#second time ever writing smut and I think it melted my brain

[gggoldfinch]

Hatchetknife

Richard B. Riddick x OFC (or reader)

(disclaimer: photo found on pinterest ^ )

A/N: I’ve been gripped by the most manic and inexplicable riddick brainrot ever and needed to get this out of my system or I’d deadass explode ‼️I usually don't write oneshots like this so it was a nice breath of fresh air actually. Hopefully now this sexy bald bitch will leave my poor brain alone so I can do something else other than binge watching vin diesel movies

warnings: original female character (descriptions vague enough to be reader insert), possibly a little ooc, very brief discussion of SA (in a non-threatening manner), minor violence & injury, explicit language, forced proximity, only one bed, explicit sexual content, smut, oral sex, praise kink, scent kink, size kink, light choking, biting, pet names. MINORS DNI

word count: 12,114

{AO3 Link}

summary: A low-profile merc masquerading as a man has her ship (and life) invaded by an unlikely guest. She gets found out, and things progress interestingly.

***

There's a ship that's been sitting idle in the upper-east Storage B-Port for weeks now; Riddick knows this. He also knows he hasn't been this incapacitated in a while. It's a hard thing to admit to himself, but he can feel the exhaustion creeping in. He hasn't slept in over 72 hours, and has been fighting and running for most of that time. He's out of his element— stuck in the heart of a congested city-planet rather than out in the wilderness of some uninhabited backwater planet. He's bleeding from somewhere— his side, maybe. His nose is broken, too, and there must be some sort of nerve damage too, because he can't scent who's coming after him anymore. He lost his goggles somewhere during this most recent scuffle, too, so all the neon signs are like miniature suns searing his retinas.

There's an idle ship gathering dust in Storage B-Port. He recalls it looking like a good model, some custom parts. It'll be easy to hijack. It'll be easy to leave this planet and his merc pursuers in the dust.

———————————————————————

Everyone has their own way of surviving in this nightmare of a universe. Some kill, some are killed. That's just something each and every person has to come to terms with while they draw breath. While not exactly thriving, this one particular individual has found their own way to survive. Some may call her a mercenary, and they wouldn't necessarily be wrong— but she prefers to call herself a mere gun for hire. It's easy to make a living when you have a thick head and nothing to lose, going from one job to another with little in the way of possessions and even less in the way of social relationships. She goes where the proverbial wind takes her, planet-hopping and working odd jobs. Sometimes the jobs entail hunting dangerous quarry, but more often than not she's hired for non-violent jobs running security for personnel protection or transport. Honestly, the only jobs she turns down outright are those having anything remotely to do with the Necromongers. Sure it isn't ideal, but it's better than living in the slums of the over-crowded metroplanet where she'd grown up.

It's a risky job, no doubt, made no less difficult by her deliberate choice to fly solo. Solo is safe. Solo, she don't have to worry about crewmates stealing or betraying her, or worse, taking advantage of her. Barely an adult when she'd begun her life hopping between merc crews, she'd learned early that being on her own is better, safer. No— she keeps to herself with nothing but the ship's computer system for company. And, when the occasion rises where she does have to venture out into civilization again—to find a job or stock up on supplies—she takes heavy precautions.

Strong from years of fighting and labor, her body can shoulder the burdensome weight of armor; broad shoulders and sturdy bones make her intimidating and capable. Years worth of mismatched armor plates make up her regular uniform, both metal alloys and plastic prints. Some pieces were taken off fallen quarry—or former crewmates—some purchased responsibly. Each plate has a little story she can recall, fondly or not. When worn all together, her form is virtually unrecognizable, and more importantly, masculine. The crown mantle is her helmet: sturdy, sleek, black, with a visor capable of internal screen display. The vocal distorter programmed into it deepens her voice to a disguised pitch. The suit of armor isn't entirely comfortable, but it's a requirement for her safety.

"Hatchet!"

She swivels her helmeted head, looking in the direction from which she hears her codename. She hadn't been calling herself anything when she'd assumed this masculine persona. Her various employers just began calling her a shortened version of her ship's name—the Hatchetknife—and it just ended up sticking within the merc circle she floats in. No one knows her true identity, as far as she's aware. If they do, no problems have arisen from it yet.

A man approaches her, stocky and shorter than her. He's been her employer for the past several weeks, paying her to be a glorified bodyguard for his uppity son, on probation for yatta yatta yatta. She'd tuned out the rest once she'd heard the price of the paycheck. 350 thousand units just to  babysit an alcoholic man-child for a month while he's on probation. She couldn't pass it up.

Her employer holds out a datapad, the blue screen alight with money transfer information. She's about to receive her payment and get the fuck off this stuffed metroplanet. Maybe she can finally replace some of the older parts on the Hatchetknife with this payment.

"Don't be a stranger, now," the man says amicably once the digital paperwork has been filled. She receives a notification ping on the screen of her visor, indicating the payment has gone through successfully.  

She inclines her concealed head, thanks him for the business, and turns tail to leg it back to the ship. The thing has been docked in storage for nearly a full month cycle now— long enough for the ticket expense to be a bit of a blow to her newly acquired units. It doesn't matter; this planet will be long behind her in only a matter of a few short hours. She's been idle, been on this polluted and overpopulated planet for too long.

And she'll be damned if a little blood on the exterior hatchpad of her ship is going to deter her from getting out of dodge in a timely manner. It's a handprint, maybe a couple, smeared all along the white panelling of the cargo bay door's control console. The cargo bay door is locked up tight though, so she's not particularly worried that any ne'er-do-wells have tried breaking into her sturdy old ship. It's a good model, she tells herself. It has a security system that would alert her of suspicious activity through the link between her helmet and the ship's mainframe. Sure, someone clearly tried to get in, but there's no sign the bay door had been opened recently.

She pays her exorbitantly priced docking ticket and opens the bay door herself. She remains completely oblivious to the other trail of blood, smeared up the side of the ship and leading to the secondary hatch. She doesn't notice the cut wires either, spraying pathetic little sparks instead of warning signals to her security system. To be fair, she doesn't notice much of anything—doesn't even remove her armor or helmet—in her haste to take off. She just charges through the cargo bay, vaults the ladder to the upper deck, and wedges herself behind the control console.

It feels like home, being behind the console. More of a home than she's ever really had, at least. She exhales against the interior of her helmet. Her reflection gleams in the bare windshield, the sleek black glass and metal of her high-tech helmet staring back. Gloved fingers press buttons and flip switches, igniting holoscreens and a rainbow of lights. Meters and regulators all seem to be in check despite the ship's extended idleness, and the hyperdrive kickstarts with a comforting purr. She has to take the ship up and out of the atmosphere before kicking it into warp speed, lest the planet's nasty police force pick a fight with her. Fog and flames lick the nose of the Hatchetknife as it accelerates upward, breaking through the upper atmosphere at a smooth 15 kilometers per second, and an even 75 degree angle. Only then does she crank the hyperdrive and watch as the countless stars warp around the nose of the ship.

She plots an aimless course, avoiding setting a firm destination until she can get her hands on another potential job lead. Upon throwing it into autopilot, the ship's automated computer system welcomes her back on board. Hatchet, it calls her. Not even her own ship uses her true name anymore.

Her boots are heavy as they tramp out of the cockpit. Reinforced steel and acid-resistant soles, these boots are. They're her favorites. They make a robust thump thump as she walks into the narrow hallway of the Hatchetknife. Here resides her bunk, and across from that is the kitchenette and table where she eats and works and sometimes sleeps. It's barely wide enough to fit two people standing shoulder-to-shoulder. She's used to close-quarters; it's almost comforting, like a womb. The hatch and ladder down to the cargo bay gapes at the end of the hall, and this is what she beelines for once acclimating herself with the interior of her ship again. Her bunk looks awfully inviting, but first on the agenda is to shuck off all the armor.

Boots bracketed on either side of the ladder and gloved hands holding tight to the side-rails, she slides down until landing on the grate panels of the cargo bay floor. This area is vastly larger than her living quarters— it has to be, in the event she has to transport sizable goods or heavy machinery. A armory case for her weapons and uniform sits bolted against the side wall, its grate doors barely revealing the contents. She opens the thing up, removing the machine gun strapped to her back to place it on its rightful hooks.

She hooks her thumbs under the seal of her helmet and disables the suctioned airlock. Just as she's preparing to lift the burdensome thing from her head, something collides with her right side, knocking her clean off her feet. It takes only a few frantic moments to realize it's a human being— a male attacker. Her deactivated helmet collides with the metal flooring at an odd angle, instantly disabling the visor's screen as a result of some internal damage. The force of the tackle and impact against the floor has the breath drawn from her lungs in a violent, rattling wheeze. The muscles over her ribs convulse and tighten, sending a shock of panic and pain and adrenaline through her system. With little time to think, no weapon handy, and no opportunity to scan the stranger, she starts thrashing. Amidst the scuffle and blow to her head, she can't quite see clearly, only able to make out a blur of squirting blood. The blood isn't her own— she's sure she would feel it if she'd been shanked in any of her armor's vulnerable spots.

She thrusts a gauntleted arm upwards in the direction she thinks the intruder's head is. Her metal-sheathed wrist collides with something and the oppressive weight above her slumps over to the side.

Hatchet scrambles up to her knees and tears the nearest gun from off the rack. She spins, points the weapon at the stranger's head, and... doesn't shoot.

Sprawled on the cold metal floor is a man. A large man. Bald-headed and covered in blood she knows she hadn't drawn from him herself. It's old blood, old wounds— maybe hours, maybe days. Despite the vaguely stunned look about him from being hit in the head, he wears a wry little smile upon his full mouth, lips and nose bloody from what looks like a previous beating. His eyes glint in a peculiar fashion, almost like feline eyeshine, silvery and shifting.

He holds his hands out by his head placatingly, palms facing upward. Then, he grins. "Okay, okay. You got me." His voice is deep and smooth like rolling thunder. It's almost startlingly in its intensity.

"Who the fuck are you? What are you doing on my ship!? What do you want?" she barks into the voice modulator, keeping the hardy submachine gun trained on him.

"Got a pretty nice ship here, don't you think?" he rumbles out.

"Fuck you!"

He chuckles at that, although the action looks like it pains him. The blood, she realizes, is oozing from a substantial stab wound on his left flank, just below the contour of his shapely pectoral muscle. She swallows thickly, choking down the apprehensive lump in her throat. Still a little off-kilter from the blow to her helmet, she shakily rises to her feet, steady finger not leaving the trigger once. The man clenches his silvery eyes shut, sucking in a substantial breath only to groan it all out again. One broad, tan hand shifts to press against the wound on his side, the other remaining innocently idle.  

Without prompting, Hatchet's line of sight raises to the secondary hatch within the cargo hold. There it is: a smear of blood and sparking wires. That's where he'd gotten in. Must be a determined fella—let alone smart—to have hacked the ship's security system to override the locking mechanism and find which wires would send out a warning signal before they even had the chance to. She looks back to him, curiously tilting her head to the side in observation of him.

"What the fuck do you think is supposed to happen now?" she grits out. The voice modulator gives it an extra bit of bite.

The man laughs, blood staining his straight teeth. "I dunno. Thought you might hand over your ship."

"Hand over my— Do you have a fucking head injury?"

He laughs again and she kicks his calf roughly.

"What about this is funny? Please, illuminate it for me. Because all I see some fucking stowaway who has a gun to his head and a nasty stab in his side. You're not getting my ship, pal. You'll be lucky if I let you see tomorrow."

"Bad timing," he murmurs, voice thick with strain and sardonic amusement. His expression slackens, the crease between his thin brows flattening out gradually.

"What?"

She kicks his leg again; he's unresponsive. Unconscious, actually, judging by the sudden lack of tension in his face and limbs. She drops the gun-wielding hand to her side and lets out a high-pitched wail of frustration.

She's not a cold blooded murderer. Sure, she's had to take a life or two throughout her days, but then again, who hasn't in this line of work. Those times were different— kill or be killed. This is... this is an injured, apparently unarmed guy on her cargo bay floor. Yes, he'd broken in, but maybe he has a valid excuse. She's had to break into places to survive before, it's really not that unusual. And despite all the shit she's been through, deep down Hatchet has a bleeding heart. She'd be pressed to admit it, of course. The sight of the stranger, wounded and unconscious, male as he may be, pulls at her tender and guarded heartstrings.

Fucking hell. She can only hope that someday in the future, if she's ever in time of need, that some stranger will treat her with kindness.

The man is heavy. Not deceptively so, as his height and build imply a great amount of mass, but hell if she's not winded by the time she drags him over to the cargo lift. The small elevator is usually for objects and not people, but it's the only way she can get his dead-weight ass to the upper level where the only cot and good light source are. She hasn't taken her armor off, and at this point she doesn't think she's going to. Certainly not with a strange man aboard, unconscious or not.

Upon both arriving at the upper level, it takes a great amount of effort to haul the man over to the bunk. The space is barely big enough to comfortably hold Hatchet, and she's nowhere near the size of this beast of a man. The cot creaks as she lowers him onto it, his boots scraping the wall as she crams him into the broom closet sized space. Flicking on the overhead light, it illuminates him with white fluorescence. It's only then does she realize he's not entirely unconscious; somewhere in there, he's aware enough to wince at the light coming on. She squints at him for a long moment, scrutinizing the situation. He doesn't show any other sign of cognizance besides for that averse reaction to the bright light beating down on his eyelids. When she decides it had only been some sort of odd reflex, she goes to retrieve the medical supplies from an aptly labeled storage cabinet.

Modesty be damned, she has to remove his shirt. It's barely holding itself together, anyway, and she has replacements to dress him in after she's patched him up. She feels hot under all her armor and layers, nervous as she stares down at the stranger's bare chest. Christ, he's build like a tank. It's intimidating, actually, once she chokes down the insidious feeling of attraction that prickles her skin and bubbles in her abdomen. Anyway—  upon closer inspection, the wound on his side is largely superficial. The extensive bruising along his ribs, however, indicates some unknown level of internal damage. It may only be deep-tissue bruising, or his ribs could be broken. She can't be too sure either way, and makes sure to properly bandage up his torso regardless, though only after disinfecting and stitching up the gash.

His nose is broken, that much is obvious. However, it looks as though it's already been set, so all she has to do is clean the blood, disinfect the small cut on the bridge, and properly bandage it. He has a nice face, apart from the bandaged nose. She can't really describe his features. Harsh, but soft at the same time. She huffs against the interior of the helmet at the thought, crossing her arms and leaning back.

She has stationed herself at the table across from the bunk, cautiously watching over the stranger through the deactivated visor of her mask. Hot and stuffy and heavy as the armor may be, she won't risk taking it off just yet. She doesn't quite have a plan yet as to how this is going to unfold. She'd chosen to spare his life, yes, but that isn't to say she won't protect herself to the nth degree if the need arises going forward. She doesn't want him out of her sight—especially considering her unprofessional lack of manacles—which means she can't program a route into the ship right now. The task would've been made simple if he hadn't gone and broken the screen display mechanism in her helmet. She can't even scan him in this state, to gather his identity or vitals status. She hadn't realized how dependent she'd grown on the visor display until now, having worn the damn thing for weeks straight at this point.

It takes a couple of hours by her count for the stranger to rouse again. He's disoriented at first, but soon grows aware of her shielded gaze burning into him from the other side of the narrow living area. He shifts in the cot, turning onto his wounded side to better assess the situation. He doesn't seem threatened—or particularly threatening—at the moment.

"Rise and shine," Hatchet speaks into the voice modulator.

She kicks a boot up onto the edge of the cot from where she sits barely three feet away. She tells herself it's a show of dominance, to plant her boot right beside the stranger's head, but in reality she probably just looks stupid. The man just looks at her with those silvery eyes, squinting under the bright overhead light. She doesn't shut it off.

"Now here's the deal—"

"How many people you got on this ship?" He cuts her off, tone both aloof and detached despite the situation. He breaks into an odd little grin, then twists his head to scent the pillow. "You hiding a lady somewhere? Fella like you sure wouldn't smell this sweet."

Hatchet's face crumples under the cover of secrecy. She has to school her perturbed reaction for the sake of her anonymity. What the hell kind of guy is she dealing with here, exactly? Not only must she refrain from showing any physical reaction, she shouldn't verbally address it, either.

"Now here's the deal," she repeats. "I spared you once— even did you the favor of patching you up. But, it's not gonna happen again if you try something funny."

The man tucks his chin to his chest to look down at the bandaged wounds, holding a curious hand to his side. She can't quite interpret his expression perfectly, but she thinks he seems vaguely impressed by her medical treatment of him.

"I'm going to take you to the nearest inhabited planet and dump your freeloading ass off at the first dock I come across. You aren't going to resist or complain. I'm doing you this favor— clearly you were on the run from someone dangerous, and I got you out of dodge. I don't expect payment, but I'd be mighty grateful if you didn't do anything violent or stupid." Hatchet kicks the bunk when his eyes slip shut again. "Hey! Are you listening to me?"

He does appear to fall unconscious again, but she can't be totally sure he isn't just fucking with her. Irritated, she sucks her teeth and curses him out, kicking off the bunk to stomp off into the cockpit. Forget keeping him in sight, he can suffocate for all she cares. There's a shotgun under the control console, anyway.

She seals the cockpit door shut behind her. Only then does she feel safe to remove her helmet. Once again she's greeted by her reflection in the windshield, though this time it's her own face that stares back. It's a tired and sweaty face, with hair matted flat to the scalp from the tight interior of the helmet. She needs a nice long shower—that much is obvious—but now isn't the time. Finally breathing fresh, unfiltered air again, she gulps it down greedily and deposits herself in the pilot's seat. The autopilot had taken itself out of hyperdrive some time ago, and now the Hatchetknife careens at a steady pace through open space. The stars are magnificent, as always. The endless, unfathomable sight almost makes her forget her burdensome stowaway.

Hatchet pulls coordinates for the nearest inhabited planet. She expands the view on the holoscreen projected across the console. The information, illuminated in a fluorescent blue, scrawls across the screen just fast enough for her to barely be able to read it in time. Her eagerness to be rid of the stowaway slowly melts into a nauseating apprehension. Apparently, according to the data, the nearest planet for several lightyears just happens to be crawling with Necromongers. Fucking Necromongers. If there's anything Hatchet hates, it's violent religious cults that double as armies. She avoids well-paying jobs on the off-chance that those psychos might catch a whiff of her— she's sure as hell not landing her ship in a hive of those wasps.

"Fucking shit!" She kicks the console.

There goes the plan to drop this motherfucker off. It'll take days at the very least to make it to the next viable planet. She tosses her head back and groans loud, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until they come away leaving splotches in her vision. Venting her frustration, she kicks her heel against the console twice more.

———————————————————————

If Hatchet learns anything during her time in close proximity with the man, it's that, 1. he's a shockingly fast healer; 2. he doesn't like bright lights; and 3. he's quite sharp-witted despite the meathead look about him. In the few days that follow the unexpected detour, she avoids him as best she can in such cramped quarters. They only interact on the occasions when she checks up on his wounds or gives him MRE meals throughout the day—  always outfitted in her armor, of course. He only takes power-naps, never a full sleep, and reacts tensely to loud and sudden noises. He's smug and facetious when he speaks, and brooding when he doesn't. He's like a storm in every aspect of the description: thunderous voice, eyes like lightning, and a stormy personality to match. Despite Hatchet's aloofness, the man has found a way to wheedle himself under her skin. Once he was stable enough to stand on his own, nothing could stop him from getting up and wandering around the ship, hiding in the shadowed areas like a predator stalking its prey, much to Hatchet's chagrin. He makes little quips and witty comments in that deep voice when she's least prepared for them, and he stares at her with those glimmering eyes like he can see right through her disguise. Sometimes, she worries he does. He's like a fucking ghost the way he soundlessly moves around the small ship. That's more unnerving than his appearance, she thinks.

It's all getting rather frustrating. At first she'd been pissed that a man had the audacity to impose himself upon her time, energy, and ship. Now, she can't help but feel a strange tug of loneliness when they aren't in the same room. It's upsetting how the mind perceives human connection. She doesn't even know his name, yet the thought of being on her own again seems... well, lonely.

It does help that he's easy on the eyes, too. She finds herself locked away in the cockpit more and more frequently, brooding long and hard over the increasingly frequent thoughts of how fucking fine the man is. That soft yet masculine face, those thick arms and sturdy torso. The deep, intense tenor of his voice alone is enough to make her weak in the knees. And those eerie, glowing eyes, which watch her every movement like a hawk. Oh, for fucksake...

Hell, in all honesty she might as well be swimming in her armor with the way she sweats when he stands close and talks real smooth. She's afraid she's making it a little too obvious, actually. That carefully crafted persona is slipping through her fingers and all because she's a little hot under the collar about this stowaway she'd sworn to dump like a box of rocks come first chance. It came to a point approximately three simulated days into their time together when she couldn't stand the sight of him shirtless anymore; she ended up handing over one of her spare XL tanks, which still managed to look small on his burly frame. There's a sort of undeniable animal magnetism about him which is almost a little distressing in its intensity. What a fickle thing her trust in others is— and how tragically simple it was for her to get comfortable with the situation.

She doesn't insist on taking her bunk back from the healing man. While he rests his battered body on the cot, she kicks back at the well-worn table every night cycle, sprawled across the bench seat with a flimsy pillow beneath her helmeted head. This way she can keep the stowaway within her line of sight. Once his intimidating nature is overlooked, he is surprisingly amicable and seems rather appreciative of all her efforts. He hasn't tried to attack her, or otherwise threaten her person, which she takes as a sign he'd heard and accepted her deal before passing out on that very first day. In fact, he only ever deliberately menaces her when standing over her shoulder, or appearing out of nowhere. Or when he belligerently thumps his fist over wall panels to deactivate overhead lights he finds irksome.

Hatchet, though she herself is nameless to an extent, finds his lack of proffered identity a little frazzling. Though she's come to accept his presence as a whole, it would make her a lot more comfortable if she had a name and background to put to the face. Which brings her to the locked cockpit, wherein she works tediously to repair the screen and scanning mechanism in her helmet. With her tongue poked out from between her lips and one boot up on the console, she takes the helm apart and repairs it with a notable proficiency, then puts it all back together again. The screen automatically powers on when she activates the airlock seal, illuminating her field of view with digital notifications and vital statuses.

She catches him unaware, aiming her visor at him for long enough to scan his facial features and biometrics. Identification data scrawls across the screen before her eyes, her blood pressure spikes. Under the guise of piloting the ship, she locks herself in the cockpit again and feverishly scrolls through mugshots and bounty reward data.

Holy shit. She's been harboring the infamous convict Richard B. Riddick.

Her jaw clenches, muscle twitching against the interior padding of the helmet as she absorbs the newfound information. She should've known. She should have known. Those eyes— she'd heard the merc legends about those eyes.

But fuck... for a guy who'd spent half his life in the slam, he's certainly been affable within these restrictive quarters, mingling with a complete stranger, no less. It's hard to reconcile what she reads on the screen with the man she's been interacting with for the past few artificial cycles. She yanks the helmet from over her head, roughly scrubbing her palms over her face.

When she returns from the cockpit, nerves gathered to the extent they can be, she finds the man halfway through shaving his tan scalp. She stands at the mouth of the living area, the girth of her armor nearly taking up the entire doorframe. Richard B. Riddick, her reserved and shockingly mannered stowaway, sits at the metal table with a compact mirror and razor— a feeble weapon which she now knows could be used against her in all sorts of ways if she were to get on his bad side. Does he even have a good side to be on? She hopes he does, and hopes she's on it. Largely without thinking, one of her hands flutters up to her touch throat as images of it being brutally slit flicker through her mind.

She sits down across from him, folding her hands on the tabletop. He doesn't pause his grooming, doesn't even glance up. His eyeshine remains trained on the little mirror as he meticulously scrapes the stubble from his head with help from what looks like motor gel, no doubt nicked from the cargo bay below. Hatchet purses her mouth into a nervous line beneath the safety of her helm. She can't help but silently observe the flex of his muscles as he moves, every innocuous gesture striking a flustered chord within her. She swallows against the tightness constricting her throat.

"How are you feeling?" She hopes the modulator eliminates the shakiness she feels in her voice.

Logically, she has nothing to be afraid of. Unless this guy is prone to switching demeanor on a dime—which she has no reason to believe he does, based on what she's seen so far—why wouldn't this passive companionship continue? If anything, Hatchet is more afraid of how he will react to knowing she knows his identity now. Either he's been assuming she has known this entire time and just doesn't care, or knows she's been blissfully ignorant and has taken advantage of the anonymity.

He finally spares a glance at her across the table. His jaw visibly twitches, then one corner of his mouth quirks upward. He returns to shaving his head.

"Better. Thanks." He sniffs, sounding indifferent.

"You... uh. Want anything to eat?"

"Naw."

Hatchet exhales, both relieved and oddly disappointed. The storage compartment for the MREs is right beside him, meaning she would've had to stand right over him to retrieve anything.

"You got any goggles laying around?" His deep voice brings her out of her mind. "Been looking but..." he sucks his teeth.

Her brows raise confoundedly. "Goggles?"

"Yeah, you know. Goggles."

Fuck, he must think she's an idiot. She fumbles for words. "Uh. I'm not sure, probably not. I usually just wear the helmet when I need to shield my eyes. Why do you need them?"

He snaps the compact mirror shut and sets down the razor, using the bloody tank he's arrived in to wipe the remaining gel from his scalp. It looks like he'd shaved his beard recently, too, if the dark shadow on his jaw has anything to say about it. Setting the tank down, no more than a scrap rag at this point, he inhales deeply and briefly sinks his teeth into his plump lower lip. Hatchet bites her cheek hard enough for it to hurt, deliberately keeping her gaze from his mouth.

"I wouldn't need them if you didn't keep turning on all the lights," he replies. A hint of dry amusement hides within his flat tone.

"I wouldn't have to turn on the lights if you didn't hide in the shadows all the time," she retaliates. Riddick chuckles like deep, rolling thunder. Hatchet's pulse jumps; fear, arousal. "I'll keep it in mind not to turn them all on. I know your eyes are sensitive to light," she continues.

He suddenly pins her with a suspicious, scrupulous glare. She realizes her mistake and backtracks, sweating bullets beneath her armor.

"I mean, you squint a lot. And you make your way around in the dark better than in the light. I shouldn't have assumed." She's babbling. She can't keep a lid on it.

If he suspects what she knows, he doesn't let on. He cocks his head to the side, eyes glimmering as they trace the contours of her hefty armor. His gaze stops on her visor, right where her eyes should be. Somehow, she feels like they're making direct eye contact.

A questioning smile graces his handsome face. "Do you ever take that damn helmet off? Or do you live in the thing."

Hatchet's face falls beneath the shield of the visor. Her pulse thumps in her throat; a part of her thinks he can sense it. Her demeanor becomes prickly, unchecked. "Why do you care? You're a stowaway on my ship— what is it your business how I eat, sleep, shit—"

"Fuck?" He raises a thin brow, tickled by his own addendum. Meanwhile, Hatchet flushes a fiery shade of red beneath the helm in question. Then, he huffs a short little laugh— more a harsh exhale than anything. "I have to say, your little getup had me convinced at first. But, I know you ain't a man."

Hatchet's heart skips a beat. She disguises her anxiety with derision. "Disappointed?"

"Not in the slightest, sweetheart." A white canine glints when he flashes that oddly charming smile.

That combination—a quaint pet name and that devastating smile—has her feeling lightheaded and confined within her suit. Her hands slip from the tabletop to clench into fists in her lap. He appears upsettingly smug about his little revelation.

"How'd you figure it out?"

His nostrils flare; he takes a deep breath. "Thought I smelled a woman my first night in the bunk. My nose was all fucked up, but... eventually I figured out that sweet smell was coming from you and not some phantom scent hanging around. I give you credit, you had me going for a little while."

Her brow twinges. What a strange man.

She's faced with an internal conflict. She could deny the accusation, but something tells her that won't work in the slightest. She could keep the helmet  and armor on until they part ways, but really what's the point, seeing as he already knows she's a woman; he looks strong enough to pry the armor right off her body anyway. The most logical choice she can make is to take the discovery in stride and go back to living comfortably, with the addition of a slightly threatening guest who does one-armed push-ups in the hallway and lurks around dark corners. The jig is up. He's just that good. Her choice is practically made up for her.

Hatchet's hands raise, slow and tentative, and she maintains what feels a lot like eye contact with Riddick. Her gloved thumbs hook up under the seal, disabling the airlock and visor screen. Air hisses out from the seam at her throat, loosening the helmet's grip on her head. Somewhat dubiously, she lifts the burdensome metal and glass dome from over her head. It comes to rest in her lap as she shakes out her sweat-dampened hair and takes a deep breath of fresh air.

They look at each other's faces for the first time, unencumbered. The visor distorts perception a tiny bit, so it's almost like seeing him for the first time. A permeable scent of sweat and metal lingers between the both of them, despite both having showered recently in the ship's minuscule wash room. She can also smell the motor gel he'd used to shave his head (so strange— must be a leftover trick from the slam, she thinks). The woman is overcome with a bout of anxiety and shyness upon revealing her true face, and flushes under his heavy gaze. She resists the submissive urge to tuck her chin to her chest and avert real eye contact.

"Well... I guess you know who I am, now." She clears her throat; she hasn't heard her unfiltered voice in ages. Her jig may be up— but she still has something of a trump card on him, too. Sure, he might kill her for it, but this entire conversation is toeing the line of life-threatening risk to begin with. She musters courage to utter her next words; "Just like... how I know who you are now, Richard B. Riddick. Thought I wouldn't do a facial recognition scan?"

Hatchet squares her shoulders and raises her chin by a fraction, feigning confidence. He can probably smell her fear. The man inclines his head, brows raised as a chuckle rolls in like a storm. He almost looks impressed with her mediocre detective work.

He smiles that wolfish smile, showing teeth and smile lines. "So, you think you know who I am now, huh? You afraid of the big bad monster now?"

One corner of Hatchet's mouth quirks downward. "Should I be?"

"If you're smart you would be." He levels her stare with that inhuman eyeshine.

"I only fear true monsters. Men who kill for pleasure and nothing more. I read the files on you. You don't kill unarmed women— children. You don't rape them."

It isn't phrased as a question, but he replies regardless; "Naw."

It's actually kind of relieving that he looks a bit offended by the idea. "Then you aren't a true monster. You do what you have to to survive. We all do out here. I can't fault you for killing people trying to kill you. I won't fault you for anything you had to do in the slam."

There's more she would like to say—to tell him he'd been dealt a really shitty hand—but that feels too intrusive for the context of their relationship. She doesn't want to risk angering him by coming off as pitying.

Riddick narrows his naturally suspicious gaze at the woman. He doesn't touch her previous soapbox comment. "So... that mean you're gonna try to turn me in for a payday?"

"Fucking— Jesus, dude," she guffaws incredulously. "Why the fuck would I turn you in after I did so much to save your ass? You're worth more dead than alive, you know. If I wanted to, I could've."

The big man shrugs. "Who knows. Every other merc would."

"Well I'm not every other merc, am I?" She leans back, crossing her arms over her chestplate.

"Naw, definitely not."

If she'd been any less observant, she may have missed the glimmer of flirtation in his tone and demeanor— in his eyeshine. Stifling heat rises like a kettle boiling, tinting her face a noticeable hue. She can only hope she looks disheveled and sweaty enough for it to pass as an exacerbated flush. Abruptly, she stands from the table, wringing her hands in an uncontrollable combination of nerves and bashfulness. The helmet is dumped onto the tabletop, rolling towards the seated man.

"I'll uh—" Her voice cracks; she clears her throat. "I'll look for those goggles for you."

"Good talk," he calls after her as she hastily turns on her heel.

She pauses her stride, mind running a mile a minute to find a way to gain some sort of traction and authority amidst this interaction. She shifts halfway to turn back and face him.

"Hm. Yes, good talk... Richard."

His uproarious laughter follows her down into the cargo bay where she quickly disappears.

———————————————————————

Riddick is both a complicated human and a very simple man. On one hand, a selfish part of him wants nothing more than to take control of this cramped little vessel and fly it fuck-knows where. It's clear to him that this ship and its pilot are a package deal, which brings him to a sort of moral crossroads. On the other hand, this woman—this merc—has been undeservingly kind to him, more so than anyone he can remember. She has a point, too. He'd been dangerously incapacitated for a short while, in which time she could have easily gone and ghosted him or handed him over to some other scummy mercs. But she hadn't. This lone woman, mistrustful enough of others to go so far as to masquerade as a man, had saved his hide and given him shelter and transport, all out of the kindness of her heart. She isn't threatening or outwardly malicious; he doesn't know how the hell she's survived this long out here. Perhaps her assumed persona has gotten her this far after all, amongst the masses less perceptive than himself.

Fuck. Merc or not, he can't just ghost her now.

And besides— he's a man, and she's a woman. Simple as that.

Even suited up to the jaw in armor and reeking of sweat, her newly revealed face stirs something all-too familiar within him. Hell, her scent alone is enough to get him off. Riddick doesn't even have to know what the rest of her looks like to know he wants to fuck her. And she doesn't seem all too averse to the idea of him, either, based on the subtle changes observable in her posture and scent. His senses are too keen to miss the physical and vocal cues she tries so hard to hide with that modulator and beneath the suit of armor. He knows hot and bothered when he sees it; and it's a fucking ego-boost.

After their little conversation, she'd grown more comfortable— if that's the appropriate word for the scenario. He'd revealed her identity and she responded by completely forgoing the suit of armor. Not that he's curious or anything, but he finds himself asking more about her. She shares that she is called "Hatchet," which he thinks is a little entertaining given her rather docile nature. He also learns that she's been in the mercenary business since her early teenage years, which almost always spells trouble for young women— hence why she'd taken up the persona of a more masculine, faceless merc, rather than be perceived as lesser-than by her professional peers. She's funny too, he pleasantly discovers, when not restrained by that helmet.

He's surprised when she comes up to him a few cycles following their conversation. She's dressed in a tank like his (which he realizes is hers) and a mechanic's jumpsuit, the top of which rests tied around her supple hips. He eyes up her body with a brashness that usually intimidates even the most battle hardened of men. She doesn't even flinch— she grows shy, instead. He stands by his previous statement in which he'd wanted to fuck her without knowing what her body looked like, but he's certainly not complaining now in getting to see her without the bully armor to conceal her curves and soft shape. Even the light musculature of her arms and width of her shoulders is hot.

She holds something as she approaches from the cargo bay ladder, and he quickly deduces it is non-threatening. She sidles up to the table where he has been parking himself at more frequently lately. She wears a sweet expression halfway between anticipatory and nervous— not much different than usual.

"Hey, dollface," Riddick greets.

He cocks his head to the side as he looks up at her, observing her through the purplish hue of his shine-job eyes. He quickly discovered that playfully teasing the young woman almost always earns a flurry of entertaining responses; namely flustered yammering and a red flush which trails all the way down to her full breasts. The pet names come easily, oddly enough. She blushes as expected and leans a hip against the table edge. While toying with the object in her hands, she glances between it and him.

"I uh. I found a pair of goggles, since you'd been asking."

She holds her flat palm out towards him, displaying a set of simple black welding goggles. They're essentially like the pairs he usually sports: midsized circular lenses, held in place by a thick plastic compound. Riddick takes the proffered eyewear and tests the weight in his own palm. The strap is a fabric material rather than a continuation of the flexible plastic, but still appears sturdy. He pulls them over his head, lowering the lenses over his eyes. They block out the Iight sufficiently, subduing the vibrant hue of his altered vision.

He scans the woman through the shades, smiling appreciatively. "Thanks, sweetheart. You're a real peach."

Hatchet releases a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, sure. No problem... Richard."

She doesn't use fluffy little names on him like he's begun doing for her. When she does refer to him, she only calls him by his first name. Which, given the fact virtually no one else does, feels like a more powerful naming. It's humanization in its rawest form. She shifts to sit down across from him. Neither of them can ignore the way their ankles tangle together beneath the table, hefty boots knocking into one another. Riddick watches her throat bob as she swallows. He raises the goggles and leaves them perched on his knit brow.

"Okay, so, I've been thinking," she begins, somewhat hesitantly. "Here's the deal— I'll take you wherever you want to go, so long as you don't, you know, kill me in my sleep and steal my ride or something. I think that's only fair since I didn't do the same to you when you were incapacitated. Also, I guess it goes without saying that I'm not gonna tell anyone about this encounter or your whereabouts. If you don't trust my good will, just think how negatively it would affect my life if it got out among the wrong crowd that I've been in cahoots with an escaped convict."

Riddick barks out an abrupt laugh. "In cahoots, huh?"

Hatchet blanches, her jaw opening and shutting several times before she gathers her words. "W-Well, I'm willingly harboring a fugitive, aren't I? I haven't booted you out the airlock yet— so yes, we're in cahoots."

The man's laughter tapers into a light chuckle. He perches his chin on his fist in a way that makes Hatchet tense with bashfulness. A muscle in his thick forearm flexes, drawing her curious eye. Lately, she's been daydreaming about those strapping arms. She's been catching herself daydreaming about the rest of him, as well.

Her eyes dart back to his silvery ones, clearing her throat. "Well, what do you think of my deal?"

Riddick tilts his head, unable to resist smiling. "Sounds good."

The woman blinks at him, big doe eyes wide as she picks apart his reaction. "Ah... uh. Okay, cool." She drums the tabletop with both hands, fidgeting under his heavy stare.

She pushes to her feet suddenly, and Riddick launches up after her. Instantly he crowds her in the tight space, his large frame taking up a majority of her vision. She startles, automatically pressing her hands flat to his built chest. This draws a rumbling chuckle from him as he gazes down at the flustered woman.

Hatchet's heart rate quickens, the muscle thumping wildly in her chest. That pulse begins its mortifying throb between her thighs, too— a desperate, hot desire which boils up without her expressed permission. It's not an entirely unwelcome feeling, but it's certainly indicative of her poor self-control given the situation. She has no clue if this dangerous convict is about to crush her head like a clump of dirt, or if he's going to make a move on her. Those are the only two explanations for his startling proximity to her.

Nervously, her eyes raise to meet his. She finds his head bowed towards her.

"Uh."

"Why don't you ever sleep in your bunk?" he asks, derailing her frazzled train of thought. "Don't you need your beauty rest, sweetheart?"

"O-Oh? Where are you supposed to go if I take back my bunk?"

He hums and sways his shaven head. "We can share."

Brain unable to catch up with what he's offering, she defaults to thinking in a blunt, literal sense. "W-We can't both fit. It's too narrow."

He steps forward and she steps back, only to realize he's effectively backed her against a wall. One of his beefy arms rises, forearm and fist resting on the wall beside her head. He leans further into her space, smiling as he takes a deep breath of her scent. Fuzzy butterflies explode in her abdomen; she goes weak in the knees.

"Oh really? 'Cuz I got a few positions in mind that we can fit into," he purrs. Hatchet lets out a surprised little noise and he ducks closer. "Aw, don't get all shy on me now, babygirl."

"I'm— I—" she stammers.

Her eyes flick between his own and his lips. That now-familiar eyeshine glimmers with heated desire as he carefully observes her. He leans in real slow— torturously slow. The tip of his nose brushes against hers and she shudders. Riddick's breath is hot as is fans across her face. She finds herself panting heavy through parted lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his steady one. Her chin ducks low, shyly averting his advance to where he has to chase her lips.

His full lips are shockingly soft when they do finally graze hers— his mouth gentle and curious at first while he tentatively pecks her. The few kisses he lavishes upon her lips are short and teasing, serving only to rile her up further. The heartbeat at her core prompts her thighs to clench; the action doesn't go unnoticed. One of his broad hands clamps over her upper arm, effectively pinning her in place against the wall. The shared kiss grows more frenetic with each passing second. His other hand slides rather possessively up the length of her back, coming to tangle in the hair at the base of her skull. He uses it as leverage to tilt her head back— a move which earns a quiet gasp and unintentional whimper through her parted lips. With a small self-satisfied grin, Riddick takes the invitation to claim her open mouth, exploring teeth and tongue with his own.  

Hatchet can barely catch her breath— especially not when Riddick slips his tongue past her lips. The pulse between her thighs grows increasingly unbearable and she squirms desperately in his tight hold. That hand holding her arm in a vise grip shifts instead to press against her shoulder blade, pinning her to his broad chest. Her own hands find the courage to come up, fingers taking liberty to slip beneath the hem of his borrowed shirt. His tanned skin is warm and pulled taut over an ample amount of muscle. Her hands are cold—they always are while in space—which results in a string of tangible shivers as she drags her fingers up his sides. The thin fabric of the grey tank bunches up around her wrists as her hands continue their exploration upward. Her right hand is careful to avoid irritating the stitched wound over his left-side ribs. Instead it glides to his smooth chest, squeezing a generous handful of his pec.

He chuckles into her mouth and she swallows the deep noise with fervor. Without warning, he crouches and drops his large hands to her ass, hoisting her up with ease. Her legs clamp around his waist on instinct, canting her hips to shamelessly grind her throbbing core against his hard stomach. Her hands continue to grope his muscled chest and arms, appreciative of his powerful physique. All the while, mouths slot together in feverish kisses.

Riddick pivots on his heel and effortlessly pitches forward at the waist, dropping the woman clinging to him down onto the cot. There's little give to the canvas fabric bunk, but it's certainly more comfortable than a metal tabletop. Not that Riddick particularly cares; he's already swimming in visions of bending her over the table, anyway. Only when he deposits her on the bunk and crouches over her does Hatchet release him from her clinging grasp. Her hands barely leave his chest long enough to yank the tank up over his head, relying on his aptitude to fully rid himself of the thing while she continues her impromptu anatomy lesson. While she latches her mouth onto the pulse point of his throat, he plucks the goggles from his brow and flings them aside. They clatter down somewhere unimportant.

Wordlessly, there lingers between them a mutual agreement that this is consensual. This is needed. This has been building up for a while now.

Riddick's broad hands engulf Hatchet's soft waist, squeezing her affectionately. His fingers push upward, skirting along the hem of her own shirt. She parts her mouth from his neck only long enough to allow him to tug the garment up over her head, hastily followed by the discarding of her sports bra, too. His palms are rough with calluses against her sensitive flesh, and unrelenting when they come up to squeeze her bared breasts. The topless woman licks up the column of his throat to just below his right ear, tasting sweat and skin as she suckles the sweet spot. Her fingers dig into his biceps, keeping him in place as she straddles him. She smiles against his hot skin when he groans. His weathered hands explore her torso, sliding from her chest to her back, then down to grasp her waist tightly.

"Fuck, come on," Riddick grunts into her hair. His hands slip lower to her ass, yanking impatiently at the fabric of her jumpsuit bottoms. "Pants."

It takes no effort for him to lift and flip her onto her back again, taking pride in the surprised expression she wears. Her limbs and eyelids feel heavy as she undoes the tied sleeves around her hips, helping him shuffle off her slate grey jumpsuit. She doesn't even realize he's also slipped off her underwear until she feels the cool air of the ship against her bare core. Fuck, all her constant worrying over her appearance, and in the moment she isn't even concerned. She just needs to feel good with him.

Despite this minor revelation, Hatchet briefly feels a tad in over her head as the burly man holds her down by the hips and leans over her. He eclipses the dim overhead light, his eyes shining magnificently. Those nocturnal eyes are growing on her at a frightening rate.

"Richard," she whispers. One hand reaches up to touch his face, petting his cheek before skating over the stubbly crown of his head. "Fuck, Rich."

He drops his head and growls against her hot, bare skin. The sound rumbles beneath her palm where it presses over his heart. That's a new one— Rich. He's never been called that before. He doesn’t dislike it, mainly because it comes from her.

Riddick leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck and across her chest. His fingers press into her supple flesh of her hips hard enough for it to dimple under the force. He continues downward, laving his hot tongue over her pebbled nipples, teasing his teeth against her delicate skin. With her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, she remains ignorant to the garland of lovebites he leaves across her skin, decorating her chest with the constellations of the open universe. His lips follow the line of fine hair down the middle of her stomach, until finally stopping just above the curly thatch at her mons. He shifts his attention, choosing to nip at the skin of her inner thighs. He kneels on the floor and roughly yanks her to the end of the cot for better leverage, earning a surprised yelp from the woman. In the same moment, he tucks his thumbs around the underside of her knees and hoists her legs over his broad shoulders. Her ankles automatically lock overtop his shoulder blades.

Hatchet shudders with delicious anticipation. Her big eyes shoot open and head cranes, meeting his silver gaze from where he has positioned himself between her thick thighs. Without much civility or warning, the man stuffs his shaven head into the tight crevice of her thighs. She is suddenly relieved that he'd taken the bandage off his nose almost immediately after gathering his bearings all those days ago, because now he puts the prominent feature to good use against her swollen clit.

A wanton moan claws out from Hatchet's throat as she throws her head back against the rigid cot. Riddick's breath is hot against her cunt, tongue skilled as he works it into her most sensitive area. Two fingers pry her labia apart to get at a more effective angle. Her hands dart to clamp down on either side of his head, her nails digging crescents into his nude scalp. Panting and squirming, she uses her iron grip on his head to grind up against his big nose. He groans low against her core, the vibrations on his tongue adding to her pleasure. Her thighs squeeze against his flushed ears, and for a moment the thought she may suffocate him flashes through her mind. That worry is ejected out into space when his tanned hands come around to grip her where her thighs meet her hips, dragging her even more securely against him.

Her eyes roll back, body wracked with uncontrollable spasms as Riddick brings her increasingly closer to her peak. His nose is replaced by a skillful thumb, rubbing firm circles around her clit. He continues lapping at her cunt, groaning and taking intermittent gasps for air. Just as she feels that hot coil tightening in her lower abdomen, sees white light flickering beneath her lids, he does the unthinkable. He pulls away. Hatchet whines at the sudden neglect and desperately claws at his head in an attempt for him to continue, leaving red stripes on his stubbly scalp.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" he asks lowly, smugness dripping from his tongue. That isn't the only thing dripping from his tongue; his nose, mouth, and chin are coated in her arousal.

Hatchet laughs breathlessly. "Fuck off."

She welcomes him with open arms when he crawls up over her again, accepting his lips as he presses down to kiss her. She can taste her own wetness on his mouth, but is largely distracted by his hips slotting between hers and grinding down.

He pulls back for a moment, leveling her with an entertained but mildly miffed eyebrow raise. "You got protection?"

Hatchet has to take a moment to catch her breath in order to answer. "Don't worry, I got that fancy implant. Unless you're riddled with some horrible penitentiary disease?" She smiles brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with playfulness.

Her hands cup his face when he returns a dazzling smile. "Me? Who do you take me for? A convict?"

She curls against him when he ducks his face to the crook of her neck, warm and blushing as they both laugh. Unabashed, laughing together. It feels bizarrely intimate, and so completely foreign to the both of them. When the brief chuckles taper off and the weight of the scenario sinks back in, Hatchet wriggles her hips against his, attempting to stimulate some friction. The rough fabric of his cargo pants sparks a little something, but nothing spectacular. Catching on to her renewed desperation, Riddick presses weight against her hips, teasing her with his clothed erection. She mewls softly, grinding up against him.

A calloused hand slides up the length of her body to her neck, first two fingers and thumb pressing lightly against either pulse-point. He squeezes just hard enough for her to squirm with an intoxicating faintness, but light enough for it not to harm her. She swallows hard, feeling the pressure of his palm against her larynx. It would be child's play for him to fully wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. This flirtation with death is not only exhilarating, but it's something she'd never considered as enjoyable before now.

She's too busy with panting against the hand around her throat to realize he'd slipped his other one down towards the apex of her thighs. That is, not until there comes a delicious and unexpected pressure against her swollen clit. She jolts from the sudden stimulation. The moan that slips unbidden from her lips is loud and breathy, and she arches up into his devilish touch. His thumb rubs concentrated circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, the middle finger sliding lower to tease her slit. Meanwhile, he drops his head to press against her temple, lips leaving sloppy kisses on her cheek.

Riddick groans, rutting against her soft thigh. He drags his lips against her cheek, bottom teeth scraping her skin. A tingly shudder ripples through her body.

"You want it, babygirl?" he growls in her ear. "Tell me you want it."

Hatchet whines when his thick finger breaches her entrance, sliding in easily with the wetness of her arousal. Her toes curl and back arches when that searching finger strokes that hidden sweet spot, her entire body overcome with a delicious shudder.

"Fuck," she pants, "Please. I want it."

The hand at her throat inches upward to clasp her jaw, angling her head for him to effectively whisper in her ear. "Want what, sweetheart? Use your words."

Another finger is stuffed into her pussy; she pants and squeezes around them. An embarrassed flush heats her chest and face at being made to speak her desire aloud. In some little act of defiance, she merely continues huffing and rutting against his hand. Punishment for her disobedience comes swift however, arriving in the form of the ceased stimulation. Riddick sucks his teeth and shakes his head in mock disappointment.

"So stubborn," he tsks.

Fuck— that rich, buttery voice sends a desperate throb straight to her neglected clit. She sobs out a pathetic whine, making a futile attempt to force his hand to continue its work.

"Please. Okay, okay. Please, please. I want you, I need you. Fuck me, please, Richard," she begs, voice coming out ragged.

He brings his lips to the corner of her mouth and smiles into the kiss he places there. "Good girl," he purrs.

Hatchet squirms under him, clit pulsing with an immediate flush of blood at the praise. "Say that again," she pants, sliding her hand over the back of his thick neck. "Please, please, Rich. Say that again. I'm— Hah."

She can feel the fond chuckle under her palm as it rumbles in his chest. He wrestles with the button and zipper of his cargo pants while keeping himself aloft with one arm. "My girl. Good girl."

Each kiss steals her breath away, dizzying her with butterflies and anticipation. It takes a hurried moment of effort, but Riddick manages to shuck his trousers and boxers, leaving them in a pile on the floor with the rest of their discarded clothes. Perched on his knees between the woman's spread thighs, he greedily admires the sight of her laid out before him. There's something particularly special about this woman. She's managed to weasel her way into his frigid heart, and he can't find it in himself to complain. She's sweet, and kind, and sure fucking hot. She too watches him greedily as muscles flex in his arms. He plants his hands on her bent knees, dragging them down the length of her soft thighs. Fingers sink into the fat of her hips, dragging her closer.

One glance at his proud erection is enough to draw a flustered whimper from Hatchet's lips; his dick is thick, befitting of the rest of him. She thrusts an arm up over her face, if only to hide the embarrassed blush which splotches her skin. The big man lowers himself over her once more and gently pushes her arm away, murmuring about her shyness. The weight of his cock resting on her belly makes her squirm, which he seems to enjoy greatly, much to her impatient desperation. He slots his plush lips with hers while his left hand slips around her right thigh, encouraging it up. Her knee brushes the bruised wound over his ribs, but he doesn't seem to care all that much as he pins the long limb tightly against him.

In the space between them, he fists his dick and pumps once, twice. He holds Hatchet's lidded gaze with those intense eyes of his, drinking in the dazed sight of her. He drags the cockhead through the wetness of her arousal, teasing her swollen clit before aligning himself properly. His throaty groan mingles with her gasped noises as he slowly presses into her, sheathing himself within her hot cunt. It's a snug fit, lax as she may be. He bottoms out painfully slow, taking his sweet time in stuffing her full of himself. That hand returns to her throat and gently squeezes while he holds himself aloft with the other arm.

Hatchet sucks her teeth against the slight sting of his size. The discomfort quickly fades into a satisfyingly tense pressure once Riddick gets a steady rhythm going. With her leg hiked up over his side, he continually pulls out almost all the way before plunging back into her, driving her down into the stiff cot with each powerful thrust. She shudders with each drag of his thick cock against her inner walls— with every gentle squeeze of his broad hand around her throat.

"Fuck, babygirl. You feel good," he grunts out. "Such a good girl for me. Real pretty." Riddick groans through clenched teeth when her cunt spasms particularly hard around him. His words are like a match to her gasoline.

The hand at her throat shifts away in an attempt to touch as much of her skin as possible— caressing her breast, tangling in her hair, touching her lips, squeezing her waist and hip. It's almost like a compulsion to feel every part of her warm body, to get lost in her skin and pretty noises. Hatchet's hands perform their own exploration; she can't get enough of wrapping her fingers around his biceps and broad shoulders, her breath panting hard against his collarbones as she clings to him. The middle two fingers of his wandering hand come down on her clit again, sparking electric spasms throughout her writhing body. Those fingers rub circles against her sensitive bud, and every so often slip lower to stroke around the spot where they join together.

An especially rough drag and thrust has the tip of cock kissing that sweet spot within her. She cries out and he repeats the motion with an exact precision. He continues hammering into her at that perfect angle, grunting and shuddering with each of her clenches and moans. Light blooms beneath Hatchet's eyelids, that hot pressure coiling up in her belly once more. The combination of internal and external stimulation is enough for her to see stars and arch into the man like her life depends on it.

Nearly animalistic in his frenzy, Riddick can't control himself when his teeth sink into the woman's shoulder. It feels right.

Hatchet cries out at the sharp feeling of his bite, shock mixing with odd delight. He doesn't use enough force to break the skin, but his teeth leave a sting nonetheless. In retaliation, her nails sink into his muscular back and drag downward to his sides, leaving crisscrossing stripes across his tan skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes that she may have torn one of his stitches, but he doesn't make any indication of it bothering him. That delicious tension deep in her belly increases almost unbearably; she bucks up into his fingers on her clit, grinding against the hilt of his cock stuffed in her. His mouth latches onto the slope of her neck and bites again, licking the minimal damage each time he retracts his pearly teeth.

Her orgasm comes suddenly, like fireworks. She spasms around him as she comes, back arching up against his hard front as she cries out. Riddick continues pounding into her— continues rubbing her clit through her shuddering orgasm. The sounds of their sex seem awfully loud in the quiet confines of her small ship.

"There we go. Good girl," he murmurs into her throat.

He pushes up on his supporting arm, putting a bit of space between himself and the spent woman. She twitches and pants beneath him, cunt contracting around his continued thrusts. Her nails haven't yet retracted from his sides, clinging as though grasping for purchase. Riddick sits upright with her legs slung around his hips. One hand wipes over his head to clear away beads of sweat, before both come down to clutch her hips.

"Fuck... Where do you want it, sweetheart?" He punctuates with a harsh snap of his hips, plunging deep into her.

Hatchet's wrists demurely cross above her head. Her breaths come in short, exhausted puffs as she wriggles against him. Overstimulation is beginning to fray at her edges, but the feeling of being so full of him overrides the discomfort. She can barely think straight enough to give him a proper response— fucked thoroughly out of her mind.

"Richard—" She groans low in her throat. He's practically rearranging her guts. Tears prick at her eyes. "Fuck. Inside. Please, just— ugh, inside."

He makes a noise halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. "Sounds good to me, baby." She doesn't have to open her eyes to know the smug, cocky, sexy bastard is grinning. "Nngh, fuck."

Riddick's head tilts back, shuddering violently. He groans loud and holds her steady with his fingers dug into her hips. She feels his hot release spill into her, coating her insides as he ceases his relentless pounding. She's overly sensitive from the intensity of her own orgasm, so his sudden stillness comes as a relief for her tender parts. His chest heaves, fingers twitching.

After an extended moment of basking in the bliss of his finish, Riddick slumps forward. While he's careful not to crush the woman, he does rest a bit of his weight atop her. Sweat-slicked skin meets sweat-slicked skin as they recover together, lounging in the afterglow. He remains partially sheathed within her, allowing a minimal amount of his seed to trickle out around his length.

Amidst tenderly petting Riddick's back, Hatchet nearly gets lost to the grips of sleep. That is, at least until his rumbling voice stirs her again.

"I think you needed that." He noses her throat, inhaling deeply. She cants her hips without thinking, then grunts softly at the feeling of him still buried within her.

"Oh?" she chuckles quietly, "Is that right?"

She smoothes her palm over the back of his head, then traces her fingertips up and down his neck and shoulders. He hums against her clammy, flushed skin. Sentimentally isn't even remotely his forte, but this intimacy feels surprisingly good. Odd and unfamiliar, but pleasant. He feels safe to relax in her hold, resting a little bit more of his weight against her capable form.

"Yep. You're a little uptight."

Briefly pressing his lips to the bite-shaped bruises on her shoulder, he lifts his head. She cracks an eye open to peer at him, then sighs wistfully. He really does have a beautiful face. She caresses his cheek.

"And hey, would you look at that. We fit." He grins wide and smug and raises a brow, referring back to the conversation which started this whole affair.

Hatchet drops her head to the cot and closes her eyes again, laughing heartily. "Fuck you, Richard."

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Oooh oooh I have one!

Can you please do a one-shot smut for Zhongli x Reader (They/Them if it's alright with you) in an Office AU where they do it during their lunch break? Bonus if Itto accidentally stumbles upon them afterwards because it would be absolutely hilarious.

Only if you feel like it because I know life is exhausting. Please take care of yourself. ^3^

–♠️

This was written in a rush because I have things going on. No pronouns were used, but ik this anon irl (they’re just shy to reveal their face), so that is the only reason I’m doing an afab with gn pronouns for this. For anyone else though, please keep in mind that:

I do NOT write for male readers in any shape or form.

ALL not sfw works will ALWAYS be written with a FEMALE reader in mind.

Thank you for reading the above and please keep those rules in mind when requesting. You’d be surprised at the amount of requests I get which breaks nearly all rules in just one go. I am happy you send them in, but please read my rules beforehand. Thank you.

Zhongli x afab! Reader

No pronouns were used, but the body is that of a female autotomy.

Not-sfw warnings: office intercourse, unprotected intercourse, being walked in on.

Blog contains dark content/dead dove don’t eat. Dni if you are uncomfortable with said content.

Minors/blank blogs dni or you’ll be blocked.

I hope you enjoy this!

==

Lunch break was to end in thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes to eat, as you should, unpacking your lunch in the small cafeteria instead of being pressed against the wall, losing your breath as Zhongli kisses you. It was gentle, innocent at first, a simple peck. And it was supposed to remain at that, not develop into something deeper, breathless, his tongue swiping over your teeth as you cling onto the outer jacket of his suit. You made no protest when he gently backed you into the wall.

Distantly, you can hear the chatter of people passing by the door, and while you should be worried about someone opening the door and seeing the scene before them, the moment his lips travel to your neck, pressing against your sweet spot. You could no longer think straight. So, you let him suck lightly, enough to feel the suction that draws a hushed whimper from your kiss-swollen lips, but soft enough to not leave any type of physical evidence.

With the last remaining braincell containing commonsense, you quietly thank him for making sure to close the door.

It doesn’t take long for your pencil skirt to be bundled up at your waist, panties pushed aside. His own pants were unzipped, cock out, and with enough prep, he slid in oh so painfully good. As always, it stung a bit, felt heavy even, whispering for him to remain still lest he hurt you. He does as you say.

“You’re… you’re never like this at work. What’s gotten into you?” You breathe out, muscles relax as the second’s pass. Looking behind him, you spot the clock on the opposite wall. You now have fifteen minutes.

“Mm, I should have waited. We could have taken our time, then,” voice as smooth as ever, Zhongli kisses your lower jaw, trailing his lips until it reaches the pulse of your neck. And then he travels lower until he’s at the juncture and nibbles it. “But… I just couldn’t resist you today, it seems. I apologize for acting out of character, but even I have moments of weakness.”

“At work of all places?” you giggle out, only for it to melt into a moan, Zhongli slowly pulling out before gently thrusting back into your very welcoming cunt. “Mm, we only have fifteen minutes… I’m not sure if we can finish on time – “

When his thrusts become harsher, more passionate, you find yourself breathless, unable to think straight, and for a moment, you really do think that you’re about to suffocate. Apparently, your brain decided that focusing on mind-melting pressure was more important than taking in gulps of air. Another thrust has your fingers digging into his shoulders, letting one of his hands hold up your leg for better access.

Even though it aches, you remain silent on the matter, eyes shutting tight as you let the pleasure overtake you. However, part of your mind is still there, and thus, you bite your lower lip, suppressing any sinful noises that may leak through the walls and doors.

But you couldn’t do anything about the skin slapping against skin, but to keep the pace as slow as possible, trying to build up to your climax.

Ah, but before you could even reach the pleasurable buildup, lower belly tightening and clit throbbing, the door opens.

“Oh, hey, have you seen –,”

The door slams closed immediately afterwards.

It wasn’t until the next day where you saw Itto, his face red and awkward around the two of you. And it wasn’t until later that you found out he left his phone behind in the office, and that at first, it was going to be Shinobu who was going to look for it.

Perhaps this was a sign to never do such a thing in the office ever again.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Connection

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Mike (Hellraiser) x reader (you)

Summary: Mike makes good on a promise to take you somewhere nice for the weekend.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI!!! (I know, it's real!) fingering, oral (m receiving), (protected) p-in-v sex (spooning, doggy and proneboning, god, these sluts don't even look at each other), a little too-soon-moment (though not the one you would expect) and Mike being silly and referring to himself as a horny slut.

Now that you're all thoroughly warned... Enjoy!

A/N: Alright! I had this done DAYS ago. Weeks, possibly, at this point... But I kept forgetting to post it because uni and life and laksdjfalsdkf why must it be like this?

This is formally the last part of the Coffee + Cats saga. I know, sad right? (I'm a little sad.) And I just want to thank everyone who's followed along for their love and support and the overwhelming amount of cat pictures and videos I have received! ❤️ A very special thanks to @geralts-yenn for putting the idea of barista!Mike in my brain that marked the beginning of this incredible journey of cockblocking Mike.

And because I am me, and I had such a blast writing this... Is it a surprise to anyone that I have 2 bonus chapters/drabbles planned?

If you like this fic, please let me know 🥰 and reblog so that others may see it too! <3

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @mayloma @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @peyton-warren @livisss @ylva-syverson @sweetandgentlecreature

You’ll have to take Mike’s enthusiastic lips latching on to your neck for an answer, because you’re fairly sure it’s the only one you’re going to get. As he sucks, licks and nibbles on your skin, his hand travels down your body.

You don’t mind that this is where you win: Mike’s patience runs out as soon as he feels how wet you are, and you can’t help but chuckle when he softly swears under his breath. He immediately slips two fingers into your pussy, curling them up to find that sweet spot that makes you see stars. It only takes you seconds to figure out that he’s good, paying close attention to your reactions, teasing you with soft kisses to your neck and those nibbles on your earlobe that make you go just a little wild. Apparently, he also knows that ‘don’t stop’ means ‘keep doing exactly that’ and not ‘please change your approach to the most violent thing imaginable’.

For a minute, you think you hate him for his skill, but how could you ever really hate a guy who makes you cum like that, within minutes?

“Fuck, Mike,” you sigh as you melt into his arms, your walls still clenching around his fingers, “that was amazing.”

If it hadn’t already become glaringly obvious throughout the day, it would have been impossible to miss now: Mike thrives on praise and validation. He contently buries his face in your neck, humming softly as he keeps kissing you – he’s truly adorable, and sweet, and kind, and handsome, and… he deserves a reward.

Sharp teeth sink into his soft bottom lip when your fingers wrap around his cock. Now you’re the one not wasting any time, giving him a few gentle, slow strokes before dragging his sweatpants down as far as you can while you get on your knees. Mike is right there with you, helpfully offering assistance in the ‘getting him naked’-department.

With a grin on your face that you don’t doubt is entirely unsexy, you drag his sweatpants all the way down – still helped along by Mike, who helpfully scoots up a little – and sit in between his legs. Carefully, you lick the salty bead of precum off the tip of his cock – it’s enough to make his abs twitch, making you chuckle. Then, you lock your eyes on his and revel in Mike’s blatant, wide-eyed shock as you swallow him all the way down without hesitation.

“F-fuck, Sweetcheeks!” It’s almost a protest, the way he sputters and stammers something about taking it easy. He doesn’t want to cum, he wants you to feel good, this was supposed to be about you. Yawn. You are enjoying this, does he know that? “Baby,” you say, a warning hidden in your tone, “shush. I love doing this, especially if you get a little loud for me, okay?”

It doesn’t look like he believes you; he looks at you with confusion and suspicion in his eyes. By now he really should have caught on to the idea that you’re nothing like those horrible exes he has… Right? Maybe you should just ignore that look in his eyes and keep going. Would that work? Eh… Only one way to find out.

You slowly move up and down his length, reveling in the delightful moans that escape Mike. He’s easy to tease. His soft whines as your mouth leaves his cock and your hand takes its place while you lightly kiss the inside of his thighs are proof of that. The featherlight touch of your lips makes him squirm and beg to take him into your mouth again, but just as you’re about to do that, he stops you and pulls you up until he can plant a firm kiss on your lips again.

“I want you,” he mutters against your lips, “right now.”

“You wanted me twenty minutes ago,” you chuckle. Before you know it, you’re on your stomach, with Mike pinning you to the mattress.

“I wanted you six weeks ago.” He bites your earlobe, making you shriek. When he does it again, it sends a shiver down your spine. “Besides, I don’t think I’m the only horny slut in this room.”

“Oh, please refer to yourself as a horny slut more often!” you laugh as you move against his slacking grip on your wrist, taking his hand in yours.

“Yeah, yeah, I promise,” Mike says before kissing your neck, “now turn around, please?”

“Actually,” you say hesitantly, “I’m kinda comfortable like this.” Mike doesn’t seem to think that the depraved thought you considered it to be, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. As he pulls you closer, you feel his cock against your ass, and you wiggle your hips against him. To tease him? You’re beyond that at this point. For good measure? To make him finally hurry the fuck up? You know what? That last one actually sounds plausible… And it makes Mikey’s comment from before one hundred percent right: He’s not the only horny slut in the room.

“Forgive me for asking,” Mike mumbles, “but do I have to grab a condom, or…”

Now, the correct answer to that question is ‘yes’. “I’m on the pill.” The correct answer to that question is ‘yes’. “And I’m clean.” The correct answer to that question is ‘yes’. “And if you are, too, then…” The. Correct. Answer. To. That. Question. Is. ‘Yes’. “But the real question is…” Oh, just tell the man to grab protection! “Are you going to last without?” Mean and unnecessary…

And somehow incredibly effective. “I feel that shouldn’t be the primary concern,” Mike chuckles, with no sign of embarrassment to his voice, “but it’s a valid point, unfortunately.”

You whine when the warmth of his body disappears for a second, and you watch Mike as he pulls a box of condoms from the drawer in the nightstand.

“You’re fast,” you laugh when it only takes him a few short moments to put the thing on.

“I feel ‘years of practice’ would be totally the wrong answer here,” Mike says as he joins you on the bed again, spooning you like he did before. “For what it’s worth, now that I’m here with you, I regret everything else I’ve ever done.”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “I’m just glad I’m here with you now. After everything else. You know… Those years and years of practice.” The chuckle you let out turns into a soft gasp as Mike lines up behind you.

“Finally here with you,” he corrects you as he slowly pushes forward, leaving you gasping, moaning louder in his arms as he inches his way into your drenched core. Mike softly kisses your neck and shoulders until he stops moving, then nestles comfortably against your back for a while. “This is comfy.”

You have to agree; it’s extremely comfy and so, so sweet, and you are so crazy about this silly guy and… and you’re completely impatient to finally feel him move. He laughs triumphantly when you tell him that. “I told you I was going to make you beg for it.”

He did. He really did exactly that and now that he’s kept his promise… Only he doesn’t feel he’s kept his promise just yet, because what you just did wasn’t quite begging as far as he’s concerned. Oh, for fuck’s sake! “Fuck me, Mike. Please!”

“That’s more like it,” he says – no doubt with a massive grin on his stupid, stupid face. When he moves, you gasp loudly. He’s rough, possessive, digging his fingers into your hips, and his teeth briefly into your shoulder. In no time, you’re turned onto your stomach, and he leaves you for a second, dragging you onto your knees before slamming into you again from behind, a hand between your shoulder blades pressing your chest down onto the mattress as he grinds his hips into you.

Holding back your moans is impossible – and unnecessary. There’s no one around to hear you. Even the neighbors aren’t within earshot! And any unlucky passerby’s that manage to hear what you’re up to are likely trespassing, anyway, so screw them. Almost every moan, squeal and whine makes Mike chuckle softly under his breath.

You shriek in surprise when Mike stops and pulls your legs out from under you, and he flops on top of you before littering your neck and shoulders with kisses.

“Mikey!” you laugh when he starts what you first think is a game of footsie, somehow – it turns out he’s just trying to reposition legs, and you’re not helping.

When he finally manages, and slips back into you, you let out a long moan. There’s no reason to be disappointed because he’s slowed down. In fact, every move he makes feels like it’s exactly what you need – and you don’t have to say a word. It’s like…

“God, it’s like you were made for me, Sweetcheeks,” Mike moans into your ear. Yes. That’s exactly what it feels like. All of his insecurities about not being good enough for you seem to be gone now, and rightfully so.

“I love you.” No. What? You didn’t mean to say that – but that doesn’t mean you don’t mean what you say. Get it? Maybe ‘within six weeks of your first date, during the first time you have sex with the guy’ is a little early – but that doesn’t matter anymore because it’s out now. You can’t even convince yourself he didn’t hear it, because he freezes. Well… Not quite that. It’s a fairly recognizable stutter-y kind of movement, actually. So not only do you say something utterly stupid, but also at the worst possible moment.

“Impeccable timing, Sweetcheeks,” Mike laughs softly as he pulls out. “I know I’m kinda leaving you hanging here, but I need one tiny little moment, okay?” You reluctantly agree because he’s right, he does need a moment – not that he’s wrong about the other thing.

You use the time Mike spends in the bathroom to overthink everything, and by the time he gets back, you’ve almost managed to work yourself completely into hysteria.

“Babe,” Mike says as he crawls under the covers with you and wraps his arms around you. Your brief moment of meditative overthinking has made sure your heart is racing and you’re struggling to control your breath. “Come here, look at me.” His hand on the side of your face is reassuring, but you still can’t help but think you’ve fucked it all up. “I’ve never said this to any girl who wasn’t either my mom or a… cat,” he says softly, his voice a little unsteady. “I love you, too.”

[oneluckygirl]

okay so im real nervous to post this and it’s my first ever fic so please be gentle! 🙏

i don’t have a title or anything, and it’s just something i have had in my brain for a while that i decided to write down 🤷‍♀️

(I also didn’t proofread that great whoopsie)

Content warnings:

Smut, mentions previous relationship abuse

Word count: 3k ish

You walked into the door after an extremely long day. Your feet were tired, your clothes were suddenly wildly uncomfortable, and your hair had been in a tight bun since 6 am. You honestly had no clue how you had been doing these 10 hour shifts for the past three months. All you wanted to do was take a shower and sleep for a year. That’s when you noticed the lights on in your kitchen and a pleasant smell coming from it. Sav had mentioned he was going to stop by when you got home, but you weren't expecting him to be cheffing it up in your house without you there. You weren't complaining though, you’ve had the biggest crush on him since the boys moved in next door to you two years ago.

“Sav?” You called out as you walked down the hall. You stopped when you got to your kitchen doorway and nearly started sobbing at the sight. There he was, in all his curly-haired glory, making you dinner. He turned around at the sound of his name and flashed you a smile, “Hey Y/N!” You nearly melted at the sight of him.

“What are you doing?”

“I know you’ve been having a rough time lately and I figured the least I could do was help you out a little, so I made dinner.”

Tears actually began to well up in your eyes. You genuinely could not believe his kindness, and after the past few weeks, you definitely could use some extra compassion in your life. “Is everything alright?”, he asked you. You took a deep breath and tried to compose yourself before responding. “This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a really long time, and it- it’s just a little overwhelming.” Feeling a little silly, you immediately covered your face with your hands.

He stopped what he was doing and walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you.

“It’s okay, love, I’ve noticed how stressed you’ve been and I wanted to make sure you were well taken care of. You deserve a little break.” You were full on sobbing at this point and there was no point in hiding it. You thanked him for his kindness and, naturally, apologized for being emotional. He reassured you that it was alright and just held you for a little while. It felt so reassuring to have someone show they care for you. He squeezed you a little bit tighter before letting you go, “The food is ready if you’re hungry.”

“Thank god!”, you giggled. “I’m starved.”

You both sat down to eat at the table and began to make small talk. You asked how the new album was coming along and Sav gave you a look that said ‘don’t ask’ and you stifled a chuckle. He asked you how your day was. “It was alright, I suppose.” You talked a little bit about the bad stuff, but tried to stay positive seeing as there was no sense in going into another sobbing fit over your plate. And truthfully at the end of the day, your stress didn’t need to worry anyone else. He gave you a sympathetic smile and tried to change the subject. And Sav, being the ever-concerned softie that he is, asked how you had been handling the consequences of your most recent break-up.

“I’ve been okay for the most part. I certainly don’t miss him being around, but I do have this fear that he will randomly show up on my doorstep uninvited. If he does, I’m calling you lot.”

“You know we’d be here for you in a heartbeat!” Sav paused for a second to think about how he wanted to ask his next question.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened with you and him?”

You sighed and thought to yourself for a second.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable, Y/N. I was just curious.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m okay with talking about it. It’s just a bit of a long story. I’ll definitely tell you if you want to hear about it, but I’m dying to take these clothes off and shower. If you don’t mind, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Sav nodded, “Yeah of course, I don't mind waiting.”

You smiled a ‘thanks’ and dashed to your bedroom, determined to stay true to your word and only be a few minutes. You quickly showered, making sure you had enough time to put some lotion on and threw on some more comfortable clothes. You couldn’t lie, you were trying a little harder because Sav was here. Your outfit consisted of a cute matching set and an oversized sweatshirt, and you topped it all off with a little perfume. It was the least you could do for him after he did all this for you.

When you returned you saw that Sav had taken it upon himself to do the dishes and make tea. He handed you your cup and sat back down at the table with you.

“Feeling better?”, he asked.

“Much. And I’m ready to tell that story now”, you said, taking a sip from your mug.

Your ex was a nightmare from hell. What started as innocent puppy love quickly turned into a borderline abusive relationship. You knew you were in trouble the second he stopped caring about your consent in the bedroom, and that was when you had decided to leave him. Problem was, you had no clue how to leave without upsetting him. You ended up staying until he found someone else, and when the cheating occupied all his time, he let you go gently. And you told Sav all about it. By the end of your little rant, you were shaking.

“I’m so sorry that all this was happening to you Y/N”, he reached across the table and took your hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin to soothe you.

“It’s alright now. He’s preoccupied and I’ve worked really hard to get rid of the bad memories.”

You paused for a second, debating whether or not to continue.

“Can I be honest with you Sav?”

“Always.”

You stood up and took your mug to the sink, and he followed. You knew your next few sentences might’ve consisted of a bit of oversharing, but you didn’t care anymore. You needed to get this off your chest and Sav was more than willing to listen.

“I’m mostly worried about being in a physical relationship again, because he was my first, and- well, he was plain terrible. I was much more hopeful that things would get better before he started to take advantage of me. Part of me thinks I started to believe all the time she called me names, or made fun of my appearance. I’m scared there’s no one out there who will be willing to go slower.”

Sav nodded and began, “Y/N, I promise you there is someone out there for you. You’re a wonderful girl, and any guy would be lucky to have those experiences with you. It breaks my heart to know you feel this way.”

You began to sniffle, and it was now your turn to hug him. You just needed another second, and he opened his arms and took you right in. After a few moments you began again, still wrapped up in his arms.

“I really appreciate you Sav, and I know I don’t say it enough. Thank you for doing all of this.”

You stepped away and continued, “If I’m being completely honest, at this point I don’t even need to be in love with someone, I just want one good night where I get to enjoy myself. This may be a bit much, but that asshole never made me finish once.” you said, you could feel the heat rising into your cheeks and you looked away from his eyes. “I know it sounds selfish, but I just need someone I trust to be gentle and to not judge me.”

“And obviously be willing to participate,” you added with a forced laugh, tears still threatening to pour out.

Sav was quiet while you spoke. You looked back to him, partially to read his expression and partially because you thought you might’ve scared him off with your honesty. He seemed to be deep in thought. He took a deep breath before responding,

“Y/N, can I ask you a serious question?”

His tone made your heartbeat quicken.

“yeah…”

He paused again.

“...Do you trust me?”

You slowly picked your head up and looked directly into his eyes, searching for any sign that you may have misheard his question.

You nodded your head, “Yes.”

Well, too late now. But hey, it was true. You did trust him.

Before you could speak again, Sav cut you off, “Would you let me take care of you tonight?”

You were too stunned to form words, so you just nodded your head. All your pent up frustration, stress, and now, gratitude, were now spilling down your face and Sav gently wiped your tears away with his thumbs before pulling you into your third embrace of the evening. “Are you okay with this?”, you asked him. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Yes Y/N, I want to do this, and I want to make you feel special. You’re so loved and you deserve to be treated properly”

You choked out another ‘thank you’ out of habit while Sav leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Shall we go to your room then?”

“Yeah I guess so,” you smiled as you said it.

He lifted you up slightly, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist, and he carried you to your bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Sav layed you gently on your bed and climbed on top of you. He began to mark up your neck, searching for the spot that made you squirm, and once he found it, he sucked a deep purple mark into it.

He removed your sweatshirt and stared down at your outfit.

“You look gorgeous, darling.”

“Thank you”, you squeaked out.

Your cheeks were most definitely a deep shade of crimson.

He kissed down your chest and began to unhook your bra, but you grabbed his hands.

“Can we leave it on for now?”, you asked him.

“Of course love, whatever you’re comfortable with”, god you love how sweet and gentle he is.

He began to kiss down your stomach as he felt you up through your top. You let out a tiny moan and felt Sav smile against your skin. As he kissed his way further downwards, he stopped to make sure you were okay. You nodded for him to continue, and he gently parted your legs to kiss your inner thighs.

He pressed a kiss over your clothed center and hooked his thumbs into the sides of your panties. You lifted your hips slightly and allowed him to pull them the rest of the way off. You immediately closed your legs together once they were gone, and Sav rested his hands on your thighs and gently opened them again.

“Is this okay?”, he asked you.

You looked into his blue eyes, swallowed, and nodded your head for confirmation.

He dipped his down and pressed one final kiss to your inner thigh before licking a stripe up your center. You shuddered and threaded your hands into his thick curls, opening your legs a little more. He began to give little kitten licks before giving an experimental suck on your bundle of nerves. Your grip in his hair tightened and your back arched off the bed. He began to suck harder and more continuously, and you knew you wouldn’t last very long if he kept it up. He moved down to poke his tongue at your entrance a few times before picking his head up. You whined a little at the loss of contact. “You okay?”, he asked you. “More than okay, I just- forgot … to mention I’m- not super… vocal, but I promise you… I’m more than okay.” It was hard to form words because damn was he good at that. He just smiled and continued his assault, going back to sucking as hard as he could. You pulled at his hair and he groaned, the vibrations from his mouth along with his relentless suckling making you come undone way quicker than you anticipated. Sav licked you clean before kissing his way back up your torso and resting his head on your stomach. You were still catching your breath as you spoke,

“That was incredible holy shit”

Sav just chuckled, “let me know when you’re good to go again. I’ll make it even better the next time, promise.” He held his pinky finger up and you locked yours around it.

“If that’s the case, I’m good right now.”, you smiled down at him and he readjusted himself to be face to face with you.

“If you say so,” he began to suck a mark under your ear before dropping down to your jaw, then your collar bone. As he did so, his right hand was traveling south to gently run his fingers through your slick folds. He slipped one finger in as his thumb made gentle circling motions and you let out a soft moan, reveling in the way his calloused fingers felt on your body.

“Sav, please..”

“Your wish is my command,” he sing-songed as he slipped another finger in.

He was working desperately to find your sweet spot, and he softly asked you, “have you ever found it before?”

“...No,” you answered him honestly.

He continued his assault, and after a few more thrusts, he experimentally began to curl his fingers upwards in a ‘c’mere’ motion. After a few curls, you cried out and clenched around his hand.

“Ah, got it.”, he smirked in triumph and continued to rub against the spongy area. “Maybe that’s why you were so quiet before.”

You just covered your cherry-red face at his remark. You hated to say it but he was right. This time was better than the first, and you had certainly gotten more vocal.

As he thrusted his fingers in and out and his thumb continued its work on your nub, he was sucking another hickey into your chest. As he bit down on the love bite and curled his fingers one last time, you came all over his hand, panting and moaning his name. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, groaning as he licked them clean, and winked at you. The sight of it making you squeeze your thighs together all over again and blush harder than before.

After lying next to you for a moment, really letting you recover this time, Sav was the first one to speak once you had finished.

“Y/N?”

“..yes?”, you called out weakly.

He turned his head to face you.

“I’m in love with you.”

And for the first time, he kissed you. You felt like you were on fire. He rolled over completely to get on top of you. The heat from your previous high coupled with his body was almost too much. Almost. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and began to grind his hips down onto yours. The friction was delicious. You reached your hands down to tug his jeans and boxers off, but Sav stopped you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to…” he trailed off while you continued to undress him.

You looked back up and nodded, “I want to Sav, trust me.”

That was all it took.

While he finished getting his own clothes off, you busied yourself with unclasping your bra and tossing it to the side. When he turned back to you, Sav took a moment to admire your naked figure.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You didn’t think it was possible but you turned even more red and reached up to bring him in for another kiss. Still attached at the mouth, he lined himself up at your entrance. He pulled back for a second and you nodded, assuring him he was good to continue.

You whined as he began to push in, forgetting how long it had been since you had been so full. Sav gave you a moment to adjust before you told him to move.

His pace was slow, but impactful as he again searched for that special spot he found just moments earlier. A few strokes later, you let out a gasp letting him know he was successful. He began to thrust harder, grunting softly, and reached a hand between your bodies hoping to send you over the edge.

You began to clench around him and he knew you were close. “Sav… don’t stop” you gasped out. His hand began to rub quicker, tighter circles as his thrusts became sloppier. You were both extremely close. You squeezed him even tighter and your legs began to shake as he gave one final thrust before coming undone.

He collapsed on top of you as you both lay there panting. You whined as he gently pulled out and went to go retrieve a towel. Once he returned, Sav cleaned you both up before getting back into your bed and pulling the covers over you both. He gave you one last deep kiss before you adjusted so he was lying on his back with you nearly on top of him, one of your legs draped over his waist, your head on his chest. You were exhausted, but after a few quiet moments you spoke up,

“Sav?”

“Hmmm?”, he sleepily hummed a response.

“I’m in love with you too. And I have been for a long time.”

[gamerwoman3d]

Warning: Cringey awkward personal rant ahead, for your entertainment and education.

So I'm sure I had a perfectly normal interaction with my crush today! But because I am me, and me is a BIG STOOPIT BALL OF AWKWARD whenever I'm in a room with him, I'm totally convinced that I somehow "lost" the social interaction. Like there's an invisible scoreboard floating above my head at all times that shows EXACTLY how bad I'm losing, to everybody but me.

I know there's no scoreboard, nobody's keeping score. I'm just constantly at risk of feeling a little bit of insecurity that "everyone can see exactly how much of a loser I am but me."

Ironically I also worry that everyone else that speaks with me also is keeping track of how bad they think they're losing? And I just wanna tell them all "NOOOO you're awesome stop ✋️ 🫸 🛑 nobody that actually matters keeps score like that" which means I get to tell ME that, too.

Go me.

But if you're ever wondering where the actual fuck all this good Mortal Kombat Smut is coming from if I'm just a big ball of awkwardness and not an actual seductress, let me let y'all in on a little secret; I'm both.

Anyone can be both a talented sex goddess and a big anxious ball of awkward at the same time. It's totally possible to be both at the same time. I'm confident in my ability to seduce damn near anybody I please.

I'm actively choosing not to be seductive and that's part of what makes it super awkward - I'm not being myself. This fact alone is fantastic fodder for my writing, it's inspiring honestly. At any given time, something could happen to trigger me to flip that switch, to go from deciding be awkward instead of being my seductive self, to being myself and deciding to no longer hold my desires at bay. Oftentimes my writings are based on fantasies fueled by my own desire to flip that switch.

Still, I have to admit to myself that I'm kinda taking damage per second when he's around. I'm not as comfortable as I want to be around him. I feel like I outstay my welcome too easily. Tonight in particular, I enjoyed the moment, but after a small amount of time, even though I could listen to him all day and all night on any topic he chose -- all I wanted to do was either go home with him, or run home to write more Mortal Kombat smut. Because doing that makes me feel more normal, after having not "been in my own skin" for a time. I had to fake being someone I'm not for just a bit too long today.

Also someone else wrote a Johnny Cage fic that I read a night or two ago that had me feral and worked up because my idiot brain wanted to write my crush in as Cage and honestly my face could melt off right now if I think about it too much.

So if you're out there writing the smut I enjoy, keep it coming please. I'm basically using it as a chewtoy at this point. And I need it, because without it, the urge to just chew him up when I see him becomes so damned unbearable :-p

[hotlink907]

Which idol has your favourite:

Eyes

Face

Bust

Arms

Midriff

Thighs

Legs

Butt

Side profile

Overall body

Eyes: This is a difficult one for me to start with. From an aesthetic standpoint, I love eyes. I love closeup face shots during photoshoots. When I write, I often use those kinds of photos as inspiration (for both smut and regular fiction). I typically like soft, expressive eyes the most. I don’t think I can just pick one for eyes, so I will list several. I like Kim Lip and Olivia Hye both have very expressive eyes in general, which I find quite beautiful. I also find Giselle’s eye shape to be unique--she always looks like she is hiding a secret that only she knows. But on the other hand, I love Soyeon’s eyes. They’re nearly cat-like, very sharp, and you can tell how intelligent she is just by looking at them--even when she isn’t wearing makeup. Barefaced Soyeon takes up a lot of real estate in my brain for sure.

Face: This isn’t an easy decision, and I have to give honorable mentions to Kim Lip and Rosé, who each have an incredibly gorgeous face. But overall, I would say Miyeon. To me, her face is seriously one of the most stunning I have ever seen. Honestly, she looks like someone that could have been a muse to an ancient sculpture. She is certainly classically beautiful, but there’s also something unique to her appearance that makes her stand out. And her smile makes me melt every time I see it.

Bust: Truthfully, bust isn’t something I pay that much attention to. But there is one idol that currently has been grabbing my attention with her bust. And that’s Shuhua! She really has been confident lately, both in styles and in the way she carries herself. The shot of her in the green dress in NXDE really has been living in my head since the premiere.

Arms: There’s one answer that popped into my mind for this one, and it has to be Heejin. My goodness. Intimidating and beautiful. You can really tell how much work she puts in. This isn’t a trait I always notice, but it’s impossible to not notice on her.

Midriff: This is difficult, because there are so many good choices for it. But I think I will go with Soyeon, my ult. Lately, she’s been wearing a lot of outfits that show off her belly, and the only word I have to describe it is… well, it’s pretty much perfect. She works extremely hard and it shows.

Thighs: This one is pretty easy for me. Giselle, definitely. I am absolutely a leg appreciator, particularly thighs, and she has some of the nicest I’ve ever seen. She has a wonderful body shape overall, but I do find myself paying particular attention to her legs. Honorable mention to Soojin for this one.

Legs: Like I mentioned before, I definitely really appreciate legs. That means it’s too hard for me to pick one! So I’ll give you a few. Sorry if this is cheating ^__^ First of all, I have to mention Joy. My goodness. That woman’s legs go on for days. And of course, as before, Giselle. It’s one of her most noticeable features for me. Then there’s Rosé—she doesn’t always show them off, but when she does… wow. It’s extremely noticeable! I could go on about this for days though… there’s a lot of idols with perfectly maintained legs.

Butt: Another difficult one for me. The immediate answer that popped into my mind was Hwasa. I admire Hwasa’s body greatly, and her “I’m a B” video does a great job of explaining why. But Jennie has also caught my eye recently, especially in some of her recent video appearances. I think if I had to pick though, I would go with Hwasa.

Side profile: I have two for this one. First, is it cheating if I say Miyeon again? Seriously, I know I said it before, but I genuinely think she is one of the most stunning women on the planet currently. She really fits the word statuesque. Second, Kim Lip. She has a similar air to Miyeon—a kind of otherworldly, ethereal type of beauty. Really, look up Kim Lip’s side profile. Her photos are art.

Overall body: Oh goodness. What a difficult one to end with. My first thought is Soyeon—she’s my ult, and I love how she can be so small, yet use her body in such a way as to become so absolutely powerful. When she dances and performs, she utilizes her body so perfectly.

My two follow-ups would be Hwasa and Giselle. I have a huge appreciation for long-legged aesthetics, especially someone like Hwasa with a bit of curve to her.

That being said, Soyeon is still my ult, my number 1, and an absolute queen. We stan.

What a fun question! Thank you again for asking. I love answering stuff like this. I have another that I’ll be working on hopefully tomorrow. Feel free to ask more!

[enigmatic-mystery-777]

20 questions for writers!

Thanks @ellie--eille

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

thirty four (34)

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

Wh...like...all of the word counts of my THIRTY FOUR works combined?? You want me to do MATH??? *sighs* okay hold on

260,727

I'm gonna be so upset if I misunderstood what this was asking for lmao

Edit: Ellie showed me the easy way of finding the total word count and, like, nobody fudgin told me before that Ao3 has a statistics section! Y'all. 🙄

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now soley SG1. I dabbled once in SPN

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

*All of these are from my Supernatural fandom days and no, I don't remember what any of these were about lmao I don't even remember writing them

In first place, at 128 kudos (wtf): The Second Chance

Second at 114 kudos: When Fate Strikes

Third, 63 kudos: That one Leap Of Faith

Fourth, 55 kudos: I Only Ever Wanted You

And lastly, 53 kudos: The Beauty Of Snow Globes

5. Do you respond to comments?

A l w a y s; though I don't always know what to say

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

All of my fics have happy endings. Sorry, I'm a fluff person, I hate angsty endings with a passion lmao That's not to judge those who do like those types of stories by the way, OR those that write them! I just have a hard enough time with my depression as is, I need happy content to balance it out

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

...all of them? Lmao The problem here is I really don't remember, like, any of them, even the ones I've recently written so... heh. Sorry.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't so far. That I recall, anyway.

9. Do you write smut?

*Giggles and clears throat* well, see, I didn't before but something's changed because of Daniel, he's an entirely new experience for me in my history of hyperfixations, and now I can't seem to stop writing smut. I don't know why he's different, but he is. I hate that it's really fun lol

10. Do you wrote crossovers? What's the craziest one you've ever written?

My brain has a hard enough time handling one universe at a time, I think I'd just get confused trying to cross any over, but I do appreciate and respect all those that do write crossovers; y'all are incredible.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Given how AO3, unlike Inkitt, does not protect against the copy/paste option, I'm sure someone somewhere stole something of mine. I'm not too upset about it, everything on AO3 is just for fun anyway. All my serious stuff is locked down proper.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think I have one time, by someone who wanted it available in their language. I forget which fic it was, though I do know it was back in my SPN days.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I have not, but I have leaned upon @ellie--eille for the first smut piece I ever wrote for SG1, which was a big step for me and I'm so grateful that it turned out so incredible. I still appreciate her help so much <3

14. What's your all time favourite ship?

Daniel Jackson x reader, ngl; I'm having SO much fun with it

but also Daniel Jackson x Cam (I don't know why, though, cos we don't get as much content with them as we did with Daniel Jackson x Jack O'Neill; guess the heart wants what it wants)

Look, I can't pick just ONE, okay?? Lmao

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My original novel "Out Of Time". Book one is complete and I'm very slowly editing it, but book two is stuck on their honeymoon and I cant, for the life of me, seem to get past it :(

16. What are your writing strengths?

Fluff, 100%. Anything cutesy and emotional and happy and sweet. Stuff that makes someone swoon and feel like they're melting, stuff that makes them smile and hopefully giggle.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Literally everything else lmao That, and, I never studied grammar, cos honestly it's the most confusing shit in the world for me, so my grammar is likely atrocious. But, like, if you can read it, and you can understand it, and you can enjoy it, does it really matter??

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

That is extremely tricky and I usually avoid it. Because unless you know all the slang and grammar rules and stuff, you might accidentally be saying something you never meant to say and/or you might insult someone who's native to that language :/

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Supernatural

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Ooh. Uhm. Honestly, it's a tie now between When Fate Strikes (SPN; I remember that being a big deal when I was writing it) and The Things We Don't Know (Stargate SG1) that I'm working on now.

This was a lot of fun!! I don't really remember who's a writer on here and who's not so if you see this and you write, please partake! Questions to copy are below the cut:

20 questions for writers!

Thanks @

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments?

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut?

10. Do you wrote crossovers? What's the craziest one you've ever written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

14. What's your all time favourite ship?

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

[opluffys]

Loveseat-

wrote this very very quickly and my first attempt at actually writing anything with thigh riding lol. as always it was posted to my archive account, luffys. pls tell me if there are any errors of if it copied weird, it happens sometimes. i hope you enjoy!! :)

-Killer x Reader-

-smut/nsfw-

You've experienced some of the most gruesome as well as gut wrenching battles, but to think a heatwave of all things would put you 'out of commission', so to speak.

Well, almost.

Messing around with the second in command was possibly the most fun you had sailing with your constantly irked captain. So, you had stuck it out, sitting down with your blouse almost entirely buttoned down, it had actually helped you somewhat cool down. But you'd kill for any kind of frozen treat.

Your red-headed captain sat next to you, his legs kicked up on a vacant chair in front of him. His fur was ditched, a rare sight, but he looked damn good, muscles showing off and glistening with a thin sheet of sweat.

He took a gulp of his drink, a dark and smooth liquid swishing in his cup, clinking with every movement from the ice cubes. "Can I have your ice, captain?" You looked at him, desperation in your tone. "You can't go to the kitchen and get some?" He responded, leaning back and sighing, obviously not a fan of the heat. "Come on captain, I'll practically melt by the time I reach the kitchen." You mumbled, copying his pose and eyeing his drink rather obviously.

"Fine," He grumbled, drinking the rest of his alcoholic drink and handing the glass to you, his red lipstick stuck on the glass. "Oh, thank you Kid. You really saved my ass here." You grabbed the drink, your fingers brushing against one another. You didn't miss how he smiled ever-so-slightly at your remark.

Tilting the glass and seeing the square ice sparkle in the excessive sun made you squint slightly, pressing your lips to the cool cup and taking a cube into your mouth. You nearly moaned at the deliciously cold feeling, crunching the ice almost immediately after it hit your tongue. A bad habit of yours that made you run out of ice almost instantly.

"Since you're getting up, get me a refill, would you?" Kid turned to look at you, and sadly, your empty cup. Asking for your captains cold remains seemed to be against your favour, now having to walk the tedious trail to the kitchen. You cursed lowly, getting up and grabbing the lipstick stained glass.

•

"What're you doing in here?" You asked, placing Kid's cup down on the counter as you opened the doors into the kitchen, seeing that infamous blonde hair. "It's a bit colder in here, rather than out in the blistering sun." He sighed, holding his own drink in hand, you quickly noticed the lack of ice in his cup.

"Fuck, don't tell me we're out of ice."

"No, there should be some in the icebox."

"Aren't you hot in there?" You pointed to his mask, leaning on the counter next to him. He slightly turned to you, not so obvious so you could tell he was looking at you, but in a way that he had a full view of you.

"I'm used to it, your shirt is completely unbuttoned, by the way." He responded coolly, sipping his drink from the straw.

"Shit!" You cursed, embarrassed that he saw you in such a way. You were supposed to catch him off guard and embarrass him, not the other way around.

If only you knew that's indeed how it was.

Despite his cool and laid back exterior, he was anything but calm on the inside. The heat had already melted all good decisions left inside of him, but you practically prancing in here with your soft breasts, and your lacy bra on full display out to him completely melted his brain.

Hurriedly buttoning your shirt, well, at least halfway, you went to refill Kid's drink, placing the glass back onto the counter. "I bet your room is nice and cold, Killer." You hummed, leaning closer into him, a button of your blouse becoming undone. He had a perfect view of your plush breasts from his taller stature, a heat settling on his face. He was thankful for his mask, even if it was quite stuffy.

•

His room for sure was much better, but there was obviously an ulterior motive of being alone with one another, and it seems that it was running through both of your minds.

When his door had shut, he was on you in a blink of an eye, throwing his mask off and pressing his lips to yours. You mewled in his mouth, part of you sad that you didn't get to make the first move. He kissed you almost desperately, pressing his warm body against yours, leading you to his bed.

"Such a fucking tease." He growled, ripping your blouse from your relaxed shoulders, tying your hands behind your back. He nearly threw you on the mattress, pulling you onto his lap, grinding his prominent erection against your soaking panties.

You had no clue how your blouse had made such a good bond to keep you from moving, unable to grab onto him, to hold him, to change the position of power.

You were powerless, putty in his hands.

He tore your flimsy pants and rubbed his calloused and thick fingers against your throbbing clothed clit, making you whine against him. He quit the attention on your needy clit, harshly grabbing onto your hips and sliding you steadily against his muscled thigh. Your hands attempted to touch him, to feel him, to move, anything. "Killer, fuck, please." You whispered, breath hitching as he continued to move you back and forth on his thigh.

There was no reason to oblige to your breathy and whiney requests, especially because he wasn't in the best mood, quite literally hot and bothered.

"Look at how wet you are," He hummed, moving a large hand away towards your chin, pointing your face down to the embarrassing wet spot on his pants. "and it's just for me, huh?" He asked darkly, moving you at a faster pace, you nodded frantically. He smiled at you, a genuine thing, so warm and kind. You had nearly  come undone from the way he was talking and looking at you alone.

Removing the last barrier between the heat in your core, he also ripped your panties away in a swift and fluid motion. You were about to make a remark about all of your destroyed clothing, you were cut off by a loud and unexpected moan ripped from your agape lips. Your slit practically leaking all over him, your hands still struggling against your blouse. Starting to move your own hips, your eyes screwed shut as he bounced you on his thigh, the motion as well as friction making you squeal with utter pleasure.

Finally undoing the surprisingly well done knot, your hands were free as they flew to his biceps, hugging him close to you as you continued to ride his thigh with fervour. "Feels so good," You whimpered, moving one of your hands lower to palm his straining erection. You felt bad for not giving him too much attention, maybe he had expected you to free yourself sooner..?

He groaned lowly, bringing you closer to his toned body, taking your lips into his once more, two different shades of lipstick smearing all over each other. His pant material rubbing against your clit felt phenomenal, aided by your slick and going at a blistering speed, you chased your high, both hands returning to Killer's burly stature.

He continued to make beautiful sounds, getting off at just your pleasure alone. Taking a quick second to unbutton his pants and lower them just enough for his cock to spring out, thick hot, and leaning pre-cum, he gave it a couple of quick pumps before returning his attention to you.

Despite being so close, you just couldn't get it. The friction delicious and wanted, but it just wasn't enough. You needed more, you needed him to fill you and stuff you full of him. Constantly being on the precipice, you couldn't handle the edging any longer.

"I need it, please." You begged, stopping your ministrations and kissing him hotly. He groaned deeply into your kiss, melting into it, his movement ceasing as well, just taking a moment to savour you and hold you dearly. Your sweaty bodies intertwined together, like puzzle pieces that would never succumb to separation.

Pressing his forehead against yours, his lips rested against yours while just looking into your beautiful eyes. Seeming as time had stopped, and the world was just the two of you as you stared at one another lovingly. This moment was all that had mattered, Onigashima wouldn't matter, taking down all the emperor's wouldn't matter.

Just you two.

Moving to kiss you gently and knock you out of your trance, the two of you breathed heavily. Constant yearning for each other, like always. You wouldn't have it be any other way, really, and neither would he.

His rough and hasty speed from earlier had completely dissolved, lifting your hips gently onto his strained and hard cock. You whimpered his name, burying himself deep into your wet slick and gummy walls. He grunted as he bottomed out deep inside of you, his tip nearly bashing into your womb.

He started steadily bouncing you over his cock, your toes curling as your orgasm steadily approached. You felt every inch of him wonderfully deep within you, your velvety walls attempting to suck him in as deep he could go.

The both of you were trying to prolong your orgasm for as long as possible, but the previous events weren't doing the two of you any favours, already riled up. Him being inside of you and throbbing deeply in your hot cunt made you moan his name over and over like a mantra.

"Fuck, you feel so good," He whispered against your soft and supple skin, his big and rough hands gripping your hips tightly, most definitely going to leave marks in the morning.

He carefully moved you onto your stomach, ass in the air as your dripping pussy was on full display to him. He ran his thick fingers against your weeping slit, making you visibly shudder with pure and unadulterated want and lust.

"Please," You breathlessly mumbled, feeling his bulbous tip against your wet cunt. You backed your hips up as an attempt to get him inside you already.

"You're still not off the hook from earlier." He started, pushing his fat cock inside your soft body, feeling your walls flutter around his throbbing dick. It felt even better from a new angle. You cried into his mattress, hands fisting at the dark sheets. Your screams had been muffled by his pillow, his scent flooding your nostrils, heightening your arousal.

Tears streaming down your cheeks, drool spilling out of the corner of your mouth, you screamed his name as you came undone around his girth, shaking lightly. Your slick coating his heavy cock while your cunt squeezed him snugly, sliding in and out of you at a brutal pace, Killer's grunts and your moans filling the room.

You knew he was close, your overstimulated insides hugging his large length tightly, making him slow down slightly. He cursed lowly, thrusting deep into you as he groaned your name deeply, his voice alone almost making you orgasm once more.

A drawn out and long groan left his plump lips, burying himself balls deep inside you before painting your insides white with his hot seed. You would never get tired of being stuffed full of his cum, always happy to feel it pushed deep within you.

Pulling out of your abused hole, his seed began to slowly flow out of you, making him want to slam into you again and again, pushing it so far into you that it would stay inside. But, he knew you needed to regain your stamina, and as did he.

You lay still, panting as your face was still against the mattress and pillow. "Was I too rough?" He asked, turning you over gently, his tone worried for you.

"No, no," You exhaled, "it was so fucking good, you were so good, Killer." You hummed, a serene and pleased smile on your face.

He wiped the tears from your eyes with so much care you almost burst into tears again. "Do you want to take a cold shower? It'll probably help cool us down, and not to mention get us clean." He chuckled, pulling you close to him, your head resting against his pectoral muscle.

"Can we stay like this, just for a little bit longer?" You sighed, pressing a deep and loving kiss into his beautiful bronze skin. "Of course," He hugged you closer, appreciating your radiating warmth and presence.

"Oh, shit," You attempted to sit up, your nerves immediately bringing you back down next to Killer. He turned towards you with a hum, his full attention on you.

"I forgot about Kid's drink..."

[becca-e-barnes]

Hey there Becca :)

My brain is in horny jail right now and I just know you could make this idea something really good.

Would you be comfortable writing a Reader/Bucky/Steve where the Reader and Bucky are both doms and Steve is sub?

I’m picturing Steve and Bucky coming home from a long mission where Bucky didn’t let Steve pleasure himself at all so he’s really wound up. I don’t really care what else happens but it would be hot if the reader makes Bucky cum and aims it so it lands on Steve’s *throbbing (denied) member*

See I told you…horny jail 😈

Thanks Becca!

No but babe, if you’re going to horny jail, take me with you because this has not left my mind since the day you sent me it 😫 I don’t think I’ll ever know peace again after writing this. I need to pick your brain for more ideas!! Holy shit I’m going for a cold shower now 🥵

Pairing: Dom!Bucky x (Kinda)Dom!Reader x Sub!Steve

Word Count: 3.3K

Summary: Bucky gets Steve all wound up on a mission but unfortunately for Steve, their girlfriend has very little sympathy.

Warnings: Smut, mmf, penetration, Dom/Sub dynamic, orgasm denial, edging, oral sex mention (m receiving), brief mommy kink, brief daddy kink, Steve is so needy, orgasm control, cum play, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up), established polyamory, somnophilia mention, edging, pet names, little degradation, praise kink, overstimulation, aftercare

Minors, do not interact

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Him.” Bucky’s voice was barely more than a low growl from the front door, no doubt talking about Steve who was practically melting into a little puddle of lust against you, leaving you a little unsure of what had actually just happened.

Everything had happened so quickly. Within the space of a minute, your front door had been flung open and Steve and Bucky had both burst in. You didn’t even have a chance to turn around to welcome them before the hurried thud of footsteps stopped and you felt a pair of hot, wet lips on your neck. Tiny, pleading whimpers breathed against your skin that were distinctly Steve’s. He was practically panting. What the fuck had Bucky done to him?

“God Stevie, it’s nice to see you too.” You chuckled softly, his cock was already rock hard, rutting against your thigh like a little needy puppy, face screwed up in pleasure.

“Please, fuck, touch me baby. I-I can’t take anymore. Needa cum so badly.” The blond haired man was lost already, drowning in pleasure, sinking deeper into his own need with every passing second. Everything around him felt too hot, even the limited contact with you had his fingers itching to begin removing is tactical gear. And that’s when Bucky had spoken up, barking orders, bags dumped in the corner, front door slamming shut behind him. Steve actually whined when you stepped away from him, moving instead to greet your other boyfriend.

Bucky smirked at the sultry sway of your hips as you walked towards him, knowing it was entirely for Steve’s benefit.

“Welcome home honey.” You beamed, grasping Bucky by the nape of his neck, pulling him into a violent kiss. His mouth matched the intensity of yours, lips heavy and insistent as your tongues slid over each other with practiced ease. Steve thought he might cum in his pants just watching you both, little groans slipping from his parted lips as he palmed desperately at his clothed cock.

“What did you do to him?” You laughed softly, pulling your mouth off Bucky’s but not leaving his embrace.

“You wanna tell her Stevie?” Bucky’s sly grin was unbelievably sexy.

“H-He didn’t let me cum the whole time we were away, fuck ‘m so hard.” You couldn’t remember Steve ever coming home from a two week mission this riled up before so you knew there had to be more to it.

“Tell her the rest.” Bucky encouraged, his own cock beginning to stir pleasantly between your bodies.

“Fuck, he t-touched me every chance he got. Fucked me every night. C-Came inside me and then just stopped.” Steve was almost sobbing. “Some mornings he s-sucked me until I was so close and then he rolled over and got dressed. Jesus, it was torture.” Steve’s hand was working a little faster over himself at the memory. Memories of being filled and fucked, the bed creaking under the weight of two horny super soldiers, Bucky’s grunts filling the room followed by the feeling of warm cum leaking from his hole and then receiving absolutely no relief himself. For two whole weeks. After the first week, his cock was almost permanently hard and that’s when Bucky only ramped things up. The torture got worse. Steve could still imagine the feeling of Bucky’s cold metal hand gripping the base of Steve’s cock every night while he fucked into him to keep him from spilling onto the sheets with a loud cry. Holding back Steve’s orgasm with a grip like a vice. Bucky ramped it up again, beginning each morning with Steve’s cock in his mouth, Steve squirming awake, thrusting into his boyfriend’s hot wet mouth and God, if he could only just let go but the sensation was always removed as soon as he was conscious enough to truly register the pleasure.

Bucky Barnes had been sadistic this time, there was no doubt about it.

Steve knew he couldn’t touch you now. He knew with the state he was in, it would be game over with just a couple of quick tugs of your tiny hand and as much as he hated being denied, he loved feeling this worked up, entirely at the mercy of you and Bucky.

You turned in Bucky’s grip to watch Steve, your ass pressed to Bucky’s crotch while you began you tug your little dress over your head.

Steve really struggled to stop himself from cumming, a grunt leaving his lips. His hand had to stop moving over his bulge at the sight of you in the most painfully pretty lingerie. Expensive, delicate, baby pink lace covering your sweet breasts, nipples firm and pebbled and Bucky’s hands roaming your exposed skin.

If anyone deserved to be touching you, it wasn’t Bucky, that’s for sure. “Please, please oh no, I’ve been such a good boy, please lemme cum.” Steve was ready to drop to his knees and continue begging if you asked him to but you weren’t going to push him that far. That was only fun when Steve was being bratty but you’d never seen him more pliant than he was right then.

“Take your dick out Stevie. Maybe mommy will give you some relief after she’s taken care of daddy.” Bucky’s voice was deep, lust tinged, watching his sweet boy scramble to unzip himself, barely free from the fabric before he wrapped his own hand around his shaft. His length twitched every couple of seconds and you audibly gasped at how full and heavy his balls looked. Precum had smeared everywhere, a thick bead already running slowly down his shaft. His tip looked red and angry, too sensitive for Steve to even touch.

“Mommy please ah, take care of me first. B-been so good. I’ll be quick, promise. Oh Daddy, fuck, touch me.” Steve could only manage two or three strokes at a time before he had to stop. Anything else would’ve made him spill over his fist. It was different, seeing Steve edge himself like this. Normally he didn’t have the will power. It always took you or Bucky controlling his pleasure since Steve loved to cum, greedily taking too much when you allowed him to do it himself. But God did he look pretty, pink cheeks and wet lips, long lashes fluttering every time he denied himself. His whole huge body was practically trembling with need, hand shaking as he worked himself.

“We’re in charge baby, you’ll do as we say. Don’t waste that big load, you know how much mommy loves to feel you fill her. Only after daddy’s had a turn though. Know how much you love fuckin’ mommy after me. Feels nice gettin’ daddy’s cum on your cock, doesn’t it? Mommy feels that little bit better when she’s already sloppy, fucked full of cum. Maybe we’ll knock her up this time. Who knows?” Steve’s eyes shot open at that last statement, Bucky had played into Steve’s biggest fantasy, knocking you up. Steve had the biggest breeding kink, but he often wasn’t bold enough to bring it up himself. There was no chance of it happening any time soon, you were on the most effective birth control you could find and the boys knew that, it was just about the risk.

“I can’t wait, oh god.” Steve was whimpering, diving deeper into his need than you even thought possible while Bucky ignored him, starting to rid himself of his clothes until he was standing naked behind you.

“Oh Steve, these panties are crotch-less. Don’t even need to move ‘em out of the way to get to get into this sweet pussy. You must’ve been needy, weren’t ya honey? Needed your boys home to fuck you properly?” Now it was Bucky’s turn to sound ruined, metal fingers dipping into the gap where there should’ve been fabric. Two fingers pressed their way into your eager hole, a high whine slipping from you when Bucky began to curl them.

“Oh yes, oh fuck.” Steve was whimpering in the corner, his hand now rolling his balls instead as he watched his boyfriend stretch out his girlfriend.

“Lemme hear you baby, let Stevie hear you. Don’t you dare hold those pretty noises back this time.” You offered Bucky what could only be described as a mean smirk and he gave you a single nod in return, wet lips pulled into a sly grin. Bucky often held back his noises during sex since you and Steve were so vocal but it tore you apart when he finally let his guard down like that.

Bucky wasted no time bending you over the kitchen island so you were facing Steve. The cold marble pressed against the thin lace covering your body had your nipples stiffening. Steve looked so fucking gone, scared to even touch his cock for fear of cumming as Bucky pressed into you with a low groan.

“Jesus Christ baby, you’re tight. God, you have any idea how good you feel? Take this big dick so well. Not like Steve, he turns into a little bitch but you? You take every inch like a dream.” Steve’s face contorted in pleasure as Bucky pulled out slowly, slamming back in with enough force to fill the room with the sound of skin slapping on skin.

“So full Bucky, you’re so damn big. Love how well you fuck me.” Your little show was more for Steve’s benefit up until Bucky reached between your bodies, stroking little relentless circles on your clit. Your fingers struggled for purchase on the marble countertop, desperately seeking something to grip onto and finding nothing.

Bucky’s hips changed angle and oh god, your whole world was crumbling around you, your blood thumping in your ears.

“Right there Bucky, shit, ‘m not gonna last. Feels, ahh fuck, feels so good.” You couldn’t tear your eyes from Steve, sitting right in front of you, across the table. He was a fucking vision, cock standing proud and painfully hard, precum dripping steadily from his tip. Every few seconds, he twitched again, pulling a whimper from his swollen lips. He couldn’t even look at you. He couldn’t watch you or Bucky because if he did, he knew he would explode, whether he was touching himself or not.

“Stevie our girl feels so good, she’s so warm and wet and tight as fuck, you’ve no idea. She’s so fuckin’ sensitive today too, look at her, she’s so close and we’ve only just started. Takes this fat cock better than you do. Bet you wish you could join in, huh, fill one of her pretty holes while I take the other? Or maybe you wish you were her? ‘Member how good it feels when she sucks your dick while I’m in your ass? Know you love that, don’t you.” Bucky was absolutely killing him, making Steve squirm in his seat, trying so hard not to cum because damn, Bucky was right. The moan dragged from his throat at the wet slapping of your bodies together was sinful, another fresh bead of sticky precum running down his shaft.

“Cum for us angel, c’mon, wanna feel you milk my big cock. Give Stevie a nice sloppy hole to fuck. Gotta put a baby in our girl tonight.” Bucky had bent over, layering his body on top of yours, growling into your ear in a way that would’ve been almost sensual if it hadn’t been so perverted.

You felt as gone as Steve was, each powerful stroke of Bucky’s weakening your resolve, threatening to tear your orgasm from you whether you were ready or not.

“Steve you gotta watch. I’m gonna cum, fuck Steve, I’m gonna cum.” You were babbling, every thrust from Bucky sending your body bobbing against the marble beneath you. Steve’s eyes squeezed tightly shut, head still facing the ceiling and he almost looked pained. He’d been too hard for too long and he was so damn full he wasn’t sure he would be able to listen to you cumming without letting go himself.

“Steve I swear to God, if you let our girl down, you’re not cumming for a month. I’m gonna fuck her in front of you all night long, every single night of the week. Get over here now and watch our girl cum.” Bucky’s voice came out in an angry growl, which did nothing to soothe your need to cum. Steve scrambled to his feet, coming over to stand beside you, his own hand clenching around the base of his cock for all he was worth, holding his orgasm back for just a little while longer.

“Jesus Bucky, ‘m gonna, fuck, right fuckin’ there, oh god.” You could hardly think, between the pounding of Bucky’s cock, his fingers working your clit, his low grunts and Steve’s hungry eyes on you, there was nothing you could’ve done to hold back.

Your orgasm hit you with the force of a train, your pussy gushing around Bucky. The scream that you let out could’ve had Steve crying, imagining how it must feel to be inside you while such a powerful orgasm wrecked your body.

“Oh oh shit angel no, you really fuckin’ are milkin’ me. Can’t even think straight, you’ve got me so lost in this pretty little pussy, fuck I’m close. You want me to fill you up baby? Want to feel this little hole dripping before Steve even gets a chance to fuck you.” Bucky’s teeth were gritted, pounding you through your orgasm. Both hands gripped your hips, forcing himself deeper and deeper inside you while Steve squirmed. And that’s when you had an idea.

“Bucky, shit, stop, gotta, oh Christ.” Almost the second you told him to stop, Bucky had pulled out. Turning around, you noticed just you worried he was, thinking he’d hurt you or it had all got too much. What he hadn’t expected was for you to sink to your knees, grasping his cock in both hands before leaning over and spitting on him for a little extra slick. His eyes rolled back in his head, watching his sweet, sexy girl on her knees, stroking his dick in that pretty lingerie.

“Steve come here, Bucky’s so close.” Steve stepped ever so slightly closer.

“Oh no, baby don’t touch me, I’ll burst.” Steve was so lost in the wet sounds of your hand working Bucky, along with Bucky’s breathy gasps while you tried to tear the high from his body.

“Just hold your cock right there Steve, good boy.” Your praise made his knees even weaker, not even entirely sure what you were doing. Bucky had caught on though, watching you intently as you sped up.

“You want this load baby? Jus’ couldn’t resist, could ya? Want your pretty face painted?” He looked so proud, keeping Steve absolutely oblivious to your real plans.

“Fuck baby, that’s it, gonna cum.” Bucky’s length was twitching in your hand, watching how you bit your lip and looked up at him.

Hot, thick ropes of cum erupted from his tip but rather than landing on you, Bucky stepped forward so they spattered messily over Steve’s cock. Steve looked like he was going to go mad, curses and whines escaping him with every fresh stream of cum, forcing himself to stay sane.

“Jesus Steve, I didn’t think I’d have that much in me. Not after filling you up every night for two weeks.” Bucky’s little breathy laugh made Steve shudder, his whole lower half of his tummy drenched in cum.

“You’re gonna fuck all that mess into me now Stevie, okay? Gonna take care of you baby.” You were so soft for Steve now that he had done so well and Steve was just melting into all the extra affection.

“Mhm, thank you, oh god, thank you.” Steve was whimpering, blue eyes shining with excitement and an uncomfortable amount of lust.

“Onto the sofa baby, don’t make a mess now.” Steve had never moved so fast, sitting so carefully down on the leather sofa in the adjoining living room.

“Oh you’re so pretty like this, look at you, you did so well baby.” Bucky had gone just as soft as you, taking in Steve’s blush at all the compliments and affection, both of you stripping him of his clothes. You settled on top of Steve, lightly gripping his sticky length, guiding him to your entrance.

“Lemme know if you need a break sweetheart, s’gonna be intense for you.” You cooed softly, holding Steve’s face in your other hand. He nodded a little, blissed out already just from the feeling of your hand on him.

His tip pressed through your soaked folds, inching its way inside you, little by little. Steve let out a hiss at the feeling of your hips sinking lower onto him, his face screwed up in pleasure. Bucky took a seat beside Steve, kissing his neck, whispering little praises in his ear, his love for both of you burning behind his eyes.

“Oh, oh no that’s so good, no please, I’m gonna cum.” You were hardly even half way down on Steve’s length before his little plea had escaped, Bucky’s cum making the glide even smoother.

“Don’t you want to cum sweetheart? I don’t expect you to last very long this time. Don’t want you worrying about me, this is all for you now.” You stopped moving, giving Steve a chance to catch his breath before his forehead dropped to your shoulder, a little sob escaping as you sank lower. Kisses peppered against your bare skin, whiney little cries falling from his parted lips, letting you sink onto him until he was buried to the hilt.

“Just rock there baby, don’t fuck him, I don’t think he’ll be able to handle it.” Bucky’s little suggestion pulled a fresh groan from Steve, knowing he probably couldn’t handle anything right now for too long.

“That’s it, good boy, you’re so perfect for us baby. So so perfect and pretty, you’ve no idea.” Your praises only deepened Steve’s blush, fingers digging into the soft flesh at your hips. You rocked yourself back and forth slowly on Steve’s length, keeping him seated inside you. Each tiny movement was amplified a hundred times over for Steve, given how sensitive he was.

Little gasps turned to groans and groans into whimpers as Steve neared his peak.

“Fuck, so warm, I can’t wait any longer.” Steve was a trembling mess, fingers scraping over your skin in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

“Come on Stevie, fill her up.” Bucky’s eyes were trained only on Steve’s face as he let go, cock twitching violently inside you. The force of his orgasm left him shuddering, wrecked at finally getting to spend himself inside you. All the frustration he had built up was released, a long drawn out groan ripped from his throat. His cum dripped between your bodies before he had even finished, making the inside of your thighs even more slick.

“Doing so well Steve, oh I bet you’re makin’ her feel incredible. What a sweet boy.” Bucky stroked Steve’s face so gently, letting the worn out man shudder, eyes fluttering shut.

Ever so slowly, you inched yourself off him, trying not to add to his overstimulation, taking in the sight of your two boys on the couch, locked in the sweetest cuddle.

“Shit that was… Oh wow.” Steve was completely breathless, a thin sheen of sweat evident on his forehead, watching as Bucky pulled you onto his lap for a cuddle.

“You okay honey, we didn’t go to hard on you?” You questioned, placing little kisses to Steve’s shoulders while Bucky lovingly held your waist.

“No, it was perfect, fuck I didn’t realise I would be that needy.” Bucky’s chuckle at Steve’s little admission was so light and heartwarming, his metal hand drifting lazily through Steve’s hair.

“I um…. Don’t think I’m done though.” Steve’s cock was beginning to stir again between the tangle of your bodies.

“That’s okay sweetheart, we’ve got all night.” Bucky laughed quietly.

Taglist:

@justatirednightowl @bucksdolll @margowrites @baebee35 @white-wolves-and-grey-skies @badgirlwolfy @harrysthiccthighss

If you’re on my Bucky only taglist, I haven’t added you this time since it’s Stucky and obviously might not appeal to you the same!

[hertzwritings]

Rays of hope

A/N: This was a request was made by the sweet @one-sweet-gubler​, and my brain seriously needed a break from smut and this is PERFEEECT.

Request: how about all the times seb or hen knew they loved you? In a friends to lovers trope? 🥺

I hope i do you (fluffy) justice, my love! You can buy me a coffee and I’ll write you a personalized drabble, one-shot or multi-chapter fic! Love y’all.

Remember, feedback feeds the soul and my requests (and askbox) is always open – there are no limits, because I am me and I have none!

MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Henry Cavill x female reader

Warnings: FLUFF UP THE HOOHA, language (slightly), mentions of pregnancy  

Wordcount: 1.300

 Rays of hope

  Life had a funny way of working out. He was currently watching a life, he didn’t think he would have, run in front of his eyes as he sat on the patio of his house, made out of red bricks, love and his own sweat, a cup of cooled tea in his hand and a soft smile on his lips.

He remembered every, single time he knew he loved you.

Henry knew he loved you the first time he saw you read the final chapter of a new book, throw it across the room and hug your knees, staring out into the room with wet eyes. In the middle of set, in full costume, he saw you crumble completely as your favorite book-world came to a screeching halt.

His heart did a leap and his fingers itched. He watched you re-read the book behind your eyes and all he wanted was to sit down next to you and just hear you read it to him. Forever. He had known you to be a quiet, steady heartbeat in a loud room – never showing outwards how you felt, a soft, secretive smile on your lips, as you blazed a trail for him through a crowd of ever-staring faces. Then he watched you stand slowly and grab your book, settling down in your chair again, your hairstylist fussing about you as you opened the book again and started right over.

He realized in that very moment, that one could find something truly important in an ordinary minute.

 The second time was when he was right next to you during an interview and watched your eyes light up, as you talked animatedly next to him. The interviewer had smiled at you and asked a very arbitrary question and you just lit up like a kid on Christmas; he had felt like he was about to melt into the goddamn floor when you touched his arm gently and told a random story about the two of you getting into to trouble by playing a prank on Joey. He just wanted to listen to your voice at all times. He barely had the wherewithal to answer the questions asked, simply grinning like a teenager at her, trying to get her to laugh – because that sound was the most precious thing in his life. He would savor it in his very core like the memories from his childhood.

You were beautiful. He knew that, objectively, but there was something that shined from within; it was like fragments of stars that had settled in her soul and eyes, that only lit up whenever she smiled. Whether it was to him or someone else, he was more than happy to just be in the vicinity of you as you did.

The third time was the night, your lips had touched his. It was like he was seeing color for the first time in his life – no, like he had been colorblind for his entire life, and suddenly he saw everything in vibrant colors, everything righting itself to its real state. His world lit up in a multitude of colors, universes, infinite possibilities that all lay hidden in your lips.

He had wanted nothing more than to stay right there, hands on your waist, hot breath fanning over his face and your shaking hands on his face. He didn’t quite understand how he ended in this position. He didn’t know why you had come to him, fires turning to embers in your eyes as you stopped in front of him and had asked him why he had never just kissed you. He didn’t have an answer for you, but simply pulled you to an adjoining room, pulling you flush against his body. It was like he was molded to yours, even before you had ever touched him. It felt familiar and warm, like he had just been waiting for you to fall into his arms.

And now, he wanted to kiss you until he didn’t have a breath in his body anymore. He’d die a happy man, if he could taste your lips for the rest of his short-lived life. Life had indeed felt too long and too short before he met you, and now, as you kissed, your hands steady on his face, he felt like hours, days and years flashed before him – he would never have enough time with you.

He knew he loved you, when you – in the dark of night, between damp sheets and with a sleepy voice had quoted Victor Hugo to you. To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.

He knew he loved you when he saw you in a sundress and bare feet on grass, your eyes lit up with summer rain.

He loved you as you weaved your fingers through his and kissed his cheek in front of cameras.

He loved you when you took the same hand in yours a year later and softly placed a key there, telling him that it was to your home and your heart.

He loved you as no man had ever loved before, deepness to the love as unseen as the bottom of the ocean, as fickle and still steady as a heartbeat, when you walked to him in a white dress and orienpet lilies in your hands, the same, secretive smile on your lips as he had known to be home while your fragmented stars shone and made the world around you even more beautiful than before. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. You had said the words as clear as the sky outside, and he had responded soul meets soul on lover’s lips.

He loved you when you slept on the couch with Kal’s body laying across yours.

He loved you as you put windows, doors and nails into your home, building it with him, brick by brick and nail by nail with him, sweat dripping from your forehead in the sweltering summer heat.

He loved you more than he would ever be able to express, when you waddled around the home, grunting in annoyance when you couldn’t reach the floor because of your stomach.

He loved you more than he ever knew he could love a person when you were giving life to your child. Your face as your son was placed on your heaving chest, your eyes on him with the softest, most tender love in them, made him feel like he had done too little in his lifetime – and the previous, if that existed – to be allowed to watch this moment. Your son had the same fragmented stars in his eyes, as you had.

He never knew he could love even deeper than he already did, when you birthed your daughter, letting him catch her as she came into the world. She carried the same secretive smile as you did.

Yes, life had a funny way of working out. Watching you chase his children – children, he never knew he would have – while you were huffing because of the growing child in you, he felt like he couldn’t possibly have deserved this love and this life. But he had it.

He had loved you an infinite amount of times and would love you an infinite amount more, a completely unsurpassable stretch of time.

And as he saw the children run on chubby legs, trilling laughter filling the garden that buzzed with life, he caught your eye. All he needed to say was said with the look you shared.

Grow old with me. The best is yet to come.

-------------------

TAGLIST:  @acaceta​ @a-skov​ @angelmather1​ @cooldreamlandsandwich​ @est1887​ @enchantedbytomandhenry​ @fionnthebandersnacc​ @herroyalbubbliness​ @keiva1000​ @kebabgirl67​ @luclittlepond @mis-lil-red​ @multifanficdom @one-sweet-gubler​ @pandaxnienke​ @perfunctory-username69 @sleutherclaw​ @summersong69​ @spookyboogyuniverse​ @stardusted26​ @thereisa8ella​ @timetraveller4​ @thatonechickhere​ @themanfromu​ @thelastpyle​ @yourlocalhoney​ @wheretheriversrunintothesea​

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝐶𝑂𝐷𝐸 𝐵𝐿𝑈𝐸

𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: Steve is angry on you for behaving recklessly and you decide to let him take his anger out on you in a very unprofessional way...

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: Unprotected sex, spanking, shower sex, rough sex, hair pulling, handjob, choking, PWP (porn with a very little plot... wait who am I lying to? It’s porn.) 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝙋𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙎𝙀 𝘿𝙉𝙄!

For my sake, your sake, your mom’s sake and for the betterment of the entire world, if you are a minor, please do not read this!🔞

Beta’d by the wonderful @lex-the-flex But all mistakes are mine

This is my first time writing smut, so please be kind 🥺 It’s filth... absolutely filth, even I can’t believe I’ve written this 🤦🏽‍♀️ I hope to god my mom never finds this and Marvel is probably gonna sue me for writing this.

“Steve!”

You exclaimed as he shut the door right in front of your face. Closing your eyes, you pressed your face to the door and sighed. You wanted to bang the door until he opened and explain Steve that all you did was your job. But you didn’t, instead you went to your own room next door and sulked.

You and Steve were on a mission to take down a hydra base. For the first few days, all you both did was map out the building. Once sure enough of your plans, you had finally breached it this morning.

In the beginning everything was just as expected. But then during the fight, you had spotted a man aiming his gun at an unaware Steve and like the love crazed woman you were, you shielded Steve with your own body.

Gladly Steve realised it before the damage was done and quickly held the shield in front of your both, deflecting the bullet. At your stunt, he had clenched his jaw and given an angry glare to you and had resumed fighting.

You had thought that was the extent of his anger at your carelessness, but apparently you were wrong. Steve hadn’t spoken a word to you after that. He had been silent throughout the entire ride to the hotel.

As he kept on fuming with unspoken anger, you tried your best to mend the situation by repeatedly calling out his name and talking about random things to yourself.

You actually didn’t know why he was angry. Agreed it was a stupid decision to be standing in front of a bullet, but you did it to save your teammate, at least that’s what you justified it with.

The truth was you were hopelessly in love with Steve Rogers. Soon after you had joined the avengers, you and Steve had become best friends. You hadn’t even planned on befriending him, forget about falling in love.

But with all his charm and naivety it was impossible not to fall for him. Not to mention his godly body. With the way he sometimes got flustered in front of you, you thought he felt something for you too, but you canceled it down by calling it wishful thinking.

While you both shared all your problems and worries with each other, you kept your emotions under wraps.

When you had seen the man aim his gun at Steve, your heart had literally stopped beating. The thought of living in a world without Steve in it was much more harrowing than your own death. So you did what you had to.

But now his silence was speaking louder than his words. It wouldn’t have felt this bad if he had scolded you or given you one of his long boring lectures, but this tactic of not talking with you was hurting you much worse.

The entire time you stripped out of your Kevlar suit and bathed, your mind was occupied by Steve’s silence. No matter how much you thought, you still couldn’t understand what had made him so mad.

After all, signing up with the avengers meant you would get into fights and get injured. The mantle of being an avenger came with a few broken bones.

And you weren’t the first to make such risky decisions during a mission, there had been many before you and there would be many after. So what was all this fuss about?

As you were pacing around your room, chewing your bottom lip, you stopped suddenly and took in a sharp breath. You couldn’t go back with this mess. Whatever it was, you had to sort it out and for that you needed to talk.

Deciding that it was now or never, you stepped out of your room and stood in front of Steve’s. You placed your ear on the door to check for any activity but there was none. You hoped to god he hadn’t fallen asleep.

Gathering all the strength you had, you knocked on the door, once, twice... thrice. But there was still no response. This had your mental alarms ringing. Steve sure wouldn’t ignore you this much, what if he was in danger?

Thinking of the worst case scenario, you crouched down and started picking the lock with your hair pin. As you opened the door and entered the room, you finally heard the noise of cascading water.

You huffed out a breath of relief. All this time he was just taking a shower and you thought about the possibilities of him getting murdered; you sure were an over thinker.

You didn’t know why but your feet weren’t retreating from the room. The sane part of your brain was telling you to go and come back later. And yet you stood awkwardly straight in the middle of his room.

You didn’t know how it happened, you swear to god didn’t realise. But all of a sudden you were standing in front of the bathroom door. You were burning with warmth from head to toe and you could listen to your heart beat in your ear.

Placing one hand on the door and the other on the knob, you tried to think for a moment. But somehow, your brain couldn’t process anything, except Steve. You slowly turned the knob and the door creaked open.

If Steve asked you what you were doing, which he definitely was going to, you would answer that you were sleepwalking or maybe you were possessed by a horny ghost. You wondered which one was more plausible.

The sight which greeted you was better than any you had ever seen. Steve was standing with his broad back facing you, glistening under the trickling water droplets.

His muscled expanse was stretched out magnificently under the shower, the water making rivulets into the grooves of his chiseled back. He straightened visibly under your watchful eye as he became aware of your entrance.

You waited for his scolding as you nibbled your bottom lip. You waited for him to tell you how immoral and indecent this was. You waited for him to fire you on the spot.

But nothing came from his side except strained breaths. It was as if he was doing some physical exertion by standing ramrod straight. As he tensed, his back muscles flexed even more and you wanted nothing more than to lick up the water drops.

Your mouth had fallen open and you were already panting and his body wasn’t the only thing wet. Seeing that he was neither bursting with anger nor reprimanding you for your actions, you decided to let your eyes wander further.

Your body lit itself on fire the moment you eyed his sculpted glutes. It was definitely, undoubtedly America’s ass. God, the things you wanted to do to him and the things you’d let him do to you.

You looked up to see Steve had turned his head a little and was staring at you through the corner of his eye. Taking that as a hint, you walked further until you were inside the shower.

The water seeped through your clothes as you stood right behind Steve. You were so close that the only thing in front of your eyes was his broad back. Yet he didn’t turn to face you.

Your hand shivered despite the warm water as you touched his back. That simple contact passed an electric current through Steve and you could hear his audible gasp.

Keeping one hand on his back, you moved your dominant hand further onto his chest. After palming his abs for sometime, you snaked your hand further down.

But before you could reach your destination, a strong hand curled around your wrist, limiting your movements. “Don’t.” It was the first word he had said to you after the mission.

His voice was hoarse and deep and you wondered if it was possible for you to come just with his voice. “But what if I want to?” You really were possessed, because you definitely didn’t have this much confidence.

Unexpectedly, your defiance worked and he loosened his hold, though he didn’t remove his hand. When you finally touched his warm cock, which was standing hard proudly, you moaned and buried your face into his back.

“Fuck.” Steve cursed as you rubbed him. You had heard him cursing a few times before, but listening to it now just melted you into a puddle. You pressed your face further into his back as you kept palming him, his hand was still on your wrist as a reminder, though he wasn’t guiding your movements.

You wondered how he would fit inside you, as you were barely able to curl your hand around his massive length. One second you were jerking him off and the next you were pinned to the wall, facing him. You blinked rapidly to steady your senses.

The hand he had used to pull you forward was now held against the wall and you had placed the other on his chest. His entire body was blushing hard and his face was just as flustered as yours.

Steve placed his hand gently on your cheek, a stark contrast to his previous actions. He bent down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips as first but he didn’t go any further.

Looking up at him through hooded eyes, you stared at him in confusion. Noticing the question on his face, you realised he was asking for permission. Nodding your head rapidly, you replied with a breathy yes.

That’s all it took for him to smash his face into yours. His kiss wasn’t a perfect or a practiced one, but what he lacked in experience, he made it up with his passion and edge.

You were actually tongue fucking each other and you didn’t regret a moment. You were close to eating each other’s faces off when you finally parted.

You panted and arched your back, exposing your neck as he sucked down your jaw to your neck. Without giving you a moment to gather yourself, he tore your tank top right through the middle.

And the only thing your mushy brain capable of saying was, “Holy shit.” It was the hottest thing you had ever seen. The way his arms flexed as he tore the fabric made you gush.

He discarded the now useless tank top carelessly on the floor and bent down to suck your nipples. You were about to go to sleep and thus weren’t wearing any bra. You let out an unholy moan at the sensation and the sight of him suckling you.

You carded your hands through his hair only for him to take your hands and pin them back to the wall. “Oh Steve.” As you moaned his name, he looked up at you through his lustrous blue eyes.

All of a sudden he let go of your hands and nipple and as you whimpered in dissatisfaction, he quickly tugged your pants down. He practically growled at the sight of you naked in front of him.

He placed his hands on your ass as he knead it while simultaneously kissing you stupid. He shifted his hands from your ass to your thighs and in one swift motion picked you up.

You hadn’t ever been picked up by anyone before and for once you were glad that Steve had taken the serum. He carried you out of the shower and into the room.

You were going to complain about how you were going to ruin the carpet with water when he all but gently threw you into the bed, face down.

You gathered yourself on your hands and knees just as he positioned himself behind you. Steve didn’t know what got into him when he saw your ass perched up in the air, but he went absolutely feral.

He wanted to talk and tell you things, but currently he was incapable of doing anything but devour you. He placed his huge palms on your ass and started kneading, but the thing he did next, took you by absolute surprise.

He spanked your ass, hard. At the contact you let out a loud surprised shriek. You had no idea captain America was a kinky little shit, not that you were complaining.

While you were turned on beyond your senses, Steve mistook your surprise for pain. He snapped out of whatever haze had taken over him, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You looked back at Steve with confusion. “God. No. Steve, you didn’t hurt me. I liked it.” You said with such shyness as if you hadn’t just given him a handjob moments ago.

“Do more.” You asked and he delivered. Steve understood that you wanted it rough, and who was he to deny. He spanked your ass thrice more, alternating the cheek, in quick succession, only to rub it gently later.

He kept up with the contrast of quick spanks and gentle kneads until you sobbed with wrecked pleasure and delightful pain.

When you came back from your blissful high, you realised Steve was pressing soft kisses to your back. You strained your neck at an odd angle and pulled Steve in for a kiss.

It was gentle and filled with adoration and love, a great disparity to what just happened. Steve was rutting against your ass as he deepened the kiss.

Parting from the kiss, he took hold of his cock and jerked it a few times before rubbing himself against your drenched folds. You were already so dripping that you didn’t need any extra stimulation.

Finally he pushed in the tip and you moaned like in heat at the sweet pressure. Gladly he gave you a moment before pushing slowly further, inch by inch.

No matter how wet, or in a sex haze you were, you both knew he wasn’t easy to take. All the while, Steve was muttering praises and soft words to you.

When he finally bottomed out, you both moaned out with pleasure. After giving you some time to adjust, he pulled back only to push back in with a measured but powerful thrust.

“Oh fuck!” Overcome with pleasure, you slapped a hand on the headboard to hold yourself steady while you clutched Steve’s ass with the other to hold him as close to you as possible.

He began with slow yet hard thrusts but soon he changed rhythm and started fucking you in earnest. The headboard rattled against the wall as Steve held your shoulder with one hand and supported you both with another placed firmly on the bed.

You had got a hundred dreams about Steve railing the shit out of you. But nothing matched the actual thing.

Steve experimentally wove his fingers through your hair and when you let out something between a moan and a demand for more, he clutched and pulled it tightly making your eyes roll back with euphoria.

“Stevveee, I... Stevie, I’m close,,... oh fuck!” The only thing you could do was moan wantonly and take everything Steve gave you.

Just as Steve felt your walls quivering, he pulled out. He groaned with frustration as you were so so close. But before you could formate any words, he flipped you around.

“I want to watch you as you come for me.” He said bending down to press a kiss. This time, he entered you in one swift motion.

Curling a hand around his neck, you held the head board with other as you arched into his touch. He was grunting loudly and his voice was having more effect than it should have on you.

You were close, so very close, but you needed more, something more. “Steve, choke me.” You whimpered. Steve faltered for a moment before realising what you had said.

When Steve placed his hand delicately on your throat, which you had exposed to him, you knew you were going to have the best orgasm of your life.

Steve squeezed your throat, and at that very second, you orgasmed like never before. Your toes curled and legs shook uncontrollably as you babbled nonsense.

You felt as if you saw the deepest crevices of the universe and snorted the most powerful drug as white pleasure enveloped you.

Steve, in spite of his super soldier stamina, gave in to pleasure as your walls hugged him tight. With a shout, he came deep within you.

After the pleasure faded and the fatigue had set in, you both laid limply within a tangle of limbs and in each other’s embrace.

“Steve.” You croaked as he kept on prepping you with kisses. He only hummed in response. “I love you.” At that the kisses stopped.

You worried if this was the end of everything, but when you looked up in his eyes, you knew it was just the beginning. His eyes were filled with love.

“I love you too.” He smashed your lips once again and you responded just as enthusiastically. “I can’t think of living without you. You mean everything to me.

When I saw you in front of the gun, I was so scared. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to save you.” You caressed his face as you said, “But you did. And I know you always will Steve.”

“That I will.” You knew that Steve would keep you safe. You knew that in his warm embrace, nothing in this world would touch you.

“Steve, if you ever get mad at me, talk to me, scold me, give me on of your boring lectures if you want, but please don’t stop talking to me.”

“If ignoring you is going to lead to this, then I’ll probably give you the silent treatment.” He chuckled as you punched him playfully.

You couldn’t believe you were in love with this goof, or that he was just as in love with you.

[reidjumpers]

Lover Boy

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warning/Includes: SMUT, fluff, Spencer being absolutely in love, fingering, hand-job, penetrative sex, curse words.

Summary: Spencer got it bad for you. He knew that, it was one true fact he gladly made peace with.

Note: Hi everyone! Guess who procrastinating from her final and write this instead? me. I think this is my first ever smut work that I posted anywhere, and I'm actually a little nervous. Please let me know what you think and give me your feedback!

The most mundane thing tends to hold the most charm. Spencer had been ignorant to that fact for God knows how long, until what he always liked to presume as a miracle walked into his life unprompted.

You offered him a gentle hand to guide him to walk through the garden of mundanity and introduce him to the charm that he had been sadly blinded from. The charm of just idly sitting by the window watching the rain hit the pavement, counting every droplet that splashed on the window. The charm of laughing until he had tears in his eyes over some really bad puns. The charm of coming home to an open arm, engulfed him into a warm embrace as the horror and the reality of the world around him melted away.

It was simple. It was mundane. But it was charming.

Morgan sometimes nudged him with a teasing smile and called him whipped. He got some fair amount of harmless teasing about how whipped he was for you a lot of times from his friends, but he couldn’t get himself to mind about it. Screw all of that, screw all of them. None of them knew the exhilarating feeling of being ardently in love with you and being loved back just as much. None of them what your love was like.

Spencer got it bad. He knew that, it was one true fact he gladly made peace with. He got it so bad that he found himself indulging you walking underneath the heavy rain, his Converse soaking and his shirt pressed into his skin like a second layer. It all started with a quiet rain-watching as per usual, then with a mischievous smile flashed on your face, you stomped on a puddle that splashed on his ankle. He gaped, but the sight of you laughing so freely and loudly with your head thrown backwards made all the words that were ready to be fired from his tongue gone like a wisp of smoke.

The next thing he knew was he was chasing you through the rain, a faux threat escaped his lips that was met with your even louder laugh. All the thought about how uncomfortable his shirts pressing into his skin and how his Converse started to squeak underneath the weight of his feet that usually would make him squirm melted away. He didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all if he were blessed with the ringing, beautiful sound of your laughter.

Aside from all of the mundanity that you gladly showed him, you also sent him into the ethereal realm that his mind never dared to dream about before.

Kissing you had never been a mundane thing. His brain refused to think your kiss was anything less than otherworldly. When he had finally caught you and swooped you into his arms, laughing as you squeal, he couldn’t resist the temptation to feel your lips against his. Shivering and freezing from the rain, his lips tenderly meet yours, in such gentle and delicate manner that he always does when it comes to kissing you. As if you were porcelain, as if you were just a figment of his imagination, and if he pressed too hard you would crumble into nothingness.

You would grin and tease him that he would make out with you like a hormonal teenager in high school. He would scrunch his nose at that. He was not a hormonal teenager, thank you very much.

But then, despite the soaking rain, despite the freezing lips against his, he found himself on fire. All of his nerves were on fire, his skin burning as his hands found residence on your hips and pulling you closer desperately. Impossibly closer. He was still kissing you through the hallway of his apartment, too drowned and drunk in his adoration for you for any fear of his neighbour catching him making out with you on the hallway to seep into his heart. If anything, it made it more exciting.

Maybe you were right. But Spencer was still reluctant to admit that.

Spencer pulled apart to catch a breath as soon as he was in front of his door. You smiled at him, lips swollen in pink and his heart soared at the reminder that it was his doing. Spencer gently caressed your cheek, admiring the way your eyes fluttered close underneath his gentle touch. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, his heart sang a song for you. A song that had always been there since day one.

He couldn’t tell who initiated the kiss again, and frankly he didn’t mind one bit, but he found himself meeting your lips again. Spencer had to steadied himself with his hands against the wall as you kissed him with so much need, so much passion that it knocked all the air from his lungs. You and him fumbled through his apartment in such familiarity as having done this numerous times before. He refused to let you go, if anything, his arms had been pulling you closer in wish to kill any lingering distance.

“Spencer,” you gasped against his lips. He pulled away ever so slightly just enough to catch the sight of your beautiful face again. His heart leaped from its pants at the sight of you. Cheeks tinted red and lips swollen with all the love he poured on you. “I need you.”

And just like that, his brain went blank and broken like an old radio. He swore you hold the string that controls his being. “Say that again,” his brain settled for that.

“I need you, Spencer. I need you.”

He shut his eyes as he let shivers run down his spine. There was nothing else more beautiful in the world than hearing you saying it, with such earnest eyes yet dark with desire. What could he do if that was all you wanted then? All of your wishes had always been his command and he would be damned if he didn’t try his very best to fulfill everything you need from him.

Spencer gently lifted you up and seated you above his kitchen counter. He stepped back slightly, admiring the way the faint light that shyly seeped through the kitchen window landed on your skin, bouncing to highlight all of your beautiful figure. His eyes quietly and patiently watched you tugging off your wet shirt, tossing it away to the kitchen floor that landed with a wet smack. He would laugh at the absurdity of the sound it made if he weren’t so enchanted by the sight in front of him.

It was not the first time that his eyes would ever be blessed with such an opportunity to gaze into such a beautiful sight, yet every time, it never failed to knock him breathless. How many times he had been reciting over and over about your beauty today? He had lost count. But how could he not, when you, the product of a carefully crafted art made from the hand of God graced him with your presence?

“It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before!” you nudged his side with your left foot, frowning, and he caught the tip of your ear slowly turning into a pretty shade of red. You had always grown a little self unconscious and shy underneath his gaze when he was busy admiring.

Spencer laughed, lightly and freely. He stepped in and made himself comfortable in between your legs, his finger started to trace the outline of your face. “I’m sorry. You’re really beautiful today.”

That was true, but you always respond best with humor. You rolled your eyes at him, although he caught the corner of your lips twitching just fine. “You were just staring at my boobs.”

“Hmm,” Spencer hummed, rolling his eyes at your commentary. He gently pressed a kiss into your forehead, transferring all of his love for you. “I like your boobs. They’re my favorite.”

“Which one do you like better, me or my boobs?”

“I like the whole package deal, which includes you.”

You snorted a laugh at him, laughing at his answer like it was the funniest thing on earth. He smiled as he trailed down to kiss your nose, then the apple of your cheeks, basking it in his love as you still letting out all the laughter you wanted to get out. One of Spencer’s favorite things out of loving you was to kiss you while you laugh at something. He could feel the way the edge of your eyes would crinkle and your nose scrunched adorably underneath his lips, the apple of your cheeks lifted up as your head threw backwards in laughter.

His lips trailed down to your jaw, gingerly kissing every inch of your face and carefully making sure that he didn’t leave any inch of your skin untouched. Your laughter died down and replaced with a soft, content hum as he trailed your jaw. Soon, replaced with a soft gasp as his lips trailed down towards your neck, his teeth grazing some of the spot he knew like the back of his hand.

Spencer left a lingering kiss there, smirking when he could feel you started to shiver underneath his touch.

His lips trailing down your collarbone. Spencer made sure he sucked some skin in that would form some bruises. Your gasp turned louder as he left his mark on your skin, hand flew into his wet hair as you do. Spencer knew you were not his to own, you never were, you were his to be experienced. But there was such an intimate and enthralling sensation upon looking at you and saw his mark littered your skin, from your collarbone down to your bare chest.

His hands found their way into your sweatpants, impatiently untied it and pulled it off your feet. Your hands tugged his shirt and took it off from him, leaving him exposed. His fingers gently and teasingly traced the rubberband of your panties, eyebrows cocked questioningly as you arched your back to push off your panties out of you impatiently.

“Someone’s eager,” Spencer gave you a teasing smile. “Already wet down there from me kissing you?”

“Someone’s a little too slow!” you replied with a huff. “And it was wet from the rain.”

Spencer hummed skeptically. He always loved the way you always found an answer for every word thrown your way. A pretty face with a smart mouth, he would say. His hand gently and teasingly caressed your thigh. Each time his hand would inch closer into where you wanted him the most, but would back away as soon as it almost reached the place. It was a game of cat and mouse that entertained him and pushed you into your edge.

“Do you know that clitoris is very, very dense with nerves?” Spencer asked, his voice was a little far away as if his question was an afterthought. His finger slyly made his way into your clit, a place that he had known for so long, and the surprised gasp that came out of your lips worth every painstaking effort. “There are 8,000 nerves ending on it alone. Clitoris is also the only known body part that exists solely for pleasure. When stimulated, it can swell up to 300 percent from its original size.”

You let out another gasp as he made a circular motion on your clit. It was wonderful, yet mind boggling at how much control Spencer could have over you with certain motion. How he could elicit certain reactions and noises just from simple gestures alone.

“Holy shit,” a curse left your mouth. Your hands gripped into the edge of the kitchen counter with all of your might to support yourself while Spencer kept making a steady circular motion on your clit. “Only you, babe. Only you would tell some scientific fact in the middle of sexual activity.”

Spencer snorted as he inserted one finger knuckle-deep into your folds. His eyebrows went to his hairline at how wet you already are, dripping with arousal coating his finger. You trembled when he started to thrust his finger in and out painstakingly slow, careful and meticulous with each stroke. “And only you would get aroused with someone reciting scientific facts in the middle of this.”

“It’s hard not to when it comes from you,” you said with a smile that soon faltered as he fastened his pace. “Oh, God. That feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He merely nodded, already long gone into committing himself for your pleasure. His heart pounding inside his chest at the way you tremble and whining underneath him, eyes shut close and lips parted open deliciously as more noises left your lips. Your lips recited his name in between your whines and your whisper like it was a prayer, his heart fluttering at every syllable of his name that left your lips.

You buckled your hips against his finger, rocking it against his finger, riding it out in such sly movement that made him blush. You mewled as Spencer inserted another finger inside you, filling you up until you rolled your eyes shut again. The wet pants that were already pressing into his skin like a second layer started to feel more snug around him.

His thumb diligently made circular motion on your clit, pressing some right amount of pressure that made you jolt every time. The sound of rain knocking against the window mixed with the sound of your whimpers and whining was a beautiful music to his ears. His breath started to get heavy and labored from excitement and arousal over the heat that laced his fingers, matching your hitched ones coming from pleasure.

Heat started to pool on the bottom of your stomach. Like a coil that kept building up threatening to break anytime. Your breath started to hitch in a pattern that Spencer recognized and loved, pushing him to fasten his pace on thrusting his fingers in and out of you. Your hand moved to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you supported your weight in fear of crumbling down underneath his fingers. Spencer finished you with one last thrust, elicited scream from you as a white-hot sensation took over your body and the coil on your stomach broke.

Spencer pulled his fingers out of you, feeling your body shivering underneath him. His fingers were wet and coated in your arousal, a constant and rewarding reminder that he was able to do this to you. You grabbed his wrist and popped his fingers into your mouth without warning before he could utter any single word. He watched you with a wide eye, shivering as your tongue gently licked his fingers clean. Tasting yourself on his fingers.

He cradled your face again, kissing your lips after you finished yourself and tasted the lingering taste there. You tasted exactly the way he imagined it, sweet and full of arousal. Your hands traveled down into his hips and down to his pants, desperately tugging it off him with a little bit of struggle as it pressed into his skin. Spencer helped you undress him, shaking the pants away from him to reveal his hardened cock.

You licked your fingers at the sight of his cock sprung out of his pants. Your hands moved towards it to stroke his length, efficiently making him shudder and stuttering. Spencer gripped the countertop in between your figures to support his weight, careful not to collapse his weight on you.

It was overwhelming, the sensation of your fingers stroking his length. Spencer might have read a lot of journals and studies on human nature and arousal itself, but nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing really had prepared him for the amount of pleasure he could get from you alone, from feeling all the love and desire he harboured.

Pre-cum already leaking from his tip, and Spencer swore your eyes had darkened with lust and lips pulled upwards in excitement. You fastened your pace to stroke his length, yet still somehow delicate and careful with him.

“Baby,” you whined at him. “I want you. I need to feel you.”

Spencer let out a shaky sigh. And just like that, he was gone. Who was he to deny your request? “Come here, sweetheart.”

You guided his cock into your entrance sloppily. Spencer inhaled sharply as he lined himself up into your entrance, and eased you up into his cock in one swift movement without warning. You yelped at the sudden sensation, hands flew into his shoulder as he thrust himself in slowly. Your toes curled up in both anticipation and pleasure, already excited with the whole ordeal of him being inside you.

He started it painstakingly slow, tried to enjoy it as much as he could while his eyes ate your perfect figure up. His grunts and your moans started to fill his kitchen, bounced through the walls as you both moved. The sound of skins slapping against each other fueled his already burning desire and need to feel you. He watched the way your eyes rolled up in pleasure as he devoured you, the sight alone drove him crazy.

He pounded deep into your aching pussy. Hitting all the sweet spots he knew would guarantee screams of pleasure from you that filled his entire apartment. Both of your hands holding each other for dear life, needing a steady part to lean on to not crumble in the weight of an otherworldly pleasure. His hands dig into your waist, pulling you closer with each stroke leaving no room for any spaces.

To think about it, despite the whole arousal and sexual activities, Spencer couldn’t help but to feel vulnerable and protected at the same time. You were kissing him sweetly, bucking your hips and moving against him, taking your time and guiding him into pleasure. His heart swelled and soared every time you mumbled his name between your moans, praising him, and he did the same.

Your walls clenching along his shaft made him groan. He shut his eyes at the familiar sensation of a knot forming at the bottom of his stomach, tightening with each stroke he took against you. He kept moving until your breathing hitch again in his favorite pattern.

“Are you close?” he asked through gritted teeth, shivering and shuddering from the overwhelming pleasure.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to let out another sound beside a moan.

“I’m close,” he gasped.

“Then cum for me, baby.”

Almost like his body would always bend to your words, Spencer came, a rush of pleasure washing through him. He gasped, his vision wavered and hands limply fell to your side, holding you as you still moved slowly through his wave before you came. You yelped out his name as you came, like a magic mantra and prayer.

Spencer immediately grabbed your face, kissing your lips like there was no tomorrow. He poured all of his heart into his kiss; all his feelings and adoration he held for you. He was visibly shuddering as he pulled himself out of you, his cum filling you up and leaking from you. It was such a beautiful sight according to his very humble opinion. You, a sweaty and moaning mess, all because of him.

You rested your head onto his shoulder as you heaved for air. Spencer draped his arms around you protectively, holding you gently and lovingly as he shields you from the outside world. You could hear his heart pounding hard against his chest in the same rhythm matching yours.

Silence fell in between you, filling all the gasp in such familiarity that it didn’t leave anyone suffocating. If anything it felt like a protective, warm blanket draped above you. Spencer stroked your back lovingly as he gently swayed your body to the music inside his head, letting the time pass by to tame down his erratic heartbeat and cooling down from the fiery activity he had just done with you.

“I’m going to run a warm bath for both of us,” he announced with a tender kiss to your left shoulder. He pulled away slightly just to gaze into your face perfectly from this distance.

You groaned, both from the loss of body heat he provided and the coldness of his kitchen that suddenly sneaked on you. “You’re the best boyfriend ever, do you know what?”

Spencer grinned widely. “With someone like you, only a fool who wouldn’t do their best.”

[neoculturetravesty]

Rough but soft

Image taken from here.

Pairing: Johnny x Reader Genre: smut, pwp, romance, angst Warnings: 18+, soft dom Johnny, oral (female receiving), protected sex, rough sex, fingering, anus rubbing (female receiving), mild choking, hickeys, lots and lots of angst. Reader wants Johnny to have at her but she also wants so much more. Readers comes with lots of self-doubt, baggage and insecurities. Word Count: 8.2k+ words of straight up filth and angst aka my fav combo

Summary: You’re so tired of trying to find a man who would understand the deep complexities of what you need, sleeping with him, being utterly unsatisfied and then spending the next few weeks avoiding him because you were too ashamed. You were tired of baring your soul, your body, the inner workings of your mind to yet another man who couldn’t satisfy you. So when you meet Johnny Suh, you know right away that he would be the man that makes all your wet dreams come true. But you shouldn’t want him. He’s an idol, and you work for him. You have no right to want him, to lust after him... and you definitely have no right to catch feelings for him.

A/N: This one is for all my Johnny stans! I didn’t plan for this one-shot to get so long but ugh, once I started writing, all my demons were unleashed. Hope you like it! 

You could’ve sworn your apartment was the hottest it had ever been. You didn’t remember messing with the thermostat or closing any windows. You weren’t exactly dressed warmly, either. You were just in your underwear with a pretty spaghetti sleeved top on. Perhaps the heat had more to do with the fact that you were sat on the lap of a man you really liked or the fact that the two of you had been furiously making out for the past ten minutes. 

Johnny’s hands were all over you. They were in your hair, pulling you towards him, angling your head every which way to get more purchase with his tongue. Then his hands were on the small of your back pushing up into your top to feel your bare skin. And when his hands had enough of the skin there, they were up and down the curve of your legs that were curled up into him as you sat side saddle. While your pants laid discarded on the floor, his clothes were still fully on but you supposed there was some use for that by how strongly you were clutching onto the lapel of his jacket. 

Your brain was so fuzzy with the scent of him that you couldn’t even remember what had brought this on. The last thing you remembered was Johnny showing up at your door unannounced, a couple of bottles of soju in hand. Your past few meets had been similarly unplanned, so for convenience’s sake and definitely not anything else, you just went ahead and gave him the code of your apartment. Yes, it was way too early on in the relationship--if you could even call it that, whatever the two of you were doing. You could sense that he was taken aback by it. Whether he was moved by it, or whether to be polite, he had pulled you into him and kissed you.

Now the soju laid abandoned on the table as you drank one another in. He kissed you deeply now, as you sat on him on the couch, like he had been thirsty for days and your tongue quenched him. He was taking the lead in this unrestrained makeout session. But you knew that. He knew that. It’s what you had wanted. It’s what you had asked of him.

You were really putting yourself out there, sharing your deepest secrets and unholy desires with a man you weren’t supposed to be with. But the moment you had met Johnny, you could tell that he felt your energy and you certainly felt his. You knew right away what the both of you had wanted from one another, even if you didn’t say it. You knew it in the way he would entrap you with his gaze when you talked to him. You knew it in the way his arm would pull you in when someone passed by you. You knew it in the way he would let his touch linger any time his hands accidentally brushed against you. It had taken a few dates for you to get to this point, but now this… this was the point of no return. You had to be brave and finally get what you had always craved; or chicken out and go back to being unsatisfied as ever from yet another relationship.

Other men did not give you what you wanted, what you truly wanted; which was to feel a controlled loss of control, not just of the body but also of the mind. You wanted someone who could, quite crassly, hold you down and have at you, but also whisper sweet nothings in your ear while he did so. You wanted a cerebral connection of the souls and you wanted an animalistic gratification of the bodies at the same time. You wanted to have your cake and eat it too. You were so tired of the cycle--of trying to find a man you thought would understand the deep complexities of what you needed, sleeping with him, being utterly unsatisfied and then spending the next few weeks avoiding him because you were too ashamed. You were tired of baring your soul, your body, the inner workings of your mind to yet another man who couldn’t satisfy you. 

When you first met Johnny, you knew right away that this man had what it takes to make all your wet dreams come true. Like his presence validated all that you felt without having to use the words. You felt it in your gut, even when you hadn’t been with him. Your gut could very well have been wrong, because God knows you’ve been wrong so many times before. But your feeling was strong this time... and you just had to find out. So you had approached him.

You knew you were being reckless by being with Johnny in this way. He was, obviously, a famous person, but also--you worked for him. You were a young professional who had finally landed a job in a big company. If someone were to find out, that would mean the end of your career. Johnny could possibly get away with an apology letter that his team would help him curate. But you would be done for. You knew it was risky the first time you slept with him. You knew it the second time. But now as you met for the third time, hungrily kissing one another, you knew things were different. Because, finally, the two of you had been honest about how you wanted one another.

Over the past couple of weeks, you had finally started to communicate in words what the two of you had already felt in one another’s energy. He admitted that he craved you in a much coarser way than he had let on the first couple of times. And you had told him about all your indecent fantasies and how wilfully you wanted to be used, to be claimed, to be made to feel something. 

“It’s always the quiet ones.” Johnny had chuckled back then and you supposed he was right. That’s how people saw you. The quiet one, the determined one, the one that gets her work done on time, the one that never breaks the rules. Onlooking men thought you were some sort of a righteous Virgin Mary because of the innocence on your face. Part of you wondered if being with Johnny was a rebellion against all those men who had ever put you on that unwarranted pedestal. But you also knew that it wasn’t. Because you didn’t just want a body to unleash your lecherous demons on. You wanted it with him, with Johnny, with the man who was slowly lighting your fire, no matter how much you told yourself that it was a bad idea.

That man in question was now softly panting in your face, because his lips had finally unlatched themselves from yours for the first time in 10 minutes. He smiles at you and then buries himself in the junction between your shoulder and neck, kissing and sucking and talking.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. I couldn’t get any work done because I kept thinking about you.” He says into your neck, sucking down on the skin and you knew he was marking you because it makes you moan out. There is a smile on his face as he pulls back to look at you. He takes your hand in his and leads it to the inside of his thigh, making you feel his hardness through the rough fabric of his pants.

“You feel that? I’ve been like this all day thinking about you.” he says while you look at him with your lips parted. He kisses you again, making you lean back, feeling his heat build under you. 

“I want you to feel the same. I want to make you feel exactly what you do to me.” He says and now his warm hand is slipping into the front of your underwear and you feel the quickening of your heartbeat. You begin softly moaning before he’s even done anything, simply from the anticipation. But then his fingers are flush against your warmth, rubbing up and down, no purpose yet, just feeling.

He’s close to you, too close, you can feel the heat coming off his face on your own skin, you can feel his breath fanning against you. His lips are close enough that they brush against yours as he coos at you “My pretty girl is so wet for me.” The heel of his palm is steady on your clit, pressing down but not giving you as much friction as you need, while his fingers move over and between your folds, feeling your warmth, your wetness, spreading it around as if to see how slick he can make it. His lips have found their way to the base of your throat now and he’s kissing, he’s nipping and he’s sucking and fuck your life because it is turning you on so much you feel like you would spontaneously combust. You’re melting against him at the same time you’re tensing and Johnny can feel your want grow on his fingers. He pulls back to see his work on your skin.

“Mmm, are you going to spend the next week hiding this away, baby?” He asks while his palm keeps cupping your sex, fingers feeling you up, overheating your flesh. It’s rude, the way his hand is down your underwear, the way he is marking you, the way he is talking to you. But your skin is on fire and you’re putty in his arms and fuck, you wouldn’t mind if he were ruder.

“Let me mark you where it would be easier to hide.” He says sweetly and suddenly, his hand that was cradling the small of your back is at the delicate strap of your top and his fingers are looping at your neckline, gently pulling down till he’s made your breast bare and he’s bowing into it, sucking on the first spot of skin his lips could find. Your own lips part and your fingers find his hair as he makes quick work of you, pulling away with a wet, vulgar sound, smiling down at the growing redness on your smooth skin. He blows on it, making you shiver.

“There. Fuck, baby, you look so pretty wearing my marks.” he sighs and then fixes your top over your shoulder so you’re covered again, and somehow, that chivalrous act makes you more bashful than being exposed did. His lips are back on yours and his arm is behind your neck, supporting you. His fingers in your underwear are becoming bolder, circling your needy hole, loving how the more he rubs it, the more you leak out your need onto him. He enjoys having that control over you for a moment, breaking the kiss just so he can watch the contorts of your face as he continues his slow torture. But seeing you like this stirs something more feral in him and suddenly his hand goes lower and starts to rub you where it feels forbidden. You freeze. 

For a moment, your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes shoot open. Fuck, you can’t think. This man has actually put you on your wit’s end. He’s rubbing you there like he knew how you’d react and he just wanted to have this power over you. A display of his claim over your body. You suddenly feel impossibly shy, though the emotion is too mild to truly describe the storm that’s building in you. Your mind is racing, wondering fuck, fuck fuck, do you want this? Do you really want this? Was this something you had talked about with him? Fuck, you can’t remember. But if you’re not sure, why the fuck is it making you so fucking wet?

His lips pressing into your forehead bring you out of your commotion. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” he says gently, like he read your mind and Jesus Christ, you almost come from the striking contrast between his soft words, his nurturing kiss and the absolutely filthy action of his fingers on your pucker, rubbing not to pleasure but to feel, to claim, almost as if to say ‘Look, I can touch you here.’

“Johnny, please, do something.” you plead at him because frankly, you’ve had enough. Now you just want him to rip away at your remaining clothes and have at it, to have you, to fuck you like he was too polite to do the first couple of times.

But one thing you’ve learnt in the time you’ve been working together (and also the time you’ve spent under him between the sheets) is that Johnny is a patient man. He’s smiling when he looks at you and his voice is so caring in contrast to his presence when he says “Does my baby want more?”

“Yes, please, Johnny, please.” you’re pulling onto his jacket because your hands can’t find purchase anywhere else and you’re whining because you’re needy and the anticipation has been building up for a couple of weeks and you’ve had enough. You want him and you want him now.

Thankfully, he doesn’t tease you any longer because he withdraws his hand from your underwear, hooks his arm under your knees whilst the other cradles your shoulders and he’s lifting you off bridal style and making his way to your room. It blows your mind how Johnny can be filthy and romantic at the same time. He sets you down politely and you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him as he takes off his jacket. You’d be lying if you said that Johnny simply taking his jacket off wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You had yourself a fine man in front of you and he had made it tonight’s mission to please you. Your eyes were hooded as you looked at him lustfully. He notices and sinks to his knees, pulling your legs till you were on the edge of the bed.

“My girl’s been waiting for this, hasn’t she?” he says and peppers kisses on the inside of your thigh before he loops his fingers around the band of your underwear and slowly slides it down your legs. He looks at you lying bare for him, basically nude and he inhales. “What a pretty sight.” he mutters and then his lips finally go straight for your clit, his tongue rolling over it and over it, his hands holding your legs apart and you let out a deep exhale because yes, yes, yes, this is what you wanted. He’s wasted no time because you told him you needed more and he was all too happy to oblige. So you lay back into the sheets, taking deep breaths, being fascinated by the rise and fall of your own chest. Johnny had learnt early on that you were the quiet type in bed, but tonight, he was determined to make you moan more than you had before. 

You let your head fall back and your eyes close as you feel his warm tongue roll generously over your nub, his mouth servicing you till your hips are grinding against him. The need builds and now you want an erotic visual to help you along so you lift up and tug on his shirt and he understands because he straightens up and pulls it off of him. You see the beautiful caramel planes of his toned chest; your mouth waters. He’s hovering over you now, kissing you with lips that are still covered in your scent till you’re crawling back into the bed. He adjusts your head onto the pillows, making sure you’re comfortable which tells you that he’s not nearly done. 

He puts another pillow under your hips and settles between your legs once more. He holds your gaze as he lowers himself and slowly spits down onto your clit. He looks at you, as if challenging you to stop him and uses the pad of his thumb to rub the slobber around. The sight is as vulgar as it is titillating and suddenly you find yourself thanking the heavens above that you found Johnny Suh. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” he asks with a voice like honey and you look down at him.

“Yes. More, Johnny, please, I want more.” you tell him because fuck, you need it bad, and he nods. He brings his hand to your opening then and gently rubs till he is covered in your slick, then carefully eases his middle finger into you. You’re impossibly wet and he likes it. He wants you to be this turned on. 

He starts to move his finger, slowly fucking you with it then brings his mouth hot on your clit, licking deep, luxuriously strokes onto it. “Is this better, baby?” he asks but you reply with a pent out moan, your hands instinctively going to clutch your breasts, squeezing them through your top that isn’t doing a very good job at covering you. 

Johnny watches and he is pleased with himself. Pleased that he is making you this way, that you’re getting what you want from him. You both shared in your greed of a very similar sexual palette. Lately, you had been open to him about it and Johnny was so grateful to have met you. It turned him on to be with a woman who was so in tune with her needs. It turned him on more to know that he was the one fulfilling them. 

“More, Johnny, please… faster…” you guide him and he hurries to add another finger inside you and suddenly you’re smiling wide because it feels so fucking good. Your hands go to his hair, tugging on it, pressing his head into you even more and you’re grinding up into his face like a harlot, because frankly speaking, you don’t remember being this fucking horny in a good while. You can’t bring yourself to be self-conscious in this moment because it feels so good, so decadent, so freeing, and you can’t tell if you’re being louder than usual.

Johnny can. Because he’s not stopping and now he’s moaning into your slick warmth and his entire mouth is sweet with your taste and he knows you’re close so he only lifts up briefly to say “Come for me, baby.” and you’re pulling his hair, biting your lip, digging one heel so far into the mattress your leg is numb and you’re coming apart on his fingers. Johnny doesn’t stop through it, prolonging your orgasm while your entire body tenses, then comes to life before you let out a deep, happy exhale and Johnny finally lets go, rubbing the insides of your thighs to calm you. 

You grin at him and sit up to kiss him, your fingers splayed behind his neck, kissing him in gratitude for making you feel good, tasting your nectar on his lips, then rubbing your palms on his firm chest. You look down towards what could only be his growing need and your fingers fumble to undo his fly. You begin to get on your hands and knees but he stops you.

“Johnny, let me--” you begin wanting to reciprocate the favor, looking up at him but his expression makes your voice get caught in your throat. His eyes are hooded, dark, lustful.

“No. I want to be inside you. I want to fuck you, right here in your pussy.” he said shortly, and you think you might die. How could those curt, pornographic words turn you on so much? It’s not like you hadn’t heard them before from several other men. Perhaps it was the fact that this particular man had only ever spoken to you with polite respect before. To hear such filthy words from his handsome mouth was an experience you were never going to forget. You wanted him with all the heat that was building up between your legs. But, also... there was something else that you wouldn’t allow yourself to think. That you wanted him because perhaps, you were falling for him, no matter how much you tried to stop yourself.

Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He finds a condom and holds the foil between his teeth while he gets off the bed to rid himself of his pants. Suddenly, and without any sort of a warning, your heart begins to sink. 

You don’t know what it is, but while you sit there watching Johnny strip himself, you feel something deep in the pit of your stomach. You don’t recognize this emotion… this sinking feeling. Is it despair? It can’t be, but it comes close. Is it fright? No, that definitely wasn’t it. You try to think back to all the times you’ve had this feeling in your belly and finally, you identify it. This feeling felt a lot like heartbreak.

You couldn’t understand what was going on inside your head. It was as if behind your crazed sexual want for Johnny in your conscious, your subconscious was fighting you with another, more pressing craving. Like watching him pull out that condom had confirmed some sort of a fear, but you simply couldn’t put your finger on which one it was.

You’re confused. All this man did was extract a condom from his wallet. Why did that break your heart? Shouldn’t you be happy that for once in your sexual escapades, a man had been the one to be prepared? Shouldn’t you be relieved that the man you were sleeping with was putting your safety first? Then what was this strange feeling in the pit of your stomach? You’re still pondering it over whilst Johnny rolls the culpable rubber onto himself and makes his way to you. And when his lips are on yours again, you finally work it out. Your traitor mind had had a thought that broke through the giddiness of your happy orgasm and put a stinging doubt in your heart: ‘He brought a condom because he only came here for sex.’ 

Johnny notices a change in your demeanor by the way your kiss is less present. He pulls back and strokes the top of your head. “Are you sure you still want it that way, baby? We can go easy if you’ve changed your mind.” He kisses you again as if to tell you that he means it.

“I don’t want you to go easy. I want you to show me how far you can take it.” you say resoundingly. You’re not sure why you’ve said this despite the tempest in your mind. Maybe your fucking libido is betraying you again. 

He looks at you for a moment as if trying to read your face, then kisses your lips once more. “Okay, baby. But remember, you can tell me to stop any time, okay?” he assures you and you’re reminded that he really has the patience of a saint. Because his cock is thick and angry with want yet he’s still taking the time to communicate the logistics of what you’re about to do. 

“I will.” you nod. “Johnny, please… just… just fuck me, please.” You beg because you’ve decided… this is what you want. You want it this way at least once, because you won’t be able to stand not knowing. If your heart breaks at the end of this, so be it. You were used to it. And if this would be the last you would see of Johnny, you wanted to make it count.

He doesn’t need telling twice because now that you’re begging, his mind is clouded with the need to own you. So he pushes your legs back into your chest, laying you bare and open for him. You feel vulnerable in this position, too vulnerable, especially with what your mind is doing to you. Usually, it would take you some time to build up to this stance but he wants to start here, where he’s in control and that’s the shit you signed up for. Your breath is quickening in your chest from nervous anticipation and you cry out when Johnny makes his first, unforgiving stroke straight into your core. 

Your eyes close and you’re not sure if you moaned out from pain, pleasure, frustration, emotion, or everything rolled into one. Johnny stills, bracing himself on the backs of your thighs. His own eyes are closed as well and you’re both getting used to the sensation, the fullness, the tightness. He exhales, and brings his lips to your forehead and then to your lips and then he stays there.

His left hand keeps holding onto your leg but his right hand creeps up your body till it softly closes around your throat. You feel the effect of this simple action in your core and in the way it squeezes around him, making him hiss.

“I’m going to fuck you now, okay baby?” he says to prepare you and you nod and suddenly he’s slamming into you and it’s pulled such an infernal keen out of you that you’re sure this is it. This is what you’ve always wanted, this is the feeling you’ve been chasing all your life. Your head had rolled to its side, your cheek pressing into the pillow to absorb the intensity you feel while Johnny is hovering over you, hand braced around your neck, pumping into you right from the start.

Your body is jolting up in time with his thrusts, your breasts lewdly moving under your top. Johnny is looking down at you in wonder, timing his movements to his grunts and watching your face through all the emotions. It’s too much too soon and your hands are flying meaninglessly to grip at something, something that would anchor you because fuck, Johnny has set a pace that you can’t possibly match right from the start. You try to grip at the sheets, or the pillow under your hips but you finally settle on Johnny’s arms. You’re pulling at him as if you want this to end, as if you’re telling him to stop but you don’t want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

“Is this what you wanted, babygirl? Is this how you wanted to be fucked?” Johnny asks as he keeps slamming into you. Why the fuck did it hurt so good? You usually liked there to be a build up, to have it start low and slow and build to it’s crescendo. So how come you were allowing this man to use your body like this and how come you never wanted this moment to end?

“Yes, yes, yes, Johnny, please… don’t stop, don’t stop…” the sound of your own voice shocks you, almost like you’re having an out of body experience and you’re actually dismayed by how manic you sound. Your voice is thick with lust, it is breathless, your pussy is the wettest it has ever been because you can feel your own slick running down your cleft. You can feel Johnny stirring places inside you you weren’t sure existed. His own moans have picked up and his hand around your throat has tightened, as if he were truly using it to anchor himself.

“Can I go faster, baby?” He asks with a strained voice and you take no time in answering “Yesss!” even though your eyebrows knit together from how much this is already.

His eyes close and he bares his teeth, almost like he was in pain and was trying to absorb it and then he lays over you, his head is by your shoulder while his hand never leaves your neck and suddenly, he’s moaning out, going faster, fucking you into the mattress.

The carnal sounds of your skins slapping and Johnny’s deep moans probably mask the fact that you’re crying out. Your hands are around Johnny’s wide back, your head is pressing into his shoulder, you’re clinging onto him with everything you have… you’re almost hanging onto him while he fucks you down, going so fast you feel lightheaded.

“Johnny please, I need to come.” you whimper and you’re not sure if you’re sobbing or not.

“No, no, baby, just let me go a bit longer.” he whines into your neck like he was in heaven and never wanted to leave. So you take deep breaths, you try to lay back and let Johnny have at it, give him what he needs because he was giving you what you needed. But his moans are hot in your neck, his weight is luxurious over your body, his length is so good inside you that you can’t really hold out any longer, no matter how much you’re trying to let him have his time.

“Johnny, please, I need to come or I will die.” you all but growl at him. You’ve never heard your voice sound like that but you can’t bring yourself to care.

He pulls back and then brings one hand to the top of your head, cradling it, stroking it. “Look at me, baby.”

You try, you really try but he’s giving you so much pleasure, it feels almost sinful to take it with eyes wide open but his hand on your neck has come up to grab at your jaw, holding your chin.

“No, no, no, baby, don’t hide from me. Look at me. I’m not going to let you come if you don’t look at me.” he says and now he’s using his words to own you, too, not just his body and this doesn’t help the matter. You get so fucking turned on that you want your release now and you realize that the only way you’re going to get it is if you obey. That thought alone is as profane as it is freeing.

So you look at him, and you’re worried about how wanton you look, how disheveled you look, how disoriented you look. But he’s holding your head prisoner, grabbing your chin, cradling the crown of your head, looking down at you so tenderly while he fucks into you.

He pecks your lips romantically and says “Come for me now, pretty girl.” and you finally meet your sweet, sweet relief. You’re whining, you’re panting, you’re frowning, every single muscle in your body is tensing against him, but you dare not look away. You don’t even realize how deep your fingertips are digging into both his biceps while you come on his cock and he moves in you through it all, holding your gaze. 

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you...” he keeps assuring you, stroking your head while you shake and quiver under him.

It’s the first time you’ve done this, looked at your partner through your orgasm, being made to keep your eyes open just to connect with him in a moment of complete and utter vulnerability. It is godless. It is liberating. It is the most erotic thing you’ve ever done.

You didn’t realize you were straining your neck till your head falls back into the pillows and you feel the tension subside. You feel spent and you thank the heavens above that Johnny has stilled in you. In your euphoria, you didn’t register whether Johnny got to finish or not. He’s kissing you in a way that is--dare you say it? So loving. You push that thought away to let your mind ponder over something else: damn, Johnny Suh is a talented man. He’s smiling when he looks at you and kisses you deep.

“You look so beautiful when you come for me like that.” He strokes the side of your face sweetly and then his hands are tugging your top off of you, making you completely exposed to him. The hickey he gave you earlier is blooming now and he hums deeply in his chest as he sees it. 

“You need a matching one here.” he says and begins to mark you on the other side, but it doesn’t extract quite the same reaction from you as the first one had done because you’re too spent. Johnny doesn’t seem to mind because he’s letting you lay back as he kneads at your breasts, tongue circling over your peaks. You lazily run your fingers in his hair. He comes up and kisses the side of your face.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks kindly and you nod, pulling his head into a slow kiss as your answer. 

“Mmm, okay, good. Because I’m not done with you yet.” he says in between kisses and that’s when you realize he’s still hard. So he hadn’t, in fact, finished. 

He brings his fingers to your clit and circles gently but you jump away from his touch, grabbing at his wrist. “No, I don’t think I can take that anymore.” you tell him desperately and he takes mercy on you. 

“Then flip over for me.” He pulls out of you carefully and it’s then that you realize how swollen you are. You’re going to be sore tomorrow, you know it. When you take too long, he grabs at your waist, turning you on your belly and swats at your ass. You gasp, more at the sound of the impact than the impact itself and then your motivation is back. You want to please your man. You want him to come for you. 

Johnny takes a pillow and places it vertically and lays you on top of it, giving you something to hold onto. It feels soft and comfortable. He’s been chivalrous so far. He’s been taking care of you and so he feels like he’s earned his keep. He can have you any way he wants. So he spreads your cheeks with both hands and licks at your hole a few times, just to make sure you’re still wet enough for what he’s about to do. He takes his hardness in his hands and lays himself on top of you carefully, not with his entire weight, though… he’s still supporting himself on his free arm that’s on your side. He rubs his tip against you a few times and you gasp with how swollen and sensitive you feel.

“Ready, baby?” he says in your ear and you can hear him so much more intimately in this position. He listens for your approval and then he pushes into you so fast, it has you yelping, it has your chest lifting off the pillow you’ve been hugging, it has you panicking, saying

“Johnny, wait, wait, wait, wait, please…” your sentence ends in more gasping sounds of discomfort. Johnny snakes an arm under you, holding onto your shoulders and his lips are on your temple, kissing over and over.

“Shh… baby… shhh, it’s me, it’s only me…” he reassures you and you know in your heart he’s never going to hurt you, but you simply couldn’t have held back your visceral reaction. He feels it, feels the anxiety in your body because he’s easing your head into the crook of his elbow and his lips are kissing at your temple and your shoulder so tenderly, you feel like you’re going to cry. “I’m going to go slow, okay?” he tells you softly. He cradles you with his arm that’s around your shoulders and snakes his other arm under you, his hand splaying out over your abdomen. He pulls you up into him, kissing your skin repeatedly to communicate care and then he starts moving into you, slow.

You whimper, but there is no pain now, only pleasure. You’re biting your lip because somehow it still feels intense, even at this pace. Rough or soft, this man was making you feel things you had only ever fantasized about. ‘Is it always going to be like this?’ you wonder, but you stop yourself. You didn’t have the luxury to have such thoughts because there wasn’t going to be another time. The thought has tears stinging in your eyes and you hide your face in Johnny’s forearm that’s encasing your chest. 

Thankfully, it works because Johnny is cooing in your ear again “Does it feel good now, baby?” and it does, fuck, it does, but you don’t want him to be this nice if it’s going to make you have such treacherous thoughts. So you say,

“Faster. I want it hard.”

Johnny turns your head with his hand so he can look at you when he asks “Are you sure, baby?” 

You nod and while he’s not totally convinced, it’s what you’ve asked. It’s what you’d been asking the past couple of weeks. So he has to oblige. He strengthens his cradling arms and pulls you into him tighter as if to buckle you up and then he lifts his hips and starts moving into you faster and you hear the slapping of his skin on yours once again. 

His forearm moves higher from the planes of your chest to your neck and suddenly, he’s holding you in a headlock, and even if he’s not applying any pressure, it’s enough to make you moan. His breaths are more labored now and so he talks.

“Fuck, Y/N… I think about you all the time. All I ever do is think about you. Did you know that?” he groans right in your ear and your heart swells. You feel hopeful again, like you were before he had pulled the condom out. Your moan comes out in a broken laugh, like a sound of relief but you’re pleading at him again.

“Faster, please, please…” you beg and he wants to give you everything so he lays his entire weight on top of you and really pins you down. It takes a lot of effort, but he wants to please you and soon he manages to build a rhythm that’s so impossibly fast that you feel nothing but him, hear nothing but him, think nothing but him. You don’t realize that you’re chanting his name over and over, you don’t realize that you’re pulling onto his forearm around your neck as tight as you can, you don’t realize that you’re writhing so much under him that you’ve exploded on him, you don’t realize that you’re not falling for this man. You had pretty much already fallen for him.

“Ahh… Y/N…” he gasps and he’s said something else as well, but the ringing in your ears made it difficult to hear it.

You feel the absence of him when he pulls out of you abruptly and he’s sitting up, urgently stroking himself, groaning as he finally finds his own release. 

A moment of stillness hangs in the air. Like the calm after a hurricane. The telling sounds of your impieties have ended, leaving only your breaths in their wake.

Johnny leans over you, combing your hair away from your face as if to check on you as you lay on your stomach unmoving. He kisses your cheek, then strokes the spot tenderly with the backs of his fingers. Your eyes close because you don’t know what’s going to happen now. Johnny moves away, sitting on the edge of the bed to discard the condom and you sneak a peek at him. You watch the muscles in his broad back protrude and you miss him already. He lifts off and walks away for a moment and your heart yearns for him. You wonder what it would be like to wake up to him next to you. You close your eyes again because his words from earlier are still ringing in your ears ‘I think about you all the time.’ They sounded so sincere, though men would say whatever you needed to hear during sex. But they came from him, and he’s never made an empty promise.

You feel the warm wetness of a washcloth being carefully dabbed on your skin, between your legs, over your sex and suddenly your heart is so full. He’s softly turning you around and easing you into a shirt he probably found in your closet. How could you not fall for such a man?

“Come here.” his voice says and you open your eyes to see that he’s laid down again, wearing only his boxers and he’s pulling you into his chest. You lay your head over his heart and listen to it thrum in his chest. This moment is surreal and you can’t help but feel like this is where you belong, and that feeling is solidified when you feel his arms wrap around you, his lips on the crown of your head. You’d never had afterglow feel this sweet, perhaps because you’d never had sex that felt this good. This is what you had wanted all your life. This feeling right here. No one had understood your needs better than this man. Johnny knew perfectly how to take you rough but soft. To make it coarse but sweet. To make you feel used but safe. To make you feel docile yet liberated. And he had told you that he thought about you all the time. You feel a smile grow on your lips as they pressed against his chest. This moment felt absolutely perfect.

“I have to get back to the dorms.”

And there it was. 

You turn your head to the sound of his voice and he slowly sits up. “I’ve got an early morning schedule tomorrow and I don’t want to have to explain why I didn’t come in with the guys.” He says as he gets off the bed and starts dressing himself. You nod because, well. What did you expect? You stand up as well, picking up your discarded underwear and sliding it on, keeping your back to him because you couldn’t stand to see his face.

“I’m going to see you there, anyway, right?” He asks and you try to keep your face as devoid of emotion as possible.

“Right.” You reply because you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. You feel like your chest has been hollowed, like someone has sucker punched you in the belly. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t hope. You had told yourself that you just wanted to see if Johnny could give you what you liked in bed. That was all. He hadn’t promised you anything else. He wasn’t obligated to stay. And what he was saying made sense. You both had the same appointment tomorrow, both for different reasons, but you both had to be at the same place at the same time. You knew everything in this situation was logical. So why was your heart shattering in your chest? 

He’s dressed now and he’s looking for his phone, his keys and his wallet outside in the living room. You follow him slowly, wrapping your arms protectively over the shirt he put on you. He gets everything he needs and heads for the door and you walk him out only because it feels like the right thing to do. He turns to look at you at the door and you look at him. Words remain unspoken. You’re not sure what he reads on your face because he looks like he was going to say something but he changed his mind. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says and he’s polite enough to smile. He turns on his heel, and is out the door that closes with a finalizing shut. And just like that, he’s gone.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, looking at the broad expanse of wood he’s just disappeared behind. You’re not sure why your shoulders are shaking or why your breath keeps choking your throat. You turn around because what’s the point? You’ve done this before. This has happened to you before. Why should this time be different from any of the other times?

You don’t know how you make it back to your room because your legs are so weak and your vision is so blurred. You really thought it was going to be different this time. That he was going to be different. But once again, your heart has been broken. He had used you good, left his marks on you so you would see him, feel him for days, and just like that, he had left. 

Why did no one ever stay? What was it about you that made men look at you like a pump and dump? Why did you bare your mind, your soul, your body in front of yet another man when you knew what was going to happen? Why did you never learn? Why did you keep hoping that things would be different? Why did you give yourself so easily when no one ever wanted you? Why were you so unwanted? 

You’re pretty sure you’re sobbing because your hand is instinctively clutching onto your heart. The heart that had already been broken too many times, but this time, the injury felt much, much worse because you were in love. You were in love with Johnny. You knew that now. You know you were foolish to have fallen for a man you weren’t allowed to want. You had known it all along. You had never meant for things to go this far. No, you had hoped that things would go this far. Hoping was, in fact, the biggest sin you had committed in this strange tragedy. And you had paid the price for it. He didn’t want you, he could never want you. Why would a man like him want you? What were you to him? You were just another willing girl that threw herself at him. The man had been happy to sleep with you like normal people did, but no. You asked him, practically begged him to take you like a back alley whore. So of course, he was going to fuck you into oblivion and when the blood wasn’t rushing to his cock, he would realize how fucking deplorable you were as a woman for allowing this to happen to your body. Of course he couldn’t want you. You were unwantable. Suddenly, you can’t hold yourself up anymore… it was too much, it was all too much. It hurt so bad. You didn’t expect it to hurt so much that your legs couldn’t hold you up and you were sinking to your knees.

Strong hands grabbing at your shoulders, turning your around. 

You look up, tears blurring your vision, your breath hitching faster than your heartbeat, like you’re hyperventilating. You’re still clutching onto your chest like you’re trying to hold yourself together but failing. And he’s the one holding you, the one who caught you before you could fall to your knees. It’s him. He’s here, right in front of you. He’s looking back at you, with eyes intense, nostrils flared. And you’re looking back at him, unable to hide the outpour that he had left when he walked out that door. And you remember--he had your code.

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay?!” he asks urgently, holding onto your shoulders tight.

“I didn’t know I could.” you reply truthfully, your voice shaking and it makes you cry more and you can’t fake it anymore. This is what you feel and he’s seen it now. There was no point in hiding it.

“Y/N…” he takes your face in his hands strongly and kisses your tears. “Y/N, can’t you see? Can’t you see that I’m in love with you?” he says at you with such a burning intensity that it puts a halt to your tears.

“Huh…?” you look at him with round eyes, your self-doubt making it so hard for you to take in his confession.

But he makes it clear. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you for a while. I didn’t tell you because… I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted. If that’s how you wanted to be with me. But I see it now, Y/N. I know you’re in love with me, too. Am I wrong?”

You can’t find your voice because the emotion is welling up inside you again. So you shake your head furiously. You weren’t like Johnny--you never could find the right words at the right time. You communicated everything physically. That’s why you pull him into a kiss and though your face is streaked with tears, you can’t bring yourself to care. 

He pulls you in strongly, kissing you like a victory, kissing you like a promise.

You don’t believe this. After years and years of searching, trial and error, getting your heart broken and doing it all over again, you finally got the man. You finally got a man who wanted you in the same way you wanted him. You had yourself a man that cared for you and loved you. You had yourself a man that was willing to be patient with you when you couldn’t put in words what you felt in your heart. 

You had yourself a man whom you could ask to stay and he would.

So tonight, you laid on his chest and he held you impossibly close. Telling you that he won’t go anywhere as long as you wanted him. Telling you that he loved you exactly how you were, broken pieces and all. Telling you that you were worth the effort he would have to make in the morning to seem unsuspicious to prying eyes. Because in exchange, he got to hold you close into the night. Tonight, you prayed for sleep to take you quickly because you were excited to wake up. Because in your heart, you knew that when you did, he would finally still be next to you.

Copyright © 2021 NeoCultureTravesty. All rights reserved.

[hannya-writes]

Offspring 

Title: Offspring

Serie: Melting Waltz

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader

Other characters:Anakin Skywalker

Category: romance,mystery (?), Angst?

Warnings: implied smut, nakedness, I wrote this on my phone 😅

Author's note: This can be read as a stand alone story, but it is part of a serie called "Melting Waltz". Btw, it took me way too long to write this chapter because my work fries my brain and I forget how to write in English.

• • •

At first he felt it. The lost connection was back in his mind but he didn't noticed it. He thought it was the war what got him annoyed, tired and with a profound and insane desire to go to sleep, to go back to his dreams with Y/n.

— No Anakin, that is enough — he snapped at his college who blinked surprised by the amount of anger that flowed on his former master.

—you should told me you were this close with Corki — he offered worried, thinking maybe this mission was too close to Obi Wan's heart. He knew about Obi Wan history with the duchess and Mandalore, but it was getting out of hand. — if you are not feeling well, maybe you should sit this one out —

— I'm sorry, I- is not that... I guess I need some sleep — he admitted, holding back the need to yell the words "He's my child, I don't want to sit this one out!" as an answer, even when that wasn't true. Anakin patted his shoulder and he decided to do as he was told and take a nap.

Obi Wan could not understand his feeling. They felt overwhelming and he didn't recognized the second hand worry or sadness. He thought there was something wrong with him, maybe it was time for him to leave the order since he couldn't get a hold of his feelings.

— Obi wan — the soft voice of Y/n reminded him that his worry had seep through his dream world and he didn't like that. He wanted to be free of his mundane worry when being with his secret lover.

Y/n was using his chest as a pillow as she hugged him and she nuzzled against him listening to his heart. That relaxed him, feeling her by side made him forget everything.

— yes, darling? — he answered her, wondering why she was acting with such sadness and uneasiness. He let his fingers dance over the soft skin on her back comforting her.

—Children — she said rolling over him, her naked and warm body over his own nakedness made him feel she was the embodiment of comfort. His hand caressed her hair, bringing back the rebellious strands of hair. She looked beautiful, so beautiful he got confused by the only word she had said. — children, do you like them? — she seemed embarrassed and a bit reluctant. He found it cute.

— I have little experience with children, I'm not sure what you want to hear my love— he confessed and Y/n laughed, her hand had started to peacefully draw patterns over his chest.

— what I mean... What I'm try to...— he laughed at her nervousness and incapability to say whatever she wanted to tell him or ask him. — Ben! Don't laugh! — she scolded him annoyed but he couldn't stop laughing which made her flop her head in his abs in a little tantrum.

— oh, I'm terribly sorry little one — he combed her hair while she looked away from him, maybe that way she would be able to ask the question that was burning in her chest.

— have you ever think about having offspring — there was a second of silence before she ended the question — with me? —  Obi Wan looked down at her, she was still looking away, too embarrassed by her own question.

Offspring. Children, little living proofs that he had slept with his best friend. The product of his love for her. Children with her y/h/c hair and his eyes. No, her eyes, his hair. Maybe they'll have a laugh like the one Y/n had or they'll have that little tic she had, the one where she cracked her knuckles. They'll be fragile but grow strong, kind and thoughtful.

— I get that the reason we as Jedi are allowed to have intercourse is with that goal in mind, for you men it's easy you basically have to go around throwing your semen into women but for us Jedi women, we have to chose — she mumbled and Obi Wan was hit by her words 

— my, my, am I hearing right? Did you implied I'm the chosen one for you?— he asked mockingly making her turn towards his face, completely blushed, embarrassed by the idea.

— What? No, of course not! — she tried to stand up as she heard Obi Wan laugh, however before she got far away the strong hands of Obi Wan caught her and threw her back to bed, trapping her below him and against the mattress.

— If you gave birth to my offspring... — he was back to being sweet — we will have to leave the order because, I'll be completely compromised with my family instead of the order — she looked at him and laughed.

— I'll give birth to your children, then — she said laughing. Like every time, he felt happy at the sight but for a second he could have sworn he had seen Y/n crying not laughing.

He hovered above her and kissed her. Y/n kissed him back and he knew everything was fine, perfectly fine. So, why was he so worried about her? And why did he keep thinking he had to find his children?

• • •

If you want to read more of this series go to my masterlist

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Anklets and Necklaces

Inspired by this tweet.

@5-secondsofcolor I’m not sorry.

Female Reader insert. NSFW Content (18+). My smut writing is hella rusty. So I do apologize, whoops.

_______________

Calum plays at the anklet, spinning it around and around her joint as her legs are crossed and resting in his lap. The gold jewellry is hardly ever taken off since he gave it to her. In return, she gifted him a chain with a tiny pendant with her initial etched into the back of it. The front of it is an arrowhead. He wears it so often now, that when it’s off, he feels a little incomplete. It’s an easy gesture to carry her everywhere with him.

“Okay we gotta decide what to eat for lunch like now or I’m going to get hangry,” she states.

Calum glances up from his phone, to see her still scrolling on hers. “Oh no. Not hangry,” he teases. But he knows she means it. Her warnings have about a thirty minute window, just enough for a delivery if they get something simple. Or if they want something more complicated, they need to find a snack now while the main course is cooking. “What do you want? Thai? Mexican?”

“Would you hate me if I said I really just wanted nuggets from McDonalds?”

The pout on her lips makes him laugh, “No, I could never. Usual then?”

“Yes, please.”

Stretching across the length of her, Calum pushes his lips together, trying to ask for a kiss. She laughs in return and squeezes his cheeks. “Be lucky you’re cute,” she states before lifting up slightly to meet his lips. “And squishy.”

“Ain’t nothing on me squishy,” he huffs, straightening back up to put her order into the app.

She sets her phone down on her stomach, gazing up over the sharp line of his jaw that his plump cheeks sit atop. And while it’d be easy to return with a poke and a verbal jab about his cheeks, she just watches him. His fingers deftly work over the screen. The white tank sits as a stark contrast to the depth and glow of his skin. “I think all the right things on you are squishy.”

“Yeah, what are those?”

“Your cheeks. And as much as you and your trainer kick your ass, I know happy weight when I see it.”

Calum grins, a chuckle shaking through him as he sets his phone down on the arm of the couch--the order completed on his end. He pinches at her thighs. “Take that back.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I will. I like it--just like I like my cookies. Hard on the edges gooey in the middle.”

Standing for just a moment to let her legs fall onto the couch, Calum kneels onto the cushion, hovering above her. Her eyes glitter just a little as she talks and the soft easy smile on her face lets him know that it’s all out of love--what’s she’s saying. The pads of his fingers run along the side of her thigh. “Be lucky I love you.”

“I am already lucky, so say what you gotta say. Roast me, my love. It’s not like we don’t do that anyways.”

And truth be told, Calum had no response. Not when he looks at her, because God all he sees is the person that’s been with him on his bad mental days. She’s been there when Calum was sure there was no lower low or higher high. And what do you say to that person that’s been there, seen all of you that there is to see? With a gentle and chaste kiss, Calum settles for silence.

“Cat got your tongue now, huh?”

This--this Calum can respond too. It’s all too easy. “I know what else my tongue can have.”

“I know something your tongue can have too.”

“Really now?” Calum asks, dragging his fingers over the top of her thigh and tracing the line of her lounge shorts. “Food will be here in fifteen minutes though. So that’s up to you.”

“Not nearly enough time to savor it. Besides,” she starts and takes a pause. Her lips pull into a side smile and Calum knows what that means. One brow quirks in anticipation and Calum watches her. The silence settles for a little too long.

“Besides what?” he prompts again.

“Besides, I need the mail to be delivered first.”

“What did you buy?”

“You’ll see later. I promise. It’s really not even supposed to be used for lingerie. But I’ve wanted these for a long time and I specifically have a set I’m trying to complete.”

There’s the black mesh set that she’s slowly been building out. The main piece came in weeks ago, at this point it might even be months ago that that came in. He was privy to it then and gave it the christening that it deserved. But there wasn’t any other lingerie set that needed expansion. Not at least to his recalling. “Which one is it?”

“I’m not saying.”

“Oh please,” he whines, dropping his head into her neck. His lips softly and slowly seal kisses into her warm skin.

“No, Calum. I’ve been waiting on this package for weeks. It got held up in customs and I-” she sighs at his lips sucking at her skin. Not hard enough to cause a bruise, but just enough to make her spine tingle. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Calum pushes up, with a huff, sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch. “This is killing me, you know?”

“Well, you ain’t dead yet. So I think you can tough it out for a little bit longer.”

“Begrudgingly--I want you to know that.”

She sits up, swinging her feet to the floor. “Your sacrifice will be duly noted. The mail will be here before you know it.” The couch releases her weight and Calum watches her pad into the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” she calls.

“I’m good,” he returns, knowing that he will be counting down the seconds until the mail comes. She returns with a glass of water, sitting back down on the couch, but bringing her feet up underneath her as she motions to the TV. “You watching that?”

Calum answers with a shrug. He wasn’t anymore. He originally turned it on mostly for the weather and some news. He found himself bored and flipping through channels before settling on the sports channel while he took care of Duke in the morning. Noise to fill the space since his brain needed the distraction. He hadn’t slept all that great the last few nights, decent sleep. The closer and closer the band got to putting out music the more his nerves kicked in--sometimes they were sneaky. The nerves come up faster than Calum had anticipated. And right now, they won the first round. But Calum was working hard to combat them so he could get about his daily life.

“Go crazy,” he finally verbally responds. And she picks up the remote, changing channels too fast for Calum to even understand how you could process what was on before decking it was a no. She eventually settles for HGTV--not quite caring what show was on. 

The first knock that comes to the door is the food that Calum ordered for the two of them. He answers it, popping up in the hopes it’s the mail. When it’s not, he sighs just a little but places the bag down onto the coffee table. “Your nugs, my queen,” he teases.

“Thank you, my good sir,” she returns with a grin, opening before divvying out what is for who. “You wouldn’t have happened to shot up like a bat outta hell because you wanted that to be the mail?”

Calum feels the heat in his cheeks, but bumps her shoulder gently. “No, why would I ever want that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she scoffs in return, dunking a nugget into the sweet and sour sauce. They share a soft bout of laughter before turning their gaze back to the TV. Duke’s paws click as he ventures into the kitchen for a drink of water from his bowl. The lapping and splash of his tongue echoing just slightly as the screen goes dark between the show and the commercial break.

Calum lifts his gaze, taking in the soft angle of her jaw. She curls up around the carton of fries, eyes glued to the screen. Does she even have the slightest clue what she does to him? It’s not even the involved things like dressing up for him, or comforting him. It’s just her, when she’s munching on fries. Or when she sleepily walks behind Duke in the mornings. It’s when she hums as she cooks. It’s the dancing she does when she’s cleaning. It’s the pouts when she messes up on something and her brow furrows in as the determination settles onto her face.

It’s when she fucked up a birthday cake for him once--not greasing the sides of the pan enough and then adding a tad too much milk--called him crying about it and then in a minute flat resolved to make him brownies instead. Because she said she’d be damned if she didn’t make him something sweet to nibble on or pass along to the guys. And Calum’s not even that much of a sweets guy, which she knew, so she only settled on giving him half the batch she made. She, of course, saved the other half for her and her friends.

And it’s just the moments that she’s not even trying that makes Calum melt. Like when she paints her nails, she offers to do his first. Or when she lays down next to Duke, and in their shared silence, they seem to communicate everything with each other.

“I love you,” he states.

She turns, eyes widening for a second before grinning around her sip of iced tea. “I love you.” Her brows furrow just a little. “You okay? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“If you didn’t want McDonalds, I could’ve done something else. Literally anything else,” she continues on almost as if she hadn’t heard him.

“It’s not the food,” he giggles. Calum reaches out to caress her cheek. “I’m okay.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“I just love you, that’s all. Wanted to share it with you.”

Her grin is soft as it lifts her lips. “Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of getting rid of you.”

Another silence envelopes them. Calum finishes his food and takes the empty containers to the trash. Another episode starts up from the speakers and just above it, he hears the chime of his phone. “Do you want me to screen it for you?”

“Yes please!” If it’s one of the guys, they won’t mind her answering. If it’s someone important, he doesn’t want to miss the call.

“Calum’s phone,” she answers but he can already hear her feet shuffling to him in the kitchen. “Okay, Ash. I’ll keep that in mind.” Her voice comes closer and Calum shakes his hands just a little to get rid of the excess water before drying them. “No, I can’t say what it is without taking a look. Did you use the soil I recommended last time?” Another pause comes from her and when Calum turns, he finds her leaning up the kitchen counter, phone halfway pulled down but not fully away from her ear. “Yeah, I definitely think you should consider changing soils. But I can take a better look tomorrow for you. I’m going to pass along the phone now.”

She hands the phone over. “He said it was important.”

“Thank you,” Calum says in a whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then placing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Ash?”

Calum’s not even sure how long the conversation goes on. At first, it is important information that Ashton’s trying to confirm--a date and time for a meeting that they had later in the week. He says he wrote it down where he writes down all their meetings but it’s not there. And Ashton’s trying to make sure that he doesn’t miss it. So Calum shuffles to his office and verifies in his calendar the time for the meeting.

But then the conversation diverges--they start talking about everything and anything. So much so, they’re laughing. Calum doesn’t even hear the knock at the front door. But he does notice her scurrying off into the bedroom. The door closes with a soft click. Duke comes trailing after her but notices the closer door and then keeps down the hall to the office. Calum reclines back in his seat trying to get another angle at the door. But it’s closed fully.

“You okay, gramps?” Calum asks Duke.

“Oh fuck off, mate!” Ashton laughs.

“Not you, you fucking egg. Duke--I was talking to Duke.”

“Oh!” Ashton giggles. “Sorry, I thought you was trying to talk shit.”

“I don’t have to try and do that to you.”

“Oi, don’t start something bro.” The two of them laugh and Calum bends down to scratch behind Duke’s ears. “Alright, thanks for confirming that meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow in the studio?”

“Yeah--bright and early. Talk to you later.” The call ends and when Calum spins around in his desk chair, his jaw drops as she steps out from the bedroom. It’s not exactly something new--as in something that she’s never worn before. But it doesn’t mean he ever gets tired of seeing her like this.

The white bustier pushes her breasts up and almost over the cups. And he travels the look down, taking in the baby blue skirt, fishnet knee highs. And he goes back up, taking in a black strap wrapping around her thighs. She notes the lustful gaze and steps right on the line of the threshold to the door.

“So,” Calum starts, trailing his gaze down and then back up to her face. “Not the black lingerie I was anticipating.”

“No, I’m waiting for the heels I want for that lingerie to go on sale. Besides, you didn’t like the collar I liked so I’m still searching.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. It’s just too similar to one we already bought.”

“You’re right, but still.”

Calum cracks a smile at the reluctant confession. “But enough about that. This--this is a cute outfit.”

She nods, smoothing out the pleated mini skirt. “It’s less about the outfit and more about these,” she says, tapping at the thin black band.

“And those are?” Calum asks. It’s one step closer into the room and Calum think he can make out a heart shaped metal loop in the middle of it. She takes a second step closer and Calum can see clearly it’s some sort of thigh garter--leather or something related as the material. “Oh,” he breathes.

She continues slowly to approach Calum and when she’s just in arms reach, she lifts the skirt up. It goes up inch by inch and Calum’s entranced. Watching more of her thighs revealed to him. And soon it’s black panties--mesh and if Calum remembers correctly crotchless. But wrapped around her waist is another band of leather. Two pieces hook to another metal hoop right on her hip bones and then one trip connects the top piece to the bottom.

“A harness garter belt--what do you think?” she asks in a whisper.

Calum exhales, desire stirring in the pit of his stomach. He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around her thighs and pulling her into him. He kisses in the spaces between the leather, gingerly, lips hardly touching her skin. “I think you look beautiful,” he hums, dropping his head on his neck to look up at her.

Her eyes are still closed and Calum softly runs the tips of his fingers up her thigh, tracing the lines of the harness. With a deep exhale, she finally blinks back to reality. “Not too silly?”

His brows meet in the middle of his face. Why would she think it’s too silly? There’s nothing silly about her standing in front of him, clearly excited about her own purchase. “Angel--I’ll be damned if I ever think this is silly.”

Swinging her leg over and settling onto his lap, she grins. “Thank you, love.”

Calum holds onto her hips, rubbing his palms down to her ass. “So you said this technically isn’t lingerie?”

“No--I don’t think so. But I think they could be--a small accessory to something I already have.”

They share a kiss, much too quick for Calum’s liking so he pulls her back in for more. And her arms wind around his neck as he continues to palm her ass. Here, he doesn’t really care what it is technically or not. She looks absolutely amazing. “I like it. In fact,” Calum starts, moving to grip her thighs before housing them both up and then plopping her down on the desk. “I really like them.”

Calum stands between her legs, nose brushing and bumping against hers. Here, she can feel her core aching as Calum’s fingers trail closer and closer to her heat. It’s feather light--his touch, but it makes her feel electric all the same. “Cal,” she hums.

“Yes baby?”

There’s nothing that comes out of her mouth but a small huff, a rushed and harsh exhale at the feeling of his fingers dancing across her skin. He grins pulling back just a little to see the way her face goes slack, almost as if she’s at peace with him between her legs.

“Was there something you wanted to say, darlin’?” Calum tries again, taking just a half step back away from her.

With her eyes still closed, she smiles. “I want to know,” she starts, exhaling softly to counter the thud of her heart in her chest, “if you’d so kindly want to make love to me?”

Calum can’t help his own small tuft of laughter. “Darlin’, I’d do so happily.” They don’t always wind up in bed like this--but it’s nice, to be comfortable even to be this forward with this and this open.

Calum takes her hand as she hops down from the desk. “Give me a twirl,” he asks. She obliges, turning in a circle for Calum, punctuating the back view by lifting her skirt up. “Silly girl,” Calum laughs, giving a firm but playful tap to her ass.

Facing Calum again, she wraps her arms around his torso. “But you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

They share another kiss and she slowly walks backwards out of the room. They get lost in each other--Calum in the way she fits against him and her in the way Calum holds her, palms spanning across her back and tight enough that she wonders if he thinks she’s going to disappear but gently enough at the same time that she’d love nothing more than staying here forever in his hold.

Calum finds the zipper to the top and slowly drags it down. The material exhales, slowly falling away from her body and when it falls to the floor, he kisses her neck, down to the swell of her breast. Her moans are soft, just above a hum that makes just enough noise for him to hear. And it goes right to his gut.

Here there's very little need for words. When Calum gives, she takes happily. But when she tugs at his hair, Calum knows to step back, lets her give something to him. Her kisses are soft against his skin, but make him feel like it’s being set on fire. One that he’d happily stay in, let the blaze consume every inch of him, if it meant that she was always the one to take him.

His shirt goes to join hers. Her mouth teases his nipples as she descends further down on him. Calum thinks he sighs, all he can do is just shut his eyes and let go into the feeling of her teasing the cut of his hips beneath the sweatpants. She’s always like this, teasing him. At first, it used to annoy him. But now he loves it, loves just how close she’s willing to push him to the edge, push his buttons but always delivering at the end of it.

Her meticulous work, to watch him jump at every scratch of her nails and nip of her teeth, is enjoyable. But Calum blinks open his eyes to cup her jaw, which stops her. When her gaze lifts, Calum motions for her to stand. “Yes?” she grins standing to her full height.

Calum presses their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

“Well how dare I keep a man like you waiting?” With a slow kiss, tongues just barely dancing, Calum walks the two of them to the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of it and she buckles just a little. Calum catches her from falling. “Turn around,” he whispers into her ear, “please.”

The instruction is obeyed and she spins to face the bed. Calum finds the zipper to the powder blue skirt and almost doesn’t want to take it off her. In the end, he does-- Calum lets the skirt fall onto a pool at their feet. Without even prompting she falls to her hands, ass grinding against his hips. He traces her spine with the pads of his fingers, following all the way down, over the curve of her ass and down to the opening in the panties. His fingers gather a bit of her arousal.

“Oh,” he groans. “So wet for me,” he hums with approval.

“Always for you,” she sighs. Calum teases her clit--a featherlight touch as he dances over her core. She lets herself fall a little bit more into the mattress--another moan leaving her lips when Calum takes one finger down from her clit to teasing her entrance.

Calum pulls away, bring his wet fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. “Taste just like heaven,” he hums. He gingerly guides her back to standing and uses her hips to get her to face him again.

More kisses are shared before they fall onto the mattress. Calum takes hold of one of the straps around her thigh and tugs her down, closer to him and she laughs. It gets caught off and morphed into a moan as Calum’s tongue licks a wide stripe up her. He’s careful of the mesh material of her panties, but knows that carefulness won’t last long. Not when her arousal coats his tongue. Not when her nails scratch over the muscles of his shoulders or tangle into the curls on his head.

She melts under the work of his mouth. The mattress merely becoming the vessel to hold the mess she’s bound to make and become. The room echoes the moans and slurps. Fingers gripping at the sheet, she chants Calum’s name. His tongue working magic over her core and just when she thinks she couldn’t possibly handle anything more, she notices the stretch at the addition of his fingers.

“Fuck,” she whines, lifiting one leg and he slips in even deeper, curling his fingers and hitting just the right spot.

Calum hungers for her pleasure--the high-pitched whine and groan as she releases. Some days it’s just the sound he needs to ground him. She gives short and breathless huffs, and quivers underneath him. “Gonna be a good girl?” Calum asks, fingers still pumping at her.

“Yes, oh yes, I will.”

“Gonna cum for me?”

“I want to, yes I’ll come for you. Make me your good girl.” Her voice sounds far away, as if she’s not fully cognizant of what she’s saying. Not quite babbling, but definitely talking so fast words bump into each other and slur together.

Calum grins, sucking at her clit again and she groans, head throwing back against the pillows. Her toes are curling--her whole body growing warmer with the passing second. The heat coils in her lower gut and she’s pleading. Though, she’s not sure who she is really meaning to plead to, but she wants to cum so badly.

Then it finally happens, one moment she’s sure she’s nearly in tears and the next, the coil snaps. She squeezes, hips raising off the bed and Calum continues to ride out her orgasm, gently pressing her back down into the bed. She hisses and starts to push at his shoulders, the signal that it’s too much. So Calum places one last kiss to her clit before pulling away from her glistening core.

Beneath him, eyes fluttering close, she looks angelic. Calum holds himself up above her and just watches the way she tries to collect her breath. “You’re beautiful, you know?” he whispers, not wanting to shatter the silence.

“No kidding?” she teases, winding her arms around his neck. The necklace dangles just a little in her face and she takes one hand to trace the chain. Hooking her fingers into it, she tugs Calum down to her. The taste of her arousal on Calum’s tongue makes her head spin. Calum caresses her side and stomach as the kiss deepens. Here is all they need--the soft and deep kisses, the moans that they swallow from each other.

Her hands leave from around his neck and begin to push down his sweatpants and underwear. And he lets her, even pulls back to kneel on his knees as she sits up. Their kiss hardly breaks and she’s quick to tug the cotton material down, hands wrapping around his length.

He groans at the squeeze--nothing too hard just enough pressure to make his whole body ignite. Her hand pumps him, once, then twice slowly and teasing him. “Baby,” he sighs, relishing the feeling of her hands working over him. The stay like that only for a minute or two before Calum pauses her to step down and full disrobe.

When he climbs back onto the bed, he crawls over her. “Welcome back, handsome,” she greets.

“Oh, it’s so good to be back,” he returns, grinning.

She runs her fingers over the tattoos decorating his chest, out of habit, out of something to ground her for a moment. There’s no way he’s real and it shouldn’t ever shock her like this. But sometimes it sneaks up on her and the realization of how madly in love she is with his man hits her all over again.

“What are you thinking about?” Calum asks.

“How much I love you,” she answers softly.

“I love you too,” he returns, bending down to kiss her. It’s soft and sweet--the kiss. For a moment, they just inhale the breaths of the other. It’s a tender moment, one that neither one wants to interrupt, so they let it linger, smiling at each other. She stretches up to kiss him, one hand trailing between their bodies and Calum catches the hint all too quickly when she traces along his length.

“I haven’t forgotten, love,” he exhales in a breathy laugh. “Trust me, I could never forget.” Once lined up, Calum’s slow to sink into her. One, he wants to drag this out, enjoy every inch of him that she grips of him. And two, because he wants to make sure that even in the lull that she’s ready to take him.

Her head falls back, hair pushing into the pillow and neck exposing itself to him. A tempting sight but Calum loses himself in the feeling of her wetness. He’s slow, pulling out just a bit before sinking further back into her. Her sighs and words of encouragement are soft from beneath him but they fuel him.

The pace quickens and both of them groan at the ecstasy. Out of reflex, she lifts one leg to readjust her hip flexor and Calum brings it up, resting her ankle on his shoulder. He kisses over the joint and the anklet, savoring just how much of her he can feel like this.

The chain dangles in her face, brushing in the valley of her breast and she revels in the feeling of Calum reaching the full depths of her body. She digs her nails into his flesh, more curses falling from her lip. But some of them get lost in the groans that win out. “God,” she huffs. “You’re everywhere.” And though it’s a bit of strain to get the words out because Calum’s pace is relentless as he snaps his hips into hers, she pushes the words out.

“You always take me so well,” he praises, watching the way her face contorts. “Oh, so soon, love? You’re going to cum again for me so fucking soon, like a good girl.”

Her whine slips out first but she nods, feeling the coil tightening yet again in her lower abdomen. Her body is hot, and she can already feel the prickle of sweat on her forehead. “Please, baby, please,” she begs.

“As you wish,” he hums, his own orgasm approaching faster than he anticipated. His body humming as the warmth spreads. The bed rocks just a little, hitting the wall and the sounds echo around them as they sigh and moan to each other. But the only thing that really matters to them, is each other.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, voice straining as she orgasms. No noise comes from her, but her mouth opens like if she had the breath she’d definitely be screaming his name. This time the quakes last longer, her whole body shaking. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he hums, bumping his nose against her jaw, still riding through her orgasm.

“Shit, oh my god,” she shudders, wrapping her arms around his neck.

There’s a slight hiss when Calum moves again, and he kisses over her face, starting with her nose and then moving to her cheeks. Another quake takes her and Calum, not anticipating it, groans-- his orgasm now right on the edge. It won’t be much longer, but she nibbles at his earlobe. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Made me feel so fucking good. I want you to cum in me. So fucking deep,” she hums.

And while Calum’s trying to get his own rebuttal to the tip of his tongue, she squeezes around him. “Fuck,” he yelps just a little, his body erupting with his orgasm. His body shudders and he’s so blindsided by the feeling, his slips just a little, more of his weight settling onto her than usual.

She doesn’t say anything, just hums at the feeling of him succumbing to the pleasure. “Oh, that’s what I wanted,” she encourages. It leaves her throat like a purr and Calum shivers again at the sound.

They lay together, for a moment, her nails scratching lightly at the muscles in his back. Calum sinks into her, body going heavy. Her slight shift squeezes around him and he groans, sensitive. “Don’t--I can’t,” he laughs.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Even her own voice sounds heavy and slurred. She kisses his temple and Calum pushes up. He’s slow to pull out, enjoying the drips that follow of his own release spilling out of her. With one finger he gently scopes it back up and into her. The familiar twinge of desire pulls at his lower gut and it’s almost enough. She even shivers, but Calum watches the way her eyes stay closed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sleepy now,” she returns.

“Let’s get cleaned up first and then we can nap.” His voice sounds farther away towards the end of the sentence and she assumes he went to the attached bathroom. The rush of water from the sink confirms it. Something wet and warm presses against her--no doubt Calum with a warm washcloth.

The clean up is swift as both of them share a shower and then under the sheets, they curl up around each other. Calum kisses the top of her head as she nuzzles in closely. “I want pancakes after our nap,” she mutters.

“I think we still have some blueberries.”

She pops up onto her elbow and grins a little. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

Calum laughs. “Maybe just a little bit.”

[cognitosclowns]

NO CAUSE I'VE BEEN BINGE READING ALL YOUR SHIT I'M IN LOVE.

BUT LIKE- YOU MADE ME FALL IN LOVE WITH ANDRE AND BRETT AND REGAN, ALL THREE. AKDKWKDOWODKW

PLEASE. IF YOU COULD PLEASE. GIMME. SUM SUBBY ANDRE WITH A FEM S/O

ALSO YOU BET YOUR ASS I'M WRITING MY OWN SMUT AS WE SPEAK.

I GOT A BUNCHA ASKS FOR SUB ANDRE SO,, IM COMBINING THEM INTO THIS SNMDSMD !!!!

tw : drugs + drug use!!

IM DOIN THIS AS X FEM READER BC IT’S ESSENTIALLY THE SAME,, AND I LIKE WRITING IN SECOND PERSON <3

The brattiest mf ever at first

Doesn’t matter what you two are doing, he’s gonna be his usually Light, Teasing self <3 Might take a bit of work until he’s,,, Properly Putty In Your Hands <3

I THINK I BROUGHT THIS UP BEFORE BUT,, IDC I LOVE THIS IDEA :

The shit that Completely Destroys him is vv Hard, vv slow thrusting. if he can feel every drag?? <3

He’s usually used so ppl being,, vv fast and rough - and don’t get me wrong, he loves that shit too - its just,,, such a different experience that he’s complete putty <3

with vv fast, rough sex, sometimes all the sensations blur together? He much prefers the kind of overstimulation where Every Sensation Is Distinct And Unique.

That he can feel the difference between your thrusts, your hand stroking, your lips on his neck, etc. Different rhythms for each, so that he can tell everything apart? He’s absolutely destroyed.

He’ll definitely try to,, Keep It Together but eventually it’s just gonna melt into a string of ‘yesyesyesyesyes’

His thighs have a habit of going together?? His legs,, get extremely Jittery. Big movements + twitches

Rail him through the orgasm, into another <3 trust me he’s gonna love you like nothing else. Feeling that massive Rush, the drop off, only to feel it instantly building back up into another orgasm?

At that points it’s just <3 noises and thumping his fists on the bed. No brain, no words, simply bliss <3

JUST SOME MISC SHIT??

If you have a Chest Of Any Kind he wants those puppies IN HIS FACE. Big or small, he wants em <3. Pressed against his face? Seeing them bounce while you rail him? The softness and warmth makes his brain go stupid. ALL ABOUT THOSE CONTRASTING SENSORY EXPERIENCESSSSS 

50/50 on how high he’ll want to be. Sometime he prefers his Baseline Level Of Intoxications but,, othertimes he’s gonna pop an Assorted Bundle Of Shit

Aphrodisiacs, hard drugs, some shit he’s cooked up himself - usually those are the time’s he’s had A Fucking Day And A Half and,, seriously needs to get his brain fucked out. Please provide this <3

If you ask him to eat you out/suck you off <333 sometimes he’s just gonna melt naturally into body worship?? One minute his lips doing their Most to make you cum,, and then he’s licking at your stomach and thighs <3

he just gets,, very into it?? the taste of your skin, the texture (stretch marks, birth marks, old injuries, etc), the smell, etc. Completely shuts off his brain <3 he’ll positively lavish you in messy kisses and licks.

Prostate stimulation + your mouth on his tip = slack jawed, eyes rolled back, dead silence. 

Just,, slowly curling your fingers inside, while lapping along his frenulum? 

The lights upstairs shut off entirely. Nobody’s home. He’d let you do that shit for actual hours if you could keep it up smdnsd.

HH ANDRE LEE <333 LMK IF YOU HAD SMTH ELSE IN MIND,, THIS WAS SO FUN.