like before, you feel him first. Fear washes over you and steals your breath. Shouta is at your back, shaping himself to your body in a way that boasts how large he is in comparison. You stay stockstill while he touches you, nosing gently at your throat.

Finding your voice, you croak his name. An eldritch purr shudders through him and he grasps at your hips, pulling them back against him. You exhale at the obvious press of his cock to your back. Those soft chitters you had come to love drown out the panic that follows your realisation.

You were the intended mate.

Death stands behind you, arms cinched around your middle, mouthing along the nape of your neck like he loves you. The line between instinct and desire is deceptively thin. You wonder if Shouta knows the difference, or if he equates love with the heat of your blood spilling into his mouth, seams undone by the touch of his lips.

Your legs collapse beneath you, hitting the floor. A grubby applause from the dirt dances around your knees. Shouta accepts your dead weight as though it were nothing, his wings enveloping you both in an abrupt darkness.

Minuscule scales shimmer and reflect the glaring bioluminescence radiating from his eyes. Before you is a sky soaked crimson and blood spattered stars. “Is this…” you start, voice caught in your throat. It should be harrowing. People would call it a depiction of hell. You call it beautiful.

Shouta tucks his nose into your jugular with a warm hum and you feel sharp teeth protruding beneath his lips. Neck ruffle tickles soft against your skin, keeping you tight to his torso, enough that you think he could consume you whole. He’s pleased. You can tell.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest. It’s as if you are a teenager again, sneaking out with someone to see a clear starry night. The moment is incredulously human.

A mothman does not bare his wings to anyone but his mate. Even in flight they are too fast to be seen. You are so enamoured by it that you don’t notice the shift in gravity until the force on your body lightens and your stomach drops.

You squeak. Frantically clinging to his shoulders and turning your face into his neck, Shouta makes a sound suspiciously like laughter. Your body sways in his arms as the too-corporeal trees rise to meet him. What you cannot see you listen out for; leaves rustling, groaning branches, any sign to indicate where you’ve landed.

When his wings retract the shadows do not recede. You’ve been brought to a dark place. A few metres above your head there is a long slit of light bleeding into the lofty space. You’re distinctly reminded of a grave. That thought makes your heart thump hard against your rib cage.

A calm tenor breaks the silence and you refocus on the figure above. Red eyes bleed into the darkness. Long black hair drapes over his shoulders and blends into the light fluffed ruff of his neck, reminiscent of a scarf that extends down his chest and back into his large wings, which he has tucked closely behind him.

Broad feathery antennae flicker on top of his head, so distinctly insect-like, but his body and hands are startlingly human— it would be, if not for the black tipped talons that grew from each finger and toe.

“Are you still frightened?”

You realise you’re being cradled with deliberate care, as if you might shatter. He treats you like this is the first time he has ever met another living thing. There is barely any pressure behind the claws curled at the base of your neck. All you can think is that he’s warm. Soft. Guided by wonder, inhibitions lost in a concussive fog, you reach up to cautiously touch his face.

Shouta had multiple nests. The team before you took over had planted cameras in all of them only for their recordings to be destroyed, pieces left strewn by the food hatch. It agitated him, thus you respected those wishes. But in doing so you also cut off any means of behavioural observation.

This meant you knew of them, but nothing more than that. You had no idea which nests he actually used. You had no idea how he spun them, or what they looked like from the inside.

What you have been lowered into is not a grave, though it is deep and narrow. The bedding yields, padded under your back, emanating the smell of upturned earth and petrichor.

This is his primary nest.

Your tongue feels too thick for your mouth. “You can… you can speak?”

A black tipped finger hooks into the collar of your shirt. You feel it sharp like a knife's edge, and the fabric rips with barely any pressure. Shouta snorts. And then, “Your kind is strange. Presumptuous,” he traces over the swell of your breast. “And soft”.

There’s only intent to satiate his curiosity, but you feel something dangerously warm coil low in your belly. The broad, feathered antennae atop his head curl toward you, almost prehensile in nature, as if they can sense it.

“You can’t,” words fail you as his tongue glides over your pulse. “You’ve never spoken before. You can’t blame me for being surprised”.

“That wouldn’t be logical,” he murmurs. You exhale shakily as his teeth nip gently at your lobe, pressing what could be a kiss to the shell. “It’s not as if your primitive ears would be able to hear me through the glass”.

The baritone of his voice frissons down your spine and you find yourself clenching your thighs. Shouta braces over you until he is all there is— and you are all he sees.

You argue fruitlessly in attempts to maintain self control, “We could’ve talked through the speakers”.

“We could have. But then the other humans would know this part of me,” he replies plainly. “Is that what you want?”

You’re a little embarrassed by the immediate ‘no’ that rolls onto the tip of your tongue. You bite it and let your silence answer for you. A disservice to your team and to your research— you seek truths and yet the truth is you are secretly happy that this is yours and yours alone.

Shouta huffs. He brings your foreheads together and your knees part reflexively to make room for him as he settles between them. The shine in his eyes has dimmed into a simmer. It reminds you of a pyre after the fire has burned; the glowing ash left to cool overnight.

“If I had not played along and acted beastly you wouldn’t have paid attention,” he continues. You tremble as he slots against the cradle of your hips, a suggestive pulse felt between your legs. The size of his body forces your legs wider around his waist. His cock is heavy and the heat emanates through your work pants. He doesn’t move, and he waits.

“You…” you’re breathless when it hits you. “You could’ve left all this time”.

He rises slowly at your words and tilts his head, beckoning you to continue. There is an unwavering composure about him that leaves you uneasy. You got the sense he knew your thoughts before you voiced them.

“You stayed and cooperated with our research. Even though… Some of them treated you like an animal. You could be anywhere but here”.

Shouta gives a disapproving chitter. The sound devolves into a hum. He settles a large hand on the top of your head and leans back into your space, uncomfortably close, as if to impress the answer upon you. “Here is where I am supposed to be”.

He’s not a monster, just something that wants to belong.

Your hand smooths over his cheek to his hair, the other guiding his palm to your chest where your heart sits. He squeezes at your chest, curious. Gentle fingertips brush the antennae rooted in a crown of thick black hair. The sweet resonant purr surges and you watch the touch shudder through his body in awe.

Your blood sings, reacting to his desperate call with a burst of exhilaration. A thought crosses your mind— had it been you he was chasing, or this feeling?

Was this how it felt to be a predator?

“Here. With me…” you rasp, wetting your lips as your eyes fall to his mouth. Shouta smiles and you have to temper the urge to touch his teeth. “I’ve worked here for a long time. Why wait until today?”

“Courting takes time. And though I was sure of you I knew you weren’t ready,” he rasps, rocking up against your sex. A gasp catches in your throat and his antennae flutter in response. “I can smell that you are now”.

“Smell?”

Shouta hums an affirmative. “All creatures have a cycle. Your body changes over the weeks,” the hand over your heart descends to your stomach, resting above your waistband. The repetitive stroke of his thumb is doting, almost. “Soon you will be ovulating”.

You are torn between horror and amazement. The craving to write this down was insatiable. Truthfully it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Shouta could know that— he was finely tuned to his environment. That was the entire purpose of chemoreception.

Regardless, that knowledge instills a sense of vulnerability in you. The scales felt tipped entirely in his favour and there was nothing you could hide from him. It was equally liberating and frightening.

A quiet trill pulls you from your thoughts. He must pick up on your anxiety, because mothman crowds you back against the nest and you sink further with a weak smile, your fingers threading into his fur. Wildflowers and long grass borders your periphery. You hadn’t much chance to appreciate his hard work in the dark.

“Shouta,” you faltered. Perhaps you should be more concerned that giving yourself to him was never a question. “Are you sure it’s me you want? I’m just a human”.

“I see that,” he stated dryly. “But you are my little human. My mate. This is not up for debate”.

Memories surrounding your tentative relationship over the years come to the forefront of your mind. How purposeful and gentle he was, the obvious preference for your company, his willingness to share his secrets and weaknesses just to see you satisfied.

The pregnant pause is mistaken for hesitance. Shouta brings your hand to his throat, inner wrist tickled by the plumage. Soft hair trails up his neck and thins by his jaw. Behind him, his wings unfurl and stretch. Pushing the heel up to his jugular, you feel six deliberate clicks. The rhythm of each is individual, some pitched and others deep, and the silence between is different in length, almost similar to morse code.

“What did you say?”

“Your name,” he rumbles.

There is underlying significance you aren’t privy to, yet you feel it all the same. You meet his gaze. Skin feverish, breathes coming quicker. Your hips twitch helplessly and he bites back a croon.

“Okay. Touch me, ” you slowly coil your arms around his neck and bring him into an embrace. He goes doubtlessly, engaging you with knees settled either side of your hips.

Shouta cuts your clothes off carefully and with ease. The simple hook of a talon and they tore like thin paper. His tongue, long and tube-like at the tip, glides between your breasts, flicking over your nipples and watching with fascination. It’s as though the roles have switched. You are the subject now.

You laugh breathily as he nuzzles into you, palming at your soft stomach. Shouta works his way down your body, giving a curious churring sound as more of your body reveals itself. He tears away your pants, but rather than discard them, he tucks them into the borders of the nest.

The air feels good on your skin, cool where it kisses your arousal. “Hold yourself open for me,” he says. “I want to taste you”.

An overwhelming wave of embarrassment washes over you as he guides your hands to the back of your thighs, ankles hooked over his broad shoulders. Pressure behind his claw-tipped fingers, Shouta gently pries your folds apart to demonstrate his wishes. “Like this”.

You moan, bear down on his tongue at the first lick as it glides over your clit, a shudder rolling through your body at the threat of his teeth. He descends again and again with bottomless yearning, no longer hunger, rather like an elastic compulsion pulled impossibly taut.

A pleased chitter vibrates against you. His wings extend and shudder, looming above like tapestry. “So good,” he breathes in, shameless as he noses along your cunt. “So warm. You smell even better than usual”.

The muscles in your thighs clench as the narrow tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You push down into your heels with a weak cry of complaint and he obliges, gently pushing inside you.

Your breathing falters. “Sh—Shouta,” you croak, reaching down desperately to grasp his plumage the deeper he sinks. It feels never ending, flexing and twisting experimentally as he draws out, still keeping his lips pressed up against you.

Gradually he builds a rhythm. Observing raptly from his place between your legs, his gaze never strays, gleaming when your hips buck into his mouth. It’s his expression that spurs you on— that rapt, intense desire.

Shouta stretches you on his tongue, the obscene slick sound of saliva echoing throughout his nest. The tension low in your belly coils, taut, and you feel it pulse. Your toes curl and you let out a loud, broken moan that sounds like relief.

“Don’t stop. Feels so good,” you keen, balancing right at the crest. Shouta’s pace grows anxious the closer you get, his big hands palming at your thighs, talons pinching skin. He forces them wider as he presses his weight into you with a long groan. “Yeah. That’s it, make me cum. Oh fuck—!”

A moment passes without air, yanked under by the force of it. Your body wrings tight and the tension snaps. Undone, loose at the seams as he takes you through the aftershocks quaking through your body.

You return to yourself, registering the quiet hum reverberating in your skull. Shouta nuzzles your sensitive clit before making his way up your torso. He smells like sex. His ruff, chin and cheeks are wet with arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he licks over the seam of your lips, and shivers when they part to meet him.

The kiss is strange; not quite a kiss, more a press of mouths. You suppose it can’t be helped with teeth like his. His effort is far more endearing than it has any right to be.

Brief fatigue washes over you and settles into a giddy afterglow. The black spots in your vision dissipate. A short, soft chitter comes from his throat. The noise is familiar— they’re exactly like the sounds he would make when you were anxious.

“I’m okay, Shouta. You— You’re a bit too good at that,” you reassured, taking his face into your palms and feeling it in his cheeks when he smiles. The shifting wings behind his head draw your attention as they flutter. He’s near enough for you to reach out and stroke them.

They’re breathtaking. The texture is unlike anything you have ever felt before. You pause at his squirming, “Does it hurt?”

He huffed a laugh. You think that will never get old. “It doesn’t hurt”.

“Feels nice?”

“Too nice,” he says, stroking your hips. Lifting your hips, you grind lightly over his cock. You swallow, noticing how much it had grown, now completely unsheathed. Shouta reflexively chases the feeling, bucking up against your sex. You both hiss at the sensitivity.

Timidly, you ask, “Can I see?”

He nods.

The size is daunting. His cock is curved, long, but more notably it is thick. Fleshy in colour and hot, leaking a clear liquid over your hand. Ribbed around the shaft, the slight bumps slide under your palm as you bring your fist up to the narrowed head. No spikes. Good. If you met God you’d thank him.

It is crowned by sensitive skin, not unlike a human’s, but in gently pulling it back you find it reminds you more of an ovipositor. Shouta’s rumbling deepens, head hung between his shoulders. Drapes of long dark hair fall to curtain his face. His antennae quiver in place, wide red eyes looking back at you.

You feel yourself ache with unfulfilled arousal. Pressing your thighs together does nothing but tease. Shouta watches you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs, his chest heaving as you glide him through your wet folds, drenching yourself in his slick.

The cryptid pushes into you with a gentleness that is almost terrifying in its intensity— so out of place for a supposed harbinger of suffering. “Careful, little human,” he rasps, an ever present humming in his chest.

A pleasant tingling sensation begins to spread throughout your abdomen, relaxing your muscles, like sinking into the soothing heat of a hot bath. You’ve long shut off your avid questions, rendered thoughtless and pliant by the pressure. “Oh,” you exhale, struggling to keep your eyes open. He’s barely halfway in.

Shouta pulls out slowly and rocks back in, repeating the motion as you open up to him. You crane your head, jaw slack as you moan, reaching out to the immense silhouette above you. Everything about him is big. It’s all you can notice. He’s taking handfuls of you, kneading the fat at your thighs, hooking around them and pushing your knees toward your chest.

“Look at you,” his voice is thick and trembling. You whine, watching the way you swallow around him, clit swollen and twitching. “Perfect,” he rasps, the mix of your arousal dampening the fur around his base. He pulls out again, tantalisingly slow, and your legs start to shake.

“Shouta,” you choke, not knowing what it was you were asking for. He gives it to you anyway, rocking forward in one harsh movement, setting a pace that splits you in two. You can almost feel his cock is in your throat; touching parts of you you didn’t know existed; carving out space for himself and making a home of it.

The earlier mindfulness is gone. Shouta sets a divine pace. He shifts on his knees, gripping at your waist with his talons pressing into skin, pulling you down onto his cock. Praises have dwindled into a language you cannot understand, but you recognise those six successive clicks— he’s calling your name, over and over.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ah. What is—?!”

The hypothesis is reaffirmed by the sensation of him stretching you further, widening inside you, inflating as something pulses through his shaft, abandoning his body and slipping into yours. Your mouth falls open as heat prickles across your skin and what feels like a second orgasm crashes over you. You’re left suspended in a free fall that never seems to end.

It feels too good to panic about. Sperm packets or eggs or both— whatever they are, they’re smooth, cooling where they gather inside of you, and right pushing up against your sweet spot. Tremors wrack through your limbs and Shouta appears no better. His upper lip curls, wings fully presented and twitching.

Weak, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle him to your chest. Your fingers brush over the apex of his wings and with barely any exertion, he slams you back onto his cock, a loud groan drawn from his chest. His pelvis slaps against your clit and in a moment of lucidity, you feel the ground rise to meet you.

Rigidity bleeds from your muscles as you cum again, soon replaced by a wave of exhaustion. You grimace at the uncomfortable bloated feeling in your belly. Shouta is muttering, antennae curled and brushing the swell of your cheeks. You can hear his voice. Muffled, as if you were under water, “You did well, little flame”.

Thinking aloud, you mumble, “What if they don’t take?”

He nudges your chin, gathering you into his arms to cocoon you both, “I’ll make sure they do”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #eraserhead x reader

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angelkhi · 3 months

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red velvet - a.a

links to support palestine🇵🇸: ways to help | esims | donate food | click to donate (it’s free!!)

pairing: baker!abby anderson x reader

summary: abby is stressed about a new recipe, you just want her to relax.

warnings: MINORS DNI, nakedness. no real warnings to be fair?? just very soft and mushy. still, i mean this in the meanest way possible, minors fuck off xxx

word count: 1.3k

a little note: hi it’s been a while. some softer stuff for you. i think that’s all i have to say. okay bye bye.

Abby's passion for baking is something you can't help but admire. Her attention and care to each bake, the way she scrunches her nose as she concentrates, the way she stands there, eyes wide awaiting your opinion on her latest bake. You admire it because you love seeing her happy whilst creating something that she's proud of, and of course the sheer amount of baked goods you get presented with daily.

It's hard to understand how she finds such solitude in baking, considering her brow is permanently creased whenever she is in the kitchen. The first time the two of you met, she (and the countertops) had been caked in flour. Then there was the melted baking tray, and the batter covered walls due to a stand mixer related incident. Though the more you saw her, the sooner you came to realise that a messy kitchen kitchen is her natural habitat.

Getting to see her happy and relaxed in her own little way became some sort of a drug. You would sit across from her, most of the time not speaking, just watching. Her rough hands becoming delicate, arms flexing as she rolled out yet another batch of pastry, smiling widely whenever you tasted one of her creations.

She would silently place a cupcake or a pastry in front of you and step back, arms crossed, lip pulled between her teeth, brows furrowed, watching intently for your reaction. You would hum, nod, then compliment without pretence. Her smile would be so wide, so bright in the dim light of the kitchen. That was your favourite part, it still is, seeing her light up like that.

Each and every time she pours her love into her baking until it's overflowing, bursting at the seams, warming your insides and filling your stomach until you were full, yet it still left you hungry for more. At first it was the offering of a stray baked good when you visited Ellie and Dina, then it was sending you tupperware of fresh cookies and pastries weekly as though she knew the key to your heart lay in flaky chocolate chip croissants.

The final straw was your birthday cake. She stood there, face lit delicately by the slow burning candles, eyes as soft as her smile.

The cake itself was beautiful, topped in delicate piping, filled with a strange combination of your favourite flavours that seemed to mingle in your mouth, erupting across your tastebuds in each pleasurable mouthful.

This time when she gnawed at her lip in anticipation, you couldn't help but kiss her. Acting completely on impulse and pent up yearning. Seeing her hands work almost every day, tasting the fruits of their labour was one thing, but to feel them was something entirely different. Now, some years later she comes home to you, bringing a different sweet treat from her bakery everyday.

Today she comes home to an empty living room, the slight thrum of a running shower and quiet music welcoming her. She drops her things over the couch, puts a small box of sweet treats in the fridge, and follows your quiet humming to the steamed up bathroom.

She can perfectly map out each dip and curve of your body, despite the fogged up shower door, the sweet smell of your conditioner carried by each misty tendril.

She doesn’t think as she undresses, just wanting to be close to you after a long day alone. She calls out to you softly so she doesn’t startle you half to death. For once, the almost scalding heat of the shower is welcome against her taut skin, though she’ll never understand how you can withstand it for so long.

Resting her head in your neck as she breathes out a tired sigh. You stroke a hand through her soft hair, small flecks of cocoa power dusting her golden tresses.

"Long day?"

Abby nods her head, breath tickling your neck, the low hum of her words brushing against your skin.

"Mostly just missed you,"

She presses a kiss to your neck, hand resting on your stomach lightly, fingers itching to trace each dip and curve. Her hands don’t leave your skin as you turn to face her, a dollop of her pine shampoo in your hands. The moment your fingers touch her scalp, it’s like all of the stress in her body melts away into nothing.

“You’re all tense, what’s bothering you?” Your fingers massage until the soap becomes cloud-like, nails gently grazing her every now and then. Her eyes close on instinct, fingers tracing the skin at your waist, indistinct patterns that somehow feel like home.

“Nora’s trying out a new menu, m’trying to come up with some ideas but nothing feels right.”

“Your hands make magic. It’ll be perfect.” She smiles softly, staring at you for a moment before looking away. One day, you think, she’ll learn how to accept a compliment.

The more she relaxes the slower her hands move, and as much as you want to keep slowly running your hands through her hair, she’s practically falling asleep on her feet. You make quick work of rinsing and conditioning, being glad for once that she’s not a ten-step shower girl and shut off the water.

You hand her a warm fluffy towel, watching as her eyes droop even further. Your hand rests on her back as you guide her from the steam filled haze of the bathroom. You know she doesn’t need it, she’s more than capable of finding her way, but she deserves it every now and then, a helping hand no matter how soft. If you could give her only one thing, something she’d earned with each waking breath, it would be a moments rest, an anchor to ground her even on the most tiresome of days.

The two of you work around each other like a well oiled, yet sluggish machine. She hands you a sleep shirt, you hand her underwear, she hands you moisturiser, you braid her hair. It’s a dance the two of you are more than familiar with, one that has no end but rather slow swaying pauses.

A slither of moonlight runs from her arm across to your fingertips, her quiet curses empty of malice as she chucks the many pillows to the end of the bed. You smile, knowing that come morning they’ll be neatly arranged, not because she wants to, but because knows that’s how you like them.

“Snagged you some red velvet brownies.” Her words are muffled by a long yawn.

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you. That’s breakfast sorted.”

Abby chuckles, considering for a moment that your insatiable sweet tooth had played into some Pavlovian response to her constant baking. But whatever hold her skills in the kitchen had over you were minuscule compared to way you’d managed to entrance her just by being you.

“Anything to keep my girl happy.” She presses a kiss to your shoulder, pulling the covers higher once she notices the slight chill on your skin.

“I’m sure that’s what Nora tells the accountant every month.” Another chuckle from her, the sweetest symphony ever directed. You spend a moment shuffling around, getting comfortable, finally ending up with your arm strewn across her waist.

“Now relax, get some sleep, and stop thinking about whatever concoction i’m sure you’ve already perfected.” Your thumb moves in the same way hers had before, hoping it soothes her as much as it had soothed you.

“M’not even that tired.” She protests, her usually furrowed brows slightly relaxing, words slurred by sleep. You know she’ll be snoring in five minutes.

You relish in the feeling of her breaths slowing, her muscles releasing the pent up tension, of her finally relaxing. You quietly thank whatever invisible string of fate tied the two of you together. For allowing you to have moments like this in the quiet of the night. For letting you wake up to her every morning. For her.

#abby anderson fic #abby anderson x female reader #abby tlou #abby anderson fluff #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson

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addicted-to-dc · 7 months

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AK!Jason Todd x Catwoman’s protégé! Reader - Just for tonight, Kitty - Pt 3

Guess who's back, back again? There will be a few more parts as long as inspiration fuels me.

Content: 18+, MDNI... angst, fluff, alcohol use (why does that look like it's spelled wrong?? anyways), getting into some smut (finally) in this part. Nothing too serious yettttt 😏

-----

Holding tight onto Jason, he grapples to the top of your penthouse. Rushing through the historical district at night always takes your breath away, especially with Jason. It’s been 5 years since you’ve enjoyed Gotham with him. It’s almost like the city is alive again.

Your feet gently land on the balcony, Jason landing behind you. Walking towards the entrance to the greenhouse, you input your code and open the door. The cold Gotham air quickly disappears as you step through the doorway. Jason’s right behind you, closing the door as he takes your plants in. Gifts from Ivy, ones that you spared no expense to help them thrive.

Finally, you enter your penthouse, descending your spiral staircase into your living area. The building, funnily enough, was severely damaged during one of the never-ending battles between Batman and his long list of rogues.

“I guess crime does pay, doesn’t it, Kitty?”

You turn around in time to watch him take off the mask. He places it out of sight, then his armor quickly meets the same fate. A bottle of your favorite drink calls your name. Two glasses join the party as you pour generous helpings of the beautifully colored liquid.

A quick laugh escapes from your lips as you turn to face him, your arm extending to hand him his glass, “It certainly has its perks, especially now I’ve branched out of Gotham.”

You take a sip, testing the flavor as you sink into the most comfortable couch money could buy. The glass is quickly placed on the table as you begin to take off your suit. Your gloves are the first thing to go, the fabric and hardware easily slipping off your arms.

Jason stays still, leaning against your countertop. He watches as your boots get tossed near the staircase. His eyes wander to the whip still attached to your waist before taking a big gulp of his drink. “That why you were in Venezuela?”

You take another gulp, relishing in your newfound warmth thanks to the alcohol. “Shopping for things to pay the bills. Might’ve made enough to retire.”

He laughs, “Do you really think you can retire? Once you’re in, you’re in for life.”

Leaning forward, you swirl your glass as he makes his way towards you. “Maybe, but it wouldn’t hurt to make it a part-time thing. Have some more time for myself, maybe for us?”

Jason finally sits down, leaving no space between the two of you. “After tomorrow night, I’m all yours.”

You gulp down the rest of your drink down, needing something to rid the thought of the near future. He places his drink next to yours before pulling you closer. Your thighs drag over his until you’re resting on top of them. He drags his fingers along the seams of your suit, goosebumps trailing behind his touch. You lean in closer, sighing as you take in his body heat.

“What are we going to do after this? Stay in Gotham?” you ask, your hand playing with the fabric on his chest. “We could go anywhere if we wanted to.”

His hand weaves in between yours, pulling it up for a kiss. “I don’t know, haven’t really thought of anything after this.”

You sigh, squeezing his hand. “No matter what we do, we always end up back here.”

“Hey.”

Your eyes flick up to his immediately. He adjusts himself, taking you with him as he places his back flush against the cushion. The movement sends a gasp out of your mouth, the friction setting you on fire. Your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself, using his shoulders to recompose yourself. You didn’t even register he unzipped the front of your suit until you felt his lips on you.

“Jay,” you whimper, back arching as he pulls you closer.

“This is where we met, Kitty, had all our little adventures,” he begins, leaving a trail of kisses and bruises as he travels upwards. “A little vacation every now and then would be nice, but…”

He bites your neck, stealing your breath away as he soothes the skin afterwards. Your grip on his shoulders loosens, overwhelmed by everything he’s doing to you.

“…Gotham’s home as long as you’re in it.”

You forgot how soft his lips were against yours.

---

Aha CLIFFHANGERRRR XD. Felt right to torture you guys a bit. Part 4 will be out soon, won't be able to fend off the fic voices for long.

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always welcome!!

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader smut #red hood x reader smut #arkham knight x reader smut

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lady-lauren · 1 year

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Heaven in Hiding

↣ Pairing: Kyojuro Rengoku x Fem!Reader

↣ Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

↣ Word Count: 5.7k

↣ Warnings/Tags: modern college au, step-big bro!Rengoku, stepcest, a very slight yandere tone, a bit of enemies to lovers, use of “darling” and “good girl”, cuddling and flirting, the smut comes quickly because I can’t help myself, oral (fem!receiving), facesitting, hair pulling, a little biting/marking, unprotected rough/passionate sex, small belly bulge, creampie

↣ A/N: I’m not sorry. I needed to get this out of my system. I love this man and I have been a god damn emotional rollercoaster with this series, okay? He’s such a good big brother and I can’t stand it. 😭

Kyojuro takes delight in being a big brother. He’s a protector and provider by nature. So, when his father remarried, the union bringing a darling new step-sister into the fold, he found renewed pride and purpose in acting as your big brother.

Even though you don’t need a big brother—you’ve told him this a thousand times, insisted that since you’ve always been on your own, you can handle yourself. You’re only two years younger than him, a sophomore to his senior in college.

You’re independent, which Kyojuro appreciates. But you’re so pretty and always so alone. Alone at parties, smiling in the corner, fending off boys with impure intentions. Alone at the library, working tirelessly toward your degree. Alone in your apartment, sleeping in empty sheets.

He can’t stand the thought of you being alone. You need him. You’re a moon without a sun.

So Kyojuro determines the only way for you to let him in completely is to give you what all pretty, lonely girls desire—to be fucked stupid.

“Hello!” he announces at your door late on a Saturday night. He’s not surprised that you slam the door in his face upon recognizing his golden hair and flaming voice.

Persistent, he knocks again, telling the seam of the door that he’s brought food.

It takes a few moments, but your door creaks open again, slowly, hesitantly, as if you’re afraid he’s just going to rush inside. He does.

“Finals are just around the corner and I wanted to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

As he takes purposeful steps toward your kitchen, Kyojuro takes note of your apartment. Everything is clean, cute. There are scented candles burning and he can smell the remnants of a hot shower, steam and hints of vanilla and rose swirling in the air. Your television is paused on some Netflix show, a cozy blanket half strewn over the couch. Good, you’re indulging in self-care.

“I’m doing just fine on my own, thanks.”

“And that’s the problem!” He pulls fresh, hot food from the paper bag he’s brought as he speaks, setting containers of potato miso soup—of course he would bring you his favorite, you deserve nothing less—and various other comforting snacks on your countertops. “You don’t have to do everything on your own when you have me.”

You follow him to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed. You weren’t prepared for company, only dressed in a pair of soft shorts and a tank-top with no bra. He notices how you’re covering yourself, pressing your tits down and out of sight, hiding the sight of hard nipples. You’re alluring in the soft light; all smooth, dewy skin and sensual curves that would make any man weep.

“Thanks,” you sigh, “and sorry about trying to shut you out. I’m just not used to having a…a brother, or whatever you are.”

“Well, I’m happy to show you what big brothers are for.”

Even as you both sit to eat, you eye him like you don’t trust him. The problem is that you don’t know him. Even after a few years of being family, you’ve never given him the time of day to show you who he really is, how caring he is. Which is why he’s determined to sink beneath your skin tonight, open you like a parched flower to rain.

“You really don’t have to stay,” you mumble over a spoonful, still watching him with catlike perception.

“Why? Did you have other plans?” He looks around dramatically, long hair swishing as he makes the point.

“Kyojuro…I like being alone. It’s addictive, in a way. I like being able to do whatever I want, whenever I want. And I appreciate that you want to be some heroic big bro, but I don’t need you to do that.”

“Don’t you get lonely?” he says with a heavy knife’s edge of sincerity. The words slice through the calm and make you bristle.

“Everyone gets lonely. It’s human nature.”

“Well, you don’t have to be lonely,” he stands to begin cleaning, stopping next to your chair to pat your head softly. “Not with me around.”

He keeps his palm on your head for a moment longer, making you look up at him through your lashes with a concoction of emotion. Anger is present, anger that he’s here, once again attempting to push into your life. But there’s also a hint of adoration, a welling shine that gives him hope.

For you, it’s hard not to be sucked into the gravity well that is Kyojuro Rengoku. He’s blazing warmth and heartfelt smiles, with an eccentricity that is equal parts curious and lovable. He’s the promise of comfort, an assurance of safety. He’s big and strong and far too handsome for his own good—every girl at your university wants him and it’s hard not to fall prey to his blunt charm.

But you’ve always found solace in yourself, only ever trusted yourself. It’s hard to put your trust into anyone, even someone with such a pleasing disposition.

“What movie do you wanna watch?” There’s no question as to whether you want to do such a thing and spend more time with him. It’s a given for him. You’ve let him in, so now he’s going to stay.

“I’m not picky,” you rummage around the kitchen as he slinks into the living room, “just put on whatever you want.”

When you’ve taken enough time to steel yourself, taking deep breaths to calm your shot nerves of your expected alone time being overtaken, you return to him.

Kyojuro has taken residence on your small couch, stout legs spread across the cushions. He’s big in your space, muscular and barrel-chested as one arm hangs across the back of the couch. Like you, he’s casual tonight, gray sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt with the Slayer University emblem on his chest.

With a beaming, almost sheepish smile, he pats his stocky thigh in invitation.

“No,” you hiss.

“Oh, come on! I bet you haven’t had a good, old-fashioned cuddle in a long time.”

The startled look on your face confirms his thoughts.

He’s perceptive, it’s what has made him a great college athlete. He knows you well enough to be aware that you’re no fumbling virgin; you prefer one-night stands, in and out sexual gratification with no messy strings of feelings wrapped around your heart. But that means when it comes to gentle, caring human contact, you’re absolutely touch-starved. He wants to give you what no one else can—the warm, comforting embrace of a brother.

Like an offering, he holds his hand out to you. Palm up, big fingers barely curved and beckoning come here.

You mumble something under your breath, some curse against god, but you take his hand anyway.

Your bodies meld together easily. Your softness melts against his muscles, your ass settling between his spread thighs and your legs draping over one of his. Enthusiastically, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and squishes your cheek against his plush chest.

“See? This is nice!” He beams, proud and loud and practically stewing in happiness.

Shifting a bit to find comfort, you settle on having your hands against his chest, his steady heart beating against your fingertips, ringing in the ear he’s trapped against him.

“Yeah,” your voice is muffled against his brawn, “it’s alright.”

It’s more than alright. Kyojuro can feel the tension in your shoulders fade as he runs his fingers along your arm, up and down, back and forth, a gentle sweeping of touch. You sink deeper into him as he scrolls aimlessly through the streaming platform, nuzzling your head against his chest. You’re quiet, but that’s alright. He just wants you to feel comfortable and realize that you’re safe with him.

He decides on something simple to watch, some nature documentary he’s already seen before as background noise. He doesn’t care what plays; all his attention is set on you.

Fingertips trail up your neck, his thumb caressing your jaw. He expected you to squirm a bit, perhaps protest, but you are content to just curl up against him and hum.

“Feel good?”

“Mhm, yeah. Guess I could get used to this.”

Kyojuro takes the initiative of pulling you in even closer, big hand dipping to your waist and shoving you against his body. His fingers spread wide, his thumb presses against the fat of your breast, his middle finger curving against the underside. His instincts tell him to squeeze, but he presses his teeth together and flexes his jaw to stop himself.

You’re not naive. Your senses are on high alert being pressed against his big, warm body, and you’re acutely aware of his touch against your breast. Instead of slithering away from him, you coil yourself against him tighter. One of your hands slides up his chest, wrinkling his soft t-shirt as your fingers come to rest on his neck, right at his pulse.

“Kyo…” you whisper, turning your cheek to look up at him. He stares down at you a little too intently, honey and ruby eyes waiting, watching. “Why did you come here tonight?”

“To be a good big brother,” he answers immediately.

“So good little sisters just get food and cuddles? Nothing else?” You’re teasing him, one of your manicured nails tapping at the side of his full lips.

He’ll give you whatever you want, whatever it takes to open you to him, let him be part of your life, part of you.

“I’ll give you anything you want. Name it, and it’s yours.”

His heart is pounding in his ribcage as you move in his lap, straddling his waist. Your tits press against his chest, your cunt nestled against the ridge of his hardening cock that he can’t keep hidden in his sweats.

You play with the long hair that frames his face, twirling red tips between your fingers.

“We really shouldn’t…”

Your lips brush against his, just out of reach, hips rocking against him.

“But we definitely should, right?”

“We tell no one,” you warn.

“Our little secret.”

He takes the initiative, running his hot hands up your sides, feeling every dip and curve as he settles his palms on your tits. Thumbs roll over your already hard nipples, bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan.

One hand drags to your face, thick fingers squishing into your cheeks as he pulls your mouth closer to his.

“Let me show you what big brothers are for, darling.”

His kiss is like fire, all consuming, powerful. He slides his tongue into your mouth without prompting, cock growing fully hard when you respond in earnest. Your hands cup his face as you moan into his mouth, tongue tangling with his as you grind into his lap. He wanted you to be enthusiastic, but this—this is heaven.

Just a few touches and you’re already melting to his flames, ready to be burned.

He knew such a pretty, lonely thing just needed to be fucked. And he’ll fuck you just right, in all the ways you’ve ever desired. That’s what he’s here for—to provide in all the ways no other man can.

“Off,” you whisper into his mouth, fingernails plucking at his shirt. “Take this off.”

He breaks away from you for just an instant, grabbing his shirt behind his neck and ripping the fabric away from his heated skin. He does the same for you, tossing your tank top over your head so your tits can spill out in front of his face.

“You’re beautiful,” he says in quick reverence, leaning forward to lick one of your nipples into his mouth. His hands are rough, one gripping into your ribs and pushing you down into the couch cushions while the other kneads into the flesh of the breast in his mouth.

You moan and squeak at his actions, making room for him to settle between your spread legs. His weight is so heavy between your thighs. He feels like passion, like a promise.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” he asks rather sternly, spit dripping from his lips as he moves from one breast to the other.

You flush hot; he can feel how your skin reacts to him.

“Wha…what do you mean?”

As his teeth delicately scrape against your nipple, he flashes his eyes up at you over the curve of your tits. You know exactly what he means.

“I…” you trail off, suddenly bashful even as you press your pussy closer to him, finding relief by rubbing your dampening folds against the hard ridge of his cock.

Kyojuro mumbles your name into your skin, “How do you make yourself cum?”

The question is genuine. He needs to know. He wants to know how to please you, he wants to know if you really do take care of yourself.

“Oh god,” you groan and throw your arm over your eyes, whimpering as he takes your tits in both hands and squeezes. “I…fuck, I have toys.”

“Do you? What kind?” He trails his mouth lower, relishing how your hips buck one last time, searching for his cock, as he moves himself down your body.

“I—” you suck in a deep breath as he hooks his fingers in your sopping little shorts, tugging the material down your thighs. “I h-have a vibrator, but mostly I j-just use a big dildo. I…I like to feel full.”

“I’ll make you feel full, darling. I promise.”

He spreads you open, one of your legs dangling off the couch and the other propped against the back cushion. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his golden head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you. You’re perfect—such a perfect little step-sister indeed.

“It’s amazing how wet you are for me.” The praise makes you mewl, hips wiggling as one of your hands tangles in his long mane of hair. He can feel your temptation to tug him closer, nails pressing into his scalp.

But the sight of your plush thighs spread wide gives him such a tempting thought, one he can’t deny.

“I want you to sit on my face.” He pulls himself away from you, big shoulders rolling as he sits up onto his knees. He rubs his drooling, aching cock through his pants at the sight of you spread naked below him.

“But you were already right there,” you huff and sit up, shooting him that angry glare he loves so much.

“I know, I know,” he grins, “but I want your thighs smothering me. So, sit on me fully, yeah? No hovering.”

You nod in agreement as he sits on the floor, laying his head back and flat against the cushions, thick neck tilted back. You don’t hesitate to throw your leg across his pretty face, letting his lips ghost along your skin as you settle your hips above him. He locks his brawny arms around your legs, eager to bring your wet cunt to his mouth.

He groans in ecstasy as your weight presses down against him, your pussy sweet against his lips as he takes his time to flatten his tongue and draw one long, hot stripe through your folds.

Immediately his eyes flare open, catching your gaze from up above.

“Fuck you’re…tasty.”

His face feels too good smothered between the flesh of your thighs, lips and tongue hungry within your folds. Strong hands are careful not to bruise your skin, pulling your weight farther down onto his face until he’s drowning in you.

Your head hangs low as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. Your thighs begin to shake and he takes it as a sign of triumph, eagerly eating more and more. Your cunt is syrupy and hot, dripping down onto his tongue and his cheeks.

If he suffocated here and now, he’d die a happy man between your legs.

One of his hands falls to his lap, fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the blonde, downy hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans. Quickly, he lifts his hips just enough to pull his cock free, hand wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his shaft to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” you press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, Kyo,” it is all a messy whisper, just hot air blown into the dimly lit room.

Your hips jerk and roll from his ministrations, bursts of pleasure spreading over your nerves like hot, rippling webs beneath your skin. His tongue presses against your tight hole, gathering the mess of your slick onto his tongue and drinking like a man parched.

His tongue soothes over you, lapping slowly and pulling you away from the churning coil within your belly. He wants you to savor this, to beg for him, beg for your big brother to let you cum on his face.

“Please,” your voice is wavering as his lips move against your folds, “p-please, suck my clit, make me cum.”

His cock twitches with every plea.

You double over in pleasure as he heads your plea, nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervor, tight circles to make your vision go blurry. He’s always been proud of how well he eats pussy, and he’s never enjoyed one more than yours.

He squeezes the base of his cock to keep himself from cumming, letting his dick throb and pulse in anticipation of being inside your sweet cunt.

You’re getting closer to the edge with every curl of his tongue, the tip of it fast and hurried as he licks against your swollen clit. Kyojuro feels as if he is on fire and drowning all at the same time, lungs struggling to take in just enough air to keep himself above the surface of bliss.

The noises he makes are suppressed, being soaked up by your cunt. The vibrations from his mouth only add to your building delight, making your hips become more desperate. Continuous moans of your own spill down over your bodies, whimpers and a line of “please, please, please.”

He purrs into your flesh, “Who do you want to make you cum, darling? Say my name.”

Kyojuro can feel you sinking, each purposeful lick against your pussy sending you deeper and deeper into a pleasant abyss. His tongue is far too skilled; he knows exactly how to lap and kiss at you to keep your body shaking and wanting, all his attention centered around the tight bundle of nerves that has your belly tightening over and over again.

“Kyo–Kyojuro!” you all but scream, thighs pressing in closer to his head, his long hair sticking to the sweat of your skin.

“You can do better.”

The look on your face above him is priceless, nearly fucked out already and all you’ve had of him is his tongue.

“Fuck!” You squeeze your eyes closed as pleasure overtakes you, now riding his face as you chase your high. “Oh, oh Kyo, please, big brother please.”

Your orgasm spills onto his cheeks as you find your release, ecstasy blooming from where his mouth is still relentlessly licking between your folds. Your walls clench and unclench, looking for the fat cock that should be filling your needy cunt. Your sanity momentarily slips away, mind and body overwhelmed with the feeling of him, of your fucking step-brother between your thighs.

Then, you fall, chest pressing into the couch and hips lifting so you don’t actually crush Kyojuro’s pretty face beneath you.

Kyojuro laughs triumphantly as he slips from between your legs, wrapping you in his arms so you can cling to him in your post-orgasmic high. He pulls you back into his lap, grunting as your messy cunt brushes against his still aching cock.

“You’re so good,” he kisses your forehead, hand petting over your hair as you bury your face into his neck, “you’re such a good girl, you know that?”

He keeps you engulfed in his brawn as you whimper, naked chest pressed against his.

When you pull back to look at him, your eyes are blazing, full of passion that mimics his own.

“I need you inside me, Kyo,” you whisper, pulling his lips down to yours for a sloppy kiss. You moan at the taste of yourself in his mouth, nails gripping into his muscles.

“Your wish is my command!” He beams with pride as he stands, throwing your naked body over his shoulder as he kicks off the rest of his pants and marches for your bedroom.

“Kyo!” You cough at his broad shoulder pressing into your stomach. “We could’ve just fucked on the couch.”

“Absolutely not!” He slams open your bedroom door with perhaps too much enthusiasm, the doorknob wailing against the wall. “Not when there’s a perfectly good bed to take you in.”

With his unparalleled strength, he easily manhandles you onto the bed, flipping you onto your hands and knees.

There’s no pause, no moment to breathe. Kyojuro is fast and sure with his movements, pulling you back by your hips and sinking you down onto his thick cock.

It’s hard for him not to just slam into you, his need for you seeping out of every pore and tensing every muscle. But he refrains, using you slowly, letting you sink back inch by inch on his throbbing cock.

The sound you make is divine, one of pure relief and satisfaction of finally being stuffed full. Your cunt sucks him in tightly, a wet vice clenching against the pulsing veins of his cock.

He groans as he finally bottoms out inside of you, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of your pussy spread around him. You’ve finally let him in, let him break down your barriers and open yourself up to him in the most vulnerable of ways.

There is a warm burn from the way he stretches your pussy, sending your eyes rolling back as you suck in a deep breath. He stays still. He keeps himself sheathed deep inside of you, letting you feel the thickness of his cock, the heaviness of his thighs against yours.

“Better than your toys?” he asks, hands sliding up your sides to toy with your dangling tits, plucking at your puffy nipples.

“So much better, Kyo. You feel so fucking good.”

He cants his hips gently, pulling out just a bit before bullying back inside your depths.

“Yeah? You like feeling full with my cock inside you?”

Your head nods against the pillows, your hips wiggling back for more.

Kyojuro leans over your back as he grinds into your gummy core, kissing your shoulder blades and rocking against you. The need to protect, to provide, swells in his chest as you mewl for him.

“Gonna make you feel so good, darling. Gonna take such good care of you, promise.”

Flaming hair falls into his face as he pulls back, hands anchoring to your hips. His appetite for you is raging hotter than any fire he has ever conjured in his soul; he is bewitched, the sinful arch of your back imploring him to go deeper, to forget any inhibitions and become enraptured by your body. But still yet, he wants to savor you, to etch the vision before him into his memory, to play the sweet professions your lips spoke earlier on repeat. Oh, big brother, please.

The mattress dips under his heavy weight, causing your knees to spread farther into the divots created by his wake. A strong hand steadies you, thumb petting over your backside with care. He begins a steady pace, eyes gleaming as he watches your ass cheeks bounce against the slap of his skin against yours.

Heavy balls smack against your clit, making your body twitch with little shocks of bliss with every thrust.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, “you feel so good wrapped around my cock. So fucking tight, all for me, right?”

“For you,” you choke out between plunges of his cock. “All for you, big brother.”

He knows you’re saying it just to turn him on—before tonight, you hardly ever called him brother, but now you’re far closer than two step-siblings ever should be. That thought makes him ache, heart pooling with pride.

He’s the best big brother, he can give you more happiness than anyone else.

One of his hands abandons your hip. His thick arm reaches forward and tangles in your hair, jerking your head back as he doubles down on his pace. Curses tumble out of your mouth now, free falling into the air and encouraging him to fuck you more recklessly. The fingers in your hair pull and tug gently, twisting and making you moan.

He’s rutting against you like you’re a bitch in heat, like the only thing that can bring you absolution is your step-brother’s cock. Your lust spills over into garbled moans of his name.

He pulls you up higher, leaning forward to capture your shoulder between his teeth. The bite is soft, just enough to mark you and make your body shiver from gentle pricks of pain. His body rocks against yours, over, and over, and over again. His cock rams so deep inside of you that he feels as if he’s fucking into your throat.

“You like getting fucked by big brother, yeah? Like how good I make you feel?” He growls into your neck, his hand on your hip still crushing you against him.

“Oh my god!” you cry out, hands flying to your breasts as you begin edging up the mountain of climax.

“Fuck, you’re sucking me in so tight, you gonna cum for me? Gonna cum just from my cock inside of you?”

His cock is unforgiving, plunging into you with reckless abandon as he keeps a tight pull on your hair. You feel so weak against him, so used by his massive body and hands, your cunt throbbing with every push of his cock, begging for release.

Every fresh plunge of his cock inside of you is wet, sloppy, squelching out into the darkness of your room.

Your bodies are passionate flames burning against each other, skin against skin and flesh into flesh. He’s mesmerized by you, how soft you are when you’re vulnerable, how your hands reach back for him and your nails scrape against his skin like you need him.

Kyojuro begins thrusting harder, more erratic than before. The lewd sound of your slick coating his cock gushes with every plunge. God, he feels so good, so full of passion above you, taking you like you truly belong to him, like he’s spoiling you rotten like every little sister deserves.

He lets go of your hair, your upper body falling back against the mattress. Your fingers twist in the sheets, your hips finding his rhythm and bouncing back against him with every thrust.

“Fuck, fuck, Kyo, fuck don’t stop, please, wanna cum on your cock!” Your pleas are muffled by the pillows in your face.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers pressing against the delicate sides of your throat. You groan into the sheets at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing against your pulse. He can feel the power within his thighs as he slams into you, his cock buried so deep that he’s sure you will feel its ghost lingering within you for weeks to come.

Your sensitive clit aches from his balls barreling against you, your legs nearly crumpling from his weight behind you. He is wavering, coming close to the edge. His movements are slowing, finding that perfect pace to finally feel you come undone around him.

And then he finally feels it, the intoxicating suction of your cunt as you orgasm. The world stops for you as you scream his name over and over again, the milking compression of your pussy nearly enough to have him bursting his load inside of you. But he holds himself back, not ready to be done with you.

“You alright, darling?” He runs his fingers down your back tenderly, smiling as he feels the aftershocks of pleasure racing down your spine.

Your cunt flexes around him, clamping down like you’re sucking the last thread of orgasm into your body.

“God you’re so thick, Kyo. You h-have no idea how good you feel inside me, holy shit.”

He chuckles, slowly pulling his cock out of you, only to slam back in to hear you scream.

“Wanna watch your face as I fuck you,” he groans, pulling at your body and slipping out of you for only a moment before sliding back in again.

Your face is blissed out, lashes wet and lips swollen. He brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek as he begins a new pace, softer and deeper as he curls one of your legs against your chest.

“You still feel good? Cause you’re so fucking pretty like this, love watching you take my cock.”

He knows you’re a little too full, too fucked out to answer, cunt stuffed so snugly around his cock he can feel every drag of your inner muscles. Keen, multicolored eyes admire how your flesh parts for him, drags along his length, coats his heavy cock with fresh cream with every push.

He won’t last long like this. Not with you whimpering, your hands pulling at his hair, bringing him down to kiss you like the world will end if you don’t taste him right this second.

“You’re mine to take care of you, know that, right?” he mumbles against your wet lips as you nod in earnest.

“God,” you groan as he pushes in deep, “you can take care of me any time, please god, as long as you make me feel this fucking good.”

Kyjuro sits back and hooks both of your knees over his strong arms, practically folding you in half as your hips roll back on the bed to take the power of his thrusts.

“No more shutting the door on me, yeah? Big brother can have you whenever he wants.”

“Yes, promise, promise.”

“Good girl. Can I cum inside you, darling?”

For a moment you look fearful, like the realization has just slapped in the face that your step-brother is just moments away from creaming inside your tight cunt. But quickly your attitude shifts, your hands moving to the backs of your thighs to help keep yourself spread for him.

“Please, Kyo, fuck wanna you feel you cum inside me. It’s all I want.”

Your affirmation makes his chest burn, like the sun is getting ready to burst within him.

He has you. You’ll never be alone again, you’ll always have your big brother beside you, inside you.

He finds the perfect pace, the one that has your walls sucking him just right, the tip of his cock curving against the spongy spot inside you that feels so fucking good. Your tits are bouncing with every push of his hips, your head thrown back against the pillows and his name on your lips like a permanent stain.

You’ve been his heaven in hiding, haven’t you? So close but just out of reach. But now he has you, and he’s never letting go.

From this angle, he can see his length inside you, just barely. He can see his cockhead deep in your belly, bulging every time he plunges deep inside you. Fuck, he’s inside you, making your cunt his, pleasing you so well you can barely speak.

Something primal kicks in his chest, in his brain, and he lets out a final, long groan as he comes undone inside of you. Hot streams of cum fill your tight cunt, spurting down the sides of his cock where your pussy clings to him. His thick cock twitches and throbs at the sight. You moan into the sheets, back arching at feeling so fucking full, so satisfied to have his cum spilling out down your thighs.

After a few moments of shameless staring, he pulls out of you with a hefty sigh.

You whine as you finally get to release your own legs, body stiff from being curled against his.

He falls to the crumpled bed beside you, glorious arms stretching above his head as the swirls of lust finally dissipate. He can hear his own heart thumping in his chest, a steady pitter-patter of hot rain cooling inside of him.

“Mhm, you’ve made quite a mess, Kyo.”

But you don’t seem to mind it, looping one of your legs around his even as cum continues to drool against your skin, sinking into your sheets.

“This isn’t a one-time thing,” he states bluntly, blowing hair out of his face. “You’re far too tasty not to eat again.”

You giggle, leaning over to where you can kiss him lazily, taking the time to really taste him.

“I wouldn’t think so. Family is for life, I suppose.”

His ears burn as you call him family, that prideful, protective feeling welling in his chest again.

“Any time you want me to take care of you, you just call me, okay?”

“I promise, Kyo.”

And he was right. All pretty, lonely girls desire to be fucked until they lose their minds. Even you. You start to call him just about every day, let him walk you to class, even smile when he teases and praises you instead of glowering. You’re his now, his perfect little-step sister, his best kept secret.

Kyojuro couldn’t be prouder to be your big brother.

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haunting-venus · 8 months

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green with desire ↳ rafael barba x fem!reader

content warnings | smut ( minors dni ), canonical svu violence, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy/anxiety ( so, light angst ), dirty talk, fem!dom if you squint really hard, some begging

word count: 6241

Of all of the terrible ideas you’d had in your life, debating punching a police officer in a crowded bar was definitely top three on the list. Your rational mind knew that it would end with split knuckles and an assault charge, while the emotional side of your brain told you to throw rationale to the wind and throw your knuckles across that brown-haired bitch’s temple.

You tried to focus your gaze on anything but the woman inciting your rage, your nails biting into your thigh. Soft light flickered off of the vintage art prints hanging on the wall, reflecting the black-and-white images of famous figures in the history of New York. Pop music sounded against the walls, just loud enough that you could feel the bump in the music at the bottom of your chest. The venue was moderately sized but felt claustrophobic with the amount of casually dressed NYPD officers that teemed at all corners, sipping a variety of beers and leaning against the polished mahogany countertop of the bar.

Leaning against that mahogany bar was a tall, slender woman with tumbling brown hair and doe eyes squinted in delight at the man in front of her. A manicured, unpolished finger circled the rim of her mojito while her other hand rested closer and closer to the man’s rested elbow. Below her fitted purple top rested a gleaming gold badge, saddled on a shapely hip. Her teeth glinted just as brightly as her badge when she giggled, lightly swatting the man’s arm. None of this would necessarily be a problem, if the man the officer was inching towards was not your boyfriend.

Instead of letting your fist connect where it was itching to, your grip tightened on your margarita glass and took a heavy gulp of the sour drink. You were a guest at an unofficial NYPD get-together, surrounded by acquaintances celebrating the recent closing of a corruption case in tandem with an officer’s birthday. Somewhere in the crowd, Detective Sonny Carisi strolled with a beer in his hand and a ‘Happy Birthday Big Boy’ pin gleaming on his breast. Tensions had run so high within the precinct the last few weeks that the need to let loose was nearly oozing off of every civil servant in the bar. The last thing anyone here needed was a librarian they barely knew from Queens assaulting a police officer and disrupting a perfectly civil get-together.

You’d met Rafael Barba while waiting in a ridiculously long line for the new coffee shop that opened down the street from the library you worked at. Caught in your own world listening to a podcast, eyes downcast to adjust a seam on your cable-knit sweater, you had collided head on with the rushing attorney resulting in black coffee tipping onto each of you. The pale blue shirt under his pin-checked brown vest and jacket had suffered the most, thoroughly drenched in hot coffee with a mottled brown stain right across his chest. You’d made a horrified, choked noise and tried to apologize as you rushed across the room in search of napkins, mumbling apologies as you dabbed at his wet suit in vain.

His annoyed gaze had softened slightly as he watched you flit around the shop with pink cheeks and wild eyes, completely ignoring the mess on your own shirt in favor of making amends to a complete stranger. He had eventually chuckled, pushing your hand away from his chest and declaring the suit a lost cause. You’d finally been able to get a good luck at him as you lowered your hands, trying to reassemble some sense of pride as the patrons of the shop gazed after your neurotic display. He was hispanic, not too tall but with broad shoulders outlined pristinely by his tailored jacket, brown hair coiffed and barely out of place even with all of your fretting. His green eyes shone with a hint of amusement even behind his mostly serious expression.

You had insisted on paying for the dry-cleaning of his suit, to which he brushed off the offer with a chuckle, promising that no grudges would be held in exchange for a new cup of coffee. He had been intrigued with your kindhearted (if strange) behavior and the way your cheeks flushed cutely when he smiled at you, prompting him to ask if you’d have time to meet for a real sit-down coffee the following week. You’d been delighted and tense at once, not one to go out on a limb with strangers, especially such handsome and well-spoken ones.

When you had met Rafael for coffee the following Thursday, the two of you had thankfully been able to avoid spilling your drinks on one another, to which Rafael had given a quick joke about in order to break the ice. You’d found yourself easily falling into conversation with Rafael, who you had learned was a prosecutor that worked nearby for the District Attorney’s office. Your nerves were quickly comforted by his easy ability to joke and his unhidden interest in getting to know you, his soft green eyes never leaving your smiling face. It didn’t take long to discover that you shared a love for historical fiction literature and high-end coffee, and you had ended the lunch with entwined fingers as he walked you to the large double doors of the library you worked at.

A few lunches quickly turned into dinners on the rare nights when Rafael was able to escape his office, where he showered you with compliments and wine expensive enough that it made you nervous to drink it. You’d quickly become accustomed to the strong feel of his hands gripping your waist as he kissed you in the entrance of his oak-furnished apartment entryway, heat rushing through your veins at the heated whispers he hissed into your neck. You treasured the quiet mornings in his kitchen almost more than the extravagant dinners. Scrambled eggs and espresso in his brightly-lit kitchen overlooking the city, his hair soft and unstyled as he swayed with you on the tile floor, that peek into this more relaxed version of your usually nothing-less-than-proper partner felt more precious than gold.

You’d never been the type of person that flaunted their relationship, especially since Rafael was such a prominent figure in the New York legal system. There was a prickling fear in the early days of your relationship that you were too plain to publicly be seen with a man associated with such prestige and power, that you would look like nothing more than a sweater-clad bookworm feigning at being worthy of a man much above her standing. When Rafael had discovered this, he’d been quick to quiet your concerns with his fingers in your hair and his head between your legs until you could think of nothing else.

After his many reassurances that he would love to show you off at any time possible, including to his coworkers, you’d become more self-confident. You’d begun to surprise Rafael at work with bagel sandwiches from an artisan bakery in between your workplaces, toting coffee and paper bags through the looming hallways of Hogan Place and barely paying attention to those who spared you a second glance for planting a kiss on the primly dressed ADA. Soon afterward, you had joined the squad of the Special Victims Unit and Rafael for the celebration of the conviction of a serial rapist. You were proud of the progress you had made with Rafael’s coworkers, forming timid friendships with the detectives that he worked so closely with on a daily basis. You were glad that you’d gained enough confidence to hold your own without using Rafael as a fallback in social situations with his coworkers, but it all felt bittersweet now that he’d been approached by another woman as soon as you had gone to chat with Detective Rollins with celebratory tequila shots.

You had gathered vaguely from Amanda that the brunette ogling your boyfriend at the bar was a recent witness in a major police corruption case that Rafael had been handling, Detective Sandra Allen from the Narcotics division. She was a hero and a villain at the same time in the eyes of her fellow cops; a snitch who ratted on her fellow officers who were spending their county-paid salary hours manipulating prostitutes into sexual favors in exchange for staying out of prison. The case made you sick, and the fact that you could feel nothing but disdain for this woman who bravely stood up and testified on behalf of those sex workers made shame burn deep in your stomach.

You didn’t need to be a police officer to notice Amanda’s sly looks between you and the scene going on at the bar, or that she was trying to hold back her laughter from the growing redness in your face that you tried to blame on the alcohol. You had hardly been listening to Fin’s rambling story about how his grandson had been inexplicably angry at the balloons he’s seen in the park because they would not stop floating, no matter how much he asked. On any other day, you would have loved to look at Fin half-drunkenly showing off his adorable lump of a grandson with a grinning smile. Right now, though, you could only hear the deep cadence of Rafael’s laugh as he finished off his scotch, and only see Detective Allen’s beautiful and flirtatious smile directed toward the man you had spent the last several months building a life with.

You were worried that the glass in your hand would shatter under your grip as you set it forcefully on the table. You knew there was no reason for you to be acting this way, feeling so scorned and bubbling with jealousy over the easy way that Allen fawned over your partner. You knew more than anyone the easy charm that Rafael brought to conversations, even when he was being a sarcastic bastard. You knew you weren’t the only woman who admired his passion and his good-looks, but having it shoved in your face like this felt much worse than just knowing it in the back of your mind.

Amanda’s mischievous expression quickly morphed to shielded concern when she noticed just how much you were bothered by the scene in front of you. Her demeanor took on the protective edge that came so easily to all the detectives you had met at the SVU, poised to talk someone down or to throw an elbow into someone’s teeth. “Hey, you want me to go do some crowd control over at the bar? I’m sure the Counselor is just waiting for the best opportunity to get out of there.”

You knew that you should just go over there and put a stop to it. You wanted so badly to have the conviction to strut over to Rafael, straddle his lap and make him moan in front of that woman, to show her just how he crumbled under your touch, how you were the one to bring him to his knees, to receive his hardships and his worship, not her. That display of power, of claim over a man that so many people wanted, would no doubt make her back off. But that wasn’t who you were. You were not the sultry-smiled woman who captured the eyes of every room she walked into, the one who could bite at a woman to back off of what was hers. So, instead, you threw back the rest of your drink, taking a moment to relish in the burn of tequila and the acidity of the lime that buzzed through your veins, and sent a tight-lipped smile to Amanda and Fin.

“I think I’m actually gonna turn in for the night. Too much tequila makes me stupid, you know.” You gave an unconvincing chuckle as you set some bills on the table to cover your drinks and a tip. Amanda opened her mouth to protest, hoping to keep you from leaving, but you were already pulling your peacoat onto your shoulders.

You had only gotten halfway down the street, heaving heavy breaths to lighten your heart rate and the burn behind your eyes, when Rafael called out your name from the direction of the bar. The street was relatively quiet for a Wednesday night, with only a few stragglers walking between the handful of establishments on the block. You steadied your expression before turning on your heel towards him with a shaky smile.

He stepped toward you with a soft look so often reserved only for you, his brows furrowed in slight worry. His black trenchcoat fell beautifully against his broad chest, green eyes accented by the specks of emerald in his patterned tie. Even after months, you still felt yourself melt a little at the kindness behind his eyes. “You ran out so quickly with no goodbye, is everything alright?”

“I’m just tired, and you seemed like you were having a good time talking to Detective Allan. Didn’t want to take you away from the fun.”

His eyebrows rose in question at the unexpected bite in your tone. You had tried to hide your rising feelings with the shit poor excuse, but Rafael hadn’t become a successful ADA by not being able to read people. It was one of the things you loved and hated about him, how he could peel back the layers of what you were feeling to gaze at the very core of you. It made you feel cared for and probed at the same time.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I was only being cordial with a witness who put a lot on the line to testify in our case.” He stepped into your space, running a thumb across your cold and flushed cheeks. His voice was steady, his eyes honest but confused. You scoffed lightly, still feeling your anger simmering but being calmed by his steadying touch. His hand dropped from your cheek at your exclamation, steadying a solid look at you. “Look, you know I am not exactly the DA’s office favorite person, much less the police department. She was worried about how her colleagues were going to see her, she wanted advice on how to deal with interoffice conflict.”

“Oh, don’t pull that. The only thing she was worried about was how quickly she could get your hands up her skirt.” The words burned your throat, emerging into the air before you could stop yourself. You knew Rafael wasn’t a stupid man, and you didn’t want him to treat you like you were either.

“Excuse me?” Rafael’s eyes hardened, a muscle in his jaw twitching as you took a step back from him. Your outburst had gained the attention of a passerby who gave the two of you a quick once over, and it only stoked your anger and shame. Rafael guided you with the motion of his hand towards the side of the sidewalk. “Look, I didn’t mean to abandon you, I’m sorry. I was only being polite to a woman who is going through what might be the worst time of her life. She needed someone to reassure her, to ask about her options-”

“So she had to wait until your girlfriend left to ask you about all of that? I’m not naive, you know. I see how women look at you, the looks they have when they realize you’re with me, like you’re settling for something that’s so beneath you. That they could give you something hotter, younger-”

“Stop! Just stop!” He ran a hand across his face, his expression softening as he saw the hurt on your face, the insecurity he thought the two of you had quelled long ago. “We’ve talked about this, I thought we had dealt with this. You are the only one I want to be with. The only one that I want to see in my bed in the mornings or bringing me coffee for lunch or watching tv in my old t-shirts. It’s only you.”

Shame and anxiety still burned deep in your blood as you felt burning behind your eyes. The anger had fizzled like a campfire under rain, replaced with humiliation settling deep into your stomach. A few tears wet the side of your face, and you avoided what you hoped wasn’t pity on Rafael’s face. “I’m sorry, I know that. I just- I just lost my temper and-”

“Look, I only want you. I want you to know that I only want you.” He brushed away the wetness from your cheekbone with a reassuring smile. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the side of your head as he pulled you into his chest, stroking a heavy hand between your shoulder blades. His woody cologne mingled with the salt of your tears, wrapping around you in comfort.“Let’s take a cab, forget about this bar. If you’re still doubting the way I feel about you, I clearly didn’t get my point across last time.”

You pulled back with a surprised laugh, tightening your grip on the sides of Rafael’s neck. A new heat flushed to your face with the intrigue in Rafael’s eyes, your ego stoked that he still found you desirable in the messy state that you were in. You leaned up, capturing his lips in an impassioned kiss, letting the feel of his stubble and the grip of his fingers wash over you like a wave. A shiver ran through your limbs to your fingertips, goosebumps rising as you felt the edge of his teeth against your lips. A heated gasp went through you as your back hit the nearby wall, feeling the solid line of Rafael’s body slot between your legs and against your chest.

“Let me bring you home, show you exactly how much I want you. Please, hermosa, let me.” His voice was thick and had an edge of desperation that shot heat through your entire body, igniting every edge of your nerves with the brush of his lips to your neck.The lick of power that ran through you at having this man, so powerful and beautiful and respected, begging for the opportunity to bed you sent you reeling. With a nod, you pulled Rafael to the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, his hand gripping your waist.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You’d spent the majority of the cab ride from the bar stroking your thumb on the inside of Rafael’s knee, taking long moments to let your eyes linger on the clenching of his strong hands, the swell of his powerful chest beneath his vest, the slow darkening of his eyes with arousal as you raked your eyes over him. In the elevator ride up to your loft, his fingers trailed teasingly along the bottom of your sweater, sneaking underneath to rub at the skin of your hip with fleeting touches that ran heat up your spine and between your legs. You felt yourself wanting to push him back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, to go down to your knees and to hear your name echoing from his lips as you sucked him, but kept your face falsely neutral. This was part of the game, of him letting you know how much he wanted you, how he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You felt your face flush with the intimacy of the touches, his eyes glinting at your suppressed smile.

By the time you’d reached the entrance of your studio apartment, the buzz of your earlier tequila drinks had worn off in favor of the thrill of Rafael’s touch skating up under your shirt, fingers trailing beneath your clothed breast. As quickly as your jacket slid to the floor, your back was pressed solidly against the entryway wall, your hair pushed to the side to let your boyfriend suck slow kisses into the column of your throat. The nick of his teeth against the cord of your throat let a soft sound rise from your chest, your head falling back to knock against the wall.

Stepping away to remove his trenchcoat, Rafael took a brief moment to admire your panting frame, your cheeks flushed high with want and warmth. His tone was breathy, but serious as he hung up his jacket and vest.“You’re sure that you’re in the mood? I can always bring out some wine, put on that Bermuda Triangle documentary you’ve been wanting to watch.”

His words were sweet, but you could still see the heat burning in his eyes, even as he stood carefully away from you as he awaited your answer. You smiled as you stepped forward, fingers stroking the bulge in his black trousers, a rush of confidence coming from the deep groan he let into the air. “As lovely as that sounds, I think I’ll save that for after I ride you until the neighbors complain about the noise.”

“Your noises or mine, cariño?” He taunted as he pulled your sweater over your head, his hands finding your breasts with a delicate squeeze as you pulled him by the tie towards your bed in the further corner of your studio. His thumbs rubbed against the ridge of your nipple through the thin bra, your bitten lip barely containing your groan. His lips found yours again quickly, swallowing up the breathy noises you made.

“Why don’t we see who makes them come knocking first?” You grinned as pulled firmly at the back of his hair, letting a groan rumble against the seam of your lips. A swell of pride rose in your chest as you pushed Rafael back against the mattress, making quick work of his buttons as you let your ass fall firmly onto the bulge in his pants. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, his fingers indenting your pants with their firm hold. He brought his left hand between your thighs, letting his thumb rub idly against you through your pants as your movements on his buttons stuttered.

You steadied yourself against Rafael with a hand on his shoulder, rushing to remove your bra with the other hand to feel your skin against him. Your fingers stuttered over the clasp repeatedly, your head falling back at the pleasure that pooled between your legs. An easy smirk graced his handsome features at the stuttered breath you let in at the work of his fingers, sitting up at the waist to pull your breasts against his chest and rub between your legs more firmly. “Getting distracted over there, hermosa?”

The pet name brought a groan from your throat, wetness pooling in your cunt from his deep voice laced with arousal. Rafael’s pressed white button-up hung loosely off his shoulders, and you pushed the rest off with a renewed need to get your hands on his bare chest. His tan skin stretched over a strong chest and corded shoulders that held you firmly, dark chest hair brushed across your skin. You ran your hands down his pecs to run your nails across his stomach near the buckle of his belt, relishing in the shiver that ran through him.

Your tongue licked into his mouth with a moan, bringing one hand to the back of his head to thread your fingers through his salt and peppered hair while your hips moved against his covered cock. The hand over your pants faltered as he pulled away from your kiss, letting you get a look at his wide-blown pupils before he took his teeth to your neck with a moan.“Who’s distracted now, huh?”

You rolled to the side to shimmy out of your cotton pants, taking care to stretch your back to give Rafael a view of the curve of your ass as you turned. He pulled himself to the head of the bed, one hand stroking firmly against his hard cock over his trousers while he held the other near his kiss-swollen mouth. You felt a pang of wetness between your thighs at his lidded gaze, his eyes following each curve of your body like it was a melody he yearned to play. You leaned forward toward Rafael, your hair tumbling over the swell of your breasts as you climbed on top of him. His hands quickly moved back to slide along your body, one pinching your nipple while the other slid underneath the purple lace between your legs, dipping his fingers into the wetness there.

Rafael groaned as you ground your cunt against his hand, letting you seek your pleasure from his steady hand. The hand at your breast lowered to unbutton his trousers, his cock peeking from the edges of his dark briefs. “God, cariño, you're always so wet for me. You like my fingers on you?”

You stuttered out a breath as Rafael’s fingers dipped inside you, the palm of his hand rubbing gently against your clit as he stroked inside of you. The rolling pleasure from both areas of contact had sweat building on your chest, a moan coming high in your throat when you tried to answer. “F-fuck, yes, Raf, just like that. God…so good.”

Your breathy words spurred him on, adding another finger to your pussy. You gathered some composure, gripping your nails into Rafael’s shoulder with pleasure while your other hand went to stroke his thick cock. His rewarding moan was well worth the effort it took to keep a clear head as his fingers massaged inside you, bringing you rapidly to a crest of rising pleasure. Your legs shook even as you brought your hand up in a stroke, tightening your grip around the head in the way you knew made his eyes roll back. Precum dripped from the tip of his cock, slicking the way for your fingers to work faster, to make him feel as good as he was making you feel.

“Fuck, if you keep doing that, I’ll be gone before I even get to fuck you.”

He groaned out your name as he flipped you onto your back, moving your hand from his cock as he moved his thumb to rub firm circles against your clit.You threw your head back in pleasure from his show of strength, his forearms and biceps flexing enticingly each time he drove his fingers into you. The fingers of Rafael’s other hand gripped your ass, bringing your hips up to his hand as he kissed his way down your neck and breasts. He murmured praises of ‘beautiful’ and ‘mine’ that made your blood soar, pleasure cresting low in your stomach as your breath quickened. Your moans pitched, your nails digging into Rafael’s shoulder letting him know you were close. He breathed out a few words of Spanish, letting his teeth sink hard into the junction of your neck as you reached your high. His name slipped loudly from your lips before you bit down on your lip, shaking in his arms as he continued to stroke you through your orgasm.

Your gaze was blurry with pleasurable tears when you faced Rafael, bringing his lips to yours in a messy kiss before sneaking off to the washroom for a glass of water. When you re-emerged from the bathroom with a half-drunk glass of water, Rafael was on his back with a hand wrapped lazily around himself, his cock jumping when he caught sight of your flushed face and the growing bruise on your neck. You crawled atop your boyfriend, letting the wetness of your release drag teasingly over the length of his cock. Rafael’s hair was tousled, strands hanging enticingly in front of his eyes as he gazed hungrily at your body. He looked delectable, sweat edging along the edges of his brow and his cock glistening when it peaked above his fingers. He looked at you like a parched man drinking in the sight of an oasis, like you were anything and everything he needed at that moment. You wanted to see just how far he would go to have you.

Testing your luck, you edged your fingers along the edges of Rafael’s arms, guiding them above his head. His eyes were curious as he followed your lead, raising his muscled arms above his head for you to wrap a hand around his wrists. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he readjusted himself as he raised a teasing eyebrow at you “Want to have me at your mercy, hermosa?”

What had started as a fleeting idea now struck a new wave of arousal over you as you gazed down at the powerful man underneath you, his eyes soft and filled with hot desire. God, he was everything you’d ever wanted presented beautifully between your legs, gazing at you like he wanted to devour you. An idea picked at the corner of your mind, sending a coy smile across your face as you draped your body over Rafael’s chest.

“Tell me.” Rafael looked at you with confusion now, readjusting his hands above his head. His tongue came out to wet his lips. He was usually the one making demands in bed, bending you to his will for both your pleasure. You felt it might be time to turn the tables. “Keep your hands there, and tell me you want to fuck me, only me.”

Your words were shakier than you’d wanted them to be, revealing your anxieties about taking control in this way for the first time. However, Rafael quickly relaxed under your touch, a new degree of interest entering his gaze at this undiscovered side of you. He looked you in the eyes as he groaned what you had asked. “God, I want to fuck you, more than anything.”

“I think you can do better than that.” You teased, licking a long stripe along the side of his neck up to his ear. The words felt foreign in your mouth, but you were encouraged by the twitch of his cock against you as he gasped lightly. He looked up at you with a playful glimmer in his eye, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you asking me to beg?”

The words sent a blazing heat to your cunt, swallowing heavily at his words. Rafael’s eyes lit up in a similar way as when he was cross-examining someone in court, when they gave him the inch of leverage that he could stretch a mile. The proud look he got when he had someone exactly where he wanted them.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you cariño. Me, begging for your pussy like it’s the only thing I’ve ever needed in my life.” it was a statement more than a question, and fuck, the confidence he exuded even when he was under you like this had your head spinning with heady arousal. His words rumbled in your chest, urging another movement of your hips against his cock.

“Only if you want your cock inside me at any point tonight.” The words sounded hollow in your throat, undermined by the breathiness of your voice, you pressed against him again to quell off any embarrassment you felt. He grinned like he knew exactly what his words were doing to you, but let himself play the role you’d assigned him for now. If part of you wanted to try something, all of him wanted to comply, to fulfill your every desire.

“God, you look so beautiful like this. Please, please let me inside you. Let me get you off how I know you like hermosa. Please.” Even though you had a feeling he intentionally raised the whininess in his voice, the breathy tones still sent pangs of pleasure to your cunt. You gasped as the words left his mouth, pressing a desperate kiss to Rafael’s lips as you lined up his cock.

Your eyes slipped shut as you eased onto Rafael’s cock, the ridges of the head stroking the sweetest places inside of you that caused stuttered moans to fall from your lips. You ran the flat of your palm up Rafael’s chest, cupping the side of his cheek as you drove his cock into you. Rafael cursed as you seated yourself on his lap, your head thrown back in ecstasy at being filled, at being fucked. His hands shook above his head with the desire to touch you. He keened as you shifted his full length inside you, circling your hips to adjust to him.

You looked down at him between your thighs, flushed high on his cheeks with nothing capturing his attention but your body moving above him on his cock. Each swivel of your hips pushed his cock firmly into that spot that made you see stars and pushed deep, moaning praises from his throat. You reveled in the fact that no one else could see him like this, could make him moan and beg under them like this.

“God, everyone wants you like this and it’s just me that can have you. Just me that makes you feel this good, right baby? They all wish they could have your cock stretching them like this.” You babbled as your thoughts were overwhelmed with pleasure. You knew you sounded half mad, but you were too far gone to notice, relishing in the pleasure deep in your cunt.

“Fuck!” Rafael, moaned your name, finally moving his hands from above his head to bruisingly grab your hips. He raised his knees behind your back to gain leverage to roll his hips into you deep and steady, moans stuttering from your throat with every thrust that sent his cock deep inside you.

“So sexy, keep making those pretty noises for me, please.” Rafael’s words were near ravenous and you were glad you weren’t the only one overwhelmed with pleasure, desperately voicing every dirty thought that came to your mind when you looked at the man in front of you. Rafae’s grip along the curve of your waist allowed him to get the leverage to pull you down hard onto his cock

“Aah, fuck, please, Rafael, I-I’m gonna—d-don’t stop.” You didn’t know if you meant him pulling you down hard onto his cock or the filthy words that sent heat reeling through your body.

“God,” one of Rafael’s hands slid up to grasp your breast tightly, your nipple brushing the calloused skin of his fingers and had fire licking up your spine. His eyes were wild as he drank in the sight of you crying out on his cock, your fingers reaching to circle your clit as he pulled you against him. His tone was pinched and loud, ragged with his heavy breathing.“I want you to come, on my cock, right now. Please, cariño, give it to me.”

“Raf, God, you’re making me-fuck, yes” You felt tears brim the edge of your eyes as your pleasure climbed to something primal, each rub of your clit, every brush of Rafael’s hands against you setting you aflame until you felt yourself collapsing around him with a cry of his name. He slowed, but never stopped, his movements as he rocked you against him through your orgasm, soothing the shivers of your body with his warm hands. You panted as he came down from your second high of the night, your legs shook with the effort to remain upright.

“God, you’re killing me. Please, let me come inside you, fill you, I need-” you cracked your eyes to capture Rafael’s expression, lips parted around a moan when you moved your hands to grip at his hair. Hardly trusting your words, you nodded in your agreement with a whispered plea to ��do it, please, come for me’. Rafael’s body went taut for a heartbeat, driving himself hard into a last few times as he came. His eyes clenched shut, his hands gripping your hips as he mumbled out praise.

Catching your breath, you rolled off of the bed to grab a towel, taking a moment to wipe yourself off before jumping back onto the moderately clean sheets, taking a moment to admire your boyfriend in his post-sex haze. This could be one of your favorite versions of Rafael, limbless and content, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as you regained your breath together. You pressed a kiss to his chest as you wrapped your arm around him, whatever insecurities you had been feeling before was long extinguished by the solidness of Rafael underneath you, his ragged breathing and the ache between your legs as proof of your mutual want.

You lay in silence for a few moments, his fingers carding through your hair before he spoke. He pulled his head back to look you in the eyes, stroking a soft hand across the back of your head. “Will you promise me that, next time you are feeling the way you did at the bar, you’ll let me know instead of storming off. That way, we can talk it through and maybe have a repeat of this, instead of you feeling awful because your mind likes to tell you lies.”

You gave a chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth with your smiling lips. “Sounds like we’ve reached a deal, Counselor.”

He let out a rueful groan, pulling you tighter into his chest as you giggled. “Call me that again and I’ll be rescinding my offer.”

“Understood…Counselor.” you whispered, avoiding his playfully stern gaze by heading to the kitchen to get that wine he had promised you.

#law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #raul esparza #venus writes

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