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atrwriting · 1 year ago

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future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

#corio smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #corio snow smut #corio fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fic #coriolanus imagine #corio imagine #the hunger games #lucy gray #sejanus plinth #young coriolanus snow

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oldermenfucker · 1 month ago

Text

Daddy’s Girl | M. Robby

Summary: You finally manage to send your daughter to a sleepover and get your husband alone after various unsuccessful attempts to get your hands on his body.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! SMUUUUUT, kind of daddy kink? Idk? They refer to each other as mommy and daddy (parental lmao like a nickname), handjob, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding, cowgirl, they are PENT UP OKAY, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 3.3k+

An: this is basically Mama’s Boy but Robby’s version with horny reader cause I’d also be very interested in getting that man naked so🤭

Comments & reblogs are always appreciated<3

Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!

You are sure you will turn into a green ghoul if you hear this word one more time. You are sick of it, sick of how this one single word with five letters has your husband trapped in a spell.

It’s not like your little girl doesn’t cling to you at all, but when Daddy is home, then Daddy has to do everything for her; bathing? Daddy. Thirsty? Daddy. Hungry? Daddy. Bedtime story? Daddy, please!

And Michael Robinavitch folds the second his precious daughter opens her mouth.

It irritates you, frustrates you beyond belief, not your daughter, though, god no, you would kill for her. Still, she is always around when you want to take a few seconds to cuddle with your husband, she shows up at the most inconvenient moment when you are sneaking your hands under Robby’s shirt.

Take last week, for example. You and your daughter were coloring in her book on the coffee table in the living room when you heard the keys jiggle from the other side of the door, knowing your husband was just a second away from entering the house.

“Hey, girls!”

“Daddy!” She shrieks and drops her pencils on the table, nearly tripping over the cushion she was sitting on as she bolts toward Robby, “Daddy, hi!”

“Princess,” he groans as he picks her up, kissing her cheek as she wraps her little arms around his neck, “How are you? Were you good for mommy?”

“Hey, baby,” you stand up and walk up to them, kissing Robby softly when he leans down to capture your lips with his. “How was your day?”

“Exhausting,” he sighs, dropping his forehead on yours before smiling and looking at his daughter, who just nuzzles his neck and pouts, “But it’s so much better now that I’ve got my girls with me.”

“I drew something for you!” Your daughter wiggles her way out of Robby’s arms, rushing to her room to grab something, leaving the two of you alone.

You pull Robby in for a deep kiss, your hands going to his cheeks as he kisses you back just as eagerly, his hands going to your waist to pull you closer. But the tension is broken just as quickly as it was built when your little girl runs back outside with two large drawings in her hands.

“Look, daddy, look!”

You break away in haste, putting your hands on your hips as you throw your head back, letting out a loud sigh as your daughter jogs toward you in the living room, waving the papers as she waits for Robby to pick her up.

“What did you draw, princess?” He asks, dropping his backpack on the floor before he scoops her up in his arms, moving to sit on the couch to look at what she has drawn for him, leaving you breathless and needy.

The second time was when you thought Robby had put her to sleep successfully. You both thought she was dreaming of seven kingdoms and fairies, so without wasting a second, you were straddling him with your lips chasing his and his hands roaming your body.

Unfortunately, you were wrong.

“Daddy!”

Robby pushed you off him, making sure you were okay with a quick glance as you caught yourself on your elbows on the cushions, chest heaving and lips swollen as you stared at your daughter with wide eyes.

“What happened, sweetheart?” Robby cleared his throat, shifting on his spot to hide the evidence of his arousal as he ran a hand over his daughter’s head, “Why are you up?”

“You didn’t read this part, it is the most exciting part of the story!” She pouted, the spitting image of Robby that made you melt right there, but you nearly choked on your saliva when she turned her face to you, pouting even harder when she noticed what state you were in, “Mommy, are you okay?”

“Yes, little birdie, come on up here! Daddy will read to both of us, yeah?” You collected her in your arms, moving so your back was against Robby’s chest as he reached for his readers before he began.

The next time you were sure she was busy, you knew she was busy. That was why you chose that moment to slip inside the shower with your husband, clothes soaked and pressed up against the wall.

Your daughter was watching her favorite cartoon, eyes practically glued to the TV while she ate her fruit. That was the routine, she wouldn’t pay attention to any distractions when this specific cartoon was on, she never did.

So you seized the moment, bathroom door locked, and lips collided under the steaming water while Robby tried to get your pants off without having you both slip down.

But the spell was broken as soon as he got his hands on your wet thighs, ready to haul you off the ground. You knew it would be reckless, but you had no choice; you needed your husband, and that seemed the right moment to do something about it.

“Daddy?” A confused voice made you freeze under the hot shower, eyes terrifyingly wide and no longer dark with arousal, “Mommy?”

You somehow managed to take all of your clothes off and put on the clothes Robby had taken with him to the shower to wear after he cleaned himself. With a racing heart, you opened the door only to find your daughter looking around the room, equally terrified as if you had left her.

“Baby, what happened?” You crouched down next to her, gently rubbing a hand down her back as she shrugged, “I thought you were watching your favorite cartoon!”

“I was!” The kid nodded and wrapped her arms around your neck, waiting to be picked up. You did as she asked, holding her on your forearm while walking back into the living room, hissing when water droplets fell over your shirt, “Until I couldn’t hear anything! It was too… quiet? Why is your hair wet? I thought Daddy was taking a shower!”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, he is! I just spilled something on my hair and had to do a quick rinse.” You tried to act like nothing happened, and nothing did, but it was apparently enough for your daughter’s genius brain to run ten different scenarios.

“Oh, okay— daddy! Can you watch cartoons with us, please?” Robby managed to catch her in time when she threw herself towards him, looking up at him with the same brown eyes he possessed.

“Yes, princess, I can,” he kissed her head, sitting back down on the couch before he grabbed your hand and pulled you down on the cushions gently, “Let’s see what you got there.”

He gave you an apologetic look when the kid settled against his chest, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles, humming when you kissed his shoulder in return, and laid your head there.

Tonight, though, there is no way you are letting your little angel get in the middle of your plans.

“What’s going on?” Robby walks out of his study, smiling when he finds you and his daughter packing a bunch of clothes and dolls, “Going on a trip without me?”

“A sleepover!” She grins, jogging back to her dolls to pick another one from them before she scrunches her face and runs to hug Robby’s legs, “I won’t go on a trip without you, daddy…”

“I know, baby,” he kneels in front of her, cupping her little face in his hands before he pecks her chubby cheek a few times until she is giggling and trying to push him away, “I’m just messing with you! Now, where are you going to have a sleepover?”

“At Aunt Dana’s! Mommy called her and asked if her daughter wanted to play, and she said yes!”

“How exciting!” He picks her up, slowly walking to you when you zip up her bag, smirking when you side eye him, knowing exactly what he is thinking about, “A sleepover? You? Since when?”

“Since today,” you hiss at him, picking up the brush from your daughter’s vanity with a few hair clips to do her hair, taking her from Robby before sitting her down on the chair in front of the mirror, watching as she kicks her feet in excitement, “It’s Dana and I trust her, so I thought why not!”

“Aha, okay,” he crosses his arms over his chest, looking at you when he tilts his head down, trying to hide the amusement in his tone, “And what are we going to do without our princess around?”

“Don’t have fun without me!”

“Oh, nothing is fun when you’re not around, babygirl.” You kiss the crown of her head, gently untangling the strands before you glance at Robby, “Us? Boring adult stuff, reading a book, cooking dinner, maybe watching a sad, boring movie.”

“It doesn’t sound fun,” your daughter beams when you are done with her hair, and you watch as she gasps and bolts out of the room when she hears the sound of the doorbell.

You know Robby wants to say something cheeky, so you pin him to his spot with a glare but it only spurs him on, the smirk turning into a cocky grin as he throws his hands up in the air, grabbing the pink bag on the floor to follow you out of the bedroom.

“Aunt Dana!”

“Hi, thank you for picking her up.” You hug Dana tightly, making sure she knows how much you appreciate her stepping up to have your little girl over for the night, “I’m sure they’re going to have so much fun.”

“They will. Don’t worry about anything, okay? Just worry about your man,” she winks at you, spotting Robby approaching the door with his daughter’s bag in hand, “Hey, Robby.”

“Hi, thank you for taking care of her, we owe you one,” he hands Dana the bag before he crouches down in front of the kid, hugging her one last time, “Be good for Aunt Dana, yeah?”

“I’m always good, Daddy!” She hugs him back, “I’ll call you when I’m not here so you won’t miss me a lot.”

“Okay, baby,” he chuckles, smooching her cheek before he sends her off to you, watching as you tickle her sides and kiss her head gently.

“See you tomorrow, little birdie.”

“See you, mommy!”

You both watch as Dana takes her hand and waves at you, walking into the elevator while she listens to your daughter’s ramblings about her day.

You sigh with relief, body already burning with unresolved sexual frustration, as you shut the door before turning around, finding Robby standing there with a curious smile, waiting for you to say something.

You don’t. Instead, you fist his t-shirt in your hands, yanking him down to meet your lips halfway, stumbling back to the nearest wall as he struggles to keep his weight up from crushing you.

You need him to crush you, you need to feel him all over you, on top of you, under you, in any position you can get him.

He braces himself by one palm on the wall and the other on your hip, lips tangled in a dance of dominance that has your mind swirling in desire. He tastes like his evening coffee and brownies you and your daughter made, a bittersweet flavor that is enough to make you moan wantonly.

“What’s going on, love?” He asks breathlessly, his forehead resting on yours, as the hand on the wall comes down to tilt up your head by grabbing your neck.

“It’s Mommy’s playtime with Daddy now.” Your hand goes to the nape of his neck, craning your neck to crash your lips into his once more, finally letting the noises you have been holding back for weeks pour out of you.

He groans back in reply, teeth clashing and tongues meeting in a battle of dominance which he wins immediately, pulling out a desperate whine from your throat.

He grabs the back of your thighs, large palms spread against the flesh as he picks you up like you weigh nothing, pressing himself to you as he holds you up against the wall with ease, making home between your legs.

You can feel his hardened length resting over your clothed sex, ready to be released and taken care of, and the idea excites you that he seems to be just as frustrated as you have been.

“You’re crazy,” he mumbles against your lips, carrying you to bed slowly while your lips travel down to his jaw, pressing kisses all over his beard, going lower with each nibble until you reach his neck and he digs his nails into your thighs as a warning, fearing he might drop you while making his way to the bedroom with you in hus arms, “Sending our daughter just so you can have your way with me? Real fucking crazy, wife.”

“Your mouth’s saying one thing,” you grind yourself down as best as possible, biting your lips as the bulge in his sweats rubs on the wet spot, “Your dick is saying another.”

“Keep talking and I’ll show you—“

You cut him off as soon as he lowers you on the bed, pushing him on his back on the mattress roughly with a hand on his chest, straddling him swiftly while he is in shock.

“No,” you place your heat right on top of the tent in his pants, hands bracing against his chest to keep him pinned down, “My turn to show you what happens when you don’t fuck me fast enough when our daughter isn��t paying attention.”

“What my princess wants, she gets—“

“Neglecting the queen has never been in the benefits of the kingdom, Michael,” you pull his shirt off, raking your nails on his exposed skin, caressing his pecs and soft grey hair dusting his chest, “I will fuck you tonight cause it seems you have forgotten how to do it.”

“Oh, so bitter,” he laughs, looking at you with a smug and playful expression, “Jealous of your own daughter? Baby, don’t be like that—fuck!”

You pull on his nipple, pinching the bud between your thumb and pointer finger. Now it is your time to get smug and move lower on his thighs, pulling his sweats down in one motion, watching as his cock bounces free.

“No underwear? Were you planning to get fucked, Daddy?” You ask, cocking your head to the side as you bring your palm to your mouth, spitting on it before grabbing a hold of his twitching member and stroking him.

“Fuck, that’s my line,” he throws his head back, hands moving to reach for you but you swat them away, tightening your hold around his dick as you go faster, watching how a few droplets of precum ooze out of the red tip.

“I don’t care,” you shake your head, stepping out of your pants and underwear quickly before moving back to crawl into Robby’s lap, “Not tonight at least.”

He doesn’t reply, he can’t when you are already lining him up with your soaked entrance, sitting down on him as he breaches past your walls, splitting you on his cock without even trying.

You shut your eyes, feeling so full and stuffed with how his thick cock opens up your cunt for him, sitting deep inside your core like he belongs there. He does.

You keep yourself up by your hands on his belly, beginning to circle your hips, moving them slowly and steadily. Finally, you’ve got him inside you, finally, you can come without any interruptions.

He seems to have the exact same thought with how fast his hands move to hold on your waist, lips parted, and eyes blown with lust as he helps you grind down on him. Robby enjoys how your weight pins him down; he can easily overpower you, but he has needed this for too long not to enjoy the sight of you taking what you want from him.

You ride him vigorously, nails digging into his skin and thighs aching from the stretch around his wide hip bones while bouncing on him with your eyes glued to his flushed face.

You have never seen a man so beautiful like him, so tantalizing that makes you turn into a feral woman, feisty and pathetic with how much desire he awakens in you — that’s why you have a child, maybe another won’t hurt.

“C’mere—“ he groans, noticing how you got lost in your head before he grabs the back of your neck and tugs you down, laying you flat on top of him, “It’s daddy’s playtime again.”

You can only wail out his name as you hide your face in the crook of his neck when he plants his feet on the ground, making sure his hips are secured on the edge of the bed before he starts thrusting into your puffy cunt with abandon.

Fisting the sheets as hard as he is groping your ass, your eyes roll to the back of your skull when one of his hands goes to your waist to keep you in place, hammering his cock in a pace that he knows makes you gush around him.

And you do; you come with a choked moan, biting his shoulder hard enough to leave your teeth marks while your cunt spasms around him, waves of euphoria going straight to your core.

He isn’t too far behind, his thighs tremble, balls tightening before he goes numb under you; head thrown back, deep throaty groans falling from his lips as his cock twitches inside you, spurting his cum deep into your cunt.

Breathlessly, you start kissing a line from his neck to his throat, sucking a mark right over his Thyroid, high enough for the entire world to see.

You can feel the tension leaving your body as you bask in the warmth of Robby’s body, the thumping of his heart right under your ear as you both try to calm down from the shocks of your orgasms.

“I hate you for not wanting to do quickies,” you say, running your hand through his sweaty hair, snickering when he playfully slaps your ass.

“Not my style,” he shrugs, smiling down at you, hissing when you sit up with his soft cock still inside you — even when he is soft, you feel so full — and he caresses your bare stomach, “Although this wasn’t a romantic love making either.”

“Just wanted to call you out for your hypocrisy, thank you for being self aware, daddy,” you pinch his arm playfully, “Can’t believe I sent her to her first sleepover just so I can fuck her dad, wow.”

“You mean your husband,” he sits up with you still naked on top of him, chest flushed against yours, “Besides, kid’s gotta learn how to be independent.”

“Right, at the ripe age of five,” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder, “I mean, yeah? But.. I don’t know, dude, I know it’s Dana—“

“Did you— what the fuck did you call me?” He pulls your head back by grabbing your neck, forcing you to look into his widened eyes and a shocked smile on his lips, “You’re in trouble, young lady.”

He flips you over, making you squeal when he nudges you upper on the bed before crawling over you, holding himself up by his forearms next to your head.

“You’re a fifty-something-year-old dude, I doubt you can get it up again.”

“Fortunately I’m not like other dudes, wife,” he slowly inches lower, kissing a path from your chin to your stomach, “I might need some time to ‘get it up’ as you so rudely put it, but I’ve got a mouth and ambitions to keep you up all night.”

And oh, did it sound so delightful to hear the words you have been craving for weeks.

#dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch smut #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby smut #dr robby x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt smut

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criminalyapping · 25 days ago

Text

due for trouble | stay the night

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: here i am back for part 2. this is shameless, filthy smut - enjoy!

my ancient laptop sometimes types multiples of letters when i hit it once which is so annoying, but if you notice any repeated letters or spaces please let me know; i do my best to take them out but there's a lot so they'll slip through the cracks

warnings: SMUUUUUT (mdni!!), age gap (reader is implied mid-20's, jack late 40's early 50's), language, unplanned pregnancy

<< part 1 | part 3 >>

You cannot believe it. Absolutely not, nope, not in a million years.

You're a big girl, with a big girl job and big girl sensibilities and there is no way that this is happening.

Forget about the fact that your period tracking app is lit up in red text and that suddenly the smell of your bathroom sink (and every sink you've encountered for the last couple of days) leaves you gagging.

You've been doing a stand-up job at denial.

You're in denial as you leave the grocery store, arms laden with your next weeks' worth of food; if a pregnancy test somehow found its way into your basket and through the self-check, it wasn't your doing. You're in denial as unpack the groceries, leaving the test on your bathroom counter and drinking a big glass of water. You're in denial as you wash your hands and set a timer on your phone for three minutes. You're in denial as you send a text to the hot doctor you've been casually seeing (re: sleeping with) as the seconds tick lower.

Not bringing this up to him, absolutely not. You're paranoid, you're overreacting, and you tell him that you're putting away your groceries with absolutely nothing else interesting going on.

The denial starts to fade as you reenter your bathroom and see two lines staring you in the face like they haven't just changed your life.

You stomp your foot childishly, glaring at your face staring back at you in the mirror.

"Idiot," you spit, pointing at your reflection.

About two months ago, you had been out with friends, drinking and dancing as you try to do with them at least twice a year.

"More?" you ask the group, holding up your empty glass. The happy, glazed eyes around you widen and nod.

"My turn, be right back!" you smile. As you approach the bar, you set your empty glass down and lean against your arm to wait for a bartender.

You glance to behind you, to the man sitting at the bar. He's playing block blast on his phone, not paying attention to the goings on around him. Not one to ever bite your tongue, you have to say something.

"Why come to a bar to sit and play on your phone?" you ask, voice loud over the music.

The man, who is noticably older but muscled to high heaven and very attractive, jerks his head up as you interrput. His eyes skim over your face, then back down at his phone, which he locks and places face down on the bar. He turns his body, now fully facing you.

"Why've you gotta question a man who justs wants to play some phone games in peace?" he asks teasingly.

"Peace? You call this peaceful?" you quip, waving your hand around the bar.

The corners of his lips curl up into a smirk.

"Well, when you work in an emergency room, this," he says, returning your gesture, "sure seems peaceful."

"Hmmm, an adrenaline junkie, then." you state.

"You said it, not me." he smiles.

"Wouldn't, I don't know, your own house be a bit more peaceful?" you ask teasingly.

"Well, I wouldn't get opportunities like this if I was at home, would I?"

This man is matching your energy so well, and it's thrilling.

You're opening your mouth, about to respond, when the bartender arrives asking for your order.

You turn, giving your full attention and remember your friends' drinks.

"Can I please have a vodka diet, a tequila lemonade, an espresso martini, and a vodka soda with lime, and well is good for all of them." you request, holding out your card.

The bartender nods, turning away to begin making them.

"Those all for you, sweetheart?" the man asks, your attention being pulled back to him.

Fuck yes, he's flirting with you.

"Yeah," you joke. "I hold two in each hand and take turns on them."

He laughs, a deep chuckle coming from his chest that is so sexy you're melting.

"They're for my friends," you clarify with a smile.

"I figured," he laughs.

"So, Mr. Hot Doctor," you flirt back, "do you really just sit here after work playing on your phone and waiting for people to chat you up?" you ask.

He grins, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, which inevitably draws your eyes to his bicep. He definitely picks up on it, his face quickly morphing into a prideful look.

"It's Jack," he says, "and yes, really."

"Craz-y," you sing-song, "most days it's about all I can do to crawl home and into bed after work."

"And what is it that you do?" he asks. The bartender returns with your drinks and the card, which you slip into your purse. You gather up the drinks, two in each hand, and send Jack a wink.

"Nothing as interesting as you, that's for sure."

You turn around and walk back towards your friends, weaving between bar-goers.

"And who the fuck is that?!" your friends chorus as you return, handing off drinks carefully.

"His name is Jack," you smile.

"And you just left him there?!" Jiya asks, taking a gulp of her vodka soda.

"I'll go back," you assure, "I'm just leaving him wanting more," you giggle.

And go back you do, as you see him standing up from his stool, throwing a look across the bar as he throws down some cash. Looking for you, if you do say so yourself.

You meet his eye, holding up a finger as you place your drink in your friends hand and walk towards him.

"Leaving so soon?" you say with a pout on your lips as you stand in front of him.

"I'm an old man, honey," he smirks, "I need my rest." he jokes.

"Well," you start, pulling out your phone, "here's what you're gonna do. You put your number in my phone, and I'll text you. You let me know when you get home, and when me and my friends call it a night, I'll text you. If you're still awake, old man, you can invite me over and there's a good chance I'll come."

A surprised expression slides across Jack's face before it's replaced with a heated stare. He wordlessly takes the phone from your outstretched hand and types in his number.

He still has your phone in his hand as he takes a step closer, crowding into your space, and wraps a burly arm around your waist, your phone pressing into the small of your back.

"I'm old enough to be your father," he murmurs.

"Ew, don't talk about my father!" you gripe, grasping the firm bicep of the arm around your waist.

"But I-" Jack starts, only to be interrputed.

"I really don't give a shit," you roll your eyes, "do you?" you ask the man in front of you.

Jack looks down at you in his arms. The big eyes looking up at him, the expanse of skin of your legs shown below the hem of your shorts. Smooth and inviting; Jack is desperate to get his hands on you.

"No," he smirks, "no, I really don't."

"Good," you tell grasping the back of his neck and pulling him forward into a hot, messy kiss. He returns the kiss with enthusiasm, his tongue running along your lower lip before plunging into your mouth, muffling the noise of surprise you make.

He peels himself away from your mouth with a groan, licking his lips. He slides your phone into your back pocket, leaving his hand there.

"I'll see you later," he promises.

"Yeah, you will," you smile.

And so, about two hours later, you're in an unfamiliar apartment that you ubered to after leaving the bar.

"Fuck, baby," Jack groans, his words muffled from his position between your thighs. His hot tongue resumes it's mission, licking over you as your legs shake. He moves the hand that was bracing itself on his bed to behind your knee, pushing it up and away from him and opening you up to his ministrations even more.

You're a moaning, quivering mess with your hands grasping at his sheets by your head. You're completely undressed, with your clothes leaving a trail from his front door to his bedroom, and this man still has all of his clothes on. You hazard a look down, where his eyes stare into yours. As his tongue moves up, you're surprised by the stretch of two fingers entering you, causing your mouth to drop open in a moan as you fling your head back.

He pulls his face out from between your legs, raising up to be seated on his heels as his fingers continue pumping in and out of you. He leans over top of you, moving slowly and staring at your slack-jawed expression.

"Yeah, that feels good, huh?" he teases, his hand moving faster.

"Uh huh," you agree breathily, looking at him on top of you.

"Now," he starts, "you're going to come, and then I'll go find a condom so I can fuck you just like you want, honey," he promises, his voice dripping with want.

He drops his head into your space, running his stubble across your cheek and down your neck as he plants wet, open mouthed kisses there.

"You want that, huh?" he teasingly asks, "It's all yours, sweet thing, just come for me," he promises.

With his voice in your ear, and his hand working double time between your legs, you fall headfirst into the most intense orgasm you've had in a while.

You whine out breathy pants as your whole body tenses, and Jack swallows them up as he presses his open mouth to yours.

"Yeah," he coos around your bottom lip, "just like that," he praises.

His fingers slow as the aftershocks set in, your legs twitching. He pulls his fingers out of your sopping core and puts them straight in his mouth.

He shifts, sitting up and patting the outside of your thigh, his fingers leaving a wet trail wherever they go.

"You stay just like this," he instructs, "and I'll be right back."

Jack stands up and walks out of his bedroom, and you get to work on catching your breath.

"Shit," you whisper to yourself. You think about how you should have been going for older guys, if this is what they're capable of.

Jack returns, shirtless, and tosses a wrapped condom onto your bare stomach. He gets back on the bed, in between your still spread legs, and leans down to kiss you. Your hands find their home running across his chest and back, pulling him down slightly to press against you. He resists though, and you find yourself thrilled at just how strong this man is. He pulls back from the kiss and starts talking again.

"So, I have a prosthetic leg that you're about to see, I didn't want you to be surprised." he says.

"Okay," you smile up at him dreamily.

"Okay, sweetheart," he whispers, loving the swift turnaround from the confident, assertive girl he met to this. Guard down, completely at his mercy, and appearing to revel in every second of it.

You watch as stands, looking down at you as he unzips and lowers his jeans. They get caught for a second on his prosthetic, but your wide, dreamy eyes never leave his face. His boxers follow and he hisses as he wraps a hand around himself and strokes a few times. Your eyes do leave his face then, and comically widen as you take him in.

He crawls back onto the bed, and finally presses the length of his body to yours, pressing you down into the mattress as he catches your mouth with his.

You feel him, hard and insistent, against your stomach as he returns to licking and sucking at the soft skin of your neck.

You whine, wanting more of him.

He chuckles, pulling back slightly, enough to grab the condom that was trapped between you.

"You're alright, baby," he coos, ripping open the package and rolling it on. "Just a second," he assures.

His arm comes down, bracing himself right over your head so that your faces are millimeters apart. He takes himself in his other hand and runs his tip over you. He gently smacks it on your clit, causing you to give a full body twitch and a whine.

"Hey, look at me, open your eyes," he urges. You open your eyes, not even realizing you had closed them.

You can feel him lining himself up and starting to push himself in. Your eyes grow even wider, and your mouth opens in a silent gasp. You're staring up at him, starry eyes glued to his as he slips all the way in, his pelvis pressing up against yours.

He starts moving slowly, pulling out and pressing back in in measured, gentle thrusts.

Your breathing picks up, choppy and uneven breaths leaving your mouth.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmurs as the hand bracing him slides down and under your head, grasping the back of your neck firmly.

As his hips start to speed up, he becomes firmer in his thrusts which you can now feel in the deepest parts of you, pummelling your insides in a way that feels so indescribably good. He pulls his head away from you laying one hand on your lower stomach and pressing down slightly, the other hoisting your leg up and out, opening you up to him.

"I've got you, baby," he smirks through his labored breathing, looking down at you writhing under him. Your hands clench and unclench repeatedly, your body and brain overwhelmed with the feel of him moving inside you.

All at once, he slows down and pulls himself out of you, causing you to let out a whine of displeasure.

He chuckles, grabbing your hips and twisting gently as a suggestion.

"Turn over for me," he requests. You throw yourself onto your front, desperate to do exactly as he says. Your knees come up, propping yourself open for him, your neck turned to the side and face pressed into his pillow.

He shoves himself back in roughly and sets a fast, relentless pace.

"Fuck!" you squeal, hands grappling for stability.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you squeeze out as he pounds into you.

Jack's hands are tight around your hips, squeezing hard and reveling in the feel of you. Graphic slapping sounds resonate through the room as his hips meet yours.

"Oh, fuck," Jack murmurs, one of the hands on your hips slipping down in between your legs. His fingers swirl through the wetness there before settling on your clit and runninng fast circles over it.

You jerk away from the sudden onslaught of sensations, but his firm hands follow every twitch of your hips, not letting up for a second. You're mindlessly babbling and a line of drool has pooled on the pillow underneath your head.

"Why don't you come for me, baby, I know you want it," Jack spews from his filthy mouth, "I want it too, I want it so bad, honey, I want to feel you," he urges.

You would have made it there without his prompting, but his low tone and demanding voice get you there even faster. You're a moaning, incomprehensible mess as every muscle in your body tenses, your orgasm running through you like you just drank boiling water. Your hearing gets muffled as you choke out one final long, drawn out sound.

Three more thrusts and Jack is pressing into you even deeper, which you didn't think was possible, choking on his own sounds and grasping at your body harder than you think he means to.

You both still, breathing hard and chests pounding. You speak first, into the humidity of his bedroom.

"Jesus, that was good," you laugh.

"Took the words right out of my mouth." Jack agrees.

You hiss as Jack slowly pulls himself out of you. You move your aching hips to lay on your front, still catching your breath. After a moment, Jack rubs across your back soothingly, laying down next to you.

"I don't wanna move," you whine pitifully, not looking forward to putting your clothes back on and an awkward uber ride home.

"I'm taking that as a compliment." Jack says. You can't see his face from this angle but you know there's a self-satisfied grin on his face. You flip him off behind your back.

"There's my spitfire," Jack chuckles fondly.

To distract yourself from the flaming red of your cheeks at his statement, you haul youself up from his bed and walk to his bathroom, shutting the door behind you. A few moments later, you open the door halfway and call out to him.

"Can you bring me my clothes, please?" you request.

"You really want to put those back on?" he calls back to you. "You looked amazing, but they don't look particularly comfortable."

"They're all I have, jackass." you remind him.

"I've got ya," he says, quietly, followed by the sounds of him rummaging around. He opens the bathroom door further, holding out a handful of clothes to you.

"Thank you," you say, quickly putting on the shirt and boxers he's handed you.

This is your least favorite part, the awkward shuffle around picking up your things as you try to leave as fast as you can, lest the awkwardness set in. You exit the bathroom and see Jack reclined on his bed, looking at his phone. You step towards the door, but Jack calls out to you.

"Come here," he pleads. You pad over to the side of his bed. Jack grasps your hand and pulls you down, so that you're laying on top of him.

"Where are you heading off to, huh?" he asks into your hair.

"I was gonna get my stuff and get an uber home." you explain.

Jack hums, tightening his arms around you.

"You can do that," he agrees, "or you can get in bed, whatever you want." he says earnestly.

You consider his warm arms around you, his soothing tone, and how cold you would be if you got up.

"I want to get in bed," you murmur, slightly embarrased.

"Alright," he agrees, arms coming around you as he stands, holding you up under the butt as he throws back his blankets.

He sets you back down and crawls in next to you.

"I'll even take the wet spot," he says with a grin.

You groan in embarrasment into his pillow as his arms circle around you, pulling you into him.

#the pitt #the pitt imagine #jack abbot x female reader #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot

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lokisswiftie · 4 months ago

Text

Worship

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: Spencer’s never been one for religion, but with his head between your thighs he finds a solace he’s never known.

Warnings: Smut!!, Sort of Switch!Spencer?, written with s2 Spencer in mind, Oral (F receiving), vague shitty religious metaphors, Spencer being an absolutely pussy whipped

A/N: guess who’s back with more smuuuuut. It’s me. This one came spilling from my hands faster than you can believe, so enjoy. As always, requests are open!

__________________________________________

Spencer’s face buried between your thighs is the closest thing you have to heaven.

Since the first time he offered to eat you out, having Spencer use his mouth on you like this has become one of your favourite things. It happened when you’d come home from a horrible day at work, and you were being snippy with him. It wasn’t personal, Spencer knew that- but frustration was a curse.

He intended to take it away- and take it away he did. Dropping to his knees in front of you that day with an offer you couldn’t deny. Spencer knew just how to steal your breath- and your worries- away with just his mouth. He pulled you from your low mood to a high that breached the heavens.

The sight of him with those beautiful brown eyes fixed on you, while he latches his mouth onto your sensitive clit is divine. The way your slick drips down his face afterwards has got to be holy, you decide. You felt guilty once, for him to give you so much pleasure like this- but that worry was quickly replaced in your mind by Spencer’s wonderful tongue pressing inside of your aching cunt.

As for Spencer, well he was hooked the moment he tasted you on his tongue. Despite having offered this to you, he never expected to enjoy eating you out as much as he did. In fact, the first time you came from just his mouth, it took him a moment to realise that it had caused his own orgasm. The wet patch on his boxers afterwards had prompted shy laughter from your lips, which soon dissipated into moans.

The only issue with his new found obsession? He craves your taste constantly. For a man whose mind is capable of incredible things, recently he finds it’s almost always focused on your cunt. The amount of painful boners he’s been forced to suffer through in silence at work are pathetic, but he can’t seem to care. Not when your cunt is waiting for him when he gets home, wet and aching for him like always.

Like today, when a day at work was filled with just files- one of the rare times that the BAU wasn’t on a case. Sure, it was a relief to most to be getting the rest but for Spencer, hours of focusing on files was causing his mind to drift. At some point he found himself zoning out staring at a file, thinking about you on his tongue. It took someone coughing nearby to snap him out of his fantasies about you, and he reluctantly returned to his files.

At the end of the work day, Spencer practically races home to your apartment and he doesn’t bother feeling embarrassed at how desperate he is when you open the door to him.

“Spencer!-“

His name just makes it out of your mouth, before Spencer’s locking his lips with yours in a desperate kiss. It feels to him like all the weight has been taken off his shoulders. You moan into the messy kiss and he steps into the apartment, guiding you further back and closing the door behind him without breaking the kiss. When you finally Part from him so you can get air into your lungs, Spencer’s needy whimper pulls a laugh from you.

“Well, hello there-“

You say breathlessly, your hands coming to push his blazer off of his shoulders. You expect this to move to the bedroom, and you're shocked when Spencer drops to his knees in front of you. You lock eyes with his pupils, dilated and needy. Drawing your bottom lip into your mouth while he gently places his hands on your hips over your sleep shorts.

“Can I?-“

“Please.”

You can’t confirm fast enough and Spencer’s grin does nothing to hide the ravenous look in his eyes. He gently removes them, and when the shorts and panties are discarded he guides your leg over his shoulder. Your breaths are coming in short puffs, chest heaving at the sight of him staring between your legs.

“God-“

He groans, and he can’t stop himself from connecting his lips with the skin of your inner thigh. He feels like a worshipper before some great deity. As his lips Rest next to your wet core, he decides you may be the only thing he’d worship like this. You watch as Spencer licks a long stripe up your cunt, collecting the wetness for himself with a pathetic moan.

“Spencer!-“

You whimper his name, your hand coming to grasp ahold of his chocolate curls and gently direct him closer. He happily complies, and in an instant he’s leaving wet kisses on your clit. You don’t think you can possibly get more aroused with Spencer’s tongue flicking over your sensitive bud- but you look down and find yourself proven wrong. Spencer’s mouth is soaked in your juices and his eyes are closed like he’s lost in the moment. This is his heaven, you’re sure of it.

Soon, Spencer can’t take it anymore and his hand comes down to palm at his hard length through his slacks. He moans into you and presses his tongue against your dripping hole. He can feel the pulse of your heartbeat against the tip of his tongue as it moves in circles over your clit. The moans he pulls from you are almost definitely heard by your neighbours- but neither of you care.

“Oh god- oh god Spencer I’m gonna come!-“

You whine out, your head lolling back against the wall with a dull thump. Motivated by your proclamation, Spencer intensifies his movements. His mouth is working overdrive, dipping into your hole and swirling in tight circles around your clit. When Spencer looks up at you and captures the look of pure ecstasy on your face, he has to refrain from going slack jawed at the sight. He’s pulled back to Earth when you come with a cry over his mouth.

It soaks the bottom of his face, and your legs tremble so hard he has to hold you up. The sight is so beautiful to him, and the way you moan out his name has Spencer coming in his pants not long after you. He moans against you, and it fades into pathetic whimpers as your hand grips his hair.

When you both come down from your highs, Spencer clumsily places your foot back on the ground. You look down at him, with his face resting on your thigh and a smile like the sun on his lips… that, and copious amounts of your come on his mouth.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff

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savemefromanepicoftimewasted · 3 months ago

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Forgive me father, for I have sinned

Matt Murdock X F!Reader

He needed to get to you, to make sure that no one had managed to lay even a single finger on your head. The sound of his steps was nearly silent as he lunged over the side, dropping down harshly onto the fire escape. Breath foggy, a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing everything tonight.

A/n: hello! It’s been a while since I’ve posted, and it’s been even longer since it’s been a marvel fic, this is just Matt being a slut if I’m honest

Warnings: smuuuuut, mentions of bodily injuries, mentions of blood, mentions of death

The wind was sharp, the cold stinging the open cuts that seemed to multiply as he stood atop the building. His heart was still beating, for now.

Lips pulled back into a snarl, fingers digging into the metal of the stairway, he vaulted over, pulling himself higher until he reached his apartment. He stopped, listening closely for your heartbeat.

Thump…thump…thump.

You were sound asleep, soft breaths echoing inside his bedroom as you slowly rolled over. You didn’t need to see him like this, like a monster.

It didn’t matter how often you rebuked that statement, claimed he was better than he’d ever seen himself. Daredevil was a monster inside and out, a way to express himself without causing harm to those he loved most. After he’d lost Foggy, things were blurry, as if he was remembering everything through a thick veil. Nothing made sense anymore, a reminder of how quickly things could be ripped from his hands.

Karen left not long after the funeral, stating she couldn’t stay in the same place he’d been murdered. Matt hadn’t left his apartment during those few weeks, his hands still stained with his best friend's blood. Sure, Dex might be behind bars for the remainder of his life, but it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

He opened the door slowly, his attention focused solely on you as the latch shut with a soft click. Your breathing hadn’t so much as shifted, letting him know he could head down without worry.

You’d nearly killed someone tonight, someone that has a family they go home to.

Matt’s heart slammed into his chest as he grabbed onto the handrail, heel nearly slipping out from underneath.

“No, he,” Matt cleared his throat, the skin of his knuckles breaking open once more as he struggled to compose himself.

Does she know what you do at night? How do you attempt to save the city by nearly killing people? Innocent lives will be lost by your hands.

“No!” Matt reached up, harshly yanking off the mask that kept his identity hidden from the rest of the world.

The air stilled as the cool air of the apartment began to brush over his heated skin, the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead in the moonlight. The red lenses of his helmet dimly, the mask held loosely in his hands, fingers curled ever so slightly.

How could he ever begin to believe that, even for a moment, he wasn’t the true monster of the world? His sins spreading far and wide, the inky blackness that slowly corrupted him sinking into those he cared for most. Foggy had already been ripped from his hands, the reminder that he couldn’t be by his side as he took his last breath, his final heartbeat echoing in Matt’s mind. Was he a monster for trying to keep the city streets safe? Or was he no better than the men he was going after?

“I’m nothing like them,” his steps were silent as he reached the base floor, movements fluid as he stepped over to the chest that normally hid his suit.

He halted in his haste to strip down as you shifted in bed, the sound of the silk sheets rubbing against your soft skin, a breathy sigh slipping through your lips.

His blood burned hotter in his veins, hands nearly ripping the suit off in his haste to shove it, none to kindly, into the case. The only sound he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, the blood rushing like rapid waters.

Her skin will be tainted with your sins, Matthew, are you ready to damn her as well? To bring her to hell alongside you to burn for eternity?

Matt growled low in his chest, hands clenched into fists as he stood nearly naked before the chest. His body littered with bruises that would heal before he could begin to worry about them. Feet turning towards the bedroom, his heart raced as he slowed the closer he got to the bed.

Fingertips traced over the soft material, calluses catching ever so slightly on the barely frayed edges. Your breath was slow, heart beating slow and steady. An angel lying before him.

“My darling,” his voice was soft as he gripped onto the blanket covering your body, slowly sliding it away until you were bared before the world.

Though he couldn’t see your body properly, Matt knew you looked ethereal bathed in the soft moonlight. Breath catching in his throat, his brow furrowed as he realized you’d gone to bed nude, the taste of your arousal thick in the air.

Swallowing thickly he slowly crawled onto the bed, listening intently for any change in your heartbeat. Hands pried open your thighs further, his lips trailing soft kisses along your smooth skin. Teeth sinking into the supple flesh of your thighs.

Your head twisted around on the pillow, thighs pressing against his ears as you attempted to both escape, and relish in the sensations. His tongue lapped at the mark, groaning low in his throat as he trailed the appendage closer to your soaked core.

Fuck, he’s never smelt something so divine in his life.

His eyes slipped closed as his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, suckling gently. Your essence coated his tongue like the sweetest candy, a delicious treat he’d gladly let himself drown in if you’d let him. His palms slid up to press against your belly, pressing your body into the mattress before sliding up to your chest.

Your legs squeezed tighter, eyes flicking back and forth behind your closed lids. Matt never left you unsatisfied, it was egregious that anyone ever dared utter the words around him. His tongue trailed down to your slick entrance, sliding in and curling up towards your g-spot.

Though your eyes remained closed, Matt could feel the way your cunt tightened around his tongue, your orgasm soaking his mouth and chin. He palmed your chest gently, thumbs sliding over your nipples as he felt the skin tighten beneath his touch. He pressed closer, sliding his tongue back up to your overly sensitive clit, practically able to feel your heartbeat through it.

Subconsciously he began to utter prayers, tongue and lips assaulting your clit. Your thighs clamped around his head harshly, an intense scream ripping free from your chest, your eyes flying open as you looked down at Matt.

“Fuck, baby,” your thighs shook as you ran a hand through his hair, gently gripping the soft strands as he ate you out as if it were his final meal.

It was almost as if Matt was deafened by everything surrounding him, his hands squeezing your chest as he lapped his tongue harder against your clit. Your eyes rolled back as a second orgasm washed over you, hands pulling harshly.

“Baby, please,” you could hardly catch your breath, heart racing as you tried to come down from the intense climax of your second orgasm.

Normally Matt would never push you past your limit, he loved you too much to ever hurt you. However, tonight was nothing like normal. His palms slid from your chest, your nipples sore and aching as he grabbed the fat of your thighs and ass, pushing you closer to his face as he rolled onto his back. Your eyes flew open as you realized exactly what he’d wanted.

“Jesus,” your voice was barely above a whisper, hips grinding down against his mouth.

Matt gripped your thighs harder, moaning against your skin as your essence dripped down onto his jaw. His cock strained against the tight fabric of his briefs, the tip leaking as he drank you in. His hands traced up your spine, pushing your body forward so his nose grazed your clit.

Your head dropped between your shoulders as you came for a third time, tears dripping down your cheeks as you struggled to keep yourself upright.

“Matty,” you gripped the headboard, carefully pulling yourself up and off before plopping down onto the bed.

His eyes were closed in bliss, chest rising and falling harshly as he licked his lips of your taste. Arousal flooded your body as you watched him, ignoring how battered his body was, again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you,” Matt let his eyes open slowly, looking over in your general area.

“Trust me, that was an amazing wake up call,” you’d finally managed to catch your breath, a soft laugh slipping out.

He couldn’t help but smile, eyes crinkling as he reached up to gently graze his fingers over your thigh. You’d never seen him look so beautiful before.

“However, it looks like you need some help,” you scooted down the bed, hooking your fingers into the fabric of his briefs before pulling them down and off.

His cock slapped against his stomach with a wet slap, precum seeping into the thick hair on his stomach. The skin was nearly purple, hot to the touch as you gently stroked him.

“Fu-fuck!” His back arched off the bed, hands gripping onto the sheets as he did his best not to cum right then and there.

You cooed softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of his throat, lips trailing down his chest and stomach before reaching the tip of his cock. Taking him fully in hand, you wrapped your lips around him, giving gently kitten licks as you kept your eyes on him.

Matt couldn’t contain the guttural moans that echoed inside the bedroom, hands blindly searching for you as his hand tangled in your hair. You immediately pulled off his cock, squeezing the base as a warning.

“You’re going to behave and keep your hands to yourself, do I make myself clear?” You reached back with your free hand, untangling his hand from your hair.

One thing no one would ever expect to find out, is that Matthew Murdock, is an absolute sub.

“Yes miss,” Matt’s throat felt tight as you began to take control, laying his hands down onto the sheets.

You watched him for a moment to ensure he wouldn’t pull another stunt as he just had, leaning down to take him back into your mouth once more. He could hardly focus on anything other than how your tongue felt tracing over the underside of his cock. The air felt thick, drowning the both of you as Matt tried to focus on not cumming. You pulled off with a smirk, fingers sliding down to gently cup and squeeze his balls.

“You’re doing so good for me, bet you wanna cum, huh?” Your tone was condescending, teasing in a way that riled Matt up intensely.

He nodded hastily, eyes squeezed shut as his body shook from head to toe.

“Please,” his breath caught in his throat as your hand wrapped around his cock once more, pumping quickly.

Before he could utter a single word, even a warning, he was cumming over your hand, cock throbbing intensely as he whimpered.

“Look at that, such a good boy for me,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your hand continued to stroke his cock.

Matt felt his breathing pick-up as the intensity of his orgasm began to slow, the overstimulation setting in. His lips parted to bed for a reprieve, to beg you to stop if for even just a moment.

“C’mon, I know you’ve got one more in you,” you giggled, letting his cock lie against his stomach as you straddled his lap. He hadn’t even softened in the slightest.

His hands slid to your thighs, thighs shaking as you dragged your soak cunt along the underside of his cock.

“Baby, fuck, baby please,” Matt was ready to plead, to pray to any god that would listen if it meant sinking in to your heat.

You ignored him, hands pressed against his chest as you rocked your hips slower, the tip of his cock pressing harder against his stomach each time. To anyone eavesdropping it would be obvious what was happening, a man having what could only be considered the most intense orgasm of his life.

“I’m not stopping until I am done, do I make myself clear?” You pushed yourself up onto your knees, taking his cock in hand as you slowly sank down onto him.

“Ye-yes, ma’am,” Matt nearly went cross eyed as your heat enveloped him, jaw slack as he sighed happily.

Your movements were slow, deliberate in a sense as you took his hands off your thighs, sliding them up to your chest. Matt wasted no time in pinching and squeezing your nipples, thumbs rolling over the skin.

“So beautiful,” Matt could write sonnets about how beautiful he found you, fingers tracing gently over your skin as he quickly pushed himself up, pulling your bodies flush together.

“I love you,” you pressed your foreheads together, panting softly against his skin as you rocked your hips faster, his cock gliding deliciously against your tight walls.

“I love you too,” Matt leaned up, pressing a kiss to your lips, arms wrapping around your waist as he fucked up into you.

You dug your nails into his shoulder with a loud cry, moaning against his mouth as you struggled to keep up with his intensity. He cupped your jaw, pressing kisses along the skin as he chased your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him.

“Let go for me, come all over my cock sweetheart,” Matt gently nipped at your neck, slamming his cock in once, twice, thrice before you came all over his cock, your body locking up as Matt’s eyes squeezed shut once more, his hot cum filling your sore pussy.

He slowed his thrusts before stilling completely, your bodies still fully connected as he pulled away from your throat.

“Are you okay?” Matt pressed kisses all over your face, the fear that he could’ve hurt you in any way tearing at his soul.

“I’m doing fantastic, might not have feeling in my legs right now,” you laughed against his hair, fingers gently caressing the indents from your nails.

He carefully laid you down, pulling out slowly before making his way into the bathroom to get a damp washcloth. You watched as he came back into the bedroom, body covered in a light sheen of sweat as well as cum sticking in the hair covering his chest and stomach.

“Just warn me if I’m too rough, okay?” Matt had always been gentle when it came to aftercare, even if you didn’t have such intense sex.

The cloth was warm as it pressed to your core, cleaning up your mixed fluids. Normally he’d toss the cloth into the hamper to be dealt with later, instead he folded it over, cleaning off the inside of your thighs slowly, meticulously.

“Don’t forget yourself,” your eyes trailed down his chest slowly, even when you were on the brink of exhaustion you couldn’t get enough of him.

“I was thinking a shower would do us some good, if you’d be okay with that,” Matt leaned up, tossing the washcloth into the hamper before sitting on the bed beside your hip.

You mulled it over in your mind for a brief moment, could you even handle standing up long enough to get clean? Then again a shower would actually get you clean.

“Yeah, let’s take a shower,” you sat up slowly, not wanting to worry Matt by making yourself dizzy.

Matt stood up, lifting you up bridal style before heading into the bathroom. The room wasn’t that big, especially not for two people to fit comfortably. Carefully setting you down onto the sink he turned back towards the shower, turning it on and stepping back to let it heat up.

“Be more careful next time, okay?” You traced your fingers along his spine, the fresh bruising more obvious in the dim lighting.

“I’ll try, I promise,” Matt turned to face you, hands pressed on the sink on either side of you.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, lips moving languidly with his own as your chests pressed flush together. The taste of yourself lingered faintly on his mouth, your skin heating up at the recent memory.

As the room began to fill with steam Matt pulled from the kiss, his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifted you up.

“Shall we?” His lips pulled into a smirk as he stepped into the small shower, slowly setting you down.

“My, my Mr Murdock,” you giggled, resting your hands against his chest as the water glided over your skin.

Matt didn’t let his hands stray far, fingers tracing over every dip and curve that he could reach. Your own hands traced along his chest.

Soft words were whispered between the pair as Matt carefully washed your hair, fingers scratching at your scalp as you did your best to keep your eyes open.

God damn that man and his amazing hands.

He didn’t so much as let you lift a finger as he scrubbed your body from head to toe, being more gentle on any areas that could be sore from earlier. Never protesting as you grabbed his own soap, scrubbing down his body with a bright smile.

Matt felt his chest tighten as you turned to rinse off the loofah, your back pressed against him. He’d never thought he’d have something so domestic, so loving.

“Marry me,” the words slipped out before he could stop them, his heart pounding in his chest.

Your hands stopped altogether as you looked up at him from over your shoulder, eyes wide.

“Really?” Could this be a joke? A slip of the tongue, and Matt hadn’t realized his mistake yet?

“Yes, I have a ring hidden away, I know I’m asking you in the most unconventional way possible, but I want to marry you,” Matt listened to your heartbeat, hearing how it beat harshly behind your ribs.

You waited for a moment, gathering your thoughts as tears welled up into your eyes, a bright smile pulling up your lips.

“Yes!” You didn’t waste a second, turning to face him as you threw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Matt was stunned for a brief moment, mind slowly catching up that you’d said yes! His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you in tight, kissing you back hastily. You’d actually said yes to marrying him, the woman he couldn’t believe at times had chosen him.

“I fucking love you,” he pulled free from the kiss, hands squeezing your soft flesh.

“I love you too,” you laughed through a sob, tears mixing with the water from the shower head.

He reached back, shutting off the water so that you could both get out and head back to your bedroom.

He scrubbed your body town with a towel, hands moving faster than you’d seen them before. Your giggles echoing in the small bathroom as you watched him. Matt smiled as he wrapped you in the towel, wrapping one around his own waist.

“Go sit, I have to get the ring,” Matt patted your ass gently, making his way out to the chest he’d hastily shoved his suit into earlier.

This night he was more than thankful you never pried into his lifestyle as Daredevil, you would’ve found the ring months ago, ruining the surprise. Grabbing the small box he held it tightly in his hand, making his way back to the bedroom.

You had somehow managed to change the sheets while Matt was busy, having changed them to clean, dry sheets.

“You’re too perfect for me,” he smiled, kneeling down in front of you before popping open the box.

Your jaw dropped open as you saw how gorgeous the ring was. Had he somehow found your Pinterest and given it to a jeweler to perfect a ring for you? That seemed like the only logical explanation.

“Matt, oh my god,” you pressed a hand to your mouth as he carefully pulled the ring free, grabbing your left hand before finding your ring finger, sliding the cool band over your skin.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together. You make me the happiest man alive,” as the ring settled on the base of your finger you couldn’t stop staring at it.

This was going to be your forever.

And you couldn’t wait to start the beginning of forever.

tags: @gaylemonshark @mel-thefrog

#matt murdock #matthew murdock #ddba #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fandom #matt murdock daredevil

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buckyalpine · 1 year ago

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Okay okay, that Wakanda Bucky imagine was soooooo hella cute 🥺❤️

Would you do a continuation of it where they live happily in the hut and maybe with some smuuuuut ? 🙊 The idea of him in that Hut, all cozy and romantic is not leaving my mind

WAKANDA BUCKY? YES, I will gladly give you more (this can be read as a standalone) There's something about Bucky in Wakanda that's just so soft and comforting to me. That sweet baby with his goats, just living in peace for the first time ever in a place where no one can hurt him. It's also the first place where he can just be himself without the pressure of worrying about anything else.

Just you and him.

He's just so in love with you; his words can only do so much. He wants to make you feel good in the most intimate way possible. He wants to physically give you what words won't translate.

He's nervous though.

He knows you love him for all of his imperfections; there's no doubt you adore every single bit of him. He has no reason to worry about what you'd think.

But this beautiful sweet boy is shy anyway.

Too shy to tell you he wants to make love. Too shy to slip his hands onto your bare skin even though he knows you wouldn't stop him. Too shy to even insinuate he wants more. Ever since you've moved into his hut, he'd wanted you closer. You cuddle every night and he loves the feel of your soft body nuzzled right by his side but its just not enough. He always tells you he loves you and how much you mean to him but it doesn't compare to the way he wants to just melt into you.

He manages to hold his tongue until one night when he just can't anymore. He's cuddled up on your chest while you both lay in his cot and he feels so safe and loved. He wants you now, more than ever. He doesn't even want to take you apart and wreck you; he just wants to love on you softly but he's not even sure if he can, I mean he only has one arm-

"What is it Buck" You whisper, carding your fingers softly through his locks, pushing back the few strands that fell from his half tied hair. "What you thinking about" you let your finger trace over his features, smoothing the crease between his brows that he makes when he's deep in thought. He blushes at you catching his mind in action, blinking with wide eyes before chewing his lip.

"I-

"What is it sweet boy" You continue to let your fingers gently dance over his face and the action makes him purr, leaning for more of your touch.

"I want you"

"You have me baby" You whisper, your heart beating a little faster wondering if he was implying what you were thinking, what you'd been wanting and craving for ages-

"No angel, I want you" He says in earnest hoping you'd understand, "I just-I'm not sure how" He looks down at himself, now afraid to meet your eyes. How could he make you feel good if he only had so much to work with. "I want to make you feel good"

He hesitantly lets his hand slide along your hip up to your waist and slipping under your shirt. The feeling of your bare skin is already so addicting, he starts to work at taking your clothes off as soon as you nod with a needy please. He finds you so unbearably gorgeous when you're naked on his bed and at one point he thinks that might be enough.

Your bare form is everything to him and he'd do anything to worship your more sacred places.

He'd be such a precious baby when it comes to you undressing him. The pink on his cheeks spreads to his ears and he can't help but gush at the way you kiss every scar and freckle on his skin when you let his robe drop to the floor.

"You're perfect" You whisper and he shakes his head because he's nothing in comparison to you. Not with all those angry red lines scattered across his chest, scars covering most of his skin.

"Not like you angel, I'm not-

"You are. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are soldier, how perfect and strong your body is" You don't let him argue, a gasp slipping past his lips when you wrap your hand around his length and start to pump. He's about to protest again because this is about you but he has no idea how long you've been waiting to do this for him.

"Please Bucky" You softly beg and he's an absolute goner when you wrap your hand around his aching length. Just when he thinks it couldn't get any better; your warm soft palm stroking him up and down, you tell him how beautiful and perfect he is and he swears he could cry.

"Look at how pretty you are baby" You coo, perched between his spread legs, leaning over to suckle the tip, humming at the taste, "Can't believe you hid this all from me for so long baby"

"Another-fuck sweets-another night, God I'll cum-you gotta stop" He whines as you release with a pop, your lips covered in his slick. He pulls you to lie down beside him, thinking about all the times he imagined making love to you. Looking into your eyes, letting his body cage you from the rest of the world, just you and him and nothing else.

But it wasn't easy with 1 arm.

"M'sorry baby, I-" Bucky stuttered, feeling unsteady as he hovered above you.

"Lay down for me" You cut off his rambling with a kiss to his lips before letting his head fall against the pillow. "Just wanna feel you Jamie, be close to you" You moan, rubbing your now dripping pussy all over his cock. "Want you inside me"

"Put my cock in you angel" Bucky's feral side made an appearance while he held his length letting you line up with the tip, the both of you gasping at the feeling of him finally pushing into you. "Fuck babydoll, wanted this so bad"

"oh fuck" You threw your head back at the feeling, all the pieces inside you coming together as you sank all the way down making you feel complete. "You feel so good inside me Bucky" You whined, grinding and rocking yourself on his thick length, feeling him in your belly.

"C'mere angel, please" He begged, reaching for you and pulling you causing you to fall onto his chest. He planted his feet and started to thrust up making you cry out. "Wanted to make love to you baby, I-fuck I love you so much, wanna make you feel so good"

"Feels-so-good-hng" You whimpered between thrusts, nipping and sucking bruises onto his neck while he held onto you tightly with his arm. "I'm-so close-

"I'll make you feel good" Bucky groaned, pushing you back up and slipping his hand between your bodies while you leaned back and held onto his thighs. You cried out as he found your clit, moaning louder with you and he toyed with your pussy.

"That feel good baby?" He panted, letting his thumb rub your clit in fast circles, your silky soft bud throbbing against the digit, "You look so pretty with my cock in you angel, cum for me, cum for me pretty girl"

It didn't take long for you to shatter around him, and Bucky followed right behind. He nearly sobbed as you collapse against his chest while he pumped you full of his load, not bothering to pull out long after his cock softened. Cuddling with you with his spent cock warm in your soaked pussy was his favorite part of the night. Nothing was more intimate than the both of you so closely connected, whispering sweet nothings while tangled under the soft sheets, the both of you falling asleep in the warm, cozy air of the hut.

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kpop---scenarios · 1 year ago

Text

Day Six: Seungmin

Pairing: Seungmin x Reader

Warning: Smuuuuut, and smut [18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT READ]

Word Count: 1.1k

Day One: Felix | Day Two: Jeongin | Day Three: Changbin | Day Four: Jisung | Day Five: Lee Know

“Are you sure about this?” You laugh as Seungmin drags you into one of the karaoke places. You'd seen plenty of them in dramas but had never actually been to one yourself. Especially not with such an amazing vocalist like him.

“Yes! It'll be so fun.” He grins, paying the man and quickly ushering you into the room, looking down the hall both ways to make sure the two of you hadn't been followed into the room. That was one thing about being friends with an idol, it was extremely hard to do fun, public things with them. They rarely are able to go out undetected. Luckily for you and Seungmin, your shady years of friendship helped you both become extra stealthy. That and you knew Seungmin didn't want to be in a relationship scandal, even if it was with you. You wouldn't mind, considering you'd been in love with him for the last 3 years.

“Let's get some drinks.” You suggest picking up the phone to order quite a few bottles of soju for the two of you. If you were going to sing in front of him, you needed all the liquid courage you could find.

As the hours went on, the songs that started as fun ones with a pop beat turned into love songs, which turned into rap songs, that turned into overly sexual songs. Which is how the two of you ended up, 6 bottles of soju deep and Seungmin singing while also dancing to Hit Me Up by Timethai.

You stared at him with your mouth wide open as he humped the floor, while singing, while also maintaining eye contact. You rub your legs together to soothe the ache in your pussy while you watch him, unaware that you were actually doing it. He cocks an eyebrow at you as he finishes the song, still on his knees. He makes his way towards you, opening your legs and moving himself between them.

“Was it not good?” He asks, licking his lips.

“It.. it was very..good.” You gulp. You'd never seen him flirt so heavily, or put himself out there so sexually before and you were loving it. “You looked so fucking hot.” You say. He grins at you, making you realize what you had actually just said to him.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, slapping your hand across your mouth. “I didn't.. that was..”

Seungmin stares at you. You wonder if it's so he can figure out how to gently let you down but no words come from his mouth. Instead he moves up, crashing his lips onto yours. You don't even think, you just move your mouth with his, opening and letting him slide his tongue into your mouth. He stands up, not breaking the kiss as he pulls you over to land on his lap as he sits down. The kiss is sloppy but passionate. His hands roam your body before they end up at the hem of your shirt. He pulls it up and over your head, only breaking the kiss to discard it across the room. He reaches behind you, using one hand to unhook your bra. You sit up on his lap, genuinely surprised he was able to do that.

“very impressive.” You giggle as he cups your tits. He leans forward, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it as you throw your head back, dry humping him. You can feel his cock grow in his pants with every little movement you make. He hums in pleasure as his lips remain wrapped around your nipple until he can't take it anymore. He helps you off of him and lays you down on the couch on your back. He discards his shirt, taking off his pants and boxers before moving to your jeans, unbuttoning them before yanking them off your body.

He takes a moment, staring at your naked body, appreciating every curve, every mark and everything you think is a flaw. He finds it all beautiful.

You spread your legs for him, he kneels down on the couch, licking his fingers before he gently pushes them inside you. Fuck you were tight. Seungmin groans at the feeling of you wrapped around his fingers. He finger fucks you while using his other hand to play with your clit, making you squirm beneath him. He loved seeing you like this, he had been waiting so long for the day he was able to have you like this.

“Please.” You breathe.

“Please what?” He asks.

“Fuck me.” You pant. “Please fuck me.”

He doesn't respond, instead pulls his fingers from inside you, using your wetness to wet his hard cock before he lined himself up with your entrance. He slowly pushed himself into you, stretching you out around his cock.

“Oh fuck.” You groan, your eyes rolling back. Seungmin slowly grinds himself into you, over and over, each time hitting your clit with such an intense thrust it makes you whimper beneath him. You take your hands, grabbing his head to pull him down, latching your lips onto his as he continues moving the same way, slowly and intensely to make sure you feel it all. You moan into his mouth to keep yourself from screaming out, now that the music in your room has stopped. You lift your legs, wrapping them around him, allowing him to push his cock even deeper into your already soaked cunt. You break the kiss, breathing heavily as he nestles his head between your neck and shoulder, biting you gently as he picks up his pace.

You run your hands through his hair, pulling as he starts thrusting into you harder, even quicker.

“Fuck.” He grunts. “I never imagined you'd feel this good.”

He continues to rub your clit with his movements, now that he's moving quicker, your orgasm is building even quicker. You wrap your arms around him, digging your nails into his back as you cling onto him, loud moans escaping from your mouth without a care. You were about to cum - you couldn't hold it in any longer.

“I'm gonna.. fucking.. oh god.” You cry out as your orgasm explodes through your body. You wrap around him tighter as you ride through your high, your cunt pulsating around his cock.

“Holy shit.” He moans, cumming right after you, burying himself deep inside of you as he emptied himself into you.

Seungmin pulls his cock from you, the two of you quickly getting dressed. You both knew you needed to leave, like now before they come searching for more money. The two of you had been in there longer than you paid for. Once dressed, Seungmin takes your hand into his, pulling you out of the room and into the street. He looks at you with a wide smile as he leans down to kiss you. He breaks the kiss, still smiling. “We did things sort of backwards.” He chuckles. “Can I take you on a date tomorrow?”

#straykidsland #seungmin smut #kim seungmin smut #seungmin #skz seungmin #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz #stray kids #skz writing #skz imagines #stray kids writing #stray kids imagines #skz fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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naiadonis · 26 days ago

Text

popular — b. barnes x f!reader (18+)

word count: 5.1K

summary: some people are destined to be famous, and others just need a little ..help to get there. what happens when an aspiring actress is given the opportunity to climb a little higher on the social ladder?

tags: mdni 18+ only, modern au, y/n is able bodied and uses feminine terms and pronouns, one-shot, power dynamic (reader is a struggling actress, bucky is a wealthy film producer) smuuuuut, oral (m! + f! receiving) unprotected sex (always wrap it before you tap it, folks!)

a/n: please be gentle it’s been a while… thank you to my bffs who read this first <3

The industry party is already half a blur by the time you get to your third glass of champagne. Los Angeles feels like it’s been chewing you up and spitting you back out for months, and while you’re good at faking confidence, lately you’ve been questioning whether this city has a place for you at all. The last agency you were with booked you for a toothpaste commercial and a recurring role as “Hot Girl #3” in a show that didn’t even survive its pilot. You’d had enough.

You’re about to retreat to a corner when a familiar voice calls out.

“Y/N!”

You turn, exhaling a relieved laugh when you see Joaquin Torres, your longtime friend and occasional lifeline in a sea of snakes. He pulls you in for a hug that smells like cologne and tequila.

“Thought I wasn’t gonna find you,” he says, glancing down at your drink. “You good?”

You give him a tight smile. “Define good.”

He winces. “That bad?”

You shrug, eyes scanning the glittering crowd of producers, actors, and people who only exist in photos. “It’s just all…exhausting. This is the latest I’ve been outside in over a month. I should be binging Real Housewives right now.” You say, and then almost as an afterthought, you add, “And these stilettos were not meant to be worn long term.”

Joaquin huffs out a laugh that’s mostly swallowed by the din of the crowd. “Well, tonight might be different,” He says, tilting his head. There’s a glint in his eye that you recognize; Clearly he’s up to something, and you don’t even have a chance to say no because he’s already reaching for your hand. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Your brows lift, but he anticipates your answer with an easy smile, disarming you before you’ve even had a chance to properly turn it—whatever he’s thinking—down. “Not Scorsese,” he says, a knowing smile on his face. “Bucky Barnes.”

You blink. “The Bucky Barnes? As in—”

Your stomach does a small, traitorous flip. You hesitate, your gut twisting with the now familiar cocktail of hope and dread. “I don’t know.. I’ve done this exact song and dance so many times.” You take a nervous sip of what’s left of your champagne, your eyes scanning the crowd once more. “I don’t think I can stomach another disappointment anyway.”

Joaquin studies you for a beat, but it’s clear his mind has already been made up and he’s not taking no for an answer. “C’mon. You’re not even auditioning for anything, not right now anyway.” He jokes, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “It’s just a little meet and greet, no harm, no foul.” He said, and with an exasperated sigh, you give in.

His hands slip from your shoulders, and weaves you through the crowd and toward the back patio, where golden lights bathe a group of people standing around with drinks in hand. That’s when you see him.

Bucky Barnes.

He’s not what you expected.

For all his credentials and the air of mystique that surrounds his work, he’s surprisingly…lowkey. He’s standing casually, one hand cradling a drink, while the other is stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans, listening to someone with an easy half-smile. He’s dressed in black, the sleeves of his shirt rolled, a few buttons left undone at the collar. He looks like someone who knows exactly what he’s doing—but doesn’t need to prove it.

You steel yourself.

“Buck,” Joaquin calls, breaking into the circle. “This is Y/N. She’s the actress I’ve been telling you about.”

Bucky looks up, and suddenly, all your nervous energy dulls. His eyes land on yours, and everything slows for a second. There’s no judgment in his expression, no boredom, no performative interest. Just calm curiosity.

“Y/N,” he repeats, like it tastes good in his mouth. “Nice to meet you.”

His voice is smooth, unhurried. You offer your hand, and he doesn’t rush the moment. Doesn’t scan you up and down. Doesn’t launch into small talk like he’s got somewhere better to be. “Nice to meet you,” you say, surprised by how steady your voice is.

He shakes your hand, and you can only hope that he doesn’t feel how clammy your palm is.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” He said, and your gaze darts to Joaquin, who only gives you a grin and a thumbs up before stepping away.

“All good things I hope, though that would explain the ringing in my ears.” You reply, and he chuckles. The sound sparks something in your chest, but you choose to ignore it for the time being.

He glances at your almost empty champagne glass, and he gestures towards the party. “You want something better than whatever they’re calling champagne in there?”

You laugh—more than you meant to, but you go with it, nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He waves a waiter over, and orders a cocktail for you, and the two of you find yourselves in an easy flow.

The conversation that follows is effortless, surprising even you. You talk about the state of the industry, the uphill climb for actors like yourself, and how exhausting it is to be underestimated in rooms full of people who smile too much. He listens—actually listens—with a kind of calm intensity that makes you feel seen in a way you hadn’t realized you were craving. He wants to know what drives you. What kind of roles scare you. What you want to do that no one’s let you touch yet. It’s been so long since someone has looked at you like an artist instead of a résumé.

And he’s funny. Dry, understated. Every sarcastic quip you throw at him, he volleys back with ease.

When you call out the hypocrisy of producers who say they want “fresh talent” but only cast the same five people, he chuckles and raises his glass.

“To burning the house down.”

You tap your glass to his.

“To rebuilding it better.”

There’s a beat where the conversation lulls and neither of you fill the silence. You glance over at him, and he’s already looking at you, head slightly tilted, like you’re a puzzle he’s just beginning to enjoy solving.

“You know,” he says slowly, “I’m putting something together. Casting’s still in early stages.”

You arch a brow. “That sounds suspiciously like a pitch.”

“Maybe it is,” he says. “Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get dinner with you.”

You blink. “Dinner?”

“Strictly professional,” he adds, his grin betraying him.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your cool. “I usually avoid producers who make vague offers over free cocktails.”

He laughs then—a genuine laugh, that makes the corners of his blue eyes crinkle. “Understandable. But I’m very persuasive, and I don’t make promises that I can’t back up.”

You pause, heart racing a little faster now—the traitorous thing. Then you nod.

“Okay. Dinner.”

He pulls out his phone. “Can I get your number?”

You give it to him, trying not to show the slight tremble in your fingers. He types it in, saves it, then looks back at you with that same, magnetic calm.

“I’ll text you,” he says. “We’ll talk shop.”

You nod, lips curving despite your best efforts. “Looking forward to it.”

You smooth your hands down your dress—a silky, low-cut number you’ve only worn once, and never with this much confidence.

You kept telling yourself it was just dinner.

You told yourself the extra twenty minutes you spent curling your hair wasn’t for him. That the subtle shimmer on your eyelids, the gloss on your lips, the soft sweep of highlighter on your collarbone—those were all for you. Because you wanted to feel your best. Simple. Empowering. Strategic, even.

It had nothing to do with how Bucky Barnes looked at you that night on the rooftop. Nothing to do with how your heart had skipped when he saved your number. Nothing to do with the way his voice had settled into your head and lingered there like a song you couldn’t quite shake.

Right.

He picked the place—low lighting, real candles on the table, waitstaff that smiled like they already knew his order. It was intimate but not too forward, elegant without being stiff. Like him. He stood as you approached, and for a beat, just stared. Not in the uncomfortable, lingering way some men did—but in that quiet, appreciative way that made you hyper-aware of your own skin.

The restaurant is dimly lit and intimate—modern Italian with moody lighting and quiet music. Definitely not the kind of place where deals are typically made.

You raise an eyebrow as you slide into the booth across from him.

“So,” you say. “What kind of role are we pretending to talk about tonight?”

Bucky laughs, tilting his head. “You always lead with sarcasm?”

“It’s a defense mechanism,” you say sweetly.

“I like it,” he says. “Keeps me on my toes.”

You fight the smile tugging at your lips as the waiter comes over. Bucky orders a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, and you wonder how someone can be so effortlessly confident without being unbearable. The waiter comes and goes. Wine is poured. Small talk is easy—dangerously easy.

Bucky asks about your recent auditions, your dream roles, the kinds of stories you want to tell. And when he talks about his work, his voice gets lower, more thoughtful, like he’s letting you in on something sacred. And you surprise yourself by how freely you answer. With most producers, it’s all strategy and filters. But with him, it feels easy.

Safe, even.

Still, there's something beneath the surface. A tension. A current.

It starts small. His gaze dropping a beat too low when you lean forward to reach for your glass. The momentary pause when his eyes catch the way the neckline of your dress curves—and dips.

You notice.

You definitely notice.

And when he looks up and sees you watching him catch himself, there’s a flicker of guilt in his smile—followed by something else. Something darker. Bolder.

“You’re staring,” you say softly, amusement coloring your voice.

He doesn’t flinch. Just leans back in his seat, expression relaxed but eyes locked on yours.

“Can you blame me?”

You tilt your head, letting your fingers toy with the stem of your wine glass. “You said this was strictly business.”

“I did,” he says, voice lower now. “And I meant it. But I’m not blind.”

He runs a hand through his hair, the movement slow, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“You walk in like the part’s already yours,” He says, eyes locked on you like he’s seeing something everyone else missed. “Then you start talking, and somehow you’re even better than how I pictured. You really think I’m not gonna look at you?”

Your lips part, heat rising up the back of your neck—and not just from the wine.

He watches your reaction, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes, as if he’s waiting for you to shut this down. To draw the line.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean forward, just a little—enough to let him look if he wants to.

And he does.

“I thought we were here to talk shop,” You tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

“We are,” he murmurs, his gaze briefly flicking to your cleavage before snapping back to your face. “But you’re making it really hard to concentrate.”

You smirk, resting your chin in your hand. “Maybe I’m testing your professionalism.”

He exhales a soft laugh, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “So that’s what this is.”

You don’t answer, but the way your leg brushes his under the table speaks for you.

The moment hangs there, suspended in candlelight and tension.

Then you lift your glass again, cool as ever. “So. Tell me about this role you had in mind.”

He picks up his drink, but he’s not even pretending to be unaffected anymore. His voice is rougher around the edges now, dipped in something thicker.

“I think you’d be perfect for it,” he says. “But I’m starting to realize the real challenge is gonna be keeping things…professional.”

You smile, sipping slowly.

There it is.

That slow pull in your belly, the warmth that curls beneath your skin and spreads all the way to your throat.

He’s trying to behave. You can see it in the way he clenches his hands now and then. In the way his gaze keeps drifting—just below your neck, just a beat too long on your lips before he forces himself to look away.

“You’re making this very difficult, Y/N.”

Your smile widens, slow and knowing. “I haven’t done anything.”

“That’s the problem,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth again. “You don’t have to.”

You sit in the silence that follows, tasting the tension between you like the wine on your tongue. Part of you knows you should pivot—say something smart about your range or your process or whatever—but you don’t.

Because it feels good, being looked at like this.

Not like a product. Not like an audition.

Like a woman.

And Bucky Barnes, for all his restraint, is very much a man who’s interested.

The waiter comes with the check, and Bucky doesn’t even glance at it before sliding his card across the table. You let him. You don’t argue.

Outside, the night is cooler than before, and you shiver slightly as you step onto the sidewalk. Without thinking, he slips off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

There’s a charged silence between you, and Bucky’s gaze lingers on your face, on the curve of your neck where the jacket slips just so.

He clears his throat. “I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come back with me. For a nightcap. Nothing fancy. Just some whiskey and quieter company.”

Your heart skips.

The sensible part of your brain screams No. You just met him, you barely know this man, and—let’s be honest—you’re tired of people promising things they don’t keep.

But the reckless part—the part you’ve been trying to ignore—whispers Yes. Yes to a night where you forget the struggle. Yes to being wanted. Yes to whatever this is.

You hesitate, searching his eyes for any sign he’s not serious.

He’s watching you, patient. Respectful. But there’s something fierce beneath it, an invitation you can’t quite refuse.

Finally, you breathe out.

“Okay.”

He smiles, half-relieved, half-triumphant, then holds out his arm. You wrap your hand around his forearm, and together you walk towards the sleek, black car he’d parked just around the corner.

The door to Bucky's penthouse clicks shut behind you with a low thud that seems to echo through the sleek, open space. You step forward slowly, taking in the minimalist design, all dark wood, clean lines, and soft lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city skyline, glittering like spilled diamonds.

“This is…” you begin, turning in place to admire the view.

“Overkill?” Bucky cuts in, lips twitching.

You smirk, shrugging off his jacket and laying it over the back of a velvet armchair. “I was gonna say impressive. But sure, overkill works too.”

He chuckles and makes his way to the bar in the corner, where a decanter of dark amber scotch glows under the low light. You follow, watching as he pours two generous glasses, his forearms flexing as he lifts the crystal bottle.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, handing you a glass.

You take a sip—smooth, smoky, expensive. “I figured I owed you a nightcap after dinner.”

His eyes flick down your body before snapping back to meet yours, and this time, there’s no polite veil. No public persona. Just him. And you.

“You don’t owe me a damn thing,” he says quietly. Then adds, with a crooked grin, “But I’m sure as hell glad you’re here.”

You blink once. Twice. “Well,” you murmur, swirling the liquid in your glass, “You did say you wanted to talk more.”

“I did.” He throws back half his drink in one gulp, eyes still locked on yours. “But let’s be honest, sweetheart. I didn’t bring you up here to talk about casting calls.”

There it is.

Blunt. Shameless. Heat flares low in your belly.

He watches the way you react—how you shift slightly on your heels, your breath catching just enough to betray your interest. He sees everything. He’s looking now, really looking. At your mouth, your neckline, the rise of your chest under your blouse. His gaze drags over you like a physical touch, and he doesn’t bother hiding it anymore.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, the words landing like a strike to your core. “You walk into a room and every man forgets his name. But what gets me the most—what’s driving me fucking insane—is that mouth.”

Your lips part, stunned at the turn. “My… mouth?”

He steps closer. His glass clinks softly on the counter as he sets it down. “You’ve got this sharp little tongue and all I can think about is what else you could do with it. Now that we’re alone, I’m not in the mood to play coy. I want you, Y/N. Plain and simple.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. Not with him standing this close, not with the way his voice has dipped low and rough like velvet dragged over gravel. The warmth of the scotch turns molten in your chest. He steps forward, each stride measured, confident, until he stands just a few feet away from you. The low light accentuates the angles of his face—his jaw, his cheekbones—making him look predatory in the most intoxicating way possible. You glance at his mouth, then back up—his expression hungry, dangerous, focused.

You finally find your voice. “Do you usually mix business with—”

“I don’t,” he cuts in. “But I’ve been thinking about you since the second Joaquin introduced us. And I’m not about to stand here and pretend I’m not imagining how you’d sound underneath me.”

Your knees nearly buckle. He’s still not touching you, but you feel the pull in every inch of your skin, every nerve ending tuned to the moment he might.

“And if I said I wasn’t here for just a nightcap either?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

A slow, sinful smile spreads across his face. “Then I’d say stop pretending, and let me show you exactly how much I want you.”

You don’t wait. You set your glass down beside his and he closes the distance, your fingers curling into the fabric of his button-down. His hands are on you in an instant—one at your waist, the other sliding up your spine. He kisses you hard, deep, like he’s been holding back all night and has finally cracked. His mouth is demanding, tongue sliding against yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he exhales a growl into your mouth.

You gasp as he lifts you without warning, setting you on the edge of the marble counter. His hands slide under the skirt of your dress, thumbs dragging along your thighs until they reach your hips.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs into your neck, already knowing you won’t.

“Don’t even think about it.”

That’s all he needs.

He slips one hand between your thighs, fingers dragging along the damp heat between your legs through your panties. His groan is immediate, deep and primal. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re soaked.”

You tilt your head back as he mouths at your throat, sucking a bruise just beneath your ear. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night in this little dress, pretending you weren’t doing it on purpose.”

“I wasn’t,” you lie, breathless.

His eyes flash as he pulls back to look at you. “Sweetheart, you wore this knowing damn well I wouldn’t be able to stop looking at your tits all night.”

You bite your lip.

“See? Not denying it now,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down, slow and deliberate.

He drops to his knees, parting your legs, and when his mouth finds you, your head hits the cabinets behind you. He’s not gentle—he’s ravenous. His tongue moves with confidence, circling, flicking, devouring until you’re moaning, shaking, fisting his hair as he pushes you closer to the edge.

“Bucky—” you gasp, thighs trembling as he grips them tighter.

“I know,” he murmurs, mouth still moving against you. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste you.”

And you do—your body snapping tight as your orgasm crashes over you. He doesn’t stop until your hips buck, until you’re whining and breathless and begging him to give you a second to breathe.

He rises, mouth glistening, and kisses you again—filthy and deep and tasting like you. Then he scoops you off the counter and carries you down the hall toward his bedroom.

The bedroom door closes behind you, and the room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of streetlights filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A king-sized bed dominates the space, sheets the color of storm clouds draped neatly across the mattress.

Bucky doesn’t waste a second. He steps in front of you, pressing you against the wall with a force that sends your breath scattering. One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back so he can lean in and kiss the column of your throat. The other hand works on the infuriatingly tiny zipper to this damned dress. He’s about to tear the damn thing off of you, but he finally manages to unzip it.

The dress pools at your feet like water, and his eyes trail shamelessly down the length of your almost-bare body, lingering on the swell of your breasts and the curve of your hips with an audible, appreciative exhale. He presses hot kisses along the valley between your breasts, and then back up again.

“On your knees,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I’m half-hard, and I want you to take care of it.” And you nod obediently. He snatches the pillow from his bed, tossing it at your feet before you kneel before him.

You reach for his belt buckle; fingers fumbling just enough that he chuckles low in his throat. With an impatient sigh, he hooks his thumbs into his belt loops, jerking his jeans down in one swift motion until they puddle around his ankles along with his boxers. The sight of him—naked, upright, unashamed—makes your fingers tremble as you close the gap again, dropping to your knees.

His cock is already slick with precome, aroused at the thought of you. When you take him into your hand and slide the head across your lips, he shudders, throwing his head back softly. You swallow him slowly, lips gliding from head to base, tongue flicking against the sensitive underside. Already he’s gripping your hair, gentle but firm, encouraging you without forcing. He groans, hips jerking ever so slightly, and the vibration through his length is electric against your tongue.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Just like that. Don’t stop.” He leans against the wall, one hand bracing him while the other fists your hair. You swirl your tongue around the head, then hollow your cheek in a speedy, almost desperate motion. His breath hitches, and his eyes close as though he can’t bear to watch.

When the coil in his body tightens, he pulls you from him and helps you stand, his mouth on yours again. You’re acutely aware of every curve: collarbone, breasts, the hollow at your sternum. He cups you, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice husky. “So perfect.” He flicks his tongue across one nipple, then the other, and you arch into him, mouth falling open.

His clothes—and yours—have long since been discarded on the floor, a trail of temptation from the hallway to the bed. He pushes you down onto the mattress with a steady hand on your shoulder, the sheets cool against your heated skin. You sit up on your elbows, breath catching in your throat at the sight of him: thick, heavy, and achingly hard, veins pronounced along the length, his tip flushed and glistening. Every part of him is sculpted, taut with restraint, like he’s been holding back since the moment he laid eyes on you. And now, he isn’t.

He stands at the edge of the bed, his hand wrapping around himself with deliberate, unhurried strokes, gaze fixed on you like he’s memorizing every inch of your body—the way your lips part in awe, the way your thighs instinctively press together in aching anticipation.

“You want this?” he rasps, voice ragged with desire. His thumb swirls over the slick head of his cock, drawing a low hiss from his throat. “Tell me you want me, baby.”

You shift closer to the edge of the bed, legs spreading wider, like you’re offering yourself up to him. “Quit being a tease,” You murmur, eyes locked on his cock as he strokes it slowly, “And come fuck me like you mean it.”

He groans at your boldness, that shameless invitation tipping him over the edge of restraint. He pulls you closer to him, then steps between your spread thighs, the heat of his body searing against yours. His hands roam your sides—firm and possessive—before gripping your hips with purpose. You can feel him, thick and pulsing, as he drags the head of his cock along your slick folds, lining himself up with a low, reverent curse.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, barely holding back, and then he thrusts in.

The first thrust is slow but impossibly deep, stretching you inch by inch until your breath escapes in a broken gasp. He fills you completely, the pressure overwhelming, perfect. He pauses there, buried to the hilt, savoring the moment as your body tightens around him. And then—he moves.

His rhythm starts punishing and purposeful, each thrust punching the air from your lungs, knocking moans out of you that you don’t bother to muffle. Your fingers claw at his shoulders, nails dragging down the sculpted muscle as he pounds into you, over and over, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. The bed creaks beneath the force, his hips slamming into yours with delicious brutality.

Bucky’s free hand braces against the headboard, gripping it so hard his knuckles go white. His head falls back, sweat-damp hair brushing his temples, jaw tight and mouth parted on a ragged groan as he loses himself in the feel of you—tight, wet, wanting.

You can feel every inch: his cock slick and hot, the way your walls clamp around him with each pass, the slick, wet friction. Your breaths come in ragged pants, and you hook an arm around his neck, tugging him down for a fierce, open-mouthed kiss. Tongues collide, teeth graze, and in that kiss you taste the same hunger you feel in your core.

He pulls back just enough to stare into your eyes, voice rough. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, then drives into you faster. “So fucking wet for me.”

You moan, head falling back on the pillows as he hammers into you. The thrusts come harder now, each one a sharp stab at the center of your heat. Your cunt clenches around him, and you can feel the coil tightening—your orgasm building like a star about to explode.

“Bucky!” you cry out, fingers carding through his hair. “Oh God, Bucky—”

He dips his head and sinks his teeth into the hollow of your collarbone, and a bolt of heat races through you, shattering whatever control you had left. Your back arches off the mattress, hips lifting into him as a tidal wave of white-hot pleasure crashes over you. Fingernails graze his shoulders, leaving trails of need, while your breath tears from your lungs in ragged gasps.

He doesn’t relent. With one last series of punishing, relentless thrusts—each harder, each deeper—he drives you even higher. His voice breaks as he grunts your name like a benediction, and you feel the weight of him shuddering as he swells and spills into you. Your body trembles beneath his, every muscle trembling in the aftershock of his release. Then, spent and utterly raw, he collapses beside you. Together you lie there, chests rising and falling, hearts pounding, breaths mingling in the hushed stillness of the penthouse.

The city hums quietly beyond the penthouse glass, a soft backdrop to the silence stretching between the two of you. The air still smells like sex and skin and scotch, and your limbs feel heavy—sated, warm, anchored beneath the lazy sprawl of his arm around your waist.

Bucky’s chest rises and falls gently, the heat of him pressed against your chest. His fingers graze slow circles into the dip just below your navel, but otherwise, neither of you moves. Not yet. Not when everything is still humming between you.

You let the quiet sit for another beat before speaking, your voice sleep-rough and teasing.

“So… that role you were pitching to me earlier...”

He freezes above you. Just for a second.

Then a breathless laugh bursts out of him, low and startled. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a groan. “Jesus Christ, Y/N. We just had the kind of sex people write bad poetry about, and you’re still chasing your next gig?”

You smirk, tilting your head to glance at him. “I’m just saying. If you’re done defiling me, I’d like to circle back to the business portion of this evening.”

He laughs again—truly laughs this time, the sound warm and sharp and so completely disarmed that it makes your chest squeeze a little.

“You’re fucking ruthless,” he says, still grinning as he tightens his arm around you, tugging you closer like he already doesn’t want to let go. “Alright, alright. We’ll talk casting.”

You smile, eyes fluttering closed as you sink deeper into the pillow. He kisses your shoulder once, slow and lingering.

“In the morning.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #hollywood au #marvel #x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #actress au #joaquin torres #celebrity au #oneshots #oneshot #fanficition

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ryxmix · 1 year ago

Text

SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY

pairings ; boothill x fem! reader

warnings ; smut smut smuuuuut, size kink if you squint real hard, robo dick, ooc boothill (made before release), censored cussing from his side, you call him "sir", use of pet names (sugar, girlie, pretty thing), he has normal human cum for some reason okay don't question me it's smut, you wear his hat (mentioned like...once), he's a huge tease, clit smacking, breeding kink, dumbification, degradation and praise???, he calls you a pillow princess, and more stuff...

a/n: i know he just got drip marketing but i need MORE- also i was thinking of sloppy seconds (ick pt2) by lay bankz while writing this so do with that what you will.

"c'mon sugar, you can do better, can't ya?" the cowboy mumbles mockingly, circling patterns into your inner thigh as you ride him tirelessly, tears staining your puffy cheeks as you try your hardest to cum.

"aw, is my pretty thing such a pillow princess that she can't do nothin unless her big strong cowboy does it for her?" he coos, smacking your clit before gripping onto your hips, still not moving, "didn't you want this? i never told you to, but you thought you could do it, dumb little girl." you sob, grinding down on him, "sir— wanna cum s'bad sir— nghaa!— it hurts, fuck—" he smiles up at your teary face, back resting against the headboard of the bed as he looks at you, teeth bared.

"oh girlie, you want me that bad? you want me to fill that pussy up so good until you can't think no more?" he coos, thrusting up into you, and for the first time tonight, you feel good, his cock touching that spot in your cunny.

"boothill—" he slaps your clit as a warning, and you whine, "sir! sir, it feels good! please, please make me feel good sir, please! fill me up, make me cum, anything!"

he grins at you, sharp teeth glinting under the dim light of the bedroom as he grabs you by the waist and pushes you down on the bed, metal-plated hands cold against your body. you squeak out, gripping onto the sides of the sheets as he flips you over.

"since ya asked so nicely, it would be too mean to say no to ya, girlie," he groans out, using his thumbs to spread your leaky cunt apart, humming at the way it glistens before he thrusts his cock back into you, eliciting a scream from your lips.

"sir! yes, sir— fu- hahnghh! it feels so good, sir, hah~ s-so good—" he doesn't respond, letting out a low growl as he thrusts into you harder and faster, feeling you tighten around him deliciously. You whimper and whine, feeling so full with his cock.

"such a good girl, my good little cutie," he clicks his tongue in annoyance when he can't call you what he wants to; when he can't call you his little slut. but you seem to get the memo, hole tightening around him before you squirt, cum gushing all over him as you fall limp, but he's not stopping, still thrusting into your sensitive hole.

"sir— sir, wait, 'm still sensitive, sir— nghyaa!??" he presses you down on the bed fully, cock thrusting deep until it kisses your cervix, and you let out a broken whimper. He lets out a delightful chuckle, a hand going around your neck until he brings you into a choke hold in his arm, squishing your cheeks until you can only let out babbles from the struggle to breathe. but it still feels so good, better even.

"sir— sir, 'm gonna cum again— sir— mphyaaa!" you gush around his cock once more and he finally spills into your hole, cum thick and creamy. he lets you out of the criminally sexy chokehold before putting his hat on you with a chuckle, admiring your fucked out face.

"that's my pretty girl, heh."

#boothill #hsr smut #boothill smut #i am down bad as shit #honkai star rail smut #boothill is plaguing my brain gvnqenrgvwievbgw #hsr boothill #hsr boothill smut

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the-thing-withfeathers · 9 months ago

Text

watch me

a/n: okayy i was actually holding out on y'all for a little bit with this one but i've been wanting to do a role reversal one shot for a while hehehe

pairing: jock!madison beer x student council president!reader

warnings: SMUUUUUT so much fucking smut. fingering, semi-public sex, cursing, degradation.

summary: madison wants your attention on her.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

your student council meeting usually clashed with your girlfriend's practice, but today it didn't and you finally found the time to watch your girlfriend work her magic on the field.

you sat on the bleachers with one leg crossed over the other with your laptop out, trying to complete one of the reports you needed to do for an event that student council hosted.

madison spotted you, glad that you were here to see her in her element. but she had never been more jealous of a laptop. she loved that look you had when you focused in on your work. you were determined and your drive was unwavered.

but you were dressed too damn cute. your short shirt and blouse sealed at the top with a little ribbon tied into a bow were killing her. your hair tied up in a half pony, exposing just enough skin for madison to almost moan at the sight of you.

when she scored a goal and realised you had just looked away from her, she was fed up. she was panting and the adrenaline was getting to her, she wanted your eyes on her and only her.

she called for a time-out and jogged over to you, jumping up on the barrier of the bleachers.

"get that shit out of here." she was leaning over, yanking your laptop off your lap. she kept it against her chest when you stood up to grab it back.

"mads! i have a report due." you whined, trying to reach over but she was turned away.

"fuck the report." she spat. "watch me." she said, putting the laptop in on the bench where her water bottle was.

you sighed in defeat, you were no match for madison's desire for attention. you stayed standing, your arms supporting you as you leaned on the barricade.

oh. now you knew why she wanted you to watch.

she ran back to the field, ditching her jersey and throwing it to the sidelines.

her skin glistened with sweat. your eyes trailed down to her body, her abs stretching with every step she jogged. you licked your lips, you could devour her with your eyes. she was just trying to get a damn reaction out of you.

you felt your thighs squeeze together reflexively when she shouted an order at one of her teammates. you loved when she showed her authority like that. you knew she was practically the frontrunner for team captain when they would vote this year.

you bit down on your lip as hard as you could to stop the thoughts from running through your head. you had to stop yourself from faking an injury to get her out of practice so you could jump her bones.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

when practice was over, madison made her way to you and handed you your laptop back.

"good girl. did you enjoy the show?" she teased. you rolled your eyes at her.

"of course i did." you pouted a little. "hurry up and get showered so you can take me home!" you whined, you shoved her in the direction of the locker room. you leaned against the wall, using your phone while you waited for her.

minutes passed, you thought that madison would be done by now. but when you received a certain text, you realised she was nowhere near close to being ready to leave.

"come join me in here." she texted. you groaned and walked into the locker room from the field access entrance.

you entered the quiet locker room. it was a little bit eerie with how empty it was.

"mads?" you called out, looking for your girl.

"in here, baby." she said from the showers. you spotted her in the middle one. she was facing the showerhead and her bare back was littered with water droplets. you slowly approached her and she turned around, her full body exposed to you.

your eyes scanned her build. she was perfect in your eyes, she was built for what she loved and you felt your knees grow weak at the visual.

"hey pretty..." she said, walking towards you. she ran a finger down your exposed collarbone and stopping at the ribbon that held the collar of your shirt together. she pulled it open and slowly undid your buttoned up shirt. "i couldn't wait til later." she confessed.

your doe eyes stared into hers, they were filled with desire for you. you knew you were in for it when she pushed your jacket off and discarded the rest of your shirt.

"c'mon, help me out here." she pleaded with you, pouting.

you didn't have to be asked twice before you were undoing your bra and dropping your skirt to your ankles. you stepped out of it and kicked your shoes off, your stockings following directly after.

she pulled you by the hand towards the water, not giving you even a beat to adjust to the running water. she pinned you against the cold tiled wall under the shower head, you let out a gasp as it hit your skin.

"mmm baby, you looked way too fuckin' good today." she moaned into your neck, leaving kisses on your soaked skin.

your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of her sucking down on your pulse point. "oh fuck mads, you did too." your nails dug into her shoulders.

her left hand was placed firmly on your waist, pulling you into her. her other hand was situated on the wall behind you. she pulled away and looked dead into your eyes.

"you look so hot when you dress like that. such a damn goody two shoes, you are." she mocked you, her hand running up your thigh to cup your aching cunt. you whined when you felt a finger run up and down your folds. "but i know what you really are. you're just my little whore, aren't you now."

you nodded, holding a whimper back by biting down on your lip. "mmhm... your little whore." you repeated back to her.

"good." she nodded, leaning in again but this time to take your lips into hers. you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer to you. she tasted the chapstick on your lips when she licked your bottom lip, asking for access. there was a part of you that wanted to drag this along, resist and push her buttons. but you were just too needy.

you opened your mouth up for her tongue to explore you. your soft moans sending vibrations down her throat as she toyed with your folds, teasing your clit by flicking it with her finger every so often.

she pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting the two of you still from the intensity of your liplock.

"jesus, you're so fucking weak for me." she was mocking you. her hand came down from the wall and planted itself on the side of your neck, forcing you to look at her. "you're gonna take my fucking fingers like a good girl, yeah?" she asked you.

"i will, mads. please." you begged, rutting your hips against her fingers, her palm hitting your clit just right.

she plunged a finger into you without warning, your gasp just barely coming out as all the air left your body.

"oh fuck baby, you're so tight." madison groaned softly. "gotta stretch you out." she said, adding another finger in.

your eyes squeezed shut at the stretch. you let out a low groan, your nails digging into madison's skin.

"fuck... oh my god... feels s'good." you said when she started moving her fingers. the sound of her palm hitting your skin bounced off the walls, it made you even wetter.

all of a sudden, you felt yourself stretched out even further.

madison added a third finger.

you had never felt so stretched out before. you cried out in pain for a second but quickly got used to the feeling as madison moved in and out of you. her filthy words only lubing you up further. your head fell back against the tile, your wet hair sticking to it when you made contact.

"watch me." she commanded, your eyes were forced open. you made direct eye contact with her, your mouth hanging open. you let out a soft noise with every thrust she gave you. she added her thumb into the mix, circling your clit with agonizingly slow circles.

but the situation you were in was enough to send you over the edge.

"ah- ah! mads, you're gonna make me cum!" your eyes started to flutter shut again, your head falling back onto the wall. she suddenly halted her movements.

"only sluts that keep their eyes open get to cum." she scolded you, nearly pulling her fingers out. you felt yourself tighten around her fingers as an effort to keep her in. you painfully raised your head, an ache starting to form in your neck from holding it up. you opened your eyes, meeting hers again.

"isn't that better?" she cooed softly, moving her fingers at a faster pace. she leaned forward and kissed your cheek. "i fucking love your eyes, baby. i love when they're on me. they're just for me, yeah?"

"yeah, mads. fuck!" you cried out, quickly reaching your high again. "yeah, they're just for you. nobody else."

"cum for me, baby. you've been so good. you deserve it." she coaxed your orgasm out of you when she felt your walls start to clench around her digits.

you tried your hardest to keep your eyes open, your nails digging into the nape of madison's neck. she let out a soft groan from the pain. as you reached your orgasm, you left out a choked down moan, the sound bouncing off the walls.

your chest was rising and falling as you rode out your orgasm on madison's palm. she let out a condescending chuckle.

"you're such a fucking slut for me." she said, pulling her fingers out of you and licking up your arousal off her fingers.

"fucking hell, mads." you shoved her shoulder back, laughing softly as you felt your legs give out on you. you tried to take a step but quickly fell into madison's arms.

"awh, baby's so fucked out." she just had to tease you, didn't she? she couldn't help herself.

"shut up!" you fought back. "you're the one that wants all the damn attention on you."

"wrong, baby." she tutted.

"i want your attention."

#madison beer #madison beer x reader #madison beer x female reader #madison beer smut #madison beer x reader smut #madison beer x y/n #madison beer fic #madison beer x f!reader #madison beer x fem!reader #jock!madison beer #cheerleader!madison beer

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chapelofdread · 26 days ago

Text

too late for love ⋆₊˚⊹♡

part 4

dean winchester x hunter!reader

wc: 4.3k

summary based loosely-ish on 4x14 sex and violence. dean's been gone for a year, and by the time you’re tangled in the sheets, teeth at each other’s throats, you’re not sure if you’re punishing him or yourself.

warnings slight ooc most likely, mutual pining, porn with plot ! SMUUUUUT under the cut 18+ MDNI pls 4 the love of god, messsssssy oral (f! receiving), blowjob (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, dom!reader/sub!dean (switch vibes though), reader described as having tattoos. think that is it!! first time writing smut in like yrs so kind pls loooool<3

playlist for part 4:

love bites - def leppard

turn it on - danger danger

slipped her the big one - danger danger

here comes trouble - trouble tribe

whole lotta love - ledd zeppelin

i need you tonight - zz top

♪ im calling for someone like you,

baby, baby i need you tonight ♪

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you don’t wait for his answer.

the second your boots hit the ground, you hear the familiar creak of the impala’s door as it swings shut behind you. he’s following. of course he is.

you don’t look back until you reach the motel door, keys in hand, your heart thudding in your chest.

the lock clicks and the door swings wide open. you step inside. and then he’s there, standing just inside the doorway like he’s almost unsure if he’s allowed in, eyes dragging over you like he doesn’t know where to start.

you toe off your boots, slowly, methodically, the silence stretching thick and hot between you. the room feels warmer with him there, heavier. you glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze as you tug your coat off and let it slip from your fingers to the carpet. he still hasn’t moved. not really.

you take a step closer, shrinking the distance between you and him, and that’s when his hands find you. rough and warm, as he draws in a slow breath, exhaling heavy. his gaze stays locked on yours as he steps in closer, and without even glancing back, he kicks the door shut behind him.

calloused hands trace over your arms, down your waist, fingertips brushing fabric as he toys with the hem of your shirt. he waits for you, waits until you offer him a soft smile in return, and then pulls it up slowly, lifting it clean over your head. the air is cool against your bare skin, your stomach and your chest, and you shiver slightly, arms instinctively folding before you let them fall again. his gaze drops, drinking you in, mouth parting like he wants to say something.

but then his eyes catch on something new, something he hadn’t seen before at the club. something he hadn’t noticed, just below the curve of your shoulder. the ink is small. sharp. unmistakable.

a scorpion.

his brow ticks slightly as he studies it, a breath catching in his throat. his fingers move before he can stop them, brushing over the fresh lines of ink on your shoulder, gentle and slow. his voice is quiet when it finally comes, low and rough. “didn’t have this before.”.

“nope.” you shake your head once, watching him from under your lashes. his thumb traces the curve of the tail before trailing lower, down your spine and over the soft dip of your waist, until his hand settles on the small of your back.

his hands slide down, hooking into the waistband of your jeans. you help him, unbuttoning, unzipping, shoving them down enough to step out of them, leaving you in nothing but the delicate lace of the set you’d worn to the club.

and that’s when he sees the second one.

just above the curve of your ass, nestled low on your back - a tattoo he knows. anti-possession. the same as his. the symbol’s clean, fresh. he exhales hard, his hands settling on your lower back, thumbs brushing over the ink.

you shift slightly under his hands, arching into his touch. his breath ghosts hot against your shoulder as he leans in, the weight of him wrapping around you in slow, deliberate motion.

his mouth trails along your neck, slow, open-mouthed kisses, his stubble scraping lightly against your flushed skin. you tilt your head to the side instinctively, granting him more space, and he takes it gladly, lips dragging from your pulse point to your jaw.

you reach for his belt - clumsy, needy. it clinks softly under your fingers as you undo the buckle, slow and sure, keeping your gaze on him the whole time. his hands drift up to rest at the dip of your waist, his thumbs tracing circles over your hip bones, as you pop the button, sliding the zipper down.

you lean up to kiss him again, guiding him back a step at a time toward the motel bed. his jeans hang low on his hips, undone and forgotten, your fingers hooked into the belt loops, dragging him towards you.

you climb onto his lap again, straddling him, his hands pressing into your hips as you drift your own over his chest, under his shirt. it’s soft, worn cotton and thin enough that you can feel the heat rising off his skin.

“...off.” you whisper, voice caught in the contours of your ragged breath.

he huffs out a laugh, breathless. “yes, ma’am”, he replies with a mock salute, his brow quirking back at you.

he peels it off, dragging it over his head and tossing it somewhere to the side, leaving him bare beneath you as your hands drag slowly over his chest, your thumbs skimming his ribs. and that’s when you see it, barely there in the dark, but there nonetheless.

a mark. distinct and seared into the flesh of his shoulder. a brand. five fingers, impossibly perfect, carved right into his skin. your breath catches in your throat, your hand stilling, as you blink down at him, the shock evident on your face.

you trace the edge of it without thinking, the pads of your fingers following the shape of a palm too big to be human.

“what is this?” you ask, your voice lower than you mean for it to be.

his throat works, jaw flexing. he doesn’t answer right away. instead, his hands tighten once more on your hips. “it’s old…,” he says finally, pausing, “from…y’know...”, his voice trailing off, like that’s all he can offer.

but your eyes stay fixed to the mark, your hand smoothing over it - flat-palmed and warm against the cool press of his skin. “does it hurt?” you murmur.

he lets out a soft laugh, a dry laugh, “no, sweetheart,” his eyes burn into yours, “not anymore.”, and then he falls silent again.

his hands move again, one rising to cup the back of your neck, the other drifting down your spine. and then he kisses you, hard this time. and when you move against him again, it’s hot, something heavy with urgency now.

your fingers tangle in his short hair, nails grazing his scalp as you shift in his lap, rolling your hips slow - deliberate, teasing, mean - dragging a low, guttural sound from the back of his throat.

his hands slide lower, gripping your thighs and waist, eyes blown wide as they flick down your body and back up again, like he almost doesn’t know where to start. his palms drag up your back, calloused and warm, slipping beneath the band of your bra, skilled fingers unclasping it in record time.

you shrug the straps off your shoulders, without looking away from him, the lace slipping from your skin. his hands follow, his thumbs brushing over your ribs and then ghosting over your chest. you lean in, kiss him again, slower this time - deeper - your mouth parting against his. he groans into it, hands finally sliding up to palm your tits roughly. you rock your hips again and this time he bucks up into you with no shame. you let out a soft whimper as his mouth finds your neck again, then your shoulder, teeth dragging gently across your collarbone before he bites down, just enough to make you gasp.

you press closer, fingers still twisted in his hair, the warmth of his jagged breath against your exposed skin igniting something low, and full of heat, in your belly. you move against him again, desperate. and that’s all it takes. he flips you with an ease that makes your stomach turn, pressing you into the mattress, large hands trailing down your cheek, your tits, your waist. his jeans are halfway down, yours abandoned now somewhere near the door, and he wastes no time now - hands skimming, mouth following. the whole thing is reverent. hungry. and you’re starving.

he trails kisses down your chest, stopping at your tits to take one of your nipples in his mouth. it’s messy, his tongue swirling over the taught tissue - sucking, nipping, biting. you arch into his touch, an almost-whimper escaping your lips, “dean–” it slips out, soft and wanting and desperate.

his name sounds good in your mouth and he groans low, shifting again, hands pressing roughly now at your hips, driving you down into the bed.

he flicks the pads of his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, playing with the lace trim, tracing the edge where the fabric meets your skin. he pauses, glancing up at you through half-lidded, dark eyes. questioning, waiting. you nod, heart clawing at your throat, and he peels them down slowly, deliberately.

“holy shit, sweetheart.” he breathes out, hands resuming their position on your hips, as his eyes draw slowly, too slowly, over your pussy. his tongue darts out quickly across his lips, as he stares down at you like you’ve just presented him with his last meal.

you gasp when his mouth finds the inside of your thigh - warm, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that burn. your hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more, and he chuckles against your skin. a low, wicked sound that has you wet.

“you’re soaked,” he rasps against your pussy, voice barely holding it together, “ ‘s all for me, baby?”

you mewl, nodding your head at the presence of his hot breath against your cunt, feeling yourself clench around nothing. “someone’s impatient.” he mutters, voice dark and amused. he’s enjoying this.

“you’re taking your sweet time.” you manage, breathless already, squirming under him.

he glances up at you from between your thighs, smirking, “yeah,” he says, dragging his mouth higher up to the crease of your leg, “because i plan on enjoying this.”

you cry out as his tongue finally meets your pussy, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit, before he moves lower, licking up your slit in a single, deliberate stroke that makes your legs tremble. he groans into you, hands tightening on your thighs as he pulls you onto his mouth, locking you in place.

his mouth is a fucking weapon, tongue flicking against your clit with precision and then dragging lower, dipping inside of you just enough to make your hips jolt again. he pulls back, just slightly, flicking his gaze to you.

“fuck”, you whisper, jaw slack. your thighs twitch under the pressure of his hands as his tongue circles your clit again, slower this time. he’s teasing you. the cunt.

you moan, hips tilting up for more. “don’t tease, dean.” you scold softly, trying to keep your voice stable through wayward whimpers that escape your lips.

he eats you like it’s what he was made to do - slow, deep and messy - moaning into your cunt like he can’t get enough. his thumbs drag along the crease of your hips as your hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling in the short strands as you grind forward into his mouth, chasing your high. and he doesn’t put up a fight. he lets you. lets you use him.

you feel the pressure building low in your stomach, coiling deep in your belly, your whole body tightening with every flick of his tongue. “don’t stop, dean” you breath, voice raw and cracked at the edges.

he doesn’t.

he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. and that’s when his hands move, one gripping your thigh, keeping you open for him, and the other sliding between your legs. and then you feel it. two fingers pressing into your entrance - slow, steady and deep.

your breath catches, hips bucking into him as he groans, low and wrecked like he feels it too. his fingers curl inside of you, fucking into you slow, while his mouth stays locked to your clit, tongue flicking and dragging in time with his hands. it’s too much and not enough, your pussy squelching obscenely - messy and hot and desperate and so good. you can barely think, barely breathe, as your fingers twist in his hair and you whimper his name like it’s the only word you remember (it is).

his pace doesn’t falter. he gets rougher, deeper, like he wants to push you over the edge.

“that’s it,” he murmurs against your wet cunt, voice thick and wrecked. “c’mon baby…give it to me”.

everything inside you winds tight, as he laps at your clit. your orgasm hits you hard and hot and blinding, your whole body trembling.

he doesn’t stop until you’re gasping for air, thighs shaking around his shoulders, as he sucks your clit once more, slowly, just to make you twitch.

“fuck,” you whisper, wrecked, “fuck, dean”.

he just smirks against your skin, lips and chin wet with your slick, eyes dark and starving.

“told you i’d take my time”.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you lie breathless for a second, legs trembling, heart still trying to beat it’s way out of your own chest, your breath coming in shallow, broken waves. he stays between your thighs, head tilted back slightly to look up at you.

“you good, princess?” he asks, voice low and teasing.

you hum, slow and lazy, dragging a hand through his hair before letting it fall to your side. “mm. gimme a minute”.

“take all the time you–”

but you’re already moving, shifting your weight forward to swing one leg over him with practiced ease. he lets out a quiet grunt of surprise as you push him back, steady hands flattening against his chest until he’s sprawled out underneath you on the mattress.

his eyebrows lift, just slightly, his mouth parting as he takes you all in - flushed skin, steady hands and a slow, dangerous look in your eyes.

“you said something ‘bout takin’ your time?” you murmur, voice still hoarse, but controlled, as you drag your nails haphazardly down the smooth skin of his muscled chest.

he blinks, surprised. swallows. “uh—yeah?”

“good”, you lean down, mouth brushing his jaw. “because, dean…” you smirk, “it’s my turn”.

your hands slide down his chest, slow and warm, fingers splaying across the tight muscle of his stomach as you sink lower, dragging your hips along his, teasing him just enough to mae him twitch.

he groans, low and strained, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to grab you. you smirk, brushing your nose along the curve of his throat, before you bite, just enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

“sweetheart…” he warns, his breath uneven.

“mm?” you play dumb, as your hands move lower, palming him through his boxers - slow, steady pressure that has his hips jerking up into you.

you glance up at him, lips parting in a lazy grin. “what was that, baby?”.

he groans again, eyes fluttering and jaw locked tight. you laugh, soft, and then hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down over his hips, your gaze never leaving his face.

you sink back onto his thighs, eyes drinking him in. he’s beautiful like this, you think - flushed, panting, desperate, finally quiet.

“you jus' gonna stare all night?” he asks, a strained grin tugging at his mouth.

“maybe,” you tilt your head, a smirk playing on your lips,

“‘m just getting started, dean”, you whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear. you watch as his chest rises and falls faster, his stomach tightening as you free his dick completely. he groans, low and raw, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, but you catch them, pinning them to his sides.

“uh-uh”, you say, smiling lazily. “you don’t get to touch unless i say”.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, breath stuttering.

you just smile, fingers reaching for him, curling around his length - light, slow and measured. his hips jerk, completely involuntarily, and you glare at him, eyes dark. you tighten your grip around him, just slightly, “you stay still, dean”.

he breathes out a laugh, half-strangled. “bossy tonight, aren’t ya?”

“c’mon dean, y’know me,” you murmur, thumb dragging along the tip of his cock, leaking with pre, watching the way his jaw clenches, “you just haven’t been payin’ attention”.

he opens his mouth to respond, but whatever jackass comment he was about to offer dies in his through when you shift down, settling between his thighs, dragging your mouth along his length - barely there.

he groans, loud this time, his head falling back as he flings one arm over his eyes.

you smile, slow and pleased, and then - finally - you wrap your lips around him, just the tip at first, tongue flicking and teasing. cruel.

you breath, slow and shallow, pulling back to run your mouth along the underside of his dick, open-mouthed and hot, letting your spit drip down over your hand as you stroke him slowly from tip to base.

he bucks, helpless, hands flying to your hair, as he groans. it’s a sound that’s downright sinful. you glance up at him in mock innocence, “something you need, baby?”

he groans again, tightening his grip in your hair. “fuck, you…just—god”.

“use your words, dean”, you purr, dragging your tongue along his throbbing cock, just shy of where you know he wants you.

“please,” he breathes, almost begging, “fuck, baby, please.”

and with that you take him deeper, slow and smooth and deliberate, his weight of his dick heavy on your tongue.

his entire body shudders as you hollow your cheeks and set a rhythm. he’s desperate. a mess beneath you, hips twitching, hands in your hair, breath broken.

you pull off of him with a final, filthy, evil swirl of your tongue, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. he’s panting, chest rising and falling, pupils blown wide as he looks down at you like you’ve just rewritten his entire fucking understanding of god.

you crawl back up towards his face, lazy and lethal, fingers ghosting over his sides before settling your hips over his again, your thighs bracketing his waist.

you reach between your bodies, fingers wrapped around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. the head of his dick catches on your clit before you sink down onto him, inch by inch, until you’re full of him.

he’s wrecked already, chest heaving as his mouth drops open with a choked sound, hands flying to your hips like he needs something to anchor himself. your breath catches in your own throat, pausing as you feel him pressing against your cervix.

and then, you roll your hips, slow and deliberate. and that’s it. he’s done for.

“fuck, sweetheart….” he gasps, hands gripping tighter as you start to move, slow and unhurried, grinding down on him like you’ve got all the time in the world.

your head tilts back, one hand dragging through your hair, the other planted firm on his chest, keeping him exactly where you want him.

“want you to lie back”, you murmur, voice lazy and thick, “‘n take it.”

and he does. oh, he does.

his eyes drag over you like he’s trying to memorise every part of your body, the rhythm of you grinding down into him and the way your mouth parts with every slow roll.

the sound of skin on skin fills the room. and god, is it vulgar. his low groans grow rougher, more ragged and yours following, mixing right in with them, heat curling deep and sharp in your gut again.

his hands curl into the sheets, his eyes locked on you like you’re the last thing on the planet.

your hips grind down with a little more force this time, moving yourself relentlessly down onto him, deliberate and merciless.

“jesus…” he breathes, voice hoarse.

you drag your nails down his chest again, a little rougher this time. “told you it was my turn," you murmur, breath ghosting hot over his throat.

he bucks up instinctively, desperate to meet you, but you pin him back with your hips. “no, dean,” you whisper, nipping his earlobe just enough to make him twitch, “you don’t get to move unless i say”.

he groans, jaw clenched so tight that you think he might pull a muscle. “you’re fucking evil, sweetheart”. you him in response, pleased, sinking your teeth into the side of his neck.

he’s panting under you now, wrecked and flushed, as you roll your hips again, slow and deep. he brings his hands to your waist now, grip tight, a broken sound catching in his throat, and you lean back just enough to watch his face, hips still working in that punishing rhythm that has him bucking up against you.

“look at you, d,” you whisper, tongue tracing a line on the underside of his earlobe, “so fucking pretty like this,”, dragging the tips of your fingers down the side of his torso as you ask, teasing, breathless and cruel, “you close?”

he nods, eyes half-lidded and desperate. “fuck..yeah. yeah i’m–”

“not yet,” you whisper, cutting him off with a sharp twist of your hips that makes him swear, loud and ragged, “not ‘til i say”.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut for a second before you lean in again, palm sliding up his chest and curling around his throat, firm and grounding. his eyes snap open, wide and dark.

“wanna watch you, dean” you murmur. and then he whimpers - actually whimpers - the sound going straight through you. you’re soaked. ruined. your hips dragging down into him over and over with a pace that’s steady and unforgiving.

your thumb strokes along the edge of his jaw, affectionate and soft, even while you grind into him like you’re punishing him for the last year. “you’re doin’ so good for me,” you whisper, breath warm against his cheek, “takin’ it so well, dean. bet you’d let me fuck you like this forever if i asked.”

he groans again, loud, “please,” he pants, “please, sweetheart, i need–”

“need to what, baby?” you pout at him, tone deadly sweet, the sound of your pussy devouring his dick filling the space between you both.

he nods, frantic. “yes. please.”

you smile and shift your weight just right, grinding down harder and faster, your pace still controlled but cruel in its precision.

his whole body locks up, a loud, guttural moan ripped from his throat as he spills into you. you’re own orgasm comes rushing over you, white-hot, back arching as you move erratically. you ride him through it, slower now, easing him down. his breath stutters, chest heaving, a slick sheen of sweat making his skin glow ever so slightly under the low motel light.

you watch him, brushing damp hair back from his forehead, your fingers soft now. you lean down, kissing the corner of his mouth. “told you it was my turn”.

he laughs softly, breathless and completely fucked-out. “jesus christ”.

you grin, climbing off of him slowly and collapsing at his side, heart pounding so loud in your chest that you swear he can hear it.

he reaches for you on instinct, arm curling around your waist, dragging you close. “you’re insane,” he mutters into your hair. “mm,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you lie there for a while, both of you quiet, exhausted. the silence isn’t awkward, just full. warm and thick.

dean’s breath is still settling, his chest rising slow beneath your cheek, as his thumb brushes gentle arcs into the curve of your spine.

you shift a little, kissing the hollow of his throat and murmur, “you good?”

he exhales a laugh that doesn’t quite make it all the way out. “never been better, sweetheart.”

your hand finds his under the sheets, fingers intertwining with his, his grip tightening over your digits.

“can’t believe you’re here,” he says after a while, voice low and hoarse.

“me neither,” you admit. you don’t say i thought i lost you. you don’t say you were gone a year and i didn’t know if you’d ever come back. you just press your forehead to his shoulder and breathe him in, a scent that is all dean.

he turns his head to kiss your temple, soft and careful. “sorry, i…” he stops. starts again. “it wasn’t s’posed to be like that. leavin’ you.”

“i know,” you say, and you mean it. even if your chest still cracks open every time you remember everything that had passed between you and dean.

you shift so you’re facing him, your noses almost brushing, your legs tangled with his under the thin motel sheets. his eyes are tired, but softer now. greener.

“you came back,” you whisper.

he nods. swallows. “not all of me.”

you nod too. because yeah, you know. you know now. he disappeared and now he’s back. and he’s different. but he’s here.

your fingers trace along his jaw and the small smattering of freckles which dust his cheeks, like you’re reminding yourself of all of the things that hadn’t changed.

“you’re still my dean,” you say.

he doesn’t hesitate. “always. always, sweetheart.”

you kiss him again, slow and lingering, delicate. and when he finally pulls you into his chest, arms looped around you, one hand stroking up and down your back, you finally let yourself relax. finally let yourself go.

you fall asleep like that, skin to skin, your breaths synched up, the past still sitting between you both. but it’s quiet now. almost forgiven. almost.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖑'𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖑 hiiiii this was NOT proofread i just needed to finish it ! ꩜ i haven't written smut in aaaaaaages so pls b kind ! more parts incoming (when i have motivation) ⛧ hope you enjoyyy<3

#⁶𖤐⁶chapel of dread #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x hunter!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #spn #supernatural #supernatural x reader #too late for love

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atrwriting · 1 year ago

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rivalry — blackwood and bracken arranged marriage au

pt. 1 — bracken!reader x davos blackwood

au where two marriage pacts end the rivalry between the blackwoods and the brackens (i don't care if this has been done before this is my version gbye)

as always, warnings: misogyny, davos is a fucking FREAK, smuuuuut, dirty talk, breeding kink

lmk if u want pt 2 — aeron bracken x blackwood!fem!reader ;)

my fiancé actually loosely edited this for me so if this sucks it's his fault

____

“let’s get this over with.”

you gulped. you had been dreading this moment ever since your father announced there would be a peace treaty between your family, the brackens, and the blackwoods. the ceremony, the feast, and the dancing were not your biggest concern — but your wedding night? nothing could stop your hands from shaking — and your new husband, davos blackwood, surely wouldn’t step forward and aid you in your time of anxiety.

you folded your lip in between your teeth, playing with the exquisite shift that was custom made for this exact night — a night supposed to be consumed by the throws of pleasure and a hopeful future, possibly in the form of an heir. you couldn’t believe the brokering of peace came in the form of a marriage pact — to someone who would never see you as anything but a bracken, his enemy.

two marriage pacts, actually — you married davos blackwood, and your brother, aeron bracken, married davos' sister. two feuding families. bound not just by one marriage pact, but two — because everyone knew that only one marriage would not have been sufficient for peace. not only was he forced to spend his life, or the rest of yours, with a bracken — but his sister? forced to marry a bracken, as well? aeron bracken? of them all?

you could see it on his face — gray with sick. it turned your stomach as well — to realize you were loathed so much.

“i can’t change who i am,” you said suddenly, keeping your eyes on the floor. “nor my heritage. i understand you loathe the sight of me, for what it reminds you of — but i can’t change that.”

he didn’t respond. he just undressed with his back turned to you, save for his pants and under shirt. you watched the muscles in his shoulders and back ripple as he tugged off the garments, preparing for bed. you couldn’t see his face as he undressed — and you weren’t sure if it was good or bad. good because you could speak boldly — bad because he refused to look at you, and possibly would refuse your request.

“but as your wife... even if it’s the one you didn’t wish for…” you sighed, losing your thoughts and confidence. “i promise to not be a bother to you — the only thing i ask… is…”

he turned towards you then, but not completely. it was like he gave you his attention, but was fully aware of what he withheld from you — even though you were practically baring your soul to him. you weren’t in his head, you couldn’t be sure… but his silence was enough of a signal that he most likely would not understand a woman’s anxiety in a moment like this.

here goes absolutely nothing, you thought. you mustered up whatever courage you had — albeit very little — and continued, “you do not owe me anything — but i… i…”

“spit it out,” he bit.

your mouth fell slightly agape with his tone. it was the way feuding men speak to each other — not a feuding husband and wife. it was like you were stripped of your femininity and your new identity as his wife, and replaced with that of a rival male — causing you to come to the realization that this feud ran so deep that not even two marriage pacts with the hope of inspiring peace would be sufficient.

he would always hate you. always.

he’s going to hate you as if you’re your brother anyway, you thought. might as well have the stones to match.

you clenched your jaw, raising your eyeline. you refused to cower to a man when it wouldn’t make him hate you less — and especially not if it definitely wouldn’t get you what you wanted. you were afraid, and out of options. with a sigh, you responded, “be gentle with me the first time. just the first — that is all i ask.”

you held his gaze then — refusing to look away. he needed to know how desperate you were, to avoid that unfathomable pain as much as possible. you’d look him in the eye, the eye of the enemy of your family for the last few centuries — because otherwise the shame and dishonor was too great, and too heavy for a new wife to bear.

if you weren’t so intent on not seeming weak, you should have looked — actually looked — at your husband. at how broad his shoulders appeared in comparison to his lean waist and hips. his light eyes that seem to pierce you in a way that only a dagger could; sharp, and forever on edge. how he was so handsome that you might done anything to see him smile or laugh… but you couldn’t. wouldn't. you most likely would never get that chance — but you bet that he looked so handsome when he smiled.

but he would never smile for a bracken.

“be gentle with you?” he asked, accusation already in his eyes. his fists were bawled at his sides as he walked towards you. “as if your craven brother would be gentle with my sister?”

“how dare you even insinuate my brother would treat his lady wife with anything but kindness and respect!” you spat, leaning towards him with anger dripping from your pretty lips. “he may not like this situation any more than us — but he would never harm a woman, no matter what family she came from.”

he shook his head, glancing away from you. “you are actually naive enough to believe that?”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “if you’re stupid enough to believe that of him — then why would you want to be the very thing that you hope does not enter your sister’s bed this very same evening? — do you wish to be as despicable as you believe him to be, my lord husband?”

“watch your mouth, wife!” he spat through gritted teeth. “you would do well to mind your craven tongue.”

you mouth fell agape at his words. “my craven tongue, blackwood?” you scoffed at his words, suddenly too angry to be in the room with him. you didn’t want to get this angry — you wanted this to be as peaceful as possible. “i suddenly find myself wanting to leave this room — do enjoy our wedding night by yourself husband. i’m sure you’re well acquainted with your hand —“

you went to push by him, but he grabbed you by the elbow. he refused to let you pass, but you did not press the subject with words or jerking movements of your body. you did not know your husband — only his reputation from the mouths of kin. you did not dare push his anger — not when he could do with you as he pleased in this room, with no consequence outside these walls.

“i have been made very well aware of a bracken’s inability to perform their duty — but you will not stop me from performing mine, wife,” he grit, glaring down at you.

“i asked you to perform it honorably, husband! — if you can’t, then your reputation precedes you,” you spat. “so what will it be? i put the cards in your hands — so deal.”

his nose curled into a snarl, matching the hateful expression on his face. hatred poured from his veins, while you could feel your own resolve slipping away from your face. fear was creeping back in, as boldness only got a woman so far in the bedroom of an angry man. fear, fear, fear. it leaked from every one of your pores like tears, but you fought those. you blinked several times in order to hide what you could. if he saw the fear on your face, his own expression didn’t change.

…unless he knew the fear was always there, and he didn’t care.

“…please,” you whispered, anger still on your face but your voice threatening to break. “just tonight, husband — please.”

“i would never hurt a woman,” he spat, the flames on his face beginning to subside. “only a bracken —“

“i didn’t think you would hurt a woman,” you spoke, trying to soften your voice. “i asked — because others have described this pain as one of the worst. i was afraid, lord husband — but not of you.”

while you intentionally softened your voice, your husband did no such thing. he merely let his anger die with your words, most likely at the fact that you were the one to admit weakness. you were the one to admit vulnerability. you were the one to have to beg. you had won, but at what cost to your pride?

it didn’t matter now. all that mattered was getting this done. quick, done, and over with.

“lie on your back,” was all he said, holding your gaze.

your lips parted as your eyes looked down at the floor. you turned in place, and began walking towards the bed. you laid down on, fighting the urge to twist your fingers together in anxiety. you kept your head forward, but your gaze down and to the side. out of the corner of your eye, you could see your husband walk over to the bed and climb on top of you.

he unlaced his leathers as he spoke, both of you avoiding the other’s eyes. “avoid allowing your muscles to tense up — it will only make it worse.”

you whispered a small “okay,” barely audible.

you opened your legs, lifting up slightly at your hips for him to rest comfortably. he adjusted, before you watched him bring his hand to his mouth. you couldn’t help yourself — you watched as his lips sucked his long fingers past their opening, lubricating the digits. his eyebrows knitted together with the motion, before his fingers found their way between your thighs. you fought the urge to jump or squeal when you felt his warm, wet fingers thread through your folds.

he let out a sigh of discontent before glancing up to your face.

“trust me, alright?” he asked.

you didn’t verbally respond. you simply looked at him with your lips slightly parted, eventually nodding.

that was enough for him. he climbed down the length of your body, settling himself between your legs. he raised the length of your shift up to your stomach, leaving your bare from the abdomen down. in your nervous state, you took it as a cue to slip your dress off. when he saw the cool air hit your naked breasts and harden your nipples into a peak, his own lips parted — and you felt a growing mass harden against your leg.

“you’re beautiful, wife,” he spoke — seemingly without realizing it. you almost thanked him, before he added, “...for a bracken.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, ready to respond — when he dipped below your navel.

you sucked in a sharp breath of surprise — you couldn’t help it.

his tongue licked up and down the length of your slit, and dove in between your folds. you immediately covered your mouth with your hand, all of your muscles going tense. davos had wrapped his arms under your thighs, hoisting them around his shoulders. his tongue was thick and messy against your folds, causing them to glisten in the flames of the nearby fire.

and once his tongue made contact with the pearl at the very top of your slit, you let out an exhale of ease. it was not lost on your husband — who drew a circle around the circumference of the bud. when he noticed you relaxed more, he drew another. when he noticed you fought the urge to buck your hips up to meet his mouth, he drew yet another. he knew what was happening — but he wasn’t sure if you did.

when you began to fist the sheets with your one free hand, he didn’t stop drawing.

he locked his head in between your thighs with them thrown over his shoulders. your cunt was dripping juices from your sweet, untouched hole — and davos found himself ashamed to admit that he lost himself in the act. for a moment, he couldn’t help but forget the name of the girl above him — the one taking everything he gave her, and acting so grateful with the way she couldn’t stay still.

but after that moment… he could’ve ripped away and plunged into you, making the act become done and over quicker. he could’ve… but he found himself enjoying it.

he continued to draw those circles — those small, tiny, wet circles that sent you in a haze — as he slipped a finger inside your cunt. and then two. he was greedy for your reaction. he was greedy for the way he knew, he fucking knew, that you had never experienced pleasure like this — not by you or anyone else. him, a blackwood, would be the one to make you feel so good you would forget your name and house for even the smallest moment — even the smallest moment would be a win for his pride and for his house.

a small part of him hoped you’d feel shame at the fact he’d make you succumb to the throws of pleasure... but a larger part of him wanted to make you feel so good that you allegiance to your house wavered. ...but when he began to suck on your clit, sounds filling the room — he knew it would be both.

from below, he watched you shove the side of your face into the pillow and pull at its threads. your hips began to ride against his face, coating his chin with everything you could give him. he held you down the best he could — bratty little thing you were, but it was difficult as he also wanted you to lose control. he watched as you tried to bite your lip, harder and harder and harder — before you gave up. you left out a sob into the pillow, legs still shaking, and davos kissed your clit.

when davos crawled back up to meet you, every nerve ending had pins and needles. you were warm from head to toe — no longer in need of the fire, your shift, or any blanket. you were shivering, but not from the cold — but from the comedown, a stranger to passion and lust and pleasure. all three twirled around in your womb like a fire that had never been lit; a treasure to be discovered — only by davos.

“can i kiss you?” you asked before thinking it through.

davos had a look of being caught off guard. he wasn’t expecting you to ask, and you saw it flash on his face. you suddenly grew worried —

he didn’t let you finish your thought. davos leaned forward and kissed you.

he kissed you in the way you would expect a boy you love to kiss you — sweet, gentle, but with a growing passion that could only be shared in the bedroom. he held his weight with one of his strong arms, the other tucked behind the back of your knee. he pulled your knee to his hip and you wrapped both legs around his hips. you pulled him into you and felt the skin of his pelvis brush against your cunt.

“you’re so sweet,” you spoke against his lips. with obvious sarcasm, you added, “...for a blackwood.”

he laughed then. “you’re obedient for a bracken.”

you flicked his stomach, causing him to yelp — but you didn’t let him pull away for long. with both hands, you pulled him back to meet your lips. it hadn't even crossed your mind to ask him to wipe his mouth, for you did not want to. the old gods and the new would surely curse you for such lust filled thoughts — but you didn't care. how could you care when you had found a way to bring peace between a blackwood and a bracken, even if it was temporary? how could you care when you sharing one of the most holy of relationships, being the intimacy between husband and wife? how could you care when this night was going better than you could have hoped?

you could sense him bring his own hand down to his large member, feeling his forearm brush your thigh as he fisted his length. as much as you wanted to reach out and pleasure him — you were worried for what came next. the pain. the inevitable.

davos lined up the red tip of his cock with your tight hole, barely stretched out by his fingers. he slid his cock up and down the length of your slit with the intent of collecting as much of your juices as possible. with a slight push, he entered you.

you immediately let your head fall onto the pillow as the stretch began to burn. the pain on your face was evident, and davos guided his hand to draw circles on your clit once more. your muscles loosened, welcoming the pleasure that davos brought you.

“please,” you gasped, flicking your eyes up to him.

he stared at your face with an intense look of study. with his eyebrows knitted together, he brought one of your legs over his lower back and held you by the back of your thigh. the stretch was felt in the length of your cunt, as it stretched to fill his size.

davos was concerned for your well-being, of course, but something was beginning to curl in his lower abdomen. he wanted to take your by force — prying your legs open, holding your thighs in place, and drilling his cock into your swollen, dripping cunt. he wanted you to moan his name in his ear and pull at his hair or scratch his back — but he couldn’t, not yet. not just yet. not when you were you worried before, especially now that your attitude had been lost.

he had half a mind to point that out — lest that return.

“keep going,” you spoke.

“what if —“

“i’ll tell you to stop if it hurts,” you interrupted. “it’s all felt so good — i don’t want it to stop.”

he quirked an eyebrow at you. “is my wife claiming to know more than her lord husband?”

you squinted your eyes at him, ready to bite back. “i’ll have you know —“

but he didn’t wait for you to finish.

he leaned forward, placing both forearms on the side of your head. you could feel his lips against your earlobe, causing a quick intake of breath to overtake you. as he leaned forward to your ear, his hips leaned forward as well. his large cock was fully buried inside you now, rocking back and forth as it hit a spot so deep inside you that you didn’t know how he was able to fit. it felt like it was right behind your tiny pearl, which was being nudged by your husband’s pelvic bone. the combination was driving you crazy, only nonsense poured from your pretty lips…

“you’ll take what i give you, my pretty bracken wife,” he spat. “or should i say, blackwood, hmm? no longer craven?”

you wanted to bite back. you wanted to slap him. you wanted to push him from between you and make him finished himself off — but you couldn’t. you couldn’t fight your hips as they raised to meet his own, holding still as he pounded into your pretty cunt.

“a cock made you forget where your loyalties lie?” he questioned with a scoff, but never forgetting to smirk. “that’s all you need, wife? no one’s ever made you feel like this before?”

“you fucking —“

“say it,” he spat, almost growling against your lobe. his hips were snapping against yours as your cunt milked his cock, hoping for the spend that would seal the accomplishment of the marital duty. you were almost in tears from the frustration and the pleasure — not sure how to channel it, not sure what to do with it. “say it!”

“no one, davos,” you cried into the open air above you. “only you, only…”

his hands were tangled through your hair now, keeping your head upright as he sucked on your neck. little nips and bites sent shockwaves throughout your body, and your hips began to stir in the familiar way they had moments prior. davos’ weight held you perfectly still and taut, subjecting you to the pleasure his cock brought in the most perfect way.

“bet you can’t stand that you’re buried in a bracken right now,” you bit, almost succumbing to tears. “— can’t stand that only my womb will give you an heir —“

he yanked on your hair then, extending your neck so you were at his mercy. a strangled gasp left your mouth as you clung to him, which surprised you. you once asked for gentleness, kindness, sweetness… but if you had known how good this would feel… you wouldn’t have even bothered. you would’ve pushed and pulled him all night — subjecting him to the same insults that he hurled towards you if it meant he would fuck you this good.

“and i’ll coat your womb in everything i have, wife,” he growled, pushing his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. “everything i have — until you’re full of blackwood seed. until there's blackwood in your veins. a full blackwood honorable enough to give me a blackwood heir.”

“i’ll never be —“

you couldn’t finish your sentence. the combination between his large cock taking you and his skilled fingers working you… it was all too much. you couldn’t handle the pleasure and the bittersweetness of his attitude, as you were already so close to your peak and losing to him. you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, as well as spreading throughout your womb… ready for him…

“davos, please — “ you cried. “i’m so close. please don’t stop…”

“tell me you’re a blackwood,” he spat. “say it — or i’ll stop.”

“you wouldn’t —“

“i would dare, lady blackwood,” he spat, interrupting you. “now tell me who you belong to — or i’ll leave you unsatisfied with this pretty cunt dripping.”

he immediately began to slow down his hips, and you felt his fingers begin to slow as well. you tried to fight the incessant need to have him continue, but it proved difficult. soon, frustration replaced pleasure. anger replaced lust. need replaced pride.

“i’m yours, lord blackwood — !” you cried, pulling his hips back into yours. “please —“

he didn’t let you finish. immediately, his lips were on yours. he tangled your tongue with his until you could feel it down your throat. his tongue, his fingers, and his cock — they filled you whole, leaving you wanting for nothing. he held you to still so tight that all you could do was whatever he wanted. his own hips were thrusting against yours — chasing his own pleasure while you unraveled like pretty thread.

“this tight, perfect cunt…” he growled. “so many little blackwood heirs will bless this womb… seven hells…”

he kissed you once more, and you felt something break inside you. your head threw itself back against the pillow as every muscle in your body tightened and stood still. a sob left your mouth, incoherent — but when davos heard it, heard it crying for him and only for him, he broke as well. the heat and passion between two sworn enemies threw you both into climax that neither of you had ever experienced before. you pulled at his hair, while he bit down on your shoulder. and there was your bond — sealed in pain, pleasure, and blood.

when your peak had cooled, you found yourself clinging to your new husband as he still laid on top of you. he was breathing heavily, having expended much energy and couldn’t bring himself to leave your warm embrace. you began to scratch his back, hoping to relax him and get him to stay on top of you…

“that feels good,” he grunted from his spot in your neck. “are you sure i was once to hate you, wife? i find myself unable to remember why our families hate each other at this moment.”

you giggled. “we might not be able to help them… but i don’t see why it must carry into our union.”

“oh, wife…” he spoke, kissing your neck once more. “if our fights always lead to that — i believe our union will be forever blessed.”

____

lmk what you guys think!! who's ready for pt 2 w aeron?? - L xo

#house of the dragon #hotd #davos fic #davos smut #davos blackwood #davos x reader #davos imagine #davox x oc #davos x bracken reader #benjicot blackwood #house blackwood #house bracken #aeron bracken #aeron smut #aeron fic #aeron imagine

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