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swiftispunk · 5 months

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good to me, part one | joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates for fic notifs

pairing: gynecologist!joel miller x female!reader rating: 18+ explicit word count: 3.3k

summary: with your usual doctor out, you're stuck having to get your routine pap smear done by the gorgeous dr. miller. warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] doctor/patient shenanigans, smut (?) technically, medical kink, reader has anxiety, mentions of mild past medical trauma, mentions of blood, mention of menstruation, literally just getting a pap smear and all that entails, sexual tension, competency kink, praise kink, glove kink if you squint, sexually explicit thoughts, sweet joel kisses, one (1) pov swap, gyno!joel miller refers to pussy as "vagina" in his head because he's a serious professional. no use of y/n. disclaimer: obviously i am not a gynecologist ya'll so i make no guarantees that the language used here will be one hundred per cent accurate. this is wish fulfillment, not medical school. anyway this is just supposed to be a bit of silly, horny fun so pls just take it for what it is or scroll on by if it's not your thing thank you love you bye

part two | part three

a/n: thank you to every kind soul who heard me out on this one, with a special thanks, as ever, to cat @joelscruff for helping me make these visuals look pretty.

(part two is coming soon)

You've been psyching yourself up for this for weeks.

The last time you were here had been...horrible. Dry and nervous, you'd left spotting and sore, your doctor rushing through your routine pap with little regard for you or your comfort. You're dreading having to do this again.

What's worse, you don't find out until you're standing in the waiting room that your usual doctor is out for a family emergency.

"Dr. Miller is filling in," the receptionist tells you. "Are you comfortable with that?"

You're not really sure you are - you've never really felt comfortable having this done by a man - but you know you need to get it over with (you've already put it off longer than you should) and so in spite of your uncertainty, you agree to see the mysterious Dr. Miller.

Your nerves only heighten while you wait in the tiny, white room for him, palms sweaty, heart pounding in your ears. You try to avoid staring at the metal tray beside the bed, crowded with tools you're all too familiar with. It feels like you wait for hours, each minute passing slower than the last, and then he walks in. Your stomach drops.

Because Dr. Miller is gorgeous. All broad chested and tan skinned, white coat thrown over business casual attire, a light blue collared shirt over a pair of well-pressed trousers. Greying scruff and salt-and-pepper curls frame his warm, brown eyes while big, strong hands grip a clipboard, his gaze fixed on the files there till he looks up and meets your wide-eyed stare with a blinding half-smile.

Now your heart pangs with something else entirely, an involuntary warmth spreading between your thighs when he extends a hand out for you to shake and takes a seat on the wheeled bench before you, legs spread wide so the fabric of his trousers strains over his thighs.

Then he opens his mouth - and you're a goner.

"I'm Dr. Miller, s'nice to meet you, ma'am."

Your voice shakes when you tell him your name and he repeats it back slowly, checking it against the papers in front of him, almost like he's committing it to memory. You find he's polite and patient, his voice a low drawl that makes your skin tingle while he conducts a quick questionnaire.

How are you feelin' today?

Have you had a pap before?

When was your last period?

Are you sexually active?

And at that last one, you roll your eyes before sardonically telling him, no, openly bitter because it's been far too fucking long since you've had sex or even been touched the way you'd like to be. You're almost embarrassed at the slip of honesty, but Dr. Miller doesn't acknowledge it beyond a small, knowing smirk, enough to make your cheeks warm and your cunt inexplicably throb.

Then he tells you to undress from the waist down and lay out the bed, adds that he'll be right back, and the nerves return tenfold. When you slip off your bottoms and find a wet spot in your underwear, you hastily fold them into a tight ball and hide them under your chair, as if he isn't going to see the evidence of your arousal in just a few moments.

Paper crinkles beneath you as you sprawl out on the bed with your knees pressed firmly together, covering your bottom half with a clean, pale pink sheet. You prop yourself up on your elbows and stare at the ceiling, your heart still racing when a knock comes at the door and Dr. Miller slips back into the room.

All cool and calm, his demeanour does little to relax you.

"Read on your file you had a bad experience last time," he's saying as he wheels his stool to the foot of the bed and dons a pair of blue, latex gloves.

"Yeah," you tell him, voice weak.

"S'alright, I'll try and be real gentle," he assures you, readying the speculum with deft, competent fingers. You shiver at the daunting sight of it. "But it'll help f'you relax."

"Okay," you nod.

"Lie your head back."

You swallow tightly, and with some difficulty, you do.

"Come a little further down the bed."

You inhale a shaky breath, and again, do as he says.

"Feet right here," he instructs you, thick fingers grazing your ankles and guiding them to the very edge of the bed.

"Now..." he hums, moving to touch his hands to your knees. "Knees open for me."

You hold your breath as he coaxes your legs open, keeping your feet together so you're in a sort of frog position, and you suppose it's somewhat less humiliating than the stirrups but only just. Because now there's only a thin sheet of paper separating the beautiful Dr. Miller from your exposed pussy.

You've never felt more vulnerable in your entire life.

"There we go," Dr. Miller murmurs. "Alright so far?"

"Mhm," you lie.

"You're doin' great, darlin'."

Darlin'. Darlin'. It does the exact opposite of relaxing you, that word, the sound of in that honey-sweet voice of his making arousal pool at your core and a burning need to trickle along your spine.

"Thank you," you find yourself saying and Dr. Miller chuckles.

"Gonna move the sheet now," he warns you softly and you stiffen all over again, frozen, for a moment, into silence.

"Okay?" he presses you when you don't respond, prompting you to finally breathe a quiet, okay.

Cool air hits your cunt the moment he pulls the sheet up to your waistline and you squeeze your eyes shut in preparation, fearing the worst.

Patient experiences extreme dryness and suffers from anxiety. Previous exam led to bleeding and discomfort.

He'd heeded those warnings, read them over and over in your file, shaken his head when he'd thought of how your last doctor had failed you. Dr. Joel Miller takes care with his job, Dr. Joel Miller has never met a vagina he didn't respect, never met a patient he didn't long to help.

And he wants to help you. He'd been utterly charmed by your honesty, endeared by your sweet smile and kindness even through what he's sure must be crippling anxiety.

Anxiety that still seems to be plaguing you.

Poor thing, he thinks, when he sees you stiffen and squeeze your eyelids together, the evidence of your past experience written all over your weary features.

He's had patients like you before, knows there's only so much he can do when they're unable to produce vaginal lubrication. And frankly, he doesn't blame them. He knows there's nothing exciting about this procedure. He can try his very best, but sometimes the discomfort is inevitable.

Only - when he pulls back the sheet, all his prep goes out the window. Because you're not dry or tense at all.

You're wet.

More than wet, you're visibly aroused. Clitoris exposed, labia swollen and puffy, glistening with slick below the fluorescent overhead lighting. He can see the shining remnants of your arousal sticking to your inner thighs and it makes him wonder how long you've been feeling this way.

Oh, poor thing, he thinks again.

Of course, he's no stranger to this response either. Patients who seem...affected by him. That's not his ego talking either, he'd been told as much by a particularly bold patient once, though he'd ardently pushed back on the...compliment.

You know how handsome you are, don't you?

No seriously, this was easiest one of these I've ever had. That thing just...slipped right in.

He's got no way of knowing if it's him who's got you this aroused but he tries not to read into it too much; all he really cares about is doing his job, and making it as painless for you as possible.

"Still with me?" he asks.

"Yes," you whisper.

"Deep breath, darlin', relax."

He waits until your chest has risen and fallen in a long breath, in and out, and only then does he begin to inch towards the apex of your thighs with the silver, metallic speculum.

"Gonna touch you now."

He doesn't miss the way your walls twitch when he says that. And as much as he tries not to read into it, he's not sure he's ever had a patient this affected by him before.

"Okay."

He carefully uses two gloved fingers to spread you open, leaving your dripping wet hole fully accessible for him to touch the end of the speculum to. You flinch.

"S'cold, I know," he says sympathetically.

You whimper and Joel's shocked to find it stirs something in him, that sound. Something he immediately forces down, something very wrong, something he knows he shouldn't be feeling for a patient. He swallows hard and clears his throat, hums another sympathetic sound that seems to say, I know. I'm sorry.

"Doin' great," he repeats. "You're gonna feel a little pressure."

"Mhm."

But your face is still screwed up with worry, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip, brows furrowed with fear. He knows you can relax more. He knows he can make it better.

"Take one more deep breath for me?" he requests and you obey without question. Inhaling deeply, the crease between your eyebrows finally smooths out. And when you begin to slowly let the air out of your lungs in a long, steady sigh, he eases the speculum inside with hardly any resistance at all.

A hiss passes through your clenched teeth at the intrusion, the muscles surrounding your - admittedly beautiful - vagina tensing around the sharp, unpleasant metal.

"S'okay, doin' so good," he mutters absently as he focuses on adjusting the arms of the speculum, locking them in place to keep you open enough for him to let go and retrieve the spatula.

"How we doin'?" he asks as he works, glancing up at your face to find the worry line has crept back between your brows.

"Fine, good," you grit out. Joel smiles. You're brave.

"Almost done now," he assures you.

You are literally going insane.

You'd prepared for anxiety. You'd prepared for nerves. You'd prepared for fear.

You had not prepared for desire.

You're not even sure he's doing it on purpose, it's just...him. His low voice singing your praises and his careful touch making you sick with undeniable need, even though everything about the situation is decidedly unsexy. Your pussy is being pried open by the cold metal arms of a speculum and Dr. Miller is readying a small spatula with which to scrape a sample from your cervix and inner walls. You're lying in a goddamn doctor's office, for fuck's sake.

And yet - all you can think about are his hands - competent, sure, spreading your legs apart. His fingers - gentle, precise, lingering on your wet folds. His voice - deep and sultry, downright hypnotizing in its gravelly, rumbling drawl.

You resist the urge to squirm.

"Alright, now..." he mumbles to himself, hunching forward again and leaning in close. Too close. Not close enough.

"Might feel a little pinch here," he whispers and it really shouldn't make your pussy clench around the speculum when he says that, a rush of anticipation taking over at the thought of him being inside you.

Rather than squeezing your eyelids together in fear, this time, you force yourself to watch him, mesmerized by the relaxed set of features as he slips the spatula into your opening with practiced care. He's so broad, big shoulders and a wide chest that hover almost protectively over your exposed bottom half, melting your insecurities away as something about him just seems to scream safety, assurance, comfort.

And...hot. He's so fucking hot.

You do feel a little something when he inserts the tiny tool and runs it feather light along your insides, far more gentle with it than the last time you'd had this done.

"Still good?" he checks in, so attentive, and your heart stutters at hearing his voice again after such a long beat of silence.

The thought also crosses your mind that you bet he's this attentive in other departments too.

"Yep, mhm," you nod.

"Good job, almost there. Just hold on a little longer for me, okay?"

"Yes, sir," you say without thinking.

You mean it to sound like a joke but it accidentally comes out breathy and desperate and you instantly kick yourself for the stupid, stupid slip. Dr. Miller clears his throat and pulls back, turns away from you to deposit your sample and you think you see him shake his head infinitesimally as he does.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Right, gonna take this out now, ready?" he asks, turning back to you to fiddle with the arms of the speculum.

"Okay."

You brace yourself but there's really no need; Dr. Miller makes it altogether painless, murmuring a soft countdown under his breath before he slides the tool from your slick cunt. A trail of sticky arousal follows in its wake, the metal shining with you where he sets it down on the covered tray beside him.

It's done, you know it's done. But for a long, heated moment, you stay perfectly still, knees spread wide before him, pussy on full display. And Dr. Miller stays perfectly quiet.

Then he hums a deep, ragged sigh and pulls the sheet back over your open legs, kindly returning you to semi-decency.

"All done now, darlin'."

There's an elastic snap as he removes his gloves, the sound of wheels along tiled flooring and then Dr. Miller is at your bedside, looking down at you kindly because for some reason - perhaps the twisting ache of need in your guts or the fiery buzz of desire burning in your nerves - you still haven't moved an inch.

"Need a hand sittin' up?" he asks and somewhat dazedly, you nod.

Dr. Miller stands, towering over you as he holds out one massive hand for you to timidly reach across your body and grab. You let him gently tug you upright as you bring your knees together at last, cheeks warming when you remember you've have them splayed open for probably far too long now.

His hands hover over your arms as you pivot to hang your legs off the side of the bed, the film of paper under you sticking to your bare ass as you do. You face him full on, losing your breath all over again when you meet his warm, patient gaze and see that sweet, half-smile spread across his features.

"There we go," he whispers. "You alright?"

You swallow tightly.

"Yes, thank you."

Dr. Miller smiles, steadies you with two firm hands on your shoulders and you jolt slightly, his touch sending a charge down the back of your neck that you haven't felt in a very long time.

"Better'n last time, I hope?" Dr. Miller presses, his gaze nothing but patient as he stares into your eyes.

You try to smile but you're not sure if you do. There's a faint ringing in your ears and your head is spinning wildly as you stare blankly between his lips, jaw, and neck, transfixed. Dr. Miller is so close now, his chest right at your eye line, the phantom feel of his fingers still clinging to your skin and this is wrong, this is so, so, so wrong - he'd just been doing his job - but it's been so long since you've been touched like that by anyone and you fear if you don't get his hands on you again might actually cry.

He's looking down at you inquisitively, warm palms still lingering over your arms and oh, god, this is stupid, this is so stupid and so wrong, but he's so beautiful and he's so kind and it's been so fucking long -

You don't think, just fist the fabric of his cotton button-down and crane your neck upwards, catching his quiet gasp before you press your lips to his in a searing kiss.

It's desperate and needy but you don't even care, because Dr. Miller is kissing you back, the warm, whiskered feel of his lips on yours stealing whatever is left of your inhibitions. He tastes like mint and man and you press yourself closer, shivering as his fingers coil around your arms with just the right amount of pressure but -

Then he's humming a quiet sound of protest and the hands that grip your arms are prying you off him.

"Hey, hey, wait."

"Sorry - I'm sorry," you babble before he can get another word out. He avoids your eyes, gaze fixed on his shoes, while you burn hot with embarrassment before him.

Dr. Miller shakes his head and you await the scolding of a lifetime, for him to kick you out and tell you never to come back here again - and you'd deserve it, you know you would.

"Dr. Miller, I - "

"Mm-mm," he murmurs quietly, eyes still cast downward even as he holds up one silencing hand that nearly makes you swallow your tongue.

You shrink, wanting desperately to just run from the room as fast as you can, but Dr. Miller's other hand is still gripping your arm, holding you in place.

He sighs.

"I really don't do this kinda thing with my patients, ma'am."

"I understand," you nod shamefully. "I'm sorry."

"You...you're beautiful, I just - "

"Dr. Miller, it's okay. I'll just go, I'm sorry. That was so stupid."

You wriggle under his grasp to try and free yourself, but Dr. Miller steps closer to the bed before you can, caging you in.

"No, I - I mean," he shakes his head again, visibly warring with himself. Is this really happening? "I don't do this with my patients but I - "

At last, his eyes flit up to meet yours, sending your heartbeat into overdrive when you find his warm browns ablaze with lust.

Oh, god, it's really happening.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, already leaning in again as his hands creep up your arms, so slow, so careful.

Then his lips are back on yours and you inhale deeply through your nose, arching to press your chest into his, gasping into his mouth when his arms begin to snake around your back and tangle at the nape of your neck.

It's like a switch flips.

You moan against him as you hungrily lick between the seam of his lips and Dr. Miller responds in turn, his tongue curiously dancing with yours as his mouth molds to yours with heady fire. Your entire body is alight with need, fingers wrinkling the pristine front of his shirt while his hands move to cup the sides of your face. He's so close - everywhere - but it's still not enough.

The pale pink sheet over you falls away as you wrap your legs around his middle and pull him into the cradle of your thighs so your exposed, wet heat is pressed against his leg, arousal marking the fabric in slick webs. You gasp at the contact where you need it most and Dr. Miller groans, grinding his hips forward in an almost unconscious way, making your stomach flutter when you feel the hard press of his cock against you.

Oh, fuck. His cock. You've been so hungry for his touch, you'd nearly forgotten how much more he could give you. How full he could make you feel. Suddenly, your mouth is watering. You have no idea where this is going, you just know you don't want it to stop.

Knock, knock.

"Dr. Miller?"

A voice on the other side of the door has him hurriedly tearing his mouth from yours, fumbling backwards, both of you gasping and turning to face the source of the sound.

"Dr. Miller? Your next patient is here. Just letting you know."

He clears his throat, running a hand through his tousled hair. His cheeks are pink, lips swollen and wet, fire still smouldering in his eyes.

"Uh, thanks, Denise," he calls back. "Be right there."

You both listen to the sound of Denise's departing footsteps and then Dr. Miller turns back to you and sighs.

"Shit," he whispers at the sight of you half-naked on the bed, still catching your breath as reality sets back in.

"Shit," he says again, averting his gaze and hastily moving around the bed. He grabs your sample and his clipboard, leaving you dumbfounded as he makes for the door, twisting to look back at you one last time.

"I'm sorry," he grumbles and then he ducks out of the room.

#gyno!joel #medical tw #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction

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pseudowho · 1 month

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Daylight Robbery

Gojo Satoru likes when other men stare at what they can't have...but maybe he's underestimated Nanami Kento.

Warnings: 18+, cucking, I actually like Gojo so please don't misunderstand me 👀

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When a cuckoo visits a nest, he brings a most precious treasure, places it amongst others like it (but not exactly like it), and leaves.

And this is, of course, the most crucial point; for he does leave, and takes nothing with him.

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"Oi! Nanamin. I've got a favour to ask."

Nanami Kento stood, abruptly, looking at his watch and flapping his newspaper shut-- "My, my. Just look at the time."

"Don't be that way-- Nanamin, come back-- it's about my girl."

Nanami stopped, his hand upon the door handle. Gojo's smirk grew fast, grinning wolfishly, a squirm of possessive pleasure unfurling in his belly and his cock.

"Thought that might stop you...yeah, I've seen you looking. Can't have her though, right? My girl."

Of course, he had looked, at first, Nanami thought, his fingers on the handle. He had looked upon you, in all of your finery-- those glittering smiles, the rubies upon your lips, the marble-carved touches, so deliberately and exquisitely formed. Only after your heart and the life of you, had granted you animation, had Nanami then watched, now art in motion, art with a story.

"You can have her. If you want."

Nanami maintained his composure. Barely. He turned to face Gojo, stern and impassive.

"For one night, and one night only."

Ah. I see. You would like that, wouldn't you.

"And I get to watch. What do you say?"

A dozen questions flew through Nanami's mind, and none of them for Gojo. Nanami's cock twitched now, despite himself, calculating on bated breath.

"Sure. I'd like that. Tonight? Tell her to wear something...comfortable."

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You'd only have said yes to Satoru, for the other guy to be him.

As he stepped into Satoru's bedroom, gracing you with a gentle, reassuring smile, you softened, feeling so exposed and foolish in your lingerie. You glanced over at Satoru, barely lit in the dark, fingers on his temples with one pinched between his teeth, the other hand grazing lightly over his already hardening cock.

Nanami stepped over to you, sat on the bed and looking up at him with the tiniest glint of fear. His hand reached out, strong and soft, and cupped your jaw, brushing a thumb over your lips.

"I thought I said something comfortable," he chided without malice. Your lips parted just-so under his thumb, the briefest flick of your eyes towards Satoru, a half-hearted shrug and an awkward smile. Nanami snorted, derisive.

"I understand you," he purred, leaning down to you, both hands cupping your face as he whispered against your ear, "remember...you're in charge, darling, and I am entirely at your disposal."

"Nanami...I-- I don't know...where to start." Kento hummed, nodding, his thumb moving to stroke your cheek. Despite his outward self-control, your face was directly in front of his groin, and you could see a bulge, huge and heavy, under his tan trousers.

"Kento," he insisted, "please. After all...if I treat you as well as you deserve...it's my name you'll be crying out tonight. Not your boyfriend's."

Satoru shuddered in the chair in the corner, smirking, a hushed clink as he undid his belt, reaching down to hook his long, pale, pink-tipped cock free of its restraints. His hand reached down to cup his balls, rolling and fondling them in his palm, until beads of pre-cum began to dribble onto the neat white hair leading down his belly.

"F-Fiancé," you corrected, captivated as Kento's arms moved to bracket you, nosing at your neck, the shell of your ear, hips nudging you up the bed until you settled, feather-light, on sinking pillows. Kento huffed lightly.

"Yes. My apologies. Your fiancé." You were splayed beneath him, helpless as a kitten. Satoru was tall, and big, but...nothing like this bronze Adonis above you. Broad and mountainous, Kento's shoulders rolled, his breathing getting heavier, whiskey-brown eyes drunk on you. It was just he and you in the room, you were sure. And you felt so...safe.

"Well, then," Kento hummed, one hand reaching under your back to unclasp your bra, deft and dexterous, "I'm going to treat you like it's your very first time. Please, tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't." You urged, swallowing a sigh of relief as your corseting bra unclasped, "Don't stop," and Kento's eyes smiled at you.

"Is that better?" He whispered, kissing your forehead with such tenderness, you could have wept. Kento felt the way you pressed up against him, thrilled, roiling with such righteous rage at your misuse.

If Satoru had not been so captivated by the way Kento trembled with restraint above you, at the way your nipples pebbled as your bra was pulled softly from your body, he would have felt the fine thread of uncertainty that ran through him, as Kento treated you like spun sugar.

Used to dulling himself, Satoru gripped his cock, sighing and cursing as he stroked himself slowly, reaching to the table beside him to grab a bottle of lube, pumping it over his twitching cockhead.

Hearing the little wet sucks of Satoru's hand, masturbating himself with practiced strokes, your head tipped to watch him, teeth gritted and hungry as he watched you graze your hands over Kento's thick, corded biceps.

"Get on with it, Nanami," Satoru sniped, "or do you not know what you're doing with a girl like her? Scared I've ruined her for you?"

You blushed, moving an arm up to cover your face, as Satoru teased you both. Kento shushed you, removing your arm, pressing a kiss to your inner wrist before plaiting his fingers with yours, calm, confident and ungoadable.

"She's a rare gem, it's true," Kento answered, more to you than to Satoru, "and certainly not one that could be ruined by something so...insignificant." You felt a hot appreciative surge in your belly, so overwhelmed by the want in Kento's eyes, by his advocacy of you. His thumb was brushing over your lip again, eyes flicking between your mouth, and looking deeply into the heart of you.

"I'd kiss you," Kento whispered, "but only if you wanted me t--"

All at once, you grabbed Kento by the tie, pressing your lips to his, your first drink after a month of summer, tangling your fingers into his blond hair. Kento grunted against your mouth, pressing his body down onto yours, letting you lead the kiss, but guiding you into unexplored waters. You waded through them, calm, exotic and unfamiliar.

Kento kissed you with all the warmth and precision he had promised. Each time you tried to push the kiss further, he held you warmly back, controlling your desperate haste for your own sake. He pulled away from your mouth, a fine string of spit connecting you, and you seared at his refusal to use you, your breasts untouched, pussy untouched, so virtuous. Kento's mouth sucked at your neck, leaving his mark, subtle and inconspicuous, as he spoke to you.

"Would you like to undress me?" He offered, your hand still clutching his tie. You felt like you'd been given a gift to unwrap.

"Yes," you pleaded, body thrumming with the need for his skin on yours, "god yes, I--I'd love it. I love--...yes. Please."

"Good girl."

Kento continued to lap at your skin, his hands now ghosting over your hips, the soft plush of your belly, the dimpling in your thighs. Your hands shook, never thinking for a second that you could be edged by something as simple as removing Kento's tie, unbuttoning his shirt; simplicity made erotic. By the time you had pushed his shirt off his shoulders, caught on his brown leather harness, your irritatingly stringy underwear felt tight, wet and clingy with your own arousal.

"How wet are you, baby? D'you think he can fuck you as well as me, hmm?" You jumped at Satoru's voice from the corner. Hesitating to answer, unsure if Satoru would like what he heard, you chose silence, whimpering softly as Kento's tongue moved over your breasts, achingly close to your sensitive peaks. Satoru's breathing came ragged, watching another man devour you, just so he could wrench you away after...his hand gripped the base of his cock, twitching and wet, gasping with the effort to not spend himself all over his belly.

Your fingertips ghosted over Kento's harness, thoughtful. Just as Kento was about to graze his lips over your plump nipple, he stopped.

"You like it? My harness?" He chuckled, his hand rising to brush over yours, still fingering the brown leather. You bit your lip, nodding. Kento understood fully; in moments, he had stripped his shirt, replacing the harness only. You almost melted at the sight of him above you, buckling the harness over the front of his pecs, his own nipples being grazed by the tight leather press.

Kento watched you shudder, taking your hand, stroking it over the leather, down his belly towards his belt, feeling the veins of his V-line tracking down to his cock. Your mouth watered, and Kento shivered as your fingers tickled just beneath his belt.

Not breaking eye contact, Kento lowered his mouth back to your breasts, resuming as he pulled your nipple into his mouth, moaning around you at the sweet yielding softness. His tongue traced you so gently-- too gently, for the relief you needed.

"Harder-- please, Ken..." Kento acquiesced, ever your servant, as he drew your nipple deeply, the pleasure tangy and sharp as your nipple grazed the roof of his mouth, his thick fingers kneading and rolling your other breast. Your hips bucked up against nothing, and you whimpered in despair, no longer used to such ceaselessly tender foreplay. Your hands tangled in his hair, trying to push his head down your body, and Kento mumbled, voice husky and rumbling against your spit-wet nipple.

"Where do you want my mouth?" Before you could answer, Satoru interrupted, his voice low and feverish, working at his balls again with one lube-wet hand, flicking at his own nipples beneath his white undershirt.

"Eat her out, Nanamin. I want to see how fast you can make her cum...or, if you even can." Kento smiled at you again, soft, not rising to the taunts, casting an embargo on the forced air of toxic masculine competition.

"Let me know...if it's too much," Kento offered, his mouth kissing down your belly. As he reached your underwear, all silky straps and ties, Kento paused, tongue grazing just above them.

"Do you like these?" He asked, sincere. You bit your lip, mortified at having been read like a book.

"No," you whispered into the back of your hand, too quiet for Satoru to hear, "not really."

Kento hummed. His strong hands gripped your underwear, snapping one side at a time. Satoru groaned at Kento's fractured restraint, his thighs and back prickling with the edge of his orgasm; "Oh fuck, baby...you see how bad he wants you? Shit. Gonna look so beautiful with his cock inside you...get on with it, Nanamin."

Kento knelt above you, removing the scrap of your underwear, tossing it aside to his shirt. He looked down at you in reverence, his fingertips grazing past the puffy lips of your pussy, to dip his fingers into your wetness, lubricating himself with you. As Kento brought two fingers back up to gently pinch your clit, rolling it between them, he sighed, whispering again at your mewls and cries.

"Beautiful...gorgeous. You take as long as you need."

Kento undid his belt, chest straining against his harness, abs and pecs twitching as he fingered you with devastating expertise. He had imagined you like this so many times, mathematic in his fantasies, calculating how he would orchestrate your divine undoing. His free hand undid his belt, lowering himself to his belly as he rucked off his trousers, boxers and socks, his desperately aching cock now sandwiched between his abs and the bedsheets.

When Kento removed his fingers from your clit, you shot up on your elbows to look down at him with a cry of remand. Your breath caught at Kento gazing at your slick on his fingers, dipping them into his mouth, long pink tongue licking them clean and shivering at your taste.

Satoru's head pressed back against the chair, arching into his hand with a breathless laugh; "Doesn't she taste good, Nanamin? Don't worry...I'll finish her off, if you can't get her there." Satoru didn't know how much longer he could keep going, his cockhead a deep, angry pink, balls tight and full from almost spilling into his hand so many times, determined to outlast Kento. The thrill of the chase consumed him in holy fire.

Kento's eyes twinkled at you, unflappable, chuckling at how you bit your lip down at him, embarrassed by him tasting you with such enthusiasm. He chuckled as you covered your eyes again, nuzzling your inner thigh as you giggled, sharing a moment of companionable silliness. Kento broke it swiftly, dragging you out of your wall-breaking moment, by nuzzling his nose between your folds, and you gasped, moaning, high and long.

Kento had built you up with such precision, that by the time the tip of his tongue slid between your folds, flicking from side to side to part them and lay claim to your neglected bud, you came with a jolted cry, one hand clutching the pillow behind your head, the other entwined in his hair, pressing his face down into your bucking sex.

"--oh fuck-- shit, baby, are you serious? For Nanamin, huh? Fff--fuck-- so fucking beautiful." Satoru was shaking now, competitive bile rising in his throat, sorely tempted to throw Kento off of you, jealously coveting you in a way he hadn't earlier.

Satoru yanked his balls away from the base of his cock with a stilted growl, gripping himself, staving his orgasm away. He wouldn't waste a single drop of his seed until he could throw Kento out, and show you how a real man could fuck you. Kento knew the rules; he could not stay after to watch, and he could not spend his seed inside you. That privilege was Satoru's alone. Satoru ripped his blindfold off with a hiss, tossing it aside, staring into you and Kento and seeing you both in his own unique completion.

Kento wrapped his forearms around you, looped over the top of your thighs, licking you softly down from one orgasm, nuzzling you until you trembled, before lapping you back into his lips, and beginning to build you again, delicate, piece by piece.

"Kentooo-ooooo...aaahhhhh--put your--put your tongue in me-- please please pleas--"

Satoru almost ejaculated untouched, hearing you beg and twist under Kento's hungry tongue. He could see Kento's euphoria from your taste and twitches beneath his tongue. He could see the way Kento subtly fucked himself against the sheets, denying himself, and looking so cool about it, but still undeniably just a man.

"Shit-- baby-- see the way Nanamin's fucking our bed, huh?...fuck, why wouldn't he-- taste so fucking good, should we even let him fuck you, hmm?"

As lights and stars fell in your vision, rutting your clit against Kento's nose, his tongue licking as deeply as he could penetrate inside your cunt, you wondered faintly, that Kento was not fucking you, but making love to you instead. You felt wholly possessed, worshipped.

With Kento at your altar, you revelled, divine and cumming over, and over, and over, lost in some blissful fever-dream. Time lost meaning as he made you fluid beneath him.

Satoru moved to stand, and, still with his face between your legs, guiding you down from another orgasm, Kento raised one impeding just-a-moment finger to Satoru. Satoru's breaths were ragged, and he released his grip on the arm of the chair, moaning weak little moans as his aching cock sat, sore and in desperate need of something softer than his own hand.

Kento kissed his way back up to your mouth, face cupped, swiping the tears from your lashes with his thumbs.

"What do you think?" He whispered, teeth nipping at your tilted throat as you panted and shivered beneath his touch, "Can I give you what you want, goddess?" You nodded, short and incoordinate, and Kento could have burst with covetous pride to feel you hook your legs up and around his back, urging him, inviting him in.

Kento growled, feeling his leaking tip ghost the puffy tight wetness of your entrance. His breath caught in his chest, pins and needles all over his hips and cock as he bit back his orgasm, his brain fighting him with the image of you with his seed dripping all over your folds.

"Like it's your first time," Kento repeated, dipping his thumb over your tongue, groaning in approval as you sucked it, doe-eyed and supple and desperate to taste him, "I'll be gentle...I promise." You shivered, born anew as he began to press his cockhead inside you, both of you balanced on a knife's edge.

Satoru could have wept; your insistence on Kento taking you in missionary, of all positions, shielded you from his view, Kento's cock about to penetrate you behind the plush of your thighs.

"Stop," Satoru ordered, voice rasping, dry, clipped, "I'm here to watch, and you're here to do as you're fucking told, Nanami."

Nanami caught how your face twisted in frustration, anger at having been interrupted. He rose one hand to plait with yours again, licking your jaw as he stroked his cockhead between your folds, teasing your clit, shivering as he slyly encouraged you to give him a pussyjob. You mewled, feeling a hot dribble of pre-cum over your clit, dripping down towards your entrance.

"I only follow one person's orders here, Gojo," Kento rumbled, pressing his slit over your hard little bud, wiggling them together with a hiss so your most sensitive spots slipped together as puzzle pieces for a moment. You felt yourself, shaking like a leaf, feeling such copious amounts of Kento's arousal seep out around the seal his slit had made over your bud. You felt dizzy, clutching Kento's beautiful, clenching arms.

The centre of your world focused so entirely on Kento, you had placed yourself into the palm of his hand, aching for him to control you in a way that was so thoroughly in defence of you.

"Besides," Kento said, pressing his cock deeper now, husky as he felt your tight, gummy walls suck him in, "you should watch her face instead of her pussy...it's the best part."

Satoru whimpered, moaning as he fucked up into his own fist, lube splattered onto his groin, white hair wet with fluids; all for the look on your face as Kento bottomed out, thick and long and filling you with his oozing perfection. Your jaw fell slack, eyes dewy as you drank in Kento's muscular form, still bound by his brown harness. You sobbed with relief at the blissful stretch of his cock within you.

"So good...not too big for you, sweetheart? So brave...move yourself around my cock when you're ready."

You gripped Kento close, your arm round his chest and gripping his harness from the back, face buried into his chest. Your sob of relief at having been filled, threatened to grow into full tears at the exquisite beauty of being possessed with no selfishness. Kento felt you, one enormous hand tangled in the back of your head, the other leaning above you, intertwined with your free hand.

Kento was stock still, mumbling into your hair, kissing your ear, as you rolled your hips upwards, sweeping your slick pussy up and down his length, fucking him as he caged you in. Kento cursed, sweating and groaning, the leather of his harness creaking as his chest strained against it. His brow furrowed, and he cupped your hip in one hand, guiding you to keep sliding your pussy around his throbbing cock, rutting deeply down into you to meet your thrusts.

Hearing your gorgeous little mewls at Kento's blunt cockhead kissing your cervix was Satoru's last straw. His hand stuttered around his cock as he threw his head back, his orgasm hurtling over him with force.

"--agghh shit-- no more, I can't-- fuck you Nanami, you piece of--piece of shit--" Satoru's seed spattered over his belly, dripping down his hand, cock and balls as he groaned, interrupted by breathless, fractured gasps. He watched Kento's hips pick up pace, and watched as you pressed your forehead to his, all honey-rich and sweat as you panted into each other.

Kento couldn't have cared less about Satoru's jealous spitting, for he was wholly possessed by a primal urge to take you, and make you his. He kissed into your belly with his cock, gasping, feeling your walls clench around him, milking so much pre-cum from him that he shook, hot and thirsty, grunting against your clamouring lips.

Kento locked your ankles behind the small of his back, tipping your hips back into a press, pushing you past your pussy's limit to take any more of him. He rutted into you hard, barely pulling back, bullying your spongy walls with savage attentions, fully feral.

"--come on, girl--such a good girl, gonna--ahhh fuck gonna--hold--hold onto me--"

Taking full advantage of Satoru's dopey post-orgasm laxness, Kento pushed himself past the point of no return, loving you greedily and with no intention to share. Kento felt his balls tighten up, his seed loaded and ready to spill.

Satoru realised a moment too late; "--Nanami--pull out--don't you fucking dare--"

Kento came with a bark, feeling his cum start to pulse into you in long, thick spurts. Satoru darted forwards, still messy with his own cum, still half-dazed. Kento slung out an arm, his fingers fixing round Satoru's throat as he grunted, deep husky moans as he continued to spurt inside you, Kento's face the picture of serenity and rage.

Fingers gripped tight around Satoru who stood, teeth bared and considering murder, Kento came down from his high, panting, still rutting lazily into you. You lay, euphoric and full of thick cum, so sticky that it coated your inner walls, clinging to your slick pussy, barely leaking out as Kento pulled out.

"Sorry," Kento huffed, voice uncharacteristically light, "not sure...what came over me. You know what it's like, Gojo."

Kento released Satoru, reaching down to swipe your hair from your eyes, his own amber and affectionate; "Want me to run you a bath?"

You laughed softly, trying to cover your blushes. Satoru gripped Kento by the shoulder, throwing him back. Kento stepped smoothly into it, still looking longingly into you like Satoru was less than the most fleeting of irritations.

"Shut the fuck up, Nanami. Get out."

Satoru climbed over you, pressing you back onto the bed. Feeling his once familiar, adored body and kisses felt so curiously alien. As if you had been overwritten by something so much...more.

Satoru mumbled sweet nothings into your throat, restraining and possessive, as he lined his cock up with your entrance. A core instinctive knowing took control, and you closed your legs with an odd finality.

As Kento did up his last button, you looked to him as his eyes caught yours, fire burning within. He stepped away with a gracious nod, and with the click of the door, your stomach fell.

For Kento had left something behind, blooming within you, and took a part of you with him, pocketing something which you would surely be obliged to follow.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

It took Satoru many years to accept his own mistake. He did not accept it, when you told him you were leaving him. He did not accept it, when Nanami opened his doors to you and your suitcases, in the wee small hours of the night. He did not accept it as he watched you bloom, belly round and full with Nanami's growing seed, Nanami's hand overlaying yours, holding you and your baby. He did not accept it as he saw something between you and Nanami, that he had never felt between himself and you.

His mistake, was that Nanami Kento would not partake in cuckolding.

For Nanami Kento was not a cuckoo at all, but a thief, of the highest calibre.

1K notes · View notes

lemmetreatya · 1 year

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driving instructor!nanami who knows as soon as you step into his car, that you’re going to fail.

with your hot pink acrylics that click, clack against the wheel, your mini skirt that just about covers the round of your ass and the see-through mesh top you hone that you wear absolutely no solid material underneath. with driving instructor!nanami knows he shouldn’t look but he can’t help his eyes that glance towards your perked nipples that are clearly begging for attention.

and the thing is, it’s not like driving instructor!nanami wants to fail you, but he does have his doubts when you ask him if you can finish the test early because you have “a more important function to attend to.”

But alas, driving instructor!nanami let’s you take your test. and despite his misconception, you’re not a bad driver. you end the course with no major faults but you just about have one-too-many minors and sadly he has to fail you.

“what?! only one minor over the threshold?!”

your glossed pout is adorable and driving instructor!nanami hates that you look you’re about to cry — especially since he’s the one who’s caused your sadness.

but its when you ask if there’s really nothing you could do then and there to make things right or fix the mishap, that driving instructor!nanami suddenly has a change of heart and mentions how maybe there is something you could do to maybe fix it.

driving instructor!nanami is absolutely mesmerised by how your breast bounce in his face, your pathetic little whines of “i can’t do it, i can’t, i can’t!” as you struggle to ride his heavy cock in the back seat.

he bunches your now pleatless skirt in his hands as he grasps at the fat of your ass, swishing his fingers inside your puckered hole as he chants back “yes you can” with the utmost lack of remorse.

the double penetration is so overstimulating that you squirt a messy spray of wet juice all over driving instructor!nanami’s dick, his tan coloured trousers and back car seat darkening in colour. driving instructor!nanami moans loudly into your ears as he pulls out and cums just over your moist pussy lips. he makes sure to tap the head of his cock over the steady stream of liquid that pours from your sex.

“you think im gonna let you pass after you just spoilt my car?”

you whimper at his sign of possible denial of passing, your mind still hazy from your shocking orgasm. on impulse, your hand comes down to languidly stroke at driving instructor!nanami’s dick. as if it wasn’t wet enough from both of your cums, you swaddle a bout of saliva in your mouth before dribbling it down over his curved and semi hard cock.

as a string of spit still dangles from your chin and lips, you give driving instructor!nanami a teary eyed yet manipulative look.

“please.” you whisper.

it’s safe to say that on that day, you gained your driver’s licence.

#nanami kento #nanami #nanami x reader #nanami x black!reader #nanami x black reader #jjk nanami #jjk #jjk reader #jjk reader smut #jjk smut

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fayes-fics · 9 months

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Awakening

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: You experience an awakening a few days into your arranged marriage with the Viscount.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, female masturbation, slightly dom/sub (use of little one/my lord), innocence, corruption kink, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f).

Word Count: 3.4k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Request fill for Anon, HERE, about Anthony being arranged married to an innocent reader. Sorry it's taken me so long to write this, Nonny, but I hope you still enjoy it, even though I changed the parameters of the request slightly. Enjoy <3

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is most perplexing.

He is all at once both the best and the worst person you know. A providing husband, but an absent one. A polite, undisputable gentleman, but one who has barely said more than a handful of words to you, his supposed wife. An arrangement was brokered with your father, and now, merely weeks later, you are walking the halls of Aubrey Hall as the new Viscountess Bridgerton but barely feel as if you know your husband.

The night before your wedding, you had received a very vague talk from your mother about how you should expect your new husband to enter your bedchamber and perform his “spousal rights” and that, as his wife, you must allow whatever he decides to do. You still have no earthly idea what that might mean; your room has never once yet seen his presence—on that night or, indeed, any of the four nights since. Part of you worries you have somehow failed to be the wife he needs; part of you is relieved he has not done anything to you that you must endure in some way.

There is one thing you are certain of, though. While Anthony may be distant, almost an absence from your life, always busy with some business or other, there is no doubt you find his countenance pleasing. He is so very dashing and handsome. Earlier today, he swept in from a hunt wearing very tight tan breeches, and the sight caused a funny, warm tingling low in your gut. Between your legs, really. He nodded politely as he swept past you in the hallway, continuing his discussion with his brother as he did so. You twist to watch his retreating figure, wishing you could have the opportunity to speak with him, but the view of his shapely bottom in those tight trousers is at least partial compensation.

So as you lay under the covers on your fifth night alone, your ladies' maids having brushed your hair and taken their leave, you sigh deeply and snuggle into the crispy white sheets. Your thoughts turn to your husband again and that outfit he was wearing. The way those trousers clung to him, the movement of muscle as he strode purposefully. And that sensation rears again—the pulsing between your legs. It seems like your body needs something, but you do not know what. Flushed for some reason, you push away the covers. Before you know it, curiosity has the better of you. While you replay the image of him walking in your mind, your legs fall apart, your hand reflexively falling between them to provide a remedy—almost like an itch you need to scratch.

Your fingers slide through folds of flesh there, and strangely, there is unfamiliar sticky dampness. When you pass your fingers over a particular spot where your two lips meet, you get a pleasurable spike that makes your mouth slack.

Oh.

Almost without meaning to, you keep touching that spot, a call and response that is impossible to resist. The more you rub right there, your body swelling slightly under your movements, the better you feel. A languid buzz in your brain that feels both stimulating and relaxing. When your husband's image pops into your head again, everything suddenly gets sharper and more urgent. And so you do. You think of him. His handsome face, the way his forearms flex when you sit across from him at dinner, and he eats with his sleeves rolled up and again those legs and bottom in those tight trousers. Tumbling images that speed up in your mind as your fingers do the same, powerless to resist.

You are soon gasping and writhing, yet you do not stop; it feels too good. Something almost violent happens in your body, your lungs restricting, your brain buzzing, and suddenly, with a crest of physical delight, you are experiencing something completely novel. There is a squeezing, rippling inside, and you cry out as a remarkable ecstasy takes your body. When eventually the feeling subsides, you collapse back down, panting and bewildered; your whole body flushed, your fingers, still resting between your legs, wettened with a slick substance that could only have come from within you.

Whatever just happened, it's nothing you have been told about before. Not fully understanding, all you know is you want to experience it again. It's addictive, powerful, and so very relaxing once over. You instantly fall into a deep, sated slumber and wake up the most refreshed you have felt in many months.

And so it becomes a habit.

Whenever you feel the need and have a private moment, you retire to your room and touch your body until you feel that pinnacle—often thinking upon the Viscount as you do so. His name even falls from your lips, breathy, almost a tasty morsel, as you find your peak. It is no longer something you only do when you retire to bed for the night. You find yourself doing so any time of day, whenever the mood strikes you, an addictive, fun, illicit thrill. You wonder idly if such a thing is taboo, but you struggle to believe something that feels so good could ever be unacceptable behaviour as long as you are in private, alone.

One week after your wedding, on an uneventful afternoon, you put down your needlework and huff a sigh, your eyes drawn by movement outside. There, riding towards the house at speed across the lawn is Anthony. It's a sunny summer day; he wears only a shirt billowing in the breeze with sleeves pushed up around his elbows. And again, those tan breeches flexing around his legs as the horse gallops, him moving with the beast in a rhythmic motion. Time seems to stand still as you are inexorably drawn to the window to watch the sight coming closer and closer. The whole time your breath becomes more rapid, that telltale throbbing between your legs flares. You decide there is only one course of action.

When he veers off to the left towards the stables to the side of the house, you turn heel and run up the stairs. Keen to have that incredible high. This new, enthralling image will be the star of your thoughts this time. You pass his valet on the stairs and politely nod before scurrying and closing your bedroom door behind you.

You drop your underwear onto the floor, hitching up your dress and chemise around your hips as you throw yourself onto your bed, not even bothering to pull back the bedspread, so very keen to touch yourself.

It doesn't take much, that familiar slick already there, painting your fingers as you slide them against your nub, one hand reaching behind to grasp the headboard as you writhe on your fingers, all thoughts of Anthony and that repetitive bouncing motion of him upon his steed. So wrapped up in pleasure, his name on your lips, you do not hear the knob turning and the door opening.

“My valet told me you were here….” his loud baritone voice rings out around the room but grinds to a halt mid-sentence.

You squeal in surprise; the star of your fantasies standing right before you, skin sunkissed and his hair tousled from his ride, a look of utter shock painting his face.

Instinctively, you clamp your knees together and attempt to push down your dress, but it’s too little, too late. He has seen exactly what you were doing, and now he looks distressed, hIs breathing uneven.

“Did you…. Did you say my name?” The tone is not one you have heard from him before, rough but straining.

You sit up slightly and avert your gaze downwards, abashed he has interrupted your private moment.

“Yes,” you confess quietly.

He takes a hesitant step forward towards the bed and swallows heavily.

“You were touching yourself? And... and saying my name?” he looks almost winded.

“Yes,” again, it's soft, and you chew your lower lip, thinking perhaps you are about to be chastised. He certainly looks very… agitated.

“Do you know what you are doing to yourself?” he blurts out, a vein in his forehead prominent as he locks his jaw.

“Not really,” you admit, “only that when I think of you, I get an ache between my legs, and it feels wonderful when I touch it.”

He makes a strangled noise and closes his eyes, his head tipping back slightly.

“I… I did not expect to consummate yet,” he mutters heavily, “I thought I had more time.” He seems to be talking to himself as much as you.

“What does that mean? Consummate?” you inquire, your mother's words coming to the forefront. Perhaps this is what she was referring to.

“As your husband, I have perhaps been neglectful of my spousal duties,” he says slowly, his head tipping back down to look at you, his eyes intense.

“Duties?” you frown.

“What you were doing to yourself…” he begins, moving closer now so he stands by the bed, “it is because you desire me. I had not considered that may be the case.” He twists his mouth into a thoughtful pout, but you do not miss how he seems to stare at your breasts as they rise and fall inside your stays. “But now that I know it is true… it… changes things.”

“How?” you look up at him, wanting to understand.

A smirk tugs at the left corner of his mouth. “It means there are things I can teach you, things you should know that can happen between a man and a woman. Things you will find pleasurable, just like when you touch yourself. It is my responsibility, as your husband, to show you such things now.” His hand reaches out, and you inhale sharply as it lands upon your raised knee.

“You make it sound more like an obligation than something you want to do,” you respond, voice wavering at the distraction his hand is causing, the viscous throbbing between your legs even heavier now.

“Oh, nothing could be further from the truth; I want to, now that I know you desire it too.” His voice is a soft thrum that makes your nipples peak and a shiver run down your spine.

“Why have you not come to me before, husband?” it sounds breathy even to your ears.

“I thought you disliked me. That this was an arrangement you were enduring. That I should be polite and respectful. Keep my distance, at the least, until you adjust to your new life as Viscountess. Until an heir is needed. But now I know that is not the case…”

His voice is a pleasant low rumble as his hand starts to move, slightly calloused fingertips skirting the soft skin of your inner thigh, your dress and chemise bunching around his toned forearm as he does so.

“What are you…?” your breath quickening now.

“Shhhh, Viscountess, let me help you,” he hushes, and you stare at him with wide eyes as his warm fingers reach your folds. He hisses at the heat and wetness he finds there. “Oh, you really do like me,” he purrs, and something in you makes you lean slowly back onto the padded plush headboard, unable to look away from his face.

“Yes…” you whimper as his thumb, much broader than yours, makes a sideways swipe over your swollen nub.

“How often?” he murmurs, shifting to take a seat on the bed next to you, his thumb never wavering in its slow, intoxicating rhythm,

“How often wh-what?” You stutter, rapidly losing the ability to form words as your body riots, grasping the bedspread on either side of you, scarcely believing how amazing it feels when someone else touches you, especially him.

“How often do you touch yourself and think of me?” his voice gravelly.

“Everyday… so-sometimes m-more than once,” you pant out, your lips tingling, holding his fiery gaze.

“Oh, you naughty little thing,” he growls, and it sets your face aflame. “Touching yourself multiple times a day and thinking of me. Do you reach a peak every time?”

“Y-yes, my lord….”

His eyes flash; he leans in closer so you can smell spiced cologne and traces of his natural body scent, heightened from his riding exertions.

“Please call me that when I'm touching you,” he asks, but it almost sounds like an order, one you are happy to obey.

“Yes, my lord,” you respond instantly.

“Good little one,” he compliments, and the praise makes something bloom inside you, an urgent want to please him.

He changes his thumb’s motion to a circular pattern and presses more insistently. You gasp loud, glancing down at the slight of his toned arm flexing as he moves, his fingers obscured by your dress rucked up around his wrist.

“Tell me, have you put your fingers inside yourself?” his tone still velvety.

“No? What do you mean? I just,” you pause to whimper, “do as you are right now.”

His face turns into a handsome smirk you can't look away from.

“Would you like to find out how it feels to have someone inside your body, little one?” The question is molten, and you swear your entire skin feels too heated and tight.

You just nod, snagging your lower lip with your tooth, and then your eyes bulge as a finger slips lower and presses into a fleshy barrier that resists his touch.

“I can feel you are still intact, a chaste maiden indeed,” he rumbles, and part of you wonders what that means, but you do not ask. “Luckily, there is just enough of an opening for me to do this…”

You moan as a single finger pushes a fraction into your body, something completely novel and profound. You stare at him open-mouthed

“Oh, my dear little thing, I have barely even put the tip of my finger inside and look at you. Wait until it's my cock,” he warns darkly.

“Your what?”

He grabs your hand off the bedding and guides it to the junction of his thighs. Something is hot and hard under there, and you cannot hide your shock even as your hand curls around it and squeezes instinctually.

He growls. “That’s it, feel it. My cock is going to go inside you, right here….” he lectures, and his finger that was teasing pushes deeper into your pussy, aided by the pool of wetness leaking from within.

Again you moan at the invasion, and he looks so proud, pumping the digit slowly as his thumb restarts its movements on your clit.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim in a harsh whisper, the feeling so utterly mindblowing.

“No, your lord,” he corrects, preening from what he can do to your body.

“My l-lord….” you amend stutteringly.

He nods his approval and leans over you, his breath warm on your face as he observes your expressions, gauging your response to each move he makes. It's so overwhelming that he is touching you inside and outside your body.

You are rapidly losing the ability to do anything besides make noises and chase sensation; your knees falling further apart, your hand still on his cock, pressing unconsciously with the same rhythm his fingers play your body. He glances down at his lap, his other hand moving from its grip on your wrist to cover yours, his hips tilting a fraction, pressing more insistently into your palm.

“Would you like to come right now?” his breath almost as ragged as yours.

“W-what is that?” you stumble.

He huffs a bemused sound. “When you reach your peak, little one. It is called coming.”

“Yes, please, my lord,” you answer the instant you understand, spiralling fast now, your lungs heaving, your slit hot and slippery, where he teases you.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, and you obey instantly.

He gently removes your hand from his cock, and his fingers slip out of your body. You sense movement on the bed, and he manhandles your feet outwards and upwards towards your hips. Cotton brushing the back of your thighs, and a wave of warm air across your inner thighs, so open and exposed now. A few seconds later, you feel something entirely new— a wet, hot, thick mass sliding through your folds unlike anything else. Your eyes fly open, and you startle to see that Anthony has crawled between your legs and his head is now buried at the apex of your thighs. Then you cry out as he does the same thing again, realising he is using his tongue.

“What the….?” you can't even complete the sentence.

“It is not just my fingers I can use, little one,” he tutors, his tone dusky, his breath hot on the patch of hair between your legs as he pulls up slightly to talk, his eyes burning into yours.

You watch, mesmerised, as he flattens his tongue wide and lowers his face to lick a long strip through your entire slit, morphing into a spear as he maps your clit, swirling around all sides. It's so intense your channel flutters, wishing his fingers were still inside you.

“Yes, that is it, you like that, do you not? Come on,” he coaxes as he takes a deep breath, inhaling your body scent. The way he is handling you, so absorbed in you, a euphoric feeling burns behind your ribs at the idea he wants your pleasure.

He envelopes your clitoral hood and sucks hard. His eyes flashing with pride as he has to grab your hips and hold you down, your back arching off the bed, crying out without caring if anyone can hear. The way he growls as you do so tells you exactly how much he wants to hear it, his pride that he can do this to you.

Something primal washes over you as he bites gently on your swollen clit, holding it between his teeth as you feel two fingers at your entrance pushing in, making you cry as you stretch around him, your body accommodating them even as you feel so filled.

“Anthony… Anthony, my lord,” you chant repeatedly as he holds you down with one strong arm and rocks his fingers shallowly into your body, his tongue swirling. It’s a sight that you can’t look away from. His hips flex into the bed almost involuntarily, as if his cock needs friction, too.

You feel that tide rising somehow more potent when orchestrated by him, a white-hot burning where he plays you and a tension in all your muscles.

“Give it to me,” he snarls, muffled, feeling the ripples around your clit and pussy against his face and fingers.

He redoubles his efforts, almost mercilessly lashing you with his tongue, varying pressure and speed. Entirely without meaning to, your hands fly into his hair, loving the sensation of thick curls sinking between your fingers as you grasp his strands, making him cry out right into your body. And it’s precisely what you need.

Every fibre of your being held taut and shaking now snaps, the pressure inside you like a dam breaking, so much more intense than you have ever experienced from just your fingers. Something almost inexplicable, ephemeral, your body experiencing a hundred different things firing at once. Your world contracting and exploding. You can feel your own heartbeat in your extremities, a rush of blood in your ears, eyes screwed shut as you shudder under him, and yet he moves with you as your hips roll in waves, his mouth never leaving your body. You know you are leaking onto his face, your inside clenching powerfully around his fingers. Dimly, you are aware the noises you make are loud, but you find yourself unable to prevent it and don't even want to.

As you recover, he crawls over your prone body as you lay there panting, fundamentally changed in the sharing of this experience with him, of him to be the one to make your body reach its peak. A true awakening of your senses.

It’s then he kisses you for the first time since a cursory brush of lips at the altar on your wedding day. His face musky with your juices, his lips hot, soft and damp as they press to yours. This is so different to that kiss. It's lingering and hot, his lips plush on yours.

His handsome face breaks into a dazzling smile as he looms over you, the back of his hand gently brushing down your cheekbone as you stare up at him dazed, the taste of yourself seeping through your lips. “Rest for now, my dear wife.” His tone is softer now, the use of wife instead of little one making your breath catch. “I shall return tonight, and you shall become a woman,” his voice laden with untold promise.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!#2k notes holy crap you guys!#2k notes

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sabohime · 4 months

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♡ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦

multi x fem!reader

♡ . eek my first post!! some simple headcannons for you guys! enjoy :) nothing explicit (for now 😈) but! there are references to dicksucking!

♡ . includes: law, sabo, sanji

LAW

Law is constantly on edge. It hurts seeing your captain so stressed all the time.

So, being the dutiful crewmate you are, you decide to…provide him with a little ‘relaxant’. It’s not your fault he’ll have to work for it…

“Y/n-ya, what are you-“ “It’s hot, Captain!”

Law blushes at that. You can barely see it through the Tang’s dim lighting and his tanned skin, but from the way his eyes widen and his breath hitches, you can tell your plan is working.

Why is he harping about your wardrobe? Well, your typical Heart Pirates boiler suit had been traded in for a tight tank and skimpy shorts. How old were these? With the way your thighs were pinched by the elastic of your shorts, and the way your breasts practically fell out of your top, Law was certain you had dug deep in your closet to fish these clothes out.

“Y/n-ya. Seriously,” his tattooed hand rests on your shoulder now, dangerously close to the thin strap of your tank top. “We have uniforms for a reason.”

“Are you really gonna make me change, Captain?” you pout. You watch his brow furrow, and you know you’ve got him now.

“I think I’ll have fun ripping this off of you, Y/n-ya,” he grunts, hot breath now in your ear. His hands wander down to your shorts, palming your ass and taking notice of your lack of panties. “Even more dress code violations? I might just have to punish you tonight, Y/n-ya.”

You gulp. Law says Room and suddenly you’re in his bedroom.

“Regretting your decision, Y/n-ya?”

SABO

Once again, Dragon’s given him far too much paperwork.

As his secretary, it’s your job to provide him with some repose from his workload.

So…What better to let him take another load out on you? Maybe you should snag a pillow from your desk chair next time…

“Chief, I brought you the tea you asked for. A splash of milk and extra sugar,” you say, repeating his order sweetly and perfectly from years of practice. When you cross the threshold to his office, you find your chief of staff with his vest off, cravat undone and on the table, and his shirt partly unbuttoned.

The sight of his scarred, muscular chest makes you gulp. It’s okay Y/n, you can do this, you assure yourself.

“Thank you, Y/n-chan. You’re so kind, helping me out,” Sabo says, his cheeks rosy and smile innocent. You think him the perfect caricature of a schoolboy.

“It’s nothing, chief. I am your secretary after all. It’s my job,” you grin, placing the tea on his desk in front of him. You make sure to lean over and give him an eyeful of cleavage, just in case he might be interested.

“Is it your job to tease me as well?”

You freeze. You didn’t actually think he’d take the bait. Shit.

“Don’t be shy now, Y/n-chan. I’ve already gotten a nice view of your tits. And your skirt could be pulled down a tad, I suppose. You’re hardly professional these days,” you listen, face hot, sweat beginning to run down your back. At least he wasn’t scolding you— that was evident in the fact he said ‘tits’, and the generally teasing lilt in his usually silky smooth voice. It’s gotten deeper because he’s so tired, and it’s starting to make you clench your thighs.

“I-uh, I’m sorry, chief. I- I figured…” you scramble, trying to think of some excuse to remedy this situation. “I figured you might want a, uh, distraction. Right! A distraction from work!”

“Oh really?” the blond grins, pushing his chair away from his desk and moving his hands to unbutton his trousers. “Dragon-san has been giving me so much paperwork. It’s the least you could do, right Y/n-chan?”

You watch in awe as he takes himself out of his boxers.

“Now, Y/n-chan…How much of a distraction can you be?”

SANJI

Sanji gets hard just from smelling women’s perfume. So seducing him is easier than…really anything.

So, one night you can’t sleep. And the chef in the kitchen preparing recipes seems like a wonderful target for your affections.

“Sanji-kun, what’re you making?”

Sanji jumps from his place stirring on the counter, surprised at the sound of your beautiful voice.

“Oh my! Has an angel descended down on me to try my humble cooking?” the man swirls around you with hearts in his eyes, eventually bending down on one knee to kiss your knuckles. “It’s nothing special, my dear Y/n-swan. Simply practicing recipes for fruit tarts.”

You cup his cheek. A trickle of blood comes down his nose, but he pulls away from your touch to quickly wipe it away.

“Sounds yummy, Sanji. Could I try one?”

“Of course, mellorine!” Sanji keens. You smile at how cute he is. The blond grabs a fruit tart, which happens to be your favorite fruit, and brings it over to you.

He sits it on a plate in front of you, waiting like a lapdog as he anticipates praise for his cooking. However you don’t move to pick up the tart.

“Y/n…swan?”

“Feed it to me, Sanji-kun?” you say seductively, leaning over the kitchen island so your breasts pop over your crossed arms. Immediately Sanji is staring, but you don’t scold him this time. This was your goal.

“Of- of course, anything for my Y/n-swan,” Sanji stutters. He brings the small tart to your lips, and as you reach the last bite, you grab his wrist.

You decide to be extra bold, and lick a stripe up his finger. Your mouth detaches with a pop, and Sanji looks like he might pass out.

“That was good, Sanji-kun. Do you have any other special treats for me?”

#♡ sabohime.writes #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece headcanons #law x reader #law x female reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #sabo x reader #sabo x female reader #sabo x you #sabo the revolutionary x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x fem reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n

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backwzzds · 6 months

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ೃ⁀➷ first time, roronoa zoro

zoro being a sexy loser virgin that has no idea just how big he is.

this is unfinished & honestly y’all gone have to deal with it 😩

this was so embarrassing. he hated how he didn’t know what to do. you didn’t mean to make him feel this way; but you just couldn’t take it anymore. you wanted him so bad, it was almost hard to keep your composure in front your friends.

he wanted you twice as badly, and that was evident in the way he could barely present his front side to you any time you gazed at him. it was hard to hide the growing tent in his trousers every time he was with you. whether it was to drop you off to work in his truck or simply fix something for you because you kindly asked.

“s-shit,” he’d pant so large and heavy. his own heartbeat couldn’t keep up with his strokes. “like this? this feel good?”

he doesn’t even know how much he’s hitting into you. there’s only a limit to what you feel, but you feel everything. the way his tip kisses the spongy spot of your cervix, the way his fat dick causes such a small bulge in the fatty chub of your tummy—zoro doesn’t know what he’s doing, but you swear he’s been doing this shit for years.

“just like that,” you’d instruct, feeling yourself about to cum soon. “ngh, y’fucking me so good, papa,” the whine in your voice was strained as you felt a knot already tie in your stomach.

zoro doesn’t lie when he says that your words got to his head. it was like the sudden ego flow in his brain suddenly rushed to the blood of his dick inside you as he worked against you harder. he never thought being called something so…juvenile as daddy would send his hormones through the roof. he had to destroy you now, it was no way the testosterone flowing through his veins were gonna let you leave his grip unscathed.

“just like that, huh,” he hummed to himself. “you like when i touch you like this?” zoro swore he didn’t know what he was doing. but for some reason, his hands explored between your legs as if it had been its home for years each time he touched you.

“oh yes,” you dragged out, feeling a small tingle deep below. “more more, please!” the point of your acrylic nails do its job to scratch white streaks against your man’s breast muscle. now you’re trying your hardest to breathe deeply. “i’m gonna—“

zoro grunts out, feeling the hot beads of sweat trickle down the tan of his ethnic skin. “faster or harder, mama? tell me what you want ‘n i’ll do it for you.”

“harder, please!” you cried, feeling yourself almost get to your peak. “oh fuck, please, zoro.”

zoro can’t help but chuckle at your begging. “you always ask for more when you have tears soaking up your pretty face. not pretty degrading?”

you huff out, feeling your orgasism approach faster at his banter. you try your hardest to focus on the knot forming in your belly. “well you obviously make me like this.”

“tch. ‘m not even fucking you that hard, mama. think you’re jus’ sensitive ‘s all.” zoro kisses his teeth with an unbelievable roll of his eyes.

you have another comeback lined up in your mouth, but your mouth falls agape as your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, finally forming a ring of cream all around his brown shaft. “not when you’re fucking me this good.”

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐#roronoa zoro x black reader #zoro x black reader #roronoa zoro x chubby reader #zoro x chubby reader #zoro imagine #roronoa zoro smut #zoro smut #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece zoro #zoro headcanons #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #one piece x black reader #one piece x black!reader #one piece x chubby reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader

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cherryjuiceblues · 10 months

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𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓��𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐊 𝐀𝐓

➯ HARRY’S GROWN IN SOME PLACES AND Y/N IS MORE THAN OBSESSED. ✰ sexual content. size kink. daddy kink. degradation. creampie. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 5k

Harry was changing.

And he had been for a while. Slowly but surely—bit by bit—and all Y/N could do was sit back and watch.

Y/N thinks (and she knows she’s biased because, well, she loves him more than life itself, but still thinks) that Harry will always be the most beautiful man in any room. No matter his age, or the clothes he wears, or the facial expressions his features are presenting, he will be pretty personified to her.

And she never thought he could look better. Because he always looked like he’d been handcrafted, slaved away at for hours to achieve the sharp line of his jaw or the divine slope of his nose.

But now he was changing.

And Y/N was wrong.

Another thing she believes (or had believed) is that being with Harry removed any and all of her preferences when it comes to attraction. No matter the way he looked, Y/N loved it—would never change a thing—would never think that maybe that shirt would look better if his chest hair was thicker or that those trousers would be sexier if his thighs were bigger, or that that suit would be more impressive if he was taller.

Because Harry was visually stunning, always. And even if in the past, Y/N might have been more attracted to a rugged beard, or a different hairstyle, or a specific type of dress sense, then all of that went out of the window when she met Harry.

But now, Y/N was being proven wrong.

She supposes it was a small change at first, so subtle that she didn’t even notice—because Harry had always been strong, even if it didn’t necessarily show and he’d never hesitated to throw Y/N about whichever way he pleased (which could tend to be an insecurity of hers at times).

When she did start to notice though… Nothing else could catch her attention. Whenever he walked into the room her eyes would drift, and whenever she was looking at him whilst he spoke, she’d be itching to lower her gaze and feel her pupils dilate.

Harry didn’t understand at first. He had picked up on her recent lack of concentration, and of course he had, he was attentive—but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was distracting her so much.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It’s when the weather starts to warm up enough to get his arms out that it clicks.

And that’s what he’s smiling about now, as he hauls patio furniture about and potters around—in a black tank and highlighter yellow short shorts—doing all the garden jobs that had been ignored during the winter and spring. Admittedly with much more flexing than is necessary—after his minx of a girlfriend reacts far too excitedly at the delivery of a new pod chair, and squeezes her thighs together in anticipation, before proceeding to lounge around in her shortest of sundresses with the horniest of gazes as she watches him work.

Harry’s trying to be subtle about his amusement, wanting to play with her for as long as he can now that he knows why she’s been drooling for him more than usual. But his tummy is fluttering with excitement as he schemes the best way to rile her up.

He thinks she’s probably already wet, if the clenching of her thighs is anything to go by as she sits in the pod chair she watched him assemble; her naked legs swinging gently. And he’s worked up quite the sweat, out in the sun for a while already—droplets starting to trickle down his back.

So he thinks it only natural to remove his shirt, biceps straining as he reaches behind him to tug the material over his head.

Y/N’s breath hitches. No matter how many times she sees Harry’s body, it makes her go all silly without fail. And the same happens now as his glistening, tanned, ink-covered torso is revealed and her eyes start to fight over which part of him to gawk at first.

He’s big. Bigger than he’s ever been—and Y/N must send his PT some flowers or something because she’s sure she’s never been so turned on in her life and that deserves a thank you, doesn’t it?

Harry’s chest rises and falls gently, pecs dusted in sweat-soaked hair that Y/N has never wanted to lick more. She knows she can stare; is well past the point in their relationship to care about being caught—wants to get caught even, to aid his teasing that does so much to her insides. A drop of sweat trickles in between his abs and Y/N always swore she didn’t care for the definition of those muscles, but on Harry… he looks like the posterboy for all pornstars. Everyone’s wet dream, everyone’s type, everyone’s secret fantasy.

Yet, it’s still his arms that stun her the most. She’s not sure why—if it’s solely because of some undiscovered size kink or how obviously he could overpower her—there might not be any deeper meaning other than looking sexy and strong. Maybe it’s because they’re so big that they bulge with every movement, muscles contracting and golden, tattooed skin stretching. Maybe it’s the fine hair that covers his forearms—that have also become considerably thick and meaty. Y/N has lost count of the amount of times she’s wished to sink her teeth into them. Especially when a particular vein or tendon makes itself prominent. Paired with the fact that she has always been undeniably turned on by his hands and Y/N doesn’t stand a chance.

It’s like the man she’s known, who was already completely and utterly everything she could ever want, has been multiplied by ten. And now Y/N is left to try and function as a normal human being with this Greek god of a man who has arms bigger than her head.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“—I don’t think I love you anymore.”

Y/N flinches, eyes shooting up to Harry’s and away from his body.

“Oh, so now you listen to me,” he rolls his eyes, smirk obvious.

“That’s not funny, Harry.” Y/N frowns, heart going a million beats a second. “Why would you say that, you dick.” She hoists herself out of the chair and storms towards the patio doors. With no way she’d ever make it very far, as Harry drops the tools he was using to assemble a coffee table and hastily swoops in behind Y/N—wrapping her up in the things that got her into this position in the first place.

Her back meets his chest. His bare chest. And his face meets her neck, stubble tickling her skin. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it.” He’s smiling. Y/N feels his arms tighten around her waist. “You weren’t listening t’me, were you?”

She huffs and says, “No,” in a tone that Harry never appreciates.

“You know I don’t like it when you ignore me. I’m far too needy, aren’t I?”

Y/N hums something incomprehensible, ashamed by her pathetic reaction to such a basic body part.

“C’mon, come back. Y’givin’ me something pretty to look at whilst I work.” Harry pinches her waist and she can’t help but shriek a laugh, body betraying her when his fingers dig in.

“You weren’t even looking at me,” Y/N scoffs, reluctantly making her way back to her chair as Harry finishes up on the floor.

“How would you know?” His arms bulge as he screws the table together. “Weren’t exactly staring at m’face, were you, love?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, fluffing up her dress around her thighs.

“I’ve noticed something recently,” Harry starts, admiring his handiwork before getting to his feet and making his way over to Y/N. He picks up a previously ignored bottle of sun tan lotion on his way. “Or, you’ve noticed something, I suppose.”

He kneels before her, hands steadying the gentle swaying of the chair before he smooths them down her legs and props her foot up on his thigh. Y/N pretends to not have a clue. It makes her belly tingle with juvenile excitement.

“What do you mean?”

Harry pops the bottle open and generously squeezes the lotion into his palm. It’s cold as it meets Y/N’s calf, and she twitches a little. But Harry’s hands are warm; he already knows that thirty seconds of this will have her melting into him.

“You think I don’t see the way you’ve been looking at me lately?” He massages the muscle in his palms and Y/N sighs blissfully.

“I always look at you the same, my love,” she exhales.

“Hm? And how’s that?”

“Like you’re the only man in the world.”

Harry pinches her thigh and Y/N yelps. “Don’t get all soppy on me now. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” and like the sadist that he is, Harry subtly flexes his arms—covertly enough that it looks like a completely involuntary twitch of the muscles. But Y/N’s eyes snap there regardless, and Harry smiles, vast palms moving up higher on her leg as he applies more lotion and starts on her thigh.

“I don’t know, Harry. Why would I look at you different? What’s different about you?” Her voice holds the tiniest of inflections that only Harry would notice means she’s being playful. And it riles him up some.

“Okay, baby. If that’s how you wanna play.” Harry switches legs. He’s much less slow and tender, digging his fingers into her calf and holding firmly when she tries to pull away. The strength he exhibits only has Y/N’s eyes even more trained to his body. When he gets to her thigh he pushes her dress up until her underwear peeks out and delivers a harsh, unexpected slap to the inside—purposely where it hurts a little. Y/N gasps and her hips push up. Harry pays her no mind, applying more lotion before rubbing it in—far too high under her dress where no sun is reaching—and Y/N can see where this is going. Which Harry is coming out.

It all happens so quickly; Harry’s hand pushing against her collarbones to angle her awkwardly against the deep back of the chair, slumping her body surely unattractively, before flipping her dress up higher and tugging her to the edge. His breath fans against her warmth, cruel eyes looking up at Y/N in her stunned state. He leans down and his arms curl under her thighs, hands resting atop and squeezing them tauntingly. God, she can feel his biceps tensing against her.

He’s right there. Lips ghosting across where she needs him. Close enough to barely peek his tongue out and have it meet. Right there. And then he’s gone. Shrugging her legs off his arms and standing up, making some comment about how they need to buy some more sun tan lotion as he goes to walk inside.

Y/N is scrambling off the chair. “Fuck you!” Her hand shoots out and grabs Harry’s wrist. Immediately he spins and flinches away from her, replacing her grip with his own and twisting her arm behind her back. Her chest pushes into him as he leans down.

“You think I haven’t noticed how much of a brat you’ve become?” His voice slicks down her thighs. Oh. “Never fucking listen to me anymore,” she tries to reach for his waist but he twists that arm behind her as well until he’s holding both of her wrists in one of his hands. He leans down further so it’s even harder for her to balance as she bends back. “Just drool over me like a needy slut, don’t you?” Y/N whimpers, the only thing she can do is look up at him. “You’ve been treating me like a piece of meat—staring until your pretty cunt is dripping, right? I can treat you like a piece of meat too, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” she pouts, before whining, “want—you,” neck aching from the angle she’s bent at. Harry laughs, pulling her hair a little for being a brat, before ghosting his mouth across hers.

“I know. Made that pretty fucking obvious, you silly girl.” He plucks at her bottom lip with his thumb. “You don’t need my cock to be fucked dumb, do you, baby? That little head of yours is always empty.” He squeezes her cheeks together with his fingers. Harry smiles down at his girl’s wide doe eyes staring up at him, completely at his disposal. “Speak.”

“I’m empty,” Y/N nods, giving up her attitude, “need you.” And that’s not what Harry meant but it’s close enough.

“I don’t think you deserve it,” he whispers into her mouth—and then he’s standing behind her, wrists still firmly in his grasp as he shuffles them closer to the windows. The sun glares down, casting a clear reflection of the both of them. Of Harry wrapping his forearm around Y/N’s collarbones, forcing her back to arch. “You haven’t been honest with me,” the entirety of his body is pressed against the back of her. It has her mind scrambling. “You’re not good.”

It’s a low blow. One assured to have Y/N begging and pleading in no time; desperate to make him happy, and desperate to be pleasured.

“I’m…sorry,” she frowns, eyes fixated on the reflection of their bodies. “Wanna be good f’you.” Harry squeezes her wrists as a warning to keep them behind her back before letting go to wrap his other arm around her waist—excited himself by the way he engulfs her. He bends down, causing Y/N to go with him, and the weight in his shorts is growing heavier by the second as they just look at themselves.

Y/N stops herself from wiggling back; doesn’t want to misbehave for a second—not anymore. “Please. All I think about is you, Harry. A-all the time,” her breathing is laboured and her underwear is suffocating.

And this is how he gets her. “What do you think about?” He turns his face into her shoulder, nudging her sleeve off with his nose before dotting distracting kisses along her skin.

Y/N hesitates. This is what the game was all about. Pretending there was no reason for her gawking. She’s stubborn. But so is Harry. The arm around her collarbones shifts until his large hand is cupping her throat. Y/N’s knees nearly buckle right then and there. Her head tips back a little against him but he squeezes the sides of her neck, right where the blood is fighting to flow, and forces her to look back at the reflection.

“Tell me.” His voice is so deep, so low; the vibrations spread through her like treacle. “Look at me,” he squeezes again, “and tell me.”

He doesn’t ease up around her throat so her words are tight. His arm moves down to her hips. “You’ve got…so…big,” she whimpers. “Everywhere.” Harry’s hips twitch, dying to rut against her ass. But instead, with teasing fingers he lifts the hem of her dress. Up and up until he can stuff it between his hand and her throat, obsessed with the way her bare stomach rises and falls at a rapid pace.

Y/N’s flimsy panties don’t stand a chance—the once pale pink now a much darker hue in the place she needs him most. But Harry wouldn’t be so kind. He makes her think he’s going to rub on her like she wants, middle finger trailing over her clit with a feather-light touch. Barely there but still enough to make her twitch. He does it again—a small circle—before dipping lower, pushing in her underwear and feeling it slick against her.

And then he rears his hand back, too quickly for Y/N to realise, and brings it back down to her clit in a harsh, tight slap. She buckles and writhes, held up solely by the hand around her throat as Harry trails his fingers along the inside of her thigh. His smirk tickles against her shoulder.

“Har—Harry!” she gasps, unable to stop her body from moving against him now, not whilst she’s thrumming.

“I’m big, yeah? Too big for you, surely. Look at the way I swallow you up.” Oh, and she is. With half-lidded eyes and shallow breaths.

“Yes, I love it, Harry. I love it,” her hips search for his hand and he pushes her against him, spanning across her mound.

“That’s not everything though, is it?” Another squeeze around her throat. “Be good.”

She tries—so hard—as Harry starts to suck and bite marks into her skin. “Arms, it’s your arms,” she breathes, head foggier and foggier by the second. He eases up a little when she starts to slump, tracing his thumb across her lips.

“What about them?” Fingers slip inside her underwear; a reward for using her words. Even as he starts rubbing small circles, he knows she’ll cum quickly.

“So hot, Harry. And big.”

He laughs, “Y’already said that. Just so hot and big, aren’t I?” The narcissist in him goes wild, cock twitching in his shorts. And he allows himself one rut against her, just to take the edge off. But Y/N wants more—of course she does—and she’s starting to make all sorts of pretty noises as he rubs her clit. So Harry keeps moving, sure that the feel of him against her is propelling her towards her orgasm whilst he’s barely teasing himself.

“You’ve got a slutty pussy, Y/N,” he tightens his hand around her throat once more, lips brushing her ear. “Drenched because your boyfriend can manhandle you, yeah? I could do anything to you ‘n’ you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Because you’re so desperate for it.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N nods shakily. She’s trying to keep her eyes on their reflection, to see Harry’s muscles work as his fingers hide in her underwear, and the way his hips push into her ass.

“Tell me.”

“Want you to—manhandle me…use me—need t’cum.” She’s building up, can feel as Harry smears her arousal around in a mess before rubbing harder on her clit. And faster.

“You g’na cum?” Faster.

“Yes! Yes, yes, please.” He lets her throw her head back, lets her reach the edge, whimpering and whining just as she starts to let go.

And then he’s gone. Harry rips his hand from her pussy and shoves his glistening fingers in her mouth before she can talk. Y/N cries around them, shaking her head in a desperate plea.

“Mmph—no!—Please,” she tries, but how could Harry ever understand what she wants?

He takes hold of her wrists again and bends her forward by her waist, kicking her legs open wider. She’s completely held up by him; if he were to let go, she would topple straight over, no doubt about it.

With a heavy hand, Harry pushes her dress up and over her ass and delivers a well-connecting smack to the rounded flesh. Y/N mewls, legs shaking in surprise. It’s harder to maintain her eye contact with the window at this angle, especially when all she wants is to lull her head like she’s weightless. Harry wastes no time in tugging her underwear halfway down her thighs. Finds it satisfying to keep her somewhat immobilised.

And Y/N couldn’t care less, as soon as she feels Harry pulling himself out and sinking into her—she’s sure she wouldn’t notice if their house was burning.

He barely lets her adjust, and no matter how wet she is Harry’s always a stretch. A deep inhale, body stilling kind of stretch. And once she’s full and his pelvis pushes against her bum and they both allow for a second of joint ecstasy at being as close as possible once again, Harry is quick to treat her the way she so desperately wants.

His other hand comes up to her hair, pulling it sharply so Y/N’s neck bends back. “Look. Watch as I fuck you.” Incomprehensible noises are forced from her throat, jaw hanging looser with each inch that Harry invades. She’s never been more grateful to have a secluded garden.

The sight before her rivals one from a porn film—fitting for her sex god of a boyfriend; she could only hope to look pretty enough next to him. Her body bent forward, neck stretched and inviting, back arching with the force of her arms behind her back. Thighs open just enough to fit Harry’s cock into her weepy hole, flesh threatening to rip the underwear that controls their freedom.

Occasionally the sun will reflect just right and Y/N will notice the glistening of her wetness spread across her mound. Though her eyes soon fall shut with the strength of Harry’s thrusts, unrelenting and point-proving.

“Fuck. Can feel you squeezin’ already.” His words shoot straight to her clit, tingling and buzzing. “So easy, aren’t you, pet?” Y/N nods fruitlessly. “I shouldn’t let you finish,” he threatens against her ear. “Should fill you up with my cum, have you serve your purpose and then thank me for it.”

She pulsates at the thought, at the warmth of feeling him drip down her thighs. Sometimes dripping around the sides of his prick if Harry’s particularly wound up and has a few rounds in him.

“Please,” Y/N cries, sweat beading at her hairline.

Harry groans into her jaw, hips meeting her ass bruisingly. “Yeah? Filthy girl, jus’ my hole, aren’t you?”

“Mhm! Please cum in me, please,” Y/N tries to turn her head, nose bumping into his cheek. She wants a kiss but her brain cannot possibly communicate that to her mouth as it hangs open.

The sounds of skin meeting skin ring in her ears and her throat threatens to cry perfectly timed noises with each thrust. And she’s not sure when it happened but her tits are out of her dress and Harry’s letting go of her hair to palm one roughly as he starts to breathe heavier and heavier.

Body leaden, Y/N’s head falls back to his shoulder and her eyes peel open slightly, watching Harry’s face contort beautifully from above her. She wants it so bad—knows that he’ll always make her finish regardless—needs to walk around in her summer dress and cum-soaked panties. “Please, Daddy. Cum in me.”

The name has Harry groaning, hips stuttering and stilling against her as he paints long, thick stripes inside Y/N. “Thank you!” She cries, his release stimulating her like nothing else. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Despite Harry being the one with orgasm heavy bones, Y/N crumbles, knees buckling as she takes them both to the floor. He braces her fall, arm strong around her waist. His cock stays twitching inside of her, still hard, and he angles her ass into the air as he stands on his knees astride her legs.

“You good, baby?” Harry smooths a hand up her back, pushing her dress out of the way.

Y/N’s arms stretch above her, content to be lying on the hard floor. “Yeah, really good. Thank you, Daddy.”

Harry smiles softly to himself, she’s under. “You wanna cum?”

“Am I allowed? I said some bad things to you.”

“That’s okay. I want you to squeeze on my cock ‘n’ let me fuck my cum into you. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh-huh,” she nods nastily, head turned to the side on the concrete. He’d take care of her later.

“Good girl, nice ‘n’ tight, f’me.”

The noise of their arousal mixing together, probed by Harry’s cock is one he’ll replay in desperate moments alone. Squelching and slicking as he starts up his rough pace once again. Y/N contracts around him in quick, spasming motions—hips attempting to push back from her awkward position. Her tummy is hot and her clit is painfully untouched; she’s sure she’d grind it on the floor if she could reach but Harry’s hands are firm on her hips, angling her just the way he likes as he pounds into her tight hole.

Harry wishes he had his phone to hand—would take enough pictures of the sight before him to last forever. His cum is starting to leak out the sides, dripping down to Y/N’s clit and slicking up his cock. The mess of it all has his eyes rolling back.

“God, y’just perfect. Wanna keep you like this forever. Make you sticky with my cum, then maybe take you out and watch you try to ignore the feeling of it dripping out of you.” Harry slaps her ass and moans as she spasms around him, hands pulling her cheeks apart to reveal her other hole. “Wanna mark you everywhere. Especially here.” He thumbs over the puckered skin. “Fill you up and push in every drop, then give you a pretty plug so it stays inside all day.” Y/N’s shaking, eyes clenched shut and pussy quivering. All Harry has to do is reach around and start rubbing tight circles into her clit and she’s gone.

“Harry! I’m cumming, I’m cumming—D-daddy, thank you.” Harry leans over her back, kissing the side of her face and not slowing down for a second.

“Gimme another,” he whispers, speeding up his thrusts and slapping her clit one, two, three times, vibrations elongating her orgasm and sending her straight into her second one. Harry pulls back, regretfully pulling out for a moment to flip Y/N over and tug her flush against him. He wraps her thighs around his waist and guides her arms around his neck, endeared by her fucked out expression. “Doing so good, honey.” She smiles, eyes closing and nuzzling her face into his neck. Harry thinks if he wasn’t already hard, that smile alone would’ve given him a love boner.

“Jus’ sit all pretty, Daddy’s got you.”

He holds her hips securely, palms encompassing miles of skin, and lifts her just enough to start fucking up into her cunt. Their cum will surely make a mess in their laps but he minds none—goes faster at the very thought, even. Thinks about scooping it up with his fingers and feeding it to Y/N, and then leaning in to get a taste of them together, moaning into her mouth and suckling at her lips like a starved man.

As if she can read his mind, Y/N starts nibbling at his skin, laving her tongue over the drops of sweat that trickle down his neck. Then she pulls back just enough to wilt against his mouth, lips barely responsive but Harry kisses her with all he’s got. And she’s close again, when her heavy hand trails down to start rubbing at her swollen, cum-drenched clit much daintier than Harry had.

“F-feels so good,” she whines against his mouth, happy to let Harry lick against her tongue, “love you.”

Harry whimpers, “G-god, I love you too. So much, you’re so good, I love you.” Y/N rubs harder, pussy tightening—and Harry fucks harder as they both rest their foreheads on eachother’s shoulders. With her other hand, Y/N holds his bicep, squeezing and scratching as much as she pleases. She barely covers the muscle and Harry can’t help but smile as his orgasm rushes closer.

It’s when she whispers, words garbled and strained, that Harry tips over the edge. “F-fuck me so good, s-so good. G’na make me pregnant—‘n’ full of you.” And it’s his warm spurts that have Y/N cumming as well, pulsating around Harry as she milks him dry. He cums a lot, and the more he does, the longer Y/N’s orgasm lasts—they melt against one another in a mess of moans and gentle rutting, sweaty skin sticking them together.

Y/N peels her hand from Harry’s arm, seeing the crescent moons she’s left behind and looking up at him guiltily. He smiles, pushing her hair away from her face and leaning down to kiss her nose.

“Felt good,” he promises. “Now I know how much you like them, you can do whatever you want.”

Y/N whines, biting his shoulder playfully. “Shower now, please. We’re gross.”

Harry hums, staying tucked inside and holding her tight to him as he stands on nearly wobbly legs. “Just so you know, if we shower together, I will be naked. Will you be able to contain yourself at the sight of my big, sexy arms?”

She sinks her fingers into the hair on the back of his head and tugs. “Shut up. They’re not even that big.”

“Okay, my love. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #dom!harry #domrry #daddy!harry #harry styles x reader #writing

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bakugoushotwife · 6 months

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kinktober day eleven: monsterfucking kink

>>> guys this one may be my fav day ngl...as you can tell by my blog's entire theme that this is my biggest and most violent fantasy i need dragon king bakugou in the worst way please oh my god please

>>> EDIT 10/11: MHA LEAKS OMFG THIS DROPPED THE DAY MHA LEAKS BAKUGOU IS BACK MY GLORIOUS KING!!!!

>>> starring: dragon king!bakugou x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: monsterfucking, bakugou is a hybrid, no prep, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, dark content, kinda forced marriage? mating bonds, uh, i think that's it. >>>wc: 2.9k >>> event masterlist

it was the new king’s coronation day, and as tradition demands, he shall have his pick of the finest women in his lands. you were brought forth amongst a host of other ladies deemed pretty enough for the young king to choose from. you were the only one of them that seemed irritated by the prospect, all the other girls were tittering and combing their hair while discussing their chances of being picked to be the dragon king’s new bride. he examined you all in a line, sneering at all the smiling and fluttering lashes—sending them crying from the room. he pauses on you, his gaze was stern and fiery but you didn’t hesitate to square your shoulders and meet it. he’s surprised; you don’t smile or extend your hand for him to kiss. you challenge him, you tell him with that strong set jaw and steel stare that you won’t be easy. he feels a pull on his heart, something he cannot yet explain. he likes you.

you tilt your chin up, almost like you’re the one sizing him up. you’re so regal and amusing to him that his mind is made up instantly, but he gives you a few more minutes of looking him over, hoping to see some semblance of interest on your face. king bakugou was a hulking form of a man, towering above everyone in the room. they always were bigger than the normal humans, but he was larger than any of the dragon shifters you had ever come across. the room almost didn’t seem big enough to contain him, and it was his castle. his burlap trousers balloon around his lower half, but it seems there were not shirts big enough to fit the new king of dragons, only a long fur cloak that fastened with a golden dragon broach stretching across the broad expanse of his chest. he was tanned and scarred from years of flight and battle, and muscled even more so. he had hints of sparkling scarlet scales trailing along his collarbones with pointy teeth that alluded to his other form. his biceps bulged as he folded his arms across his chest, admiring you as you admire him with a satisfied smirk on his face. you didn’t throw yourself at him like the rest, and he doubted you would yet still, but you weren’t shy to let your eyes linger on him. he likes you.

he smirks your way, grunting his approval. you were the perfect match. you certainly were the most beautiful creature of his kingdom, and your womanly figure assured him that he would sire several successful heirs with you. you captivated him and you had not yet spoken a word, though the young king could feel that fierce tugging on his heart again, something he now recognizes to be his mating bond the longer he looks at you and the stronger the feeling grows.

“mine.” he says simply, nodding at you in content. his right hand man and fellow dragon shifter steps closer, handing his friend and king a fur pelt similar to the one he wears before retreating back into the onlooking crowd. the king unclasps the matching golden dragon, swinging the covering over your shoulders and snapping the jewelry back into place with a surprising nimbleness. this was the first of many gifts the king would dole out for his mate and queen, but this is the first one to mark you as his. you’re shocked to be chosen, convinced he would take your surveying for disrespect and brutalize you here to send a message— but alas, the most explosive dragon ruler in all the lands chose you as his bride. “you are my mate. we will marry in two moons. dismissed.”

he looks over your head when he says this, ending the celebrations in favor of alone time with his chosen. his gaze has a hint of boredom to it as it glides around the room, red and fiery with unspoken strength and power behind them. you straighten yourself under the weight of your new cloak, bowing your head out of respect, albeit so quick it made the king exhale heavily through his nose as if to chuckle.

“you are amusing, mate.” he says, extending a warm battle-worn hand to push your hair away from your neck. he lets it rest against your shoulder, smirking at how small you were compared to him. it was overwhelmingly apparent that he could do anything he wanted to with you, and you weren’t necessarily opposed to the concept. you started this day with immense rage and dread at having to go before the king and be selected like a prize horse. but he surprised you, even being every bit as brute and brash as everyone said he’d be, his eyes sparkled when they came across you. he declared you his mate—-a huge deal for a dragon shifter, and shrouded you in the engagement cloak without so much as a second thought. there was no arguing with the king, nor his mating bond. your soul was created to nurture his, and vice versa. he felt this snap into place instantly, as a mortal, you probably wouldn’t feel the strength of your connection for several days to weeks. it was an honor, one you couldn’t believe was bestowed upon you—but you certainly weren’t complaining anymore. “i like you.”

you feel your body warm a bit from something as simple as his touch. he’s rough around the edges, and certainly doesn’t know how to be gentle or verbose, but his statement makes you smile warmly anyway. “thank you, my king. i’m quite amused as well.”

he lets his hand slide from your shoulder all the way to your hand, clutching it tight as he brings it to his lips, giving it a chaste kiss. your scent makes his heart skip a beat, and he wonders if he can make it through the next two months without ravaging his sweet maiden.

the days pass, slowly, but they pass. your king brings you several gifts and trinkets, filling your new chambers with tokens of his affection and fondness for his mate. the dragons were known for this, and your mate was the brightest and biggest of them all. so never did he go out to fly without returning with a clutch of presents. he was always so proud of himself as he showed them to you, shoving all the perfumes and jewels in your hands with a boastful grin.

“i found these for you. wear them.” he grunts, roughly pulling you into his arms for a crushing hug. he was working on it, but he manhandled you on accident a majority of the time, not used to interacting with women. you were getting used to it anyhow, only giggling and nodding your acceptance, cooing at how beautiful all the gifts were. he preens in your praise, eager to earn the deep affection that the bond produces.

you couldn’t deny that the bond was starting to affect you, as if you needed any help falling for the monster of a man meant to be your husband. he was kind and loving to you, and you couldn’t ask for much more. he was feared and revered, if you were dumb enough to cross him or his kingdom—soon to be your kingdom, then you earned the punishment of his hellfire tenfold. you wouldn’t find yourself begging for lives to be spared as you stand in the crowd while watching the king dole out sentences. he was brutal, and scary, vicious and primal in every way. his servants tremored in his wake, and though his people loved his protection, they feared his wrath. you were truly the only exception, and it was mystical for everyone to see the fierceness that abounds for his soon to be wife, his forever mate, his queen. and they could only hope your loving tenderness would tame the wild king.

he took meals with you, showed you around his dreary and plain castle, easily agreeing to your every decoration suggestion and insisting you do whatever you want—this is your home now too. he even took you on rides in his gorgeous dragon form, letting you see how beautiful the sun setting over the kingdom was, flying you to different nations, journeying close to the seawaters so you could feel the salty wind on your skin. he forced himself to sleep in his own quarters at night, trying and struggling to abide by common decency.

when your wedding day finally arrived, the king was more than ready to make you his queen officially—and then cart you to bed where decency would be the last thing on his mind. the ceremony is gorgeous, the image of you in your wedding gown was never to be forgotten on him, even though he couldn’t wait to rip it off of you. his brain had already geared into the darker side of things by the time you were being shown to your now shared chambers, and he could not resist his mate any longer.

you weren’t faring much better. however this mating bond usually affected mortal women, it had you ready to climb your king like a tree. as soon as the doors were closed, he was on you, shoving you backwards while hastily tearing at your dress. you assist him in getting it over your head with only minimal rips in the fabric. you can’t bring yourself to care as you fall back on the bed with his body covering yours like a blanket. he’s snarling, but he’s not angry, just eager and too impatient to think about all the lessons he’s learned in being gentle. he scoops you up and tosses you up towards headboard, and you swear you can see steam billow off his form as he eyes you down, watching you lay and spread for him.

“it’s been hard…waiting for you.” he complains, unfastening his cloak and letting it fall to the floor. the moment is so intense, you can feel the air thicken, smell the need permeating the air. he’s breathing heavily already, tugging at the weaving strings keeping his pants closed. your breath hitches when you see his scales glisten in the moonlight, the outline of his cock pressing against the troublesome burlap material. you pant out and nod, knowing the growth before you was only the first hint of what he had to pleasure his mate with. dragon shifters are larger than mortal men in every way, reflecting their dragon status in several different physical markers along their bodies, scales along their collarbones and spines, long mane-esque hairstyles, and of course their cocks. he steps out of the clothing, his massive leaking dick slapping up against his abs with a loud smack, you moan.

his ashy patch of hair and the scarlet scales glistening against his hip bones direct your attention to the monster cock you married. he’s long, thick, curved, lined with veins and a throbbing pink tip leaking his pre-cum in droplets on the bed. it was easily half the size of his thigh, both length and width wise. he fixes himself on the bed, shredding your panties with sharp talons and eyeing your tiny hole. he has all the intentions to stretch you a bit, to get you soaked to accommodate him but when he looks back up at you, you’re drooling.

you can’t imagine how good that’s going to feel inside you. all the times you had touched yourself out of curiosity or even genuine horniness would hardly compare to this, to the man it’s attached to—the way he watches you like a predator tells you there was nothing in this world that would prepare you for what he was about to do to you–what you wanted him to do to you. “i know…” you say after taking a deep breath, reaching for his face. “i’ve had to wait just as long.”

you squirm in place, lidded eyes flickering from his endowment to his eyes and then back again. “just wanna feel my king…i know you’ll fill me up so well.” you coo, batting your lashes.

he’s not in the right mind to banter with you, the only thoughts crossing his brain at the sight and scent of you was to ravage. he grips your hips tightly, trying to will himself to be stronger and give his new bride the treatment she deserves. he should prepare you like a gentleman, but unfortunately the young king is unable to will himself to be gentle. you seem to read his mind, nodding and spreading your legs a bit further, allowing him to get settled in the space you provide. he wastes no time in lining up with your entrance and bottoming out. he knows it’s sadistic that he enjoys the way your eyes cross at the sensation, the burning and splitting stretch ripping a sob from your throat. you clutch at his arms, the natural slick you produced just from your own anticipation aiding him in the glide. he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to him so he can also adjust to the feeling of your virgin pussy gripping him like a hand-tailored glove. he can’t fight the groan that leaves his lips, mindfully keeping his talons retracted as he rakes his hands over your plush stomach and wide hips, stopping to paw at your thick thighs and fat ass. he’s already rendered speechless, only able to grunt and groan as he starts to move, putting your legs up to his shoulders as to not face any resistance. you cry out at the new angle, absolutely feeling the searing heat of him splitting you apart, but you love it. you move your hips against his, head digging back against the pillow at the newfound pleasure.

it’s so hard for him to go slow, especially as you fuck yourself into him and cry out for more. your body takes him so well, as it was designed to, but he still didn’t expect it to feel and look and sound so good. he can see himself in your stomach, the spikes along his base curling into you and hitting every spot so well. you didn’t even know it was possible to feel this good, his cockhead drilling into your womb so hard it has the corners of your vision turning white.

he’s growling, unable to repress his animalistic side completely. he leans forward, snapping his hips to yours as your wanton moans fill the room. he lets his tongue lave over your neck, making you gasp out at the feeling. “mate–i need to mark–bite..” he rumbles in your ear, goosebumps rippling over his body when you whine out and nod.

“please! bite me, got those teeth f’r a reason—” you plead, your small hand guiding his face to the crook of your neck. your eagerness makes his cock twitch, your enjoyment paramount to him just as much as claiming his mate for the first time. he abides by your wishes, sinking his teeth into your flesh and clamping down, feeling you do the same around his dick. you moan out, clawing at his back with your own kind of talons. he can’t stop, driving bruises and bloody spots all along your neck and chest. he’d never go too deep even in his lusty haze, his primal instinct to protect his other half would never allow him to cause permanent harm. he admires his work, “pretty mate, my teeth marks.”

he grunts out, gripping your hips and roughly turning you over, grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank you into a deep arch. you scream at the new angle, some blood trickling down your neck and pooling between your breasts. he’s entranced by the shape of your body beneath him, how his hands take up your entire waist and the way your ass ripples as he hammers into you. you’re struggling to hold your body up under the force of his thrusts, gripping the covers beneath you for dear life. he reaches around your hip, locating the sweet bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. your hips falter when he presses his touch to your clit, a little sob coming from your lips as you begin to fall apart.

“pretty. coat my cock.” he grunts, cock jumping again as you nod and fall forward, your pussy spasming around him like crazy. he feels the rush of you, sending him shuddering towards his end too. “g’nna take my heirs.” he groans, slamming your hips back into his as he spills into you for the first time.

he pulls out quickly to gather you up in his arms, laying on his back with you protected by the expanse of his chest. you’re incoherent as his seed trickles out of you, and as bewitching as the sight is, he wants you to give him several warrior princes and princesses. so he slides his hands between your legs and chuckles as you jerk when you feel his fingers stuffing his cum back inside. you whine, so sensitive but yearning for all of his touches. he grunts a bit, leaning over to smooth your tousled hair and gently kissing the bruises and shallow wounds he gave you. his kindness touches you, and you relax into his body with a grin, knowing he would hold you to his heart’s content and then have the servants run a bath for the new dragon queen.

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