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hp-hcs · 3 months

Note

Reader (male preferably) x T.N and M.R

Where reader gets into fights a lot. Like a lot. Almost double the amount that Theo and Matt get in combined in just a week. The only reason Dumbledore lets him stay at Hogwarts is because he’s top of every class. What bugs a lot of his peers is the fact that he doesn’t try. He doesn’t study, he just gets it straight up, he barely shows up to class, he fights everyone and anything that speaks bad about the slytherin house, and he’s got the face every guys jealous of. Reader is just made to make people mad, is how he’d be described. But he’s not aggressive. He doesn’t lose his temper easy, it’s just when his house or Theo and Matt are mentioned that he loses it. It’s like a trigger going off in his brain, to protect what’s his. And Merlin does that turn them on.

NSFW (optional)

Reader loves to mark them as his. To have everyone be able to see the dark hickeys or slowly healing bite marks. To display a type of claim over the two. They’re his. And he knows exactly how to make them feel good. Make them writhe for him. Degrading Mattheo while edging Theodore, wrapping his bloodied hands around their throats while he pushes them up against the wall. Fuck and when he’s all beaten up after a fight? They can’t fucking resist him.

• smut • bloody knuckles — poly! sub! sweetie pie! theodore nott x poly! sub! brat! mattheo riddle x gn! poly! dom! reader

❕no pronouns or gender/assigned sex markers of any kind!❕

warnings: SMUT MDNI, BLOOD KINK JFC IS THERE A GODDAMN BLOOD KINK IN HERE, same with degradation holy fuck, pain(?) kink, violence, mild descriptions of gore/wounds, usage of the word ‘blood’ or ‘bloody’ approximately 12000000 times, THE BOYS ARE ROMANTICALLY & SEXUALLY INVOLVED WITH EACH OTHER, some pretty aggressive dom/sub roles for ya silly little deviants

i don’t know why i gave the boys pure opposite personalities. the dichotomy of man, i guess.

this is quite easily the filthiest fucking thing i’ve ever written, and i was too embarrassed to let my allosexual boyfie edit/help with this one so it’s real bad 😬 enjoy your asexual-written smut? ig? i did my best, anon, i’m so sorry

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Seamus Finnegan was not expecting to start off his Monday morning with a broken nose.

To be fair though, it was kind of his fault. I mean, six years of school together and the boy still decided to run his mouth without a single care in the world.

“Heard Riddle’s a slut. That true?”

Your head snapped up and a furious look crossed your face. “What?”

“Hot though,” Seamus shrugged. “‘s why y’keep ‘im ‘round, yeah?”

Your hands clenched into fists down by your sides.

“He a good fuck, at least?” Seamus asked carelessly, seemingly unaware of your brewing anger. “I bet ‘e is. Think ‘e’d put out?”

Before anyone could even blink, you had Finnegan down on the ground. His face quickly became the victim of your furious fists.

He tried to shove you off, but you just smacked his hands away and got a solid hit to the center of his face, punctuated by the sound of snapping cartilage.

Blood rushed in your ears and the crowds fell away as you focused solely on Make him pay. Make him pay. Make him pay.

You were abruptly brought out of your bloodthirsty rage by a pair of arms wrapping themselves around your torso and yanking you off of Seamus.

You spun around in anger, the question of who the fuck-? dying on your lips when you saw the concerned face of Theodore Nott, and the bright red face of Mattheo Riddle.

~~~

“Darling-”

“Shut up, it’s my love language,” you pouted.

Theo rolled his eyes fondly, leading you by your shoulders into their dorm’s bathroom. “You know we can handle ourselves, love. You’ve met both of our fathers; we’ve had much worse than some Irish pipsqueak theorizing about our sex lives.”

“Well, I thought it was hot.” Mattheo interrupted with a cheeky grin. “Our badass lover who’s willing to throw down with a Gryffindor to protect our honor? Proof that chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Well, I just don’t want other people talking about you like that,” you scowled.

“We know, love,” Theo grinned, crouching down to dig the first aid kit out from under the sink, patting your thigh in a patronizingly reassuring gesture. “Now, lemme see how bad it is.”

You huffed in faux annoyance, holding out your bloody hands in front of you and lifting your chin so he could see the state of your face.

Theo sighed and began his millionth lecture of the day as he started dabbing antiseptic ointment on the few small scrapes scattered across your face.

Mattheo was unusually quiet, adding nothing to the playful bickering between you and Theo.

You glanced over at him, only to find that he was practically enraptured, staring at your hands. His eyes followed a single bead of blood’s meandering path down your knuckles and fingers, watching as it dripped off the tip of your index finger and splattered onto the tile floor.

You could’ve sworn you saw him lick his lips.

You traded a knowing look with Theo before speaking. “Whatcha looking at, Matty?”

His cheeks flushed red and his gaze snapped back up to your eyes. “Nothing!”

You took a step forward. He took a step back.

“Oh, really?”

He gulped.

You reached forward to rest a hand on his shoulder, gently pressing him up against the wall. “A blood kink, huh? Shit, you really are a slut, love.”

Mattheo looked down, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

You gripped his chin and forced his head up to look at you. His eyes widened in surprise at the firmness of your grasp.

You pressed two blood-streaked fingers against his lips, groaning at the sight of his tongue instinctively darting out to kitten-lick them.

“Shit, Matty,” Theo whispered from behind you.

You trailed your fingers down his jaw and the side of his neck before loosely wrapping your hand around his throat.

He gasped and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Y-Y/n-”

“You like this? Hm?” You crooned as the blood on your hand smeared onto the skin of his neck.

Mattheo nodded frantically—as much as he could with the limited range of motion.

“That’s fucking disgusting, Riddle. What a filthy fucking boy.”

(He whimpered. He fucking loved it when you called him by his last name.)

You let go of his neck, stepping back and leaving him with a pleading whine caught in his throat as you turned to your other boyfriend.

“And Theodore, my pretty little angel,” you cooed softly, running your fingers through his hair and cupping his cheek. “How’s my little lovebug doing?”

He watched you with wide eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. “Y-Y/n…”

You ran your thumb over his cheekbone, smiling softly. “Answer my question, pretty boy.”

“I-I’m doing good, love,” Theo whispered, his voice cracking as you trailed your thumb down the side of his neck and swept it across his collarbone.

You abruptly pulled your hand away, spinning on your heel and leaving the en-suite without another word.

Your boys followed you into the dorm room like lost puppies, trailing after you with confused and needy expressions.

You sat down on one of the beds, lying back against the pillows with a relaxed and unbothered expression on your face. “Teddy, over here. Matty, go sit in the chair.” You waved your hand towards the desk chair, lazily motioning for Theodore to take off his shirt and join you on the bed.

Mattheo pouted and whined. “What? But- darlin’, I’ve been-”

“A greedy bitch,” you scoff as you yanked off Theo’s trousers and boxers in one swift motion, rolling him over onto his back. “Now sit down and wait your damn turn. Don’t you dare touch yourself. You’d better keep your hands where I can fucking see them.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned back to your other lover. You ignored Mattheo’s protesting whines in favor of wrapping your fingers around Theo’s dick, appreciating the way Theo’s hips jerked up with a startled moan and his hands scrabbled for anything to hold onto as you did so.

“Riddle. I changed my mind. Get the fuck over here.” You snap, narrowing your eyes at the boy wiggling uncomfortably in his seat. “Hold Teddy’s hand.”

He jumped into action, quickly clambering onto the bed next to the pair of you and scooping up one of Theo’s hands in his.

You nodded, pleased at his cooperation, and slowly started jerking Theo off.

“Pretty, isn’t he, Matty?”

You expected him to say something in agreement, or tease Theo lightly, but your question was met with silence.

You glanced over, curious as to what caught his attention. Mattheo’s eyes were laser focused on Theo’s lower half. You followed his line of sight, confused as to what he was looking at, when you realized.

The blood from your busted knuckles had smeared itself all over Theo’s cock.

“Suck Teddy off.” The demand left your lips before you could even fully think it through.

Neither boy seemed disinterested in your proposition, if the way Mattheo all but scrambled down the bed as he leapt onto your boyfriend was any indication.

Mattheo kneeled between Theo’s thighs and pinned down his hips, practically drooling at the perverse sight in front of him.

Theo moaned brokenly as he felt Mattheo’s tongue lick a long stripe up his dick before taking him fully into his mouth. You hummed appreciatively at the gorgeous view in front of you, reaching out to stroke your hand along Theo’s hip and thigh.

The dorm was quickly filled with the sweet sounds of Theodore’s little moans and sighs, and the filthy wet sounds of Mattheo’s mouth.

He drew Theo closer and closer to his release. But right as your sweetest lover’s body began to shake, you caught sight of one of your brat’s hands subtly sneaking between his legs. You growled, tightening your grip in his hair to warn him to pull off.

As soon as Mattheo pulled off of Theo’s cock, panting for air, you harshly grabbed his jaw and yanked his head up to face you.

“Greedy fucking whore,” you sneered, “I told you not to touch yourself. Apologize to Theo for being such a self-centered brat.”

“S-sorry! So-sorry! I-I’m sorry, T-Theo!”

“Good boy,” you murmur, petting his hair and lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. “Good, love. Continue.”

Mattheo let out a shaky breath, still reeling from the whiplash of your sudden gentleness as he leaned back down to continue his earlier ministrations.

He quickly realized why you’d been so suddenly sweet when he felt your hand start roughly palming him through his trousers. He whined around Theo’s cock, which in turn made Theodore gasp and moan loudly.

You grinned at your boys’ reactions as you leaned down to murmur in Mattheo’s ear, “You can cum if you get Teddy off, alright sweetheart?”

Sparked with renewed interest at the incentive, Mattheo resumed sucking off Theo with vigor. Theo’s thighs shook as he babbled incoherently, a mix of “Fuck!”s, “Merlin-”s, and “Y/n!”s.

“Good boys, that’s it,” you cooed sweetly, brushing sweaty curls off of Theo’s forehead. “You’re just so close, aren’t you, my love?”

Theo sobbed pitifully and nodded. “Pl-please- Y/n- please!”

“Go ahead,” you whispered, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

With your permission, Theo fell apart with a loud moan, his entire body shaking and spasming. You continued palming Mattheo, intent on keeping good on your promise.

“Come whenever you’re ready, Riddle,” you murmured. He had pulled off of Theo by now, and stared up at you with wide, glazed-over eyes. You wiped a smear of cum from the corner of his lips with your thumb, grinning teasingly at the pair of them as you promptly stuck it in your mouth and swirled your tongue around the digit.

With one final moan, Mattheo’s body stiffened up and broke down into shudders as he was wracked with the force of his orgasm. His arms gave out and he collapsed onto the bed, tucking his face into the hollow where Theo’s thigh met his pelvis.

You gave both of your boys a minute to collect themselves, murmuring gentle praise as you littered their faces with soft kisses. “Both so good for me, my best boys. So perfect.”

You sat in a contented quiet for a few more minutes, just caressing them gently. But once their breathings had steadied out, they startled you by sharing a look and abruptly tugging you down and rolling over on top of you.

“Your turn now, love.”

479 notes · View notes

ohnococo · 4 months

Text

Fight Night | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

“You know why you’re here. You can take it or leave it.” His hand pushes its way higher up between your thighs until his fingers meet your panties, rubbing against your pussy as he squeezes your flesh. His smile at having confirmed you were just as wet as he knew you were is absolutely wicked and your pussy is practically fluttering with the way he looks at you. He dips his head even lower to graze his teeth along your neck, hot breath followed by an even hotter tongue licking a playful path. “You seem like you can take it, though.”

You weren't familiar with Infamous MMA Fighter Ryomen 'The King' Sukuna when he entered the club, but he certainly wants to become familiar with you.

Warnings: public sex, slight exhibitionism, size difference bordering on size kink, Sukuna has a monster hog that's pierced, fingering, creampie, rough sex, reader doesn't realize there's a voyeur present.

Notes: Based off of the AU in this post.

Only an hour and a half into your night and things had already gotten interesting.

You’re among the many heads stretched and straining to see what the hell the commotion was about, or rather who it’s about. The staff cutting back and forth through the crowd had only been noticed by a few. The dozen people walking in at once had garnered a bit more attention. Then, the absolutely massive guy that followed them, moving into the centre of the entourage, gathered even more attention. You don’t even know who he is, but the most annoying guys in your immediate vicinity all seem like they’ve just seen God himself enter the club, shouting to each other about him winning something big, followed by drunken recountings of what was apparently a fight. He’s flanked by a sizeable group of men and if he weren’t fucking huge you’d assume most of the entourage were bodyguards from the way they part the crowd to allow him through unhindered. With the way people nearest to them were pointing and smiling he was apparently recognizable to enough people here. You weren’t among those people, but your interest was piqued nonetheless.

You can hardly see him at this distance, but you reckon he must be over 6’5” with the way he’s head and shoulders above everyone. You can’t quite discern his features but he looks like he’s scanning the crowd, only pausing for a moment to lean down before he makes his way to his own area, accompanied by his own small crowd. The glass balustrades allow you to watch him as he goes past the bouncer unquestioned and up the stairs to the VIP section. Even when he’s out of view the feel of the room has shifted entirely, mark effectively left on the place.

Your eyes had been so intent on him you hadn’t noticed the person who’d broken off from his entourage until they’re in front of you and waving a hand at you before leaning in to shout and be heard over the music.

“Do you party?”

What the fuck did they think you were doing? Dress held onto your body by a hope and a prayer, eyes glassy, pupils blown, and this stranger was being coy? Maybe you would be too.

“Maybe. Who’s asking?” They were too young for you, having that awkward ‘are they 19 or 30’ appearance. They were too small too, but you’d seen them trailing along behind the big guy with their fuck ass bob and knew exactly who it really was asking from the way they were looking at you like another errand.

They point up to the balcony, speaking with a reverence coated in the assumption that you’d be impressed, “The King.”

“Who?”

“You’re joking?” They look offended, like they might rescind the offer that hadn’t yet been made, but you knew it wasn’t their choice to come over here, it was this King’s.

You shrug. “I don’t watch boxing.”

“He’s not a boxer.” They spit out the word, boxer, like it had been an insult. “He’s the reigning heavyweight champion of JFC.”

Your laugh at the name has them dumbfounded, explaining even though you couldn’t look more unphased by his apparent celebrity.

“Jujutsu Fighting Championship?” They say it like it explains everything. Like it meant anything more than anyone else’s accolade’s in terms of you having a good night.

“Does this King have a real name? Or just a pretend one?”

“Ryomen Sukuna, and he’d like to invite you up to the VIP lounge. Do you want to go or not?”

You did. You knew you didn’t get up there without spending an exorbitant amount on bottle service, and having the additional funds to beat out anyone else looking to enjoy its amenities. Besides, you knew you weren’t going to turn down free drinks and maybe a story for tomorrow. So you put on a coy smile, indicating that you’d play nice for the opportunity.

“Sure.”

The way they take off, cutting through the crowd at a brisk pace, keeps you on your toes as you try to follow along, pushing against people as you do - some dancing, some looking up at the balcony above and hoping for another peek at the man you were just about to meet.

Once you’re in front of the bouncer at the bottom of the stairs, your temporary escort is annoyed at having to give their name, huffing out a curt “Uraume.” as the man slowly looks through his clipboard, stepping aside once satisfied.

You’re just as quick to keep up when going up the stairs too, trying to look casual as you finally enter the VIP lounge, scanning the room as though your attention wouldn’t automatically be brought to the giant man seated near the wall. Uraume gives a nod to the man, and you’re surprised to see he returns it with a friendly smile, though any trace of warmth is soon gone as they then settle into a corner and The King turns his attention to you as you approach.

Looking at him up close it’s obvious he’s a fighter, you don’t know how you hadn’t immediately guessed it even from seeing him across the club even before people around you started mentioning fights and belts and such. Besides him being built, he has dyed hair that’s a faded colour usually seen among those showy men you meet around Vegas, uniquely employed enough to opt for bolder styles yet dedicated enough to training to let it fade ever so slightly. Nevermind the prominent tattoos on his face, neck, and disappearing down beneath his shirt. Eccentric appearance and fucking huge typically meant one thing around here: fighter. Or wannabe fighter, usually, but with the handles of liquor and nervous energy of the staff that had been rushing around since he’d arrived you knew for sure he wasn’t just some wannabe. From the look of his entourage he might not be just a fighter either.

Well, at least he was handsome.

The only seat available is right next to the man himself. He’s cross legged with his arm draped over the back of the leather couch - over the space you were presumably going to be sitting in. You imagine him instructing his goons to leave it free and feel slightly flattered, not too flattered though as you’re sure it’s a regular occurrence given his apparent popularity.

“Aw, no one wanted to sit next to you?” You give him a teasing pout and he laughs, loud and booming and rich, and you feel everyone around you relax collectively. He liked you up close too, and the feeling was mutual as he pats his lap.

“You can sit here if you prefer.”

Cheeky, you want to get a feel for him first though, so you sit next to him instead. “Buy me a drink first.”

He gestures to the table in front of you, littered with bottles. You look over them, considering your choice carefully. When he puts a hand on your upper thigh and leans into you, brushing his nose against your neck and bypassing any pretence of what he’d invited you up here for, you decide your tastes are a little more expensive. At least when it comes to playing with him.

“No Dom Perignon?”

The way his hand squeezes your thigh has you wondering if he was mad that you were taking advantage. The hungry look he flashes when he leans back to look you up and down lets you know he didn’t care as long as you both got something out of tonight. He glances over to a man who had been standing in wait for his every word, and he skitters off to make it happen.

You feign having only a passing interest in him while you wait, looking at him with brows raised, appraising him as he must have done to you when he’d entered the club. “So you’re supposed to be famous, right?”

Famous, you say it with a slight dry singsong that indicates as dazzling of an occurrence as meeting a celebrity might be, you weren’t quite so dazzled. He raises a brow in amusement, still rubbing at your thigh in a heavy reminder that you both knew why he’d called you up.

“Not famous enough, apparently.” He doesn’t seem nearly as perturbed by your ignorance of him as his small companion had. In fact, it doesn’t seem to phase him at all.

“So are you good at fighting?”

He makes no attempt to stop his cocky grin, and a predatory look flashes in his eyes as he seems to reflect on his own skill. “Yes.”

The staff sent off earlier returns with a bottle and glass, making a show of presenting it to you before opening it. As he does, Ryomen puts a finger on your chin, turning your attention back to him.

“I fought tonight, actually.”

“Oh?” As soon as his hand is off your face and back on your thigh, you turn back to the man pouring your drink, reaching out to accept the glass before he rests the bottle in a bucket of ice and returns to his spot near enough to be at Sukuna’s call.

“I put a man in the hospital.”

You sit back, taking a sip of the champagne as he puts his heavy arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer into him. You take in his expression carefully. Wasn’t that the point of fighting? You deduce that maybe he’d gone a bit further than was typical from the way he looks at you though. There was a sense of pride in the way he’d said it, a sense of satisfaction, even as the smallest flash of his narrowing eyes hinted at it being a warning.

“Does that scare you?” He looks as though he might just love it if the answer were yes.

You cross one leg over the other, trapping his large hand between your thighs, as you finish your drink in one long sip. Maybe it was a waste, but it wasn’t your money. “Should it?”

He dips his head low until your faces are close, and the size difference is enough that it’s as if he’s closing you off from the room as he does it, giving you a false sense of privacy as his lips meet yours. You’re surprised at the pacing of his kiss. It’s far from gentle, but slow, languid, and even if you weren’t ready for it to deepen you’d have had no chance of denying his tongue entry as he pushes it into your mouth. Happily, you match his intensity, opening yourself to him as he explores your mouth. His teeth catch at your bottom lip, nipping hard enough to keep you from getting too lost in the feel of his lips on yours, even as the tinge of pain has your pussy clenching.

When the arm draped around your shoulders slides further round so he can shove his hand into your top you arch into him, thighs squeezing his right hand tighter as he slides the heavy fingers of his left across your nipple playfully. You’re snapped back to reality only slightly when you feel the empty glass being pulled from your hand, glancing to the side even as you keep kissing him to see one of his entourage setting it down on the table in front of you before taking a place standing against the wall, staring out and over the balcony at the crowd below as if there were truly nothing to see here.

Sukuna rolls your nipple between two of his thick fingers, pulling your full attention back onto him. You bring your now freed hand to his head, tangling your fingers in his hair as you tilt your head back and lean further into his touch. Between the tightness of the fabric across your chest and the sheer size of his hands, he’s quickly tired of being so restricted in touching you, pulling his hand out and tugging the top of your dress down to free your breasts as he resumes his teasing. You pull back, having to turn your head away entirely to stop the chase of his lips as you pull your dress back up.

“Whoa-“ you haven’t even moved your hand from your chest before his much larger hand is covering yours, squeezing tightly but not moving to expose you again. There’s a slight warning in his touch, even if he’s smiling at you, bemused by your sudden modesty even as he broadcast to you clear as day that this was precisely what he’d had you brought up here for.

“You’re cute.” The way he says it doesn’t quite feel like a compliment, it feels more like he’s calling you a brat with a bow on it. The fact that it only makes you wetter isn’t lost on you though. “Don’t play with me too much, though.”

He’s moving the ball into your court, making sure you know that you weren’t up here just to get drunk and look pretty. He watches as you consider how much you want to do in front of these people, how much you want to show, and sighs, growing bored already. You asserted a boundary, so he’d assert his in no uncertain terms. Whether that was acceptable was up to you.

The shiver that runs through you as he uncrosses your legs with one hand and pulls your panties to the side with his thumb has him chuckling against your neck while he begins sucking marks into the sensitive skin. His fingers are as rough as you’d guessed as he slides them through your wetness and your eyes shut as you melt into his touch. He’s skilled, teasing you enough to have you angling your hips up for more, pushing one of his thick fingers in just before you’re lost in the sensation enough to whine for it. Once you clench around it he wastes no time, adding a second before digging deep and sliding calloused fingertips over the spot that has you tugging at his hair.

Suddenly, his fingers withdraw, and he pulls your legs open wide, laying one over his lap to give him better access to you. Your eyes snap open as the momentary loss of contact brings you back to your senses enough to remember you were surrounded by a dozen strangers. You tense and snap your legs back shut, and Sukuna sighs again.

“They don’t care what we do.”

Still, having your pussy spread wide in the direct line of sight of strangers was just crossing the line tonight, so you pull away from him slightly and glance around the room to reaffirm your boundary.

He looks you up and down, and for a moment you think he might actually send you away to finish the night with the masses, wetness still smeared along your thighs. It was clear he could have someone more willing up here in a heartbeat. Instead, his lips curl into a smile, and it both unsettles you and makes your pussy clench.

“Go dance.” His eyes hadn’t left yours as he said it, but it was clear it was an order to everyone but you despite the fact that he hadn’t said it to anyone in particular. The crowd in the room moves at once - getting up, grabbing drinks as they go, and leaving the two of you alone. Your eyes are still locked on his, held captive by the intensity of his gaze, heart beating faster and faster as people filter past and down the stairs.

“Better?”

In lieu of an answer you slide your panties partially off, leaving them bunched around one ankle as you climb onto his lap, straddling him. He slides his hands up your thighs and cups your ass, letting his fingers sink into your flesh before deciding he’d have your tits out just as he’d wanted earlier. He tugs your dress down enough to give him the view he’d wanted, then pushes your dress up from the bottom as well to give him better access and you let him do as he pleases at both ends, wrapping your arms around his thick neck and kissing along his tattooed jaw. You settle yourself down onto his lap, starting to grind against him to get an idea of just how big his cock is, but he’s insistent on having his hand between the two of you, sliding his fingers back inside for you to ride them instead.

His thick knuckles catch at your entrance in a way that has your wetness leaking all the faster as the fucks them up into you, and once you’re grinding down to meet his movements he moves his other hand to the back of your head, keeping your lips pressed firmly against his. When his thumb starts stroking at your clit and you moan into his mouth he takes it as his cue to push a third finger into you, pace picking up as his fingers curl just right to add to the sensations he was pulling from you. They’re pushing so deep and fast that it almost distracts from the stretch as he spreads them each time he’s as deep as he can get. As the coil in you tightens, you try to break your endless kiss to warn him you’re close but find you’re held firmly in place. Not that it mattered how much of a mess you made of his lap at this point.

You’re so wet you know his pants must already be absolutely ruined, and as his tongue tangles with yours you realise that you still haven’t gotten a chance to sneak a feel at his cock, thanks to his hand between the two of you. You want to see it, feel it before you cum on it, taste it even, as you become keenly aware of how desperate you are to have it in your mouth. It’s as if his attitude had made you want to match his cockiness, it had made you competitive, and you want to knock him down a peg with your tongue, your mouth, your throat.

As you try again to pull away you have to dig your nails into his shoulders to stop him from kissing you, he was large enough, and hungry enough, that you couldn’t evade him otherwise. When you lock eyes he looks annoyed, tired of any further delays.

“Get your cock out.”

Your words have his eyes sparkling, and he flashes you another wicked grin that only makes you absolutely desperate to feel him in your throat.

He pulls his fingers from you and slides you down just enough to sit atop his knees as he makes quick work of both button and zip with one hand as the other hand stays tightly gripping your ass to hold you in place. He pulls his cock out from where it rests hard and heavy across his hip within his pants, stroking it with an iron grip as he looks into your eyes, gaze nearly as intimidating as the thing in front of you as he revels in your reaction at seeing its size.

It is, to your awe and slight horror, perfectly proportional to the rest of his massive frame. Thick, heavy, with a fat head almost flushed red and veins rippling along the girthy shaft. The steel beads of the piercings trailing down underneath his length glimmer in the dim lighting of the room and add an extra amount of flair and fright to the honest to god mean appearance of such an intimidating cock. He squeezes at the base and when he releases it it flops back against his stomach, unable to stand with all of its weight. As much as your mouth is watering, you know your limits. Gone are your hopes of taking it to the base, watching him marvel at disappearing into your throat - and sucking on the head while you jerk him off wasn’t exactly what you’d pictured.

“Too much for you?”

The words, filled with mockery, pull your gaze back up to his, and he looks so very smug when you let out a less-than-confident, “No.”

“Well?” He wasn’t going to let that weak answer stand, pressing at you and enjoying the falter in your face from just how greedily you’d asked him to get it out just a moment ago.

“I just don’t know if I can suck that.”

Your honesty delights him, and his cock jumps slightly as he tenses from laughter. “I’m not asking you to. I didn’t stretch that cunt open for nothing.”

He pulls you closer with the hand gripping your ass, and slides three fingers back inside you unceremoniously. They had indeed gone in with much more ease than they had several minutes ago, and he begins pumping them inside you again. With the way he was stirring you up you know the noises would have been absolutely obscene if not for the music, not that you would have cared what people hear at this point.

You really had wanted to show off for him, slurping, gagging, taking him to the base and looking up at him with tear streaked eyes. But he was a fucking monster and you’d just have to accept that loss, something relatively easy to do as his fingers are right back to stirring you up. Those thoughts of knocking him down a peg with your head game are long gone as you rock into his fingers, meeting his palm for some needed friction, and just when you get it he pulls his fingers out and rubs your slick along his shaft.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if you were some servant, pulling your attention from his cock alone to his face as he gives you an order with a bemused expression. “Sit on it.”

With your pussy desperate to be full again, you’re in no position to delay the inevitable any longer, bracing yourself for your cunt to take what you weren’t sure your mouth could. He takes you licking your lips and rising higher onto your knees as accepting his order and spits on his hand, rubbing it over his cock to join the wetness that was already coating it. A few minutes ago you’d have questioned if that was necessary with how wet he’d gotten you. At this point you’d take what you can get, not that anything could stop you now.

He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you forward and up until he can line the head of his cock up with your entrance. The thick head swirling through your wetness for only a moment is the last warning before he’s sinking you down onto him. He turns his attention to your chest as he does, sucking a nipple between his lips, latching onto as much of your breast as he can suck into his large mouth. He stops only once, half way, pumping up and into you a few times, helping coax your wetness down his shaft, before he’s pulling you down onto him completely, groaning once you’ve taken it all.

He releases your breast, tugging on your nipple with his teeth as he does, and that pain almost eclipses the absolute stretch of having him in your guts. It’s as if the wind has been knocked out of you, and you let out a few gasps as you try to clench and adjust to him. He chuckles, and the feel of his cock throbbing inside of you as he does has your thighs jumping, fingers digging into his pecs as you rock your hips slowly. His hand falls between the two of you, palm pressing at your abdomen, thumb swiping at your clit, coaxing you back into yourself.

“C'mon, where's all that fire now?”

’Just a second,’ you think, ’just give me one fucking second.’ You don’t say that, though, you can’t. Instead you let out the tiniest little stutter, a noise you’d have been mortified at if your brain weren’t so focused on the feel of being so completely stuffed full.

“Aw,” you open your eyes at this and see Sukuna donning a pout not unlike the one you’d given him upon entering meeting him, “didn’t think I’d break you before I’d even fucked you properly.”

Between his words and his thumb swiping insistently at your clit, something clicks and you bring your knees up, planting your heels on the couch for purchase as you start slowly moving up his length before seating yourself back down. You clench around him as you rise, letting out moans once you settle back on him and he wraps a hand around your jaw, pulling your face close to kiss you as you ride him.

“Mmm, there you go,” he nips at your lower lip before releasing your face to lean back, fully relaxed against the couch below as his thumb continues to lazily swipe at your clit.

He watches you moan, and tense, and struggle to ride to the very tip of his length before coming back down and rocking your hips. You feel him making his cock twitch inside of you when you stop riding, baring his teeth in a wicked smile at the moan it elicits from you. It’s not easy work to ride him, and he knows it. Even just being on his lap, he’s too big to ride with your knees comfortable on the couch. Nevermind adding the considerable length you have to work your way up without coming down too fast or hard.

Still, you give it your all, thighs shaking both exertion and the intensity of having him so deep. Your hands dig into his pecs as you watch him taking you in, eyes burning, biting at his own lip in what you think might be an attempt to stifle his own deep moans as you find your footing and begin riding him in earnest. His eyes flick down to your tits, watching them bounce, pushed together by the positioning of your arms and he begins rocking his hips up every so often. It’s just enough to have your tits bouncing harder, just enough to throw you off too - pussy quaking every time his hips snap up into yours with no warning. He watches your face again, laughing as frustration builds at him throwing off your pace even as he helps to build the pressure in your core.

You let loose a groan between your huffs and sighs of pleasure and dig your nails into his pecs, earning a thrust from below hard enough to send you toppling forward into his grasp. He holds you firmly in place, biting and sucking at the tits now in his face before he’s releasing them in lieu of pulling your mouth down onto his by the back of your neck. He matches the pace you’d set earlier, letting you rock your hips into his movements and think, just for a moment, that you still had some semblance of control.

“Cute…” he almost growls it into your mouth, and his lips curling into a smile against yours is the closest you get to a warning as he thrusts up into you at a pace too punishing for you to even begin to match.

You feel like a rag doll as he holds you chest to chest with him, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you down and onto him. He’s fucking you hard enough you swear you can feel him in your chest, and his heavy balls slap at your ass with the speed and strength of his hips snapping against yours.

“Fuck…” it’s the most intelligible thing you can say at this point, and that has his cock throbbing inside of you as he bares his teeth at you in another of those wicked grins that have your stomach and pussy tightening in unison. All you can do is hold on to him, hands clutching to fistfuls of the fabric of his shirt as he uses your body, the fast approach of your orgasm seemingly incidental as he chases his own high.

He lets loose a noise just short of a roar as he fucks you so hard you begin to understand why he’d asked if you were scared of him earlier. Your brain feels like it’s threatening to break with the feel of him and the way the girth of him presses and slides against every inch of your pussy is the only thing anchoring you to your body. As he begins pumping you full of cum the slowing of his thrusts gives your cunt something to cling to once the pressure within you reaches a fever pitch and you cum, tensing, clawing at his chest as you resume riding him weakly for a just a moment through the rest of your orgasm.

He gives you a moment, as he takes his, enjoying fucking his cum up into you until you’re squirming. When you push at him he lifts you off of him, sliding you back onto the couch, and you’re far too spent to even worry about the cum dripping out of you and onto the likely expensive leather below. You catch your breath, body buzzing and barely aware of the man next to you idly waving his hand at the corner of the room as he tucks his cock back into his pants.

As someone emerges from the dark of the corner of the room you snap your legs shut and pull your dress in place, realising in horror that not everyone had been dismissed earlier. The very person who had annoyedly guided you here earlier then heads to the stairs, presumably to retrieve the rest of the entourage.

Sukuna leans forward, pulling the previously forgotten champagne from its resting place, filling your glass before bringing the bottle to his lips as he settles back into his seat. While you’re processing what the other person in the room had seen, sheepishly pulling your panties back up, he’s already past it, ready to continue his night as people filter back in, equally unphased.

“Drink up, the night’s still young.”

Through the embarrassment of having cum leaking out of you in a room full of strangers is a small excitement building, and you’re more pleased than you’d like to admit that you were apparently invited along to whatever this man had in mind for tonight.

CHAPTER 2

#minors will be blocked #my writing #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #reader insert

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thecuriousquest · 3 months

Text

MHA Spanking Pain

Multiple MHA Yandere Characters

Warning: Light yandere themes, NSFW (punishment spanking - NOT EROTIC), non consensual punishment spanking, bruising, bare ass spanking, characters 18+, characters can either be platonic or romantic

Master List

—————————————————————————

Bakugou- We already know. Explosions. Murder. JFC wouldn’t even be able to get through the first spank. And he’ll fucking give it to you too. He goes harder than you could have ever imagined. Like, you’re over his knee, bottom bare due to him LITERALLY RIPPING OFF YOUR CLOTHES. They’re just in tattered heaps on the floor along with your dignity.

Deku- Fuck. Really? Goddamnit. Couldn’t even handle it at 2%, and he wants to go 10%?! 😭 You must have really done something to fuck up if he’s pissed enough to spank you that hard.

Shoto- Okay, you were expecting him to heat up his hand. That’s always a given. However, you never FUCKING EXPECTED HIM TO TURN DOWN THE TEMP. His hand is freezing your ass with spanks, and it’s so painful in like a cold and numb sort of way.

Kirishima- You don’t even understand! 😭 When he uses his quirk to spank you, you’re literally bent over in the most degrading way, your skin stretched to his liking to make that sensitive under curve completely visible. And then his hard paw cracks down on your skin as if someone spanked you with a paddle made of concrete. And your scream is so loud that your voice breaks and actually goes out within the first minute.

Denki- When he spanks you and charges his hand with volts of electricity…fuck you’re just fucked. Say your prayers, light a candle for yourself. Do whatever you need to do to mentally prepare for this fucking torture.

Aizawa- He’s got that Dad swing. Hurts like an SOB. Ties you up too. Bitch, you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not today, not gonna even be able to walk properly for a while.

Enji- Also has that Dad swing, but he can also heat up his hand and burn your ass.

Overhaul- It hurts, and he makes sure you know what you did was wrong, but you can usually get through it with minimal tears.

Shiggy- Bulked up Shigster makes you wonder what you did in a past life to deserve suffering under his “special spanking” glove. It’s exactly what it sounds like. He has his gloves that make sure he doesn’t decay whatever the fuck he touches. But this support item…whomever made them must either really hate you or they’re really scared of Shiggy. Hurts like a mother fucker.

Dabi- Dear God…his spankings are the worst. First of all, he doesn’t even necessarily need to do this, but he ties you down to the bed. Each limb secured by rope which is attached to each bed post. Either turns up the temp in his hand or just lets the flames do the talking. It really just depends on his mood and the infraction. What’s worse is that sometimes you don’t even do anything to deserve it. He just likes hurting you because you can’t do anything to stop him. 🖕

Mr. Compress- Very old fashioned. Pants and underwear bunched at the ankles with you bent over his knee. Uses his hand or a paddle, sometimes a belt if you’ve been very naughty. However, he always gives you a long winded lecture like a fucking monologue as he spanks you, and his words are what makes it all sooooo much worse. His words actually leave you in tears. Yes, the spanking hurts, but it’s the guilt that ebbs and gnaws at your heart.

Twice- Spanks you and then apologizes because he doesn’t think you deserve it only to laugh at you and do it again. It’s a literal mind fuck, but he’s got you pinned down with a clone. I think a funny idea is him making a clone of himself so that his double can spank you while he watches, and then he says something dumb like “Take your hands off of my woman! That’s kind of hot, do it again!” The pain though…he’s an actual devil, so he’ll spank you rough and raw, bruise you up just with his hand.

Hawks- Lord have mercy! Uses his hand AND a feather, and his feathers are like one of those paddles with the holes drilled into them. It’s the worst being spanked by one of those feathers. He uses spankings for large scale infractions. Punishment is punishment. It’s gotta hurt so you can learn. Quick corrections are done with a few smacks on the spot, typically over your clothes. The big rules you break are ALWAYS done bare with you bent over the back of the couch. He spanks you to tears even if it breaks his heart to do so.

All Might- Heeheehee. Okay, so like if we’re talking bulky All Might, then you know you’re not going to be walking properly until the swelling and bruising goes down. In this form, he doesn’t even need to use an implement. His hand is just fucking enough. If we’re talking depleted All Might…I’m just gonna let you know that his hand is still enough, but he’s more likely to use paddles and belts. I honestly think he’s even old fashioned enough to cut a switch. Either way, your ass is grass, and you’re fearing for your life the moment he forces you over his knee or the bed for a long punishment.

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comphy-and-cozy · 5 months

Note

oh I have a marty thot for sure! I’ve been thinking about riding his thigh while he sits back and just watches, kinda unimpressed at the show and telling you “you can do better than that, can’t you?”

Earn It

Pairing: Matt Martin x sugar baby!reader (f)

Universe: sugar daddy Marty

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Sugar daddy/baby dynamic, lap dance, semi-public/risque sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, choking, mild degradation, creampie, a little bit of cum play (lmao jfc).

Fridays are supposed to be celebratory; the end of the week, welcoming in a few days off to relax and reset. What they’re not supposed to be are stressful, non-stop, chaotic.

Yet here you are, already thinking about the large glass of wine you’re going to pour yourself when you get home; the only decision you’re planning to make for the rest of the night is red or white.

Setting your keys into the bowl on the table beside the door, you eye the pristine leather sneakers next to your shoe rack, but make no move to greet the person you already know is waiting on the couch. You knew you’d regret having the extra key made for him, that he’d show up unannounced like a poorly-timed pimple, but it’s not like you really could say no—not when you consider that he all but pays your rent.

When you round the corner, bag left on the quartz countertop (an upgrade he insisted on when you were signing your new lease), you finally offer him your attention.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he muses, glancing up from where he’s scrolling on his phone. You do your best to mask the shiver that runs down your spine when his eyes lock with yours. Based on the smirk that quirks up on his face, you’d wager a guess that you did a poor job of it.

“Hi, Matty,” you say. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You need a new dress for the charity gala,” he drawls.

“I do, do I?”

He ignores your attitude, standing up to walk over to the island and setting the invitation in front of you. You glance it over, admiring the thick, black cardstock and gold foil detailing the casino-themed event taking place at UBS Arena next month.

“Black tie attire,” you hum. “I don’t have anything that’s black-tie appropriate.”

“That’s why you need a new dress.”

“And that’s why you’re here right now, sitting on my couch after a day from hell, full of back-to-back meetings, am I correct?”

Matt smiles again. “Already have a bubble bath going for you, my little brat. I’ll be here tomorrow at 9 to pick you up.”

You feel a little guilty for the sass, smiling bashfully at him as he plants a sweet kiss on your cheekbone on his way to the door. “Lock up behind me, darlin’.”

Goddamn him. Always knowing exactly how to charm you to get you to bend to his every will—but not without giving him the kind of attitude that makes his dick hard. A fair tradeoff, in your opinion.

That’s why you work, why your dynamic makes your relationship feel so smooth and seamless and… perfect. Except the part where he’s paying you to fuck him.

Either way, it’s how you find yourself walking along Fifth Avenue, following Matt as he leads you into stores with price tags that intimidate you so much, your cheeks get hot. He lets you browse on your own, warming you up a bit, picking out a few items for work along with a new Yves Saint Laurent purse.

Purchase after purchase. Item after item. The ease with which Matt whipped out his thick, black credit card—you know, the heavy ones that just feel luxurious—almost physically pains you as you try to do the mental math of what he’d spent today.

Finally, you follow him to the dresswear section of Bergdorf Goodman’s, admiring the ease with which he carries the multiple bags in his large hands. You feel well and truly spoiled, thinking to yourself that the dark green lace set he purchased at Fleur du Mal will come in handy later when it comes time to show your gratitude.

“This dress,” he murmurs against your temple, pressing an affectionate kiss to your skin as the fitting room attendant readies a room for you. “I want everyone there to imagine fucking you out of it.”

At this point, you’re used to his blunt and sometimes crude nature, but that doesn’t stop your skin from heating at his crass words. You can’t deny the warmth that radiates between your legs, though, at the thought of him showing you off, claiming you as his, publicly. And, well, how are you supposed to say no to him buying you a dress that’s worth more than your groceries for the month?

The selection is enormous, and you find yourself overwhelmed by the options—lace, chiffon, silk, crepe—all of it doesn’t mean much to you, so you rely on your stylist to select a few options that complement your body type. Matt sits quietly in the corner of the fitting room, watching you try on dress after dress, making barely any comment other than an occasional hum.

When the stylist leaves you to contemplate your options, you glance over your reflection, at the Alex Perry gown that stares back at you. It’s the first dress that feels right, and you can’t help the feeling of excited anticipation that fills your chest when you think about wearing it beside Matt at the gala. Maybe he’d wear that delicious gray suit that you like, the one you almost stained permanently humping his thigh like a fucking dog in heat.

“Is this the one you want?”

You do a final spin in the mirror, checking the various angles and standing on your toes to imitate your height in heels. It’ll need to be altered a bit, but you’re pleased with the way it fits your body and, more importantly, the way it makes you feel luxurious. With your nod, Matt leans forward and glances at the price tag hanging out of the back. His eyes flick to yours in the mirror, and you stew in discomfort for the few seconds before he’s sitting back, apparently approving of the price.

A wide smile forms on your face, feeling a bit like a child on Christmas morning at your excitement. You like Matt for far more than his wallet, but you can’t deny that it feels nice to be spoiled by him, to feel lavished by his gifts and special treatment.

“Think it’s time for you to say thank you, don’t you?”

Matt’s low purr snaps you out of your thoughts, eyes focusing back on the navy silk material that’s hugging your body. The corset bodice keeps you tucked in, accentuating the curve of your breasts, fabric draped across your middle and fastened in place with a large, glittering piece. But the real attention-grabber is the slit on the left side that goes up to your hip, revealing almost your entire leg.

You cast a glance at him in the mirror, a flutter in your chest when you see the way his eyes rake in your reflection. He hums, and though he told you it was your decision, you’re pleased that he likes what he sees.

“Thank you, Matty,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him. You lean forward and press a kiss against his lips, warm and soft—the kind you could fall into with ease. He smiles, crooked and patronizing as he tsks.

“Oh, sweetheart, you know that isn’t good enough. Look at all these bags—all for you. I think I deserve more gratitude than that, hm?”

The hidden meaning of his velvet words are enough to make you shiver, your heart chilling as you realize what he wants. His eyes glitter as he watches you, sees the recognition on your face and the hitch in your throat.

Your voice is hoarse as you whisper, “Here?”

Matt blinks, lazily, with a raised eyebrow, like he’s challenging to you to deny him. Of course you can’t, and he knows it. He leans back on the bench, his back resting against the wall and his legs spread comfortably. It’s a silent invitation, one you can’t refuse, and you find yourself moving to sit in his lap with a shaky gulp.

His hands weave their way to your hips, warm through the material of your jeans. “Good girl.”

With just the right amount of pressure, he encourages you to move your waist, swaying your hips as your ass brushes against his groin. He’s half hard, the bulge firm against you as you set a rhythm, listening for any other customers entering the dressing rooms nearby. The classy elevator music hums softly through the speakers while the silk covering your ass glides against his slacks in a filthy narrative.

A low hum of approval sounds from Matt’s chest, eyes glued to the way you work your hips. It isn’t long before you’re glancing behind you, meeting his eyes as he regards you with his easy, lazy gaze. Beneath the firm press of your ass, you can feel him hardening as the tick of your heartbeat increases in your throat. His signature smirk slides its way onto his face, smug, soaking in the fact that he’s got you wrapped around his finger, willing to do practically anything he asks you.

It isn’t long before he’s stiff, solid beneath you, and you feel an involuntary throb at the size of him. Every moment, you remain vigilant, ears perked for voices—or worse, the sound of someone’s gasp. It reflects in your movements, not lackluster but certainly not to your usual level of enthusiasm. There’s something about him when he’s like this—cocky confidence rolling off of him in waves, his gaze heating your skin—that drives you desperately, deliciously wild, a feral urge in you snatching control of your conscience.

But not right now. And he knows it.

He hums, displeased, and you have a split moment to register his disappointment before he’s purring, “Sweetheart, I think you can do better than that, can’t you?”

The velvet of his voice strokes the flame inside you, sending a wave of warmth between your thighs. Another throb against the stiffness under your ass. His hands remain at his sides, not offering any assistance. You can practically feel his lazy gaze on your ass, waiting patiently for you to react.

He senses your hesitation, knows the reason you’re timid—waiting for the fitting room attendant to come back at any minute and discover the lewd situation unfolding. So he changes his approach, voice honeyed and silky smooth. “Look at that gorgeous dress. Y’look fucking stunning in it, baby. But you gotta earn it, darlin’.”

You meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, see the glitter in them that tells you he’s serious, accepting the small nod he gives you. Bracing your hands on his meaty thighs, you resume your movements, pressing yourself into his groin with more force.

Matt’s words echo in your head as you work him—and yourself—into a frenzy. Earn it. He didn’t specify what his… end goal was, but from the glint in his eye you think it’s safe to assume it’s more than just a clothed lap dance in the middle of the dressing room.

How you ended up half-naked, thong tugged to the side, hands bracing yourself against the wall of the fitting room, you’re not sure; all you really know is the feeling of Matt’s weight behind you, so tall his face is almost out of your view in the mirror’s reflection. He’s not looking at you, instead focused on tapping the head of his erection against your ass.

You bite your lip to stifle a whine, staring at him in the hopes he’ll offer you just a glance so you can beg him silently to please, put it in. Eventually, he does, sees the desperation pooling in your eyes and chuckles smugly, pleased at the rash desire he finds in them.

“Arch it for me, sweet girl.”

Obeying, you press your ass out toward him, thinking you’d break your back right here, right now, if it meant he’d provide you with some relief. His warm palm presses against your spine, encouraging you to go further, and he hums in approval at the view you present him: expensive dress bunched over the swell of your hips, ass out, pussy dripping, eyes wanton and pleading with him in the mirror.

“You want it?” he asks, his voice so low you strain to hear it.

You’re almost embarrassed at how fast you nod, not wanting to waste any time. He smirks again, and you know he’s biting back the urge to tease you, instead just offering, in all its simplicity: “Slut.”

There’s a brief moment where he allows his words to sink in, a flood of arousal seeping out of your bare, uncovered core, threatening to drip onto the faded wood flooring of the dressing room. You’re grateful that he didn’t make you beg—he usually does—but then he’s pressing into you without warning and a loud cry leaves your lips.

Your hand slaps over your mouth to muffle the sound, but he’s already gotten what he wants out of you, a more than obvious admission of the debauchery occurring just inside the fitting room. Instead, he focuses on the warm wetness enveloping his dick, watching the way your cunt sucks him in, greedy.

Despite his reckless attitude, he’s aware of the slap of his hips against your ass, and instead of jackhammering into you the way he wants to, he’s opted for hard, deep, slow thrusts; hard enough to have a soft, involuntary sigh every time he sheaths himself to the hilt inside of you. It’s the opposite of a quickie (even though that’s exactly what this is); instead, he’s diligent, indulging himself in the feeling of your tight walls throbbing around his length.

All things considered, you’re pleased with the minimal amount of noises sounding from your stall; though your body shivers when you hear the low groan rumble in his chest. With a glance in the mirror, you can see the way he’s watching himself pull out of your cunt, biting his lip at the sight.

Matt offers a light slap of his tip against your lips before he’s jutting his hips forward, subtly, to rub his length against your clit. The sensation makes you shiver, the slickness of his shaft sliding against the tender button, and you feel the shockwaves coursing through you at the movement.

With his free hand, he gathers your hair in his fist and yanks backward, arching your back until your head is resting against his chest. The sharp pain melds into pleasure, loving the way he knows exactly how to take control over your body to have you dizzy with lust. Hot breath fans over your ear, soft and subtle pants puffing air down your neck. “Fuck yourself on it, baby.”

His warm fingers press into your hips, urging you to move; you do, seeking out that delicious tingle when the fat tip of his cock brushes against your clit, running between your folds. You hear the pleased hum in your ear, quiet, and then the chuckle that follows when he slips into you, a loud gasp leaving your lips.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a low groan. “So fucking wet for me, just the way I like it.”

Matt urges you to keep going, biting back another moan at the feeling of him being buried inside you. Your hips roll him in and out of you, and Matt’s hand trails over your ribcage, groping your breast on its way up to finally land at your throat, fingers curling around the base and squeezing. “Makin’ too much noise. Someone’s gonna hear you, and then I won’t get to flood this pretty little cunt with cum, will I?”

Swallowing the urge to whine with need, you shake your head, trying to tell him with your eyes how badly you want that. His lips press softly against the place where your shoulder meets your neck, keeping eye contact with you through the mirror while he angles his hips in search of the spot that’s going to have you dribbling down your legs. He knows he’s reached it by the way your mouth falls open, your brows scrunching in pleasure when the nudge of him against your g-spot has your eyes fluttering shut.

He hums again, and you know he’s pleased—both with himself for reading your body like his favorite book, and with you for being obediently quiet. The hand around your neck tightens while the forceful punch of Matt’s hips grows more intentional, aiming for precision rather than speed.

The smirk in the mirror, flashed in your direction is enough to make you shiver in his arms. “You think you can stay quiet while you come for me? Hmm?”

You’re trapped—can’t nod, can’t speak, barely hanging onto your last shred of control before you’re succumbing to the release that rips through you. Your legs shake, lungs scrambling for breath as the wave crashes over you, hands clutching the wall in search of purchase. Tears prick at the rims of your eyes, blurring your vision.

Matty’s eyes glitter as he pulls out of you, grinning when he hears the slickness between your legs.

“Love it when she purrs for me.”

It’s only when you feel hot liquid oozing out of you that you realize he met his climax, too, burying the evidence deep within your core. Your shaky legs clench together in an effort to prevent his cum from seeping down your legs and onto the floor.

Matt’s hands linger on your sides to make sure you’re steady before he’s tugging your panties back in place and swooping the dress back over your hips. He hums at the creamy drips on the inside of your thighs, swiping up to collect it on his finger. You don’t even have to be told to open your mouth, eyes fluttering shut when he presses the salty mixture onto your tongue. He hums when your lips close around the digit, sucking it clean before he releases it with a pop.

His eyes are still dark when he presses the call button on the wall with a crooked grin, and when the attendant knocks gently on the door, he says simply, “We’ll take the dress.”

#matt martin fic #matt martin x reader #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey smut

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landwriter · 1 month

Note

I WANT LIGHTHOUSES SNIPPETS I AM FERAL FOR LIGHTHOUSES SNIPPETS JFC xo @hardly-an-escape

Then it is feralness you shall receive!! And I notice you said SNIPPETS plural so have a small bouquet of feral moments in this fic, in increasing length and feralness: Hob needing to borrow Dream's shower, accidentally cumming to the thought of your friend's smile, and wanting so bad it hurts your chest

(some NSFW under the cut)

Hob comes out of the shower shirtless with a towel around his neck. His hair is curling wet around his face. He did a poor job of drying himself. There’s beads of water caught like dew in his chest hair. A stray rivulet of water is running lower, down his furred belly. He’s dripping a puddle on the hardwood floor, and still glowing a little with exercise. Dream is certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Hey, thanks, man. I’ll get outta your hair now,” he says, unaware of the fact Dream is vividly imagining kneeling before him and following that rivulet of water with his tongue. He opens his mouth to speak.

“Naw,” says Matthew, as if Hob had been talking to him. “Stay for dinner and beer.”

Hob looks at Dream. He swallows heavily. “Yes,” he croaks. “Stay.”

Hob lights up. “Well, alright.”

“Right on,” says Matthew.

---

After kicking Hob out, he jacks off with an arm thrown over his face, because he doesn’t want to see anything else. Doesn’t want to be in this room or this life, a coward’s life, a greedy life, hungering after his friend.

If Hob ever saw it, he’d run.

Dream tries to exorcise the buzzing lust, curled sideways on his bed like a parenthesis and fucking into his fist, not taking his time with it like he normally does. He doesn’t want to take himself apart. He wants to tear himself apart. Wants this monstrous black hunger climbing up the inside of his ribs to be satisfied as quick as possible, so he can look Hob in the eye and talk to him without biting his tongue.

He thinks of good fucks he’s had, moments and pieces from them, stitched all together. It does nothing. It’s like purgatory. Limbo. Even as he twists his hand around his prick, crooks a leg and presses up on his hole with fingers, he’s blind with need and he still can’t fucking cum. He groans in frustration and squeezes his eyes shut, thinks of guys fucking him rough, hands ‘round his hips leaving bruises, pretty twinks with big eyes kneeling for him, the bar smell of leather and poppers and piss, hot tongue and spit on his hole, the warmth of another body, of bodies, of beckoning glances and smiles, of one smile, Hob’s smile, his easy grin, clear as day, the heat of him, the brush of his skin, his hands, restless and warm and big, with hair dusting the knuckles, fidgeting with a pencil, stroking the neck of a bottle, holding a cigarette—him him him—smiling and saying us poor fuckers.

And he comes back to himself a moment later, panting. He rolls away from the mess he made across his sheets to stare at the ceiling, limbs loose and soul damned.

He shouldn’t have waited. Should’ve climbed into Hob’s fucking lap instead of the chair next to him that first day, should’ve made a scene, should’ve known. Hob deserves someone who would see him straightaway for the marvel he is, and he didn’t. Didn’t see him until Hob had already seen someone else here.

He wouldn’t regret it with Hob.

---

He’s drank too much. He’s drank too much and this was stupid idea, actually, to bring Dream here. To sit next to him and hear fierce poetry about gay love, and desire, and touch. They’re across from each other now, and still it feels too close. Feels dangerous. He hasn’t been this sort of drunk since leaving home. The kind where he wants so badly it physically hurts. Like kneeling on broken concrete. Like a pulse. His hands itch. He needs a fuck, a fight, anything at all. Anything to stop him from quoting Shakespeare and staring too long at Dream’s lips and thinking of all the lines he heard tonight, coiled around his heart and throat, mocking him.

“I’ll wait,” he says, standing so hard on the knife edge of truth and discretion he thinks he won’t be able to walk away from this, or walk ever again after it. “I’d wait a hundred years for, for him. However long it takes.”

“You’re too loyal, Hob.” Dream looks disappointed with him. He wonders if it’s obvious, how fucked he is right now. He wonders if his want is rolling off of him, like fog, if Dream sees it. Or feels it, clinging to his skin, damp. If he’s repulsed. He doesn’t want to be pitied. Not by Dream. Not for this. There’s nothing wrong, being loyal. Nothing wrong waiting.

“Maybe. Maybe I am.” Hob’s eyes feel wet. He thinks about being a little kid and picking sea glass from the beaches of Sausalito, before they moved to Fort Wayne. He thinks about how the colours got dull by the time he was home, and how he’d put the soft-edged pebble of glass in his mouth, suck the salt off it, just to see it shining and transluscent again. Green, and clear, and amber, and sometimes, rarely, blue.

His head is swimming. Not swimming, no. Drowning. He’s a bad friend. He doesn’t want to be rescued. He wants to pull Dream down with him. Dream’s own lines rise up in his mouth like bile. He leans forward, defiant.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll, maybe I’ll save every breath in my lungs for him.”

“Don’t,” says Dream, jaw tight. “Don’t do that. Don’t take that from me.”

Hob hears the warning in his voice and wants to dash himself on it, wants to crash up on the rocks of the awful island Dream has made of himself if it means he’ll finally look at Hob with that white-hot attention he reserves for his secret love. “Why not,” he hears himself flatly say.

“I mean it, Hob.” Oh, he’s angry, now. Anger is a kind of heat. Maybe it’s the best he’ll get.

“Why not?” he repeats. He fumbles out a cigarette, lights it. He’ll play Dream’s mystery man for him. “C’mon, huh?” He takes a shaky drag and laughs, and raises his chin. “Why not? Why don’t you take something from me, then, and we’ll call it even?”

Dream, unblinking, sets his glass down on the table with a sharp thunk. A stupid little thrill races through Hob.

Shit, maybe he’ll deck me, if I’m lucky.

Instead, Dream reaches out and pulls the cigarette from his lips and puts it between his own. Hob sways forward. Dream takes a long drag and tilts his head back to blow the smoke past Hob. His throat is pale. Like the fucking moon. His eyes haven’t left Hob’s. Sharp wet seaglass. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thinks. Dream drops the cigarette in the ashtray between them and leans forward too. His voice is rough. “Like that?”

Hob is dizzy. His chest feels like it’s on fire. Like he’s been running miles too long, too hard. His lips are stuck parted. Soft. Fucked with wanting as the rest of him. He’d buried too much, and it filled him up, it’s all of him now, singing through every fibre of his body. “No,” he says, quiet. “More.” Dream shouldn’t be able to hear it in the noise of the bar. Hob can hardly hear himself over his pulse pounding in his ears, and maybe Dream doesn’t hear him at all, maybe he’s staring so hard at Hob’s mouth that he can just see the shape of the words. His lungs are going to burst.

Dream’s eyes flick back up to look at him. Not sea glass, no, the sea itself, all sunlit bright and unsecretly hungry. Looking at him, really looking at him.

“Who are you waiting for, Hob?” he asks.

Hob exhales.

#asks #wip title ask game #lighthouses #seventies san francisco au

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