#rating: e

[eyesofshinigami]

Worth It

Rating: E

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, smut, anal sex, top Eddie, bottom Steve

Prompt: For @sharpbutsoft "Love is being late to work because you can't ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time"

WC: 579

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 14. Spicier bits under the cut

Steve knows he’s going to be late. Robin is going to kill him and he’ll deserve it, but. Right now?

Right now, all he can do is lay back and enjoy the way that Eddie feels against him. 

He’d woken up before his alarm, which happens some mornings. His body gets restless, feels like he needs to get up and move and do something or he’ll crawl right out of his skin. Most mornings like that he just gets up and goes to make breakfast and start getting ready for the day. His boyfriend isn’t a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, so Steve lets him sleep.

Not this morning, apparently.

No, just as Steve was getting up, Eddie wrapped a sleepy arm around him and pulled him back into bed. “W’er you goin’?” he mumbles, nuzzling into Steve’s shoulder. His lips brush the mark he left on Steve the night before, making Steve shiver. “Can’t leave.”

Steve laughs, half-heartedly trying to squirm out of Eddie’s grasp. “Going to go make breakfast. Have to leave for work soon.”

“Wrong answer,” Eddie teases, his hand snaking down to slip inside Steve’s boxers. “You’re going to stay right here with me and let me love you some more.”

Eddie sounds much more awake than he should be, given the hour, but Steve feels the hot press of Eddie’s cock against his back. Steve whimpers, heat flaring in his belly. No. Nope. He’s got to get up and get ready for work, not get fucked again. “Eds, no, I have to get up.”

Eddie wraps his hand around Steve’s cock, giving him a good stroke that makes Steve shudder. “If you really want me to, I’ll let you go. But I want to hear you say it, baby. Tell me you don’t want me to send you off to work well-fucked and full of me.” Steve’s cock is hard and throbbing in his hand by now, and Steve can’t help the way his hips shift, how much he wants it. He knows Eddie would, would just let him get up and go about his business, wouldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

But Steve wants it. He wants it so bad he shifts so that Eddie’s fingers can trail down, down, down, right to where Steve’s still a little wet and a little loose from the night before. “Want that. Want to be full of you.”

“Yeah? Want to feel me all day while you work? Remind you of what you’ve got waiting at home for you when you finish your shift?”

Steve nods, pushing back against the fingers sliding inside of him. It stings a little, riding the line of pain and pleasure that they tend to ride together when they’re like this. “Please, baby.”

Eddie grins against his neck. “You might be late, if I get to do all I want to do to you.” He doesn’t stop the steady thrust of his fingers, spreading them wide and making Steve moan at how gloriously full he feels. “But how could I say no, when you’re writhing against me like this? Begging for my cock. Don’t worry, baby, I want you just as bad.” He grabs the lube from under the pillow (apparently they’re the kind of people who leave lube everywhere) and pulls his fingers out.

Steve lets out a whine and Eddie hushes him. It becomes a tangle of limbs as they push their boxers down and Eddie covers his cock in lube, rubbing the head against Steve’s hole a couple of time before he pushes inside.

It’s a tight slide, but fuck if it doesn’t make Steve’s nerves sing. His own cock flexes against his belly as Eddie fucks him slowly, Steve losing himself in the rhythm and the feeling of being taken like this. It’s slow, lazy, and perfect. All the thoughts of being late flit out of his head, taken over by Eddie’s hot kisses against his skin, the dirty words he’s saying smeared across his neck and shoulder.

He’s close, can feel it building low in his belly. His cock is dribbling precome and he reaches down to take his cock in his hand, feeling it jerk in his fingertips as he starts stroking. 

Which is right about the time the alarm went off.

Steve freezes and so does Eddie, mid-thrust. It would have been comical if Steve hadn’t been right on the edge of coming. 

“Are you going to turn it off?” Eddie asks, resuming his thrusts. The heat starts building again and Steve nearly forgets what he was supposed to be doing.

He reaches over and hits the button, moaning against the sheets when the change in angle makes Eddie hit right against that spot inside him. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, right there…” Steve cries out, stroking himself and fucking back against Eddie. It’s no longer slow and lazy, but frantic and fast and just a little rough.

Steve comes with a cry, his cock jerking in his fingers as he rides out. Eddie tumbles over a couple of thrusts later, warmth blooming inside of him from where Eddie’s cock is flexing and filling him up. It’s good. It’s so good and Steve can’t even care that he’s going to be late.

“Worth it?” Eddie asks between kisses.

“Worth it,” Steve repeats as they pull apart.

It’s a rush to shower and Steve grabs a piece of toast to go, Eddie kissing him goodbye as he runs out the door. 

He’s fifteen minutes late and Robin does yell at him, even as she’s wiggling her eyebrows and teasing him. But he’s happy and well-fucked, whistling as he goes about shelving movies and rewinding tapes.

Worth it, indeed.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Slam

Following an injury in the field, Bucky goes to check on Steve in the infirmary and confesses his feelings and his fears.

CW: Minor injury, smut, first time. Don’t forget to use lube, folks – unless you’re a super soldier.

Prompts used;

‘Bad Coping Mechanisms’, ‘Mutual Pining’ and ‘Wall Sex’ – Build-a-Bucky Bingo (@buckybarnesevents);

“You Look So Pretty Like This.” and ‘Muscles’ – @stuckybingo;

“I’m Right Where I Belong.” and “You Getting Flustered is One of the Cutest Things I’ve Seen.” – @sebastianstanbingo.

Check it out on AO3 here, or below! Boards at the bottom. Banner by @sarahowritesostucky

Bucky raced through the corridors, the serum’s power flowing through him as his feet pounded the linoleum, heart hammering in his chest.

As soon as the news of Steve’s injury had reached him, he’d been up and running, with fear he hadn’t felt in decades pulsing in his veins. Ever since Steve had been bulked up in the war, Bucky had been able to slowly let go of the terror for Steve’s longevity that had plagued him since he’d met the kid at six years old, scrawny but surprisingly bold – and prone to getting his ass kicked. But the serum Steve had received had made the once-tiny man a hulking mass of muscle and sinew, invulnerable to most things thrown at him, and Bucky had finally been able to relax a little – though he still worried about his childhood friend more than any other member of the team.

Bucky blamed it on their longstanding connection and the camaraderie born from being the only two super soldiers, both displaced from their own time by time in ice (and servitude, in Bucky’s case). It was a miracle they were both here, together, a hundred years in the future and experiencing things they never even dreamt of.

That was it, Bucky argued, when he lay awake at night thinking of the skinny kid from Brooklyn, the strong man he’d grown into. He argued it was appreciation of the smooth curves of muscle that had him fantasising about the water flowing over his back when he’d glimpsed him in the shower after a training session. It was simply concern that had him inspecting his Captain’s bare chest when his suit had been ripped in battle, checking thoroughly for cuts and scrapes.

He'd argued, but it was as he was skidding to a halt and slamming through the infirmary doors that it finally hit him that his argument was a lie.

The sight of Steve lay on the thin medical paper, his back to the doors as Bruce finished stitching a deep wound above his hipbone, had Bucky pausing and panting for breath. It’d been a long time since he’d managed to move so quickly that he was forced to breathe harder, but his strides had barely touched the floor as he’d flown towards his teammate.

“Hey, Buck.”

The Winter Soldier cocked his head sharply, smiling just a little to himself as he saw Steve’s muscles relax minutely. “How did you know it was me?”

“Heard you running. Anyone else would be far more breathless – and definitely couldn’t move so fast.” The grin in Steve’s voice was audible, and Bucky chuckled, moving closer slowly.

“Yeah, well. Nat messaged, and she wasn’t liberal with the details. All I knew was that you’d been hurt.”

“Worried, were you?” Steve’s shoulders trembled as he laughed silently, making Bucky snort as he rounded the table, casting an assessing eye over the shallow lacerations marring the Captain’s bare chest as he took a seat.

“Actually, I was hoping to get here in time to pull the plug,” Bucky quipped, grinning, and Steve rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Your life wouldn’t be worth living without me in it, and you know it,” Steve teased back, lips quirked in a fond smile before he grimaced as the doctor tied off his thread. Buck reached out automatically, squeezing Steve’s hand reassuringly, heat tingling up his palm at the contact. He’d done this dozens of times as a youth, Steve’s fingers clinging desperately to his as the larger boy had carefully cleaned yet another split lip or scraped palm, but it felt different now, with Steve’s palm comparable to his and Bucky’s metal fingers cool against his skin – and Steve’s pulse beginning to pound at the contact.

“I’m all done here,” Bruce murmured, gently pressing an adhesive bandage to the suture line. “Keep it covered and dry for a few days, and the stitches should dissolve in a week or so. You’ll be good as new by then.” The doctor grinned, shaking his head fondly. “If only all of my patients recovered so quickly!”

Steve chuckled obligingly, pulling the edge of his suit a little higher to obscure both bandage and sharp curve of bone. “You’d be out of a job, Dr. Banner. Thanks again,” he added as Bruce rose, receiving a polite inclination of the head for his gratitude.

The boys were left alone, fingers still entwined together, Steve fiddling with the ragged edges of his clothing idly. “I’m gonna have to get a new suit… This one got pretty shredded.”

Bucky laughed, running a palm over the lacerated star hanging over the edge of the table. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got thrown. Road rash sucks,” the Captain replied with a shrug, and groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “But you heard Bruce – I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

James nodded, eventually releasing his friend’s hand with a discreet twitch of his jaw. “Yeah. You were always the strong one.” Steve snorted and raised an eyebrow, considering his fellow soldier pointedly, but Bucky only laughed and shook his head. “Maybe, when we were younger, I could pick up something heavier than you. But you were always so… Tough. You weren’t scared of anything.” He smiled softly, head tilted minutely. “Actually, no. You were scared, but you always stood up for yourself anyway. You never let anyone keep you down or underestimate you. That’s real strength.”

Steve chuckled, his cheeks pinkening minutely as he looked away. “Not always,” he muttered, hands knotting uncertainly in his lap. “There were some things I just… I didn’t fight when the insults and assumptions started flying.”

“The assumptions?” Bucky repeated softly, head cocked. When Steve only shrugged, Bucky leaned forward conspiratorially. “You getting flustered is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”

Steve blinked in surprise, his back straightening nervously. “I-I… What?”

Bucky smiled softly, leaning a little closer. “Those assumptions… Do you mean the ones about your sexuality?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, eyeing his friend nervously. “… You heard about that?”

The sergeant arched an eyebrow, head inclined. “Of course, Stevie. You’re my best friend. Besides… We spent a whole lot of time together. It wasn’t just you that they made those assumptions about.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve replied quickly, looking away as guilt creased his features, but Bucky simply chuckled.

“Don’t be. They were right.”

The words sat in the still air for a moment before they collided visibly with the Captain, sending him jerking backwards in shock.

“They- You- … What?” Steve stammered, his eyes widening in shock.

“I’m gay,” Bucky replied easily, shrugging. “Well, no – I’m bisexual. But we both know it’s not the women you were asking about.” Steve’s mouth worked wordlessly, and Bucky smirked. “So? What about you? Were they right about you, too?”

Steve glanced around uncertainly, examining the empty space as if checking for someone hiding in the shadows. “… Why did you come so quickly, Buck?”

“I asked you first.”

“I’m trying to answer. Humour me. Why did you come so quickly?” he repeated, looking down to where his fingers were knotted in his lap.

“Because… Because I care about you?” Bucky offered uncertainly, and Steve nodded, eyes diverted.

“As a friend?” he prompted quietly. Bucky hesitated for a moment, watching as his Captain struggled silently to find the words he was looking for. “… I’m not gay, Buck.” The sergeant blushed minutely, opening his mouth to respond, but Steve held up a hand to stop him. “But I’m not straight, either. I… I’ve only ever wanted to be with – been in love with – one person. After all these years… It’s still only ever been one person.”

Bucky sat silently for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, apprehensive. “Who?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Steve replied, a wry grin quirking at his lips.

Bucky reached out, fingers finding his best friend’s once more, swallowing nervously. “Tell me, Stevie. Please.”

Steve glanced up at last, the brush draining from his cheeks with the sincerity of the moment, ice meeting cerulean in an all-encompassing gaze. “You, Bucky. It’s always been you.”

The words released a feral urgency in his fellow soldier, moving forward to kiss him in a clash of lips and tongues, a low whine escaping the brunette as he tangled his metal fingers in the other’s hair.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Bucky muttered, shifting to trail kisses over the broader man’s jaw, his free hand finding Steve’s hip to pull him closer. “I can’t believe I wasted so much time trying to bury my feelings in drinking and whoring…”

Steve nodded weakly, head instinctively tipping back under his sergeant’s rapturous ministrations. “I-I… I never knew you… I never expected…” He swallowed audibly, hips twitching as his arousal became ever more evident under the skin-tight material of his uniform. Bucky let out a quiet groan of desire, fingers trailing over Steve’s hipbone slowly – but the blond grasped his wrist as his fingertips brushed against his increasingly stiffening length. “Wait.”

Bucky winced, drawing back with a quick, apologetic shake of his head. “I-I’m sorry. We don’t have to, of course, I-”

Steve kissed his lover softly to interrupt him, shaking his head with a smile. “I want to,” he breathed, his fingers finding the back of Bucky’s neck to press their foreheads together. “I’ve just- I… I’ve never…”

Bucky’s face went blank as comprehension dawned, lips parting minutely. “You… Oh.” A smile flickered across his features, and he cupped Steve’s jaw gently. “That’s fine, sweet boy. We go as slow as you like, and do as much or as little as you want. It’s all up to you.”

Steve nodded slowly, then more firmly, and pulled Bucky back to him by the neck of his t-shirt, crushing his lips desperately against the taller man’s.

Buck’s hands were gentle as they explored the Captain’s bare chest, tracing the dips and curves of bone and muscle reverently, mapping each detail and committing every modicum of minutiae to memory – just in case. Steve shivered under his touch, the hand on the back of the sergeant’s neck drawing him closer as he lay back, gasping at the thigh that pressed lightly against his throbbing length.

“Buck, please,” he whispered, tugging gently at the other man’s shirt, purring with delight when the material was shed and dropped to the floor. His hands fumbled with the taller man’s belt, hesitating only minutely before pressing a palm to Bucky’s boxer-clad member and blushing shyly at the relieved groan the motion elicited.

Buck’s lips trailed slowly along jaw and throat, over Steve’s collarbone, proceeding patiently over chest and stomach. Bucky’s knees met the floor as his fingers curled in the waistband of the other man’s underwear. He glanced up to receive clarification, and when he was offered a nod, nervous but sure, he slowly slid Steve’s boxers down, trailing gentle kisses in their wake. When he looked up again to take in his Captain in all his glory, his mouth ran dry, tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation. He rocked on his heels for a moment, enjoying the sight for a little longer before falling forward, growling hungrily. His mouth encompassed Steve’s length quickly, eliciting a gasp and a whimper from the soldier pinned to the table, his hands tangling frantically in Bucky’s wild hair.

“I- Oh, Buck, th-that’s so…” Steve trailed off into a desperate moan, his back arching instinctively to press himself deeper. Bucky, in his experience, simply swallowed around his amateur partner’s erratic thrusts to take him into his throat, hands finding his hips to help smoothen his pace, earning a quiet, stammering exclamation for his efforts. The feeling of Bucky’s tongue massaging the underside of his cock as it passed between expert, kiss-flushed lips had him quivering and mewling uselessly until the sergeant pulled back, oceanic eyes dancing with joy. “Good?”

Steve all but sobbed in his pleasure, raising his head to nod weakly. “A-Amazing. Please, honey, Buck… I want… I need…”

“Anything you want, baby boy,” Bucky purred, wrapping a loose, coaxing hand around Steve’s length while he spoke – but unable to keep from leaning in intermittently to pass tongue or lips over the leaking tip, delighting in the gasps and jerks the simple gesture invoked. “You just say the word, and I-”

“I want to make love to you,” Steve interrupted softly, pink tinging his cheeks as he spoke, his twitching cock betraying his enthusiasm. Bucky blinked in surprise before smiling tenderly with an amused shake of his head.

“And here I’d had you pinned as a bottom… What a pleasant surprise,” Bucky breathed, powerless to stop one of his hands from grinding against the straining in his sweatpants desperately, eyes blown wide with lust. “I’ve thought about you fucking me so many times…” He winced minutely, expecting a reprimand from his straight-laced captain for his language, but the blond simply smiled.

“I may be inexperienced, Buck, but I’ve overheard enough sleeping in the room next to Tony’s to expect a little cussing in these situations.”

Bucky simply nodded, standing to pull his shirt over his head, and Steve gulped. He’d seen the brunette in varying degrees of undress on countless occasions, but always he had kept his eyes diverted and downcast, never looking up for fear he would give himself away. But now he could let his gaze roam freely, taking in the curve of the sinew and muscle, of strong arms and well-defined pecs, his expression softening minutely as he took in the puckered ridge of scar where flesh met metal. Bucky shifted self-consciously, raising a hand to rub uncertainly at the marred skin, and Steve pushed himself quickly to his feet, catching the other man’s fingers. “Hey… You’re beautiful, he whispered, dropping his head to pepper kisses along the seam reverently.

Bucky stiffened infinitesimally, relaxation gradually easing the tension in his muscles, a soft sigh escaping parted lips as his eyes closed. “I want you, Steve,” he breathed, fingertips trailing through the short hair adoringly.

Steve could only nod in response, hands fumbling with Bucky’s belt as he dropped to his knees, one flushed, pink lip pulled between his teeth. His breath ghosted over the bulge in the sergeant’s boxers, making the taller man shiver with delight. With a slow, nervous exhale, he wrapped his fingers in Bucky’s waistband, eyes widening minutely as the soldier’s cock was freed at last. Bucky smirked, hand resting gently on Steve’s head, letting out a quiet groan as the barest flick of a tongue passed over his tip. “Please, baby boy, I need you to-”

Bucky’s words were interrupted by his own sharp yelp as Steve clumsily but enthusiastically took him, his inexperience making him gag at the depth, but he recovered to bob his head just as eagerly. The taller man groaned, hand knotting in pale strands, head falling back as he attempted to guide his needy lover into smoother motions, but Steve grasped desperately at his hips, still frantically attempting to take Bucky’s length deeper. “Easy, Stevie,” he breathed, shifting one hand to cup the other man’s jaw tenderly, smiling at the soft whine around his cock. “You really want it deeper, hm?” Steve blinked balefully up at him, tongue still eagerly caressing every inch available, and the sergeant chuckled quietly, gently raising Steve’s chin slightly. “Swallow,” he murmured, pushing forward slowly, using the rhythmic motion of his lover’s obedience to sheath himself fully in Steve’s throat with a shudder. “Fuck, baby boy- so goddamn hot… You look so pretty like this…” His eyes found the other man’s, the pale blue shining with joy, lips parted wide around his cock, and Bucky could have come undone simply at the sight. Steve could only mewl with satisfaction, lashes flickering in pleasure as Bucky rocked his hips, driving his length into his Captain’s throat before drawing back just far enough to let him snatch a breath.

It didn’t take long for the brunette’s muscles to begin to tremble and clench, incensed by the sight of his lover stretched and kneeling before him. The fingers in his hair tensed, and Steve’s eyebrow twitched questioningly. “I-I can’t- I’ll- I can’t hold out,” Bucky stuttered, the rock of his hips become spasmodic – but Steve simply dug his fingers into the other man’s flesh, groaning encouragingly. Bucky hissed with the realisation, free hand joining the first, holding Steve’s head still as his thrusts became more forceful. The feeling of soft whimpers vibrating around his length spurred him on, and he stammered out a quick warning before burying himself deeply, fingernails catching  against scalp as he pinned his submissive Captain against him. “Fuck, Steve- Stevie!”

Steve’s eyes closed in pleasure as his sergeant emptied with a guttural groan, swallowing eagerly, licking his lips as his trembling partner drew back at last. “Thank you,” Bucky breathed, unclenching his hand to smooth the messy blond strands tenderly. Steve opened his eyes to meet his gaze, hesitating only briefly before scrambling to his feet to pin the brunette to the wall, earning a grunt of surprise and a dry gulp.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Cap growled, one hand wrapping lightly around his sergeant’s throat, smiling when a quiet whimper and desperate nod came in response. Bucky groaned as he was turned quickly, hands flat to the wall and ass offered willingly, the Captain’s cock pressing against him teasingly. Steve spat in his palm and slicked his length quickly, one hand steadying himself with his lover’s hip as he lined himself up.

“Please- Please, Stevie, I need you, I want you- please, just-” Bucky moaned needily as Steve pressed inside him roughly, his forehead finding the other man’s metal shoulder as he groaned.

“Bucky- Buck, honey, you feel so good…” he grunted, dragging out slowly before slamming home once more. Slowly at first, the movements of his cock inside the taller man felt incredible, the spark of discomfort from the lack of preparation or real lubricant fading quickly until Bucky was rutting back desperately, trying in vain to increase the pace. “Sweet boy, you’re so eager!”

“Yes- God, yes Sir, please, Stevie- Cap, I need you to fuck me, baby boy,” Bucky panted, fingers curling against the plaster. Steve’s fingers found his, pinning his metal hand to the wall either side of his head, while the other wrapped around his already-stiffening cock, stroking him in time as he thrusted harder. Bucky yelped in surprise, back arching. He’d been fucked many times in his life – but never by someone whose strength parallelled his own, his very bones creaking under the strain as Steve pounded against him with bruising ferocity.

Steve was lost in the heat fizzing through his veins; there was nothing but this, the feeling of Bucky wrapped around him, tight and hot, the air full of the scent of sex and the lewd sounds falling from their lips. This was everything he’d ever wanted, and he found his body reacting automatically, knowing just what to do as he drove himself deeper, their hands on the wall creating cracks in the plaster under the power.

“So beautiful – so good, James – I love you,” Steve groaned, fisting his sergeant’s cock faster as he felt his climax approaching, too far gone and too eager to slow down, to take his time in this. Bucky simply whimpered in response, his forehead pressed to the plaster, soft sobs of overwhelming pleasure falling from his lips between pleas and gratitude, rutting  back against each perfect thrust. “Please- Stevie, fuck, just like that- I-I’m going- I-” His spine arched as he came without warning, painting both his lover’s hand and the wall before him, muscles clenching around Steve’s length.

Steve wrapped an arm around his partner’s waist, dragging him against his chest as he fucked him harder still, groaning out a plea for mercy into Bucky’s throat as he finally, blissfully, emptied himself inside his sergeant.

Bucky lay panting with his head on Steven’s chest, sweat-damp and exhausted, his backside bruised, entirely blissful.

“D’you want to get up?” Steve murmured, tracing his fingers gently down his lover’s spine, earning a lazy shake of the head.

“I’m right where he belong,” Bucky whispered in response, pressing a tender kiss to the bare skin under his cheek.

[rsbigbang]

R/S Big Bang Fic & Art: To Trust A Wolf (E)

Title: To Trust A Wolf

Author: @puuvillaa

Artist: @pjxckson

Beta Reader: @whorerific

Summary:

Remus is living peacefully with a werewolf pack, when they get a new member called Sirius. Remus thinks there’s something odd about him, but forgets all about it when they keep getting closer and closer. But should he be more careful about trusting Sirius?

read on ao3!

[polinficrecs]

Dress by TheSushiMonster Rating: Explicit Language: English Status: Complete Summary:

Penelope needs to spice up the sex scenes in her latest novel. Colin wants to publish his travel journals as a book. When they strike up a deal to help each other, what begins as writing sessions between friends turns into something more… hands on. 

Or, the Colin teaches Penelope about seduction AU. *Note to author: A masterclass in spice, temptation, and toe-curling flutters<3

[nickelkeep]

The Hunter and the Stag Masterpost

Author: @nickelkeep | Artist: @anyreiart Title: The Hunter and the Stag Rating: Explicit Word count: 6881 Paring: Dean/Cas Warnings: No Major Archive Warnings Major tags: Druid Castiel, Cursed Dean Winchester, Minor Animal Injury Summary: Castiel lives a simple life, protecting the deep forest from the harm of humans and the humans from the dangers of the deep forest. But his life is made so much better by the presence of his faithful companion. A beautiful white stag he named Gleann. But life isn't always what it seems, especially not when everything is turned upside down by the presence of two hunters, looking for a lost family member.

Link to fic | Link to art

[koumine]

Jay gets real loud in this one 👍👍 [sub!bottom!Jason Todd x dom!top!demon!Reader] [SIHHIMH teaser]

teaser for my upcoming smut fic secrets I have held in my heart!  (it’s technically a crossover with Obey Me but all you need to know here is that Jay’s getting railed by a hot demon Reader 👌)

content tags: dom top Reader x sub bottom Jason Todd, GN race neutral Reader, Reader is a demon who has a penis with ridges, couch sex, biting, overstimulation (a bit), Jay is a loud fucking bottom 🍑💖

[RATED E BELOW] [WIP ZONE]    [-> masterlist!]

He whimpers and then moans when you hit his prostate, a full-throated cry and a clenching of his hands on the top edge of the sofa.  And then he bows his neck and presses his forehead against the upholstery, trembling helplessly, moaning so long and loud that he runs out of air for long seconds before gasping in the next breath, when you target his prostate mercilessly, grinding the ridges of your cock against it over and over and over…

It's no surprise when his first orgasm comes quick.  You purr in satisfaction and lay a gentle bite on the back of his neck as he shakes and groans through it — biting just hard enough to leave lasting marks on his skin, but not so hard that your pointed teeth pierce through and make him bleed.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he gasps when you keep fucking him, oversensitive in the post orgasm throes, yet wanting more all the same.

You run your hand up over his back, over the muscles that bunch and flex under the skin as he pushes back against your thrusts and struggles against his own urge to writhe in pleasure.  The creaking of the upholstery straining under his grip is almost inaudible beneath the delicious melody of his voice rising in wanton moans, beneath the harmony of slick sounds with every thrust of your cock in and out of him.

[n3on-graveston3s-calling]

Burn For You

[ A Madara Uchiha / Fem! Tobirama Senju fanfiction ]

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,854

Characters: Uchiha Madara, Senju Tobirama

Summary:

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might just think you actually fancy me, Uchiha,” Tobirama had taunted, a smirk curling wine colored lips as she glanced over. However, unlike their normal banter, he hadn’t responded. “... That was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh now. Ha-ha.” She mumbled, lips turning down into a pout as she turned her gaze back to the papers. “Senju.” His voice was soft, low- nearly resembling a growl as he stepped closer. Instinctually, her legs spread, the cloth of her kimono parting with the movement, feet barely meeting the ground. Prepared to run, to bolt, Madara noticed. Or perhaps to fight, with how her hands gripped the edge of the table. “You’re a nuisance, you realize that, yes?”

Author's Notes:

This was inspired by Burn For You by Abigail Barlow! It suits Tobirama and Madara really well, imo. Also, this is just fourteen pages of smut. I hope you all enjoy this! This is an old repost, you've probably seen it before; I've had it on my ao3 for about two years. Figured I should share it here, too. <3

It all started with a confession.

“I burn for you.”

The admission had taken her off guard. She’d agreed to stay behind after a meeting, going over the development plans for the Nara clan to settle in the North Eastern part of the village outside of the gates so that their deer would have plenty of space to roam and not fear the wrath of hunters. Madara had additional ideas that needed to be looked at by a different pair of eyes- constructive criticism before presenting it officially to the council. The night had grown long, the candles burned so long that they were more melted wax than actual candles. She’d ended up sitting atop the table, her legs crossed as she read over Madara’s ideas, comparing them with her brother’s. Truth be told, Hashirama seemed to be distracted- his plans were barely finished, whereas Madara’s were completely finalized. It was nice to see work actually getting done.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might just think you actually fancy me, Uchiha,” Tobirama had taunted, a smirk curling wine colored lips as she glanced over. However, unlike their normal banter, he hadn’t responded. “... That was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh now. Ha-ha.” She mumbled, lips turning down into a pout as she turned her gaze back to the papers.

“Senju.” His voice was soft, low- nearly resembling a growl as he stepped closer. Instinctually, her legs spread, the cloth of her kimono parting with the movement, feet barely meeting the ground. Prepared to run, to bolt, Madara noticed. Or perhaps to fight, with how her hands gripped the edge of the table. “You’re a nuisance, you realize that, yes?”

“A nuisance?!” She exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. “You've some nerve, calling me- what are you doing?” All heat vanished as he settled between her spread thighs, his hands braced upon the wood of the table on either side of her hips. “Madara, are you ill? Is something the matter?” A hand reached up to touch her wrist to his forehead to see if he’d come down with a fever, only for his hand to capture it-

And press a searing kiss to her wrist.

“I burn for you,” he murmured against the pale skin, lips brushing so gently, delicately- as if afraid that the mere movement would cause her pain. “I burn for you, day in and day out.”

“Madara-” her voice was barely above a whisper, chest rising and falling quickly as her heart began to race. When he looked up at her, her breath halted all together: three black tomoe stood out against ruby irises, yet she could not look away. Heat gathered in her cheeks- and lower, much lower, to her own embarrassment. “This is- inappropriate.” Even so, she did not pull her hand away.

She leaned closer.

That is, until the sound of footsteps approaching had Madara backing away, Tobirama cradling her wrist delicately as the door opened, revealing Mito. “Pardon the intrusion,” she murmured, giving a small bow. “My husband forgot his files, and instead of coming back himself, he sent me.” A sharp roll of the eyes showed her annoyance, even if her smile was soft.

“You could have told him to fuck off,” Tobirama stated simply, shoulders rising in a shrug.

Mito let out a bark of laughter at her sister-in-law. “I think that would have given him a heart attack!” Shaking her head, she flashed the pair a smile before turning on her heel. “Don’t work too late, you two.”

“We won’t,” Madara called after her, though his gaze was trained on Tobirama. The only way she could describe what she saw in his gaze was hunger. Pure hunger.

A fire had been started- and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to douse the flames, or fan them.

“We should… Head home for the night, yes?” Tobirama asked, scooting off of the top of the table to settle her feet on the floor once more, gathering her scrolls. She could sense Madara lingering behind her, yet he did not touch. His gaze was akin to their famed fireball jutsu, scorching the back of her neck. “Do get some rest, Madara.”

“You as well,” Madara murmured, though he made no move to follow her out of the door. Her footsteps were calm at first, until she was outside of the Hokage’s office. Only then did she sprint, pressing chakra into her legs to make her move faster, to get back to the Senju compound quicker. Alone, she needed to be alone to process what just occurred.

That had been a fortnight ago. Ever since, she’d been busy overseeing the building of the Nara compound while Madara saw to his own clan, making sure they were comfortable as the Uchiha compound began to expand. And every night since, her thoughts had been consumed with the feeling of his lips against her skin, his gaze boring into her own, the feeling of his hips settled between her thighs-

A sharp shake of the head causes wild snowy locks to sway with the movement. Not now, not while she’s reading reports. Even so, her foot tapped on the floor, a movement that spoke volumes of her unease, her need to get up, to demand to know why he’d done it. His office was across from her own. All she’d need to do is rise from her desk, walk across the hall, and demand an answer.

Burn for you.

The words held weight, especially for an Uchiha- known for their innate ability to control fire. To burn for someone is to be completely overwhelmed by the flames of passion, of lust. To think only of them.

Her thighs pressed together beneath her desk.

“Fuck,” she groaned, leaning back in her chair, head flopping back as her eyes closed. This was annoying, she decided. A nuisance. Yet, the Uchiha had kept her thoughts entertained. The night prior had been spent with her face pressed to her pillow, her hand between her thighs, working herself over and wishing it had been something much thicker.

The current bane of her existence knocked on the door before opening it, his gaze settled upon the paper he held. “Did you know that Hashirama put in for an expansion of the Senju compound?” He asked, annoyance clear in his voice as Tobirama forced herself to focus.

“I had no idea,” she replied dryly, her brow furrowing. “We don’t need more space. We’ve got plenty already.” Her gaze drifted, studying Madara for a moment. He wore no armor- they never did when in office. The summer yukata did little to hide what lay beneath.

Perhaps that was why her underlings were so distracted.

“Hm,” a sigh escaped his lips as he set the paper down onto her desk, only to pause for a moment. “Can we speak?”

“We’re speaking now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to be a bit clearer.”

“About what I said.” Madara caved, shaking his head at the Senju. “It was uncalled for, and I was out of pocket-”

“Tonight,” Tobirama cut in, raising a hand, causing Madara to pause. “Meet me in my quarters tonight, and we will talk about what you said. Not now- I’m busy.”

“Busy.” He repeated, gaze trailing over the stack of papers to be signed. “Right. Tonight, then.”

“Tonight,” Tobirama agreed, her gaze never lifting from her paper. “You’re dismissed.”

“Dismissed?! I-”

“Out of my office, Uchiha.” She snapped, feeling a touch smug as Madara turned on his heel and marched out, all but slamming the door on his way out. A snort escaped her as she leaned back. Tonight, they would speak. Tonight, the truth would come out- one way or another.

The day had passed quickly, leaving her spinning in the aftermath. Tobirama drug a hand through her hair, down from it’s normal high ponytail, the wild, curling tresses free for once. Her footsteps carried her across the room in a quick pace, her heart a staccato beat within her chest. Any moment now, she’d be able to feel the familiar flicker of Madara’s chakra entering the compound. To the East, Mito sat with Hashirama- no doubt the pair beginning to bed down for the night.

There, at the southern edge- the flicker of warmth, of red-tinged chakra that felt like standing too close to a bonfire. Her breath skipped a beat as she turned, studying her reflection in the mirror across from her bed. The sleeping yukata did little to give modesty. In a last moment effort to try to compose herself, she snags a robe and quickly ties it around her waist.

The sound of footsteps had her turning, studying the door the moment before it opened, revealing Madara. “Right on time,” she commented idly as she reached back, pulling her hair out from beneath the robe, inadvertently causing the fabric of both robe and sleeping yukata to rise.

“I hope it’s not too late?” Madara asks, head tilting, gaze drifting to the pale skin that was revealed. The barest hint of red on those thighs- did the tattoos stretch that far down? “I’m afraid I was caught up in clan business.”

“Not too late at all,” Tobirama replies with a shake of her head. “Please, come in- close the door, too?” She adds as an afterthought, moving to where she’d set up sakazuki. Her room was nice- it got the morning sun, and the afternoon shade, causing it to be cooler compared to the other sections of the compound’s main house.

Madara walked over to the low table, settling down into an improper sitting position, crossing his legs. Tobirama settles across from him, easing herself into a polite seiza, though the yukata and robe part to reveal how her thighs press together. Such pale skin… “I’m surprised you would even want to meet to discuss what was said,” he commented idly, head tilting as his gaze tracked her movements; sake was poured first for him, and then for herself. “I’d figured you’d want to ignore it.”

“Why ignore it,” she asked as she raised her sakazuki to her lips, careful not to spill a single drop, “when it’s the truth for myself as well?”

Madara nearly choked on the sake- and not from the taste. “Pardon?” He asked, blinking rapidly. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“How did you phrase it?” Tobirama’s head tilts, her gaze narrowing, ruby hues settling upon Madara’s face- flushed, eyes wide, caught off guard. “I burn for you.”

“You burn for me?”

“I burn.”

“You… Burn,” he murmured, gaze growing heavy- hungry. “For me.”

“I burn, day in and day out,” she nodded, sipping her sake once more. “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t envisioned you in my quarters.”

A moment of silence passed before Madara was reaching across the table, taking hold of the collar of her yukata to tug her over, their lips meeting in a kiss that was equally teeth and lips. Biting, hungry, her hands reached up to tangle in wild dark locks, tugging none-too-gently. A groan spilled free from Madara as he pulled back, her lip caught between his teeth in a gentle bite before he released her.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve pictured this moment,” his words were barely above a growl as Tobirama rose to her feet, the robe discarded, the collar of her yukata disheveled, baring a pale collarbone and shoulder. “How many times I’ve thought of you in my own quarters.”

“I think mine are more comfortable,” she teases as she settles atop his lap, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her nails gently scraping at the back of his neck. “After all, my bed is made to fit… Multiple.”

Multiple. Oh. Madara’s gaze grows distant as he envisions just what she insinuated for a moment, lips parting slightly. “Multiple.”

“Come now- you didn’t take me for a prude, did you?” She murmured, leaning in to kiss along his jaw, lips trailing up to his left ear. “After all, you just admitted that you’ve thought of me. Tell me, Madara- what have you thought of? What positions?” The shell of his ear is nipped before he reaches up, gripping her jaw to tug her head back.

“Do you truly want to know?” He asks, leaning back as if surveying her. His other hand reached up to brush her hair back from her face before his fingers began to drift, tracing the collar of her yukata slowly, gently nudging the fabric to cause it to fall back, baring more pale skin and red ink.

Such flimsy things, yukata.

“Senju Tobirama wants to hear how I’ve thought of her at night?” His fingers leave her jaw to brush knuckles gently against her cheek. “How I’ve thought of her on her knees beneath my desk, her lips around my cock? Or how I’ve pictured her laying on her back, pleasuring herself in front of me?” His lips quirked into a smirk as Tobirama whined softly at that, her eyes fluttering shut. “Or how I’ve spent so many nights picturing you laying beneath me, begging for my cock, begging for me to fuck you harder, faster?”

“Please,” she whispered, eyes opening into slits, her cheeks flushed. “My fingers could never be enough.”

Fingers. Her fingers? Oh- oh, a groan spilled free as he leaned in, stealing a kiss that had Tobirama’s head swimming. His hands smoothed down her back, pulling her closer, causing her to rise onto her knees. No words were exchanged as his hands slipped to grip her thighs, holding her up as he rose to his knees, then his feet.

Huh. Tobirama pulled back from the kiss to glance down at the floor for a moment. “... One day, take me against the wall.” She spoke quietly, as if to herself, though it got a chuckle out of Madara as he carried her to her bed.

It was large, he noted- larger than his own. “Anywhere you want,” he murmured as he settled her down, not bothering to part as his lips began to kiss and bite a scorching trail down her neck. “Your office, mine- my compound- wherever you want, just say the word.” A soft moan filled the air as his hand came up to settle atop her left breast, gently massaging through the fabric of the yukata. Her hands tangle in his hair as she keens, her eyes closed, head tilted back against the pillows. He pulled back long enough to make quick work of the tie that held the yukata together before parting the thin fabric, baring Tobirama to the chill of the room. She doesn’t cover herself.

No, her legs settle down against the silken sheets. Nothing beneath. Oh, she’d been prepared for this! The realization draws a chuckle from him as his hands smooth across her thighs, marveling at the way the red ink settles into her skin. Her chest- oh, how it encircles both breasts, ending in a circle in the center of chest. The bands around her biceps, encircling her shoulders, how they encircle her throat. That’s why she preferred the high mandarin collars. The ink stretches further down, encircling both thighs. His fingers trace their paths, drawing forth gentle shudders that dance across her skin.

“Beautiful,” Madara whispers, leaning down to press a kiss in the center of the circle that laid upon her chest. “Every inch.”

“Who knew you’d be a sap?” Tobirama teased, though the flush in her cheeks gave away how affected she was by his ministrations- and the slickness between her thighs.

She receives no verbal response; instead, he continues to kiss a trail lower, feeling her stomach tense beneath his lips. A smile curls them as he glances up, meeting her gaze the same moment his tongue lolls out, dragging a slow trail back up towards her chest. His lips enclose around her right nipple as his fingers begin to toy with the left, pinching gently the same time his teeth graze against the other.

“I always- oh- knew you had a thing for breasts,” Tobirama snickers before flinching at the swat he gave to her thigh. Huh. “What with how much you try to- watch your damned teeth-” another swat, though he pulls back from her breast, “-try to peek down my clothes.”

“What can I say?” Madara muses, a cheeky grin curling his lips as he leans in to steal a kiss, his hand soothing the area he’d swatted mere moments before. “I’m a simple man with simple likes.”

“Gross.”

“Fuck off.”

“Take your yukata off and I will,” Tobirama mutters, reaching out to drag her nails down the portion of his chest that was revealed. “I’ve always wondered if you’ve got the dick to back up how cocky you are.”

“You little shit,” he hissed, falling for her words as he made quick work of his yukata, leaving him in his undergarments- which hid nothing, Tobirama noted, her eyes widening in surprise. “Ha! See? I can actually back my shit- oh,” whatever he’d intended to say died on his tongue as Tobirama had reached out, palming at him through his underwear, her eyes wide in curiosity.

Wordlessly, she sat up, gaze intense as she leaned in to lick a slow line down the center of his abdominals- a mirror of what he’d done to her, he realized belatedly. “Lay down,” she murmured against the sensitive skin of his stomach. He obeyed, settling back against the large bed, hair spreading out beneath him like a dark halo. She went to crawl between his legs, only for Madara to grunt.

“No.”

A blink. “Why not?”

“Come here.”

“Wh- oh.” Realization struck, and her cheeks burned as she swallowed roughly. “Right,” carefully, as if afraid she’d somehow crush him, she crawled up and turned. It was an intimate position, one that she didn’t often find herself in with her previous partners, yet Madara didn’t complain. This way, it left them both open- vulnerable, but gave her the perfect angle to reach out and tug his underwear down far enough to free his cock. “... Are all the Uchiha built like this?” She asked, half joking as she gazed down at it.

She couldn’t lie- it wasn’t a bad dick. Not at all- no, it was veiny, but not outwardly awful to look at. Thick; the stretch would hurt, she had no doubt about that. But a part of her thrilled at the idea of the pain. A jolt danced through her, drawing forth a startled gasp at the feeling of his tongue licking a slow stripe up her slit. “No, we aren’t,” he finally answered as his hands raised, settling on her most intimate part and spreading her wide. “I’m just fuckin’ lucky.”

Her eyes rolled, but any retort she had died the moment his tongue pressed against her clit. Gaze closing, she enjoyed the feeling for a moment longer, hips grinding back against his mouth, moans spilling free. Damn him- he was talented. Perhaps the rumors she’d heard were true. Reaching out, she cupped his cock, giving a light stroke before leaning forward, tongue lolling out to give sweet kitten licks at the head, enjoying the way his thighs tensed at the feeling. Two could play at this game, she decided as she opened her mouth wider, taking the head in to suckle on.

Madara groaned against her, lips closed around her clit before he pulled back for a moment, letting his thumb circle her clit in quick, tight circles. “What, is it too big for you?” He teased, only to eat his words a moment later as wet heat encircled over half of his length-

And she swallowed around him. His head fell back against the pillows, a groan filling the room as she began to bob her head in earnest. His fingers didn’t pause, tormenting her clit. Neither would last like this, not with how pent up they were. And as tempting as it was to let her finish him off like this, or to have her finish against his mouth-

That could come another time.

“To-Tobirama, stop, stop,” he murmured, tapping her thigh gently to get her attention. One last slow lick is given before she lifts her head.

“What?” Was she not good? She hadn’t gotten any sort of complaints before, but there was certainly a first time for everything. Her answer was given the next moment as he rolled her off of him.

“As much as I’d love to continue this,” he mused, pushing himself up, his gaze drifting over her form, “I’d much rather have you coming around my fingers than my tongue. This time, at least.”

A shiver danced across her skin at the implication that there would be more than just this. That this wouldn’t be a simple one-night stand. A smile curled her lips as she adjusted herself, settling back against the pillows. Reaching out, she snagged his wrist and tugged him closer, pulling him in for a slow kiss, much more sensual than their initial- the heat still there, certainly, but no longer a fight of dominance. Her hand slipped beneath her pillows, retrieving the small glass vial of oil. “I’m sure you know what to do with this,” she murmured into the kiss, giving his bottom lip a nip.

A chuckle rumbled free from his chest as he plucked the vial from her grasp, settling back on his knees between her thighs. “I think I have an idea,” he agreed, uncorking the bottle with his teeth before letting the oil drizzle out over his fingers, coating two and letting a small stream drip onto her already-soaked cunt. With his clean hand, he replaced the cork before carefully setting the vial aside.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the inside of her left thigh while his right hand continued to work, thumb rubbing clockwise circles against her clit as a second finger eased in beside the first, stretching her out. She was relaxed, sure- but not enough, not to his standards. “Tobi,” he murmured, watching as her gaze fluttered open, brows draw inwards, lips parted to allow soft moans and whispers of “Yes,” and “right there,” to spill free. “Eyes on me,” the command had her tightening around his fingers, a pulse of arousal. He felt the shift when his Sharingan activated, the strain on the veins around his eyes and within as everything swam into a sharper view.

It might be needed again later.

His clean hand settled atop her thigh, massaging it as he eased a finger in, drawing a pleased gasp from Tobirama’s lips. Her eyes fluttered shut, cheeks a rosy hue as he crooked his finger, slowly drawing it back out before pushing back in- a slow pace. She was soaked- realistically, he didn’t believe she needed much prep, but he’d dreamed of this moment for too long to even consider speeding through this.

He wanted to remember this.

“The great Tobirama Senju, getting fucked by none of than Uchiha Madara- her sworn enemy,” he taunted, crooking his fingers up, pressing against the most sensitive part of her. A whine- loud, long- escaped, her thighs tensing on either side of him as his hand sped up suddenly. Wet, so very wet. “How lewd,” he crooned, giving her thigh a nip, enjoying the way the muscle jumped beneath his touch. “So fucking wet for me already- listen, Tobirama.”

“Sh-shut up,” Tobirama gasped, her hands gripping at her chest. Good, so good- she was drawing close. “Stop- ‘Dara, stop, too close,” she warned, but his fingers didn’t slow down. “Madara- oh, Madara, there, there, don’t-” her words cut off as her orgasm swept over her. Her head fell back against the pillows, snowy tresses spread about the dark sheets like a halo as she pulsed around his fingers, coating them and his hand.

A pleased hum rumbled free as Madara leaned down, pressing a kiss to her over-sensitive clit. “Good girl,” he murmured, giving it a lick, succeeding in drawing out a broken whine as his fingers withdrew. Sitting back, he reached out to grasp the vial once more to open it, using the remaining oil to slick his cock up. He gave it a few slow strokes, thumb drifting over the sensitive slit in the head to gather the bit of precum that had gathered.

“Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass,” Tobirama murmured, reaching out to take hold of one of Madara’s hands. “I’m anything but glass.”

“I’m aware,” he replied, scooting forward to settle his hips against hers. A groan fell from both at the sensation of his cock rutting against her cunt. “You’ve never been glass. Iron is a much better word to describe you,” murmuring, he took a moment to enjoy the sensation of being so close to her. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as his other guided his cock to her entrance. A slow push of his hips had the head slipping in, a gasp breaking free from Tobirama’s lips, her eyes squeezing shut at the intrusion.

Not made of glass, but still very much human.

The stretch was wonderful- the slight sting of pain eased by his thumb on her clit, by his hips slowly moving forward and not deciding to seat himself in her all at once. So much- almost too much, but she’d be the last to admit that. His hips settled against her own, his hand leaving hers to grip at her hips instead, thumbs rubbing small circles into the soft, unscarred skin. “Good,” she whispered, gaze opening to reveal hazy ruby hues. A moment passed as they both grew used to the sensation- her to how filled she felt, him to the wet heat that encased his cock. Curiously, she shifted her hips, a low moan leaving at the feeling of him moving within.

Madara took that as his sign, hips drawing back before shifting forward slowly, testing the waters. Tobirama’s breath hitched, her brow drawing inward, hands slowly gripping at the sheets beneath her. “Please,” she whispered, tongue slipping out to wet her lips. “Fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he grinned, shifting his knees before he began to thrust harder, faster, causing Tobirama to moan- a much louder sound than anything she’d given him before. Wordless little sounds, but gaining in pitch as his hips met hers, as he pulled her back onto his cock. “If I didn’t know any better,” he panted, gaze trained on her face, “I’d almost mistake you for a common oiran.” The way she tightened around him at the slight degradation had his hips slowing for a moment, much to her annoyance. “Oh, yes, I could see it so easily,” he continued, hips grinding, barely pulling out before pushing back in, rubbing against that spot that had her breath catching in her throat. “You in one of those little Tea Houses that have settled here, wearing a pretty little kimono, your lips stained red- laying on your back just like this, letting men use you like the whore you really are,” his voice dipped into a growl as he leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms while the position shifted, her hips rising with his.

Bordering so closely to the mating press, he noted in the back of his mind. But that didn’t matter, not with Tobirama gasping out his name. “Madara,” she whined, a hand rising to cover her mouth- as if it would hide what they were doing. “Don’t stop, sweet Gods do not stop, ah-right there!” Her thighs tensed around his hips, her cunt pulsing around his cock. Oh, she wouldn’t last long- but that was fine.

He would.

His fingers dug into her hips as he pressed close, hips grinding against hers. A moment to catch his breath- and to have her last just a touch longer. Being so close, he could just… Tongue lolling out, he licked a slow stripe up the valley of her breasts, drawing a surprised gasp from her lips, a breathless smile rising to settle across her features. “I could stay like this for ages,” he murmured against her skin, pressing lingering kisses to the smattering of scars across her chest- small, given by shrapnel during their darker days, “just like this, fucking you until you cried, until you can’t remember your name.”

Tobirama shifted her hips, brow furrowed as Madara spoke. She could hear him, certainly- could understand him, but the words didn’t register, not with how close she was to her own end. “Then do it,” she whispered, reaching down to cup his cheeks, drawing his face up- and for once, didn’t flinch away from the triad of tomoe within his ruby gaze. “Make me forget my name. Make me only remember yours.”

Something seemed to switch, then- as Madara studied her flushed features, the way her hair spread out beneath her head like a silver halo and wings. Leaning in, he captured her lips in a slow, sensual kiss that ended in him nipping at her lower lip as he shifted, his hands smoothing up her sides before settling atop the blankets, holding his weight up. This position was far more intimate than their previous positions, yet he found that it didn’t bother him. No, rather, he preferred this- to see her face so clearly, to hear her whispers of his name as he began to thrust once more. Her legs shifted, coming to settle around his hips, her ankles crossing at the small of his back.

Closer, stirring the embers of the flame that had been waiting to come to life for some time, now. What had been a small campfire was quickly spreading, consuming like a wildfire, flames licking at their skin, settling in their veins.

His lips brushed against her chin as her head tilted back, the position allowing for Madara to push deeper. “Tobirama,” he murmured, brow furrowing. Perhaps he wouldn’t last long, not now, not with how she gripped his cock. “By the Gods,” he gasped softly, hips rolling, chasing both hers and his own release. Her hands reached up, one tangling in thick onyx locks, the other scrapping blunt nails down the expanse of his back. The sharp shock of pain drew a surprised groan out of him, much to her amusement.

“Good boy,” she teased, only to gasp a moment later at the feeling of teeth digging into the sensitive flesh of her neck. “Mad-” her voice cut off by a loud moan as he moved his weight onto one arm, his free hand slipping between them to brush against her clit. Wordless sighs and moans spilled free as she rolled her hips against his, creating a wonderful fiction that had them both beginning to become consumed with the flames that threatened to burn them alive.

Madara pressed heated kisses along her throat as he felt her shudder beneath him. “Close, darling?” He murmured in her ear, lips brushing against the shell as she whimpered. “Will you be a good girl and come for me, then? Come around my cock like I know you want to?” His voice was no longer smooth, growing more haggard as his own completion began to burn at the base of his spine. “Come on, Tobi, you know you want to.”

“Shut- shut up,” Tobirama panted, even as she tossed her head back as he gave a particularly hard thrust. So close, so close. “Don’t stop, Madara- oh- oh, there! Please,” her voice pitched into a whine as her hand abandoned his hair to clutch at his back. Her walls pulsed around him once, twice, three times before she stilled, her back arching, mouth dropping open to release a sob of his name, tears spilling free at last from garnet hues.

Madara pushed himself up to watch, searing the image of her coming around his cock into his memory. The way her cheeks were flushed red, her brows furrowed, her nose scrunching up- she was beautiful in that moment. She was always beautiful, but this was a new type of beauty, something so delicate and precious that he hadn’t ever imagined being privy to. He moved slowly, the thrusts dragging against her walls, dragging out her pleasure and inching him close to his own. It hit suddenly, coming over him like wildfire consuming brush that lay in its path. He stilled above her, his head hanging low as he groaned out her name like a prayer.

She lay beneath him, panting and whining at the feeling of him filling her- hot, so very hot, it threatened to send her over the edge by the feeling alone. Shaky hands reached up to brush through surprisingly soft onyx tresses as he began to slowly gather himself. A moment longer, she thought to herself- let this last for a moment longer. The feeling of him settled over her, shuddering, panting, the heat that radiated from his skin so very pleasant, it had her relaxing into her bed.

But all good things must come to an end. Madara was careful as he pulled out, rolling his weight to the side to settle beside her with a breathless laugh. “Oops,” he hummed, reaching over to drag his fingertips along her thigh, watching as her leg jumped. He traced the red tattoo up, along the top of her thigh and onto her hip. “Was I supposed to pull out?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured, reaching over to brush her fingers against his cheek, brushing away his hair. So messy… “Mito taught me how to make tea that will… Ensure it won’t take.”

“How soon do you need to drink it?” An innocent question as he rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his palm.

Tobirama hummed, shifting and grimacing at the feeling of his seed leaking. Oh, that’s why she hated it. “I’ll have it with my breakfast,” comes the simple response as she dips a hand down between her thighs to drag her fingers through the mess. “No wonder why there are so many of you Uchiha,” she comments idly.

A snort escapes Madara as he sits up, gaze drifting to the apex of her thighs. “Could always clean it up for you,” his fingers tap a slow rhythm on her thigh.

“Who said I wanted to be cleaned up?” Tobirama shoots back, legs slowly spreading. “Or are you just a one-and-done kinda guy?”

A grin spread across Madara’s lips as he slipped back between her thighs, pressing kisses along her stomach. “Do I look like the kind of man to leave a woman unsatisfied?”

“No,” she sighs, reaching down with her clean hand to brush his hair back from his face. “I feel that I will never be unsatisfied with you around- oh!” The feeling of his tongue brushing against her slit had her jolting in surprise, a chuckle rising to meet her ears.

Fires are awfully hard to extinguish once they grow out of control and consume everything within its sight.

[wings-n-bees]

SWAN UPON LEDA

Summary: At just sixteen years old, Roger's world comes to a crashing halt. Rating: E Relationship: Brian/Roger Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape, Mentions of Stillbirth, Mentions of Pregnancy Other Tags: Found Family, Trauma & Healing, Hurt/Comfort

Read Chapter 1 Here >> On AO3

The biggest thanks to @abootfullofclogs! Without you there would be no fic.

!! PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS LISTED !!

[calciseptinefic]

more than you can chew

SpiderVerse || Miguel O'Hara/Peter B. Parker || EXPLICIT || 5828 notes: I'm sure I'm not the only one who exited the theater with an unhealthy obsession revolving around Miguel's fangs, so. Yeah. Here you go, my kinky brethren. Many thanks to babygato for both the beta and the Spanish translations. ♥ Also available on archive of our own. warnings: SPOILERS FOR ASTV || biting, blood kink, anal fingering, anal sex, barebacking, vague kink negotiation, peter b. parker's masochism, inappropriate and unscientific (but sexy!) uses of miguel's venom, and miguel's scarily big dick

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Peter knows Miguel's straight to the point. He's witnessed it and born the brunt of it a thousand times, but he won't deny that such bluntness is effective—because it is. When Miguel snarls at someone to jump, they don't even ask how high. They just do it. Even Peter, whose entire personality is antithetical to blind obedience, just... does it.

Mostly.

When he feels like it.

So when Miguel throws open the door and stalks up to him, silent despite the irritation in every line of his body, Peter doesn't think. He simply waits for Miguel to snap. To say what he means to say. It won't take long; Miguel is not a patient man, and he usually starts making demands as soon as he enters the room.

Usually being the operative word.

"You're chipper today," Peter remarks as Miguel crosses the threshold, both to help him along and to get the first word in. "Cafeteria out of empanadas?"

As Miguel climbs the short flight of stairs, his thighs flex beneath the shadowy dark of his suit. The dim lighting softens the severe lines of his body, yet the lack of definition does little to diminish the threat of him. Peter can hide himself behind a pair of sweatpants and a few extra pounds around the middle, but Miguel will always look as deadly as he can be, as he is. It probably doesn't help that he has a skull splashed in crimson on his chest.

"You are in my chair," Miguel drawls as he gets closer, voice no louder than a whisper. "Out."

"Ah." Peter leans back further and kicks his feet up on the console. No slippers today, only the thin soles of his boots. "But I just got comfortable."

Miguel stops. He's standing right next to Peter, looming over him. He's very good at that. The looming. He's also very good at keeping his face impassive and not blinking and silently telling Peter that his very existence is an annoyance with the barest twitch of his left eyebrow. It's frankly impressive.

"You are interrupting my work," Miguel hisses.

"And what is that? Standing at parade rest while you glower at your monitors?" Peter snorts. "Relax, man. You have an AI to monitor that business."

Miguel's expression does not change. He does not move. He just stares, unblinkingly, a faint red sheen behind the darkness of his pupils. Anyone with an ounce of common sense would get up and leave—would have left, despite their initial intentions, the moment Miguel opened his mouth and told them to get out.

Which is why Peter is here. It's not that he knows Miguel the best—he doesn't—nor is it that he's known Miguel the longest—he hasn't. It's that he has more wiggle room than the others, for a variety of seemingly unimportant reasons, and he isn't afraid to press the advantage.

Or, you know. Annoy the shit out of their great and fearless leader.

"When's the last time you took a break?" Peter asks, gesturing vaguely away from the plethora of screens around them. Miguel opens his mouth to answer but Peter quickly adds, "Sleeping and showering don't count."

Miguel's mouth closes. Mostly. His top lip doesn't settle back into impassivity; instead, it curls away from his fangs, a small aggression that gives Peter a disproportionate sense of satisfaction.

"Did Jess put you up to this?" Miguel asks.

"I put me up to this," Peter tells him honestly. Jess had murmured, Ben had muttered, and Peter heard them both, but the concern that spurred him to action had already been there. "Your eye bags make mine look like I went on a pleasant trip to somewhere tropical. You know, one of those fancy places where you can get frozen margaritas with those little paper umbrellas served to you on the beach."

"Your point?" Miguel's voice gets softer. Deeper. It would be threatening, if Peter's brain had the correct danger response—but it doesn't, so it isn't. "Assuming you had one, beneath your inane luggage metaphor."

"I was referencing a little thing called 'taking it easy'. Ever heard of it? Not that I'm one to like, judge another man for his unhealthy coping mechanisms—"

"Coping." Miguel sneers at Peter down the length of his nose, crossing his arms over his wide chest. "My vigilance is not coping. It is atonement."

At this, Peter very nearly winces. Honesty has always been Miguel's best and worst trait, and he has always been upfront with why he created the Spider Society: the mistakes he's made, the lives he's destroyed. It's the stark, unflinching delivery of the truth that hits hardest, and Peter's been around long enough to have heard Miguel talk about the death of his child. Seen the rigid way he stands, as though the smallest movement would make him crumble. Peter—who has only recently become a father—cannot imagine the depth of horror and grief he would feel if the same were to happen to him. Even thinking about losing Mayday hurts.

"Can't atone if you're burnt out, big guy," Peter reasons, mentally setting aside the nightmare of Miguel's past. "And you're well past crispy."

Miguel's eyes narrow. "And what exactly are you suggesting? An all inclusive trip to the Maldives?"

"That would be ideal, but I think you would strain yourself trying to relax that long." Peter grins. "I'm thinking of something a little closer to home."

As he says this, Peter drops one leg from the console and spreads his knees. He isn't wearing sweatpants over his suit—or even any underwear—and the curve of his soft cock is visible beneath the layer of spandex. Miguel's eyes instinctively follow the splay of Peter's knees to it and he stops. Stares. Says nothing, does nothing.

Classic Miguel.

It's a gamble, Peter knows. He has never been good about gauging the interest of others, and it's been awhile since he tried. He didn't have a sex drive while he and MJ were separated—too depressed by the turn his life had taken—and since he and MJ got back together, he's been putting his time and energy into repairing and maintaining their marriage. It would be a lie, though, to say that he wasn't interested in Miguel from the onset, that the idea of it hasn't been festering in his brain since he was pulled into Earth-928. It's just that he wasn't planning on ever acting on it.

Then Mayday was born, red-faced and perfect.

Then MJ pinched his butt cheek and firmly reminded him of the parameters of their open relationship.

Then Miguel came back from one of his trans-dimensional missions, bloodied and barely conscious, while Jess screamed for a fucking medic.

Everyone else thought it was one of those things. On occasion, Spiderman got in over his head, got hurt, then got back up. And it was forgotten when Miguel was on his feet after a few days, but Peter knows the truth: Miguel's been slowly deteriorating over the past few months as the number of anomalies has been steadily increasing. He's recruiting more and more Spider-People to help, but he takes the lead on too many missions, bears too much of the responsibility. He's frayed at the edges. The other Spider-People respect him because he brought them together—because he's been through the worst—but his fuse gets shorter and shorter with every passing day. Miguel does not have enough natural charisma to ease the metaphorical sting of his bites, either; if he wants to continue to lead the Spider Society, to continue to protect the multiverse, then he needs to relax.

And—as Peter mentioned—he and Miguel have a relationship different from the others. Miguel sees him as an equal, oddly enough, and is one of the few who can sway him to a decision despite his misgivings. Misgivings like... taking a quick break to fuck Peter silly on the floor of his pretentious floating lab.

"Old-fashioned, but it works," Peter quips. Miguel's eyes are still glued to the apex of his splayed thighs. "Been awhile?"

"That is none of your concern," Miguel tells Peter's cock.

"Awhile. Gotcha." Peter reaches over to the console and hits the button that sends the platform they're on upwards. As it begins its slow rise, Peter leans back and lets his hand skim down his chest, over his abdomen, to rest on the inside of his thigh. His bare fingers dangle in front of his groin. "Wanna fix that?"

Miguel's stare crawls up Peter's body back to his face. There's something untamed behind the mask of his ambivalence; Peter imagines it's the same thing he keeps leashed when he's fighting, that monster they all have that bubbles to the surface when instinct begins to crowd rational thought. It's equal parts terrifying and arousing, and Peter's dick twitches at the potential.

"You don't know what you're asking," Miguel slurs between his fangs.

"I have a hypothesis," Peter says. "And I'm always down for a little experimentation."

Miguel briefly closes his eyes. His jaw tightens. "Parkers," he hisses, mostly to himself, and follows it up with a few deeply unflattering words in Spanish that Peter doesn't know.

"More trouble than we're worth," Peter agrees happily.

"Infinitely," Miguel growls, and—

And—

Miguel's fist is in the wave of Peter's hair, and his mouth is hard against Peter's. For a moment, It's more dominance than pleasure—then Miguel's mouth softens, and Peter's surprise melts into triumph, and they're kissing. Peter's eager hands immediately latch onto Miguel's shoulders—impossible not to, when they're so broad and strong—and he pushes up into it, wanting more.

Kissing Miguel is how Peter imagined it would be. Miguel is a big guy, tall and muscular, and he uses that to his advantage. He bears down on Peter, forcing him to bend without regard to Peter's wants. Peter doesn't mind, though; he's a flexible guy.

"Dime que pare," Miguel says, each syllable chopped up and spit out. He pulls far enough away so Peter can see the damp shine of his mouth, and repeats in English, "Tell me to stop."

"And put a kibosh on this?" Peter snorts. "Hard pass."

"I am not a nice man," Miguel warns.

"Oh, really? I never would have guessed. I mean, apart from the snarling, and the skulking around, and—"

Peter's spidey-sense goes off, a bolt of instinct that warns him a split second before Miguel grabs him around the waist, lifts him off the chair, and throws him to the ground. Peter could stop it at any point—he's Spiderman, okay, being picked up and tossed around is practically in his job description—but he does nothing, going limp and letting it happen. Miguel didn't put any force behind his throw and the only thing that assists Peter's fall is gravity. He barely gasps as his back hits the floor.

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" Miguel hisses as he stands over Peter. His feet are planted on either side of Peter's hips, shoulders and spine rounded, hands curled into claws.

"Do you ever take anything un-seriously?" Peter counters.

Miguel begins to say, "No puedo creer—" but is cut off as Peter reaches up, grabs the front of his suit, and yanks him down. They fall together this time: Peter once again on his back, Miguel on all fours above him. Peter grins as he wraps his legs around Miguel's hips. Miguel's hair falls forward around his face, an inky black backlit by the warm orange glow of the monitors.

"Better," Peter hums. He lifts one hand to gently touch the angles of Miguel's stern face: his arched brows, his Roman nose, his strong cheekbones. He rests his thumb against the full swell of Miguel's bottom lip, then pulls it down gently to expose the needle sharp points of his fangs. "Nice."

Miguel nips at Peter's fingers with the blunt edge of his incisors. It isn't meant to be cute or playful or sexy; the bite is a warning. A physical reminder that Miguel always means what he says. It sends a quick, hot flash of sensation down Peter's nerves. Painful, sure. Arousing, even more.

"Just saying," Peter groans as his thumb throbs, as his dick throbs. It's all he can do to stop himself from rolling his hips upward into Miguel's pelvis. "It's hot. The fangs, I mean. The potential biting. If you wanna chew on me a bit—"

"More than a bit," Miguel murmurs. His red eyes shine predatorily, gaze fixated on Peter's neck, right above the line of his suit where his carotid artery pulses beneath the skin.

"Right." Peter's voice is thin. "Oh boy."

When Peter met Miguel—less than six weeks after his brief but life-changing stint in a parallel dimension—he had marveled at the differences in their powers. Miguel didn't have a spidey-sense, but all of his other senses were enhanced; he couldn't stick to every surface, but his talons were stronger than steel; he had spinnerets that produced flimsy, organic webbing; and he had non-retractable fangs. The grapevine maintained that half of his DNA was arachnoid, and Peter's spent months wondering if the genetic splicing came with additional behavioral changes. Admittedly, the thoughts revolving around the fangs and claws were more horny than scientific, but Peter would argue that no one could be academically impartial if Miguel 'Shockingly Hot' O'Hara crowded their space on the regular.

"Last chance, menso." Miguel's voice is barely audible despite the fact that his mouth is inches from Peter's ear.

"Christ on a pogo stick, you're still giving those out?" Peter doesn't know if he wants to laugh or knee Miguel in the ribs. "Seriously man, how do you say 'I have a very specific fantasy involving your teeth and my throat' in Spanish? I took two years in high school and only remember how to ask where mis pantalones are. A surprisingly useful phrase, given how often I have to ask it—"

Miguel bites Peter. If it's meant to stop Peter from talking, it's effective, as the pain of Miguel's fangs sinking deep into his neck shocks the ability of speech right out of his brain. Peter sucks in a quick, sharp breath at the overwhelming intensity of it. His muscles lock and his nails dig into the meat of Miguel's shoulders as he lets the hurt sink into him—

But the pain of the bite fades within moments.

"What—?" Peter gasps as a warmth begins to radiate outwards from his neck. It's a gentle, buoyant feeling that is directly at odds with the unrelenting hurt of Miguel's bite. Peter can still feel the dull pressure of Miguel's fangs buried in his throat, but it's almost imperceptible beneath the floaty numbness suffusing his brain like cotton candy.

Oh yeah, Peter remembers in the sluggishly functioning portions of his mind. Some spiders are venomous.

Miguel pulls away, and Peter can feel the slow, careful slide as he removes his fangs. Eyes heavy, Peter struggles to focus his vision on Miguel's face. He's glad of the effort, though; above him, Miguel is only inches away, mouth slack, fangs exposed. Blood the same color as his eyes is slicked on his lips and the enamel of his teeth.

He looks as desperate as Peter feels.

"Feels good," Peter slurs, tongue clumsy. He moves one hand from Miguel's shoulder to his head, and strokes his silky hair. "Neurotoxin?"

Miguel's tongue runs over his bottom lip, the pink of it faint against the vivid red of Peter's blood, before clarifying, "Acetylcholine overstimulation. Non-fatal. And in people with enhanced metabolisms..."

No wonder Peter feels floaty. He's high.

"Wow." Peter giggles, moving his hand away from Miguel's thick hair to his face. The pads of his fingers ghost over the planes and angles of Miguel's dramatic features. "No wonder you didn't want to bite me."

Miguel nips Peter's thumb again. This time, however, instead of letting go, he sucks the finger further into his mouth to ease the sting, his tongue hot and wet against Peter's skin. The sight of Miguel's lashes fluttering against his hollowed out cheeks makes Peter groan and yank his hand away from Miguel's mouth.

"Again," Peter demands.

There is no hesitation this time. Miguel grabs Peter's jaw with one hand and forcefully exposes the other side of his throat. His fangs are agony as they slice into Peter's flesh, dragging Peter's brain away from heady arousal, making Peter sob with the contrast. Then, when the neurotoxin floods in, he sobs again at the relief.

"Fuh-uck," Peter whines, fingers clutching, body trembling. His head is a swimming mess, a jumbled vertigo of sensation, and he can feel the involuntary slip of tears down his cheeks. He's always been a bit of a masochist, but this exceeds every experience he's previously had on a logarithmic scale. "Again, again, again—"

"Do you ever shut up?" Miguel asks, panting. The hand holding Peter's jaw tightens painfully, talons threatening to break skin. Miguel's face is vaguely blurry as he lifts his head from Peter's throat; Peter's blood is shiny and dark against his mouth, and some of it is smeared back against his jaw. His eyes are wild and bright, and his hair has fallen forward, sticking to his forehead. He looks feral. Lost. It's an understandable response. This whole thing has spiraled uncontrollably in under five minutes—but instead of becoming afraid, Peter only feels the rush of anticipation.

"I only shut up when someone makes me shut up," Peter answers happily, the words partially smushed by how Miguel is holding his face. Thankfully, Miguel's vice-like grip does not restrict the movement of Peter's eyebrows, which he wiggles as suggestively as he can. "Wanna make me?"

"Bendito Dios," Miguel curses. "Si quiero."

It feels surreal to be slowly undressed. Miguel could rip Peter's suit from his body like it were paper if he wanted—Peter's seen how precise and powerful his talons can be—but instead, Miguel peels the red and blue spandex away meticulously, hands and eyes greedy for every new inch of exposed skin. He drags his teeth over various odd spots: the curve of Peter's bicep into his inner elbow, the firm roundness of Peter's belly, the tightness of his calves. Miguel's human teeth do little, too blunt-edged to be dangerous, while his fangs leave thin red lines in their wake. The venom can't do much at such a small dosage and, by the time Peter's naked on the floor, his enhanced metabolism and similar genetic make-up have washed away a majority of the effects. In its wake he can feel the beginnings of a headache and the hot trickle of blood pooling in the hollows of his throat.

"Yeah, okay," Peter says as he touches his sore neck. "This is uhh... really doing it for me. Wowza."

Miguel's eyes are riveted as Peter pulls his hand away, the fingertips wet. The fresh smears of blood are desaturated to black in the dim light. Peter brings a tentative finger to his mouth and licks it clean, the sharp taste of iron hitting the back of his throat. Miguel's expression is blank as he watches, but his nostrils are flared and his chest is rising and falling noticeably.

Enhanced senses, Peter thinks as he releases his finger with a pop. Miguel can probably smell it as clearly as Peter tastes it. Aloud, he says, "See something you like, big guy?"

"Unfortunately," Miguel rumbles. But he's reaching behind himself, to the zipper of his own suit at the nape of his neck, and yanking it down, down, down. Peter wants to say that he does more than stare like a slack-jawed idiot as Miguel shoves the suit down to mid-thigh, but…

Miguel is a good-looking individual. A great-looking individual, some might say. He's heavy with muscle, especially in his chest and arms, and his eight-pack looks like it was photoshopped. A thatch of dark hair begins between his pectorals and slips down his belly in a line, then spreads out again. For a moment, his dick is hidden by a sleek black jockstrap—but Miguel rips the offending cloth and cup away, letting his cock escape its confines. The faint sound of relief Miguel makes is one of the hottest noises Peter has ever heard in his entire life.

"Shit," Peter curses as he stares at Miguel's cock. It's proportional to the rest of him, so fat and long that gravity pulls on it even when fully erect. "Holy fucking shit. How did you even get that thing inside the cup?"

"Practice," Miguel answers.

"Was that—was that a joke? Oh my god. You just made a joke. About your dick. I feel like I need to immortalize this moment somehow, but I also just really want you in me? And now I'm wondering if I prepped enough. Like, I knew you'd be big, but there's big and then there's whatever you got going on—"

"Prepped?" Miguel interrupts, eyes slipping down.

"I'm an optimistic guy."

"Show me," Miguel demands.

Shameless—and a little more than turned on—Peter shifts more of his weight to his shoulders, hooks his hands behind his knees, and pulls his thighs back. He might be closer to forty than thirty, but his flexibility will never wane; one of the unexpected perks of being Spiderman, Peter supposes.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy who keeps lube in the lab," Peter says conversationally as Miguel reaches out and places his hands on Peter's ass. His palms are hot and a little clammy. "It was a super weird walk through HQ hoping the lube didn't leak out too much, not gonna lie. But there's no way I could have carried any in without ruining the lines of the suit and—ahh—shit—"

Miguel has pressed a thumb all the way into Peter, the slick lube and Peter's arousal making easy work of it. Peter's head thunks back onto the floor.

"Wet," Miguel murmurs.

"Uh huh." Peter can't even make fun of him for stating the obvious. He's overwhelmed by the knowledge that Miguel is actually inside him. Peter's thought about this for months. "That's uh—oh god."

Miguel pulls his thumb out and replaces them with two fingers. Again, it's easy work. Miguel looks up from where he’s pushed into Peter's body and arches one perfect eyebrow.

"Really optimistic," Peter amends.

Three fingers brings a faint burn, but Peter quickly adjusts. It helps that Miguel slides his fingers in and out slowly—firmly—nailing Peter's prostate with a maddeningly perfect amount of pressure every time. Peter's dick begins to drool pre-come as Miguel milks him, little pearls that bead up on his cockhead before rolling down the shaft. It's so good that—if Peter wants this to last long enough to get Miguel's cock in him—it needs to stop soon; so Peter lets go of his legs, ankles falling onto Miguel's shoulders, and Miguel's rhythm falters.

"Come on," Peter says, wriggling further into Miguel's lap. Miguel lifts both hands and holds Peter's legs in place, thumbs pressing into the thin skin behind his knees. "Put your cock in me already."

"You're not ready," Miguel tells him. He turns his head and scrapes his teeth over Peter's bony patella. "You're still tight."

"The fuck I am," Peter retorts even though Miguel is right. Peter knows from experience that his earlier prep and some finger-fucking isn't going to make him loose enough to take Miguel's cock easily, but Peter doesn't want it easy.

"It will hurt," Miguel warns.

"If you think pain is a deterrent for me, you really haven't been paying attention." Peter watches as Miguel's mouth drifts further along his leg, to the soft line of his inner thigh. "In fact, pain's kind of a motivating factor."

"Mmm," Miguel hums. His nose is pressed to Peter's skin and he inhales, so deeply Peter can feel the expansion of his ribcage. "I've noticed."

Miguel sinks his fangs into Peter's thigh. It hurts—fuck, it hurts—and Peter cries out, a wordless noise that echoes throughout the lab. Miguel's venom kicks in as the pain reaches a crescendo. Since the injection site is further away from Peter’s brain, it is less of a head-rush and more of a honeyed warmth spreading through his whole body. Their position means Peter also gets to watch the way his blood wells up against Miguel's mouth; the way Miguel works his jaw as he pulls away; the way Miguel uses the broad of his tongue to lick the puncture marks clean.

"Fuck, that is so hot," Peter murmurs. "Miguel—"

Miguel keeps Peter pinned in place as he reaches between them and guides himself towards Peter's entrance, pushing into him as the neurotoxin lingers. It dulls the worst of the stretch. Under normal circumstances, Peter would protest—he wants to struggle—to be overwhelmed—to have all his focus cut down to the act of being penetrated—but this time, he cannot form a single complaint. Miguel is bullying his cock into Peter's body, inch by painstaking inch, and his face—his eyes—

Peter cannot even blink as Miguel's expression transforms. The deep lines around his mouth soften. His jaw loosens, hanging open as he pants. His eyebrows unfurrow. His red eyes are fixed to the decreasing space between their bodies, glassy and awed.

He looks… devastated.

Earlier, when Peter had joked about how long it's been since Miguel got laid, he hadn't meant it seriously. Hadn't actually thought about it that much. But now, as Miguel makes it all the way inside Peter's body—as Miguel releases a low whine at how good it feels—Peter wonders when Miguel last let himself be vulnerable. Let someone else care for him.

Too long, Peter thinks as he reaches up to stroke the crest of Miguel's cheekbone. Miguel's gaze flickers to Peter's face and the ache in Peter's chest intensifies. He knows all too well what it's like to be lonely.

"Good?" Peter asks gently.

Miguel nods almost imperceptibly.

"Good." Peter shifts. The pressure of Miguel's cock is still distant, just out of reach, but Peter knows he'll feel it soon, when the venom in his body starts to degrade. "I'm good too. So." Peter lets his hand fall from Miguel's cheek and settles more firmly into Miguel's hold: calves hooked over Miguel's shoulders, thighs pressed to Miguel's torso, back against the cold lab floor. "Take what you need."

Miguel's hips rock slightly. For all of his aggressive posturing—for his insistence that he can do nothing but cause hurt and be cruel—he does not immediately begin to use Peter's body the way Peter expects. Instead, his hands settle on Peter's sides where his rib cage narrows, and he grinds his cock in as deep as possible. The pressure is unrelenting. Peter can feel it shift inside him and he groans, his own hands shackling Miguel's wrists.

"Fuck that's good," Peter gasps. Miguel pulls back a few inches, then slides back in. It isn't a fast motion, but it is inexorable; Miguel's cock pushes in until he is once again fully seated, forcing Peter's body to accommodate all of him. "Fuck."

Miguel does it again, and again, and again. Each time, he pulls out a little bit more; pushes in a little bit harder; goes a little bit faster. With each thrust, he puts more of his weight onto Peter's legs, forcing Peter's knees closer and closer to his ears and—by the time they are well and truly fucking—Miguel's face is inches from Peter's own, and Peter's knees are knocking against his ears. Sweat beads on Miguel's forehead and his face is contorted as though in pain, eyes squeezed shut.

"Come on, big guy," Peter goads. He knows Miguel is close by the violent way his pelvis slams into the backs of Peter's thighs, by the fine tremble in his forearms, and Peter wants Miguel to finish inside him so so so badly. "Come on, come on, come on—"

"Shut. Up. " Miguel snaps as he fucks Peter harder. "Why—do—you—never—shut—up—"

"Is that—ungh—rhetorical?" Peter would laugh if he wasn't getting rawed to within an inch of his life. As it is, the breathy sound that escapes him sounds more like a sob. "Or do you really—want me—to answer?"

Miguel snarls, an intense animal noise, and shoves a hand sloppily over Peter's mouth. At the same time, Peter's neglected dick rubs against Miguel's stomach and Miguel's cock rams into Peter's prostate. The trifecta of sensations should not be enough to send Peter over the edge—but Miguel's glittering, predatory eyes have opened in his irritation, and Peter has always been a sucker for pretty people with prettier eyes. He comes with a gasp against Miguel's palm, the muffled sound inaudible over the electric hum of the lab and the harsh, wet noises of Miguel continuing to fuck him.

"¿Terminado?" Miguel asks. Peter doesn't know if Miguel is referring to the orgasm that short-circuited his nerves or being a smartass, but either way, Peter nods dumbly.

Miguel does not reply. He simply removes his hand from Peter's mouth to fist in Peter's hair, pulling the strands to the point of pain, and uses Peter's body the way Peter thought he would from the beginning. The lax numbness Peter feels is swiftly replaced by a building sense of too much—but before the overstimulation can make Peter genuinely uncomfortable, Miguel comes. The grunt he makes in Peter's ear is masculine and satisfied.

For a moment, quiet. Peter closes his eyes and presses his temple to Miguel's, hands skittering down the muscled plane of Miguel's back. The weight of him and the stretch of his still-hard cock are a comfort to Peter, even if the cold, hard lab floor against Peter's back is not.

Next time, we do it in a bed, Peter thinks. My spine will thank me.

As the intensity fades, Miguel unbends to catch his breath. He rolls his massive shoulders and cracks his neck, pushing his dark hair back from his flushed face. His body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that makes him glow faintly in the light. When he looks down at Peter, his long lashes shade his eyes, muting the normally vivid red of his irises.

"That good, huh?" Peter smirks, unable to help himself.

"And we're back to the talking," Miguel mutters.

"Hey, you should be proud of yourself. Ten seconds of silence is a record for me."

Miguel rolls his eyes—then pulls out of Peter without warning, making Peter hiss.

"Rude," Peter groans, his ass clenching around nothing. He can feel the vague slip of wetness against his skin as Miguel's come immediately starts to leak out; normally, Peter wouldn't care about the mess, but normally, Peter doesn't have to put his suit back on and risk squelching all the way back to his dimension in front of hundreds of his coworkers. Half of whom are copy and pasted versions of himself. Each and every one of them will know exactly what happened the moment they spot him, waddling to a designated travel port.

I did not think this through, Peter thinks.

"Lyla," Miguel calls to his AI. Peter scrambles to cover his softening junk, but the AI does not appear. Not that it matters. It isn't like her consciousness is tied to her projected form; she's there as long as the computers are there.

Which has been the whole time.

I really, really did not think this through, Peter mentally bemoans.

"Yes boss?" Lyla replies, sounding equal parts amused and smug.

"Scrub the last twenty minutes from the security feed," Miguel says. His face has settled back into impassivity and his voice is level, if not particularly loud. "And give Peter Parker from 616-B clearance to my personal quarters."

Peter's ears perk up—Miguel has personal quarters?—as Lyla says, "Done. Need anything else?"

"No."

"Alrighty, boss. Peter." Lyla's tiny, holographic form doesn't have to be present for Peter to know that she's winking. "Have a good evening!"

The bubbly sign-off isn't comforting, but Peter's lived through some terribly mortifying experiences; being unintentionally naked only consists of a small portion of those incidents, so he forces the squirming feeling of embarrassment out of the way. He'd much rather focus on the fact that Miguel has personal quarters. Personal quarters that he gave Peter access to. Personal quarters that might have a bed (if the rumors about Miguel sleeping on a web are untrue).

"So." Peter says faux innocently as Miguel gently removes Peter's legs from his shoulders. Peter then carefully props himself up on his elbows. "Is this your way of telling me that you're ready for round two?"

"It's my way of telling you that you need to shower," Miguel corrects, motioning between them with one clawed hand. "As for this—"

"One time deal?" Peter interjects with a grin.

"Yes." Miguel frowns. "This will not happen again."

Peter's grin simply gets bigger. Miguel always says what he means—except, of course, when what he thinks he means and what he actually wants are two different things. So while Miguel says they aren't going to have sex again, Peter knows that the words are flimsy veneer. Peter figures that Miguel won't be too mad when he calls bullshit; Peter's already planning on luring him into the shower for Round Two, then webbing him to the bed and riding him for Round Three. And since the small bite wounds from Miguel's fangs are already beginning to heal over and scab, Peter's going to try instigating more of the same, maybe this time high on the insides of his thighs, where the nerve endings are denser.

"Sure thing, big guy," Peter says, sitting up and placing his hands back on Miguel's body. Miguel leans into the touch subtly. "One thing though. All that frankly fantastic fornication has left me weak-kneed. Like, seriously. Jelly legs. If you want me going anywhere in the next ten minutes, you're gonna have to carry me."

Miguel's scowl deepens. For a moment, Peter thinks he might be pushing it too far— but then Miguel grabs Peter's crumpled suit, shoves it into Peter's face, and gets to his feet. As he stands, he also hooks one arm under Peter's knees and wraps the other around Peter's chest, scooping Peter up bridal-style. Peter laughs, surprised and delighted, and throws his arms around Miguel's strong neck.

"Gonna carry me across the threshold?" Peter teases.

"I will drop you," Miguel warns with a snarl. This close, Peter can see that the tips of his ears are red, and he presses a fond kiss to the shell of it. "Peter—"

But when Miguel doesn't drop him, Peter counts it as a win.

.

[queenaeducan-writes]

The Queen's Pleasure

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Alicent Hightower Characters: Alicent Hightower, Rhaenyra Targaryen Fandom: House of the Dragon Rating: Explicit Archive Warnings: Noncon Alluded to (Westeros-typical) Other Tags: Lesbian Alicent, Bisexual Rhaenyra, What-if Scenario Summary: When the King calls, Alicent does not linger longer than she is wanted. Her return is interrupted by a wayward princess, fresh from a foray into Flea Bottom, and hungry for companionship. What if Rhaenyra had found Alicent before she found Ser Criston?

(Read it here on AO3!)

[desceros]

jazz hands happy spring everyone!! it's march 1 for me and you know what thaaaat means :D #tmntspringshellebration

ataraxia (link to ao3 here) 12k

It feels different this year, he thinks, looking down at his scarred hands as they tremble.

f!reader, rated e. mating season, smut, turtle anatomy, feelings realization, established relationship, bit of breeding kink, touch of yandere tendencies. part of my villain donnie au!

[goldenbi]

@struttingstag Feb 27 Prompt: I lost the map... Sirius/Lily/James | 332 words | ao3 Warning: explicit smut

“James!” Sirius called.

Lily’s head popped off of James’s cock and she glared at James, as if it were his fault.

“What!?” James said to both of them.

“I lost the Map!” Sirius said, his distraught voice carrying from the changing room.

Lily rolled her eyes and resumed licking at James’s cock, and pulling at his balls.

“The Map?” James asked, voice slurred in pleasure. “It’s in my locker.”

James heard a series of bangs that must have been every locker in the changing room, but his mind was on Lily’s tongue, the glide of it from root to tip. She suckled at him before taking him in earnest, bobbing her head expertly.

“Found it!” Sirius called.

James relaxed against the shower wall, and Lily took him all the way down to the base of his cock. James’s hand found the back of her head.

“This doesn’t make sense, Lily doesn’t even like Quidd–“

Sirius stepped into the shower room in time to see James’s eyes rolling back, gripping Lily’s hair, holding her head in place as he came inside her mouth.

There was a moment of silence where James shuddered and Lily stilled, come drooling out of her full mouth.

“Prongs!” Sirius said, scandalized. “You told me you were a virgin!”

James laughed. “Yeah, three years ago–right before you made me come in my pants.”

Lily had heard this a thousand times and would hear it a million more. She pulled off, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Come on, you ungrateful gits, what’s the point of having two boyfriends if I don’t get any more orgasms?”

Sirius stopped his teasing for a moment to appreciate Lily on her knees. “Alright, Little Red,” his lips turned wicked smile, “Prongsie, whoever gives Lils the most orgasms in the next hour gets fucked next.”

James offered Lily a hand up, eager, “You’re so on.”

Sirius tossed the Map back into the changing room, quickly followed by his clothes and wand.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Welcome Home, Soldier.

Buck returns from the war after three years deployment (minus a limb) to a waiting fiancé and a long overdue reunion. CW: All the smut. Basically PWP. Prompts filled; ‘Sex in Uniform’, “Kneel”, and ‘4am Sandwiches’ – Bug’s First Bingo; ‘First Kiss of the Year’ – Winter Wonderland Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo); “That’s It, Sweetheart” and “You’re So Beautiful” – @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition).

Available below or on AO3 here. Boards at the bottom. Banner by me! Enjoy!

My fingers tightened around the strap of my holdall, palm sweating nervously as I headed up the dirt path to my front door.

It’d been three years since I’d seen the place, but it still looked more or less the same – the passage of time was marked only by the paint beginning to peel around the edge of the windows, and the flowers bloomed by the door in a vibrant burst of colour. I’d had dreams about coming home, finally breathing in the country air once more, but it felt better than I ever could have imagined, inhaling the scents of grass and pollen with a contented sigh.

But it wasn’t the house, or the countryside, that had my heart racing.

No… It was the love of my life waiting unexpectantly on the other side of the door that’d had me travelling for two days straight, plane and train and bus and my own two feet getting me closer to this moment with every passing second.

My boots felt heavy on my feet as I crept up the steps onto the porch, and I hesitated only briefly before toeing them off, standing in my socks with a soft smile. They’d no idea I was coming back early – despite my desire to tell them, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see the shocked delight on their face when I turned up out of the blue.

I shifted my holdall higher on my shoulder, smoothing my shirt and straightening my hat before reaching for the door handle.

If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them a million times to lock the front door…

I wouldn’t be complaining, though. I’d put down my holdall in the hall, padding silently through the little-changed space, following the sound of a quiet, lyrical voice at the rear of the house.

They were stood with their back to me, singing quietly to themselves as they washed the dishes.

I couldn’t help but pause for a moment, lost in their voice and finally seeing them again, at long last. Soon enough, however, my body propelled me forward of its own volition. I knew they’d be startled, but I couldn’t keep myself from reaching out for them, my arm sliding around their waist to pull them quickly to my chest.

“Hey, babylove,” I purred as they went to jerk away automatically, holding them fast. “Did you miss me?”

They froze under my grasp, stunned motionless by my embrace, no sign of comprehension showing several heartbeats until my lips brushed their cheek worriedly. “…Is this real?” they breathed, leaning against my chest uncertainly, their heart hammering noticeably.

I couldn’t help but laugh, squeezing them a little more tightly. “Real as anything. I’m home sweetheart.”

A choked sob echoed around the space, reverberating against the tiled splashback as they whipped around, arms quickly finding my neck to cling at me desperately. “Buck… Baby… You’re home. You’re home, you’re home, you’re home!”

I grasped them just as tightly, fingers clenched in the back of their shirt. “I’m here, my love. I’m here, and I’m never going anywhere again, do you hear me?” Tears spilled over my cheeks unrestrained and salted their hair, but I didn’t have the capacity or concern to attempt to stem the flow, occupied as I was by hungrily inhaling the scent of them, eyes closed with bliss.

They nodded frantically against my chest, sobbing openly, nails clenched into my skin as soapy water dripped down the back of my shirt. Then finally, finally, their lips found mine, whimpering their joy into our embrace, not drawing back until both of our lungs burned with the effort. It was only then, in the brief moment they backed away to pant for breath, that their eyes strayed to my pinned sleeve, a pained grimace crossing their features. “… Does it hurt?”

“Not as much as the thought that I might never see you again,” I replied honestly, cupping their cheek in my remaining hand. It was all I’d managed to think as I’d lain bleeding and stunned, flat on my back under a foreign sky; it wasn’t fears of the afterlife or facing a vengeful God that plagued me, but only the notion of never again gazing into captivating mahogany eyes. I’d seen those eyes full of wonder, fear, amusement, incredulity, and love – and I was far from willing to give that up yet.

They smiled softly, that gaze lighting up as expected, and I sighed tenderly, placing a gentle kiss to their cheek. “You’re so beautiful,” I breathed, momentarily distracted from the gravity of their taking in my mutilation. “… I’m sorry I couldn’t come back as the man you agreed to marry. I know it’s not-”

I was cut off by their mouth meeting mine firmly, one hand tightening possessively against my ribs. “You’re so beautiful,” they attested, their voice quiet but strong, causing a blush to rise in my cheeks. I couldn’t help the flutter of anxiety in my chest, but their eyes met mine in the same way as always, full of lust and desire. A soft growl built in my throat, and I pressed myself closer, the small of their back meeting the counter behind them as they whimpered through their teeth.

“I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve kissed you this year,” they breathed, and I chuckled as they pushed my hat from my head, running a hand through my fair – fast outgrowing its regulation short-crop after my time on the front, and the subsequent weeks bundled up in a hospital since my body was ripped open by a German grenade.

“I’ve got a lot to make up for, I expect,” I purred as I trailed my lips along their neck, earning a sharp gasp as my teeth closed lightly over their pulse.

“Oh, God…” they sighed, head tipping back obediently to offer more of their throat to my mercy, hand moving automatically to push the jacket from my shoulders. My mouth moved harder on their skin, distracting myself with the taste of them as the heavy material slid free of my one remaining arm. They simply winced sympathetically at the hemmed sleep, fingertips gently skirting my collarbone before moving to my tie.

I caught their hands with my own, smirking softly, one eyebrow raised. “So very needy, little one…” I chuckled, making them blush and shrug.

“It’s been a long time,” they replied simply. “… Sergeant.”

With a groan punctuating the fracturing of my already tentative resolve, my fingers knotted in their hair to press my lips briefly, hungrily, to theirs, before drawing back to meet their eyes, filled once more with a lust I hadn’t felt the entire time I was gone. “Kneel.”

I couldn’t help but snort at the speed with which they dropped, their eyes blown wide with lust as they gazed up at me. I nodded my appreciation of their immediate return to submission – by my own reaffirmation of the dominant of the two of us was quickly stifled as I fumbled with my belt, heat rising shamefully in my cheeks at my inability. Their hands found mine, eyes soft, offering me a gentle smile of reassurance as they took over, humiliation curling in my stomach. “Hey,” they murmured, leaning forward to press a tender kiss over my hipbone, nuzzling affectionately. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, Soldier. Always.”

My blush faded a little, and I nodded, my fingers moving to curl in their hair instead, eyes closing as I let them take control. The air was chilly on my exposed thighs, and I shivered minutely, earning a soft chuckle and a reassuring rub of my skin. “I’ve missed you so much,” I murmured as my head fell back, only to jerk back forward as gentle kisses were pressed to the straining in my shorts, lids snapping open to take in their blissful expression as their fingers curled in my waistband.

“I’ve missed you too…” they breathed, and I trembled in anticipation as my underwear was lowered, lost in the expression in their eyes as they took in my leaking cock, aching and bobbing with need before them. “I’ve missed this cock…”

“Prove it,” I growled softly, tugging gently on their hair. “I’ve missed that pretty mouth wrapped around me; it’s been so long since I-”

My words died with a deafening groan as they obliged eagerly, licking and sucking at my tip with wanton desire, an unwavering flow of whimpers and whines vibrating their tongue against my length. I hissed between my teeth, fingers tightening as I pressed deeper, feeling the resistance of the back of their throat only briefly before they swallowed around me, my cock sliding deeper as I moaned breathlessly. “Fuck- That’s it, Sweetheart. Just like that… You still remember how to suck cock like a pro, damn…” They whined and nodded as best they could, eyes flicking up to meet mine adoringly, and I purred at the sight of them with their lips spread wide and pupils blown with lust. “I hope you haven’t been practicing while I’ve been gone, angel.”

Their head shook frantically, drawing back in their need to reply. “Never. Not ever. All yours, Sergeant…” I shuddered as they took me again, the years apart making my cock twitch and balls tighten already.

“Fuck- I can’t, baby… I can’t h-hold on, it’s been too long, you’re too g-good…” I stammered, hand hard as I rutted shamelessly into their throat, drawing back only far enough to let them suck in a desperate breath before burying myself once more. For their part, they moved with my thrusts, just as eager for my release as I was, their fingers tight on my hips as they dragged me harder against them, mewling around me eagerly, thighs pressed together. With little warning and a groan of resignation, I plunged myself deeply between their lips, back arching as I found a breathless climax, whimpering at the feeling of their throat clenching repeatedly around me as they swallowed hungrily.

By the time I relaxed, they were licking every drop from my length, nails digging into my skin euphorically and leaving me a shivering, whimpering mess. I drew back slowly, the both of us panting, and leant down to kiss them lightly, moaning at the taste of myself on their lips. “Holy… Fuck… God, that was so good…”

They kissed me back eagerly, shifting from their knees to press themselves against my chest, arms snaking around my neck. “I’ve missed you so much…”

With a soft smile, I kissed them once more, pressing them back against the counter until they hopped up eagerly, legs parting automatically to let me stand between them. My hand instinctively found the front of their shorts, eliciting a gentle moan and a flicker of their lashes. “Shorts off, sweetheart… I’ve missed that pussy.”

They obliged quickly, wriggling desperately against me to shed the inconvenient layer, pressing closer when only their underwear sat between us. My fingers ran over the cotton, and they sighed happily as I groaned. “Look how wet you get, angel… I bet you’ve spent so much time with your hand between your legs, just waiting for me to come home and fuck you…”

With a desperate nod, they rutted against my touch, back arching, one hand fisting at my shirt. “Yes- God, so much… Nothing would ever compare to you, though… I spent so much time begging for my soldier’s big, thick cock to stretch me out again…”

My breath caught in my throat, and I kissed them harder, fingers curling in their underwear and jerking, rough and fast, the material shredding under the force and earning me a sharp gasp and a groan of delight for my efforts. Hand snaking lower, I buried my face in their neck as my fingertips brushed against them, letting out a quiet huff of air as my eyes closed in delight. “So fucking wet, baby. Look how needy you are… Just aching to be stuffed, hm?”

They nodded frantically as I slid two fingers into their slick pussy, eliciting a soft sob of pleasure as they squirmed around me. “I’ve needed you so much, fuck…” they panted, tugging me closer with grasping hands. “Nothing feels as good as you.”

“I bet you tried though, didn’t you?” I purred, trailing gentle kisses down their neck as I worked them open. “I bet you tried so many things in this tight pussy, looking for anything that can make you feel as good as I can…” They nodded again, nails scoring against my skin and making me shiver. “But nothing treats you as well as I do, hm?”

They shook their head, tears spilling from their eyes in utter delight. “Not a damn thing, god-” they gasped and dragged themselves closer with ankles pressed frantically to the back of my thighs, writhing with need. “Fuck me, Sergeant. Please, please just- just fuck me…”

My hand drew back and made them whine, legs parting further in a frantic attempt to press themselves nearer, and I smirked, eyes lowering to the dripping pussy rutting toward me. “Considering you beg so nicely…” I murmured, trailing the tip of my cock over their soaked slit as I stroked myself languidly, waiting for the last few seconds of my refractory period to pass – I wanted myself hard and aching when I was finally inside them again. They squirmed against me and I sunk inside them with a contented sigh, relishing in the sharp gasp as they extended around me.

“Fu-fuck, God – I forgot how big you are, James…” they panted raggedly, clawing at my shirt and the skin beneath as their walls stretched to capacity. I took it slowly for fear of hurting them, but the heels on my thighs pulled me nearer until I was sheathed and trembling, my hand knotting in their hair to kiss them deeply.

“I’m home, baby,” I breathed, hips moving slowly, dissolving into the feeling of their vice-like grip around my length and their frantic, needy breath against my jaw. They could only nod, moving in time with each thrust, whining and squirming desperately. “I’m home and I am never- leaving- again.” I punctuated each word with a quick snap of my hips, relishing in the way their body jerked under my strength as they cried out with pleasure.

“Please! Please, S-Sergeant, please- fuck me harder, I’ve missed you so much, I n-need you, I-”

The end of their pleas cut off sharply into a deafening wail as I acquiesced to their request, hand shifting to their hip to pin them to the counter as I took them roughly. The sound of my skin meeting theirs and the wetness between us incensed me, teeth brushing against the soft flesh of their throat. “So fucking tight,” I growled, my fingertips pressed painfully against their hipbone to anchor them still. “So fucking wet…”

I hesitated only briefly as I realised my own limitations once more, but they simply met my eyes with their sweet mahogany gaze, lips parted in ecstasy. “Please- please, Sergeant Barnes, can I touch my pussy while you fuck me? It feels so good, I don’t know if I can help myself…”

Groaning, I kissed them again, grateful for their anticipation of my needs, nipping gently at their lip. “You’d better, sweetheart… Make yourself come for me, angel. I’ve missed this tight pussy quivering so very desperately around me, making me all soaked and messy…” I redoubled my efforts as they obliged, pounding into them as they moaned, fingers moving quickly against their clit as their free hand grasped at the back of my neck to arch themselves closer to me,

“God- yes, Bucky- Sergeant Barnes, please- please, you’re going to- I’m going to-”

“That’s it, baby,” I snarled, nails digging in as I met their trembling pussy with a bruising pace. “That’s it. You come for me, and I’ll fill up this pretty cunt, just how you like.”

At my growled words, they cried out, body shaking furiously as they convulsed around me, making me groan at the gush of wetness squeezed around my length and the fingers dragging at my hair. The feeling of them finding their release on my cock drove me over the edge, and I hissed their name as I found my own climax, leaning back to appreciate the sight of our mingled essence dripping from their stuffed hole.

Exhausted, tender, and slick with sweat and bodily fluids, I chugged a glass of water breathlessly, standing naked in the starlight shimmering through the kitchen window in the early hours of the morning. As soon as I’d been able to see straight, I’d carried them through to the bedroom, part-softened cock still buried as deeply as I could get inside them. We’d fucked and cuddled until the sun set – and long after – until my growling stomach drove me from the bed as they dozed, absently making a sandwich as I lost myself in the memories of them screaming my name.

I leant against the doorframe with a pair of plates, watching them quietly for a moment. The sheet was resting around their hips, and my gaze trailed their bare spine, skirting the dark curls at the nape of their neck and the eyelashes resting gently on their sleep-flushed cheeks.

I’m home.

I’m finally home.

[rsbigbang]

R/S Big Bang Fic & Art: Unbound by you (E)

Title: Unbound by you

Author: @tracingpatternswrites

Artist: @tricksterdraws

Beta Reader: @heartofspells

Summary:

Sirius spent the last four years building a life for himself and Harry after losing almost everything that mattered to him in one single night. His best friends dead, along with the love of his life, executed on the charges of their murder. Sirius had only just managed to pull his head above water when his life was flipped upside down again.

When his estranged mother brought him the news that Remus was not only still alive, but innocent all along, locked up in Azkaban to be tortured and experimented on, Sirius soon realised he was in an impossible situation.

With a five-year-old to care for, and his mother’s renewed interest in his life, Sirius is now forced to work with the family he once turned his back on as a teenager to get Remus exonerated. However, it soon becomes clear that freeing Remus is only the beginning.

Is the man who comes back from Azkaban the same person that Sirius had once loved? Will it be possible for them to find a way back to each other, or are they irrevocably broken? And will Sirius be able to protect Harry and Remus when his mother comes circling, intent on securing the survival of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black regardless of the cost?

read on ao3!

[polinficrecs]

I Tried Your Mouth & I Can't Come Back by MelikaElena Rating: E Language: English Status: Complete Summary: A vacation is just what an over-worked Penelope needs. Running into her childhood bully is the last thing she needs. And while she doesn’t NEED to be rescued by a handsome stranger, she certainly won’t turn him away, especially when he proceeds to prove that their relationship is real by posing for a romantic photo & giving Penelope the best kiss of her life.

It's just a vacation crush, a harmless, little infatuation, and she's never going to see the charismatic Colin ever again... or is she?

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Contempt by danpuff Pairing: Harry/Severus Rating: E Word Count: 20k Podfic available here Read by: MrVillain Length: 2-3 hours Harry hates Snape, and he always will. (He will, won’t he?)

find the full podfic library here