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reiderwriter · 3 months

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💢 At Each Other's Throats 💢

Spencer Reid x female! Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: A previous encounter means that you're not the biggest fan of Spencer Reid, and you go to some extreme lengths to prove that to him.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dom! Spencer, but not exactly sub reader , degradation (use of whore, slut), semi-public foreplay, arguing as foreplay etc, oral sex (m receiving, f mentions, too), face fucking, rimming, nipple play, rough sex/ rough play, spanking, slapping, spitting, choking, messy sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of painful sex/ pain play etc. some possible CNC triggers/ phrasing.

A/N: I couldn't find a gift of Spencer being bitchy enough, so everyone, please enjoy Kyle Orfman from Life After Beth. This one was a labour of love, if love was actually hate. It's 2am. This is obviously not edited, and may never be.

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You knew from reputation alone that you would have a hard time working with Spencer Reid. Perhaps it was the slew of child prodigy articles that popped up alongside his name. Maybe it was even just your preconceived notion of what men with three PhDs, a badge, and a gun were like. Maybe it was the fact that he'd written to you after one of your first professional articles was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and told you a piece you'd worked on for 18 months was just plain wrong.

Either way, you laid eyes on him, and the hatred was cemented. But fuck was he hot.

He had no clue who you were as his boss introduced you to him, looking between the two of you as if expecting good things to happen. You should've warned him.

“Spencer, this is Y/N. She'll be assisting on a few cases from this month onwards.”

His eyes glazed over as he ran your name through whatever roller index of memories he had stored in there.

“Y/N is a lecturer at the University of Virginia. She's going to be lecturing at the FBI Academy from September onwards-”

“You! You wrote an article, I wrote to you about it, did you get my le-”

“Yes, I got your letter. I believe you called my writing ‘juvenile’ and my thinking ‘wishful,’ and that if I had any actual field experience, I'd slowly understand how many mistakes there were in my writing.”

Agent Hotchner took an almost imperceptible deep breath in, trying to hide the fact that this was all new information to him.

“Well, here I am, Doctor Reid.”

The man in front of you gaped for a moment, letting his mouth hang open, closing after a few seconds only to open again. Perhaps you'd disorganized that index of his. You hoped you'd set the goddamn thing alight.

“Shall we get started?”

To say that you'd gotten off to a bad start was an understatement. Your start had been reversed over by a dump truck with no tires. It had been cemented into the ground with no chance of going anywhere but down into the pits of hell.

Which is, coincidentally, where you found yourself every time you had to engage Spencer Reid in conversation.

Your first impression of his looks - his incredibly good looks - was that he was even better looking when he was pensive, and unhappy, and being bitchy. He was positively climbable when argumentative, and you liked nothing more than ruining his day, if just for the fact that he'd angrily loosen his tie and pop open his top buttons, exposing the pale white of his neck, and his sharp collar bones, perfectly ready for someone to suck and nip at.

He was still an ass, however, and you couldn't bring yourself to sink to those depths.

Four cases in, and you hadn't agreed on one thing. You'd caught a serial arsonist, who he had demanded was most likely an office worker, but you'd countered with college student, and you had prevailed there. 1-0.

Then, unfortunately, you'd lost back to back cases with unsubs in the trucking industry, unfamiliar with and uninterested in the life of the Jack Kerouac type.

You'd even the playing field at last with a child abduction. And although you knew you'd both been keeping score, you were so genuinely happy for this case to be over. A child was safe at home, and you'd worked so well under pressure (something he had assured you would change your view of your personal forensic psychology theories). 2-2.

Of course, those were just the big leagues. You'd fought many petty battles, too, as the war waged.

You'd accidentally stolen his place on the jet, enjoying the long bench seat for a good few naps. A few times, he'd settled in next to you, trying to nudge you out of the chair completely, but you'd held your ground.

“This is my seat. Usually. There are like 10 other places on this jet to sit. Why does it have to be here?” He'd grumbled into your ear as you gently elbowed him in the side, accidentally, of course.

“There aren't assigned seats. Maybe you have control issues, Doctor,” you cut back, trying to avoid speaking too loud to avoid the ire of the group.

While you'd enjoyed bickering with - and intellectually besting - Spencer greatly, it did seem that the sentiment wasn't shared by those around you.

“You can't be serious, right now,” Morgan complained from a seat opposite. “You're seriously fighting over a seat, right now?”

“It's my seat, Derek, come on, you know it's my seat.”

The look returned to Spencer almost had you ashamed of your petty actions.

“I swear they're just taking every advantage to get closer and closer together. Next thing you know, she'll be sitting in his lap,” Emily said from the corner of the plane, so obviously not talking to you that you were almost offended.

“Ah, young infatuation,” Rossi replied, still ignoring you.

Reid slinked just slightly away after that, and you weren't sure if you were more annoyed at the comments themselves or the loss of his annoying companionship.

You wanted him to bother you because it meant you'd succeeded in bothering him.

You'd had more than your fair share of rather explosive arguments as well.

“You can't seriously believe that Thomas Edison did more for the field of engineering than Nikola Tesla,” he'd shouted at you at a bar after a case had landed you in paperwork hell, filling out forms and working into the late hours.

A drink had been suggested, a celebration after solving four straight cases in a row, and you'd gladly taken the chance to unwind.

“Spencer, we're literally sat in a bar decorated with multiple light bulbs. Look, there's one. Another! Astounding. Thank you, Mr Edison.”

“And none of it would be possible without Alternating Current, so yes. Thank you, Mr Tesla.”

Your teammates had long since abandoned you to your petty bickering and fighting amongst yourselves. They'd stopped getting involved when Penelope had tried to mediate your discussion about Doctor Who, which had quickly devolved into New Who vs Old Who.

You didn't even care strongly either way, you just cared that he did. And however he felt, you were sure as hell ready to take up arms against him. Because it was so fuckimg hot watching him lose his shit.

You were a grown woman. You could admit that to yourself. You likely wouldn't admit it to anyone else, even if it was as clear as day that you found him unbearable attractive at times. You sure as hell knew that it wasn't a one-way street, from the way his eyes strolled across your body each morning.

You wondered if there was a section of his brain that was dedicated to memorising everything you'd said, done, and worn since he'd met you. You hoped there was.

On your fifth and final case with the BAU team, you felt unmatched in your annoyance.

You were still drawn with Spencer for case breakthroughs, and you felt the need to beat him once again just to nail the point home. He was just stubborn enough to see a 3-2 win as a landslide victory for himself, though you were absolutely going to frame it that way yourself if you managed to be the one to crack everything.

All sense of teamwork and camaraderie was off the table.

You had a murderer to catch.

Three women, beaten, assaulted, and tied up. He'd shorn their hair but bagged them up so they were unseen. Then he'd placed the bags on display. The unsub was caught between two extremes, hatred of his victims, and gentleness, protecting their dignity in death by covering them up.

Obviously, you and Spencer had to decide which side of the debate you were to land on.

“I think we're dealing with a killer without remorse here. It's easier to explain the covering, the dressing of the women as a ritual rather than guilt.”

He'd finally played his cards, and now it was your turn to passionately wipe them from the table.

“Remorse? He's cut all their hair off and beat half of them so badly we needed dental to identify them. And in case you've forgotten Spencer, half of them are prostitutes.”

“You're saying he can't feel remorse for killing prostitutes?”

“That is not what I'm saying. Don't twist my words."

“Well, of you'd said something that wasn't nonsensical, I'd have a better chance of understanding what the hell you're trying to say!’

With every line you'd stepped closer and closer to one another, like two boxers in a ring, sizing each other up before a fight.

You wanted to take his tie and strangle him with it. You wanted to pull him down for a kiss and force him to shut the hell up.

“Reid, Y/N, both of you take five,” Hotch called sternly from the other side of the room. Guiltily, you both broke away from one another, his hand brushing your side as you took a step back, almost as if he'd meant to grab you before Hotch stepped in.

Probably to remove you from the room.

“Take five?” You said, mustering all the disappointment you could as you silently pleaded to stick around.

“Go back to the motel and get some rest. If you're going to argue like this, I don't need you at the precinct, and I certainly don't need you on my team.”

You blanched at that, almost taken aback by the harsh words as you silently nodded and quietly walked towards the door, letting it shut behind you.

Spencer stayed behind, and though you couldn't hear his arguments, you knew he was attempting to reason with Hotch, as well. It evidently didn't work as he stormed out of the room behind you.

He looked half like a kicked puppy, half like an angry school kid who'd just been scolded by a teacher.

“Don't look at me like that, this is your fault,” you muttered as you walked away from the room.

“What? How is this my fault?”

“If you weren't so goddamn infuriating, we'd be able to get some actual work done.”

You marched off in the direction of the exit, but he caught your shoulder before you made it that far.

“You're blaming me? This is my job, Y/N, not yours. You get to go back to a cushy little office after this is done to teach the people that are going to end up doing the paperwork that consists of only 2% of our job.”

His finger jabbed at your shoulder as he said the words, and you had to resist the temptation to grab it.

“Doesn't feel too good to be criticized when you're just doing your job, huh, Spencer?”

His brows knitted together in a deepened scowl and he took a step forward.

But there were eyes on you, and whatever confrontation this was, you didn't want to act it out in front of an office full of cops.

You turned and walked away again, down a seemingly abandoned hall to what looked to be an empty storage cupboard, flinging the light on and waiting the three seconds it took him to catch up with you.

“What's your problem?” He said, joining you in the cramped closet.

“You! You're the problem! You're infuriating, and annoying, and most important, you're you!” You poked his chest back, harder than he had earlier, quietly reveling in the feel of his body under your fingertip.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to be someone different? Someone who worships the ground you walk on?” He said, discovering sarcasm for the first time since you'd been introduced.

“Sure, Spencer, if you can take tour head out of your own ass long enough to worship someone else, then be my guest.”

With a single push he crowded you against the wall, a hand above your head locking you into position as his other hand held your hip, his own hips joining you at the wall as you sucked in a breath.

“You're begging to hear praise, right now, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, whispering the words directly into your ear.

“W-Well, you have me pressed up against the wall like some fucking caveman that needs to breed or die.” You spent half the time you were talking trying to compensate for the stutter, trying not to look weak, that you totally missed the words that came from your own mouth.

“You think I want to have sex with you?” He asked, chuckling awkwardly, even as his hand on your hip began rubbing circles, his head hanging lower, just inches away from your mouths meeting.

“I think you'd love nothing more,” you said, finally lifting your hands to his hair and tucking a lock behind his ears. “Such a shame I won't be crawling into your bed.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, and you were taken aback for a few seconds.

“You want me so fucking bad, you're trying to convince yoursel-”

With a swoop, he cut you off, his lips meeting yours. You gasped and allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, but you came to your senses quickly. You kissed back with all the anger of the last month and all the attraction that had built up since you'd joined the team. Your tongue fought his, your hands tangled in his hair as his pulled them out, pinning them against a wall. But you slipped free and grabbed him again, grabbing the tie you'd wanted to choke him with earlier and not letting go.

His lips were soft, and his body felt hot pressed against you, and you hated how good he was at all of this, how your body responded to his, how each time you pulled away it was with a small whimper as you begged for more.

“I knew you wanted me,” he said, between kisses, grabbing your face and tilting it up as he returned his tongue to yours.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you kissed me first.” His hands trailed up your hips, untucking your shirt as he pushed his hand under, his cold fingers sending a trail of goosebumps along your skin as you shuddered.

“I kissed you because you begged me to,” he said, his fingers caressing the bottom of your chest as he tried to press your bra up further.

You were about to argue back when his lips met yours again, and you were lost in the haze of arousal, leg lifting to his hip to better allow him space to settle against you.

You grew wilder in your passion, neither of you giving in even for one second as you writhed against each other, begging for satisfaction while denying that you'd ever wanted each other in the first place. Just as it became unbearable, your hands slipping to his belt, ready to pull his cock free and take it, the door opened again.

“Reid, Y/N,” Morgan said from the doorway as you hastily jumped away from each other.

You pulled your shirt down quickly, and Spencer stepped behind you, covering up the tent in his pants as you stared guiltily up at Derek Morgan.

“Hotch sent me after you to give you the keys to the SUV,” he grumbled, making no comment on anything that happened.

“We were just, um, we were just-” your brain fought for an excuse, but you'd left your brain behind somewhere between joining the BAU and foreplay with Spencer in a closet, so words escaped you.

“You were just making out in a closet. It's okay, we all know,” Derek said, turning to leave.

You jumped up, indignant now he'd brushed you off, and followed him out of the closet, an equally shocked Spencer trailing behind you.

“What do you mean you all know? All know what?” You said, stomping back into the office.

“That you two are into each other. It's why Hotch sent you away earlier. He didn't want to see the two of you going at it,” he said, pressing the car keys into your hands.

“We are not into each other,” Spencer shouted back at Morgan as he stalked off, and you glared at him to shut his mouth. There was a crowd forming, and you still didn't need that attention. Not when your hair was matted from seven minutes in hell with Spencer or when his hand had, once again, settled on your hip, pulling you closer into him.

“Let's go,” you huffed, and finally left the building with Spencer right behind you.

You didn't talk for the rest of the drive home, even as your brain flooded itself with images of him taking you in the back of the car, your lips around his dick as he drove, him pulling over to bend you over the hood.

You went straight to your separate rooms when you got back to the motel, though you swore that the walls were thin enough that he surely heard you pleasure yourself, fingers sinking into yourself. You weren't sure if he, too, had his hand wrapped around his cock, or if your brain was just now imagining whatever it liked to spur you on.

Imagined or real, his moans were delicious, a maddening mix of frustration, exasperation and desperation, whimpers and groans, and small growls until you yourself were cumming, and letting yourself sleep.

You avoided talking, all talking, until the end of the case, even as your head replayed his infuriating words, his moans and the rustling sound of his fingers pressing your shirt up. You refused to talk to him to give his coworkers the validation of arguing with him once more. You weren't into each other.

You simply wanted to fuck him. You didn't like him as a person otherwise.

In avoiding him, though, the small taste of release you'd sampled in the closet had your softer parts deliriously wanting more. As much as you hated Spencer, you needed him so bad.

You'd given him the cold shoulder but he'd returned it just as quickly, and you were more annoyed not talking to him than you weren't.

Your last case wrapped up, and you decided it was time to give him what he so obviously wanted. A conversation.

You sat yourself right back down in his seat as you got on the jet and laid down, pulling his blanket over yourself as you took up the entire space.

The others shook their heads at you as they walked on, Spencer taking up the rear. His eyes met yours, and he scowled, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd look like that fucking you, so stern and angry.

You sighed and pushed onto your side as he stood over you.

“That's my seat.”

You smiled in success as you looked over your shoulder.

“I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.”

“But that is my seat-”

“Spencer, you've sat on every seat on this damn plane before, that wasn't your seat until last month, now sit down, shut up and let me rest,” JJ exploded and you suddenly felt bad for drawing him into your argument. Or you did until you sat up a bit, and he sat himself right down where your head had been.

“Spencer!”

“I give up…” JJ groaned from the table seats, pulling headphones over her head and shutting her eyes, and the others made to ignore you similarly.

Not one to be beaten, you pushed the book in his hands off his lap and laid your head down again, now cushioned by his legs.

“What-” his voice squeaked as you shut your eyes, too, and made yourself comfortable. He didn't push you off, or, heaven forbid, start talking to you again. Shockingly, he adjusted to the position quickly and resigned himself to pillow duty for the six hour flight.

You, too, shocked yourself by how fast you fell asleep. You woke up with his hands in your hair, stroking your head as he read, book in one hand, you in the other. His hands felt wonderful, raking through your long locks, brushing each errant hair off your face.

“Spencer?” You said, voice still thick with sleep.

His hand shot away, and you almost regretted not pretending to sleep for longer, sure that he'd have gone on if you hadn't said anything.

You straightened and cleared your own throat as you stretched, sitting quietly as you listened to the flight landing announcement.

“Congrats, Y/N, you've successfully finished your time with the BAU,” Rossi said from his seat opposite you, strapping in for the landing.

“And you haven't been shot, kidnapped, or slapped. That's gotta be a first, right?” Emily joked from the corner.

You smiled quietly as you strapped yourself down, scooting even closer to Spencer now to get your belt fastened.

Still, you couldn't resist the urge to mumble a retort.

“I'm sure Spencer thought about it a few times,” you sighed, a breath of resignation releasing from your lips dramatically.

The others chuckled, but Spencer sat silently next to you until the jet landed.

He stayed quiet as he began to pack his things, but it became clear quickly that he was dragging everything out. As the plane emptied, you shot him a curious look, not daring to speak until you were the last two on the plane.

“You're being slow today.”

“I've never thought about shooting you or kidnapping you,” he said, voice low and quiet, even though you were alone.

“It was a joke, Spencer,” you started, so sick of him taking g everything so seriously. You made to walk past him, but as you did, you felt his hand on your waist pulling you back as another hand came hard and fast at your ass.

“I wasn't finished speaking,” he said as his hand ran over your butt, soothing the pain he'd just delivered. “I have thought about slapping you, though.”

With that he grabbed his bag and stalked off the jet, not bothering to cast another look behind him.

Two could play at that game.

In about the most childish was you could muster, you ran ahead of him, staying three paces directly in front of him as he tried to overtake you. You moved when he moved. You sped up when he sped up. You even stopped a few times, so he'd run into you.

“Y/N, cut it out.”

“Make me,” you said, throwing a withering look over your shoulder.

He didn't wither.

Instead, he grabbed your arm and marched you all the way through the FBI building, down to the parking lot, and into your car. As soon as he had you safely in the driver's seat, he closed the door, pulling off your visitors' pass.

“I'll return this for you, no need for you to dally.”

“Fuck you,” you spat out the window as you started the ignition.

“It's been a pleasure,” he said with a grimace.

“No, it hasn't,” you said back, wondering how long you'd spend in jail of you just mowed him down then and there.

“You’re right. It hasn't,” he said, leaning down and into the window so you were now eye to eye.

“Really? It seems like you got a lot of pleasure out of spanking me earlier. You were certainly experiencing a lot of pleasure when you pushed me up against a wall last week. If it wasn't pleasure, there was definitely something long-”

“Long?” He smirked.

“And hard in your pants.”

He leaned in through the window, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he whispered into your ear.

“That was my gun.”

“And I certainly won't be helping you fire a load,” you said, starting the ignition and pushing him back from the window as you drove away from the FBI and away from Spencer Reid.

It infuriated him that you'd gotten the last word. You'd spent a month with him and hadn't even given him a chance to show off his good qualities, and then you'd left without giving him a chance to prove himself.

And, in doing so, you'd told a blatant lie.

There had been two people in that closet, two people with tongues desperate for contact, eager for battle. You'd been moaning just as much as he had when his hands found your nipples.

But you'd gotten to drive away without listening to his retort, and it was killing him.��

He sat and seethed at his desk for a while, waiting for the sense of relief that you were gone to wash over him. This had been what he wanted for weeks. Why was he now so discontent? Why did everything feel wrong?

Abandoning paperwork he knew wouldn't be needed until at least next week, Spencer found your address in the team files, wrote it down, and left his desk.

When you got home, there was nothing waiting for you.

It was annoying. You'd spent the last month constantly on the go, always with more work, more cases, more paperwork. You'd killed any apparent gaps with Spencer.

You could still feel his hands on your ass. You hated to admit it, but in your short acquaintance with Doctor Asshat, you'd grown fond of having him around as eye candy. When he wasn't being annoying (talking, breathing, or generally just being), you could quite happily imagine his head buried between your legs, his tongue lapping up every drop of cum you had to offer.

There were definitely better things he could be doing with his mouth, in any case.

Your body felt hot, itchy, and neglected as you got home, running a shower immediately and stepping in.

The water was hot, and the room steamed up faster than you expected. You washed away the fatigue, and you washed away the dirt of a month of cheap motels..

Just as you were about to wash away the memories of Spencer Reid and his stupidly skilful tongue, the doorbell rang.

It wasn't unusual for you to get visitors at 10 pm, but usually they announced themselves.

You stayed put in the shower. It was probably a package you'd ordered, and it could honestly wait.

The ringing, though, didn't stop. Whoever was at your door was insistent. First, the door rang to the rhythm of jingle bells. Then, they moved on to Fur Elise. When they got to Flight of the Bumblebees Levels of bullshit, you couldn't stand it anymore.

You wrapped a towel around you and pulled the door open wide.

“Sp- mm?” You said, shocked to see him there, but completely floored by his appearance, and more importantly the two hands he'd planted on your cheeks as he pulled you in for a hot, hard, and fast kiss.

You pushed him off with a hard slap to his face, and stalked further into your apartment, knowing he'd follow closely behind.

You heard the door slam shut as he made to grab you again, but you stayed just out of reach.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came because neither of us will move on without this.”

“Oh, you need me so much you won't be able to move on if you don't fuck me?” You scoffed, expecting a sarcastic answer to a sarcastic question.

“Yes,” he said, and your shock at his earnestness gave him the moment he needed to grab at you again.

This time, though, the tiny towel that had been holding your dignity in place dropped to the floor as Spencer Reid pinned you against the wall.

“Already fucking bare and wet for me, how well-behaved.”

“Go fuck yourself!” you said, even as his hands cupped your breasts, grabbing and pulling both of your nipples, making you moan.

“See, your mouth is being a bitch, but your body is being a whore.”

“Just fuck me won't you? No need to run your mouth.”

“I think we're finally in agreement on something,” he said, pushing you to your knees.

“What? Sp-”

In one quick swoop he released his cock from his pants and wrapped a hand around all of your hair as he slid it down your waiting throat.

As much as you protested, your mouth was wide open, and your hands wrapped around him just as eagerly.

Holding your head still, Spencer began to talk as he fucked your throat.

“There we go. That's exactly how I've needed you for the last month.”

You glared at him as you sank your nails into his thighs, gagging on his cock as he picked up his pace.

With two taps on his leg, you requested a moment, and he quickly pulled his dick out of your mouth.

You coughed quickly, then spat out all of your accumulated drool before looking up at him.

Part of you wanted to force him down next to you, to make him taste your cunt the way you'd thought about earlier. The other part, the larger part, was excited about him using you.

He grabbed his dick and slapped your face with it, returning your earlier hit. He was waiting for you to open up again so he could cum down your throat and leave.

“Open,” he demanded.

You didn't comply, but you stuck out your tongue, lapping at his tip slowly as you sat on your hands. He held his breath as you kissed the underside of his shaft, making his way to his balls. You reached them and finally sucked them into your mouth, making sure to look up and make eye contact with him as you toyed with his private place.

He didn't argue or complain. Instead he fisted a hand into your hair and dragged you to your bedroom.

Divesting himself of his pants and shirt, he sat down and, still on all fours, pushed your face back into his crotch. Perched on the edge of your bed, he held his cock up and served himself to you.

“Well? Get back to it, Y/N.”

Your tongue found his cock first as his hands massaged his balls, playing with them gently as you licked all the way to his tip then buried yourself between his asscheeks. You licked at the skin between his ass and balls, you tasted every inch of him, and you grew angry that he still hadn't done this for you.

Against his wished, you rose and spat on his cock, before squeezing it hard.

“Spencer, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to ruin my makeup?”

“You look prettier with spit coating your face than you've looked with any lipstick,” he said as you pushed him down onto the bed and grabbed his cock.

Straddling his waist, you were surprised he.let you sink down onto his cock without so much as another word. You felt him fill you up, one inch, then another until you sat fully sheathed on top of him.

And then he flipped you over so he was back in control.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered as he pulled out and thrust back in.

“You wanted me to fuck you, I'm fucking you.”

You wanted to argue but all you could do was moan yes as he set a furious pace, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit as you bucked into him wildly.

You couldn't stand too much of this, knowing that you wanted to at least outlast him. You wanted to tell him how pathetic he was for cumming first, you wanted to gloat that he'd wanted you more, that he couldn't resist breeding your hot wet cunt. You knew any more of this, though, and you would instead be on the receiving end of those same taunts.

Pushing against his chest, you used the last of your strength to flip him over again. He struggled, though, stronger than you were expecting, and you rolled together like that for a few moments.

You almost went crashing to the floor as he fought for control, but he pushed a foot off the bed and held you up with his lower body strength. The new position though forced his cock deeper, to just the right angle, and when he thrust into you again, you did something you'd never done before during sex.

You screamed your pleasure.

Your orgasm ripped through you, as painful as it was pleasurable, and you grabbed Spencer Reid by the neck and forced his tongue to meet yours.

He couldn't complain, too busy moaning about your hot, wet, and now tighter cunt to worry about whether he should be kissing you.

He pulled back and picked his pace right back up, but this time, you resisted less. Hooking a hand under your legs, he pressed your legs up, pushing his stomach and chest down just above your own as he moved slower but harder.

You wondered if this was what other wen talked about when they said they wanted someone to beat their pussy up, to use them until they couldn't stand. You didn't think you could even think about walking again for the next month as he spread your knees apart and pinned them to the bed, unloading his cum as deep inside you as anything had ever been.

You didn't even know your body bent that way.

Panting, he collapsed on top of you and buried his head in your shoulder, mumbling and muttering to himself as he came down from his ecstasy.

He didn't pull out. He barely even softened as he kissed across the expanse of your throat, thrusting shallowly with each nip, until your body couldn't take anymore.

He picked a spot and sucked, and licked and bit and soothed as he ended one round, and began another.

“Spencer-” you said, gasping as he sat up, his cock once again standing at attention, filling you still.

“No. Stop. Don't talk, we're not good when we talk.”

You nodded and pulled him back for another kiss, wrapping a hand around his throat and pressing hard as he moaned and groaned into you.

Still wet and slippery and sensitive from your first attempt, neither of you lasted long, falling to the bed when it was all over with a grunt of overexertion.

“That was…” you said, stopping there, for once totally speechless.

“That was good?” He supplied, but just good wasn't enough.

“Yes,” you agreed, though, not willing to let your cunt rule your mind when around him.

Anymore, at least.

“We should… we should probably never speak again,” you said, even as your hand reached out for his, fingers tangling.

“Of course. I'll leave, and we won't ever speak again,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your hand.

“You haven't left yet.”

“I haven't.”

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” you said. “You don't…”

“I won't leave yet. We might as well enjoy this,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked over your naked body.

“We should definitely just get this out of our systems now. What's the harm in that?”

“I agree. If we're committing to a one time thing, we might as well go all in.”

“Exactly,” you said.

“Exactly,” he parrotted.

Exactly a year later, the members of the BAU received invitations in the post to your wedding. Because the both of you had convinced yourself that that one time had never ended and never had need to.

#cmkinkbingo2024 #spencer reid #criminal minds #reiderreplies #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert

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pedrospatch · 11 months

Text

strawberry

Daddy Dom! Joel Miller x Sub! Female Reader

summary: You feel ashamed for using your safe word with Joel during a session—he assures you you’re his good girl no matter what.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (TW) daddy kink, lots of dd/lg lifestyle elements, reader is collared (day collar) age gap that is self indulgent, reader is mid to late 20’s and Joel is in his 50’s but tweak that to your imaginations if you like. SMUT; p in v sex, rough sex (that reader asks to try), spanking, possible overstimulation (if you squint??) Joel basically fucks reader too much and too hard. USE OF SAFE WORD. aftercare and lots of fluff, references to a pop culture film that i haven’t seen in forever but it’s fine. PLEASE BE MINDFUL OF TAGS AND WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, no worries just scroll on by.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is totally self indulgent, all for me as someone who has dabbled in the lifestyle before. if this is not your thing, no problem at all but kindly keep any negative comments to yourself. huge shoutout to the lovely @swiftispunk for inspiring this with the snippets of her own upcoming series that i am oh so excited for, darling han thank you for not only inspiring this, but for listening to me talk about it and encouraging it! and also to sweet mya @cavillscurls because truth be told her own fic brought back so many memories of a time in my life where i was genuinely so happy, in love, and felt safe with a partner. okay, i am gonna run away to the gym now to listen to 1989 tv (again) and pretend posting this is not nerve wracking as hell.

He’s fucked you plenty of times before.

But never like this. No, never, ever like this.

He’s relentless.

His thrusts are coming quicker, sloppier, harsher.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s intense. Too intense.

Joel Miller is truly testing your limits tonight.

No, he was pushing you past your limits.

Because that’s what you’d asked him to do.

“Alright, sweet girl. This is the last time I’m gonna ask you before we get started. Are you absolutely, one hundred—no, one thousand percent sure that you wanna try this out tonight?” he had asked you beforehand, skimming the strap of your light pink, lace lingerie with his index finger, his feathery soft touch sending a plesant little chill down the length of your spinal column. Of all the sets you owned, it had to be Joel’s absolute favorite. Normally, it was him who would pick out what you would wear, but tonight he’d decided to let you choose for yourself and oh, you did not disappoint. He fucking adored you in the color pink; loved how sickeningly sweet, precious, and innocent you appeared in the hue as you did the filthiest things to him, with him. When you nodded eagerly in reply to his question, a sigh fell from his lips, the doubt written all over his face as he remarked, “I really don’t think you’re ready. I think we should wait just a little a while longer.”

“I’m ready,” you’d insisted, stubbornly. “I promise. I wouldn’t be asking for it if I thought I wasn’t. But I am, I promise, promise, promise I am.”

“Daddy knows what’s best for you, sweetheart—”

Fingers curled around his bicep, you’d batted your eyelashes, giving him those eyes that brought him down to his knees for you a lot more often than he cared to admit, those eyes that made Joel feel like he was learning his role all over again, despite over two decades of experience under his belt. He used to pride himself for his ability to stand firm against pouting lips, fluttering lashes, and pleading gazes. And then you come along and suddenly it’s like he is in his thirties again and he’s navigating this kind of dynamic for the first time. Even after a year and a half with you, he’s still trying to figure out how to completely unwrap himself from your little finger.

“Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Christ, you made things so goddamn difficult.

“You really think you’re gonna be able to handle it? You think you’re gonna be able to handle me when I get real rough with you, baby? Hm?”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “Yes, Daddy. I can handle it. I know I can.”

You had been so certain that you could.

Confident, even. So confident that when he began going over the rules and reminded you to use your safe word if you needed him to stop, you’d giggled and stated, “I’ve never needed to use it before and I don’t plan on using it tonight.”

Oh, how very wrong you had been about it all.

You’d overestimated yourself, and underestimated Joel. Severely.

His hips snap roughly into yours without an ounce of mercy, over and over, again and again. Beads of perspiration start trailing their way down the sides of his face, the tip of his nose. His chest is flushed, red, and also slicked with a thin sheen of sweat.

You’ve already shattered, unraveled, come undone all over his cock several times—every time with his granted permission, of course. Because you knew better than to come without Daddy’s permission.

Your cunt is swollen, sensitive, too sensitive and at a point where it could start aching if he doesn’t let up soon. However, it seems like Joel’s only getting rougher and rougher as he chases another release.

“Joel—Daddy,” you manage to correct yourself at the very last second through a slew of frantic little gasps for air. “Daddy, please! Daddy please—”

His large hand tightens around both of your wrists pinned to the mattress above your head. Surely he must think you’re begging him for more, when the reality is you’re about to start begging him to stop because it’s just too much and you can’t handle it; but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to stop, the part of you that doesn’t want to disappoint the man who means the whole, entire world to you.

The man you belonged to, the man you loved.

Even through the haze, you try telling yourself that it’s all mind over matter, mind over matter, mind—

“Stop,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I—can’t take it anymore, Daddy, I can’t take it—!”

Releasing your wrists, Joel pulls himself out of you and you breathe out in relief, until he flips you over onto your stomach without warning. You let out an audibly loud gasp when his hands reach down and take your hips, pulling them up off his bed, putting you on your hands and knees. He brings down one of his hands on your ass in a stinging slap. “That is just too bad, ‘cause Daddy ain’t done with you yet, darlin’ girl. Not even close to bein’ done with you.” Wrapping his other hand around his base, he grins to himself as he glides the head of his cock up and down your slick folds. When it grazes your clit, you jerk forward, away from him, and he tuts, bringing you back to him, his fingers digging into the pillow soft flesh of your hips. “Oh no baby, you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“But Daddy, I just can’t—”

You’re cut off by your own cry when you feel Joel’s length stretching your walls all over again. It’s just too much.

And you really, really can’t.

He leans over you and presses his lips to your ear. “You asked for this, didn’tcha? Asked to be fucked like a big girl, huh?” He bucks forward into you, eliciting another strangled cry followed by a string of pathetic whimpers. Bringing his palm down in a second strike, he demands, “Answer me when I’m takin’ to you. You wanted this, said that you could handle Daddy bein’ rough with you, ain’t that right now?”

“Strawberry.” You say the word so quietly, you can hardly hear it over the ringing in your ears.

Joel spanks you for a third time, in the exact same spot—so hard, there was simply no way you would wake up without a mark in the morning. “I need’ya to speak up. You’re such a big girl after all—”

“Strawberry!” You grasp fistfuls of bedsheets and the signal for it all to end tears itself from the back of your throat. “Strawberry, Joel! Strawberry!”

It’s only a millisecond that he freezes, if that.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel curses under his breath, pulling out of you. The bed shifts as he climbs off of it and scrambles to pull on his sweatpants before he’s at your side—you’re still on your hands and knees, an unmistakable look of panic on your face. He puts a gentle hand on your back. “Baby, are you alright?”

Your heart is pounding, your breathing labored but you manage a small, tight nod of your head. “I-I’m fine. I just—” Stopping, you grip the sheets tighter, warm tears brimming your eyes. Shame over what you’ve just done is already creeping in and sinking into your bones.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

Joel’s voice is calm, but you can hear the concern that laces his tone.

“No.” Your own voice is small. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Is it alright if I move you?” he asks. When you nod your head, he reaches out for you and helps you to sit on the side of the bed. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he takes your hands and his and feels his stomach sink when he realizes they’re ice cold; he begins rubbing them between his own to warm them up. “Baby if I hurt you, you need to tell m—”

“I promise, you didn’t hurt me,” you reassure him, swallowing the thickness rising in the back of your throat. You clock the skepticism in his dark brown eyes and a tear slips out, rolls down your face, and splatters onto your bare thigh. “I’m not lying, Joel. I swear.” Tugging one of your hands out of his, you reach up and instinctively clasp it around the blue sapphire pendant hanging from the delicate, gold chain around your neck—he’d presented you with his birthstone last year, not only as a symbol of his ownership of you, but also as a beautiful reminder of your commitment to one another. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe I’m telling the truth?”

Joel’s expression softens. “‘Course I do, baby.” He cups the side of your face gently, brushing away a second teardrop with his thumb. “But I’d really like to know what happened so I can figure out how to best help, okay? Can you tell me what happened?”

Embarrassed, you try turning your head away, but he holds your cheek in his hand, gentle but firm.

“S’okay. You can talk to me,” he encourages softly, his gaze meeting yours once again. “Tell me.”

“It was just too much,” you mumble, meekly. “And too intense.” Heat floods your face as you admit to him, “You were right. I just wasn’t—I wasn’t ready for that yet.”

In an effort to lighten your mood, Joel lightly gives your cheek a delicate pinch and chuckles.

“Daddy’s got that real annoyin’ habit of bein’ right ‘bout a lot of things, don’t he?”

“I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers. “I’m so sorry.”

His smile falters. “Sorry for what?”

“For using the safe word—”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Y’know you ain’t supposed to apologize for needin’ to use your safe word, right? That ain’t how it works, darlin’.”

Dropping your necklace, you place your hand over his on your cheek. “But I feel bad,” you confess. “It makes me feel like—like I let you down, you know? And that’s the last thing I want to do. I just wanted to be really good for you.”

“Oh baby.” Joel lifts himself from the floor. He sits on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, brushing his lips against your temple. “You are such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

“But I couldn’t take it,” you sniff. “I had to stop.”

“And that’s okay,” he assures you. He wraps you in his arms and gives your body a gentle squeeze. “It ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed ‘bout. You’re still really new to a lot of this stuff, y’know? S’why I told you I didn’t think you were ready.”

“I should’ve listened to you.”

He winks. “You should always listen to Daddy.”

You offer him a tiny, watery smile. “I know.”

“And say we try this again one day and it’s just not somethin’ you like or that makes you feel good—or maybe you never wanna try it again at all,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s okay too. You are still my good girl no matter what—my perfect girl. Always. You understand me?”

“Really? You promise?”

Joel holds up his pinky.

“Oh, you’re being really serious,” you tease him.

“Sure as hell am, darlin’.”

You lock your finger around his and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmur against his lips. You giggle again when he clears his throat and smacks your ass lightly, playfully. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, baby.” Joel pulls away and touches the tip of his nose to yours. “How’s ‘bout we get in the bath and get all cleaned up? Hm?”

“A bath?” You instantly perk up. “With bubbles?”

“With bubbles. And I’ll even let you throw in one of those smelly ball things you fuckin’ love so much.”

You swat at his chest. “Hey! My bath bombs smell really good, thank you very much!”

Joel doesn’t particularly like emerging from a bath smelling like a petunia, but for you, he’s more than happy to bathe in a sea of them, glitter and all.

You trace his collarbone with your index finger.

“Daddy? After our bath can we just cuddle in bed? Maybe watch a movie?” He raises an eyebrow and you smile sheepishly, adding, “Please?”

“‘Course. Pick any movie you want, sweetheart.”

“And can we have ice cream while we watch too?”

He pins you with a stern look. “Alright, now you’re just pushin’ it and takin’ advantage.”

You jut your lower lip. “Please, Daddy?”

There’s no arguing with that, not tonight.

Joel decides to let you have your way. “Alright.”

The two of you spend quite some time in the bath; normally a bath together ends with him inside you all over again, but tonight, all he’s doing is running a soapy wash cloth with your favorite shower gel—japanese cherry blossom—all over your body as he sits behind you, lips pressed against your ear. Joel washes you slowly, carefully, and all the while he’s whispering sweet, tender praise.

My good girl.

My perfect girl.

I’m s’proud of you.

I’m the luckiest man in the whole world.

After the bath, once you’re both dried and dressed in comfortable clothes—him in a clean pair of gray sweatpants and you in nothing but his t-shirt, Joel gives you the remote and instructs you to pick out a movie to watch.

“Make yourself real comfortable, baby,” he says to you, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll be back with that ice cream.”

You shoot him a hopeful glance. “Strawberry?”

“You tryin’ to be funny with me, darlin’?”

“No! That’s just my favorite flavor, silly.”

Joel grins to himself as he leaves the bedroom.

He knows that. Of course he knows that.

It’s why he always keeps a pint of it in his freezer.

You hop into bed and pull the blankets around you as your scan through the guide for a movie—you’d just decided on The Notebook when Joel appears again, a bowl and two spoons in his hands.

“You picked The Notebook again, didn’t you?” he asks without even looking at the flat screen that’s mounted on his wall over the fireplace.

“You said I could pick any movie I wanted.”

“Was just hopin’ you’d pick one we haven’t seen a thousand times,” he chuckled, sliding into his bed next to you. Joel places the bowl of strawberry ice cream in his lap and hands you a spoon. “C’mere, my sweet girl. Come closer.”

You snuggle up to him, and the two of you dig into the frozen dessert as the movie begins to play.

“Baby?” Joel speaks after a while, just as Allie and Noah share a passionate kiss in the pouring rain.

“Hm?” you ask, your fixed eyes on the flat screen, your mouth full of ice cream.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Swallowing, you look up at Joel, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer honestly.

“‘Cause if there’s anythin’ else I can do for you…”

You purse your lips together and let out a tiny hum as you mull it over for a moment.

“You can hold me closer?” you finally suggest.

Joel shifts in his spot. “I can definitely do that—”

You stop him and point to the empty bowl.

“After you go and get us some more ice cream?”

He exhales an amused snort through his nose and shuffles out of bed, taking the bowl with him.

“Don’t get so used to bossin’ Daddy around,” Joel warns you playfully over his shoulder.

“Too late.”

divider credit to @saradika 🍓

#tw daddy kink #tw: daddy kink #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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incognit0slut · 4 months

Note

dude hi love tje work it’s great you’re great so if it’s not too much to ask and you can totally ignore this but can we please have thigh riding with post prison read like the seasons where he gained a little weight i mean goddamn he fills his cardigans, pants, kevlar vest so well. i actually need to feel his dad bod (that term kinda irks me but yes) angwags love u love the work keep it up -!

Spencer asks you to ride his thigh while he finishes work.

Warnings: (18+) Soft Dom Spence, Sub Fem Reader, thigh riding A/n: Apparently being sick does not stop me from being horny for this man (although it stopped me from thinking of a plot, this is just 900 words worth of smut)

You weren’t sure how you ended up in this predicament. You had simply gone to check on your boyfriend who had promised to follow you to bed an hour ago, only to find him exactly how you had left him—still in his work clothes with papers scattered across his desk.

Spencer rarely brought work home, but when he did, he often became so engrossed that he lost track of time. So you were forced to peel yourself out of bed with the plan of persuading him to join you, although you did not expect to find yourself being the one persuaded.

Because now you were sitting along his thigh, naked and embarrassingly wet, while he continued to work.

Maybe it was because you were so desperate to be close to him that you accepted whatever he could offer. He saw it as a compromise: you could use his thigh while he finished his work, and afterward, he'd give you his full attention.

At first, you hesitated, not just because you were unsure, but because you were surprised he could come up with such an idea.

“Why don’t you ride my thigh for now?” he had suggested simply, in that soft, cool tone of his, as if he were offering something mundane like a kiss on the cheek or a hug—something soft, cute, and sweet, not riding his thigh. You didn't even know he was aware of such a concept.

But your clit pulsed with need, a lump formed in your throat, and your mouth went dry. You had swallowed and licked your lips, not quite used to this sudden authoritative attitude he had adopted. However, you were not complaining, especially with how it made you ache with desire.

So, you stripped off your clothes and climbed on top of him.

The rough fabric of his trousers created delicious friction against your sensitive flesh, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan as he placed a steadying hand on your hip. You had been sitting there, not knowing what to do, until you couldn’t hold on any longer.

You began to move, slowly at first, trying to find a rhythm that would bring you relief. Every drag of your clit against his thigh sent waves of pleasure through you, and soon you were panting softly, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. Spencer’s attention remained on his work, but the slight tightening of his grip on your hip and the occasional flicker of his gaze told you he was very aware of what you were doing.

Your breaths grew heavier, mingling with the rustle of papers and the soft hum of the night. The need within you built steadily, each stroke of his thigh against your sensitive flesh bringing you closer to the edge. You leaned forward, your forehead resting against his shoulder, as his voice cut through the haze of your arousal.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone still maddeningly calm. “Just like that.”

Your nails dug into his arms as your desperation to be close to him, to feel him, drove you on, even as he remained focused on his work.

“Spence,” you whined, almost pathetically, your hips continuing to find that delicious friction. “Please…”

“Mhm,” he mumbled, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as you struggled. “I’m almost done.”

A strangled cry left your lips as the intensity of your movements increased. Your legs instinctively spread wider as you sought more, and your clit pressed harder against the rough fabric of his pants. The sensation was electrifying, and you could feel your slickness spreading, but Spencer didn't seem to mind. Instead, he tightened his grip on your hips, guiding you with a steady rhythm.

Your fingers gripped his shirt as you buried yourself in his neck, inhaling his scent—intoxicating and arousing. You pressed your naked flesh against his clothed body, pushing against him as if you wanted to be closer, to sink yourself into him completely.

Spencer’s calm demeanor only made your desperation grow. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Just let go.”

The friction, the heat, and his words all combined into an irresistible force. You felt yourself spiraling, your body trembling as you rode his thigh with abandon. The sensation of his muscles tensing beneath you, his hand guiding your movements, was too much. Your moans grew louder, mixing with the rustle of papers and the steady hum of his voice.

You whimpered, the ache between your legs becoming almost unbearable. “Please,” you begged, your voice a breathless plea.

He responded by pressing his thigh against you more firmly, his fingers digging into your skin possessively. The combination of his commanding presence and the friction against your sensitive cunt was overwhelming.

The intensity grew, every touch, every stroke pushing you closer to the edge. You gripped him tighter, losing yourself in the sensation, your mind consumed by the intoxicating blend of his scent, his touch, and the raw need pulsing through your veins.

Your body tensed, and with a gasp, you finally let go. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you shuddering and breathless. Spencer held you tightly, his hand stroking your back as you came down from your high, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

When you finally came down, panting and spent, he looked at you with a mixture of pride and affection. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I think you earned my full attention now.”

You melted into him, barely able to support your own weight. He lifted you gently, guiding you to the bed, and as he laid you down and began to undress, you realized that the night was far from over.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

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gilverrwrites · 2 months

Note

More details about Jason reaction having for the first time having a toy put on him ? He definitely wasn’t expecting THAT much of a sensation.

The post in reference for anyone unaware.

(Kinda) subby Jason twice in as many days? Who am I? Will I be getting my sub card revoked for this?

CWs: Swearing, spit, and brief sub-drop.

You’re right, no he fucking wasn’t.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to be honest but it’s not this, and you’re so damn coy with it, keeping him on edge, teasing that poor 6’2 of raging muscles boy.

When you press the vibrating head of it against the base his whole-body tenses, fighting off the ticklish sensation; all his muscles stiffen, toes curling, balls tight, and his shaft twitches. When he relaxes again, he thinks that’s it. He laughs as you slowly, gently drag it up his length, deliberately lingering on the pronounced veins you know are extra perceptive.

“Ahh.” He can’t help giggling, voice strained and unusually but endearingly boyish as he tells you; “That tickles.”

You respond with a mischievously cocked brow, and he’s suddenly struck with feelings of dread and excitement. He knows you’re up to something when your fingers lock onto the base of his cock.

The moment he feels the vibrations on his tip, his whole boy involuntarily jerks until he’s gone from confidently splayed atop the bed to suddenly being slouched, legs wide and in the air, head thrown back. He has a death grip on what he hopes isn’t you, otherwise you’ll be bruised in the morning. Right now he’s too overwhelmed to check.

“Fuck.” His throat feels tight as he stammers out a mantra of hoarse curses. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”

It just feels so fucking good, the shaking and the way you’re jerking the shaft with your spit-slicked hand. Fuck. He’s throbbing. Fuck. He didn’t know he could even get this hard.

“Does that feel good baby?” You ask.

“Fuck. Yes.” He answers through gritted teeth. “God yes, please don’t stop dontstopdontstop.”

“How about this?”

Suddenly the tempo changes, increases, and his body jolts again. This time though he lets out a wicked spurt of precum that drips down, mixing with your saliva and spiting droplets across the bed in time with the strongest pulses.

You could watch him like this all day, red-faced and gleaning under a layer of sweat. Every time you make a sudden move or switch up settings his jaw clenches and his eyes shoot to the back of his head. Quite the opposite of the cool and brooding front he puts on the world; for you, he’s open, and soft and whimpering.

Then, not long after you start driving the wand up and down his cock, fast this time, he’s cumming. Rope after rope of it shooting into the air, most of it landing on his hard stomach. Fuck, there’s so much of it, he’s never cum so much in his goddamn life and he’s suddenly feeling sheepish. He knows you've watched him through every whining, toe-curling step, you've already seen his burning cheeks, but he's not used to being on this end of the stick, not used to being the one feeling timid and exposed when it's all over.

Attempting to comfort himself, he conceals his face in the nearest pillow and focuses on breathing until he feels his dick cease its convulsing and the shame begin to wash off of him.

You’re lightly dabbing at his spillage with a tissue when he peeks out at you. You smile back at him all kind and patient when you see him. It makes him feel like an ass for hiding from you. Next time he won’t do that, next time he’ll look you in the eye, he’ll say your name like a prayer and thank you for making him feel so fucking good.

#anon #gilverranswers #gilverrwrites #dc #jason todd #jason todd/reader #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood/reader #red hood x reader #divider by @anitalenia

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amywritesthings · 3 months

Text

press four for more options. | part two.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.5k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, pet names, nipple play, overstimulation, multiple orgasms Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part one. / part three. | masterlist

2-5-1-2.

It’s an easy enough combination to remember, being Christmas Day and all.

Pressing 2, 5, and 1 is easy. The final '2' makes you second guess yourself.

You’re not sure why you’re panicking. He’ll pick up.

(It’s literally his job, idiot.)

Fuck it.

Your index finger hits the '2' and the hashtag to finalize the combination.

When you hear the line go dead, you tense every muscle in your body.

No breathing.

No blinking.

Just waiting for that silky, sultry siren song to come over and confirm your bias that it’s the single sexiest voice you’ve ever heard.

—but it’s that automated lady you tried to bypass from the menu.

“Please enter your credit card number, followed by the expiration date—”

“Oh, Goddamn it,” you groan, shouldering the phone to shuffle your purse around.

Eventually after some digging, you find your card before she can continue a second loop of her payment spiel.

You can’t believe you’re legitimately putting your credit card information out there for anyone to steal.

Yet, if Annie’s been doing this for ages, then it ought to be safe.

Right?

After typing in the necessary numbers and confirming they’re correct, you’re so out of your own head that you don’t even realize the line switches from slight static to smooth nothingness.

“So you finally called back.”

“Shit!”

The buttery smooth greeting — or lack thereof — makes you nearly drop your phone.

You gasp and manage to catch the device just in time to hear a chuckle, graveled and low, on the other end.

“And just as jittery as last night.”

“Levi,” you greet breathlessly, straightening your outfit like he can actually see it.

You swear you hear a smile in his voice.

“Hey, baby.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

“Or do you prefer it when I call you Scarlet?”

You prefer literally anything he’ll give you, is what you want to say back, but you don’t want to automatically appear as though you’re ready to be walked like a dog at minute one.

“I’m… fine with ‘baby’,” you confess after a beat, focusing on the swirl of the marble counter below you just to dissociate to his voice.

“Thought so,” he arrogantly states before making this grunting noise, like he’s rolling his body in a chair to get more comfortable. “Are we talking again?"

"Is that alright?"

"You know it is." Levi's voice lifts, softer now. "And how's your Saturday so far?”

“Very mundane and super lackluster,” you admit. “I’m sure you’ve had a much more interesting day than me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replies without skipping a beat.

“No?” you ask with a smirk. “I’d say getting people off with the sound of your voice makes for a pretty interesting job.”

“Who said it’s only just my voice?”

Son of a bitch.

The phone shifts from your right shoulder to your left.

“It isn’t?”

He makes a noncommittal hum, and it runs straight to your core. “That's confidential, sweet Scarlet."

"Boo," you joke. "You're no fun."

"You haven't seen me at my fun yet," he corrects. "Speaking of fun: how are you not hungover?"

“The power of heavy tylenol and H2O? Which... I have to apologize that."

"For what?"

"Uh, I pretty much poured my heart and soul out to you last night.”

He chuckles. "I didn't mind it. Feeling any better about that situation?”

“I haven’t really thought about it since last night, so you’re already a miracle worker.”

"Oh?"

"Yeah, no joke."

“Huh." He clicks his tongue. "And what have you been thinking about?”

You say it without realizing you’ve said it out loud:

“You.”

Both ends of the phone go silent.

Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to take a pan out of one of the cabinets to bash your head in with anguish.

“In, like, an interested sense.”

Shit, that isn’t much better.

“An… interested sense,” he repeats, slower this time. His vowels dip deep.

“Oh no,” you bemoan. “Okay. Let me restart: I mean it in like a — you were on my mind? Today, sort of way. So I called.”

“...uh-huh.”

“Because the call ended so quickly!” you add. “I didn’t think it was going to end so abruptly at the fifteen minute mark, but I wasn’t done talking to you, so I called again.”

“You’re shit at asserting yourself, aren’t you?”

His words make you blink twice.

“Huh?”

“You don’t like making decisions or having to explain things,” he replies without judgment. “You think if you want something, then it makes you selfish.”

Ouch.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you reply in a bitter, yet lifted tone of surprise.

You hear a noise on the other end. A ‘tch’ if you can make it out.

“Sorry," he apologizes. "Too far?’

“No! Too real,” you admit with a small laugh. “And I’m sure you don’t want to play analyst-therapist tonight, so.”

“I’m here to do anything you want,” he reminds, syrup-y sweet.

“Anything?”

“Mostly anything,” he adds, and there’s a tiny chuckle bubbling between the words that makes your heart flutter. “Can’t hold a tune worth a damn and I don’t know how to speak some languages, so there are limitations.”

You laugh despite yourself, feeling your stress melt.

Then—

A small groan, like his head's tilting backwards. “Damn, I like hearing that.”

You turn away from your kitchen counter, subconsciously padding to your bedroom. “Hearing what?”

“Your laugh,” he explains. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“Very.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully.

Dark hair. Gray-ish blue eyes. Sharp nose. High cheekbones.

Fit.

When your eyes flicker to your own bed, you try to picture a version of him waiting there.

He could be leaning back on his elbow, button-down shirt splayed open like a newly-peeled present.

Maybe his legs are parted.

Maybe he stares at you like you’re all he could ever want.

His voice cuts through the fantasy, causing your breath to catch.

“What do you want, baby?”

Then it drops an octave lower.

“...c’mon, be selfish for once.”

For once.

Like he can read your soul through a damn cell phone.

But Levi is right — your entire short-lived relationship with Porco and just about any other man before him has been through a small lens. Fitting in the middle seat just to never make any noise. To bend with the curve rather than against it to create your own path.

It’s just a sex hotline, but for some reason, his words resonate.

Be selfish.

Wasn’t that the point of calling in the first place?

“Anything?” you repeat a second time, much softer.

Levi shuffles on the other line then exhales like he’s getting comfortable.

“What do you need?” he asks, tone low and words slower.

Purposeful.

“What do you want?”

You close your eyes, drawing in a slow, steady inhale.

Are you seriously doing this?

No more overthinking.

“Should I... get comfortable?” you ask, too afraid to say what it is that you want.

What you’re about to do.

“Mm, you near a couch or a bed?”

“A bed.”

“Don’t get on it yet,” he orders, “but walk towards it. Bend over it.”

Jesus Christ.

“Bend over it?” you ask with a shaky breath of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You’re home from a long day. I’m home from a long day. All you’ve wanted all day is to have someone tell you what to do, right?”

As much as your face feels like it's on fire, you slowly walk to your bed and put the phone down between your splayed palms.

You press the speaker option to ‘on’, and feel a wave of arousal hit your gut when you hear him sigh through the phone.

“I thought you said you wanted me to be selfish,” you remind, bending over your bed.

“You’re allowing me to take charge,” he retorts with little hesitation. “You’re letting me take care of you the way you always should’ve been taken care of. Your ex-boyfriend has no fucking clue what he’s missed out on.”

You exhale, trying to keep it together.

“Levi—”

“I’m right here, baby,” he huskily promises. “Right here. Not leaving you.”

You feel ridiculous.

You’re so turned on it’s almost laughable.

“You ready to let me take control?” he eventually asks, and you nod like he can see you.

“Yeah, I’m— I think so.”

“I like using a red-yellow-green light system,” Levi hums. “Red’s a hard stop. Yellow is negotiating, a slow down to check in. Green means you’re in.” He pauses, and you lean down closer to your phone, bending further. “Color?”

Even on speaker, his voice rips straight through you.

“Green,” you decide, blurting before your brain can catch up.

“Good girl.”

You’re not going to survive this.

“Are your lights off?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he decides. “I want you to crawl slowly onto the bed now. Can you do that for me?”

Your hand slides obediently, passing over the phone as you begin to rest one knee on the mattress. It dips with give.

“All the way up to your pillows, then you can lay on your back — but keep your eyes closed.”

“Okay.”

Eventually you drag your phone with you as you crawl to the headboard of your bed, only to then slowly turn around and drop to your back.

“Are your eyes closed?”

With the phone speaker right at your ear, it almost lends itself to the fantasy of him hovering above you.

His lips dip at the edge of your ear, the static lost to you.

“Yes,” you exhale, relaxing into the bed.

“Good. You’re doing so good for me already, and we’ve barely started.” He pauses, shifting once more. “What’re you wearing, baby?”

“Something so not sexy,” you joke, and it earns a breathy laugh from him.

“Bet you can make anything sexy,” he tells you, and it shoots straight to your lower belly.

“How would you know?” you ask, your hand already reaches for the hem of your shirt. “You’ve never even seen me.”

“No, but I hear you, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Your breath hitches, and you can hear it; the smile in his voice.

“Take everything off, except your underwear.”

“Bra, too?”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he tells you, and it’s much less breathy. It’s certain, like he wants to check in — make sure you’re just as into it as he sounds. “Would you rather I help you take that off?”

Your brain blanks.

Slowly you push your jeans off first, kicking them to some unknown corner.

Then you rise, ripping your t-shirt off of your body, until you’re sitting in your mismatched bra and panties.

“How would you take it off of me?” you boldly ask, though you can’t quite get rid of the shake of anticipation in your voice.

“Fuck, I’d love to,” he grunts, and your face burns. “I’d be so busy pressing small, slow kisses to your neck. Reach up and touch your neck for me. Feel how I’d kiss it.”

You do.

As surprised as anyone else, you reach up and press your fingers against small parts of your neck, earning him a tiny gasp and noise of want.

“Dragging down to your throat.”

You press two gentle fingers to your skin again, following his path, before slamming your thighs together to try and relieve the heat between your legs.

“My finger would just… slip, right under the right strap of your bra.”

Your fingers dance across your collarbone, slipping your middle finger just under the delicate strap to mirror.

With your eyes closed, the motions lend to an almost out-of-body experience.

Like your hand trailing down your body isn’t yours; it’s his.

You’re his, right now.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nods furiously.

“Very.”

“Good. Let me pull the other one down. I wanna see how pretty my girl is.”

The praises, the way he so easily speaks this way, has you all sorts of flustered.

Slowly you raise your other hand to pull down the strap, and whimper when you tug down as far as you can.

Your breasts spill out over the cup, allowing your hardened nipples to greet the night air.

“Can I touch you?”

The words almost make you open your eyes, as if you’ll see this mystery man hovering over you.

You know he's not here.

You wish he were right here.

“Yes.”

“How do you like to be touched, baby? Show me.”

“Levi,” you whine, allowing your shaky hands to run along your breasts.

You’re afraid, you’re exhilarated, but when you finally pinch the little buds and roll them between your fingers, you’re too far gone to care.

“Fuck—”

“Feels good, huh?” Levi’s own breathy voice interrupts your curse. “You look so beautiful like this. Letting me play with you— God, I could do this for hours—”

“Want you to.”

You don’t even recognize your own breathy tone.

Hell, you only hear him.

You only feel him.

“Need more,” you pant, and he hums with amusement.

“No,” he replies, “think I’m gonna play with you a little more right here for now.”

You accidentally pinch your nipples, harder, like he’s teaching you a lesson.

“Levi.”

“What, is my girl getting impatient?”

His girl.

You don’t even know him, but you’d sure as hell like to be.

(How easy is it, for you to fall so fast from your judgmental high horse when Annie first slipped you this number — only for you to be moaning on your bed, hands groping and kneading your breasts, for a man you didn’t know?)

“Y-You said,” you stammer, “to be selfish, and I want—”

“Shh, I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?” Levi interrupts on the other end. “But you have to do something for me, too.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you holding back on me. No shyness. No second guesses. I want you, I want to hear what I do to you. Is that understood?”

You can’t take it.

Your one hand leaves your chest to skim down to your belly, unable to wait any longer.

“I want you to touch me,” you hiccup.

“Yeah?”

His voice wavers in the response before it strengthens. Demands.

“I want those panties gone first. Take them off and spread your knees. Feet flat on the bed.”

No need to be told twice; you hastily pull your panties down your hips, your knees, until they pool at one of your ankles.

Your knees knock together before spreading, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I want to touch you, too, baby.” Levi swallows, coating his throat. “How wet are you for me?”

Fingertips run past your lower belly to touch the apex of your thighs, gasping with surprise and relief when you feel that familiar electricity.

“Really fucking wet,” you admit.

The groan he emits is delicious. “Fuck.”

For a moment, you feel completely out of your depth.

This is meant to be a sex hotline, but there are lines blurred in your mind. Something about the sheer image of him leaning back into his chair, fucking a fistful of his cock while he has a phone operator headset against his ear, only turns you on that much more.

“If we had time, I’d spend all night memorizing what you taste like. What you feel like. How you let go — for me, only for me.”

“Only for you,” you promise, unable to stop yourself from drawing circles over your clit.

You moan, head bent back against your pillow.

“Fuck, you’re touching yourself, aren’t you?” he asks, and his voice seems less controlled now. It’s got a hint of raggedness, and it only quickens your pace. “You feel amazing, you know that? Such a pretty pussy, all spread and wet for me—”

“Shit, Jesus, Levi,” you gasp, knowing that you’re not going to last long. You’re too wound up from the night before. “If you keep talking like that—”

“What, are you gonna come for me?” Amusement tickles the question. “Oh, you can come for me, baby, but I’m gonna need at least two from you tonight.”

Your fingers press a little harder to your clit, and you keen.

“Wh– At least?”

“As if I’d ever be satisfied with only one,” he murmurs. “No, I wanna watch you come apart. Feel it on my fingers with those cute little contrac—”

That’s it.

You moan louder than you expected, the taut bowstring suddenly snapped in half.

You arch off the bed, relentlessly rubbing your fingers against your body to ride out the insane orgasm that you — that Levi has given you.

Even if you’re blissed out, you hear it on the receiving end:

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuck, you sound amazing. I know it’s gonna be tough, but keep going for me, okay? Don’t stop.”

“It’s sen– ha, sensitive!” you whimper, wanting to stop your hand.

“Mm-mm, you said you’d be good. Be selfish, baby. Give me two.”

“But Levi!”

Everything is on overdrive.

Your hand; your body; your mind.

You imagine he’s hovering over you, working you with his hand with a near-sadistic relentlessness.

As you battle your own refractory period, your toes curl, teeth clenched.

You want to be good.

You want to be so good.

And somewhere in that overwhelming intensity, you feel it: the ebb and flow of pleasure returning, crawling through your veins and forcing you to not give up.

To give this to him.

Then you hear it: panting.

As if he’s getting off to this himself. Your eyes snap open, wide, to an empty room.

When your cheek turns to the phone, you confirm that’s what you hear:

Ragged breaths, albeit softly, with added grunts of control.

Like he’s holding back.

Something about that image of him in a chair, his hand relentlessly pumping his cock in time with your hand, your whimpers and moans, does damage.

“I need— mm— want— please.”

“I’m right here, baby,” Levi promises, though his voice is weaker. You can even hear him swallow again. “Right fucking here, wanna hear you cum so bad.”

Maybe you really were pent up enough for two, because soon you’re slipping — falling — into that blissful nothingness while your body clenches on itself, clit fluttering from a second release.

It’s less intense, but that doesn’t make it any less good.

Everything throbs in your body as you come down, panting, with a slight sheen of sweat on your skin.

You turn to your phone, totally gone in the bliss of the aftermath.

Levi has grown silent as well; only light puffs of air come through the speaker now.

“Feeling better?” Levi asks with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Shut up,” you answer with a gentle laugh of your own. “I’m… shit. I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

That statement gets Levi to laugh, and your heart feels twice as full.

“That’s one way of pillow talk, I guess.”

The man pauses.

“Are you alright?”

As if he’s truly concerned, worried about your wellbeing.

You don’t allow yourself to fall for it, not completely.

This is his job — even if it felt so real, in the moment.

“Much better,” you promise, smiling to yourself.

“Happy to help,” he hums, his voice returning to that stormy swirl of seduction and softness.

The sobering reality of an empty bedroom should deter you, but all you can do is smile.

(When is the last time you genuinely felt giddy? Excited? Satisfied?)

“Hey, Levi,” you murmur eventually, slowly sitting up to unhook your bra and toss it away. No need to keep it on.

“Yeah, baby?”

You’ll never get over the way he sounds when he calls you that.

It’s permanently stuck to your frontal lobe, obscuring any other logic or reality.

“Am I still allowed to call?”

“Allowed?”

“Yeah, even though we…”

“What, you think you get one experience and your membership is up?”

Levi chuckles, shifting in his seat — or bed — or wherever he is.

“You can call me anytime you want.”

“Any?”

“Between company hours, yeah.”

“Even to talk?”

“Of course,” he answers, softer this time. “Always to talk. Go get some rest.”

“Mm,” you mumble, turning on your side as exhaustion takes over. “I will, but only because I want to and I’m being selfish.”

It surprises you to hear him laugh again, but it’s louder now.

More prominent.

As if he genuinely enjoyed your joke.

Get your head out of the clouds, girl, is what you want to say to yourself, but you can’t be bothered to care.

“Good. You earned it.”

A noise emits from your tired throat to acknowledge him, too sleepy to formulate a real sentence.

Then his voice drops to a whisper, for your ears and your ears alone.

“Goodnight, baby.”

You press the ‘end call’ button and fall into the deepest sleep you’ve had all year.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part two of P4! This is insane. I still cannot believe the feedback I got in part one. Seriously, you all made my June. I hope this next part has satisfied your curiosity of how Levi would be a hotline operator.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk fanfic #aot fanfic #aot fic #snk fic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #fic: press four for more

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soobinsonly1bf · 9 months

Text

soobin + cockwarming while on discord with his friends

warnings: nsfw, gn!reader, reader's genitals are also not specified, softdom!soobin, sub!reader, cockwarming, in the end they fuck, kinda exhibitionism??, a little bit of humiliation, everything is consensual tho, unprotected sex, use of pull out method (guys, remember to always use protection!!!), they're so in love fr

!!nsfw under the cut, minors dni!!

it was always like this, soobin playing video games and talking with his friends on discord, while you were bored to death. but you still agreed to visit him every time he asked, knowing damn well he's not even gonna pay attention to you.

well, this time was different tho... a little bit too different, but both of you didn't mind it at all.

"be quiet." he shushed you. his hands on your hips, holding you in place and making it impossible for you to move. his dick deep inside you, making your eyes full of tears. his big cock inside of you were able to make you sob, even without moving at all.

"soobin- please..." you kept on pleading, as quiet as you could. you couldn't take it anymore. how can he be inside, but don't move? pure torture. his headphones were still on his head and the microphone was catching every little sound. goddamn his new headphones, why couldn't he keep his old ones?

"you want them to hear or what?" he asked, not even lowering his tone, with an innocent smile. it made you clench around him, you really couldn't help it... and he couldn't help the groan leaving his mouth for all of the voice chat to hear.

you could hear the questions from his friends, screaming loud enough for you to hear from his headphones. you knew his friends and did it made you even more turned on? of course it did, no matter how embarrassing it was.

your boyfriend was balls deep inside of you while on voice chat with his friends. friends that you met countless times. friends that thought of you as a smart, kinda nerdy, just like soobin, and innocent person.

but what will it be now? will they think you're a slut? just a pathetic slut that can't even leave their boyfriend alone for half an hour and just has to sit on his cock? even when he's talking with his friends? are you seriously that much of a whore that you just can't help, but need him inside of you?

"fuck, baby... calm down. don't tell me you're getting off to this?" now it was just straight up humiliating, but you knew he wasn't wrong at all. but did he seriously needed to tell his friends how much you're clenching around him now? "you like it? that my friends are gonna know how slutty you really are?" he continued, smirking down at you.

it was too much, you couldn't stand it anymore. little did you know it's not the end of his teasing, if you can still call it teasing. he took off the headphones from his head and put it on you. you froze as you heard his friends' comments.

"don't tell me soobin's seriously...", "i'm sorry, but why is it hot as hell", "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON", "at this point you can just turn on the camera too" you recognized their voices, you knew who they were and they knew you too. humiliating.

"stop..." you whined, your face now burried in the crook of his neck, the headphones dropped on the floor.

he suddenly looked worried. he took your cheeks in his hands. "shit, wait, did you meant it seriously? was it too much? god, i'm so sorry, i-" he was in panic now and you couldn't help, but giggle.

it was nice to see his usual self getting back once he thinks you're uncomfortable. because, of course, you two talked about it before starting. he would never do anything like that without your consent and it made your heart melt every time you remembered how soft he truly is.

"soobin, hey, it's alright... i just- yeah, let's end it now, okay?" you said reassuringly and he immidiately hung up from the call.

"i'm so, so sorry, baby... have i done too much? do you want to-"

"soobin, respectfully, shut the fuck up and fuck me already." you interrupted him and moved your hips, making him groan.

"shit, so you seriously liked all of this?" he asked with a soft chuckle.

soon you were both laying on his bed, him on top of you, his cock already inside. your chest pressed into the mattress and your back arched, a little bit painfully. you didn't minded it, because you felt soobin going in and out of you, leaving you with your mouth wide open.

"yeah, just like that, you're doing so good for me... and earlier you took it all so well... you really liked being heard, didn't you? fuck, i love you so much..." he continued whispering sweet nothings into your ear, getting you closer and closer to the edge.

you didn't left him in silence, also mumbling a lot of "i love you"'s every few seconds. your legs felt so weird, you were sure that if soobin stopped holding you, you would fall completely to the mattress.

soon the wave of pleasure finally hit you, making your legs shake more than they already were. you let out a loud moan, probably too loud, but both of you felt too good to care. soobin continued thrusting into you, still chasing his release.

"so pretty..." he whispered before he pulled out and started stroking himself, soon cumming on your lower back and laying right next to you.

you took his hand in yours and smiled softly at him. you felt tired, but not too tired to annoy him a little bit. "i love you... but i'm not cockwarming you ever again."

———————————

a/n: I'M SORRY, BUT I JUST NEEDED TO WRITE THIS, IT WAS IN MY MIND FOR TOO LONG... but yeah, here's my debut on tumblr lmaoo

#txt smut #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #soobin hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #soobin smut #soobin x male reader #soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin x y/n

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illusioninfnty · 11 months

Text

day 25 ; humiliation

↠ vinsmoke sanji x reader

fandom: one piece word count: 1.8k warnings: nsfw 18+, pervy!Sanji, sub!Sanji, panty stealing, panty sniffing, pussy sniffing (?), degradation, masturbation, cock kicking, cum eating

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

Joining the Strawhat crew wasn’t something that you ever thought would be in your future, but when Luffy rolled up with all of his joyfulness and sincerity, you knew that it was the right decision for you.

And it was.

Until a certain cook joined your crew soon after you.

Sanji, in his defense, wasn’t all that bad. His food was the best you’ve ever had, and he was a great fighter whenever you guys needed helping out with whoever Luffy pissed off that week.

But that was when he wasn’t being a complete weirdo around you.

It wasn’t a secret that Sanji loved women, maybe a little too much. But lately his affections have been focused on you. And although Nami was grateful for it, smirking across the deck and catching your eye whenever Sanji approached you (as subtle as he thought he was being, it was quite obvious what his intentions were) it pissed you off to no end.

Lately, you’ve been noticing that more and more of your panties have been going missing. You were left with only a spare few, and you know that this amount of your underwear (and just your underwear) going missing was not a mere coincidence or laundry getting lost.

There was only one person on this goddamn ship that would be stupid—and horny—enough to steal so many of them without you noticing.

You knew exactly when he would go in and do it too; your routine never changed much from day to day. After you had dinner, you would go train for a couple of hours with Nami. You always felt like you were lagging behind everyone else when there were pirates or marines you needed to fight, and you wanted to make sure you weren’t dragging anyone else down with you.

Those training sessions left the women’s quarters completely free, and long enough for a certain someone to come in and take what he pleased.

You suck on your teeth as you come up with a plan to catch him in the act.

He wasn’t getting away with it this time. And you wanted your goddamn underwear back, too.

Sanji knew what he was doing was horrible, immoral, and very much unbecoming of a man like himself, but he just couldn't help it.

You always seemed to avoid Sanji compared to everyone else on the crew. The only opportunities he had to interact with you was when he was serving you food, or saving you in battle. Even then, you barely afforded him a glance.

The few moments that you acknowledged his presence were absolute blessings. He didn’t even care that most often you were glaring at him or sneering in his direction. In fact, he almost liked that better. His cock certainly did, with the way it stirred in his pants every time he saw you looking at him with disgust coating your features, and he had to conceal a boner whenever your hand would accidentally brush up against him.

His only relief came in the form of your panties. He had stumbled upon a pair when he was up early, preparing breakfast. It must have slipped from the rest of your laundry and you forgot about it. It was a thin pair, purple and lacy.

Sanji couldn’t control the way his body heated up just from seeing the pair. He made sure that no one was around, and picked up the pair. It was wrinkled, still dirty. You must’ve never even washed it yet.

Without thinking Sanji lifted the pair to his nose and took one long sniff. He had to bite his lip to contain his moan, and his cock sprang to life in his pants. He ran to the bathroom with your underwear in his hand, and jacked himself off to the smell of your pussy.

Now, Sanji has a routine. He knows exactly when you and Nami are out of the room, and during that time he’ll go in there, pick a new pair of panties, and jack off as he sticks his face in it. It was a foolproof plan, he thought, since you hadn’t caught him yet.

Today was no different. He makes sure no one else is around to see him, and slips in the women’s quarters. Making a beeline straight for where you keep your dirty laundry, he pulls out another pair. He hunkers down in the corner of your room, near your bed, and releases his cock from its constraints as he strokes himself off.

But then a door slams.

Sanji jumps up, hiding the panties behind his back. You’re never back this early, and despite the utter fear that rushes through his veins he can’t help but notice the way his cock throbs at the thought of being caught in the act by you.

“What are you doing?” You phrase it more like a statement than a question, anger clear in your tone.

Sanji blushes and his eyes widen. “N-nothing!” He fails to hide the amusement in his tone, and he knows you notice it too with the way your brow furrows and your eyes squint at him.

You stomp on over to him, and he can see the glint of realization in your eyes when you spot the panties that he stole.

“It’s not what it—!” he’s interrupted by a kick in the gut from you. His stomach lurches from the force of it, but his cock stirs with aching need.

“Fucking pervert,” you growl out. “Stealing all my fucking underwear. I’ve got none left now!” You let out a frustrated groan and plop down onto your bed, crossing your arms as you glare down at him.

Despite how erect it is, Sanji attempts to tuck his cock back into his pants, partly in shame. He’s stopped by your foot pressing down on his hand. He looks up at you, quizzically, yet in a pleading manner.

“I’m not letting you get away with this,” you start. “If you’re that desperate to jerk off to me, then I want you to do it here.” Sanji can’t believe the words that leave your lips. His erection throbs and precum leaks from the lip, and he has to squeeze the base to keep himself from cumming at that very moment.

He gulps, tugging ever-so-lightly on his cock as he stares up at you. “In front of you?” he asks cautiously, desperately looking for your confirmation.

His answer comes in the form of a roll of your eyes, a snort and curt nod.

He doesn’t need anything else as he begins to stroke himself, hand slick from the wetness of his precum leaking out the tip. He hisses as he thumbs the head, squeezing the base so as to not cum so early in front of you and embarrass himself further.

Sanji strokes himself faster as he glances up at you and your disinterested face. It causes him to let out a shaky sigh, and rut even more intensely into his closed palm.

“Since you want to sniff me so badly,” you start to shimmy out of your bottoms, and Sanji thanks whatever god exists that he was holding onto his cock because he would have creamed himself right then and there.

You throw your shorts and underwear to the side and he has to do everything in his power not to pick them up from the ground. You spread your legs out in front of him, and Sanji just knows that he's drooling.

“You can sniff the real deal instead. Since I’m so nice.”

Sanji whines lowly in disappoint in not being able to fuck you, and of course, your sharp ears catch onto it.

“What, you thought that I would ever let you fuck me with that nub you call a cock? Yeah fucking right.”

You sit in front of him with your arms crossed, evaluating him. Heat rises to his face under the intensity of the stare. Even though you could give two shits about him, Sanji was just happy that your full attention was on him for the first time since he joined the crew.

“Th-thank you for letting me sniff you,” Sanji moans, and he desperately crawls closer to you, one hand still pumping his cock.

When he reaches your bare pussy, a strangled cry leaves his throat as he takes a big whiff. Your scent is just like the one he’s used to from your panties, only a hundred times stronger. His cock is sensitive from the force of his strokes, and unspilled tears form in his eyes from the different areas of stimulation.

One of your feet comes up to kick him gently in his cock, and he arches himself into your touch despite the pain. “Look at you. So pathetic,” you coo mockingly, laughing cruelly at the way Sanji reaches to smell your pussy to get himself off. “Aren’t you?” you ask him, albeit very forcefully.

Sanji gulps and nods. “I-I am,” he stutters out. “I’m pathetic.” His hand picks up speed, his orgasm so close as you spit curses at him and talk about him like he's just an ugly speck of dirt on the ground.

His moans and whimpers become louder and louder as he fucks into his own hand, bury ing his face as close to your pussy as you allow. The last straw comes when you pull on his hair, digging your fingers through the tresses.

“Such a fucking sorry excuse for a man,” is all you need to say and Sanji explodes, a mess of whines as cum spurts out of his cock in jets. It’s all over his body, the floor, your foot, and even the side of your bed.

He doesn’t open his eyes until his orgasm fully washes over him, and he pants rapidly, chest heaving up and down.

You barely react to it, just sneer at him. “You got your spunk all over me, you filthy mutt.” You shake your foot in disgust, but Sanji’s cum is too thick, it stays attached to where it landed.

Instead, you hold out your foot to him. “Clean it up,” you command. “With your tongue.”

“Of course, madam,” Sanji utters as he obediently dives in. He licks and sucks wherever he needs to, and eats his own cum without you even needing to tell him.

He even bends down to the floor, licking at the wooden surface where his cum landed. The hum of approval from your lips as he cleans up his mess has his cock stirring back to life.

When you’re fully cleaned up, you put your skirt back on and go back to ignoring Sanji, as if this whole encounter never happened.

“Can we do this again, madam?” he asks hesitantly.

You don’t even turn to look at him. “No. Now give me back my panties.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece x reader #one piece smut #sanji smut #vinsmoke sanji smut #one piece live action #one piece live action x reader #opla sanji smut #opla sanji x reader

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bratzforchris · 4 months

Text

I Think You're Hot

Summary: SFW and NSFW headcanons about Matt being the golden retriever to his bisexual wife's black cat <3

Pairing: Matt x feminine!reader

Warnings: Smut, pouty bottom/bratty sub!Matt, oral (f receiving), p in v, dom fem!reader, mentions of threesomes, nipple play (none of this is overly descriptive because it's headcanons, but you're responsible for what you consume online!)

A/N: Many of these may seem like I am stereotyping bisexual people, especially women. I am bisexual myself and truly mean no harm by this <3 Every bisexual person is different! Don't fetishize us and love us for who we are 🩷💜💙 Special tag for my bff @nicksbestie for plotting with me <3 Enjoy!

SFW

✯Matt who gave his (then girlfriend, now) wife the biggest smile and hug when she came out to him

"You know this doesn't change how I feel about you, right? You're still my girl, and I love you more than anything in the world. Plus, now we get to have celebrity crushes together!!"

"That's the first thing you think of?"

"Margot Robbie as Harley Quinn is hot as fuck."

"...you got me there."

✯ He absolutely adores all of your piercings and tattoos. They make you so you. He loves to leave kisses on each one when you're cuddling

✯ Speaking of tatted/pierced bi baddie, you gotta add the colored hair to that, right? Matt adores going to the beauty supply store with you and picking out new hair colors for you to try

"Purple and pink?"

"There isn't a single color you couldn't pull off, my love."

✯ Matt who goes ALL FUCKING OUT for pride. There's a rainbow flag outside your house, he's putting pink/purple/blue hair chalk in his hair, and he is happily accompanying you and Nick to all the pride parades and festivals

"It's pride month, so I have to do whatever you say."

"Matt...you do that every month, baby. You're whipped."

✯ He absolutely loves playing games with you, even if he has to hear about how hot certain characters are. You even have matching gaming setups <3

✯ Every single one of their subscribers comments on how well dressed Matt is. Where do you think he gets his style tips? His wife 100%. You know how to perfectly balance between masculine and feminine, having your own days where you leaned more towards one or the other

✯ Matt who becomes a coffee shop enthusiast. You're rather addicted to iced coffees, and he's willing to oblige your addiction. The fans go especially crazy over photos of the two of you in cute cafes

✯ "Goddamn, I am so gay."

"Oh 😞"

✯ Matt who helps you cuff your jeans <3

✯ Absolutely jumps to defend you from bigots. He may seem shy and gentle, but the second someone even thinks anything rude about his wife, he is jumping down their throats

✯ Matt who loves the style you pull off. He thinks the way you wear flannels, jeans, and Converse one day and then full beat makeup and heels the next is so beyond sexy

✯ "Matt, look she's so hot."

"She's very hot, but not as hot as you *cheesy grin*."

✯ On days when you're not very feeling confident in your sexuality, Matt makes sure to give you extra love and attention, promising that he thinks you're amazing no matter what <3

NSFW

✯ Matt who's okay with threesomes as long as there's clear boundaries that the other girl isn't joining your relationship full time

✯ Two hot women domming him? He's folding so fast

✯ Matt who's an absolute brat because he loves seeing his dom get all worked up

"You watch my mouth. I can't see it."

"What was that, sweet boy? Fix the attitude."

✯ Showing your third partner how to control him and Matt just smiles sweetly, all thoughts that don't have to do with him being pounded into the mattress disappearing

✯ If it was just you and Matt, he absolutely loves to eat you out to show you how "sorry" he is (he will mouth off again)

"Please...I promise I won't *grunt* do it again."

"Fine. But you better use that mouth for what's it made for and make this worth my while."

✯ Matt whose wife has her nipples pierced and he loves to play with them, gently sucking over the cool metal of the barbells

✯ Matt who loves it when you're on top, riding him until he's begging to cum with tears in his eyes

✯ When you have a third partner, he can't help but to grind his hips into the mattress as he whimpers, watching the two prettiest girls he knows go down on each other

✯ Matt who has a collar with his wife's name on it and blushes when your third partner points it out

"Someone really is whipped, huh?"

*cue blushes, gentle giggles, and enthusiastic nods*

✯ Matt who loves his bi wife and wouldn't trade her for anything 🩷💜💙

tags ♡: @sturnlovr @matthewsturniologirly @pkfferoo @jetaimevous @blahbel668 @sturniolowhore @muwapsturniolo @nicksbestie @sturnlova @gxldenlush @calumsrockstar @pepsiluvr0209

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urfavleo777 · 10 months

Text

colby brock smut alphabet

pairing: colby brock × fem!reader. posting one more time.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) He'll let you catch your breath and after will be so affectionate and sweet, nuzzling his head into your neck and giving you little kisses. “You make me feel safe” after fucking the soul out of you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) His arms and his throat, for obvious reason too. He knows his arms are one hell of a looker, and he loves the way you grip them for dear life as he shows you a good time. Taking a dominant role, he tries not to reveal how much he sinks into the ground when you passionately kiss his neck. The way he rolls his eyes shows how pleased he is, but no more than for a fraction of a second. He wants to see you writhing beneath him and not take his eyes off you even for a millisecond. As for you, he treats your body like a goddamn sculpture. He’s totally obsessed with your thighs. He loves to squeeze, kiss and bite them just to tease you. And it always works.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He loves it when you give him head, loves the way his warm seed spills between your lips as you try to swallow it. He loves grabbing your roughly by your chin, smashing his lips onto yours to get a taste of himself. He is absolutely a slut for eating you out and he would go on and on about how good you taste.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He actually enjoys being a sub quite a lot. Even though he prefers to dominate, you can't count how many times he called you “mommy” when you were taking care of him. After giving him commands, he acts like an obedient puppy. Phrases like “Who's momma’s good boy?” only make him weaker.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) He exactly knows your sensitive spots and there is no way he doesn't know what in hell he's doing. He's charming and knows how to use it to get what he wants, even if it's just a quick handjob or blowjob.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) “I want to sit on your face.” He’s already sold. And when you sit on his face, all of the joyful things he loves about oral sex become magnified. You love being admired by him, which gives him a lot of pleasure. He keeps a bruising grip on your thighs, adoring the creases and valleys that your body makes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) More than you'd think. He’s definitely a tease, so there will be moments where he pokes a bit of fun and the occasional ominous sadist smile.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He tries to keep up the maintenance, but sometimes he forgets. He doesn’t expect someone to shave for him if they don’t want to. He’s just glad you enjoy having sex with him.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) He is more filthy and mouthy than romantic during sex. He likes to hear you call him ‘daddy’ and ‘sir.’ I think after sex, he’s all goofy and romantic. He gives you lots of praises and romantic words.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Well, if he's horny, he just goes to you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Choking, daddy kink, and cockwarming are Colby’s all-time favorites. He loves choking you, but if you say your safe word, he’ll drop everything and make sure you are okay. Colby loves nicknames, but he loves hearing you call him “Daddy”. He just wants to protect you, and of course, he loves the baby girl and daddy kink role play.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Colby isn’t the most adventurous when it comes to location. He would hate to give anyone some leverage over him, especially regarding his personal life so he keeps the private places. But when at home it’s a different story; the bed, the shower, the bath, any counter or table, his libido could rise at any moment leaving you with very little time before he’s pressing you down on the nearest surface, always making sure to keep his eyes on you at all times.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) When someone else flirts with his partner. He gets jealous very easily, despite what some might think. He would protectively slide his arm around your waist and introduce himself as your boyfriend, even if he isn’t. Another simple thing that would get him going is when his partner calls him Cole, preferably in a sweet little whine.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) He would never do anything to hurt you. Yeah, he's into pain, but only when it comes to himself. He can't bare the idea of doing anything to inflict pain upon you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Oh he definitely prefers receiving. Pulling your hair behind your head to help guide you, feeling you gag around him struggling to take his length he loves all of it. And, oh my god, seeing you on your knees sucking him off is truly one of the most beautiful sights he has ever witnessed.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) He fucks you hard and fast, so rough and brutal that you’re seeing stars.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) He tires you out good and proper pretty much every single time he fucks you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Colby’s pretty loud. He whimpers, moans, groans, sometimes growls, pants a lot. It honestly spurs you on more when you hear what sounds he makes.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Colby could fall asleep quite quickly afterwards, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he knew you were okay and well looked after. He stays awake longer than you most nights, watching sleep take you.

#colby brock #colby brock fluff #colby brock smut #hell week #sam and colby #sam golbach #colby brock fanfic #sam and colby smut #sam golbach smut #sam golbach x reader #colby brock x reader #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock imagine #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you #colby brock x oc #sam golbach x you #sam golbach x colby brock #sam and colby x reader

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webshooterrr9 · 4 months

Text

dbf!miguel staying over

i mean....... i had to eventually...

w.c: 2.6k

content warning: alcohol usage, age gap (reader is 21, Miguel is 35), smut, unprotected PiV sex (wrap it before you tap it!), slight dom/sub dynamic but not really because mig is such a sweetie and reader is sassy af, teasing because mig is secretly a meanie :(, not really tho he wants it just as much as her, big scary men whimpering!!!

sorry for y'all who don't speak spanish cuz i didn't feel like adding translations because it messed up the look but dw most of it is in english

Miguel and your father have been friends since college.

When your dad needed help with homework, Miguel was there. When your dad needed someone to pass to during the game, Miguel was there. When your dad mourned the loss of your mom, taken from the world too soon, Miguel was there. There were countless nights where Miguel would tutor your dad on subjects he struggled with after missing classes to take care of you: the angel he was gifted with in high school. Although he admits you came into his life a bit too early for comfort, he has always loved and prioritized you. And Miguel quickly became your dad’s best friend because, although he never met you, he could tell just how much your father cared about you.

And so he was always there for your dad. All through college and beyond.

It wasn’t until you started college that Miguel had the pleasure of meeting you. Your dad had planned a hangout with the three of you, telling you about how important it is to have a good friend on your side, how it helped him when times got tough.

And now you’re 21 - sitting on your childhood bed after coming home from college for the summer. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been thinking about Miguel since you’ve been home. When you met him three years ago, you were somewhat intimidated by him. How could you not? Look at the sheer size of that man. But you came to know through your school breaks that he was a lot more laid-back than you previously thought. You hate to admit it, but you’ve developed a slight crush on him. It’s stupid, you know, but how could you possibly resist those deep brown eyes and that smooth baritone voice that pulls you in every time?

Knock knock “Chiquita?”

You recognized that silky tone. It was Miguel.

“Yeah?” you say, putting your phone to the side. “Come in.” The doorknob twists and your door slowly creeps open. Behind it was that beautiful man: soft brown curls, slightly hidden by a backwards cap, a strong nose, dusty jeans that hug his legs just right, and a plain white tee with a gold cross dangling from a chain around his neck. Your dad’s best friend. Miguel.

He steps into your room and lingers by the door, a lazy smile across his face. Dios… he was something else.

“¿Qué estás haciendo, mami? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

You sit up straighter, trying not to look as lousy as you feel. He came in here looking like a goddamn Roman god and you’re just sitting in your pjs. “Just scrolling,” you reply. “Trying to enjoy my time without homework.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Your papi invited me over,” he says, stepping further into the room. “Just to catch up and share a few Modelos.”

You watch his arms cross over his chest, the sleeves of his tee tightening around his huge arms. “Doesn’t explain why you’re in here,” you say. “Shouldn’t you be out back with him, then?”

“What, ¿no puedo saludar a la hija de mi amigo?" he laughs. “That’s not fair.” he adds with a fake pout that makes you giggle.

“I didn’t say that,” you smile. He walks over and sits on the edge of your bed. You notice his watch gleam in the sunlight filtering through your windows. “Did you come here from work? Your shirt is dirty as hell.”

“You know how it is, beba. Being a blue collar worker is a tough job.”

You snort. “Please, being a mechanic is hardly blue collar work. You stay inside a garage all day.”

“My customers would beg to differ,” Miguel says. “You should see how many señoras come into my garage looking for a replacement for their shitty husbands.”

“Makes me feel like they’re tryna put a ring on it.” he wiggles his calloused fingers in front of you for added effect.

“Well, it makes sense,” you say. “You’re about their age anyway.”

“Oye!” he laughs. “I’m thirty-five, thank you very much. Not even close to their age.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever you say, viejo.”

The sun had set an hour ago and he hadn’t gone home yet.

Despite the amount of times Miguel offered to leave, not wanting to overstay his welcome, your father insisted he stay for “ten more minutes” and handed him another beer each time. The sound of the two men laughing from the living room kept you awake. It normally wouldn’t bother you, since you’re a night owl anyway, but you have plans with your friend tomorrow that you have to wake up early for.

You exit the comfort of your bedroom and head into the living room where you find Miguel and your dad chatting loudly on the couch. Miguel’s arm is draped over the back of the sofa, which accentuates his already defined chest - not to mention the dim lamp light casting beautiful shadows on his face.

“Ah, mija, there you are!” your father exclaims, very drunkenly. “I was wondering where you were. No te he visto en todo el día!”

“Lo siento, papi.” You reply, leaning against the wall. Miguel’s stare feels hot on your skin. You can see him through your peripheral vision, looking as handsome as ever.

“Es tarde en la noche, chiquita.” Miguel says, his words coming out slower due to all the Modelo in his system. “Why are you still up?”

“That’s exactly why I came in here; to tell you two to shut up.”

“¡Oye! Watch your mouth, mija.” your dad says sternly, while Miguel just chuckles.

“Sorry, pequeña,” Miguel says, setting his beer down on the coffee table. “We’ll keep it down. But don’t swear at your padre, yeah? Respect your elders.”

“Uh huh.” you shrug, waving the two men goodbye as you retire to your bedroom. You were sure that Miguel would still be there when you woke up in the morning, but hopefully he’ll be passed out by then and not still chatting with your dad.

----

You fall asleep almost immediately. The newly-installed fan in your room helped rid the summer heat and cool your bedroom to a comfortable temperature, while still allowing you to snuggle up under the blankets. A band tee and plain panties is all you wore, which was normal for you unless you were staying at a friend's house - at which point you’d obviously throw on some shorts. The moon shining through your windows acts as a sort of night-light, and you’re soothed to sleep by the crickets outside and the less-deafening sound of chatter from your living room.

Your alarm wakes you up around 8am, which is earlier than you normally start your day. As you go to turn off the noise, you hear a tired groan come from behind you. “Mmph… turn that off.”

You flinch and turn around, covering yourself with your blankets at the stranger in your bed. But it wasn’t a stranger. It was Miguel.

“Miguel!” you whisper-shout, nudging his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

He huffs and pushes his face into your pillow, and this is your first chance to get a good look at him. He’s shirtless, of course, but his muscular frame isn’t what draws you to him. His hair is tousled from sleep in a way you haven’t seen before, a grumpy pout peeking out from the pillow he’s buried his face in. He still has his gold chain around his neck, but he seems to have discarded his hat and jeans - which you see laying on your floor. You knew this man was gorgeous… but this was the most stunning you’ve ever seen him. The morning light only makes it better.

“Tu papá durmió en el sofá,” he mumbled, the sleepiness of his voice making him sound more attractive than ever. “And his room was too hot to sleep in.”

“That doesn’t explain why you decided to crawl into my bed unannounced.” you say.

He turns his head to look at you, and one of his arms slides under his pillow to prop himself up. “Cálmate, princesa. You had tons of room and it was cool in here.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

You sit up and brush the hair out of your face, trying to wake yourself up so that you can get ready. Miguel sleepily snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you back down. Your head flops on the pillow and messes up your hair once again.

“Quédate, mami. Sleep with me.” he mumbles, closing his eyes once more.

“E-Excuse me!?” Oh you were definitely blushing now. No way he just said that! You knew that he didn’t actually mean it like that… but you also knew that he wasn’t dumb. Whether his intentions were pure or not, you knew that he worded it that way on purpose. Was your silly little crush reciprocated?

He hugs you closer to him, pulling you flush against his bare chest. The cold metal of his necklace makes you shiver, especially in contrast with how hot his body is. Temperature, you mean.

“You heard me.” he doubles down.

“Do you even-”

“I know what I said, chiquita.” Miguel opens his eyes now - the lazy drawl of his voice becoming more awake and purposeful. His gaze on you is unbearable. You could feel the intensity of his stare. “And I know what I meant.”

You stare at him in silence. How could you speak? The man who you’ve had a crush on since you started college was in your bed, half naked, making a move on you. Part of you thinks that he’s waited long enough to finally do this, but another part of you feels some sort of guilt. He’s over a decade older than you, and a family friend no less. You can see through his eyes that he feels similarly, but his passion is overpowering any sense of guilt. Besides, you’re both adults. How bad could it be?

He leans over you, pinning you down onto your own mattress. A position that’s typically domineering, and yet, you can see his gaze soften uncharacteristically for him. He brushes a strand of loose hair away from your face.

“Que linda…” he mumbles, eyes trailing all over your face. “Eres tan hermosa.”

Miguel leans his face closer to yours, his gold cross dangling from his neck and touching yours. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips. You’re stunned but also… excited?

“Miguel.”

“Yes?”

“Quiero sentirte.” you whisper, your eyes meeting his. You hear his breath catch in his throat. “Tócame. Hazme el amor.”

He chuckles, a flirty pout crossing his face. “Oh, pobrecita…” he grins, tracing your jawline with his dexterous fingers. Your face tilts up closer to his, your lips brushing as he speaks. “You know I can’t do that.”

...

What?

“Why not?” he can visibly hear the disappointment in your voice. It almost makes him feel bad, especially with how beautiful you look in the morning light.

“Don’t wanna wake your papi, nena.” he caresses your face once more, leaning back a little so he can look at your face properly. “I can’t make you scream while everyone else is asleep. We have to keep this a secret. But where’s the fun in sex if I can’t hear your pretty whines, hm?”

You smack his chest. “Oh fuck off, Mig. Come here.”

Before he can respond, you grab him by his necklace and drag him down to your lips. The moment your mouths connect, it’s like fireworks going off in his head. He swears you taste better than any bizcocho he’s ever had. Miguel holds your waist as you tangle your hands through his hair, and he lets out a soft groan. His hips involuntarily rut against your thigh, and he decides he can’t take it anymore.

His hand dips between the two of you to tug your panties down, freeing your skin to his touch. His thumb lazily circles your clit, while the other calloused hand is still resting on your hips. He feels like he’s in heaven, feeling you squirm underneath him, but he knows this is only the start of the fun you’ll have together. He swallows every sound you make with his lips on yours, his tongue fighting with yours for control. He pulls his hands back once he’s sure that you’re wet and ready. You two are gasping for air by the time your lips part, and his deep eyes look into yours with a silent plea. You nod your head desperately.

Miguel makes quick work of removing what little clothes he had left on his lower body before sinking into your warmth, slowly but surely. You gasp.

He leans his forehead against yours, savoring the moment of stillness. It’s like you two are in your own little bubble - no one else can interfere. He kisses you lovingly as he starts to move, silencing any moans or sighs you might have that others could hear. You’re just for him, no one else can experience you. His thrusts are slow, but agonizingly deep. You feel it deep in your core, kissing your cervix with every push of his hips forward.

“God…” he whines. “You feel so fucking good. So good for me, baby.” You arch against him, your hands dragging along his back for support. He glances down at where your two bodies connect, and the sight almost makes him pass out. “Que cosita más linda, mami.” he whispers.

“Damelo… please..” you whine, scrunching your eyes shut with all the pleasure you feel.

“I am, nena, I am. It’s all for you, princesa. I promise.”

His pace speeds up a little more, but he’s still pushing into you just as deep, “Show me you love it, baby. Mírame.”

You meet his gaze with glassy eyes, breathing heavily and nails digging into his back. You wrap your legs around his slim waist and he throws his head back at the tighter feel. “That’s it, baby. Así así…”

He’s rutting into you wildly, chasing his high. You look down to watch as his dick disappears into your cunt. The wet sounds of his hips smacking yours clouds your mind. Each roll of his hips brings you closer to the edge. “You’re so pretty, muñeca. So so pretty f’me.”

His large hands sneak under your t-shirt and grope your tits, squeezing and caressing in a way that makes you hazy. “Want you to look at me while I fill you up. Can you do that for me, baby?”

You nod your head frantically, scratching the skin of his shoulders. You’ve never wanted anything more. The two of you are getting dangerously close to climax, and you swear you can hear him whimper.

“God, baby, feels so fucking good. No puedo más, no puedo más…!”

A squeal escapes you as he spills into your heat, with your own crescendo arriving shortly after. There’s a creamy white ring around his base as he starts to slow the roll of his hips. Miguel eventually stills and collapses, hugging you close in the same sort of cuddle as before, but still resting inside you.

After the exhaustion wears off, you pull back to stare into his eyes. A hand comes up to cup his face, rubbing his flushed cheek gently. “That was fucking amazing, Mig. I haven’t felt that good in so long.”

He laughs softly, returning your affectionate gaze. “Do you think your papi heard us?”

“Definitely not.” you giggle. “He’s a heavy sleeper.”

“That’s good.” Miguel holds you for a few more minutes, just silently staring at you. You can’t even imagine how blissed out you must look right now, but it’s all so gorgeous to him. “Eres increíble, mi vida.”

You hum in delight, stroking his cheeks once more. “You too, mi cielo.”

... you're gonna have to cancel your plans for today.

sort of switched to Miguel's pov in the last section cuz i wanted to experiment :))))

i hope you guys liked it!! dbf!miguel inspiration from @mybvalentine

and yes... he's a mechanic. it just suits him ok??

----

webshooterrr9

#webshooterrr9 #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #fanfic #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara x you #atsv miguel #i wrote this with one hand #dbf!miguel #owns my heart #mechanic!miguel

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geralt-of-baevia · 2 months

Text

Look What You Made Me Do

pairing: General Marcus Acacius x OFC (Hebe Seneca)

rating:explicit MDNI 18+

word count: 7.1k (it's a big one!)

summary: Hebe finds out her husband owes General Acacius a debt he can't pay, so the General takes her for an evening as payment instead.

warnings/tags: cuckhold, dom/sub, breathe play/choking, breast play, facial slap (nothing too harsh though), vaginal fingering, male receiving oral, big dick Marcus Acacius, female receiving oral, save a horse ride a general, ejaculating ON her, soft Marcus Acacius

a/n: alright, I saw that goddamn trailer, and this idea instantly popped into my head. i am waaaay too excited for gladiator II this fall. I've never written anything like this *ahem this filthy ahem* but I'm proud of it! There will more than likely be a part two as well!

oh and also, i TRIED my damnedest to write this from second person and I just couldn't do it. :P

I was awoken from my midmorning nap from banging on the front door. I threw my robe on myself and rushed out towards the noise. Once in the hallway, I saw two Roman guards standing at our door, more lined in perfect symmetry behind them. They stood tall and proud, their stature unwavering. My husband stood before them, looking small next to their towering figures. “Are you Octavius Seneca?” one of the soldiers asked. My husband nodded. “I am. What is this about?” The two soldiers each took a step outward. To my surprise, General Marcus Acacius walked out from behind them. He walked forward until he was almost nose to nose with my husband.

“I am done waiting Octavius,” he said, his tone stern and strong. I watched as my husband began to practically shake with fear. “G-General, I don’t have the money-” “I don’t want to hear it!” the General shouted.

My husband owed Acaicus money? I watched in horror he grabbed my husband by the collar, pulling him closer.

“You have had more than enough time to repay your debts, Octavius. Now, you will pay with more than just coin,” he growled menacingly. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized the danger my husband was in. I couldn't stand by and watch him be harmed. Summoning all the courage within me, I stepped forward. “Please, General Acacius, there must be another way to settle this debt,” I implored, my voice quivering but determined. The General's steely gaze turned towards me, and for a moment, I feared his wrath would be directed at me instead. But then, to my surprise, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“And who might you be?” he asked, his tone softening ever so slightly.

“I am Hebe Seneca, wife of Octavius,” I stated, trying to keep my ground.

“Hebe?” he implored. He dropped my husband’s tunic and began to slowly stalk towards me. “Hebe was said to be Zeus and Hera’s most beautiful daughter.”

Once he finally made his way over to me, he stood before me, just close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin.

“You bear a fitting name, for you possess a beauty that rivals that of the goddess herself,” he remarked, his voice low and filled with an unexpected tenderness. "A woman of such beauty should not be tainted by the dealings of men like your husband."

I couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down my spine at his words, a mixture of fear and something else I dared not identify. General Acacius had a reputation for being ruthless, but in this moment, there was a glint of something else in his eyes.

"General, please," I began, not daring to look away from his piercing gaze. "There must be a way to resolve this without any violence."

He seemed to consider my words for a moment, his jaw clenched in contemplation. Finally, he straightened up and turned to face my husband, who looked bewildered by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "Octavius Seneca," General Acacius spoke with authority. "You will repay your debts, but not with coin." My husband's eyes widened in confusion, but before he could respond, the General continued, “your debts will be repaid after I lay with your wife.” The room fell silent, the weight of the General's proposition hanging heavily in the air. My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to comprehend the severity of what he was suggesting. My husband's expression twisted in a mixture of shock and outrage, his fists clenching at his sides. A sense of thrill coursed through me, my mind buzzing with what he was proposing exactly. My head spun with excitement as I struggled to comprehend the seductive danger in his words. The General's gaze bore into mine, a mix of dominant need and alluring charm that sent shivers down my spine.

We were faced with a decision: either my husband's death, or submitting me to the general's desires. As my husband's property, I knew he would not spare his life for the sake of my pride and dignity.

“Y-Yes! Yes!” my husband shouted from behind Acacius. He turned around to look at him as he finished. “I agree! You may lay with my wife. Anything to preserve my life.”

My heart began to beat rapidly in my chest, the room beginning to spin. I fell to the couch, sitting and steadying myself as the full realization of what was to happen sunk in.

“Good,” General Acacius’ voice boomed out, “it is settled.”

My husband stood in front of me, looking as if he had aged a hundred years in the span of a few moments. My mind was still reeling. I could see the fear in his eyes, the regret that he had ever gotten himself into such a situation.

I knew I would never forgive him for this.

But there was also something in the air, a sense of danger, arousal, and desperation. A feeling that intoxicated me, even if it was terrifying. I bit down on my lip, trying to bring myself to focus on the situation at hand.

The General, on the other hand, seemed to have regained his composure. He seemed almost pleased with himself, like he had accomplished something he had wanted to do for a long time. I couldn't help but wonder what his motivations were, what he saw in me that made him feel this way.

My husband stood anxiously, waiting for the General to say something or perhaps give directions. General Acacius walked over to me again, this time standing closer to me.

“We shall see if you possess Hebe’s mercy and forgiveness, too,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“Yes General,” I replied, looking up at him. As our eyes met and locked, I couldn't help but feel a strange, electrifying connection. It was as if a current flowed between us, one that I couldn't resist.

General Acacius leaned down, his face close to mine, scenting the air around me as if trying to capture a memory. He whispered in my ear, "Tomorrow night, at the Temple of Aphrodite, with your husband. I will claim what is rightfully mine."

I felt a shiver run through me at his words, and I nodded slowly. The agreement was made, the deal was struck. General Acacius and his soldiers left, and I was left to process what had just transpired.

My husband sat across from me, silent and defeated, as I contemplated the gravity of the situation. What had once been a life of the domestic mundane, now seemed to be teetering on the edge of danger, lust, and a contract that threatened to change everything I knew.

As the sun went down, the streets of Rome were abuzz with people going about their daily routines. Octavius and I sat in silence on our couch, contemplating the deal we had made. The weight of our agreement weighed heavily on us as we each processed the gravity of the situation.

That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of fear and arousal. I knew that tomorrow night, I would be with General Acacius.

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to be with him. Would he be gentle or rough? What would his touch feel like in comparison to my husband’s, the only touch I’ve ever known.

As I lay there, thoughts and images flooded my mind. I saw us entwined, our bodies moving in perfect harmony, the General's strong, muscular arms holding me close. I could feel his lips on mine, his breath warm and sensual as he whispered filthy things in my ear. I could feel his body pressing against mine, the heat of his skin against my own, our hearts pounding in sync.

I was taken aback by the urge of desire I was now feeling, it taking place of the fear I had before. I could feel the wetness between my legs, the aching need for release. I wanted to feel his touch, to be claimed by the General.

I bit down on my lip, trying to will the thoughts out of my head. I shouldn’t be looking forward to this.

The next day, I woke up early, feeling a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. I knew that tonight was the night I would meet the General at the Temple. I spent the day filling my time with anything I could until the sun began to set, signaling it was time to leave.

I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of excitement, my body still betraying my mind. As I dressed I could feel my husband’s eyes on me, but I was too distracted to care. My thoughts were only consumed by that of General Acacius.

Soon after we left and headed in the direction of the temple. I kept my palla down over my face, too ashamed and nervous for anyone to see me walking to my inevitability. No one who passed me and my husband knew what we were doing, nor did they care. But I couldn’t help but feel judgemental eyes on me nonetheless.

Once we arrived to the temple, we entered quietly. I took my hood off of my head, laying it back atop my long scarlet hair. The temple was dimly lit, and the air was thick with anticipation. I could hear the soft whispers of the few other patrons, their breaths catching in their throats as if they sensed the impending encounter.

As we entered the small sanctuary, I saw the General at the other side of the room in front of the altar. Standing tall and proud, his eyes glinting with desire. He was a sight to behold, his muscles rippling beneath his tunic. He was a man of power and command, and the attention he drew to himself, even in an empty room, was undeniable.

My husband stayed by my side, standing quietly as he watched the General's every move. He was a mere shadow compared to the General's commanding presence, his anxiety and fear palpable.

The General's eyes met mine, and his gaze was intense, almost threatening. It was as if he was looking deep into my soul, seeing things that no one else could. For the briefest moment, I was afraid of what he might discover, how I wanted what was about to happen. How I wanted to see what he could do, what he would make me feel.

As we approached him, the General held out his hand, and I tentatively took it. His touch was firm and strong, his grip unyielding. It sent a shiver down my spine, a feeling of both dread and excitement.

“Now, just laying with you is not all that will be happening tonight,” he stated. He pulled lightly on my hand, leading me towards the altar. My heart began to pound in my chest, wondering what he had in store for us. He walked me up to the altar, before effortlessly picking me up by the waist and sitting me down on it. I watched as he then brought over a chair and sat it down a mere few feet away, facing me.

“Come Octavius, take a seat,” the General called, his voice now booming and commandeering. My husband’s eyes widened as he slowly made his way over, walking up the steps to the altar cautiously. As he sat down in the chair, the General picked up rope from the floor and quickly began tying him to it.

He bound his hands and feet tightly, making sure there was no chance of escape. Octavius' face was a mix of fear and confusion, but the General didn't seem to pay much heed to his emotions. He simply looked at me, his eyes burning into mine, as if daring me to back out of the deal we had made.

As I sat there, frozen in place, I felt a strange sense of liberation. General Acacius had taken control, and there was no going back now. I could feel the excitement building inside me, mixed with an inexplicable sense of power.

"Now, my pet," he said, his voice low and seductive, "Tonight, you will be mine. You will submit to me, and you will enjoy it."

I bit down on my lip, trying to resist the desire that was bubbling up inside me. But the more he spoke, the more I found myself leaning towards him, desperate for his touch. I looked into his dark and intense eyes, nodding in agreement.

He promptly began to unfasten my tunic, my heart now threatening to beat out of my chest. I had never been with anyone besides my husband, and now, here I was, about to be intimate with another man. But the need for this experience, for this control and desire, was building within me, making me more eager with every passing second.

The General's strong, capable hands moved with a practiced ease, sliding over my skin as he removed the garment. I felt a shiver run through me as he exposed my breasts, their sensitivity heightened by anticipation.

His eyes flashed as he took them in before reaching forward and grabbing them greedily. I let out a stifled moan as he continued, a newfound arousal building within me. I had never felt this way before – so powerless, yet so aroused.

He reached up with a hand and wrapped his thick fingers around my neck, applying just enough pressure to make me feel completely under his control. I whimpered, my body shivering under his touch. The more he controlled me, the more I seemed to crave his dominance.

He leaned in, his hot breath washing over me as he whispered, "You are mine, and there is nothing you can do to change that."

I nodded as best I could, looking at him through pleading, submissive eyes. He released my neck before giving my cheek a hearty slap, my skin stinging in the aftermath. His eyes pierced into mine, and I could see the raw hunger and desire in his gaze. With one quick motion, he pulled me towards him, my mouth now open to his.

Our tongues met, and I allowed myself to be swept away by the passion that now consumed us. I wrapped my legs around his middle, holding him close, our bodies now fully entwined. I could feel his erection through his tunic, hard and ready for me. My own desire surged within me, and my hands grabbed at him anywhere I could. He reached around and grabbed a fistful of my curly hair, pulling me away from him.

He took a step back, and began to undress, undoing his belt first and letting it fall to the floor. My eyes never left him as he peeled off his robes, his massive erection springing free. It was imposing, a sight I had never seen before. It was even larger and more impressive than I had imagined. My cunt throbbed at the thought of what was to come.

“Now, a rule,” he started, closing the space between us again, "you will address me as 'General'.” His voice was rough and commanding. I took a moment to catch my breath before responding.

“Yes, General.”

I watched with capacious eyes as his fingers trailed down my chest, over my stomach, and then slid between my legs. I gasped, my body tense with anticipation, but I spread my legs out wider for him. His fingers brushed against my wetness, making my whole body tremble.

"You are so wet for me already, my pet," he growled, his voice low and seductive. He moved close, his lips brushing my ear. “And to think I thought you were going to hate this. But don’t worry, my minx, your little secret is safe with me. I won’t tell your husband how much you’re going to enjoy this.”

My husband. Somehow I had been so enraptured by General Acacius that I had completely forgotten about my husband sitting tied up behind him.

“Is all understood?” he asked, pulling back to look me deep in the eyes once more. I nodded, chewing at my bottom lip.

Without further warning, he reached down and grabbed my hips roughly, pulling me against his erection. I gasped, my body responding to him. His hand moved lower, thumb brushing against my wet folds as he spoke.

“Tonight, we will explore every single inch of each other's bodies. No part will be left untouched.” I shuddered, my heart pounding with anticipation.

The General's hand continued to roam my body, taking his time to explore every curve and slope. As his fingers drifted further south, they dipped between my legs again, teasing me on the outside but avoiding the sensitive area that craved his touch. I whimpered, yearning for him to touch me where I desired most.

"And you will beg for it," he said with a wicked smile. "But first, we must ensure that your husband is comfortable. He has done me a great service in escorting you here."

With that, he turned his attention to Octavius, who was still securely tied to the chair. I was left open and exposed, wanting more. General Acacius walked over, his large, muscular frame imposing and dominant. He reached down and grabbed one of the ropes tying Octavius's hands. He pulled it tighter and yanked it towards him, causing Octavius's wrists to pop painfully. Octavius whimpered in submission.

His other hand cupped Octavius's chin and lifted his head up to face him. His eyes were fierce and dominating. "Understand this, Octavius, I will claim her, and she will crave no man other than me after this. You will always pale in comparison to me. You have done good on keeping your word to me, now it is time for you to watch and learn the proper way to please your wife."

Octavius nodded, tears in his eyes. I should be terrified. I shouldn’t want this.

General Acaicus stalked back over to me, his cock still standing tall and to attention. He climbed onto the altar, settling down behind me. I could feel his erection pressing into the small of my back as he got closer, the heat of his body threatening to envelop me and swallow me up.

He reached his hands around me and grabbed again at my breasts, massaging them. I couldn’t help but lean back against him, closing my eyes, letting him enwrap me completely.

“I knew you were a lucky man Octavius, but I didn’t realize just how lucky you were,” General Acacius stated to my husband. I opened my eyes and looked at Octavius, his jaw slack as he watched the General grope me. I tried my best to play off that I wasn’t enjoying it, but I knew I was doing a terrible job.

His hands trailed down my body, resting on my thighs and spreading my legs out even wider. I felt completely exposed, and the thought of my husband watching me like this sent a strange mix of embarrassment and arousal coursing through me.

“Keep your eyes on your wife, Octavius," he ordered loudly, and my husband obeyed, his eyes never leaving me as General Acacius began to explore my body.

His fingers brushed against my folds once more, teasing me, building up the anticipation. I whimpered, desperate for more. Every inch of my body was screaming for him, and I did my best to keep it contained.

"Are you ready to be claimed?" the General asked, his voice low and seductive, "Are you ready to give yourself to me completely?"

I nodded, my heart pounding with desire. I wanted him inside me, wanted to feel him take control of my body.

"Then beg me," he demanded.

I bit my lip, trying to find the words. "P-please, General, claim me. Make me yours."

"Dear wife," Octavius whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. I could see the pain in his eyes of having to watch. But I was his to lose, and General Acacius was taking me.

The feeling of his fingers brushing against me, teasing me, brought me back from my thoughts and I whimpered in need. My breath caught in my throat as he finally touched me, sliding two fingers inside my wet folds. I cried out, his immense fingers filling me up. His free hand reached up to my throat, his digits wrapping around my neck once more. As he tightened his grip, my pussy tightened around his fingers. He chuckled softly.

He spoke quietly, his breath tickling my ear. "Looks like someone enjoys a little rough handling."

"Yes, General," I moaned, my voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

He drove his fingers deeper, hitting a spot that made me arch my back, my eyes rolling back in pleasure. His hand tightened around my throat, and I gasped for air, his fingers continuing to work their magic inside me. My thoughts were a jumbled mess of desire and fear, my body trembling with anticipation.

"You will belong to me alone, Hebe," the General growled, his voice thick with lust. "And no man will ever touch you as I will."

I nodded, my heart pounding with desire and a hint of fear at the thought of Octavius hearing our intimate, hushed conversation. How would he feel knowing his wife was a whore?

General Acacius pulled out his fingers, leaving my pussy damp and throbbing, my knees weak. I wanted him, needed him. I turned my head and watched as he got down from the altar, making his way back over to me.

Without a word, he grabbed a fistful of the back of my hair, pulling me down to join him on the floor. As my bare feet hit the cool marble, I continued down onto my knees before him. I looked up at him through my eyelashes as he let go of my hair. He grabbed the base of his cock, taking half a step closer and holding himself up to my lips.

“Suck,” he commanded, his voice low and full of power. I hesitated for only a split second before opening my mouth and closing my lips around the head of his cock. As I took him in more, I began sucking and licking, savoring the salty taste of his skin.

His hands went to the back of my head, guiding my movements, and I obeyed, taking him deeper into my mouth with each thrust. General Acacius groaned with pleasure, his hips swaying gently with my movements.

I continued to suck and lick him, my tongue tracing the veins and the head of his cock. He silently guided me, telling me what to do, how to please him. I was now his, and I would do anything to make him feel good.

"That's it, Hebe, take me in," he moaned, his eyes locked with mine. I could see the desire and possession shining in his gaze. As my head bobbed back and forth, something took over him like a fervor. He moved his hands to either side of my head, firmly holding me still as he began to fuck into my mouth.

I couldn’t help but choke a little as he started thrusting, the force of his hips driving his cock deeper and deeper into my throat. I coughed and spluttered, trying to catch my breath while he continued his violent assault on my mouth and throat.

“Look at how well your wife takes my cock, Octavius. I would say you taught her well, but I know you didn’t.”

His eyes never left me, and he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I looked up at him through tear filled eyes as he choked me with his enormous cock, Octavius watching helplessly. I could tell he was intensely jealous and I knew it was exactly what General Acacius wanted. To make me his and create a divide between us.

This was better than any amount of coin to him.

He pulled back out of me, but quickly captured my jaw in his strong hand.

“Stick out your tongue,” he told me. I did as I was told and stuck my tongue out, not knowing what he was planning. He tightened his grip on my jaw and spit into my mouth, saliva dripping down his chin, his eyes never leaving me.

“Good girl.”

My pussy was throbbing with want, dripping down onto my thighs.

General Acacius smirked as he heard the disdain in Octavius' groan, knowing full well that he had won.

I closed my eyes as he began to fuck into my mouth again, and took a deep breath as I tried to stop choking. I wanted him to dominate me, to take me completely, to own me.

He finally stopped, pulling his cock out free from my mouth, a trail of saliva and precum dripping down my chin. I gasped for air, trying to fill my lungs while I had the chance. I looked up, still on my knees before him, my eyes pleading.

He smirked down at me, his eyes glinting with satisfaction and possession. He took a step back, giving me a moment to catch my breath. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. As I sat there, trying to regain my composure, I felt the cool marble beneath me, my knees trembling. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions - excitement, fear, desire, and, most importantly, a feeling of being truly and utterly owned.

He had taken me, owned me in a way that no man had ever done before, not even my husband.

General Acacius reached down, grabbing the back of my hair again. Before I could react, he pulled me up to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, and I stumbled slightly, but he kept a firm grip on me. He led me over to right in front of Octavius. He had one more trick up his sleeve, and he intended to ensure Octavius knew that he was in complete control.

He pushed me down onto the cold marble floor, my legs splayed wide apart, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. His gaze burned into Octavius, daring him to say anything as he got to his knees and began to position himself between my legs.

My husband gulped, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him. He knew that he could do nothing but watch as his wife was taken by the General in a way he never could. I felt as he dipped his fingers into my cunt, collecting wetness on his fingers before holding them up.

“Do you see this? Do you see how wet your wife is for me? She’s never been this wet for you before, has she?” he asked Octavius, emphasizing his slick covered fingers.

I looked up just in time for my husband to shake his head. The General tsked at him, giving him a look full of disappointment.

“And after this, she never will,” he stated simply. My mouth fell slack as I watched him suck his fingers clean of my juices, moaning around his digits as his eyes closed and face screwed up. He pulled them out with a pop.

“Here I was about to claim you before fulfilling my responsibilities towards you. You taste much too good for me to pass up that.”

I looked at him confused. He grabbed the same fistful of my hair and brought me back to my feet. My heart sank a little into my stomach as he brought me over to Octavius and forced me down to sit on his lap. I watched in aroused shock as he spread my legs out, hooking my knees on my husband’s tied up fists.

The General got down on his knees before us.

"You're going to watch," he growled, his tone unyielding. "You're going to watch as I take your wife, right here in this temple, in front of Aphrodite herself. You're going to swallow your pride and accept the fact that you're no longer a man, but a mere pawn in my game."

Octavius' eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and humiliation, but he made no attempt to fight back or protest. He simply watched as General Acacius moved his face closer to my throbbing, desperate pussy.

He leaned in and swiped his tongue up my slit. It was like nothing else I had felt before, and I couldn’t help but cry out at the contact. I looked down at the General, his eyes meeting mine. He searched them for a moment before finding his answer.

“…your husband has never done this before…has he?” he inquired. My eyes widened and I shook my head no. The General tsked again, shaking his head before changing his steely gaze to my husband.

“You see, Octavius, your wife has been denied the touch of a true master, and it’s time she knows the pleasures that she has been missing out on all these years."

My heart skipped a beat as I felt his tongue begin to explore my folds, his touch sending waves of pleasure surging through me. I could feel my husband’s discomfort and jealousy, but I was too caught up in the sensation of the General's expert tongue to care. As he continued to lap away at my cunt, I couldn’t help but feel that I was becoming more and more his, being dominated by him in ways I never imagined possible.

I couldn’t help but cling to my husband, moaning as the General began to suck on my clit.

“Tell him how much you’re enjoying this, how your husband could never make you feel this way, or I’ll stop.”

I looked down at him just in time to watch him slap my wet pussy. I whimpered in response, but my pussy began to throb again.

“Your tongue feels so good,” I said, quietly.

“Louder.”

“I love the feeling of your tongue in my cunt,” I stated loudly. He smirked and began licking between my folds again, it aching and begging for release.

“God, you make me feel so fucking good General,” I started, speaking between moans, “My husband could never make me feel this good. His mouth could never compare to yours.”

As his tongue circled around my clit, all I could do was cry out in pleasure. My fingers instinctively reached down and tangled in his curly hair, giving me leverage to move against his face. I wasn't sure if this was breaking any rules, but my body couldn't resist its primal urges.

General Acacius hummed a low sound of praise, his eyes never leaving my face as he continued to lap at my delicate folds. I felt a surge of arousal in that moment, knowing that I was pleasing him, that I was experiencing an intensity I had never known before. My husband sat silent and still beneath me, his eyes wide with a mixture of jealousy and orgasmic envy.

The General's fingers slipped back inside me, stretching and teasing me as if he was preparing me for his entrance. His fingers were big and skilled, moving in and out of me with a rhythm that sent shivers down my spine. I moaned loudly, my voice echoing through the temple.

He smirked up at me, his eyes burning with lust and possession. “Do you want me to pleasure you, to make you reach the peak of ecstasy like never before?”

"Yes!" I practically sobbed, my hips bucking of their own accord. The feeling of his fingers inside me, teasing and stretching, was intoxicating.

General Acacius nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "Then you must obey me."

I could feel my orgasm building, the waves of pleasure crashing over me like a tidal wave. "I will obey," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He pulled his fingers out of me without any warning, making me whimper loudly in protest. "Tell me, does your husband have any control over you now?"

"No," I panted, my hips still writhing in need. "You do."

“That’s what I thought.”

Hastily General Acacius lifted me up from my seat on my husband’s lap, bringing me back over to the altar where we had started this precarious ordeal. He helped me get up onto the cold marble slab, my body trembling with a mixture of arousal and nerves. My husband looked on, a mixture of anger and lust simmering in his eyes.

I watched as the General laid down and pulled me on top of him, positioning me to straddle his thick thighs.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. “Now, show your husband what he has lost.”

As if in a trance, I slowly moved up so that I could lower myself onto his hard cock, feeling the resistance as I stretched to accommodate his girth. I cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

The room seemed to warp around us, time itself seeming to slow, as if the very air itself was witnessing our union. I could feel every vein, every ridge of General Acacius's cock as it filled me completely.

The General's hand slipped under my neck, supporting it as he thrust into me, causing me to gasp and cry out again. "That's it, take me, show him what he's missing."

My eyes met Octavius', his expression full of awe and desire. The General's eyes never left mine, guiding me, urging me on.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he moaned, his fingers digging into my neck as he began to move. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through me, combined with a hint of pain that only added to the intensity. I arched my back, raising my chest to meet the General's lips, his tongue flicking against my nipple.

I could feel my orgasm building once more, the tension rising, as General Acacius continued to fuck me mercilessly. The rhythm was relentless, and I knew my husband could see the looks of ecstasy and submission on my face.

"That's right," General Acacius hissed, his voice growing hoarse as our passion consumed him. "You belong to me now. Your body, your desire, they all belong to me."

"Yes," I moaned, my voice strained. "Yes, I am yours."

The General's eyes flashed with satisfaction as he increased his pace, slamming into me with more force now. I cried out, my body shaking as the orgasm I had been craving finally washed over me. My hips bucked wildly, my nails digging into the General's shoulders as I screamed in pleasure.

Instead of stopping, my orgasm only egged him on more. The room became filled only with the sounds of our bodies moving together, the wet slap of skin against skin, and my cries. Before I had time to fully come down from my orgasm, I began crawling towards another.

"Yes, that's it," the General groaned, “come around my cock again.”

With just a simple command from him, my body complied without hesitation, the intensity of my second orgasm almost blinding me. The world shifted, and I knew, in that moment, that I had become someone else; someone now enslaved to General Acacius, completely unable to resist his touch.

The General's thrusts grew more urgent, and I could feel his cock pulsating inside me, each contraction sending me further into his grasp. My husband, unable to take it anymore, fought against his restrains to no avail, his anger and frustration consuming him.

"Stop!" he roared, "She's mine, you don't get to take her like this!"

General Acacius laughed darkly, his eyes never leaving mine as he pulled me off his cock, and setting me back down on his thighs. My body was limp from the ecstasy, my mind foggy from the rush of emotions.

"You see, Octavius," the General began as he addressed my husband, "I have been triumphant tonight. You have lost your wife to me, body and soul. The power dynamics have shifted, and I am now the one who rules over her."

My husband seethed, but his words were trapped in his throat. He knew that he had lost, and there was no turning back now.

As for me, my mind and body were still reeling from the intense experience. I felt less like a wife or a lover and more like General Acacius's possession, an object to be used and pleasured at his discretion. It was both thrilling and terrifying.

General Acacius looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and desire. He helped me down off of the altar, guiding me over to my husband.

Willingly this time, I got down on my knees in front of General Acacius, much to Octavius’s dismay.

"Now, my dear Hebe, we must make sure your husband sees that I claim you properly,” he said, looking down at me, his jaw slack with lust.

I sat back on my heels looking up at my new master with wide eyes. His words sent shock waves down my spine, as I realized the implications of what he had just said. He wanted to assert his dominance over me, in front of my own husband.

"Yes, General," I replied softly, my voice trembling as I sought his approval. He smiled down at me, and then turned to Octavius, who glared at us from his restraints.

I watched with wild eyes as he wrapped a hand around his pulsating cock and began to stroke it. I breathed out a moan as I watched, anticipating what was to come.

"Will you release on me, General?" I asked, nibbling on my lower lip. His eyebrows lifted in shock, his expression transforming into one of pleasure. He nodded in response, apparently unable to get the words past his lips.

His pace on his cock sped up, eyes transfixed on me. I reached down and grabbed my breasts. I began to play with them as I looked back up at him, his face completely transfixed with lust.

"Yes, Hebe," General Acacius breathed, his voice thick and insistent. "You. Are. Mine."

With this declaration, he burst, releasing his seed all over my chest and face. The sheer volume of it was incredible, and it glistened in the dim temple light.

I couldn't help but feel a thrill of arousal as I watched the General's release. I felt a strange sense of triumph, too. I was the one who had made him lose control, who had made him submit to his own desires.

"Untie him," the General commanded, his voice holding a hint of dominance that I found incredibly erotic.

Without hesitation I went over to my husband and tugged at his restraints, my muscles weak and sore. Once my husband was freed he glared at General Acacius, a mixture of anger and desire in his eyes. "You can't do this to me," he said, his voice shaking with rage.

The General simply smiled. "Oh, but I can. And I did."

I watched as he beckoned my husband closer, and he slowly approached, his face a mixture of shock and betrayal. He beckoned me over with his other hand, his expression softer towards me. Once over to them, General Acacius reached out and grabbed the back of Octavius's neck, pulling his face close into mine.

"Kiss her," he ordered, his voice deep and commanding. I was still covered in his seed, my lips included.

Octavius hesitated for a moment, his face a perfect picture of conflict. But then he leaned in and reluctantly pressed his lips against mine, his tongue probing deeply and swirling the seedy taste of General Acacius around my mouth. I could sense the betrayal in his kiss. And as he continued to kiss me, I couldn't help but despise it. All I wanted was the General's kiss, craving it with every fiber of my being.

"Control yourself," the General warned. "Show her who the real man is, and prove to her that you are worthy of her respect."

Octavius released me and turned toward General Acacius, his eyes blazing with determination. "You have no idea what you've done," he growled. "But this ends now."

He turned on his heel and bolted for the door we had entered through, leaving me with General Acacius naked and used.

The General watched my husband leave, his expression dark and intense. "You did the right thing," he said softly, "but now it's time to get cleaned up."

I looked down at myself, still covered in his release, feeling slightly embarrassed and vulnerable. I tried to wipe it off, but it was too much for me to handle alone. That's when the General stepped forward, his eyes soft and gentle now.

"Let me help you," he offered, his voice filled with tenderness.

I nodded, feeling both grateful and aroused by his willingness to care for me in this intimate way. He carefully scooped up some water from one of the basins nearby and began washing me, his hands gentle and steady.

As he cleaned me, I couldn't help but feel closer to him than before. It was a strange sensation, given the intensity of our passions and the taboo nature of our position.

Gently he helped me put my tunic back on, wrapping my palla around me skillfully. Once I was dressed, he captured my face in his hands. His eyes bore deep into mine, his face gentle and caring. I would have never expected this side of him, but I was completely enamored by it.

"You did well, Hebe," he whispered, his eyes never leaving mine. "You are a true conqueror in your own right."

I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his praise, and a tinge of sadness at the thought of leaving his side.

"What's next?" I asked, a hint of trepidation in my voice.

General Acacius smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief and desire.

“Whatever we want, Hebe,” he told me, “I promise you this: You are mine now, and I will protect you at all costs."

#marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius x female reader #pedro pascal #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator ii #gladiator fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #ppcu fanfiction #pedrostories

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whatsnewalycat · 5 months

Text

SURRENDER

Part Two of Ruthless | Stepdad Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 6.2k+

Warnings: non-canon, Boston Joel, dub con, step-cest, sneaky sex, use of the word daddy in a sexual context, dad kink (that’s a thing right?), age gap, degradation, praise kink, avoidance, silent treatment, sneaking into bedroom at night, angst, collective grief, mentions of explosions and gunshots (nothing graphic), *it’s about the yearning*, hair pulling, no physical descriptions of reader aside from hair can be pulled, reader is 18-19, Joel being a bad dom and a bad caretaker, hot shower, food mention, mentions of religion, unethical D/s dynamics, dry humping, anal sex, physical restraint, face fucking, sub-space unlocked, dirty talk, dd/lg maybe i think, masochism, like a lick of fluff if u squint

A/N: Heeeey buddy. As stated above, this is a second part to Ruthless. Big thanks to my love @frannyzooey for the help and hype, you're the best. Please be mindful of the warnings and tell me what cults you think exist in post-outbreak tlou.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

———

As the 19-year anniversary of Outbreak Day draws near, unrest festers in the streets of Boston.

Whenever August ticks over into September, residents of the QZ seem to divide into three distinct categories: people who want to forget, people who won’t let them forget, and people who are too young to remember.

Born post-apocalypse, you fall into this third category.

Which doesn’t mean the ripples of loss don’t touch you, contrary to what some may think. You still lost something. Everyone did.

This fact is apparent when you take the scenic route home from your job posting at the distribution center.

Rubble crunches under your shoes as you walk down the crowded sidewalk, passing by a message spray-painted over the battered brick building: WE’VE BEEN FORSAKEN.

Graffitied sentiments like these pop up constantly this time of year. Overnight, almost. Your mom and Joel mostly blame Fireflies for the vandalism. The bombs, too. Apparently they stir shit up to make people uneasy, then recruit those who seem susceptible. That’s what your mom thinks, anyway. ‘Leveraging their grief against them,’ she says.

You think it might be more than that, though.

Yesterday you saw three separate arguments break out in the streets. When you were taking inventory of k-rations this morning, an explosion went off so close-by that boxes rattled off the shelves. It was the second bombing this week, and you don’t foresee it getting better until October.

Sure, the Fireflies lay claim to the lion’s share of vandalism and destruction, but their activity is consistent year round. They are the baseline. But this? This is different.

You attribute the excess chaos to this heavy, static feeling in the air. It clings to your skin and gets stuck under your nails like a thick cloud of invisible dust or spores. Microscopic particles embed themselves in the cracks and creases of each person inside the QZ, fertile ground for clusters of violence to sprout up at every turn.

If you had to guess, you’d say this phenomenon probably spans the globe. All of you felt the loss of Outbreak Day, the whole human collective. Echoes of what humanity lost will likely still be heard a thousand years from now.

Some people refuse to accept this.

Like the guy a few strides ahead of you, who walks by an orange spray-painted message that reads REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOST and sneers, “Almost twenty goddamn years, fuckin’ let it go and move on.”

You watch him. See his neck get all red as he mutters to himself and clenches his fists at his sides. He looks around like he expects someone to challenge him. Nobody does.

This doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

Further up the sidewalk, he encounters a memorial made up of candles and wilting flowers hugging the side of a residential building. He kicks it over and repeats his earlier sentiment, this time louder and directed towards the brick wall.

“It’s been twenty fucking years, get the fuck over it already!”

Of course, a passing spectator indulges him.

“Hey—watch it, asshole!”

The two men puff up their chests and start yelling back and forth, so you cut right down an alleyway to avoid the situation completely.

When you arrive home, you find Joel at the dining room table, hunched over a map, holding a glass of whiskey like it’s a lifeline.

Neither of you say hello, but when you glance up while untying your gritty shoelaces, you catch him staring at you.

A jolt of electricity shoots through you.

He corrects himself, returning his eyes to the map as he takes a big swig from his glass.

“Mom home?”

“No.”

Nodding, you rise to your feet and slip out of your shoes, squirming with the excitement that one syllable brings you.

“When’s she gonna be home?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey, too engrossed in his project to spare you attention.

For weeks, he’s been trying his hardest to pretend you don’t exist, which would be typical behavior if he didn’t fuck you dumb a few weeks ago. Sometimes you’re not even sure that what happened between you was real.

But, then again, sometimes… sometimes you feel him staring at you when he doesn’t think you’ll notice. Sometimes he touches your waist as he passes by. Sometimes at night you hear him pacing the hall outside your bedroom, the faint squeak of the warped floorboards giving him away.

When this happens, you stare at the door and will him to do it. Aching with something stronger than want, you pray for him to cross the threshold. But he never does.

You exhale through slack lips and wrinkle your nose at the canned goods.

“Hungry?”

He grunts in response, which is Joel for ‘I could eat.’

Tilting your head at the handwritten labels, you present the options, “Stew or… meat and beans?”

Another grunt, roughly translating to ‘Both options are fucking terrible,’ a sentiment with which you wholeheartedly agree. You grab the stew and empty it into a saucepan on the gas stovetop.

While it heats, you steal glances at Joel, noticing the rigidity in his demeanor. His set jaw and tense muscles. The deep creases in his furrowed brow.

You’ve coexisted with him long enough to understand he’s not immune to the heady thrum of anguish in the air this time of year. Like you said, nobody is.

Joel distinctly falls into the “people who want to forget” category of the forsaken, but carries whatever or whoever he lost on Outbreak Day like a ten thousand-pound weight on his broad shoulders. He white-knuckles his way through the season of chaos and mourning and tries to act like it doesn’t affect him, but it does.

You can tell, not just from the way he holds the grief captive in his body, but also from the obvious indulgence in his favorite coping mechanism: planning.

Joel is a meticulous planner.

Between smuggling runs, he comes home after a long day of manual labor at some job site and unwinds by plotting logistics. Drinking, too, but he clearly has a favorite.

Hours will go by while he pours over reference material, maps or blueprints, making addendums of any notable changes he and your mom discovered. After this, he deliberates. Joel could chew up weeks with this step. He plots out each possible route, taking into consideration all the penciled-in shortcuts and caches they’ve stashed within a 30-mile radius, then determines the most beneficial path for their next big adventure.

Given FEDRA’s current paranoid state, with the increased patrols and surveillance and whatnot, your mom and Joel won’t be making a trip outside anytime soon. But still, he drinks and plots and winds himself up into a tight obsessive knot.

You divvy up the simmering stew into two bowls, placing one next to his glass of bootleg booze while you take a seat across the table from him. He ignores your presence, just flicks his eyes around the map like it’s supposed to give him the answers.

When you’re halfway done with your bowl, you gently prod him, “It’s gonna get cold.”

Sitting up in his chair, he sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, then folds up the map and sets it aside.

The two of you eat in silence. Each wordless second twists hot beneath your skin. Your mind wanders to the dig of his fingertips in your soft flesh. The sting of his flattened palm. The stretch of his thick cock. The things he said to you—fuck.

You’re tempted to tell him to do it again. To tell him that you’re still abiding by his rules. That you don’t sneak out anymore. That you haven’t felt the sweet bliss of release for weeks because you don’t fucking come without his permission.

Over and over, you rehearse it in your head. You imagine yourself telling him, ‘I’ve been so good for you and you haven’t even noticed.’

The sound of him clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts.

He shifts in his seat a little, studying you, “You still seein’ that boy downstairs?”

Your heart stutters. Heat floods your veins as you shake your head.

“Why not?”

All you can do is stare at him while trying to verbalize an answer. For weeks, you ached for his attention. And now that you have it? The words are stuck in your throat.

You shrug, pushing your empty bowl away to lean your elbows on the table. When you look up at him again, he blinks. Waiting for a response.

A rush of adrenaline makes the world around you buzz.

“Why do you care?”

He clenches his jaw for a moment, then parts his lips to respond.

The apartment door swings open.

Both of you start at the intrusion. You jump to your feet to collect the dirty dishes while Joel turns to greet your mother.

“It’s a fucking madhouse out there,” she grumbles, then pulls out the seat adjacent to him and starts telling him about her day.

———

You step into the shower and hiss in reaction to the scalding hot water.

The fact that it's warmed at all surprises you. Not an unwelcome surprise, even if it hurts a little. Most days the water comes out tepid at best, and you’d gladly accept a third-degree burn over a lukewarm shower.

Besides, the sting feels right on your skin, as weird as that sounds. You relish the pain while washing yourself, thinking, ‘this is what I deserve for feeling this way.’ Hell fire, if the sidewalk preachers are right. If there is such a thing. If you’re not there already.

Only once the water runs cold do you turn it off and go back to your room, leaving the door cracked open behind you. After putting on a big t-shirt and some underwear, you turn off the lights and climb into bed.

For a while you stare at the water-stained ceiling and listen. You hear the roar of FEDRA’s armed vehicles patrolling the streets. Far away, gunshots ring out into the night. Some kid starts crying next door, then his mother lulls him back to sleep.

Closing your eyes, you try to tune it all out and focus on the noises within this unit. Concentrate on the drip-drip-drip of the bathtub faucet. The ripping sound of your mom’s snores.

Then, you hear it.

A creak from the floorboards. Footsteps.

Their bedroom door squeaking open.

Everything goes silent long enough for you hold your breath and scream inside your head, please please please—

It starts again. One careful step, then another.

His presence hovers there at the door for six restless seconds before he opens it and steps inside, closing it behind him.

Your pounding heart squeezes your breath ragged. It comes out this shallow, shaky push and pull that broadcasts your consciousness.

Still, you pretend.

You keep your eyes pinned shut and listen to the advance of his footsteps to your bedside.

Down by your feet, the mattress shifts under his weight. He doesn’t touch you for a while, only watches you, his gaze burning into your skin.

Then, he murmurs, “I know you’re not sleepin’.”

You blink your eyes open to look at him, in boxers and an undershirt, all hunched over at the foot of your bed. Always carrying that weight on his shoulders. The glow of the street lamp outside your bedroom window casts this perfect golden light on him that makes you kind of hate how good he looks.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a whisper.

Over the blanket, he rests his hand on your calf, then takes it back and shakes his head.

You roll onto your side, swinging one leg over the blanket and tucking it between your thighs, a wordless plea for him to touch your hungry skin. Joel shifts further onto the bed, turning his body to stare down at you with a straight spine. His gaze drifts up your exposed skin, fingers twitching in his lap.

This faltering self-discipline compels you.

Joel is nothing if not self-disciplined. That much is true for all the forsaken, yourself included.

Your working theory is that nobody wants after the world ends, they just need. Need to sleep, need to eat, need to fight. Anything to survive one more fucking day. It’s all any of you can ask for.

So do you want him, or do you need him?

And what about him? Joel fucking Miller, with his reinforced concrete walls and heavy heart. Was he ever capable of wanting?

“Joel,” you reach out to touch him, beckoning him to meet you halfway.

His eyes flick to your outstretched hand, then back to your face. He shakes his head, as if declining the offer, but you don’t retreat. You sit up and crawl across the bed to him.

The column of his throat bobs, head rocking back as he watches you come to a stop. He almost lets you touch his cheek when you try again, but snatches your hand away before you can make contact.

“Don’t,” he warns, the tone of his hushed voice deadly serious.

He squeezes your fingers while you study his stonewalled expression, tilting your head at him, “Why did you ask me that earlier? If I’m still seeing Bert?”

“I was curious.”

“Curious why?”

His lips part, then close, gaze dropping to your mouth.

Heat pulses through every inch of your body. You drop your voice to a breathy whisper.

“Were you thinking about what you did to me?”

Something flickers behind his eyes when they snap onto yours. It draws you in, urging you to scoot so close your knees butt-up against his jackknifed leg.

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” you ask quietly, smirking a little when his stern face twitches, “You loved how it felt to make me surrender—”

The dull throb of his tightening grip around your hand makes you gasp. A rumble slips from his chest, which could be read as a warning if you had an ounce of self-control left. If you didn’t need him to combust.

You let your gaze drift from his burning gaze down the slope of his nose to his lips, “Do you think about it every time you see me, like I do with you? How fucking good it felt?”

“It was wrong—”

“Then why are you here?”

Your question comes out louder than you expected. It ricochets through the charged space between his body and yours, popping the bubble of awareness around you.

All the little sounds you picked up on earlier seep back into the foreground. FEDRA patrolling. The whiz-pop of firecrackers going off maybe a block away. A faint murmur of conversation in the upstairs unit.

He holds your stare, but doesn’t make a sound until a snore rips from your mom’s chest, signaling crisis averted. When he speaks, his words come out hushed and calm.

“You need to be quiet. Understand?”

The command liquifies your bones.

You lick your lips and nod, “I understand.”

“Good.” He studies you as if deep in thought, finally releasing your hand to pinch your chin and assert, “You know why I’m here. Stop pretendin’ you don’t.”

It’s hard not to fall in line when he’s looking down at you like this, all hot-blooded and self-assured. Cocky, almost. But you try to push his buttons anyway.

“I thought it was wrong.”

“Don’t get cute with me. Yes or no?”

Your pulse flutters. Tongue goes numb. All you can do is nod.

He jostles your head a little, “Say it.”

“Yes.”

“Say yes please.”

“Yes please.”

He works his jaw back and forth, studying you, then tugs your shirt.

“Take this off.”

While you pull the offending garment over your head and toss it aside, Joel moves further onto the mattress, leaning back against the wall.

You follow him, swallowing the static buzzing in your throat as he ushers you onto his lap. The scrape of his rough hands on your waist may as well be a live wire crackling across your skin. He pulls you closer and closer until your belly presses into the worn cotton of his shirt. The heat between your legs settles on his stiff length. When he twitches against you, a heady electric current courses through your body and coaxes a whimper from your lips.

It seems too intimate to look at him, so you cast your gaze downward. Your shaky hands lay flat against his chest, absorbing the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Being with him like this feels strange. Not strange how it sometimes is with a new partner, that clumsiness before you know how your bodies work together.

It’s strange in a fucked up out-of-context sort of way. Of course, growing up around him never conditioned you to think of him like this. Joel fucking Miller, with his scarred-up knuckles and unending apathy. The only man who could make big brown eyes like that seem cold.

All those years, you never considered him anything more than an obstacle.

Even then, if there was some tiny shimmer of attraction lingering under your skin, a piece of you that wanted more from him, you never thought he could feel so solid and soft and alive. You never dreamed he could make you feel so fucking good.

“This stays between us,” he tells you, more of a command than a request.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your hips, and he purrs, “You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?”

You preen at the warm timbre of his voice, body arching into him as you breathe, “Yes.”

Under your touch, his muscles tense. He exhales hot against your cheek and guides your hips in a rocking motion, slow and steady, rubbing all those aching nerves hard against him.

“You liked it, too. Didn’t you? How I fucked you last time?”

A low-frequency hum throbs deep inside you, amplifying every sensation tenfold. You nod, rolling your hips faster, “I did, I liked it.”

“Yeah, you liked it? Or did you fucking love it?” he hisses, “Dirty little slut like you. Bet you loved getting fucked in the ass, didn’t you?”

“Oh my god, Joel—”

“Tell me.”

“Yes yes yes I fucking loved it—”

Too loud.

He ceases all movement, locking you in place with a steel grip. All ten of his digits bury themselves in your skin. The exquisite pain makes you gasp.

“Hush.”

You clamp down on your lips in an attempt to stifle yourself. Each heaving breath wiggles down to your core and back.

“Look at me.”

If you do, you’ll dissolve at the edges. You know it. You are sugar paper and he is a humid room and you are so incredibly fucked.

Pinching your eyes shut harder, you shake your head and whisper, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll come if I do.”

The confession makes him throb underneath you. He husks, “Do it, look at me.”

You do.

Even in the shadows you can make out his features, his parted lips and hooded gaze. The desire etched into his face as he stares at you, looking mystified in a way you’ve never seen before. Heat percolates beneath your skin, sending your heartbeat racing.

His hips arch into you just so, then he pulls you in and pushes you back, rubbing your body against his, “Do you wanna come? Come for me just like this?”

“Please—please,” you whine, feeling pleasure branch out from your middle as he slides you back and forth, “Please I wanna come for you it’s been so long—”

“Will you be quiet?”

Swallowing a moan, you nod frantically.

His eyes flicker around your face and he breathes, “Go ahead.”

You’re not sure if it’s the flames in his eyes or the fact that you haven’t had an orgasm in almost two months, but the second he gives you permission, the ecstasy you tried so hard to contain spills over the edges and floods your body. It pulses through you hot and hard and makes your mind go white. You have to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle the guttural noises that try to escape.

“That’s it,” he coos from far away, still grinding your twitching body against him, “There we go. That’s my good girl, hmm?”

“Oh my god—” you whimper at the sharp aftershocks that shoot through you, “It feels so good, Joel, fuck—”

“Do you wanna come again?”

Nodding, you link your hands behind his neck and set yourself in motion, rubbing against him a little faster than his set rhythm. His eyelids flutter as he throws his head back, the muscles under his shirt going taught. Beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, he’s hard as a fucking rock.

Releasing the tight grasp on your hips, he roams up your sensitive skin to your breasts and tests their weight before squeezing. It shoots through you, the pleasure and pain indistinguishable, just a throbbing rush of need. Your breathing comes in heaving gasps and you pinch your eyes shut again, tilting your head towards the ceiling as you once again find yourself struggling to keep quiet.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you.

You snap them open and meet his.

“Good girl.”

And—god, the way he looks at you, his gaze hungry and wild. Fucking maddening. Simultaneously, you wish he would stop—the contact too intense, too intimate—and pray that it never fucking ends.

Heat bubbles up inside you. You bury your fists in his hair and roll your hips faster, chasing the scorching need for more.

He hisses and pushes back against your thrusts, murmuring, “That’s it, grind that pussy on me, make yourself feel good.”

“Fuck—fuck yes, it feels so fucking good—”

“I can feel how fucking wet you are, leakin’ all over me. You do love it, don’t you, baby?”

You start to tremble and nod, trying your hardest to whisper when you tell him, “Yes yes yes I do I fucking love it—I wanna come again, can I please come again, please please—”

“Listen to you. So good, askin’ for permission.” He brings a hand to your face and brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Such a quick learner.”

“Joel—”

“Do it. Make yourself come again.”

Something untethers inside you. Heartbeat pounding behind your ears, you work your body against him in jerky movements, each one more delicious than the last. His eyes burn into yours, all heavy-lidded and lust-blown in the darkness, watching your face twist up with pleasure as the hot gooey feeling between your legs stretches wider and wider, then overtakes you completely.

You give in to it with a shattered breath, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle your moans. He holds you down, making sure you smother your cries in the damp cotton of his t-shirt as wave after electric wave washes over you.

When your spasms start to peter out, and your rolling hips come to a stop, he releases his stronghold to pet your hair. Your heaving chests meld together, breath syncing up into a steady ebb and flow as he smooths his palm up and down your spine.

For a moment, it’s just this. Just the soothing motion of him rubbing your back, calming your boneless body. Soft and quiet with everything else stripped away.

Emotion swells in your chest and tingles up your throat, behind your eyes. You try to hide it, the fact that you’re crying, but it becomes obvious when a sob escapes you.

Joel shifts a little, then tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. He searches your face and frowns, furrowing his brow.

“I’m sorry,” you wipe your tears and cast your eyes downward, “I—I don’t know why this is happening, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

“No—hey, no,” he assures you, “It’s fine.”

You shake your head.

“Look at me,” he commands, and when you do, he cups your cheek and holds your gaze, “It-it’s normal to feel… emotional. Really, it’s ok.”

The warmth and sincerity of this—his touch, his eyes, his words—makes your heart stutter. It curls up inside you and sedates your jumpy nerves.

You sniffle and nod, “Ok.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he studies you, bringing his hands to your waist. The longer you stare at each other, the more all the subtle signs of his lust come back into focus. How his tongue peaks out to wet his lips when he looks at your mouth. The heavy thudding of his heart. His strained breath and throbbing cock.

Your gaze drifts to his lips. A needy, aching desire simmers at the base of your spine. It seems wrong to kiss him. More sensual than sexual, rooted in something he will never have for you. But still, you wonder.

You wonder how soft his plush lips would feel against yours. How he would taste. Whether or not he would use tongue, or teeth, or both.

Your fingertips twitch hesitantly towards his mouth. He doesn’t pull away or admonish you, even though you give him ample time to protest. When you make contact, smoothing your touch over the pillow of his bottom lip, he murmurs against your fingers, “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m never gonna be, either, I wanna make that clear. That’s not what this is.”

“I know you’re not my fucking boyfriend, Joel.” You scoff at the thought, “Boyfriend. I don’t want that. I don’t need a boyfriend. What I need…” you watch your touch drift from his mouth to his jawline, where you scrape your nails through his scruff, “What I need is someone to fuck the thoughts out of my head.”

“Fuck the thoughts outta your head,” he repeats, almost a chuckle, “That’s what you need, huh?”

“That’s what you need, too. Isn’t it?”

Something smolders behind his gaze as he searches your face.

“You can use me, you know. Take whatever you need from me. Use me like a fuck toy, Joel, I fucking need it.”

His whole body reacts to your request, muscles flexing taught as he clenches his jaw.

You bat your lashes at him and pull yourself close enough to feel his breath on yours when you ask, “Don’t you need a little fuck toy like me, daddy?”

“You’re a sick girl, you know that?”

“You like it.”

Neither of you can deny the other’s accusation, resulting in a stand-off that tingles beneath your skin and makes your heart pound in your throat.

Subconsciously, you rock your hips forward and suck in breath when his cock throbs against your clit. He pushes back, flooding your veins with fire, “Are you gonna keep quiet if I fuck you?”

“Are you gonna shut me up if I can’t?”

He lets out one single amused chuckle, then asks, “Are you really tryna test me right now?”

Suppressing a smile, you shake your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

Something in the way he says it blooms heat in your chest. His tone teasing, almost playful.

He gives your ass a light smack, then tugs at your underwear, “Take these off.”

You roll off him onto the mattress and slide them down your legs while he stands to strip naked. Seeing his cock makes your body hum. It stands at attention, bobbing a little when Joel catches you staring.

Sidling up to the bed, he beckons you closer, so you follow his silent guidance and crawl over to him, wrapping your hand around his thick length. You glance up at him, licking your lips as you await further instructions.

“Get it nice ‘n’ wet for me.”

Nodding, you bring your mouth to the head of his cock, exploring first with your tongue, licking up the salty dribbles of lust. You taste a hint of yourself on him too, arousal that soaked through his boxers and marked him yours. Temporarily, at least. At least for tonight, or at least for right now.

A pleased rumble erupts from his chest when you wrap your lips around him and start to slide up and down his shaft. He feels solid and warm and fills your mouth completely. The first time he hits the back of your throat, you gag and pull off him, working him with your hands as you catch your breath.

“Do it again.”

You take him in your mouth, rutting up and down a few times before sitting up taller to drive him down your throat. He buries his fists in your hair and thrusts his hips forward, “There we go, that’s it—fuck, you’re so fucking good at that.”

His praise sparks at your core. You whine around his cock and bob against his thrusts. It doesn’t matter that you can’t breathe. You don’t need oxygen, you just need this. The sting of his grip prodding your movements, the raw stretch of him fucking your airway, the wet squelch that fills the room.

When he yanks your head back and unclogs your throat, you gasp for breath and stroke him with both hands, churning his slick length. Fire roars in his eyes when you look up at him.

He grabs your chin and husks, “Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

He smacks your cheek and grabs your chin again, “Say thank you for fucking my face.”

“Thank you for fucking my face, I fucking love it—”

“Say please can I have some more.”

“Please can I have some more, daddy?”

Stifling a groan, he crams it back in your drooling mouth, down your throat, snapping his hips in sharp, quick thrusts that make you gurgle with pleasure around him. Far away, you hear him panting, “Take it take it take it—”

The chorus makes your body tingle. You think about your mom sleeping in the other room, how there’s just a wall between her and this. How she could wake up at any moment and follow the muffled, hedonistic noises. How she would find Joel balls deep in your mouth and you giving him something she never could: control.

This time when he pulls you off his cock, he uses his white-knuckle grip on your hair to make you flip over and turn around, ass in the air towards him.

The head of him nudges up against the tight ring of your asshole. You hear a wet splat, then feel the heat of his spit trickling down between your cheeks. Your body clenches with anticipation as he smears it around.

“Remember, you gotta relax,” he murmurs, releasing your hair to smooth a palm against your spine.

You inhale a deep breath and exhale the tension from your muscles, letting your heart melt into the mattress.

“Good girl,” he arches forward, breaching your entrance.

The sharp sensation splits you open. It pulls a wanton moan from your lips that rings through the silent apartment like a siren.

Yanking you up by your hair, Joel secures your back to his humid chest and clasps a hand over your mouth. Stars invade your field of vision as he drives his cock deeper and deeper, only stopping when he can’t go any further. You sob against his palm, so he pulls it down harder, muffling the noise until you stop.

Everything goes silent and still, but you can’t even bring yourself to worry that you woke her. Not when all you can hear is your thudding heart and his ragged breath, coarse with what you assume is rage or lust or both. Not with his lightning rod cock vibrating hot up your middle.

It doesn’t matter that she could walk in to find her common-law husband fucking your ass, or that this discovery would burn all your lives to the ground. All you care about is more. More stimulation, more attention, more Joel—more more more—

You try to move your hips in an attempt to create friction, but his vice grip renders you immobile. So you stay in place and try not to make noise as the flames lick at your insides. You squirm and ache and claw at his arms while he muffles your whimpers.

Then your mom snores in the other room.

He pulls his hand from your mouth and you gasp for air.

Thinking you can get ahead of the inevitable scolding, you plead, “I’m sorry—”

He drags his cock out of your body, then plunges it back inside, all the while hissing, “If you’re gonna be my little fuck toy—”

“Holy fuck—”

“—You have to be fucking quiet. Do you understand?”

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand, I’ll do better, I promise—please just fuck me, please please—”

You strangle a moan in your throat when he slips a hand between your legs and draws tedious circles on your clit.

“Try ‘n’ breathe through it,” he coaches, “I’ll go slow for you this time, ok? Just remember, shut the fuck up and take deep breaths.”

You suck in air until your chest is full, then release it, restricting its flow through a narrow space between your lips. You do it again. Tension begins to melt from your bones. It has a clarifying effect, allowing you to relish in the heat of his touch. You take another deep breath, only hitting a snag when Joel starts to rock his hips.

It feels fucking unreal. Rough and raw, the steady drag of his cock fills you with static electricity over and over.

“Oh fuck—”

“Shhh…”

Your inhale stutters, but you regain control on the exhale. Everything disappears except him. His heated skin sticking to yours. How fucking full he makes you feel with each thrust. The thick swell of pleasure that accumulates every time he flicks his wrist. You surrender to all of it, to Joel, entrusting him with everything except your breath.

“That’s it, baby, let go.”

“It feels ssso gooood,” you whisper, head rolling back onto his shoulder, “Nothing’s ever felt this good, holy shit—”

His lips tickle your ear as he purrs, “Such a good little fuck toy, aren’t you, baby?”

You gasp a little when the velvet of his tongue rolls against your pulse. Nodding, you reach back behind his neck to scrape your fingernails through his curls. He does it again, this time sealing his lips to suck on the sensitive skin. Your heart pounds thick and hot through your body. The edges peel back at the corner of your mind. You push back against his thrusts, panting out subdued whimpers as the fire in your belly begins to spread.

“Do you wanna come?”

“I do, I wanna come—oh my god I wanna come, please make me come, daddy—”

His hand covers your mouth and holds you down so he can fuck you harder, stretching you out wide and filling you deep. He works your clit faster. The bed frame thumps against the wall in a frantic rhythm that matches the wet slap of his thrusts. Tears prick your eyes and heat swells beneath your skin, pressure building more and more until you think you can’t fucking take it anymore—

His palm smothers your moans as you fall apart, breaking into a million pieces and coming back together again with a choked sob. Joel buries his face in the crook of your neck and groans as his hips snap forward, then stutter to a stop.

The two of you go slack propping each other up, too loose-limbed and lethargic to peel yourselves away at first. He makes the first move to separate, though, uncovering your mouth to brush the damp hair from your forehead, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you tell him instinctively, then second-guess yourself and look up to meet his eyes, “I mean, I don’t know. I think so.”

He studies you, nodding.

Hesitation buzzes in your chest when you contemplate whether or not to return his question. It seems unlikely he’d cooperate even if you wanted to know the answer. So instead, you give him his out.

“Is this goodnight, then?”

“Suppose it is.”

A flicker of something passes between your bodies as you stare at each other. It feels so hot to the touch that you chicken out, glancing away as you whisper, “Will you do something for me before you go?”

“Hmm?”

“Tuck me in?”

The noise that comes out of him is half-grunt, half-chuckle. Joel for, ‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.’ But he obliges, pulling his soft cock from your body at a mercifully slow speed before allowing you to make yourself comfortable. He sorts out your blanket and drapes it over your body, then starts fishing his clothes off the floor.

Tugging his shirt over his head, he asks, “Need anything else, princess?”

You’re sure it’s a dig, but choose to ignore it as you snuggle into the covers and hint, “Don’t make me wait so long next time.”

He sits down at the edge of your mattress and threads his legs through the boxers, “I’ll make you wait as long as you need to. What else?”

“Mmm. Goodnight kiss?”

“Goodnight kiss,” he scoffs to himself, then looks back over his shoulder at you, “Fine, then I’m goin’ to bed.”

He turns to face you more directly, folding a knee onto the bed as he leans in and tilts your head to the side, pressing a gentle kiss into your cheek. Even though you wish he had kissed your lips, you close your eyes and savor the affection while you can.

After murmuring goodnight, Joel leaves. He crawls back into bed with your mother while you memorize the sound of his retreating footsteps.

#joel miller #x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ruthless joel miller #whatsnewalycat writes #pedro pascal smut

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gyrlliar · 8 months

Text

Doggy

(sub top author (aka me) x pwr bottom male/ftm reader)

(tags: bl*wjob (o), oral fixation, me being a degenerate, mentions or implications of r*ding (i) me)

Argyle whimpered loudly, throwing his head back as you sucked on his fat, musky cock eagerly, teasing the throbbing tip of his cock with your silk like tongue made his hands grip the bed and onto your hair.

"F-Fuck...! Please, keep going...haah...please!" Argyle moaned out loudly, his tongue sticking out of his mouth, he panted heavily as his glasses became crooked on his face.

His clammy hands then shoved your head down his throbbing, leaking cock. The taste of his precum with the mix of his cries made you feel in control, you chuckled, the vibrations from the chuckle made his cock twitch violently.

Some tears pricked at the sides of his brown eyes as even the most simple touch from you made him overstimulated with pleasure. He was a degenerate, a fucking dog for you.

You pulled your mouth away from his cock with a string of saliva connecting you two together, his sweating face contorted into confusion as to why you stopped, his dry mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he stuttered out. "W-why did you stop...?" He sputtered out whilst tears dripped down his flushed face.

You placed your warm hand on his cock gently, squeezing the base, making him shudder and choke out a whimper.

"Beg for it, Argy- no, doggy." You said into his ear, his face flushed up even more if it was possible. Argyle gulped, he was so desperate for you and your touch that he was willing to just throw away his goddamn dignity just to get his dick sucked.

Slowly, Argyle dipped down his head, by the way the tip of his ears reddened, he was heavily embarrassed but not embarrassed enough to start begging for you to just touch his horny dick.

"Please.....touch me, m-master! I need your mouth to just slobber all over my pathetic dick, please, please, please...I wanna cum so fucking bad...." Argyle begged, his drool and tears mixing together pathetically, he didn't dare to touch his own cock because his hand wouldn't even compare to your touches.

You laughed, he blushed in shyness at the sound of your sweet laugh. You let out a sigh, "I didn't even ask for you to call me master, yet you did. How adorable." You said with a purr in your voice that made Argyle's cock somehow become bigger, you chuckled once more.

"Alright, come here. I'll make you cum since you're such a good doggy for me." Argyle's imaginary dog ears perked up in happiness as you dipped down and started sucking on his dripping dick.

"O-oh! Please, master...yes! Haah..." He babbled out, his mind going blank in pleasure once more.

After just 2 minutes of sucking his overstimulated cock, his dick was violently twitching in your mouth and his hard thrusts became sloppier.

Argyle's precum was dripping down your chin, and the glasses he once wore were now discarded on the ground without a care.

Even though his vision was blurry with tears, it was very clear to see that he was about to cum in your mouth.

"O-oh..! I'm gonna cum, master! T-thank you!" He rambled frantically as his thick cum inconsistantly spurted into your mouth, starting out small and then filling up your mouth in an instant.

You pulled away from his cock with a echoing 'pop', he looked down at you with an embarrassed look in his eyes that replaced the mindless look. "I-I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to cum in your mouth! Um, you should probably spit it out!" Argyle rambled frantically.

You stared at him blankly whilst audibly gulping down his thick, heavy seed making him gasp and his cheeks flush a bright red. "Y-you didn't have to do that..." Argyle mumbled shyly, his stutter prominent as he looked away from you.

Suddenly, you pushed him down on the bed forcefully. He yelped in surprise as you suddenly started grinding on top of his cock, his flaccid dick immediately hardened once you touched it again. "W-What are you doing, (Name)?" He stuttered out nervously.

You laughed, "I haven't given you the full experience yet." You purred out. His heartbeat quickened as his cock throbbed. "Let's go for a ride, shall we?" Argyle nodded eagerly, his imaginary dog ears perking up. You chuckled warmly whilst petting his head.

"Good doggy."

(cringe but whateve r)

#male reader #x male reader #bottom male reader #sub male reader #gender neutral reader #male reader smut #uke male reader #top male character

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starshipsofstarlord · 5 months

Text

locked away

summary. whilst hiding out from walkers in a closet, you grow extremely bored. the only thing to do is daryl, but you have to make sure he stays quiet

warnings. smut, handjob, sub!daryl, dom!reader, praising, mentions of gagging, crying

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The aroma of cigarette smoke that clung addictively to his clothes filled your nostrils as you hid in union together, avoiding the stream of deadly walkers that marched in their haphazard staggering through the wide hallway. There had been worse that you survived through, so as long as you didn’t alert the parasites that filled the decayed human bodies of your presence, you would be fine.

Boredom struck you after the first hour of leaning all of your weight against the chipped brick wall, listening without consent to the groans and growls of the dangerous passers-by. If you had a nickel for each time you expressively rolled your eyes that had adjusted to the shadows which conjured a graphite colouring to which you could see, you would be astoundingly rich in a world without cash currency.

You had an impulse to blabber out the most random thoughts that appeared intrusively in your mind, although you were sure if you dared to your beloved Daryl would gag your mouth with that dirty red rag and tell you to shut up; and it wouldn’t be a first time for that. Your shoulders slumped defeatedly as the pressing circumstances of the long and drawn out waiting game refused to come to an end.

How many goddamn walkers were out there? Actually that was an answer you’d rather not find out whilst you were contained in a narrow closet which was consumed with lacklustre silence. Daryl wouldn’t even meet your eyes in the dark space, sternly pent up from your antics during the run that had lead you into being entrapped by your own free will and vigilance to live another day. He was pissed, and worst of all in this circumstance; turned on.

His pools of pitiful blue distinctly avoided your gaze, trying his darnest to focus on the stakes that were against you both. But he was pursued by a cloaking of consuming lust, his shoulders rigid as he thought repeatedly of your earlier words. If you’re a good boy, then maybe we’ll have some fun before we get home. It wasn’t likely to happen now, the bowman thought intuitively, sharply discarding the sweet images of pleasing you from his brain.

These walkers were preying risk to more than just his life, he felt like he could explode from the overbearing desire to feel your hands rake upon his entire body, and he mentally cursed as he felt his cock spring to life at just the the sinful thought. He grunted in solitary longing, pacing with light and feline like steps as much as he could in the limited ground that was cemented in the storage room.

“Something wrong?” You almost inaudibly spoke, cocking your head as the corners of your mouth twitched in mocking amusement, and he would have whined in response if there wasn’t the threat of the passing walkers merely inches away. “Come here, let me help you baby.” His head was lowered in a submissive bow as he followed your command, creeping towards you until your chests were all but touching.

It was something you adored, to see Daryl in such a state, and it made you feel powerful without any limits. The flow of your bloodstream began to pound with revelations with what you could make your obedient man disperse himself to. It was like he was a buffet of possibilities, however his arousal was rubbing against your thigh, making you recall his desperation, and it would be satire and cruel for you to allow him to suffer without your amorous caregiving.

You shuffled, keeping a balance on your body weight so that you didn’t accidentally stagger backwards into the buckets or moulding mops that were leant against the wall to your left, as you lowered your hands to his wide hips, giving him an affectionate squeeze before you turned him in your embrace so that his back was facing your front.

Admittedly there were times where you loved to listen to him beg and cry for lustrous attention, but now was not the time; neither one of you could make so much as a speck of noise, it was going to be difficult as often times Daryl would draw out long and pathetically attractive moans each time you held contact with his cock in any manner, but he would just have to be quiet somehow, and if he couldn’t control himself, you had ideas of how to make him.

“Be a good boy.” You whispered with sultry warning in his ear as you reached further around him, slowly and tantalisingly unweaving his belt, pulling the strip of leather through the flimsy loops which granted you access to undo the button and fly of his trousers. With swift motions you did so, carefully shoving them down his sides as his cock was released from its containment. It was leaking defiantly with precum, and he resorted to calming breaths as he steadied his own self into being relaxed despite the nearby danger.

He inhaled immediately as he felt one of your hands wrap perfectly around his achingly hard length, gliding up and down the taught and erect flesh which made him throw his long locked head back in pleasure. His eyelids twitched as he fought against his desire to let you know how utterly amazing you were making him feel, as he bit his own bottom lip over and over. You dared to increase the pace in which you were stroking him, and a shattered gasp tumbled past his bared teeth.

Without so much as a thought, you smothered his mouth with your hand, pinching his nose a couple of times between your thumb and forefinger to restrain the oxygen he was permitted for a few seconds. A vibration riveted against your palm, as a quiet moan was silenced by your restriction. His whole body was rattling, as he began to rut his hips so that his cock was moving in the grasp of your soft hand.

“Such a good baby.” Your breath hit his ear as you forbade yourself from saying anything else, knowing that it would be obscenely dangerous, and the hoard of vacantly minded walkers were more than capable of pushing through the locked door. Your thumb rubbed expertly against his tip, as tears began to fill Daryl’s eyes, however he continued to jerk into your grip, and soon they fled from his tear ducts. His salt water, pleasure filled tears rolled onto your hand, weaving across your flesh as his tongue rolled pathetically around your palm, losing any grounding to reality that he had.

It drove you on farther, moving your hand at a quicker pace to make him spill over the edge, and with one last tough tug, he expelled his seed from his balls, it shooting directly in the air for a moment, and landing vividly on the ground. Daryl continued to shake like a leaf, breathing a kind kiss to your palm as he held your hand against his mouth for a while longer. This was definitely an interesting tale, however you would never tell anybody else. Everyone else thought Daryl was the being of all dominance in your relationship, and it made you inwardly cackle at how wrong you were.

He was as submissive as a human could come (pun intended), and he stood there idly and cautiously as you aided him in tucking his cock back into his confines. You grappled his belt, pulling it back around into its holding as you pulled it tightly around his waist, your eyes glowing with the satisfaction that you could make him so easily crumble. With one last pat to his sensitive bulge, you waited a while longer, until the coast was clear and it was only a few stragglers of the herd to take out in order to make your unruly escape.

#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon fluff #norman reedus smut #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus imagine

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