#v. ( rise from ruins. ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckyseternaldoll · 3 days ago

Text

all mine, baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You crossed a line to finish the mission. Bucky saw it. Now he’s going to remind you who that pussy belongs to—with his mouth, his cock, and his name on your lips.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v (doggy + missionary), oral (f receiving & m receiving), facial + cumplay, overstimulation, marking, possessive!bucky, jealousy sex, creampie, shower aftercare, dominance (non-degrading), soft switch tension

Word Count: 5.9k

Author's Note: Hope you'll love my take on Bucky's more dominant side too. Thanks for reading 💜

“Just get the intel,” Bucky muttered, catching your wrist before you could step out of the SUV.

His grip wasn’t hard—but it stopped you. That said everything.

You turned, your eyes dropping to the flesh fingers wrapped around your wrist, then rising to meet his face. His jaw flexed. Tension rolled off him, held back behind stubble and armor and a soldier’s discipline he wore like a second skin. But it was more than that.

He knew how this worked. You both did. Sometimes missions blurred into seduction. Sometimes flirtation was the weapon.

Still—he breathed out, voice dropping. “I know what this is. I know you’ve gotta flirt. Play the part. That’s fine.”

You held his gaze, silent.

“But I’m gonna be in that room too,” he added, quieter now, almost like it hurt to say. “Watching him look at you. Listening to every word you say in my goddamn ear. And I can take a lot, but I’m still a man, alright?”

His thumb brushed across your pulse—gentle now. “Just don’t overdo it. Don’t give him more than what’s needed. Don’t make me sit there and hear you moan in his ear like it doesn’t fucking ruin me.”

The last part nearly broke in his throat. It wasn’t anger. It was something else. Something hot and human, coated in restraint.

You softened.

“I know,” you said, quieter. “It’s just a means to an end, Bucky. You have my word. I’ll do just enough.”

His eyes searched yours like he needed to be sure. Needed it anchored.

You gave him a small nod.

But deep inside, you knew.

These missions never stuck to plan. Sometimes the target needed a little push. Sometimes—when the drug took too long, when the man was strong, when timing burned too fast—you had to exaggerate. Make it look real.

And maybe, just maybe…

tonight would cross that line.

—

The club slammed into your senses—bass pounding through the floor, lights slicing in deep violet and strobe white. The air smelled like sweat, spilled liquor, and desperate heat. You walked in wrapped in that second-skin black silk, your dress clinging to every curve like it had been poured on. Short. Low-cut. Slick with sin.

You didn’t head to the target right away. You let yourself exist first—moving through the room like your heels wrote every beat of the music. You knew the asset was watching. You felt his eyes from the second you crossed the threshold.

Two tables behind, you knew Bucky was watching, too. Close enough to cover you. Far enough to let you work. His voice echoed in your head even now: “Don’t make me sit there and hear you moan in his ear like it doesn’t fucking ruin me.”

You swallowed it down. Focused.

The asset looked exactly as briefed—ex-military bulk softened by money and whiskey. Sharp eyes. Thick hands. Smiling like he already owned the room.

His men came to you, one leaning in just enough to graze your hip. “He’d like to meet you.”

You smiled. Innocent. Deadly. “That’s sweet. But I like to make the first move.”

You crossed the space, hips swaying. His gaze never left your legs.

In your hand: a glass of vodka, clear as a lie. Laced. Fast-acting. Measured.

You slid into the booth beside him, placing the drink between you.

“Didn’t think a man like you would have to send others to flirt for him,” you said, voice like warm smoke.

He chuckled, slow. “I like efficiency.”

You stirred the vodka with your finger—smooth, teasing—then pulled it back and offered the glass with a smirk. “So do I.”

He took it. Drank. Eyes never leaving the curve of your mouth.

You leaned in, just close enough for your perfume to do the talking. “This kind of attention you always get, or am I just special?”

He let his gaze drop, soaking in the cleavage framed perfectly by the dress. “You’re not like the girls I usually see here.”

“I’m not a girl,” you murmured. “And you’re not just some guy, either.”

You let it linger in the air. Heavy. Coded.

He shifted closer. “You speak in riddles?”

“I speak in trades,” you said, voice low. “You look like a man who deals in things that shouldn’t be touched.”

He smiled, drunk on you—but not drunk enough. The serum should’ve hit harder by now. Should’ve softened his eyes, loosened his tongue. But he was sharp. Solid. The clock was ticking.

You glanced toward Bucky’s table.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But your skin burned under the weight of his stare.

You knew what you were about to do would hurt him.

But this wasn’t a game anymore.

So you swung a leg over the asset’s lap and settled down, smooth and slow. The hem of your dress barely covered your ass now, riding up just enough to reveal the snug stretch of your tactical shorts—black, skin-tight, regulation-issue but cut scandalously high for mobility. His eyes dipped lower, breath catching as the illusion unraveled.

Your shorts pressed flush against the bulge already forming beneath him, the fabric thin but secure—barrier, not invitation. His breath hitched. His hands landed at your waist, eager and clumsy, fingertips brushing the edge of nylon instead of skin. You let your hips roll once, slow, deliberate—not to tease, but to extract. Mechanical. Controlled. Just enough friction to fry his brain and loosen his tongue.

“What are you guarding so tight?” you whispered in his ear. “Where does it sleep? Who tucks it in?”

He groaned, breath hitching. “Red Hook… basement level… old biotech clinic—front’s shut down. Back entrance behind the deli. Third keypad to the left… code’s three-nine-alpha…”

You tilted your head to let him nibble your earlobe while he spoke, your hands running lazily over his chest. You hated it. Hated every second. But your face didn’t show it.

Not until his words slurred. His grip slackened. And his head dropped back.

Out cold.

The drink finally worked.

You climbed off slowly, fixing your dress with careful fingers.

And when you stood?

You didn’t need to look.

You felt Bucky’s stare drilling into your spine. Hot. Furious. Silent.

You’d done what you promised.

Just enough.

Barely.

But the line had been razor-thin.

And the aftermath?

It was coming for you.

—

Bucky didn’t say a word when you stepped away from the asset.

Didn’t look at you.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t even breathe your direction.

He just turned. Shoulders drawn tight. Vibranium fist clenched. He moved fast, controlled, vanishing through the back exit of the club like he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you one second longer.

The comm in your ear clicked off.

That silence hit harder than any slap.

You stood there for a breath—dress still slightly hiked, heart hammering against your ribs—before forcing your legs to move. Every step down the hallway felt heavier. Guilt wrapped around your spine like ice. You hadn’t wanted to go that far. But you’d known the second the serum lagged that it was either that grind… or let the op slip through your fingers.

You pushed through the alley door into the night.

The air outside was sharp and sour—wet asphalt, exhaust, the dull hum of street noise. The black SUV waited by the curb, engine already running. Bucky sat behind the wheel, face cast in the glow of the dash lights. Vibranium hand flexed once on the wheel. Then again.

You approached carefully, like he might shatter if you spoke too soon.

You slid into the passenger seat. Closed the door softly.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak.

Just stared straight ahead, jaw locked, teeth clenched so tight it looked painful. The city passed in silence as he pulled out onto the road, hands steady, eyes burning holes in the traffic.

You glanced down at your lap, fingers fidgeting. “I had to get him talking before the serum kicked in,” you said quietly. “He was resisting it harder than expected.”

Still nothing.

“Bucky…”

He exhaled—through his nose. Sharp. Barely contained.

“I know why you did it.”

His voice came out flat. Controlled.

You turned toward him, catching the hard line of his jaw, the way that vein in his neck was still ticking.

“I just—he was slipping under, and I knew if I didn’t do something, I’d lose him. I wasn’t enjoying it—”

“But you fucking ground your hips on him,” Bucky snapped, eyes finally cutting to you. His voice didn’t rise, but it cracked, broken glass under velvet. “You pressed your body against another man’s cock like it wasn’t mine you’re supposed to be riding.”

Your breath hitched. Shame curled in your stomach like fire.

“I didn’t want to,” you said. “It was only ever for you.”

He looked away again, jaw flexing hard.

“I get it,” he said, after a moment. “I do.”

But it didn’t sound like understanding.

It sounded like restraint.

He said nothing else.

Just kept driving.

Until his right hand—the flesh one—left the gear shift and slid onto your thigh. Slowly. Hot.

You blinked, heart skipping. His palm moved up, lifting your dress inch by inch until the tactical shorts underneath came into view—thin, black, still dry against your skin. A reminder: that entire act, that entire grind? It meant nothing. No arousal. No pleasure. Just strategy.

But when his fingers slid under the waistband?

When his knuckles brushed your heat?

That’s when your breath hitched.

Because you started getting wet then—only then. Your body responding to him, and no one else.

He paused for half a second. Felt the shift. The slow bloom of warmth between your thighs.

A low growl rumbled from his chest.

“Look at that,” he muttered, voice low, dark, possessive. “You’re only getting wet now, sweetheart. Not for him. Not up there in his fucking lap.”

You whimpered, your thighs tensing, hips twitching toward his touch.

“This?” His fingers pushed deeper. “This is mine. No one gets this but me.”

“Only you,” you breathed, voice barely holding. “Only you, Buck.”

His fingers pumped slow at first—two… then three. His thumb flicked your clit in lazy circles while the pads of his fingers curled up, hitting that spot that made your mouth fall open in a gasp.

You moaned. Soft. Stifled.

But not enough.

“Say my name,” he growled. “Say it like it fucking means something.”

You tried. Choked on it.

He fucked his fingers in deeper.

“Say it.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, the sound breaking free as your head tipped back. “Bucky—please—”

He swerved hard into a side street. Then another. Pulled into an alley dark as sin, hidden behind crates and dumpsters and silence. He slammed the car into park. Killed the lights.

Turned toward you with that fire in his eyes.

—

“Back seat,” he ordered. “Shorts off. Now.”

You didn’t question it.

Didn’t ask.

You scrambled over the center console, breath caught in your chest, heat pooling between your thighs. The dress was already bunched around your waist, riding high. You leaned back against the cold window, knees bent on the seat, and finally hooked your fingers under the edge of your tactical shorts—still clinging to your thighs, still damp with your own guilt.

You peeled your shorts down, slow but shaky, skin prickling as you dragged them past your knees and tossed them aside. The leather was cold beneath you, but your body burned hot. You shifted, leaned back against the SUV window, legs parting instinctively in the tight space.

Through the tinted glass, you saw Bucky climb out of the front seat, jaw tight, eyes stormy.

He slammed the door behind him, hard enough to rattle the frame—then opened the rear passenger side.

And when he stepped in, he filled the entire space.

Broad shoulders ducked low, head nearly brushing the ceiling, body moving with purpose as he sank into the backseat with you. The air between you thickened instantly—hot, electric, inevitable.

He was everywhere. The space felt smaller with him inside it—broad shoulders brushing the roof, body folding awkwardly in the tight quarters, but he made it work. He always did. And now, he was on his knees between your thighs, crouched over you, arms braced on either side like a man caging what’s his.

“No more pretending,” he rasped, breath thick, eyes locked on your dripping heat.

He gripped your thighs, calloused fingers digging in, spreading you wide open.

“No more acting.”

Then his breath hit your folds. Hot. Possessive.

“And no one,” he growled, voice dark and deadly, “will ever make you come the way I do.”

Then he buried his face in your pussy like it was his fucking prize.

Not soft.

Not slow.

But god, not careless either.

He licked you like he needed it to breathe—tongue flat and strong, dragging up your slit and latching onto your clit like he was starving for it. He sucked hard. Claimed it. The sound of it—wet, lewd, hungry—filled the cramped SUV, echoing off the windows.

You moaned, legs already trembling, head thudding softly against the glass.

He groaned into you—tongue flicking, circling, devouring—like he knew exactly how your body worked and wanted to remind you who trained it. His nose brushed your mound, his chin soaked with you, his mouth relentless.

It wasn’t just need.

It was marking.

Like he was writing his name in your cunt with every lick, letting the whole damn city know whose you were.

You squirmed, overwhelmed, but he locked your hips in place.

“Stay still,” he warned, voice raw against your skin. “Take it. You owe me this.”

You gasped, back arching, nails digging into his scalp.

“James—fuck—”

“Say it louder,” he growled, licking harder now. “I want it echoing in your fucking skull the next time you let someone else touch what’s mine.”

“Bucky,” you choked out. “Bucky, please—I’m—”

Your voice shattered as the orgasm slammed through you—hot, fast, brutal. You came on his mouth with your thighs trembling and his name torn from your throat like it was ripped from the center of you.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as you cried out, shaking, spent—he kept going.

He licked you through it, slow and thorough. Cleaning you up. Tasting you like you were the only thing that could calm the fire still burning in his chest. His mouth dragged along your folds like he needed more. Like he’d never get enough.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, chin soaked, eyes burning.

He leaned up, voice rough and quiet.

“Mine.”

Then he backed out of the seat and got behind the wheel again—still hard, still silent, cock straining against his pants as he shifted back into drive.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t have to.

You were panting in the passenger seat, legs still spread, cunt still aching from his mouth.

And the safehouse?

Ten minutes away.

You weren’t going to walk out of that room.

You were going to crawl.

—

Bucky killed the engine like it had offended him. His hands were still tight on the wheel. His cock was straining, painful in his pants, his breath ragged from holding back ever since he licked you raw in the backseat.

He got out first—door slamming shut behind him—then moved to the rear.

The moment the back door opened, you blinked up at him, legs still parted slightly, the hem of your black dress bunched indecently high on your hips. Your tactical shorts were somewhere on the floorboard. Forgotten.

His jaw ticked hard.

Without a word, he reached in—gripped your waist, fingers biting into your skin—and pulled you out like you weighed nothing. You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

You could feel his cock through the rough fabric of his pants—thick, hot, pressed right between your thighs.

Your lips crashed into his before either of you could think.

It was rough. All tongue and teeth. No rhythm. Just claiming. His vibranium hand gripped your waist to keep you balanced, fingers pressing through the dress. His flesh hand slipped low—cupping your bare ass under the hem, gripping, kneading.

You moaned against his mouth, and he answered with a groan that rumbled from deep in his chest.

He carried you like that—mouth on yours, kissing like he was branding you—toward the front door of the safehouse. His back hit the wall as he fumbled for the keypad, keying in the code with fast, practiced taps. The lock clicked.

The door opened.

He stepped inside, still holding you up, the door swinging shut behind with a deep slam that vibrated through the floor.

You didn’t stop kissing.

You couldn’t stop.

He walked you deeper inside, mouth never leaving yours, breath hot, cock twitching against the heat of you. Each step toward the bedroom felt like another second he was barely keeping it together.

By the time he reached the doorway, you were gasping into his mouth—desperate, wrecked, clinging.

He broke the kiss with a heavy breath. Set you down slowly, like he was restraining the urge to throw you on the bed and rip the rest of your clothes off in one go.

His eyes dropped, dragging down your body.

Then he spoke—voice low, rough, possessive.

“Strip. All of it.”

You didn’t hesitate. Hands went to the hem of your dress, still clinging to your skin—wrinkled from the SUV, soaked with heat and sweat. The black silk slipped up your body in one smooth pull, dragging across your hips, your waist, your breasts.

The backless cut slid over your shoulders like a final sigh before you tossed it aside.

No bra. Just bare skin. Breasts flushed and rising with your breath. Nipples tight. Still sensitive from the way you’d been edged on the drive here.

Bucky’s jaw flexed. His eyes dropped—drank in everything.

He knew. He’d seen the way the fucker had looked at you. Had seen his eyes drop to your cleavage over and over again. Had heard the bastard groan when your pussy rubbed against his lap.

And now here you were—naked in front of him.

And he was the only one who got to touch.

As you stood there naked, his hands went to the buttons of his shirt. He popped them open one by one—quick, clean. Then peeled it off and let it drop to the floor behind him.

His pants?

He unbuttoned them. That was it. He met your gaze as he pushed the waistband down just an inch—enough to reveal the shadow of V-lines and the thick bulge still fighting for release.

He stepped closer, low voice sharp and steady:

“You started this.”

His gaze dropped to your still-wet cunt.

“Now you’re gonna take everything I’ve got.”

—

Bucky’s pants were already unbuttoned, low on his hips, the thick shape of him straining against black boxer briefs. He looked down at you, chest rising and falling, eyes dark and hungry.

“On your knees,” he rasped. “You wanna make it up to me, sweetheart? Start there.”

You dropped instantly—knees hitting the hardwood, palms sliding up his thighs.

He hissed through his teeth when you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and dragged them down just enough.

His cock sprang free.

Hard. Thick. Flushed deep red at the tip and already leaking. Your mouth watered.

He watched you watch him. Smirked like he was reading your mind.

“Like what you see?” he murmured. “Is this what you were thinking about while grinding on that fucker’s lap?”

You shook your head, breath shallow, voice barely a whisper. “Only ever think about yours.”

He stepped closer, cock inches from your lips. “Say it again.”

“Only want your cock,” you said, eyes locked on his. “Always.”

“Yeah?” He reached down, wrapped his metal hand around the base, gave it one slow stroke. “You want it in that pretty mouth?”

You didn’t answer. You just opened your mouth and took him.

The first inch made his hips stutter. The next made him groan.

“Fuuuck, baby…”

You slid your tongue along the underside, hollowing your cheeks as you sank lower—taking more, deeper, until your nose brushed his pelvis and spit started to drip down your chin. You bobbed your head with purpose, working him like you’d done this a hundred times—like his cock was the only thing you were meant to swallow.

He hissed, one hand gripping your hair, the other braced against the wall behind him.

“God damn—you look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth.” His voice was gravel now. “So fuckin’ perfect… every inch of it.”

You moaned around him—on purpose—tongue curling just right, letting the sound vibrate through his shaft.

His hips jerked forward and he groaned. Deep. Raw.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” he growled. “You like the taste of my cock? Like how it fills that needy little throat?”

You moaned again, this time louder, eyes fluttering shut as you sucked harder—lips tight around him, spit pooling at the corners.

“Look at you,” he panted. “So desperate to please me. All that shit back there, and now you’re here… gagging for it.”

You swallowed around him once. Then again.

He let out a broken, wrecked sound that made your thighs clench.

“My cock,” he muttered, voice gone low and fucked-out. “Always gonna be yours, baby. No one else gets it. No one else deserves it.”

—

Your throat was wrecked from the effort—slick with spit, lips swollen around his cock as you sucked him deeper, faster, like you couldn’t get enough of the taste of him.

Bucky’s hips twitched, breath hissing through his teeth, every muscle in his thighs taut.

“Fuck—don’t stop, baby. Don’t you fuckin’ stop—”

You moaned around him again, greedy and soft, and that was it.

His grip in your hair tightened—his thighs locked—and then his cock pulsed once, twice, and he let go with a deep, broken groan.

Hot, thick ropes of cum painted your face.

Across your cheek. Your lips. Your chin. A drip landed at the corner of your mouth, warm and heavy. He held your head still, letting it happen. Letting you take it.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he panted. “Just like that.”

You stayed there, kneeling, breath shallow and mouth parted—cum dripping down your skin, cooling in the air. Dazed. Ruined.

But he wasn’t done admiring you.

He reached down, cupped your jaw in both hands—flesh and vibranium—guiding you up, slow, until you were standing again, swaying slightly on your feet. His thumbs dragged through the mess he left, smearing it across your flushed cheeks, his eyes devouring every inch.

Then he leaned in.

And licked it off your skin.

His tongue dragged up your cheek—slow, filthy—then circled the corner of your mouth. He moaned low, like the taste of his own cum on your skin satisfied something animal in him.

“Mine,” he growled, voice dark and reverent. “You wear it so fuckin’ well.”

You whimpered, eyes half-lidded as his tongue lapped once more—this time over your bottom lip.

Then, without warning, his arms wrapped around your thighs and lifted you clean off the floor.

You gasped as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, arms clutching his shoulders. His cock, still hard and leaking, pressed between your soaked folds—barely touching, just there, heavy and teasing as he walked you across the room toward the bed.

You felt it—every step—the way your slick coated his length, the head of him bumping your clit, sliding through your folds as he carried you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, smirking against your neck. “You’re dripping for me only, aren’t you?”

His flesh hand gripped your ass tight, fingers spreading across the soft skin like he owned it.

“You dirty little slut,” he growled—voice smug, filthy, hungry. “All this mess, and you’re still so fucking wet for me.”

You moaned against his throat, clinging to him tighter.

“You think sucking me off makes it even?” he breathed. “Nah. You’re not off the hook, sweetheart. Not ‘til I’ve fucked that grind out of your memory.”

He reached the bed.

Dropped you onto the mattress with a low grunt, his chest heaving.

—

You looked up just in time to see him wrap one hand around his cock—thick, flushed, still slick with your spit and the mess between your thighs. He stroked himself once, slow, his jaw clenching tight as his hand glided over the length.

Your slick made every sound wetter, filthier. And he watched you like you were prey.

“Turn around,” he said—voice low, gravel-wrapped filth. “Back to me.”

You obeyed instantly.

Rolled over, lifted your hips, and grabbed the nearest pillow—propping yourself up just right. Your chest sank into the sheets as your ass rose high, knees spread wide to accommodate for his size, your folds glistening and parted, waiting for him.

You heard it. That sound. That moan he didn’t even try to hold back.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed. “So perfect. So fucking obedient for me.”

You arched deeper, giving him more. Offering yourself the way he liked—completely. Without hesitation.

He stepped between your legs and ran the thick head of his cock through your folds—gathering slick, bumping your clit once, twice, making you whimper into the sheets.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered, voice low and tight. “Dripping all over me.”

Then he pushed in.

Slow.

Deep.

Thick.

The stretch made your mouth fall open, eyes squeezed shut as he filled you with one steady thrust—your cunt sucking him in, clenching around every inch.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips. “You were made for this cock.”

You whimpered, body tensing, back arching deeper.

“Yeah… that’s it, baby,” he murmured, rocking in just a little more. “Feel that? Feel how tight you are around me? Fuckin’ gripping me.”

He bottomed out, hips pressed against your ass, and let out a low, broken moan.

“Shit. So fucking good. This pussy—this cunt—was made to take me.”

Then he started moving.

Thrusting hard. Controlled. Not rough—but not gentle either. A rhythm built for branding, for claiming, every movement steady and deliberate. His cock slammed into you with that perfect drag—thick and hot, sliding through soaked walls that welcomed every inch like it belonged there.

You moaned into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets, your thighs trembling as he fucked you deeper.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Ass up, knees wide, taking every fucking inch like a good little slut.”

You whimpered—because it wrecked you when he said it like that. Not to degrade, but to own. To punish you in pleasure.

“My good girl,” he moaned. “You’re so fucking wet for me. Clenching like you need it.”

Each thrust slammed your hips forward, his grip unrelenting, cock buried in you over and over again, the sound of skin on skin filthy and perfect.

And he wasn’t even close to done.

—

You were moaning into the pillow, fingers clawing at the sheets, every thrust dragging you closer to the edge.

“Bucky—fuck—I’m gonna come,” you gasped, voice high and wrecked, thighs trembling under the force of him.

But his hands didn’t slow.

If anything, they tightened on your hips.

“Not yet,” he growled. “Not the fucking time, baby.”

His hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back—not too rough, just firm, in charge—until your spine arched and your mouth fell open in a cry.

Then he slammed into you harder. Deeper.

You could barely breathe. His cock pounded into you from behind, thick and relentless, dragging over every perfect spot inside you. Your slick made it loud, each thrust a wet slap that echoed through the room.

You sobbed, close, body twitching.

“Please, Bucky—I can’t—”

He yanked your hair again—harder this time—until you were upright, your back flush to his chest, ass pressed against his hips. You whimpered, the new angle hitting you even deeper, your cunt fluttering around him as your orgasm crashed through you with violent, blinding heat.

You squirted, soaking his cock, the sheets, everything.

And Bucky? Fucking smirked.

“Goddamn,” he grunted, cock twitching inside you. “Look at that mess, baby. Look at what you gave me. No one’s ever made you come like that.”

You were shaking, limp in his arms—but he didn’t let go.

Didn’t stop.

He kept going—fucking you through the aftershocks, through the overstimulation, through the trembling cries that spilled from your mouth as your pussy clenched again and again.

“Bucky—James please—too much—”

Your voice broke, hoarse, desperate, head falling back onto his shoulder.

But he just moaned into your ear, voice filthy and breathless.

“No, baby. You don’t get to tap out yet.”

His teeth grazed your jaw as he drove into you again, rougher now, cock dragging through your soaked walls like he was trying to ruin them.

“This’s what happens,” he growled, “when you grind your pretty little pussy on another man’s lap.”

You sobbed again, your cunt fluttering around him uncontrollably.

“You let him feel it,” he panted, hips slamming up into you. “Now I get to remind it who the fuck it belongs to.”

You whimpered, hands slipping off your thighs, too weak to hold yourself up.

He caught you, arm locked under your chest, still fucking into you like it was the only language he spoke.

“This pussy,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous, “is mine. Say it.”

—

Your voice broke again—“Bucky—too much—please—”

And this time, instead of pleading the word, you meant it.

You reached back, tapping his thigh gently, hips squirming away as your overstimulated cunt fluttered helplessly around him. Your hand slid to his, guiding it away, your body trembling in the cradle of his chest.

He got the message.

He slowed.

Breathed heavy against your back… and finally let you go.

He pulled out with a low, drawn-out groan—his cock slick, flushed, twitching from the effort not to come right there. He sat back on his knees, then dropped off the bed, standing at the foot now, watching you like something sacred.

You moved slow. Gently flipped onto your back, thighs still shaking. You folded your knees up, spread them apart, presenting yourself with your head tipped to the side, hair messy against the sheets. Your fingers slipped between your folds, teasing yourself—wet, messy, flushed from being pounded raw. You looked at him through heavy, lidded eyes.

“My pretty little pussy’s only for you, baby.”

His mouth parted.

His body twitched.

“Fuuucking Christ,” he muttered, voice half-broken, hand running down his face. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

He climbed back onto the bed—over you now—knees braced to either side of your hips, cock bobbing near your entrance but not touching yet. He leaned in and kissed you—really kissed you. Slow. Deep. Tongue sliding against yours with a reverence that made your chest ache.

He pulled back just enough to pant against your lips. “I fucking love you,” he moaned. “Every part of you. Every inch. You know that, right?”

You nodded, dazed, breathless. “I know. I love you too.”

He kissed you again—one hand cradling your face, the other made of vibranium, cold but careful as it slid down your chest. He cupped your breast, thumb teasing the peak, fingers squeezing gently. Your nipple twitched under the metal and he smirked against your mouth.

“So sensitive,” he whispered.

Then he slid down your body, vibranium fingers trailing from your breast to your slick heat. He circled your clit gently, slow and patient now—just enough pressure to make your hips jerk. You were so wet still. So open.

One vibranium finger slipped in.

You gasped.

He groaned.

“Still clenching,” he murmured. “Still so fucking tight for me.”

He thrust it slowly once, twice, and then pulled it out—watching your walls twitch around the loss.

Then he grabbed his cock—thick, veined, soaked—and lined himself up again. He braced one hand on the mattress, the other at your thigh, and pushed back inside—slow and deep, his moan shaking through your chest.

Not rough this time.

Not punishing.

But no less intense.

He fucked you with love now—hips rolling into yours, cock dragging over every sensitive spot like he knew the shape of you from the inside out.

Every thrust said: you’re mine. I love you. You’re safe.

And your pussy soaked it in like it never wanted anything else.

—

Bucky’s thrusts were slow and deep now, rolling through you like waves—his hands sliding under your thighs to press your legs higher, folding you up just the way he knew drove you wild.

“Hold them here,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent as he guided your knees up toward your chest. “Let me in deeper, baby.”

You obeyed, trembling slightly as your knees framed your chest, and he slid in all the way—his cock dragging through your dripping, overstimulated walls with a rhythm that felt like he was fucking straight into your soul.

He leaned down, pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, your collarbone—then sucked, just enough to leave hickeys blooming across your skin.

Marks.

Proof.

His.

“I love you,” he murmured between kisses. “Love your body. Love this pussy. Love you.”

His thrusts deepened, hips rocking harder now—controlled but urgent.

“You love me too, right?” he whispered near your ear, voice quieter now. “You only act like that with me, yeah? Only mine, baby?”

You nodded, breath catching, hands gripping his shoulders. “Only you, Bucky. Always you.”

That broke him.

“Fuck,” he groaned—just as your orgasm slammed through you again.

You clenched around him, crying out his name, and he came with you—cock pulsing deep inside as he filled you with heat, hips jerking forward in short, frantic bucks. His moans were wrecked, low and filthy against your neck.

Even after he emptied everything into you, he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull out.

He shifted, carefully—sliding one arm under your back, the other under your thigh—until he could lay beside you in that tight fit of tangled limbs. His cock still inside, your bodies joined. Your walls fluttered around him in soft, pulsing squeezes, but they were easing now, slowing. Content.

You exhaled, eyes closed, lips parted.

Done.

So full of him.

So full of love.

He left soft, fluttery kisses on your cheek. Then a plush one on your lips.

You smiled against his mouth.

“Baby,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “We gotta clean you up. We still need to shower.”

You hummed, too tired to lift your head. “You carry me. I can’t feel my legs.”

He chuckled. “I got you.”

—

The water was warm, steam curling around your bodies. Bucky stood behind you, gently massaging shampoo into your hair with careful fingers, rinsing you like you were made of something breakable. His cock had softened, finally, resting against your lower back.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your wet shoulder. “If I was too rough. If I hurt you.”

You shook your head lightly, water cascading down your back. “I’d do the same if you were the one grinding on another woman.”

He stilled behind you.

You added, voice soft but dark, “Actually… I’d probably do worse. Maybe a little dick-chopping.”

Silence.

Then—“Jesus fuck,” Bucky muttered, stepping back half a step. “You’re not joking.”

You turned your head slightly, smirking. “I don’t joke about that kind of thing.”

He grabbed your shoulders gently to turn you around. The shampoo dripped down your temples, eyes squinted closed as you faced him.

He cradled your cheeks in his palms, kissed your nose once, then said with absolute sincerity:

“I swear on my long-ass life… I will never, ever test that.”

You both laughed—soft and tired—your foreheads resting against each other under the water.

Still full of heat.

Still full of love.

Still his.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky x fem reader #જ⁀➴ by elle #queuedtie pie #mcu!bucky fic #mcu!bucky smut #mcu!bucky

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godmadeaterribleerror · 16 days ago

Text

Been Keeping It Down

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him.

Almost as much as he might love you.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! I love thinking a fic will be 5k and then. it's not.

Word Count: 8.3k

“Why’d you lock him in the car?”

“Uh,” Sam scratches the back of his neck, letting out a long, slow breath. “I didn’t. He sorta locked himself in there.”

Your nose wrinkles, and you lean a little further down, trying to get a better look at Dean.

He’s sprawled out on the back bench, knocked out and drooling onto the seat.

He looks adorable.

His hair is mussed, his eyes keep fluttering slightly, and if you climbed over him he’d probably be just as strong and warm as when he yanks you into his chest, making sure you don’t stumble or trip during a hunt.

You can’t crawl over him while he’s asleep. You’re not sure if he’d want you to, or if you’d just get shoved off his body with a grunt and glower. Ruining everything, and bombing the careful fantasy you’ve built where maybe Dean flirts with you a little more than other girls, and maybe he gets so pissed at you because he cares, and there’s a small, thin chance that he likes catching you just as much as you like falling into him.

And you’re never going to tell him you do it on purpose. That it’s dumb, and reckless, and pathetic, but sometimes you’ll be a little less cautious, just so Dean will grab you. So his arms will wrap around your stomach, he’ll glare at you with enough venom to make your skin hot, and you can smile up at him like nothing’s wrong. It couldn’t be, as long as Dean was holding you.

But something is certainly wrong right now.

“And he let you drive?”

Sam shrugs awkwardly. “He’s sick.

You give him a flat look. “I’ve seen Dean drive when he was actively bleeding out.”

“From his stomach.”

“So?”

“It’s- He could still drive.” Sam’s voice is lame, as if he doesn’t even believe what he’s saying. “This was a fever. He’s not lucid.”

“Sam.” There’s panic rising in your chest, hot and tight and suffocating, but you force your voice to remain flat. “If he’s not lucid, we need to take him to a hospital-“

“No! I-“ Sam’s eyes widen, darting between you and Dean at a frantic pace. “It’s- He’s fine! It’s a magic fever.”

“A magic fever-“

“Witches. He hates them.”

“I know that-“

“He just needs to sleep it off,” Sam’s voice is suddenly firm and determined, and something is very wrong. “It’ll be easier if we don’t bother him.”

“But-“

“Can you got get some ice from town?”

You frown. “We have ice.”

“Right.” Sam glances back to Dean. “What don’t we have?”

“I don’t know, I don’t do audits while you guys are gone-“

“Do we have soda?”

“I don’t know-“

“Pie?”

You let out a long, slow breath, and Sam is very close to being punched in the face. “We have pie. We always have pie. Sam, what’s going on-“

“I just- I need to get Dean out of the car. And I-“ Sam swallows, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m not supposed to let you help.”

Your mouth falls open, something tearing up your chest that’s made of Dean doesn’t want your help, he knows how useless you really are and he can’t even imagine you carrying him to bed.

Sam must see the shatter of your heart, just a layer under your face, because he shakes his head, and his words are quick.

“No it’s- it’s not like that-“

“I’m fine.” You mumble, drawing yourself to stand tall, keeping your gaze firmly fixed away from Dean. “You don’t have to-“

“He might be contagious.”

You give him a dry look. “You’re still going to touch him, though.”

“I was in the car with him.” Sam mutters, not fully meeting your gaze. “I’m already exposed. And there are some, uh- Weird side effects. To the curse.”

“Weird? Weird like-“ You cut yourself off at Sam’s apologetic expression, letting out another heavy sigh. “You can’t tell me.”

“He just- You know Dean. It’s a weird curse, and doesn’t want you to have to deal with it-“

“I wouldn’t mind.” You mumble, frowning down at your hands, and you can feel Sam’s look of pity.

“I told him that, he… Didn’t seem to care.”

You glance up, and your voice has to remain neutral. You’re almost certain Sam knows—he must, he’s seen you trail after Dean like a shadow on every case, laugh at all his stupid jokes, run to him whenever he so much as stubs his toe, and glare at him every time he gets hit on and basks in it because you love him too much to hate him for it, and that makes your skin blister—but that doesn’t mean you have to admit it.

It doesn’t matter if you admit it.

Even if Dean flirts with you, it’s still just flirting. He flirts with everyone. And he’s never really shown that he’d want anything more with you. Maybe just skin on skin in the dark, but not his lips on your brow in the morning, and you head resting on his chest in the dead of night.

Not what you’d need. What you’ve needed, from the moment he appeared over you on the street, both of you drenched in the blood of a decapitated vamp, Dean offering you a hand that once you took, you never wanted to release.

But Sam knows that too. He was there when Dean asked you to stick with them, and you had an expression like the Sun had dropped at your feet and asked you to orbit around it forever. Sam’s noticed that you never even try to sleep around, and that whenever someone hits on you at a bar you never take it past smiles and words.

You think Sam believes you have more dignity than you actually do, though. That if Dean offered you just one night, you wouldn’t take it in a heartbeat. That you’d keep coming back like an addict, until Dean decided he was done giving you what you crave. Sam thinks you wouldn’t break yourself for Dean.

It’s sweet, that he thinks that highly of you.

That doesn’t make him right.

“Can you-“ You pause, trying to find the right thing to say, that will just give you a chance to help. “If there’s anything-“

“I’m gonna talk to him. He’s being- You know.”

Sam glances back to Dean, and you do know. Dean’s never been good at asking for help.

He’s still fully knocked out and snoring so loud you can hear it through the windows.

Still adorable.

And when he’s finally up, and feeling better, you’re going to shove his stupid, broad chest and yell at him that no magical side-effect could ever make you not want to help.

For now, you’re going to take one of the spare cars and drive in circles, until the ache in your chest hurts just a little less. And when Dean calls for you, you’ll be there.

You’ll always be there.

But he doesn’t call for you.

The day passes and turns into night, and the night turns into another day, and then suddenly it’s all blurring together and it’s been a week. And you haven’t spoken to Dean once.

You only know he’s in the bunker because you can see the light from under his door, and food is vanishing that Sam would never touch. When you wake up there’s enough coffee left over for you to have a cup, just like every morning, but usually Dean is leaning against the counter and waiting for you to join him. Now it’s just the mug out and the pot half-full. Same as how books keep going missing from the library before reappearing the next day, but Dean never once even wanders into the room. The Impala is gone for hours, and then you’ll check the garage again and it’s back. Dinner gets made, but you never see it. Dean doesn’t appear over your shoulder in the library and call you to dinner, you just wander into the kitchen and find it made.

“He’s avoiding me.”

Sam shakes his head, not looking up from his laptop. “No, he’s not.”

“I haven’t seen him once-“

“He’s still sick.”

“Sam-“

Sam says your name back, and when he looks up, there’s a heavy exhaustion in his gaze. “I’m working on it. He’ll be fine, the fever broke, but Dean- I can’t tell you.”

“Why.” Your voice is desperate, but the ache in your chest has only grown. You miss him. Even ignoring the in love with him thing, Dean’s your best friend. You miss talking to him while he cooks, and bothering him with the books you’ve read, and trying to see who can fit the most marshmallows in their mouth.

But he’s avoiding you. Even if Sam won’t say it, you know he is. You’ve tried to catch him. You get up an hour earlier, but he’s already gone. You try and stay up for a whole day just to see him—to make sure he’s okay, and that he didn’t die and Sam just hasn’t figured out how to tell you—but you pass out around 4am and wake up with a blanket over your body, and another three books gone. The next time the Impala is gone you sit in the garage all day, leave once to go to the bathroom, and come back to it returned and Dean nowhere in sight.

You don’t understand why.

“I-“ Sam exhales, shaking his head again. “I wish I could tell you. But that- You know I trust you. Dean trusts you. But explaining it- I’d be violating Dean’s trust. I’m sorry.”

He looks it. Sam’s expression is tired, and you can hear the strain in his voice, but it doesn’t make anything hurt less.

Dean’s avoiding you.

And you just want to see him. To know what’s wrong, so you can tell him you don’t care about the curse.

That evening, you try to camp the kitchen. Dinner never comes out that night, and around eight, Sam wanders in and asks if you can just order.

“No.” You mutter, sitting cross-legged on the counter, and Sam sighs.

“I’m hungry,” he says your name with a pleading tone. “I know you’re hungry too. And I’m going to order for myself, so just text me if you want anything and I’ll pick it up while I’m out-“

“I don’t want anything.”

Sam gives you a sympathetic look, and you want to curl into yourself and hide. It can’t be that obvious. Even if Sam knows, there’s no way he knows-

“If you’re waiting for him, he’s not going to come out.”

You scowl, shooting Sam a glare. “So he is avoiding me.”

Sam sighs your name. “I- Yeah. He is.”

“Why-“

“I can’t-“

“Tell me.” You finish for him, rubbing at your face as you continue, until it’s raw enough to hurt a little. “Yeah, I got it. Is he-“ You have to swallow on a lump in your throat. “Is he okay?”

“He will be.” Sam mutters. “I- I think I’ve almost got it.”

“Can I help?”

Sam shakes his head, and you swallow, leaning down until your back is flat on the table.

“Okay.”

“Do you, uh- Want anything?”

You want to help. To understand.

Dean.

You want Dean.

“No.”

There’s a silence for a second, and you’re convinced Sam is gone, right up until he mutters your name. His voice is impossibly soft.

It just makes this hurt more.

“He’s in his room. And he knows you’re in here. He’s not going to come out.” Sam sighs. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

You frown at the ceiling, trying to work out what that means, but by the time you sit up Sam is gone.

Dean’s in his room. And he’s not going to come out. And it does not take a few hours to pick up dinner, but Sam will be gone anyway, and-

Oh.

Okay.

You slide off the counter, keeping your steps soft as you walk down the hall, and stop in front of Dean’s room.

“Dean?” You knock, and he’s not a subtle as he thinks he is.

The noise from the TV turns off.

“Dean,” You knock again, still to no answer. “I know you’re in there.”

Nothing.

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it in-“

“Don’t.”

His voice is barely a grunt. But it’s the first time you heard it in a fucking week, and a sob rises to your throat.

He’s alive. He can talk, and he’s been avoiding you, but he’s okay.

“Fuck, Dean, are you-“

“Don’t come in here.” His voice is rising slightly, and something starts to prickle over your skin.

It’s the same feeling you get on a hunt, when something is just a little off.

A warning.

“Dean-“

“Please.” There’s a desperation in his voice, and it just makes the prickle grow into a stinging itch. “Don’t.”

“Don’t-“ You swallow. “Don’t what?”

You can hear his deep breath through the door. “Come inside.”

“De-“

“Just- If you need something, go ask Sammy-“

“I don’t need anything, Dean.” I just need you. “I want to talk.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “We’re talking right now.”

“This doesn’t count, I want to see you-“

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I’m not dying,” Dean snaps your name. “You don’t need to help.”

There’s a harsh tone to his voice that you’ve rarely heard in your direction. The tone he uses on hunts and when he and Sam are fighting. His pissed tone.

He’s serious.

But it’s only making the itch feel like a burn. You need to see him. Just for one second, so you know he’s not lying, and he has to look you in the eyes and admit that he’s been avoiding you. He doesn’t get to be pissed when he’s been dodging you. That’s not how this fucking works.

You want to help, still.

But Dean does not get to be angry about that.

“I’m going to open the door.”

Dean hisses your name. “I’m tellin’ you, don’t-“

“I won’t if you give me a reason-“

“I don’t want you to see me.”

You freeze, your hand hovering up to push open the door, and your heart might have frozen and dropped into your stomach.

He didn’t want you. Doesn’t want you. Not just your help, but to see you at all. He doesn’t want you, and your heart is fracturing in strange places you didn’t know it could break—but you should have, only Dean has ever been able to touch them—and Dean doesn’t want you-

“Fuck, are you- Son of a bitch-“

There’s a shuffling and banging sound from the other side of the door, and the world is blurry. It might have something to do with the soreness in your throat and the choked sound you couldn’t stop from escaping.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart-“

“I’m not.” You take a step back from the door, your hand falling back to your side. “I- Sam’s out, if you need something, call him.”

“I know, it’s-“ He sounds closer than before. “It’s complicated, but I’m not pissed at you-“

“So why are you avoiding me.”

The silence is tight. Long. You can hear Dean’s heavy breathing through the door, and your fingers are straining to touch him, to make it better, but he doesn’t want you.

“I’m not crying, Dean.” Your voice has to be neutral. He already has your heart resting somewhere stronger than just the palm of his hand, he doesn’t get to have every other piece of you too. Not when he’d only toss it right back. “I know you got cursed, and I know you don’t want my help, but you don’t need to be- I would help. I’d always help. You’re my friend-“

There’s a dry, slightly muffled chuckle through the door. “Friend, huh.”

“Yeah, I am.” You raise your chin—he can’t see it, but it makes you feel better—and narrow your eyes at the door. “And I know you’re avoiding me, so don't try to deny it-“

“Can’t.”

You blink. “What?”

“Can’t deny it.” He grunts. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I- Oh.” The world is getting blurry again. He doesn’t get to have the rest of you. “Why?”

Dean groans, and you flinch as a heavy thud sounds from his room. “Fuck.”

“Dean-“

“Don’t ask me that.” He grunts, his voice right on the other side of the door. “Please.”

“I- Why?”

“Goddamnit, just stop asking me questions-“

“Dean, I need to know-“

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do-“

“Trust me,” he mutters your name. “You don’t.”

You scowl at the door.

He doesn’t get to do this. No matter what type of righteous shit he’s got in his head, no matter what this curse is, Dean doesn’t get to just say he’s avoiding you, then not say why. Doesn’t get to tell you what to do when he won’t look at you.

Doesn’t get to have all of you if he doesn’t really want it.

“Dean Winchester.” You move your hand back to the door, and you could swear you hear him stiffen. “You do not get to tell me what I need.”

He chuckles again, and you can hear it this time. The pain in the sound. “Then you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one-“

“I can’t trust you.” You cut him off with a snap. “Not when you won’t answer my questions. You can even lie, you just have to be convincing-“

“I- Fuck- I can’t!”

Dean’s voice has risen to a shout, and you pause. He sounds wounded. Like a distressed animal.

“I can’t goddamn lie.” He grunts, his voice lowered to something heavy. “The witch truth-roofied me, and I can’t say a lie.”

You frown. “Then why the fuck have you been avoiding me?”

“I- Shit,” he groans again. “There are some questions I don’t want you asking me. Safer for all of us.”

“Safer for you to ignore me-“

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“We haven’t spoken since you got back-“

“Cause I’ve been avoiding you-

“Which is better?”

He pauses, his voice falling to a mumble. “No.”

You let out a soft, insane sounding laugh. You’re going to strangle him, or hug him, or shove him off a cliff before diving after him. He’s not stupid, but he can be such a fucking idiot.

“What were you planning on doing, when the curse was broken?” You lean against the door, keeping your voice dry. “Just popping up and acting like nothing ever happened?”

“Uh-“ Dean coughs. “Yeah? Are you pissed at me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh-“

“But.” You hum, watching the door as if you might be able to see Dean through it. “I’ll be less pissed if you tell me why.”

You can feel his glare. “I told you why, truth curse-“

“That’s a stupid reason. I know everything about you.”

There’s the chuckle again. “No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do-“

“I told you to trust me-“

“And I told you I can’t.” You take a slow, stuttering breath. “Please, Dean, we’ll be fine if you just tell me the truth-“

“No.”

“Dean-“

“You don’t want to know the truth-“

“I don’t even know that you’re actually cursed with that!” Your voice is rising, but he’s such an idiot, and you love him, and most of what you can feel is hot. Worry or anger or stress or just want. You want to see him, to help him, to punch him in the face and trust him. But you can’t. “For all I know, you’re lying to me right now-“

Your words are cut off with a yelp as the door swings open, and you stumble a step forward, right into-

Dean.

He’s catching you. Keeping your upright by pressing you right to his chest, his hands framing your face and his eyes boring right into yours.

And he looks tired—bags under his eyes and his hair a little messy from lack of care—but he’s still Dean. Still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, strong and hot around you, a growl in his voice that you can feel vibrate through his chest as he speaks.

“Ask me something.”

You blink at him. “You said-“

“Not that. Anything else.”

“I-“ You swallow, unable to break his gaze. “Can you tell me something embarrassing?”

His jaw twitches, but you get a firm nod. “I used to hide hentai mags in Sam’s bag, so chicks wouldn’t see them and think they were mine. One time I ate a pie off a girl’s stomach, and I enjoyed the pie more than the sex. I tried one of Sam’s running smoothies and it wasn’t dogshit, but then I spent twenty hours of the toilet after. Body wasn’t ready for it, I guess. Uh- One time I got turned on by holding a book-“

“A book?” You frown at him. “What book?”

“Uh, Wicked.”

“Oh. I love that book.”

“I know.” He mutters, scanning over you carefully. “Do I look like I’m lying?”

“No,” you whisper, your hands shoot up to hold Dean’s against your face. “I- No.”

“Good. You trust me?”

“I- Dean, I still need you to tell me why.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring slightly.

You might be about to melt. You’ve never been this close to him, he’s never looked at you like this—as if he wouldn’t mind only looking at you for the rest of your life, or maybe he’d just like to eat you alive—and there’s a firmness to his voice that’s lighting a fire in your core.

“I told you not to ask me that.” He mutters, and you shake your head.

“I need to know, Dean, please.” You pull your lips between your teeth. “You didn’t even talk to me, and you told Sam not to tell me, and it really- It wasn’t-“ You swallow, your voice turning to almost a whine, and you can’t stop it. “That wasn’t fair, I thought you were mad at me and I just- I wanted to help-“

“I know you did, baby.” Dean sighs, and your lips part slightly.

Baby.

“I’d never be mad at you,” he runs his thumb over your cheekbone, and it’s becoming really hard to not give him all of you. “I- You’re just- I-“

He’s moving before you know what’s happening. Diving down and pulling you up at the same time, crashing his mouth against yours with almost a bloody desperation, and you did melt. You’re all heat as your fingers curl against his chest, and his lips mold perfectly against yours, and he’s kissing you like you’re going to disintegrate and he’s going to die and he’s kissing you-

It’s over as soon as it starts. Your head is spinning, and your lips are already swollen from the bruising force of his kiss, but Dean’s drawing back with an almost frantic expression, stumbling back and leaving your swaying into the middle of the room.

“I- Son of a bitch- I’m sorry-“

You blink at him, still a little dazed. “You’re sorry?”

Dean nods, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Shit- I shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart, I-“

“Why?” Your voice is soft, and he frowns at you.

“You- I didn’t-“

“Dean.” You force yourself to stand tall, wrapping your arms around your stomach. He can’t do this. Just kiss you like that then say it shouldn’t have happened. He fucking kissed you. “Please just tell me why. I- You can’t just ignore me then do that and not say- You have to tell me why-“ You won’t cry. “Please-“

“I love you.”

Time might not be moving. Dean’s just staring at you from across the room, and you can’t really feel your legs, and-

“What?” You whisper, and he shakes his head.

“I- I fucking love you.” He mutters, his gaze falling down to the floor. “And I know you deserve better, I do- But I always wanna tell you, and I would’ve, so I had to- I wasn’t tryin’ to piss you off, and I- Goddamnit, I never wanna make you cry, but you shouldn’t have to worry about turning me down-“

It’s your turn to move. You cross the room before Dean can keep saying stupid things, grab the collar of his shirt, and yank him back down into a kiss.

It’s even better than the first one. Dean falls into you in half a second, his arms flying out to hold you right to his chest, almost lifting you off the ground as he pushes his tongue between your lips, then groaning down your throat when you nip at it and wrap an arm around his neck. He tastes so good, and he fits better against you than you thought possible, and his hands are roaming all over you like he’s trying to check you’re real.

You’ve never felt more real. There’s a wildfire spreading through your body, building as broad fingers brush against the bare skin of your back, and Dean’s mouth is starting to wander, sucking your upper lip between his teeth before starting to kiss down your neck, and his hand squeezes against your ass-

You move back, shoving his chest with all the strength you have, and he stumbles away, blinking at you with a wide, lust-blown expression.

“Never,” you poke his chest, glaring up at his dumbstruck, handsome face. “Do that again. I have loved you since I met you, Dean, you fucking idiot, and if you ever pull something like that again, I will shoot you with the gun you gave me.”

Dean blinks at you, and his face splits into a wide grin. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you-“

“Awesome.” He takes a step forward, and you stop him with a palm on his chest.

“Not awesome, Dean, I’m still mad at you-“

Your words turn into an unconvincing sigh as Dean grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, pulling you back into a longer, deeper kiss.

It’s slow and soft, like you have all the time in the universe, and you feel as if you’re floating. Like everything is only light and warmth and the taste of Dean, lingering on your tongue when he hums against your lips, and pulls back with another wide, boyish grin.

“Here’s the deal, babygirl.” He tangles a hand in your hair, tipping your head back until your gaze is locked onto his. “You can kick my ass later, but right now I’d really like to give you a reason to stop being pissed at me. You want that?”

You pause, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “I still get to be mad later?”

Dean nods, leaning down to suck on the soft skin of your neck, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes your mouth.

“Dean-“

“Lemme show you how much I mean it,” he hums against your skin. “Can’t lie right now, sweetheart, and you’re the prettiest things I’ve ever goddamn seen. Fuckin’ hated avoiding you, missed you so much-“

“I- Missed you too-“

“I know you did, c’mon, lemme take care of you-“

“Okay.”

He pulls back, watching you carefully. “You sure?”

You nod eagerly, and his face splits back into a grin.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” your voice is breathy, and Dean’s grin widens.

But he doesn’t get to get off that easy.

“What do you want to do to me, Winchester?” You give him a teasing smirk, and his hands tense on your waist. “If you’ve been thinking about it that much…”

You raise your brows in a silent suggestion, and Dean groans.

“That’s not playing fair,” he leans back down, and you dodge, moving to kiss along his jawline.

“Tell me what you want-“

“You’re starting something, sweetheart,” his words sound pushed through his teeth, and you giggle.

“And you’re dodging the question- Dean-“

You squeak as his hand tangles in your hair, and he yanks you back to meet his gaze.

He looks almost feral. Darkened eyes and full, swollen lips that are already parted with heavy breath. You’re pressed right against him, and his hand still on your waist is kneading your skin until you’re almost melted in the sheer heat and want, and-

He’s pressed right against your thigh. Hard. Big.

The ache between your legs is unbearable. You might come apart from nothing at all.

Or just from the sound of Dean’s voice, deep and rough and filled with hunger.

“I’ve wanted you since I saw you, baby,” he mutters, and when your hands shoot up to wrap around his neck and tug at his hair, a soft moan escapes his lips. “Son of a bitch, I want you all the fuckin’ time-“

“How?” You whisper, and his eyes flash.

“You really wanna know, sweet girl?” Dean starts to walk you backwards, towards his bed, and lets out a hiss when you yank on his hair again.

“I’m asking-“

“I’ve thought about everything,” his voice is almost a growl, and you squeak as he tosses you back onto the mattress. “Thought about eating you out until you screamed, or just touching you to see what kinda sounds you’d make,” Dean pulls his shirt of as you gape up at him, before crawls over you with a wide grin. “Had dreams about those freakin’ sounds, how you’d moan for me if I did this-“

One big hand slides under your shirt, palming at your breasts before rolling a nipple between two fingers, and you fall fully back with a gasp.

“Dean-“ You grab at his shoulders, squirming below him, and his grin grows, his hand wandering over to the other breast to repeat the movement. “Oh, god.”

“Nope.” Dean leans down, kissing you slow and deep, his hand starting to wander down your stomach, until he’s cupping you over your shorts. “Just me, sweetheart.”

You moan, shaking your head. “That’s so bad, De- Fuck-“

He smirks as his fingers slide under your shorts, and it falters for only a second as they find your bare pussy.

“You’re not wearing any underwear.” He grunts, and you flush, turning your face into the pillow.

“Laundry day,” you mumble, and Dean chuckles.

“Sure, baby-“

“It is,” you twist to glare at him, and his grin just grows.

“I believe you,” he leans down, brushing his mouth right over yours, and you squeak as one finger trails between your pussy lips. “But I also believe you’re always this wet for me. And sometimes,” his thumb presses right over your clit. “You’d go bare and hope I’d just pin you down and fuck you.”

You moan shamelessly, your eyes wide and trapped on Dean’s and his voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard it.

“I think you’ve touched yourself thinking of me, just like I touch myself thinking about you.”

There’s no chance to respond before his finger pushes inside of you, his thumb starting to rub slow circles around your pussy, and you’re flying. The only tether between the earth and pleasure, white-hot and perfect and teasing, is Dean’s voice, right in your ear.

“Dream about your pretty mouth on my cock, babygirl. Or your hands, or being buried in the sweet pussy until you’re a perfect mess for me.” He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and your nails dig into his back. “Kinda like this, actually.”

“De- Shit,” a second finger pushes in with the first, and he’s still moving them so slow. “Feels good, so good-“

“Yeah, it does,” Dean groans, and your eyes flutter open to see him rutting against the mattress, his own face almost a mirror of your own desperation as he watches his fingers pump in and out of your cunt. “Jesus, you’re so pretty-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hands, and his eyes snap onto yours. “More.”

He blinks at you for a second, but then gives you a tight nod.

His fingers crook inside of you, rubbing against that hot, spongey spot inside of you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. His thumb is gone from your clit, only giving it quick, frenzied flicks as you’re dragged right up to the edge, and he won’t look away from you-

Then he’s gone. You’re dangling right on the edge of release, but Dean yanks his fingers away with a taunting grin, and a high, pathetic sound escapes your throat.

You start to grumble an incoherent protest, but it dies in your throat at the sight above you.

He’s pushing your legs up to help you out of your shorts. He kisses against your calf before tossing everything into a corner of the room, and shoves your knees back apart. Then the two fingers push back into your for only a second, long enough to pull another moan from your throat, and Dean settles back between your legs with a grin.

Then he’s gone again. And one hand grabs your chin to keep your eyes trapped on his as he brings his fingers up to his mouth.

Dean cleans his fingers of your arousal, his gaze never leaving yours, and a sound that’s awfully like a moan rumbling through his chest.

“Taste better than I dreamed,” he mutters, and you shudder with pleasure as he goes back, dragging those same fingers back over your soaked core, dipping slightly into your cunt like he’s trying to gather as much as he can. “Shit, I would’ve let a witch get the jump on me years ago if I knew I’d finally get to have this.”

You blink at him, your voice so soft and needy you almost don’t recognize it. “Years?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean nods, a slight blush seeming to creep over his cheeks, even as his thumb starts to drag slow circles around your clit. “Told you, sweetheart, you’ve been in since I saw you.”

“I- Why didn’t you-“

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d want it. Taste.”

You frown at him, opening your mouth to protest—your mind doesn’t seem to be able to wrap itself around not wanting Dean—but the sound falls into a moan as his fingers press on your lower lip. They’re soaked in your wetness, and asking for further permission, and under Dean’s almost adoring gaze, you don’t know how to do anything but grant it.

Dean groans as he pushes his fingers almost all the way down your throat, and you feel his still-clothed cock twitch against you when you start to suck.

“Jesus,” he mutters, pulling back with another one of those moans. “You’re so freakin’ perfect-“

“Dean,” you whine, scratching at his chest and bucking your hips up to try and grind over his bulge, but he just grunts, dropping his full weight down to pin you against the mattress.

“Not yet, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, wiggling below him, and his eyes flutter shut.

“God-“ He moans your name as you manage to get your legs free, wrapping them around his waist and rolling your hips against his still hidden cock. “Shit- Alright.”

Dean grabs you by your waist, and you yelp as he rolls you over without warning. Suddenly you’re straddling his bare chest as he pulls off his sweats, his gaze locked on yours the whole time. Then your shirt is being all but ripped off your body, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s got one hand on your ass and the other back on your jaw, hold your eyes down to his.

He mutters your name, and your fingers curl against his bare chest. “I’ve got a condom in the side drawer-“

“I’m clean.” Your words are too quick, and his eyes flash. “And I- I’m on birth control. If- If you’re- If you too-“

He laughs, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and the sound rolls through his chest, vibrating against your pussy and making your mouth fall open.

“Don’t hurt yourself, baby.” Dean’s hands drift to grab you by the waist, and he shifts below you, making sure he’s more leaning against the headboard than flat on his back. “Hold on.”

His grip tightens, and a stupid, high sound leaves you as he picks you up and pushes you down onto his cock.

He’s big. And thick. And you’re being filled up so good, already cockdrunk and a little out of your mind at the feel of him splitting your open and pressing on all the right spots, but he’s not moving. Dean’s just watching you with a wide, adoring gaze, grunting whenever you try to grind against him and hissing when you clench around him.

“I said,” he lands a light slap on your ass, his eyes narrowing on yours. “Not yet. Wanna feel you, baby. We’re gonna stay just like this until you’re begging for it.”

You gape at him, every word coming up as only a gasp or whimper as you try to move again, and he hits your ass again, and Dean raises his brows.

“Good?”

You nod, leaning down to press your brow to his. “Just doesn’t seem fair.”

He frowns. “Fair- If you don’t-“

“I like this.” You mumble, ghosting a kiss over his lips. “A lot. Love it.”

Dean grunts, dragging you down into a full, deep kiss that makes it almost impossible not to squirm against him.

“What’s not fair, then?” He hums against your lips, and now that he knows you’re good, he seems to be all back on teasing. “C’mon, baby, you can tell me-“

You shove his chest, and he laughs. He can’t keep doing that. It’s like a small vibrator against your clit, and he’s so handsome, and you don’t know how to not clench around him. But all that gets you is another slap of your ass, and you might be starting to drip down your thighs and onto Dean’s.

“Asshole-“

He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You love it.”

You do. “Never should’ve told you that,” you grumble, and he laughs again, and you might be on the brink of insanity.

“Too late. I know it now. Never gonna let you or this pretty pussy go neglected again, babygirl, so watch out.”

He pokes your side, grinning as you let out a squeaking giggle, but it quickly falls into a moan as his free hand moves up to play with your tits.

“Dean-“

“I know,” he hums, flicking your nipple before leaning up to press a kiss over the hurt. “But you’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. Being such a good girl.”

You moan against, and Dean smirks.

“You like that, don’t you. Like being my good girl-“

“Dean.” You hiss, trying to grind against him, and whimpering at the next slap on your ass. “Fuck, please-“

“That’s closer.” He hums, resuming his movements on your tits. “But you still have to tell me what’s not fair.”

“It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, trying to regather your thoughts. “It’s not important-“

“Anything you think is important.” He mutters, and you swallow at the intensity in his gaze. “Tell me, baby. Then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Fuck.

He can’t lie.

And just from the expression on his face, you can almost feel how much he means it.

“It’s just, I-“ You take a slow breath, watching him carefully. “What about you?”

Dean frowns. “What about me.”

“You had, um- a lot of ideas.” You trace your fingers over his tattoo, trying to focus on your words instead of Dean’s cock, hard and pressed into you and making you almost burn with desire. “And I- I just don’t want it to only be about me-“

You’re cut off as Dean laughs again, your words falling into a high, gasping moan, and almost in a reward, Dean slams himself up to meet the rolls of your hips.

You still get a small spank for the movement.

Worth it.

Dean drawls your name, looking up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “You think having you sit on my cock under you’re begging me to fuck you is about you?”

You flush, shaking your head weakly, and he chuckles again.

You moan, fluttering around him, but this time the slap on your ass comes with Dean pinching your nipple, and slamming up until he’s hitting your cervix.

“Trust me, baby,” he grunts, squeezing your ass and tugging you back down into a long, slow kiss. “This is all about me.”

“But-“

“We’re gonna do all of that shit later,” Dean pulls back, just enough to hold your gaze, and his arm wraps around your back, pinning you firmly down. “Trust me, babygirl, I mean it. I’m gonna give you everything.”

“Dean-“

“But right now, I want you to come on my cock, and I want you to say please.” Something strange flashes over his expression, and his voice drops impossibly lower. “Need to know you mean it, sweetheart.”

Oh.

You’re not under a truth curse. And Dean is adorable and handsome and strong below you, but he’s still Dean.

And you can see it in his eyes.

He’s still not sure you do mean it.

You have nothing to do but prove him wrong.

“Dean.” You whisper, forcing your hips not to roll as you lean down, holding his gaze. “Please. I want it. Want it so bad. I dream about you and touch myself thinking about you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me, cause I love you and I need you, Dean. I’m going to go insane if you don’t fuck me, please.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters, his grip growing bruising on your hips. “Feel so good, baby, just need you to give me one more-“

“Please-“

Your voice turns into a long, heavy moan as Dean rolls your hips along his cock, and the whole world lights up with good.

“Good girl,” he mutters, and you throw your head back as he helps you repeat the movement, every single nerve in your body glowing with Dean. “Fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart. Take what you need.”

There might be something teasing to his voice, but you can’t really hear it. You can’t really think of anything past the feeling of him inside you, or the low sounds that you keep pulling out of his chest as you grind down. You’re riding Dean’s cock like your life depends on it, gasping his name whenever your clit rubs against his groin or his hips jerk, making him bump that sensitive spot deep inside of you.

And he’s a vision below you. Moaning your name and kneading at your ass, watching you move above him like he’s looking at all the stars in the sky. His lips are parted with heavy breathes, and one hand is drifting slowly up to the nape of your neck, squeezing slightly with his eyes wide on yours, and you tip your head back without a question.

Dean groans, his hand moving to grab your throat, and you move faster. He’s not holding you that tight, but there’s a possessiveness to his touch that’s like fire up your spine, and you want him to leave a mark. Want everyone to know that he’s yours, and he’s touching you, and-

“Fuck-“ Dean grunts your name, his grip squeezing slightly, and you move faster. “Shit- Sweetheart, you’re-“

His head throws back with a groan as you clench around him, chasing your release desperately, and you want him to come with you. You need him to. You need him to fill you up, to feel the burn of him in a week, to be so fucking ruined by him you can’t even walk-

“Dean,” you gasp, and his grip tightens even more. Stars are starting to dance behind your eyes. “So close, feels so good-“

“I know,” he grunts, and you gasp as his hips rut up. “Hold it, babygirl.”

You shake your head, grinding faster. “Can’t- Need you-“

You whimper as Dean squeezes your throat, and his eyes flash. “C’mon, sweet girl, be good for me-“

“I- Dean-“

He grunts, and you’re not sure when the shift happened, but you’re not in charge anymore. Dean’s arm is wrapped around your waist, pinning you against his chest as he surges up, his hand moving to your jaw to hold it still. The kiss is deep and bruising and all spit and teeth, and he’s fucking you. Drilling up into your aching cunt without relent, kissing all over your face and down your neck, over the small marks his hand left. Moving back to your mouth as you start to shudder around him, scraping at his shoulders in a plea for release and moaning down your throat.

“Gonna cum,” he groans, his pace growing uneven. “Where-“

“In. Inside. Dean, just- Fuck-“

You almost scream as his thumb moves back to your clit, leaving a featherlight touch that’s somehow too much and not nearly enough.

“Dean-“

“Cum on my cock, baby.” He growls, pressing his thumb down so hard it lights a firework in your whole body, and you don’t know how to do anything but listen.

Your orgasm hits your like a wildfire, sweeping through your whole body until your toes are curling and you’re slumped in Dean’s arms, and he meets you with one last, beautiful moan of your name and a slam of his hips home. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he fucks you through his release, making yours rise and crest once more, and when it’s done, everything feels sort of bright and dizzying. A high, cockdrunk giggle escapes your throat, and Dean groans.

“Shit-“ He mutters your name, and you realize you’d squeezed around him. “Goddamnit, that was-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, curling further into his chest. “Thanks.”

He chuckles, but it falls into another moan as you flutter around him once more. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”

Dean’s breathing is ragged in your ear, and you keep your arms wrapped tight around him as he pulls out. You don’t manage to stop your soft moan, feeling impossibly empty and raw from the absence of him, but it’s alright.

He’s still here.

And now, he’s yours.

Dean presses a soft kiss to your brow, his words soft in your ear. “You want me to clean you up, baby?”

You shake your head, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Don’t wanna move.”

“We made a mess-“

“Later.”

He chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You smile, and grab him a little tighter. “Are you still truth cursed?”

“Course I am. Wasn’t a sex curse, this is just a benefit-“

“Shut up.” You tug on his hair, and all you get is a laugh in return.

You lean back, just enough to meet his eyes, and he can’t have looked at you like this before. Like you’re his whole world, and he’d never want to ever be anywhere else but you.

You would’ve seen it.

You hope you would’ve.

“Did you mean it?” You whisper, and he frowns.

“Mean what?”

“That you’ve loved me since we met?”

Dean’s jaw twitches, and he lets out a slow sigh. “I’ve wanted you since we met. Didn’t love you until a few months after. But it didn’t take much.”

You raise your brows, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re really taking advantage of how that I’m cursed, you know-“

“It was first sight for me.” You whisper, and his mouth snaps shut. “You saved me, then helped me stand up, and I felt like an idiot because I was in love with the stranger who just decapitated someone in front of me.”

Dean’s throat bobs. “You still feel like an idiot?”

“Yeah.” It’s only fair you’re honest, if he has to be. “But only because I spent years pretending, I didn’t love you, and didn’t get to have this.”

You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lip, and he lets out a soft sound that almost has you ready for round two.

“You punched me.” He mutters, and you lean back with a curious expression.

“Huh?”

“That’s when I fell in love with you.” He mutters, rubbing slow circles on the skin of your hips. “I was trying to teach you how to shoot, but you’d never held a gun so you were shit at it. And I already liked you, so I was, uh- Kinda being an asshole. Pushing you too hard. And I said somethin’ about you not being able to defend yourself, and you suckered me right in my fuckin’ jaw. Started shouting at me about how I was being a dick, but- Um-“ He’s blushing, giving you an almost sheepish expression. “Didn’t hear a word you said. Think I was making heart eyes or something. Remember thinking I’m either marrying you, or no one.”

You can’t stop your wide, almost idiotic smile, but it’s worth it. Dean mirrors it right back, and his eyes flutter as your run your hand carefully through his hair.

“I love you.” You whisper. “And I can punch you again, if you want.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, and leaning up to pull you down into a long, slow kiss. And you can feel it, in this one. How he really has been as hungry for this as you have. How—just as you don’t think you ever want to move from his lap, even if the rapture floods the world and the sky starts to fall—he never plans to let you go.

“That can be one of our later things,” he mutters, tracing his tongue over your lower lip. “Right now I just wanna sit with my girl.”

You beam, nipping at his tongue. “Who you love?”

“Yeah.” He snorts, squeezing your ribs and grinning as you jump, almost falling over him with a whine. “Who I love.”

End Note: The Dean Winchester mind cannot comprehend that he is lovable (I am going to force that knowledge down his throat).

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moonlightwritingf1 · 1 month ago

Text

All His | LN4

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི summary ━━━━━━━ Lando finally gives in to the tension Y/N has been teasing him with all night, determined to remind her exactly who she belongs to. Their night quickly turns into something possessive, filthy, and intimate—him whispering promises of breeding her, worshipping her body, and filling her until she can’t take any more. Even after he cums, he doesn’t stop.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི word count ━━━━━━━ 3.4k

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, fingering, creampie, breeding kink, breast play, nipples play, mirror sex, multiple positions, rough sex, dirty talk

Based on this request.

Y/N lay sprawled across the plush, white sheets of his bed, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the ache between her thighs. Lando stood at the foot of the bed, shirtless, his hands on his hips, his eyes burning into her with a mixture of desire and something deeper—something possessive.

“You’re not getting away with it tonight,” he said, his voice low and teasing, the corners of his mouth curling into that smirk that always made her stomach flutter.

She arched a brow, propping herself up on her elbows. “Getting away with what?” she asked, her tone innocent, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her.

“Playing this game.” He stepped closer, his fingers trailing up her calf, sending a shiver through her. “You’ve been teasing me all night, love. And now you’re lying there looking like that, expecting me to just...” He shook his head, his grip tightening slightly. “No. Not tonight.”

She laughed softly, stretching her legs out before pulling them back, her toes brushing against his stomach. “You’re so dramatic,” she teased, though her breath hitched as his hand moved higher, his thumb brushing the inside of her thigh. “What exactly do you plan to do about it?”

Lando leaned down, his face inches from hers, his breath warm against her lips. “I’m going to make sure you remember who you belong to,” he murmured, his voice dripping with intent. “Every time you squirm, every time you moan... you’ll know it’s because of me. Because I’m the one who gets to have you like this.”

Her heart raced, her body responding to his words before he even touched her. She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off with a deep, searing kiss that left her breathless. His hands were everywhere—tangled in her hair, gripping her waist, tracing the curve of her spine—and she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but feel.

When he finally pulled away, her lips were swollen, her chest heaving. He smirked again, that damned smirk, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “See? You’re already falling apart for me.”

She narrowed her eyes, though the effect was ruined by the way her body leaned into his. “You’re insufferable,” she said, her voice shaky.

“And yet,” Lando drawled, his voice thick with amusement and something darker, something possessive, “you’re not stopping me.” His fingers slid beneath the waistband of her shorts, his touch deliberate and unhurried. The moment his fingertips brushed against her bare skin, she gasped, her body tensing as if electrified.

Her breath hitched, her hips arching ever so slightly, betraying her need. “Lando...” His name escaped her lips in a breathy whisper, more plea than protest.

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “No underwear, huh?” he teased, his fingers dipping lower, finding her already slick with arousal. “Seems like you were planning this all along, love.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she bit her lip, her eyes locking with his as his fingers explored her, tracing her folds with a maddening slowness. “You ruin me,” she breathed, though her hips betrayed her, grinding against his hand as if begging for more.

“And yet,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a husky murmur, “you’re fucking soaked for me.” His fingers pressed against her entrance, teasing but not entering, drawing a desperate whine from her lips. “Tell me, Y/N,” he prompted, his thumb circling her clit with torturous precision, “how much do you want me to make you come right now?”

Her hands fisted the sheets, her body trembling under his touch. “Lando, please...” she begged, her voice breaking as he slipped a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, filling her in a way that made her toes curl.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Say it again. Say it like you mean it.”

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body arching into his hand. “Please... don’t stop.”

His lips curved into a satisfied smirk, his eyes dark with hunger. “That’s my girl.”

His fingers started to move inside her slowly, almost teasingly, as if he were savoring every inch of her. She could feel herself growing wetter, slick with arousal, her body arching instinctively toward him, desperate for more. His breath was hot against her ear, his voice a low, sensual rumble that sent shivers cascading down her spine. “Tell me,” he murmured, his lips brushing her neck in a way that made her shiver. “Tell me you want me to fill you up. To make you mine in every way.”

Her breath hitched, her hands gripping the sheets tighter as his fingers curled inside her, hitting just the right spot that made her cry out softly. “Lando...” she whispered, her voice trembling with need, her heart pounding in her chest.

He didn’t let up, his thumb circling her clit with a maddening rhythm that made her see stars. “Say it, love,” he urged, his voice rough with desire, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that left her breathless. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to put a baby inside you, to brand you as mine forever.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t shy away from the heat in his gaze. Instead, she pressed her forehead against his, her breath mingling with his as she whispered, “Yes, Lando. I want you... I want you to fill me up, to make me yours in every way.”

He smirked, that smug, knowing smirk that always sent a thrill through her. “You drive me fucking insane,” he purred, his voice dripping with praise that made her cheeks flush despite the heat pooling between her thighs.

His fingers trailed away from her wetness, and she whimpered at the sudden loss, but he didn’t leave her wanting for long. His hands moved to the waistband of her shorts, yanking them down her legs in one swift motion, leaving her bare from the waist down, completely exposed to his hungry gaze.

But he wasn’t finished.

His eyes roamed over her, dark and greedy, before shifting to the thin fabric still covering her chest. He leaned over her, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of her top, dragging it slowly upward until her breasts spilled free. She arched instinctively, gasping at the sudden cool air against her flushed skin as he peeled the top over her head and tossed it aside.

Now she was fully bare beneath him, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured, eyes roaming every inch of her with reverence and hunger. “I’ll never get enough of you. Never.”

She shivered under his gaze, her body tingling with anticipation. His hand moved to his own shorts, palming the bulge that strained against the fabric. He was hard as a rock, the outline of his cock unmistakable, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips at the sight. He always got like this for her—hard, desperate, completely consumed by her. And the best part? She barely had to lift a finger to have him like this.

He wasted no time, shoving his shorts and boxers down in one fluid motion, his cock springing free. Her eyes flew to him immediately, her breath hitching as she took in the sight of him—thick, aching, and dripping with need. She couldn’t help but salivate, her mouth watering at the thought of him filling her, claiming her. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desire, her body already begging for him. He grinned, running a hand down his length as he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “You ready for me, love?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the hunger in his tone. She nodded, her heart racing as he closed the distance between them, ready to make her his once again.

His lips crashed into hers again, his hands gripping her hips as he positioned himself between her legs. She could feel him, hard and ready, pressing against her, and she whimpered into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough. “Say you want me to put a baby in you.”

Her breath caught, her body trembling with need. “Lando...”

“Say it,” he insisted, his hands sliding up her thighs, his thumbs brushing over her hips. “I need to hear you say it.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. “I... I want you to put a baby in me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His eyes darkened, and he kissed her again, deep and possessive, before pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise. “Now let me take care of you.”

He entered her slowly, inch by torturous inch, and she gasped, her body stretching to accommodate him. He groaned, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot against her skin. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he muttered, his hips rolling against hers.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he cursed under his breath, his hands gripping the sheets on either side of her head. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, his voice strained.

“I thought that was your job,” she teased, though her voice broke as he thrust into her, hitting that spot that made her see stars.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear. “Oh, trust me, love. I’m just getting started.”

Lando’s smirk deepened as he slowed his thrusts, savoring the way her body clenched around him. His hands roamed her curves, one settling on her hip while the other cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a way that made her gasp. “You ever think about it, love?” he murmured, his voice low and rumbling, sending shivers down her spine. “My baby growing in you? Tits sore. Belly round. Still letting me fuck you full because you can’t help yourself?” His words were a tease, but there was an underlying possessiveness that made her heart race.

She moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders as her body trembled under his. “Lando…” she whispered, her voice breaking halfway through his name, her body betraying just how much his words turned her on.

“That’s it,” he growled, his thrusts growing deeper, more deliberate. “You’ll look so fucking pretty knocked up.” His hand slid down her stomach, his fingers splayed over her abdomen as if he could already feel the roundness he was imagining. “Always wanted to see you carrying my baby, love. You’d be fucking radiant.”

Her breath hitched, her body arching into his as she clung to him, her mind swimming with the images he was painting so vividly. She could almost feel it—the weight of his child growing inside her, the way he’d look at her with that mix of pride and hunger, the way he’d still want her, need her, even then.

“Fuck, Lando…” she whimpered, her voice trembling with a mix of desire and something deeper, something primal.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear. “You like that, yeah? The thought of me putting a baby in you?” She nodded, her cheeks flushing as her body clenched around him again, tighter this time, drawing a groan from his lips. “Good girl,” he purred, his voice thick with praise. “Because I’m not stopping until you’re stuffed full of me.”

His thrusts grew faster, harder, and she could feel the way his body was beginning to tighten, his control slipping as he drove them both closer to the edge. Her breasts bounced with each movement, and his hands slid up to cup them, squeezing and teasing as he groaned. “Fuck, look at them. Look how they bounce every time I fill you.”

She whimpered, her body arching into his touch as her nipples hardened under his fingers. “Lando…”

When she whined, he let out a growl and flipped them over with a grunt, settling her on top of him. “Ride me. I need to see ‘em up close when you’re losing it on top of me.”

He was losing control—her moans, the way her tits bounced with every thrust, the way her body clenched around him—it was all too much. With a grunt of restraint, Lando pulled out of her slowly, his cock slick and twitching.

“Get on top,” he rasped, already falling back onto the mattress, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes glued to her flushed, wrecked body. “Come ride me, love. I wanna see every fucking inch of you when you take me.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her legs trembled slightly as she straddled him, gripping his cock in one hand and lining him up. Lando groaned deep in his chest as she sank down on him inch by inch, her walls stretching around him, taking all of him inside.

“Fuck,” he growled, hands gripping her hips as she bottomed out, fully seated on him.

Her heart raced as she adjusted, her hands settling on his chest as she began to move, her hips rolling against his in a rhythm that made him moan. His hands immediately went to her breasts, squeezing and teasing as he watched her with dark, hungry eyes.

“That’s it, baby. Fucking ride me.”

She moaned, her head falling back as she ground down on him, her body trembling with the pleasure of it. His hands roamed her body, one sliding down to grip her hip while the other cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a way that made her gasp. “So fucking perfect,” he muttered, his eyes locked on her as she moved.

“Lando…” she whispered, her voice trembling as she felt the tension building inside her, tightening like a coil ready to snap.

“You want me to come watching you bounce?” he growled, his hands tightening on her hips as he thrust up into her, the bed rocking beneath them. “I’m so fucking close. You want me to come just like this? Watching your perfect tits bounce while I fill you up?”

She whimpered, her body arching into his as she felt the pleasure cresting, threatening to overwhelm her. “Yes… please…”

He groaned, his hands sliding up to her breasts, squeezing and teasing as he watched her with dark, hungry eyes. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “I want your tits in my mouth while you ride me.”

Her breath hitched as she leaned forward, her hands bracing on his chest as she offered herself to him. His lips immediately wrapped around her nipple, sucking and teasing as he thrust up into her, his movements growing sloppier as he lost himself in her. She moaned, her hips rolling against his as she felt the tension building inside her, tightening like a coil ready to snap.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, his lips leaving her breast to trail kisses up her chest, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust up into her. “Ride me until I fill you. Don’t stop ‘til I’m spilling inside you, yeah? You want that?”

She nodded, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she felt the pleasure cresting, threatening to overwhelm her. “Yes… Lando…”

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough with need as he thrust up into her, his grip on her hips tightening. “Tell me you want me to fuck a baby into you.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling as she felt the tension building inside her, tightening like a coil ready to snap. “I want you to… fuck a baby into me…” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of desire and something deeper, something primal.

Lando’s thrusts grew erratic, his grip on her hips tightening as he neared the edge. Suddenly, he pulled out, leaving her gasping at the sudden emptiness. Before she could protest, he flipped her onto all fours, positioning her in front of the mirror beside the bed. He knelt behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he slammed back into her, forcing a moan from her lips.

“Look at yourself,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. She lifted her eyes to the mirror, her cheeks flushing as she saw herself—her hair wild, her lips swollen, her body trembling under his. “Look at how you take me,” he continued, his thrusts deep and deliberate. “Like you were fucking made for it.” His hands moved to her waist, holding her steady as he drove into her harder, faster. “Gonna pump you so full, it’ll be dripping down your thighs.”

Her breath hitched as she watched herself in the mirror, her body arching into his, her eyelids fluttering as he hit that spot inside her that made her see stars. He reached up, gripping her chin and forcing her to hold his gaze in the reflection. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “Every inch of you. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

When he came, it was deep inside her, his body shuddering as he emptied himself into her with a low groan. She felt it, the warmth of him filling her, and she whimpered, her body clenching around him as he held her close, his chest pressing against her back.

He nuzzled her neck, his lips brushing her skin as he whispered, “Still clenching around me, needy little thing… fuck, I love how your body begs for more even after I’ve filled you.” His voice was soft, almost tender, but there was no mistaking the possessiveness in his tone. She could still feel him inside her, still feel the warmth of him spilling into her, and she shuddered, her body trembling with the need for more.

He pressed his lips to her ear, his breath hot against her skin as he murmured, “Shh, I know, baby… you’re still aching. Let me take care of you. Don’t worry, I’m not done filling you up.” His words were a promise, and she whimpered, her body trembling with the need for more as he gently pulled out of her, his cum already beginning to drip down her thighs.

He shifted, kneeling behind her again as he watched his release trickle out of her. “Look at that—leaking already. Gotta fuck it back in, don’t I?” he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Can’t waste a drop of me.”

He pressed two fingers against her entrance, pushing them inside her slowly, dragging his cum back into her as he began to pump his fingers in and out of her. She gasped, her body arching into his touch as he curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. “You’re so wet, so fucking ruined… and still, you want more,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You want to come with my mess inside you, don’t you?”

She nodded, her breath coming in ragged gasps as he worked his fingers inside her, his thumb brushing her clit with every thrust. “Please… Lando…” she whimpered, her body trembling with the need for release.

“Good girls don’t waste what they’re given,” he purred, his voice dark and commanding. “So go on, come for me—make a mess with my cum on my fingers.”

His fingers moved faster, deeper, and she could feel the tension building inside her, tightening like a coil ready to snap. Her body arched into his touch, her breath hitching as her orgasm crashed over her, waves of pleasure coursing through her as she came on his fingers. He didn’t stop, his fingers continuing to move inside her, drawing out her orgasm until she was trembling, her body slick with sweat.

She collapsed onto the bed, her body spent, her heart racing as he pulled his fingers out of her, his cum slick on his skin. He leaned down, pressing his chest against her back as he nuzzled her neck, his lips brushing her skin as he whispered, “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

She whimpered, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and he chuckled darkly, his hand moving to her stomach as he murmured, “Just wait until it’s my baby you’re carrying. You’ll be even more fucking perfect then.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she turned her head to meet his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. “Lando…” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of desire and something deeper, something primal.

He smirked, leaning in to capture her lips in a deep, possessive kiss. “Mine,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with need. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

1K notes · View notes

rafeandonlyrafe · 3 months ago

Text

unashamed

words: 1k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, tit play, protected (woo!) sex, mentions of semi public sex

you flop down on the sunbed next to rafe, propping your head on your hand as you stare at him.

you start at his chest before dropping lower to the swimsuit that's tantalizingly low on his hips. it's a chore to drag your eyes away, up to his face.

you admire his cheekbones first, slightly shining in the bright sun before you move to his lips, pink and pouty, the bottom one just waiting to be kissed.

you follow the slope of his nose up to where sunglasses cover his eyes, reflecting the gentle lapping of the water.

“you know im not asleep under these shades right?” rafe says.

“oh, ive grown long past being ashamed of admiring you.” you giggle, sitting up in your lounge chair, pressing your breasts together with your arms, knowing it'll entice rafe away from his relaxation.

“don't you think you need to get out of the sun for a bit? you're looking hot.”

“you drive me crazy.” rafe removes his sunglasses and tossed them to the sand, a smirk stretching across his face.

“come on.” he stands up swiftly, like he can't wait a moment longer, extending his hand down to yours, which you eagerly take.

rafe practically pulls you inside and up to his bedroom, your bodies immediately melding into one the moment the door locks shut.

“i want you so bad.” you whimper against rafes lip, not giving him time to respond as you kiss and suck at his bottom lip, running your tongue across it, desperate to taste more of him.

“yeah, baby.” rafe chuckles, pushing your hips back, forcing you away from him. “you make it real obvious.”

you just smile as you lie back on the bed. none of rafes quips affect you anymore, and the combination of the perfect weather outside and rafe climbing onto the bed on top of you makes a smile stretch to your cheeks. nothing could ruin this moment.

rafe kisses your lips, but pulls away before you can deepen it, mouth coming to your neck, gliding down your chest to the swell of your breast.

you know rafe likes to do it himself, but you have no patience, arching your back and pulling the ties of your swimsuit apart so the cups fall away from your chest.

rafe tsks, his displeasure only evident for a second as he mouth latches around your nipple.

you let out a moan, hands coming to his hair, needing the physical connection to him as he tongues and plays with your chest before switching to the other nipple, long strokes of his tongue coaxing it to peak hardness.

rafe moves back up to your lips, letting you kiss him and hold his face as he rearranges your body so his hips can slot in-between yours.

you instantly begin to grind against him, feeling the hard length concealed beneath his swimsuit bottoms.

“just insatiable.” rafe laughs, moving away from you only for a moment to grab a condom from where a whole pack is thrown on the nightstand, ready to use.

you loosen your legs around rafes hips, allowing him to tug down his swimsuits, cock rising to stand tall and ready. he slips the condom out of the foil and wraps it down his length while you undo the ties on your bikini bottoms to get them off too.

“after this…” rafe trails off, losing his train of thought as you wrap your legs around his hips and tug him closer again, no clothing interrupting your grinding this time.

“after this what?” you giggle when rafe gives you a look, one that's slightly sheepish and won't admit that he completely forgot where he was going with the sentence.

“hm?” you goad him on as the head of his cock rubs between your thighs, teasing at your clit before running over it as well.

“boat.” rafe finally says. “we should go out on the boat.”

“you just wanna see me in a bikini for longer.” you laugh, the noise making rafes eyes shine in admiration. he never thought he'd like a sound so much until he heard your laugh.

“yes.” rafe nods, and as he sees you open your mouth for another quip back, he sinks his cock into you. “ive grown past being ashamed of admiring you.”

you let out a moan, head falling back against the pillows as he echoes your words from earlier back to you.

rafe wastes no time in building up a fast rhythm. despite the little foreplay, you're both desperate for each other. your bodies calling out constantly for the others touch.

you let rafe continue thrusting into you until you can't help it any longer, wanting to show him pleasure back, so you put all your weight and strength into flipping over so you're on top, his cock not leaving you the entire time.

“oh fuck, baby.” rafe grunts out, his hands coming to cup your tits as you begin to bounce on his cock, hips swirling and pumping as fast as your legs will allow.

“im- shit.” rafe tries to grab at your hips, to hold you tight and get you to slow down, but you overpower him, wanting to make him cum now.

“come on, baby.” you moan out. “give it to me, i want it.”

rafe gives up on trying to last, pumping his hips up into you as he lets out a moan, your name tumbling out of his lips as he cums.

you bend forward, hips gyrating slowly as he works through his orgasm. your chests press together as you watch rafes face, his mouth ajar and wet from kisses, his blue eyes glazed over in pleasure.

you can tell in his expression when he snaps back to reality.

“fuck.” he chuckles as you climb off, running his hands through his hair as he blinks rapidly, before looking for you.

“wait-” rafe grabs your wrist, trying to stop you from getting your swimsuit back on.

“hm?” you ask, shaking his loose grip off to continue tying the strings back together.

“what about you?”

you just smile and toss rafes swim trunks at him. “you can finish me off on the boat.”

you've never seen rafe move faster.

1K notes · View notes

sv3t1ana · 3 months ago

Text

SYNOPSIS ᯓ Choso Kamo is a waste of your time. A temp intern with no real skills, constantly fumbling through tasks he barely understood. You've tried to get rid of him, but the agency won't take him back until his contract is done. You've been treating him like the extra he is, deciding that if he's going to waste your time, he might as well make himself useful.

PAIRING ᯓ Intern! Choso x Executive fem! Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ dubcon, office AU, degrading (really not that bad tho), he calls reader "ma'am," reader is mean to him (lmao sorry), reader is a workaholic, choso sucks at his job, power dynamics, choso has tattoos, obedience, use of "good boy," oral (m and f receiving), size kink, fingering (f receiving), punishment, unprotected p i v sex, begging, sub choso x dom reader?

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.6k

SERIES ᯓ GOJO ⋮ GETO ⋮ CHOSO

Choso Kamo.

A lowly intern hired into this company, not based on merit, just placed here through a temp agency you signed a contract with a few years ago.

It’s gotten to the point where you tried to get rid of him, calling the agency yourself. That’s right, you took precious time out of your day to get rid of him.

“So, you’re telling me he still has a month here?”

“If you don’t have reasonable grounds to fire him, then yes, he will stay for an additional four weeks.”

You sighed, throwing your head back and tossing your feet up on your mahogany desk.

This intern was going to be the death of you. Seriously. Last week you tasked him with some very simple data visualizations, and he returned a pie chart.

A pie chart.

A single pie chart.

“Kamo, what the fuck is this?”

Choso was completely serious, sitting in the chair across from your desk in your private, sleek office. “It’s a visualization of last quarter’s trends.”

You glanced down, almost jaw-slack in disbelief. There was a big rainbow pie chart, indicating… last quarter’s trends? “Kamo,” you said, voice flat, “this is an abomination.”

You didn’t hold back tearing it apart in front of his face, tossing it on the ground at his feet while you silently pointed toward the door, motioning him to leave. It was sad actually, just a small part of your heart aching at the clueless loser here only because he could pass a drug test. It’s clear he tried, but somehow the dataset became absolutely vile, even after you provided a cleaned one.

It was so fucked up, seriously. As an executive you had meetings on meetings, you barely had time to eat let alone find ways to get Choso fired. Most of your days began and ended sipping caffeine, you even worked on the weekends. And to have this inferior being who can barely copy a few papers ruin your day was just the icing on the cake.

He’d already been here for a month, a temporary contract-to-hire position, (he clearly wasn’t getting hired) and you’ve just been having him run your errands for you.

“I need you to get this dry cleaned.”

“Go to my car and bring me the box of files.”

“Put my mug in the kitchen.”

He was almost like a pet, barely good enough to be named slave as you just ran out the rest of his time here with trivial duties.

It was a hell of a Thursday afternoon, pausing your busy schedule and setting your Microsoft Teams to offline as you waited in your office, blinds closed while you rested your head in your hand, slowly drifting off to sleep until-

BANG!

“Ma’am, I have your lunch,” Choso stood at the doorway dripping wet as he panted out of breath.

The sound of the door slamming open jolted you awake, your heart lurching against your ribs. He stood there, shoulders rising and falling, his shirt soaked through, clinging to his skin like it was painted on.

You blinked, trying to focus on something, anything other than the way his pecs pressed against the damp fabric, the slow drip of rainwater from his hair rolling down the side of his neck.

Absolutely not.

You forced your gaze to his face. He wasn’t even looking at you, too busy trying to catch his breath, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every inhale.

“...Apologies for the late time,” he finally muttered, stepping forward to set the bag of food on your desk.

You stared at him, but truly it wasn’t purposeful, your brain was just lagging, refusing to process anything except fuck, he’s actually kind of-

No. Not happening.

You cleared your throat, reaching for the food like it was going to save you. “You look disgusting,” you muttered, barely glancing up.

He huffed a small laugh, shaking out his sleeves in your pristine office before stepping away, rainwater leaving faint specks on your office floor. He didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked out.

And yet, you didn’t stop staring until the door clicked shut behind him.

God, at least he’s pretty, too bad he’s useless.

That weekend you didn’t think about him once. Really, you didn’t.

But still, you were restless.

That weekend, you caught yourself checking your phone too often, feeling agitated over things that had nothing to do with work. You opened your email just to have something to do, only to find a message from Choso.

RE: Revised Visualizations

Attached are the updated charts per your feedback. Let me know if further revisions are needed.

Oh.

You clicked the attachment, expecting the same disaster as before.

And, well, of course it still sucked, but it was less awful. He was improving.

You set your laptop aside and rubbed your temples. Maybe you just needed a distraction.

It has been years since you last had one.

Work truly consumed the entirety of you, it was the only thing on your mind. Your laundry constantly piled up, dishes overflowing your sink often because you worked too damn hard.

It’s been so long since you had a boyfriend, not that you were keeping track but it’s been about 2 years, 6 months, and 24 days since you broke up with him. He was too bland, too safe, not exciting enough for you, but at least he was a distraction.

Hm, maybe you found yourself bored again, wanting to feel the adrenaline course your veins with a new love interest, but you just sat alone in your office the following week, sighing as you poked your food with a fork. You had no time for a relationship.

That next week you found your office a complete mess, last week the stakeholders visited, and you had endless meetings, constantly having to prove yourself in your position as a woman to these disgusting old men who only wanted money, it was draining.

Piles of paper scattered your floor, you had no idea which filing cabinet they belonged to. Your desk a mess, too, crowded with too many coffee mugs and random office supplies, where did this shit even originate from?

So, you invited Choso to clean your mess for you. Tasking him to organize the scattered papers covering almost your entire office floor. You watched as he sat on his knees, sleeves rolled up revealing toned forearms littered with tattoos.

“All of these papers are titled about the first quarter’s finances.”

Choso’s voice was steady as he handed you the file, but you barely registered the words.

Because his hands.

Shit.

You didn’t mean to look, didn’t mean to notice how thick and long his fingers were, the way the veins ran up his arms, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeves.

You swallowed. Taking the file a little too quickly, clicking your pen aggressively.

He sat on his knees, sorting through the mess you’d left him with, hair falling loose from his buns. Sharp jawline. The slow bob of his throat when he swallowed. The slight furrow in his brow as he focused.

You had to mentally will yourself to tear your eyes away, flipping through the file like your life depended on it. “You probably gave me the wrong one,” you muttered.

He exhaled, running a hand through his bangs and pushing them back for just a second, just long enough for you to notice his dark eyes, furrowed brows, the light sheen of sweat clinging to his temples.

You clicked your pen again, harder this time.

This was just nothing, nothing at all.

You were beginning to get frustrated, really frustrated. Because what the hell is wrong with you?

It’s not just some passing thought or fleeting distraction that can be shaken off with a splash of cold water. It lingered in your mind, the parts of your mind that should be occupied with financial reports and quarterly projections. Every time you saw him, some unwelcome thought wormed its way into your brain, like the way he had a ridiculous devotion to completing the most mundane tasks you assigned him. It’s infuriating, really, because how could you, as an executive, someone that clawed your way to the top of this company, be distracted by the likes of him?

Choso Kamo. A temp. A lowly intern who struggled inputting a SUM function in Excel. There’s about three million YouTube tutorials for that, by the way. This was supposed to be his last week here.

It’s not like you’ve never dealt with useless men before, your job is filled with them. Old, crusty men in ill-fitted suits who pretended you weren’t their intellectual superior. But at least they didn’t invade your mind like this.

And worse? He was so obedient, like some helpless thing always awaiting your instructions. He always called you ma’am, whether out of genuine respect or blind adherence to authority, you didn’t know.

Maybe that’s why, as you sat in your office, hands clenched into fists against your desk, you decide.

If you’re going to suffer through the remaining time of his employment, you might as well make it worth your while.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, rolling your shoulders as you stood from your chair, exiting your office.

“Kamo, my office. Now.”

No explanation. No context. Just a simple demand.

You waited, hearing a hesitant knock at first, light and unsure. It’s the same way he approaches everything, carefully like he’s afraid of stepping out of line.

“Come in.”

Choso enters, standing awkwardly just past the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Close the door.”

He does, albeit clumsily, his fingers fumbling with the handle for a second too long. You watch in silence as he turns his back toward you, shoulders stiff and posture straight as if he’s bracing for reprimand.

Instead of speaking immediately you stood again, walking toward your large office windows that overlooks the rest of the department floor. The blinds are drawn halfway up, letting just enough visibility in for others to see. That won’t do.

One by one, you lowered them, the only noise in the room being the mechanical whir of the blinds. Choso shifted nervously on his feet.

“You’ve been here for almost two months now,” you mused, tone even as you turn to face him fully. “Longer than I would’ve liked, but still.”

Choso nods, saying nothing.

You step closer, crossing the room slow and deliberately. “And despite your many, many failures, you’ve somehow managed to be useful in one way.”

His brows knit together slightly, but he remains silent, waiting.

You tilted your head as if to observe him. His hands are still clasped in front of him, his stance rigid, like he didn’t know whether to be nervous or grateful.

Good.

That mean’s he’ll listen.

You extend a hand, fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck as your thumb traced his jawline.

“You want to be useful, don’t you, Kamo?” Your voice was smooth, measured.

He nods immediately. “Yes, ma’am.”

You dropped your head slightly, “you have…” you sigh, feigning disappointment, “such a bad habit of wasting my time.”

He flinches, subtly, but you saw it.

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am, I-”

You tut, cutting him off. “But I’ve decided something.”

He falls silent again, waiting.

“If you insist on wasting my time, then I’ll run out the rest of yours however I see fit.”

“I don’t understand…” his voice was quiet, more careful.

You laughed softly, reaching behind him to flick the lock on the door. The click is soft but heavy, something final, “you don’t need to.”

You see the way his breath catches. How his fingers tighten into his palm like he’s resisting the urge to fidget. How his pupils dilate just slightly as you eye his figure up and down, like you were a predator sizing up prey.

And he is prey, nervous, uncertain, and pliant.

“You always listen so well,” you muse, talking slow steps to sit back at your desk. “Always so eager to do exactly as I say.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes.

You smile.

“Then be a good boy, Kamo.”

He shudders.

You motion him to your side of the desk. “Take a seat.”

He did so nervously, not expecting you to snap at the ground petitioning him to kneel before you.

“This is your first task, make me cum in 3 minutes or you’re fired.”

Though, this was an objectively easy task for him, you were aroused last night even thinking about it, no idea the state of your cunt currently.

You watched as he sat on his knees before you, inching yourself closer to the edge of your chair while you spread your legs, showcasing your naked center under your skirt.

You could almost hear the thumps of his heart, “aww, don’t be shy, Kamo. You’re running out the clock!” You say playfully.

He nervously looked around him, swallowing hard before licking his lips. His hands traveled up your legs, gripping your thighs to spread you even wider.

You leaned back in your chair, and it was almost as if he attacked you with his tongue like his job depended on it. Because, well, it did.

Inhaling through his nose, he used the flat of his tongue to draw a long, slow stroke along your folds while you exhaled loudly. Quickly, he lapped at you, dipping in your entrance with his tongue before he drew circles with the tip of it on your clit.

You couldn’t help but grip his hair as he worked you, inserting two dept fingers and curling them ever-so-slightly while the lower half of his face was buried in you. And you pulled him closer, tighter to you as you felt him begin to sweat profusely.

It was so cute, really, was he doing this because he wanted to? Or that he didn’t want to lose his job? Surely, he knew he wouldn’t get hired after his contract ran out, right?

“Mmm, one minute, Kamo,” you were breathless, having gone so long without the touch of the opposite sex, either that or Choso finally found something he was good at.

You reached your climax fast, crying out when he quickened his pace, your slick slit gushing out in the palm of his hand while he fucked you through it, gripping the back of his head and practically suffocating him between your thighs.

You gripped his forehead and forcefully shoved him out of you on the edge of overstimulation, leaving him on his hands and knees catching his breath.

You looked over at the digital clock on your computer, “congratulations, you passed!”

He looked up at you, a glossy film of sweat covering his face, or rather, a mix of his sweat and your arousal.

“Stand up.”

He obeyed.

“Look at you,” you tilted your head, eyeing the huge bulge that tented his slacks. “You’re all excited just from eating me out, hm?”

You groped his clothed cock, feeling how big it was under your hands. “Are you ready for your second task?”

You didn’t even give him time to respond before you undid his belt, unzipping his pants and pulling them down boxers included, his thick length popping out.

“If you cum, I’ll punish you.” You began stroking his length, using two hands to jerk him as you spit, using your thumb to spread his pre around his sensitive, engorged tip.

He nearly buckled at the knees, breath quickening and sweat dripping from his temples as he held back. “F-fuck…”

And you gave him no mercy, wetting your lips and pressing light kisses at his tip, squeezing his base with one hand as the other massaged his balls.

He was hunched over, using your desk as purchase while he watched from above as you took only the tip in your warm mouth, spitting on it to use as more lubricant for your hand that tugged him.

You let him out of your mouth slowly, “you look so pathetic,” you mused. “All fucked-out when all I did was lick your tip.”

You watched as his mouth dropped open, using both hands squeezing him tight, jerking him and letting his tip rest on your tongue.

It didn’t take long for him to cum, body convulsing as he struggled to maintain balance, painting your face and tongue with white, ruining your makeup and your tastebuds.

You sat still as he came down from his high, still fully erect in your hands. “You failed.” You said flatly.

He looked at you almost in shock, still out of breath.

“You can leave now,” you started rummaging through your drawers for tissues, wipes, anything to get rid of the horrible artwork left on your face. “Oh, see me in my office first thing tomorrow, for your punishment, of course.”

He didn’t say a word as he took a tissue from you, cleaning himself up before stuffing his still-hard length back in his pants and returning to his desk for the rest of the day.

It was the next day when he entered your office, you noticed the slight bulge in his pants already.

Oh, how faithful he was for you.

You sat on your desk, legs crossed and a bored expression across your face.

Choso averted his gaze, “ma’am, I’m ready to face my punishment.”

It looked like you just fired the man, as if he had a wife and kids at home and you just fired him before the Christmas bonus came in.

“Today you’re going to fuck me.” You said it so blatantly, just putting it out there in the air.

It simmered for a minute, Choso nervously looking around the room to see the blinds barely open. If someone wanted to peak in and see, they would.

“I-I don’t have any condoms,” he checked his pockets like a maniac.

“Just do your best,” you waved your hand, beckoning him to come closer.

His hands traveled your figure, squeezing your breasts over your tight top, pressing kisses to your neck when you throw your head back, his hands landing on your hips.

“Tell me how you want it,” he said, breathless and polite, yet seemingly more eager than yesterday.

All you did was spread your legs, revealing your bare center to him once again.

He began deftly unzipping his pants, bringing his solid length out at the sight of your glistening cunt. He put a hand on your lower back, face too close to yours as he leaned you back, positioning his tip at your entrance.

That’s when you locked your ankles behind his back, immediately stuffing yourself with him. You tried not to cry out too loudly, not even all of him could fit. It sure has been a couple years since you last hooked up with someone, the effects of it having a toll on your body.

You were so tight around him, walls struggling to even pulse around his length, struggling to adjust to his size.

He grunted as he began thrusting, brows pinched tightly as you seemed to clench around him, pulling him back in every time he tried to pull out.

Your pussy dripping for him, the sounds of it squishing, squelching in attempt to take him all as a slow, languid pace began.

All you did in return was grip his shoulders, squeeze your legs tighter to keep him close.

“You feel… so good,” he breathed out between thrusts, “fuck, I-I’m at my limit,” his voice was breaking, stuttering as he was engulfed in your warmth, squeezing him so tight that he was about to cum not even five minutes in.

“Mmh, Kamo, if you… get me pregnant,” you said between breaths. “You’re fired,” voice frail as he only fucked deeper and deeper with each rut of his hips, the only sounds in the room being breathless gasps for air and slapping skin, desk shaking beneath you.

You just squeezed your legs tighter, not giving him the chance to pull out as his hands fumbled in desperate attempt to unlock your legs behind him.

“G-god, I’m cumming,” he grunted, voice low as his grip on your waist sure to leave a few marks by tomorrow.

You felt yourself being filled up with him, so hot and sticky inside in the entrance to your womb, it brought on your own climax.

You lay almost lifeless on your desk as his body collapsed on yours, a pitiful look on his face as he stood fully, about to take himself out your entrance when you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, bringing your lips to his in a heated kiss.

You two sharing whiny moans as he kissed back with the same passion, the world around you stopping as you tasted his morning coffee, humming into each others mouths.

He broke away only to apologize, plead for one more try. “Please,” he was still out of breath, voice hoarse. “I’ll be good next time, I swear.”

You stifled a laugh at the sight of him looking so unprofessional, hair a mess and clothes all loose, your hand coming up to hide the smirk tugging at your lips. The letter sat on your desk, taunting him. You could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him as he stared at it.

Without saying a word, you motioned toward the paper. The offer a permanent position as your personal assistant.

“Do you want it?” you asked, your voice low but laced with amusement.

He just smiled like a kid in a candy aisle, smashing his lips to yours.

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valyrianvibranium · 1 year ago

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REDAMANCY.

Cregan Stark x female Targaryen!Reader (Part 4 here)

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept your younger brother’s offer to return to the capital for your child to receive his blessings. And when you‘re finally on the way, it’s your husband‘s duty to take care of you.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant sex, pregnancy, slight breeding kink, praise kink, slight degrading, angst, fluff

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: Redamancy means A love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you, and let me tell you: these two are in love. Thanks to @sylasthegrim, it‘s always good to know you help me with my zero grasp on English!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Ravens from Winterfell flying all the way down to King’s Landing has always taken quite some time. And therefore it was no wonder you were surprised that one of your younger brother’s ravens reached the castle not long after you'd informed him you were with child, inviting you to birth it in the Red Keep for it to receive the young king’s blessings.

Being the ever dutiful Lord of House Stark, there was no way your husband would refuse the offer, and once your pregnancy had crossed the seventh moon mark, a carriage and your husband’s entourage were sent south.

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept the offer. Westeros’ capital has brought nothing but pain and grief to you, and you’re afraid coming back ruins the comfort and peace you’ve found far, far away from the castle in the North, in Winterfell. But a part of you misses and longs for your siblings and the part of your family that’s still left, hence it didn’t take too much convincing from your husband.

You’ve lost count of the days you spent in that damned carriage by now, solely accompanied by your maids as your dear husband rides at the front of his entourage, joining his men on horseback. But there’s one thing all days have in common: it’s you being exhausted beyond relief once night comes.

For the longest time you thought your unborn babe to be no-fussy and calm, which proved to be false just one week into the travel. It’s restless, kicking and moving especially when you finally find rest in the bed of the receptive inn you stay in for the night. Your feet are swollen, just like your breasts, and your body provides milk as though the babe has been long born already, and all you crave at this point is for the pregnancy to be over already.

As the wheelhouse comes to a stop, you rub your swollen bump with a sigh, looking toward the door with heavy footsteps approaching. Your beloved husband opens the door, and even though he won’t admit it, he looks just as exhausted as you do.

“Is it time?” you ask, slowly rising to your feet with another sigh. You place your small hand in his large one, allowing him to help you out.

He nods, bringing a hand to the small of your back. “Indeed. We have reached the crossroads. From here we are only ten days away from King’s Landing, which means the end of our journey is in sight,” he replies. “How are you and our son feeling?”

Cregan guides you away from the wheelhouse, escorting you through the crowd of his men towards a large inn sitting right where the river road crosses the kingsroad. And from old tales of your uncle you know it has to be the Bellringer Inn, a place where even your great-grandfather and great-grandmother have stayed at before.

“We do not yet know if this babe will be a boy or a girl, husband,” you chastise him in a teasing manner.

“You are right, we do not,” he says. “But I feel it in my bones. Just call it a father’s intuition.”

You roll your eyes at his words and nudge his ribs with your elbow, yet there also pulls a smile at the corners of your lips. He chuckles at that. “Careful, my love, I am not as nimble as I used to be.”

Shaking your head, you giggle softly. “Do not tell me that you are an old man now, Lord Stark.”

As you make your way through the courtyard and towards the inn, you can feel the curious glances of the passerby; a man of Cregan’s caliber always drew the attention toward him, just like your hair did. But you’re unbothered by it all. You carry a piece of your husband within you, and that thought fills you with a sense of fulfillment and pride.

He looks for the innkeeper as you reach for his hand, pulling it from your back around your frame, squeezing it softly. “Might you join me tonight? I know that you can not leave your men alone, but one night will surely do no harm. I must admit that I have hardly found sleep without your warmth for the past weeks.”

With a gentle, intimate gesture, Cregan brushes his fingers over your swollen bump, before pulling you against his side. “How can I ever be expected to refuse anything my beautiful wife asks of me? Of course I will join you tonight.” Leaning a bit closer toward you, he adds with a quiet whisper: “Your presence has been missed in my bed as well. The nights feel cold and lonely without you by my side.”

Heat crawls onto your cheeks at the proximity and the slight implication that comes with his words, solely interrupted when a stout man with a bushy beard but otherwise pleasant demeanor walks around the corner and welcomes you two.

Upon Cregan’s inquiry about the availability of a room, he hands over the keys and leads you toward your place of retreat for the night. More than once have you told Cregan you’re perfectly fine with sleeping in a tent with him, yet he always came back to your delicate condition, stating he only wants the best for you and his unborn child, and you eventually have given up and accepted it.

The room is decent. Not as big as your chambers at home, but still larger than what you’ve slept in for the last few weeks. Your maids already scurry into the room to bring some of your belongings and clothes to get you ready for the night, while Cregan leans in to kiss your temple. “Let me arrange for my man to sleep outside the inn for the night,” he mutters against your skin. “And then we shall spend the night in warm beds.”

Even with your maids bustling around you, you can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at his words. The prospect of sharing the night with him is enough to make you forget the soreness of your swollen curves that has become a constant companion over the past few moons.

“I will freshen up in the meantime,” you say, leaning into his touch before he pulls away to take care of his men’s sleeping arrangements for the night. Once everything was adjusted in the chambers, your maids moved to help you out of your clothes, but you refused them, having planned something very special.

Standing in front of the small window, overlooking a stable with a thatch roof and a bell tower, you all but admire how quietly Cregan opens the door, and with the lock falling right into place behind him, the room grows even quieter and the atmosphere becomes charged with anticipation.

“Is everything sorted?” you ask, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“All set,” your husband replies with a low voice as he approaches you.

He comes to tower over your frame from behind, moving his hands over your hips up to your waist. Lifting your head, your eyes lock with his. “Alone at last, hm?” There’s a sultry smile on your lips now, and you gently reach behind you to cup his cheek with one hand. “Now you’re all mine for the night.”

You lean against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths against your back. Cregan seizes the opportunity and brushes your hair over one shoulder before he presses his lips to the crook of your neck. The touch makes you sigh, stirring something inside of you you have had to keep at bay for quite some time. When he brings his large hands to your swollen breasts, fondling them through the thick fabric of your dress, you can’t help but moan, the slight squeezing aiding against the heaviness.

But then his hands and lips leave your body, and he slightly leans around you to look at you – or rather your breasts – and you immediately know the reason why.

The gray fabric has become damp under his touch, two dark spots prominent in the front of it. While it brings a bit of shame to your cheeks, the low rumble that escapes his chest sends a fire straight down between your legs. “I should have warned you I started leaking a fortnight ago,” you admit ashamedly, biting your bottom lip.

“I quite enjoy the sight of it, you know,” he says, voice laced with a combination of awe, adoration and burning need. His hands shift to the lace in the back of your dress. “But let us put this to good use.”

The dress comes undone with ease, falling to the floor in a puddle around your feet. Damp spots are decorating your smallclothes, but this time you don’t mind the sight. Cregan’s hands now roam over your body, tracing the curve of your waist and your growing bump.

Although you know exactly what it is his words are meant to imply, you choose to tease him. “And what is it you have in mind right now, hm?”

His gray eyes briefly flicker to the bed close to you, before meeting yours again. “I have a few things in mind. But for now…” He cups your chin, tilting your head up so he can claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss that’s full of desire and passion. It makes you feel as though the air is sucked right out of your lungs by him, as if you can’t survive without his lips on yours. “How about we make the most of this night, my love?”

“I’m all yours,” you breathe against his lips.

His large hands roam your curves, helping you out of your undergarments, until they settle at your thighs, wrapping around them to effortlessly hoist you up. Although Cregan is quite the bull of a man and appears to be a brute, he possesses a tenderness you wouldn’t expect from him, gently keeping your body against his and lying you down on the bed not far away just as carefully.

Soft, gentle kisses are pressed to your collarbones, igniting a fire within you that has been smoldering for too long. As his fingers glide over your skin with featherlight touches, leaving a burning trail behind, he finds his hands drawn to your full breasts, cupping and holding them, and eventually squeezing them.

More droplets of your milk trickle into his calloused palms, wetting his skin, but he does not care–not when he has you writhing and whimpering beneath him at just the faintest of touches.

Your husband’s eagerness would have almost made you chuckle, watching him rise from the bed to rid himself off his clothes hastily, if it wouldn’t match your own desire and greediness. With his breeches falling to the ground, his cock stands to full attention, hard enough for it to almost seem painful.

His hungry gazes devours your bare form, tall frame slightly hunched forwards as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“Will you just stand there and watch, my wolf?” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What happened to ‘let us put this to good use’?”

It’s the teasing lilt in your voice that pulls him out of his stupor like a wave, the chuckle he releases low and throaty. “You are a temptress, my love,” he replies. “You are lucky I am a man of my word.”

“Then touch me,” you whine, words coming out more desperate than actually intended.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Slowly approaching the bed, Cregan bows forwards and grabs one of your feet. He lifts your leg and starts to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses along the inside of your leg, occasionally nibbling on the skin of your inner thigh.

Your back slightly arches off the mattress, body thrumming with desire. Entangling your hands in his dark curls, you use the grip as reigns to where you want him most, but your husband acts completely unfazed, not allowing you to tug him higher up.

He takes his time, kissing and nibbling your thighs, before he boldly presses a kiss to the apex of your legs, tongue briefly dragging through your folds. It elicits a shudder in its wake, and you can’t stifle a moan.

Making his way up, he licks your navel, and eventually traces the curve of your full breast, circling your hardened bud. Cregan laps up every drop of milk that oozes out of your bud like nothing else than a starved wolf, the edge of his teeth applying just a faint pressure to the sensitive skin to stimulate the flow.

But when his other hand comes up to fondle and squeeze your other breast, that’s the moment you lose your composure, shamelessly smothering him with your breasts. “Gods, Cregan…” you whimper, immediately bringing you relief. There isn’t even time to waste a thought about the indecency of it all, not when it feels just so right.

It’s your mewls, your whispered whines and moans, the sound of you saying his name in such a desperate manner that drives him to continue. “You make me ache for you,” he rasps against your skin, voice thick with desire. Your husband never falters to ignite a fire inside of you with his words, especially when there’s an innuendo hidden between his praises.

Bringing his hand from your breast down between your bodies, he aligns himself with you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds in a way that makes you bite back a moan and grind against him. You grip his dark curls harshly as he finally eases inside, pushing into you inch by inch, agonizingly slow to make sure you feel him enter you.

His suckling falters with the tightness of your walls embracing him, overwhelmed by pure bliss and a feeling he’s missed for the past few weeks.

Every gasp and whine that escapes you only serves to embolden him further, continuing to tease and taste your breast with unrivaled enthusiasm. It juxtaposes the slow, sloppy thrusts of his hips, and brings you two different kinds of sensations at once.

Cregan has made himself home between your legs, rocking his hips leisurely back and forth. He has dropped his weight on one elbow and leant his upper body to the side, determined to not put any weight on your swollen bump. His lips are firmly wrapped around your bud while his hand teases the other, pinching and squeezing it between his fingers. The proximity is unmatchable, feeding into your constant desire to be as close to him as possible.

You can practically watch him lose every ounce of self control, his suckling becoming more intense and the thrusts growing in determination. His groans and grunts are muffled, and droplets of your milk trickle idly down his chin, getting lost in the dark, coarse hairs.

You fully expect him to say something when he releases your bud, but he’s far too eager to get his fill again. Pinching the perky bud of your other breast harshly, droplets of milk run down the curve of it, only to be traced by his tongue, liking a flat stripe over your skin. He chokes on a groan as the sight has you clenching tightly around his hard cock.

“Please– do not stop,” you whimper, applying a bit of pressure to his head to urge him towards your breast again. “... not yet.”

Dark-blown eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours, and a shuddered breath leaves your lips. “My my, what a greedy wench I have for a wife,” he chuckles to himself. You don’t take offense, but the statement does make you duck your head and bite your bottom lip sheepishly. “I do not intend to.”

Despite the teasing, it’s obvious your pleas fall upon eager ears as he heeds your command and closes his lips around your bud again. Every hungry pull of his lips draws more and more milk from you, and while relief makes itself known in your breasts, a different kind of pressure starts to settle in the pit of your belly.

Squeezing him so well, you make it impossible for Cregan to move on his own accord, and quickly take over, rolling your hips against his. It’s a race for completion, making your pearl throb with anticipation.

The coarse hairs of your husband’s beard drag over your sensitive skin with his eager suckling, tickling you and causing you to arch against him even more. You have your arms wrapped around his neck at this point, keeping him tightly against you.

A string of yesses falls past your lips like a chant, and the pace of your hips increases as far as your bump allows you to. Your mind grows hazy with pleasure, until your peak washes over you with a loud gasp.

You haven’t noticed Cregan watching you through it all, too focused on the sensations coursing through your body. His gaze is mesmerized, clearly relishing in the relief that’s etched onto your features and the way your walls flutter around his cock.

He pulls back, droplets of milk resting in the corners of his lips, and lifts his body to tower over you. The thrusting of his hips grows sharper now, determined to help you through your pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasps, one hand resting on the mattress next to your head while the other gropes at your now relieved breasts.

“Once this pup is born,” he emphasized the words by rolling your sore bud between his index finger and thumb, drawing out just a few more droplets of milk. “I shall put another in you to keep you round with my seed.”

Your head grows dizzy, lightheaded even, and you can’t do more than whimper and whine through your peak, not fully comprehending what he’s said.

Cregan snaps his hips into yours once, twice before he topples over the edge with a loud groan, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of you. Cupping your breast, his fingers dig harshly into your flesh.

You continue to roll your hips against his, prolonging his pleasure. Switching roles, it’s now your turn to milk him for every drop, taking everything his cock spills inside of you. Every muscle in his body tenses, until eventually, he collapses to the side, careful not to put his weight on your swollen bump.

With his cock slowly becoming flaccid again, the sensation of his seed leaking out of your cunt is more apparent, causing heat to spread throughout your body. If it wasn’t for you carrying his child already, you would have mounted him to make sure his seed would bear fruit.

Cregan eventually lies down on his back, and you seize the chance to rest your head on his chest. It’s hard to keep your eyes open as his hand softly entangles into your hair, scratching your scalp in the manner that usually lulls you to sleep. His breath is slower now, his chest rising and lowering your head.

“I can not bear to spend another night without you by my side,” you all but whisper, bringing a hand to his stomach.

Your finger trails the contours of his muscles, before following the dark trail of coarse hairs down.

“You needn‘t worry about that,” he says. “We shall not stay in King’s Landing for too long. And I highly doubt that anyone could get me out of your chambers during the time we stay there. Once we arrive, we shall stay together.”

Nodding your head slowly, you hum a ‘mh-mh‘, too engrossed in the feeling of his hand in your hair and the other rubbing soothing circles over your back. Having trouble staying awake, you’re hardly able to process his next words, already drifting off to sleep.

“Let us sleep now, my love. We have another tiresome day ahead of us.“

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @aemondsbabe

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dollerinna · 5 months ago

Text

❪ 小薇 ❫ I’M NOT A BAD MAN : I’M JUST OVERWHELMED

— 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝚑𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝚑𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 .

𝓘ames wilson ੭୧ f! reader ┇ p in v ⋆ somno ⋆ non-con

this is a work of fiction and I don’t condone this irl. don’t like? don’t read. policing comments gets you blocked

JAMES WILSON’S larger frame drapes over you, pulling you close in your unconscious state. His warmth envelops you like a blanket of fire, the heat of his body melding into yours in a way that makes your pulse spike before your mind can even catch up. The room is hushed, every sound muted by the gravity of his presence—except for his breaths. Hot and uneven, they tease the shell of your ear, stirring the hair along your temple with a hunger that feels barely leashed. His hand tightens on your hip, fingernails leaving a trail of crescent-shaped imprints into your flesh, as if his very skin demands yours.

His cock stirs, painfully hard beneath the confines of his pants, the dull throb of arousal building into something that demands attention. Each rapid thump of his heart feeds the tension coiling tighter in his core, a steady pulse of white-hot need spreading from the pit of his stomach down to the ache between his legs. He bites down on a groan, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, but the sound still claws free anyway—a feeble, borderline pathetic noise that makes him feel as though he's coming undone, thread by thread.

The image of him plunging his cock into your tight little cunt plays on an endless loop in his head, delirious and unrelenting, like the world’s worst porno he can’t turn off. It’s agonizing, this carnal itch he was powerless to soothe, a hunger gnawing at him from the inside out. And it’s your fault—cruel, unknowing, perfect you. Why did you always have to look so devastatingly, effortlessly fuckable? Even now. Even like this. He's supposed to be better than this. He swears he is better than this. Or at least, he was. But you're ruining him, turning him into something base, something unrecognizable—a mutt in heat, panting after scraps of you like his life depended on it.

With trembling hands, he shoves his pants down just enough to free himself, a stinging hitch of breath catching in his throat as the cool air hits his angry, leaking cock. It stands thick and flushed in a mess of brown, slapping against his belly with a humiliating, wet sound that reminds him of how far gone he is—and yet it only spurs him on, the tingling buzz in his ears swelling akin to static, drowning out the last whispers of reason.

His jaw locks as he carefully eases himself between your legs, gliding the slippery head of his shaft over your folds with a slow, surgical precision only a doctor could have. A weak moan betrays him when your entrance flutters helplessly, involuntarily clenching around the aching emptiness he’s yet to fill. It's a maddening kind of torture, one that leaves his knees jittery and his resolve fractured.

He hesitates, guilt rising like a bitter, choking weight in his throat. This is wrong—he knows it's wrong. You're asleep for god's sake. Sweet, innocent, and unaware, probably lost in some dream about kittens and puppies with that peaceful smile gracing your lips. But as the shame churns deep in his gut, it's quickly eclipsed by something much worse: the ugly truth—he doesn't care.

However, even at his worst, there is this tenderness in the way he moves that refuses to vanish. He wants to make you feel good—needs to, as if somehow, this could be something you’d never hate him for, no matter how far he falls. It’s a twisted kind of redemption, one that only someone like Wilson can dream about.

Slowly, he grinds into you, inch by torturous inch, flesh to flesh, your slick depths stretching to welcome him in. A shuddering sigh flees his lips as he buries himself to the hilt, reveling in how the gummy walls of your cunt clutches onto his member with an almost suffocating grip, squeezing so tightly it was as if your sleeping body wanted him here in the first place.

"Mmm... holy..." he breathes, the words faltering as they leave his lips, fragile and barely formed. "…'m sorry... I didn't want this... didn't m-mean to..." his confession splinters in the air, equal parts of guilt and lust tumbling out in hoarse murmurs, dissolving into the void with every stuttering thrust of his pelvis. Each stroke feels a perfect contradiction—a prayer answered and a sin committed, tightening his chest and clouding his mind all at once.

And then there’s you—silken, wet, and impossibly tight—wrapping around him like a second skin. Your fleshy insides mold to every pulsating ridge and vein of his cock, sucking him deeper in with the unknowing shifts of your hips. His nerves flare with a sizzling anticipation, the lewd squelch of him violating your cunt eating away at the edges of his crumbling resolve. Still, as futile as it is, he desperately clings onto what’s left of his control behind squeezed eyelids, and it takes everything in him not to spill right there—but the way his dick twitches within the deliciously, spongy muscles of your sex suggests that everything might not be enough.

After all, he's deathly afraid of crossing that final line. But in the hollow, aching pit of his chest, he knows...

He already has.

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angelovi · 6 months ago

Text

Homecoming.·:≈☆≈:·.

cw; 18+ content, minors dni: spanking, fingering (r! receiving), oral sex (r! receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), breeding, age gap (reader is 22, ghost is 41), mirror sex, ghost is fully clothed in this, having to be quiet, gun fucking, quickie

summary: Its been a year since the supposed death of your husband after he was deployed, but when you wake up to find him lying next to you, alive and well, your life changes for the better.

an: short story, didn't wanna do too much lol

wc: 675

Marrying a soldier was always going to be tough, but getting the call that he was MIA while you’re carrying his child? That kind of loss cuts deeper than you ever imagined.

After a challenging hour of rocking and singing lullabies, you’ve finally settled your newborn baby girl to sleep for the night. As her tiny chest rises and falls in the soft glow of the night light, you feel relieved, determined to keep her peaceful and undisturbed.

You get into bed, but the sheets don't feel comforting. The light from the street lamp creates shadows that remind you of Simon's disappearance. You think about the laughter and good times you had together, now replaced by fear and worry.

You close your eyes, hoping to sleep, but feel overwhelmed by sadness and anxiety. Time seems to stand still, and you feel stuck in this moment, longing for the normal life you once had.

As you wake up, warmth envelops you from the big muscular man spooning you. You feel a curious stirring in your lower abdomen. The dim light filters through the curtains, highlighting the contours of his strong physique. His steady breathing and the security of his presence create a mix of intrigue and calm.

"Simon?.."

"Shhh, go back to sleep, love," he whispers softly, his movements tender and unhurried, as if memorizing the feeling of being this close to you. As my moans grow a little louder, Simon leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he murmurs, "Gotta be quiet, princess. Don’t wanna wake the baby. You’re such a good mama, I know you can keep it together for me…"

Simon slides his fingers into your mouth, stifling the moans threatening to escape as he takes you from behind with relentless precision. His grip is firm as he shifts you, positioning you to face the mirror beside the bed. “Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, “See how perfect you look while I’m ruining you.”

The first orgasm builds faster than you anticipated, crashing into you like a tidal wave.

Your body trembles as the wave of pleasure overtakes you, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. Simon’s grip tightens on your hips, steadying you, a low, possessive growl rumbling in his chest.

His hand comes down to roughly meet your ass, spanking you hard. "That's my girl."

Your eyes meet your reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and a dazed expression that only fuels his intensity. Simon doesn’t relent, thrusting deeper, determined to chase your next high before you can even catch your breath.

"Daddy, fuck!" you gasp, barely able to get the words out.

That catches him off guard, his movements faltering for a moment before his lips curl into a slow, wicked smirk. "Say that again," he growls, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

"Daddy.."

"Again."

"Daddy!"

"Good girl." He pulls out quickly and you whine in protest. He spares a sympathetic smile before grabbing his pistol, ensuring the safety is on.

After seeing your concerned expression he reassures you. "It's alright love. You trust me yeah?" Before you can even mutter a response you can feel your hole being prodded at with the barrel of the pistol.

"S-Si!"

"It's alright baby take a deep breath.. Big stretch.." He slowly inserts the barrel of the pistol into you and you gasp at its size.

He slowly pulls the gun out before pushing it back in, feeling the way you instinctively tighten around it.

You toss your head back as a wave of pure bliss crashes over you, unable to hold back the soft sounds escaping your lips. "S-Si I'm gonna-"

"Let go. Make a mess around my gun baby girl."

With his words pushing you over the edge, you let go completely, surrendering to the moment without a second thought.

The baby's soft cries pull you from your haze, her stirring breaking the silence of the room. Simon chuckles, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Looks like you woke her, love. Guess we'll have to work on keeping it quieter next time."

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #smut #cod smut #ghost fanfiction #ghost headcanons #fanfic

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lvrsturniolo · 19 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 m.s

warnings; p in v. reader wants to stop during. emotional(??). comfort & reassurance.

based off an ask that I accidentally deleted

—————————————————————

Matt’s room is quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of the salt lamp on his dresser. Outside, rain taps gently against the window, adding a slow, rhythmic hush to the world beyond. Inside, it’s warm. Still. Your body’s beneath his, skin against skin. He’s kissing down your jaw, whispering your name between soft breaths like it’s a vow.

“Oh my God— baby” he murmurs, lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he rocks into you slowly, keeping pace with your breathing. His voice is low, tender. “You feel so good. You okay?”

You nod, out of habit. But your chest tightens.

At first, you don’t know what it is. It’s not pain. Not fear. Just something… off. Like your body’s still here but your mind is slipping sideways. The pressure that had once felt good now feels overwhelming, and something in you starts to panic—quietly, like a whisper. But enough that your breath catches in your throat.

You blink up at the ceiling, trying to ground yourself in the way Matt’s hands are holding your hips, in the sound of his voice, in the warmth of the room.

But it doesn’t work.

“Matt…” you whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He stills completely.

His eyes meet yours in an instant, concern flashing in them immediately. “What’s wrong baby?” he asks softly, his hand brushing your cheek.

You swallow hard, throat suddenly dry. “I… I wanna stop.”

Matt doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t or frown or sigh. He just nods—gently—and is already easing out of you with the same care he always shows you, pulling the comforter over both your bodies.

“Okay,” he says quietly, sitting beside you, one hand still resting over your stomach. “We’re done. It’s okay, baby.”

You turn your face toward him, your chest rising and falling too fast. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

His eyebrows knit together, but not with frustration. “No. Don’t say that.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says, voice firm but still tender. He shifts closer, pulling you into his chest, his hand finding the back of your head. “You told me how you felt. That’s the most important thing you can do. You didn’t ruin anything—I’m so proud of you f’telling me sweetheart.”

You let yourself melt into him, cheek pressed against his bare shoulder. Your eyes sting, not from shame, but from how safe you feel—how quickly he held you without question.

“I just felt… overwhelmed,” you say quietly. “It wasn’t you. I swear it wasn’t. You’re so gentle, and everything was okay and then suddenly… I don’t know. I didn’t feel like I was in it anymore. Like my head just kind of… left.”

Matt nods slowly. “That happens, and it’s okay.”

“You’re not mad?” you whisper, still needing the reassurance, even though you already know the answer.

His hands squeeze your waist gently as he looks into your eyes. “Mad? No, sweetheart. Never. You think I care more about finishing than about you feeling okay?” His forehead presses gently to yours. “I only ever want to do this if you feel safe. If it feels good for you.”

You blink back a tear. “I don’t know why it happened.”

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to explain or justify it. If your body or your mind says stop, we stop. That’s all I need to know.”

Your lips tremble with a small smile. “I love you.”

Matt smiles back, soft and full of admiration. “I love you too. More than anything.”

He kisses your forehead and lays back beside you, arms pulling you close before you both fall asleep.

—————————————————————

A/N: this was so short 😛

tags: @emely9274 @courta13 @sturniolo-szn2 @slvt4chriss @chrislover696969 @sophand4n4 @lezleeferguson-120 @riasturns @ivysturnss @iloveduckssm @tezzzzzzzz @auttysturnz

#sturniolo triplets #lvrsturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo angst #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo

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bittenbyenhypen · 26 days ago

Text

his replica, my ruin (p.js)

they say imitation is flattery. but i never asked permission.

pairing: stepbrother!jay (park jongseong) x reader (y/n)

wc: 8.6k

genre: slow burn | slight angst | smut = minors dni!

tags: stepbrother!au, stepcest, post-breakup tension, bickering, enemies to not-exactly-enemies, taboo, clone-a-willy, use of pet names, dom-jay, sub-reader, p in v, no protection, masturbation

a/n: lowercase intentional! first time writing smut so please, don’t be too harsh 😓

i didn’t expect the sound of the front door to make my stomach twist, but it did. loud. sharp. final.

jay was home.

♰ "∘ .╰♯₊⊹

i kept my eyes on my laptop, pretending to be absorbed in the show playing quietly, but every second ticked like a countdown. his footsteps thudded through the entryway, not light and careless like they used to be when he’d come back from school breaks—but heavier now. tired. like someone who’d been carrying too much for too long.

he didn’t say anything when he saw me on the couch. just kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the stairs with a loud thud. typical jay.

“nice to see you too,” i muttered.

“didn’t ask for a welcome party,” he replied, brushing past me on his way to the kitchen.

there he was. park jongseong, stepbrother extraordinaire. back under the same roof we hadn’t shared since high school. now he was older, broader, moodier… and freshly dumped. did i mention sexier…

i stood, following him to the kitchen where he was already raiding the fridge like he hadn’t eaten in days. “don‘t touch the pasta,” i warned. “it’s mine.”

jay looked over his shoulder with a scoff. “you always label your food like someone’s dying to steal your sad little leftovers.”

“you do steal them.”

he pulled out a gatorade instead and shut the fridge with his hip. “relax. i’m not that desperate. yet.”

his tone was sharp, like he wanted to be mean just for the sake of it. i knew that tone. it was the same one he used when my mom married his dad, when we were suddenly siblings, and his entire life flipped. it had softened over the years… until now.

i crossed my arms. “so, how long are you staying?”

“until I figure it out,” he said, unscrewing the bottle and taking a long sip. “don’t worry, i’ll stay out of your way.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

he leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, mirroring me like it was some kind of contest. “didn’t realize i needed to clear my schedule for you, y/n”

i opened my mouth, then shut it. there was no winning with jay when he was like this. defensive. snappy. hurt.

“when is dad supposed to be home?” jay questioned, surprising you because you though he alerted the pair.

“they’re in europe, so they won’t be back until next month.”

jay signed, feeling a sense of relief.

“so what happened?” i asked finally, keeping my tone soft. “with her?” the tension rising in the air was thick.

his eyes flicked away. “don’t.”

“come on. you were with her for three years.”

“and now I’m not.” he tossed the bottle cap in the sink, his jaw tightening. “what do you want me to say? that I’m devastated? that I miss her? that I gave her everything and she threw it back in my face?”

i blinked. that was more honesty than i expected. and yet… he didn’t sound sad. just pissed.

“i want you to say something real,” i said. “not just hide behind sarcasm.”

he stepped forward, closing the distance between us. “you don’t know the first thing about real, y/n. you sit here with your pens and your playlists and your color-coded leftovers like the world can’t touch you.”

i flinched. not because it was true—but because he wanted it to hurt.

I lifted my chin. “at least I’m not pretending i’m fine when i’m clearly not.”

he paused. something in his expression cracked for a second. barely noticeable. but i saw it.

then, just like that, it was gone.

jay sighed and turned away. “i didn’t come back to fight with you.”

“no, you came back to sulk. and crash in your old room like nothing changed.”

he looked over his shoulder. “everything changed. that’s the problem.”

the silence stretched thick between us. tension. hurt. unsaid things.

i reached for a plate from the cabinet and slid it toward him. “there’s leftover garlic bread, too. heat it up for like 30 seconds.”

jay blinked. “you’re feeding me now?”

“i’m feeding you so you don’t keep snapping at me and acting like it’s my fault your relationship went to shit.”

he muttered something under his breath but grabbed the plate anyway. heated the bread. sat across from me like it was all part of the plan.

a few minutes passed in near silence before he asked, without looking up, “you think i’m a dick, don’t you?”

i glanced at him. “no.”

jay raised an eyebrow.

i smirked. “i think you’re acting like a dick. big difference.”

his lips twitched, just slightly. “guess you’ve always been good at reading me.”

“i live to call you out.”

he didn’t respond right away. just stared at the slice of garlic bread like it held the secrets of the universe.

“i really thought she was it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“i know,” i said softly.

we didn’t speak after that. but we didn’t need to. for once, it felt like maybe we weren’t on opposite sides of everything.

just two people who knew each other too well, but not at all at the same time.

and maybe that was the beginning of something real. even if it started with shared silence, burnt bread, and the same old bickering that had always meant more than we let on.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

it started small.

a towel left on the bathroom floor.

his shampoo on the wrong side of the shower.

the way he left the cabinet doors open like he’d never lived with another person before. maybe you’re just trying to get used to having another person in the house, because you hardly see your mom or jay‘s dad…

“you’re trying to drive me insane,” i muttered one night, tugging open the fridge and nearly knocking over his suspiciously large protein jug.

jay leaned against the counter, fresh out of a shower, hair damp, skin flushed from the heat. he didn’t even flinch. just sipped from his bottle and gave me that annoyingly amused smirk.

“maybe i like watching you unravel.”

i slammed the fridge door shut, narrowly missing his arm. “you’re a menace.”

“and you love it.” i felt the blood rushing to my cheeks.

his voice was low. casual. but there was something in it—a thread pulled tight with something unsaid. something almost dangerous.

i didn’t respond. i didn’t want to respond. not to him standing there with water still clinging to his collarbones, chest rising slow and steady like he knew i noticed.

he must’ve caught the shift in my eyes, because his grin twitched.

“what?” he asked.

“nothing,” i lied.

he stepped forward, too close, studying my face. “you’ve been weird.”

“i’m not weird. you’re weird.”

he arched a brow. “real mature.”

“real shirtless,” i shot back.

he glanced down at his bare chest like he’d forgotten. “you’re the one staring.”

i tried to shove past him, but he didn’t move.

“you always do this,” i hissed, voice tight. “you poke. you push. and then when someone gets too close, you act like they’re the problem.”

something flickered in his eyes. “you’re not just someone.”

the silence between us cracked like a match being struck.

i didn’t know what to say to that—what he meant by that—so i stepped back, muttering, “put on a damn shirt.”

he let me pass this time.

but later that night, i couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d said it.

“you’re not just someone.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

the next day, it got worse.

i walked into the laundry room and—boom—there he was. shirt off again. leaning over the dryer, pulling out his clothes, muscles moving in a way that made my brain momentarily short-circuit.

“oh my god,” i groaned. “do you even own shirts?”

he didn’t look up. “they shrink when you do laundry at satanic temperatures.”

“you’re supposed to separate lights and darks—”

“i didn’t realize i was getting a lecture from martha freaking stewart,” he cut in, straightening to his full height.

and i hated that it made my heart skip. that smug look on his face, the little glint in his eyes. i hated that i knew his voice better than my own lately. hated that i noticed how his hair curled when it was wet. that I kept remembering the words he didn’t say.

“you gonna keep staring,” he asked, stepping toward me again, “or are you gonna hand me a hanger?”

“you wish I was staring.”

“i know you were.”

there was no space between us now.

just the warm scent of detergent, the dryer’s low hum, and the sound of my own blood rushing to my ears.

his fingers brushed mine as he took the hanger from me—on purpose. a soft, deliberate touch that made heat coil low in my stomach.

“thanks,” he said, voice low.

i took a step back, heart racing. “whatever.”

that night, i lay awake.

i could hear him moving around in the room across from mine. footsteps. a drawer opening. water running in the sink. even him still carrying boxes up from his car.

i rolled over. buried my face in my pillow.

he wasn’t just back in the house; he was under my skin.

and i hated that it didn’t feel wrong. not really.

just… dangerous

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

jay has been procrastinating… especially with moving all his boxes into his room. i’d like to think it was karma that when jay was halfway up the stairs a box slipped from his arms.

“shit!” he barked as it hit the floor with a heavy thunk, scattering smaller items across the hallway.

i peeked out of my room just in time to see him crouch down, shoving a few things hastily back inside. a book. socks. a sad, old hoodie i vaguely remembered from our high school days.

“you good?” i asked, stepping into the hallway in my oversized sleep shirt.

“yeah, i got it,” he muttered, not looking at me.

but there was one thing he hadn’t noticed.

one thing that had fallen just slightly into the doorway of my room.

a box… i picked it up and my breath hitched.

something… unmistakably shaped.

i blinked. looked again. oh my god.

it was a toy.

I shut the box with a snap, eyes wide, brain blank. what the hell?

“you missed something,” i called out lightly, trying to keep the crack out of my voice.

jay looked up—and froze.

his eyes locked onto the object.

his face turned an unreadable shade. “don’t open that,” he said, voice sharp.

but it was too late. i’d already opened it back up, fingertips brushing the silicone as i picked it up—carefully, like it might detonate. i was reveling in the sudden shyness of my stepbrother in front of me.

“is this…?” i trailed off. side eying the object in my hand.

he looked away, jaw tight. “a gift. it was supposed to be for her.”

“oh.” my throat felt dry. “so… it’s supposed to be…”

“yeah.” short. clipped.

i swallowed hard. “damn.” it was big, as i looked at it a little longer i started to imagine-

that made him glance at me—sharp. “what?”

“nothing.” i straightened up quickly, the toy still in my hand, like i’d forgotten how to function. “i just—didn’t think you’d let someone make a mold of your—uh. yeah.”

jay moved toward me, hand outstretched. “give it.”

i did—but not before our fingers touched.

his eyes flicked to mine.

we both froze.

the air between us went tight. dense. something electric curling just beneath the surface.

his voice dropped. “y/n.”

“sorry,” i whispered. “i just—”

“don’t apologize.” his eyes were unreadable again. “just… don’t go snooping in my stuff.”

“i didn’t! it literally landed into my room—”

“yeah, well maybe keep your door closed if you’re that sensitive.”

i narrowed my eyes. “maybe keep your dick replica packed better.”

he stared at me for a long second—and then, inexplicably, smiled.

“not my fault it wants to find you,” he said, voice low.

and then he turned, taking the box into his room, leaving me stunned and breathless in the hallway.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i stared at the ceiling. my body hot. my thoughts worse.

i shouldn’t have imagined it. but i did.

i shouldn’t have touched it. but i wanted to.

and when i closed my door, slid under the sheets, and let my hand trail slowly down… it wasn’t the toy i was thinking about.

it was him.

his voice.

his smirk.

the way he’d said, “not my fault it wants to find you.”

and that’s when i realized—

it wasn’t just the toy i’d taken back with me.

it was the way he looked at me when i touched it. his gaze felt hungry, like he is going to pounce any chance he gets.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i tossed and turned for what felt like hours.

my room was too hot. or maybe that was just me. every time i closed my eyes, it came back into focus.

that box.

that toy.

his voice.

“not my fault it wants to find you.”

ugh. what kind of stepbrother says something like that?

what kind of girl lets it take up space in her head all night?

the clock glowed 2:47 AM.

i should have just gone to sleep.

but i didn’t.

instead, i slipped out of bed quietly, the hardwood cool under my feet as i crept down the hallway, careful to avoid the creaky third floorboard. i paused outside his door, breath held, listening.

nothing.

no movement. no light. just the sound of his low, steady breathing on the other side.

i reached for the knob.

not locked.

it was almost worse that way. almost like an invitation.

the room smelled like him—clean, masculine, faintly woodsy from the cologne he used too much of. his jacket was slung over the back of his chair. a half-folded hoodie sat on the edge of the bed. and that damn box… was tucked neatly into the corner by his closet.

i hesitated.

this was stupid. this was so stupid.

and yet… my fingers curled around the edge of the lid, heart racing like i was about to do something criminal.

i cracked it open slowly.

there it was.

the toy.

i stared at it for a moment, biting my lip; i exhaled.

i shouldn’t touch it. not again.

but then i remembered how warm his hand had felt brushing mine. how smug he’d looked. how his voice had dipped low like he knew this would get to me.

maybe keep your door closed if you’re that sensitive.

i swallowed and reached in. picked it up.

it was… heavy. it’s about 8.5 inches with two prominent veins flowing up the side of the shaft. i trace my fingers along the ridges.

realistic. unfairly so.

god, i whispered inside my head. what the hell is wrong with you?

and then—

a floorboard behind me creaked.

my stomach dropped. my blood ran cold.

i froze, the toy still in hand.

another creak. closer this time.

“y/n?”

jay’s voice was gravel-rough, sleepy—but alert.

i didn’t turn. i couldn’t.

his voice was behind me now. right at the doorway. there was no escape…

“you really snuck in here. for that.”

i turned slowly, clutching the toy behind my back like i could hide it.

he looked at me, messy-haired, shirtless, sweatpants riding low on his hips—and smirking, just faintly.

caught. red-handed.

his voice lowered.

“you could’ve just asked.” the words shot right to my core.

my mouth went dry. “i—i wasn’t going to—”

“you weren’t going to what, y/n?”

the space between us pulsed. my skin burned. my heartbeat thundered in my ears.

he took a slow step forward. “you were thinking about it all night, weren’t you?”

“i couldn’t sleep,” I whispered.

“same.”

his eyes flicked to where my hand was hidden behind my back. he tilted his head, almost amused.

“do you want it?” he asked, voice just above a whisper. “or do you just want to know if it’s really that accurate?”

i couldn’t speak.

he leaned in, breath warm against my temple. “go on then. take it.”

and just like that—he stepped back.

left me standing there, trembling, heart hammering, desire tangled with something darker. something wrong. something so right.

i didn’t know what was worse—that i’d been caught… or that he hadn’t stopped me.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i slid into my room, heart pounding in anticipation. the dildo modeled after jay's impressive… felt heavy in my hand as i closed the door.

i bit my lower lip, fingers trembling slightly as i gazed at the realistic silicone. my other hand reached down to slip between my legs, already feeling the heat and dampness building there.

our rooms are situated on a shared wall - he couldn't possibly miss the sound if i got myself worked up. the thought alone made me shudder with naughty excitement. perhaps this is payback for all the girls he would bring home in high school…

i stripped my clothes and tossed them aside carelessly. i slid onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows. my pussy was slick and swollen, aching for touch. spreading my legs wide, i pressed the toy's tip against my slick entrance.

a soft moan escaped my lips as she slowly pushed the thick head inside, stretching herself open.

he was big. the weight and size of it in your hand cannot compare to the feelings of being stuffed right now.

i started imagine it was jay's hard cock plunging into me, claiming me, filling me so deep and perfect.

"ohh... jay..." she whimpered, not caring if he heard her.

i began to pump the toy in and out, increasing the pace as my pleasure built. my moans grew louder, more wanton, echoing off the bedroom walls. one hand pinched at ny nipple while the other worked the dildo vigorously, fucking myself just like she imagined jay would.

"mmm, yes! fuck me with that big cock," i cried out, wishing it was really him pounding into her needy cunt. i came with a shudder, juices gushing out to coat the silicone. still trembling with pleasure, i froze at a light knock at the door.

i’m not answering that… i just act like i’m asleep. eventually i do nod off~

one thing i know for sure…

i need the real thing.

i need him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

the morning after my late-night heist, i tried to play it cool.

i acted like i hadn’t touched something i shouldn’t have. like i hadn’t been caught holding my stepbrother’s most intimate secret. like i hadn’t gone back to my room and…

well.

the kitchen was quiet when i walked in, oversized sweatshirt hanging just past my thighs, socks padding softly on the tile.

jay was already there—of course—leaning against the counter like he hadn’t just cracked open my sanity the night before.

his gaze flicked to me, unreadable.

“morning, thief,” he muttered.

i flushed instantly. “don’t start.”

he smirked. “didn’t say anything.”

“you didn’t have to.”

he turned back to his coffee. “you always this grumpy in the morning, or just when you get caught?”

i moved to the fridge, ignoring him. mostly. “you’re lucky i didn’t rat you out to mom.”

he scoffed. “you’d have to explain why you were in my room first.”

i froze with the fridge door still open, the cold air biting at my bare legs. when I turned, he was closer—mug in hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“i was just—curious,” i mumbled.

jay’s brow arched. “is that what we’re calling it?”

he brushed past me to grab the milk, his shoulder nudging mine.

too warm. too close.

“accidents happen,” i added.

his mouth quirked. “sure they do.”

his hand lingered at the small of my back just a moment too long as he stepped away, and i nearly dropped the carton i was holding.

the silence stretched—thick, strange, charged.

jay finally cleared his throat and grabbed a spoon. “you wanna help me move the rest of my boxes later?”

“i thought you got them all.”

“apparently not.” his tone was casual. too casual. “there’s one in the garage. pretty sure it’s got some personal stuff in it.”

i stiffened. “is it going to traumatize me?”

“only if you’re into that.”

i rolled my eyes, but my pulse wouldn’t stop racing. “fine. i’ll help.”

we didn’t say much after that, but the silence between us felt anything but empty. his shoulder brushed mine again when we reached for the same cabinet. his fingers grazed mine when he passed me the spoon. every tiny contact lit something beneath my skin.

like he was daring me to remember.

and I did.

every look. every word. every goddamn second from the night before.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

by the time we made it out to the garage, i was wound tight.

the last box was buried under old holiday decor. he tugged it free and popped the lid.

i expected more… questionable content.

but it was mostly old clothes, some photo albums, a few stray records.

he handed me a jacket to fold and paused with a crooked smile when his hand brushed mine—again.

“you jump every time I touch you,” he said softly.

“i do not.”

“you do.”

he took a step closer, voice quieter. “it’s cute.”

i stared at him. “why are you doing this?”

his smile faded slightly. “doing what?”

“this… thing. the tension. the touches. the jokes that aren’t really jokes.”

he looked down for a second, like he hadn’t expected me to say it out loud.

when he looked up again, his expression was serious. “i don’t know. maybe i missed being around someone who sees through my bullshit.”

i blinked.

that wasn’t the answer i expected.

he took the jacket from my hands slowly, knuckles grazing mine again.

and for a second—we just stood there.

too close.

too quiet.

and yet… not touching.

not yet.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

the storm came in hard and fast—like it was trying to make up for a month of calm skies in one violent evening.

thunder cracked through the house like a whip. rain slammed against the windows, drowning out the sound of the tv. and then, just as jay walked back into the living room from the kitchen—darkness.

a full, heavy blackout.

“shit,” i muttered, curling tighter into the blanket i had wrapped around me. “did your dad pay the electric bill?”

jay was already at the window, peeking through the blinds. “it’s not just us. whole street’s out.”

“great.”

the dim blue light from his phone glowed faintly, painting sharp shadows across his jaw. he was wearing that loose, gray long-sleeve shirt that always hung low at the collar and clung a little too well to his chest and arms. i hated that i noticed.

“could be a while,” he said. “you want me to start lighting candles like we’re in a romance novel?”

“only if it ends in someone getting laid,” i muttered, half under my breath.

his head snapped toward me, one brow raised. “what was that?”

“nothing,” i said quickly. too quickly.

jay’s smirk stretched. “didn’t sound like nothing.”

i rolled my eyes and shifted on the couch. “whatever. just sit down before you get electrocuted or something.”

the power still hadn’t come back when the house dipped into a chill. the kind of cold that sneaks in through floorboards and makes every bit of skin feel too exposed.

jay reappeared with two candles and a single, thin blanket.

“i didn’t know we were preparing for the apocalypse,” he muttered. “this is the best i could do.”

he plopped onto the couch beside me, so close our thighs brushed. i shifted away instinctively, but he followed with a look that said don’t even try it.

“i’m not cuddling with you,” i warned.

he draped the blanket over both of us. “you say that now.”

“i’ll kick you.”

his voice dropped, lower now, teasing. “you’d have to straddle me to reach. that sounds dangerous.”

my heart jumped. “jay—”

“what? just being practical.”

we sat in silence for a beat. the rain hit harder. the room was cold.

and our bodies were… warm.

his thigh was solid against mine, like he hadn’t skipped a single gym day during his entire relationship. his shoulder bumped mine slightly as he leaned back, stretching an arm behind me on the couch. not quite around me—but it might as well have been.

“still cold?” he asked, voice just above a whisper.

i didn’t respond.

because the truth was, i wasn’t. not anymore. not with him this close. not with his scent thick in the air and his breath brushing my cheek every time he leaned a little too near.

he turned to look at me, one arm lazily slung along the back of the couch.

“you know,” he said, voice lower now, almost lazy, “you’re the only person who makes me feel anything lately.”

i turned to him slowly. “what do you mean?”

his eyes flicked down—to my lips, to my bare thighs under the blanket, back to my eyes. and it wasn’t playful now.

it was real.

“i mean… i haven’t even thought about her since i moved back,” he said. “not once. not even when i should’ve.”

i swallowed. my voice was barely a whisper. “and now?”

his jaw flexed. he leaned in closer.

“now i think about you when i shouldn’t.”

i sucked in a sharp breath, and before i could answer—before i could even think—the thunder cracked again.

i jumped.

he caught me.

a hand, firm and steady, on my waist.

and suddenly he was closer than he had ever been.

our noses nearly brushed. the blanket slipped lower. i could feel his body heat like a flame beneath my skin.

“you okay?” he murmured.

i nodded, barely.

his hand was still on my waist, grounding me. his fingers lingered. not leaving. not anymore.

and neither was the tension.

it filled the room like smoke—hot, breathless, dangerous.

i didn’t move.

neither did he.

i should’ve pulled away. should’ve said something sharp or sarcastic—something to cut through the heat.

but I didn’t. i just stared at him, heart racing like a warning bell I chose to ignore.

jay’s eyes searched mine, and for once, he wasn’t smirking. there was no teasing. no edge. just something tired and raw.

“you don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly.

he exhaled hard, like he’d been holding it in. “losing someone… and then coming home to someone who makes you forget why you were even sad in the first place.”

my breath caught. “jay…”

his thumb brushed the bare skin at my side, just a graze. just enough to make my voice catch.

“i was with her for three years,” he said, voice low. “and I don’t think I ever really felt her. not like this. not like I feel you when you’re in the same room.”

my stomach twisted.

“you piss me off,” he added, a bitter chuckle escaping. “you leave lights on. you steal my hoodies. you roll your eyes like i’m the dumbest person alive.”

i looked down, sheepish.

“but then you say things like ‘are you okay?’ when you think I’m not listening. or you sit next to me on the couch like your body doesn’t fit unless it’s leaning into mine.”

his fingers flexed gently on my waist. my pulse roared in my ears.

“i didn’t come back here to feel something else,” he said, more to himself than to me. “but you—y/n, you make everything fucking louder. the silence hurts more when you’re not around. the house feels colder when your door’s closed.”

i swallowed, my throat tight. “then why do you push me away?”

he looked up, his eyes dark and honest. “because I shouldn’t want this. because you’re the one line I’m not supposed to cross.”

i blinked fast, my chest tight.

“then why are you still holding me?”

he didn’t answer right away. just stared at me, like the words burned before they ever reached his lips.

finally, his voice dropped to a whisper. “because you feel like home.”

my breath hitched.

something in the room shifted—something deeper than lust, more dangerous than want.

“you could’ve told me,” I said quietly.

“i was scared.”

I nodded, barely. “me too.”

he moved then—slowly, carefully. his forehead met mine, breath shared.

“i’m not a good guy,” he whispered.

“you’re better when you’re with me.”

his lips hovered over mine, but didn’t press.

not yet.

“i want this to mean something,” he said. “even if we’re fucked up. even if it’s wrong.”

i nodded, barely able to speak. “it already does.”

the silence between us had weight.

his hand was still on my waist—strong, steady, claiming in a way it shouldn’t be. i could feel every ridge of his fingers through the thin fabric of my shirt. feel his breath warm against my cheek. the storm outside had faded to a distant rhythm, but the storm inside me was just getting started.

i should’ve moved.

he should’ve moved.

but neither of us did.

instead, i whispered, “jay…”

his name sounded too soft coming from my mouth. too familiar. too yearning.

and he heard it.

because his eyes flicked up, meeting mine with something raw. something I didn’t recognize.

our eyes met again, voice rough. “i can describe what it’s been like. living with you again. hearing you in the shower. seeing you walk around in those little shorts. watching you pretend this whole thing doesn’t make your skin burn.”

my breath caught.

“jay—”

his thumb brushed against the hem of my shirt. just a graze. just enough to make my stomach flip.

“i’ve wanted you,” he whispered, “for years, y/n.”

my heart stopped.

he said it like it hurt. like it tasted like sin on his tongue. but he didn’t stop.

“back then, when i was with her? i’d come home and hear you laughing down the hall. and all i could think was… why the fuck isn’t it you in my bed?”

i sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide.

“i tried to stop,” he said. “tried to bury it. but then I moved back in, and you were right there—so fucking warm, so close, looking at me like you hate me, and i just…”

he shook his head, and his hand gripped my waist tighter.

he pulls back to scan his eyes over my moonlit expression. “i want you to tell me to stop,” he said lowly. “because if you don’t…”

my legs were already pressing together. my pulse was out of control.

“i won’t stop, y/n.”

i stared at him, heart racing.

his lips were inches away. hovering. waiting.

one more breath and they’d be on mine.

my voice barely worked. “what if i don’t want you to stop?”

his jaw flexed.

something behind his eyes snapped.

he surged forward—not kissing me, not yet—but his forehead pressed to mine, our noses brushing. his hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, warm and possessive against my bare skin.

“i want to ruin you for everyone else,” he growled. “you know that, right?”

i gasped.

he slid his hand higher, just under my ribs, dragging heat in his wake.

“i want you to remember the way i touch you. i want you to think about me every time someone else tries to.”

i couldn’t breathe. couldn’t move.

“say it,” he whispered, lips brushing mine now. “say you want this too.”

“i do,” i breathed. “i want you.”

and that’s when his mouth crashed onto mine.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

his lips were on mine—hot, hungry, controlled in the way that meant he was anything but.

jay kissed like he was trying to shut himself up.

like he’d said too much already, and now his mouth needed to do something else—like taste, claim, ruin.

but when i whimpered into the kiss—just barely—he pulled back. breathing hard. his forehead still against mine, both of us trembling.

“not here,” he rasped.

my eyes flicked up. “what?”

he licked his lips. “not on the couch. not like this. i want…”

he stopped himself. eye dark, jaw tight.

“you want what?” i whispered.

“i want to remember it.”

my breath caught.

he stood first, tugging me up with him. and without saying anything else, he led me up the stairs and down the dark hall—his hand wrapped around mine, warm and sure. thunder cracked again, but it was distant now. nothing compared to what was building inside my chest.

jay’s door clicked shut behind us.

everything was still.

the room smelled like him—deep, woodsy cologne and clean sheets and something masculine I couldn’t name. getting flashbacks to the night that he caught me sneaking in. i was barely breathing when he turned to me again.

he didn’t rush.

his fingers found the hem of my shirt first, tugging it gently up and over my head. he dropped it to the floor like it was sacred. his hands came to rest on my waist again, but this time slower, deliberate—like he was learning something for the first time.

“you’re real,” he said softly, like he still couldn’t believe it.

i reached for his shirt next. my fingers shook. i didn’t want it to. i wanted to be calm. i wanted to be enough for this moment. but his skin under my palms made my head swim.

jay let me pull it off, and his body lit like sculpture in the candlelight—lean and strong, every line of muscle carved by tension and time and regret.

“you’re shaking,” he whispered.

“i’m nervous,” i admitted.

he cupped my cheek with one hand. “so am i.”

then—softly—he kissed me again.

not frantic this time.

not like before.

but like he had all night to learn me. like he’d been waiting to. his lips moved with mine slowly, deliberately, like he was tasting every second. like he wanted to remember every breath. and I kissed him back the same way.

when we tumbled onto the bed, he caught me—pressed me into the mattress like a secret, hands braced on either side of my head.

he hovered there, just breathing.

then, “tell me to stop.”

i didn’t. i pulled him in instead.

the flicker of the candle on his nightstand lit his eyes with something almost unholy as he pulled back. “say it again,” he whispered.

my throat tightened. “say what?”

“that you want me.”

he didn’t sound smug. not cocky or teasing. just needy. like the words mattered more than he wanted them to.

i swallowed, fingers twisting in his sheets.

“i want you,” i said. then louder, more certain: “i want you, jay.”

his breath stuttered out of him like I’d hit something deep.

“god, you have no idea,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on mine again—hotter this time. hungrier.

i gasped when he kissed down my jaw, biting lightly beneath my ear, then dragging his tongue across the sting. my hands clutched at his back, nails scoring into skin i��d only ever seen in glances before. he was everywhere—heat and weight and the scent of rain still lingering in the air.

“you make me crazy,” he growled against my throat. “you walk around this house like you’re not mine to look at. like you’re not already under my skin.”

i whimpered when he ground his hips into mine, slow and punishing.

“i used to hate you,” i breathed, voice breaking. “hated that i thought about you when i shouldn’t.”

he froze for half a second—just long enough to make me think I said too much.

but then he was kissing me hard again, devouring the words right off my tongue.

“you think- I didn’t?” he panted between kisses. “you think I didn’t hate myself for it? you in those damn little sleep shorts… that laugh that gets under my ribs… you’d slam your door just to piss me off, and all i could think about was how much i wanted to slam you against it and hear you say my name.”

my whole body flushed, hips arching instinctively against him. the pressure between us made me bite back a moan.

“jay—”

he growled my name. “say it again. say my name when you sound like that. say my name the way you said it when you fucked yourself with my cock.”

he heard everything that night…

“jay-”

“fuck.”

he yanked my leg around his waist and finally, finally ground down—hot, hard, deliberate. i gasped, nails raking down his spine.

and then—softer, broken—he stilled.

“i’m not good at this,” he said, his voice quieter now. “i’ll fuck it up. i’ll say the wrong thing. i’ll want you when i shouldn’t.”

i cupped his jaw, guiding his eyes back to mine.

“i want you anyway.”

he blinked, something like hope cracking through the storm behind his eyes.

“then hold on,” he whispered, mouth brushing mine. “because i’m not going to be gentle.”

“good,” i whispered back. “i don’t want you to be.”

jay didn’t kiss me again right away.

he looked at me—like he was making sure I was still there, still his, still saying yes without a single word. my heart thrashed in my chest under his gaze. his fingers traced the line of my hip, then gripped it hard, stilling me under him.

and then? he snapped.

rough hands pushed my legs wider, dragging me flush against him like he needed it to breathe. he ground down hard, swallowing the sound that tore from my throat as his mouth finally crashed back onto mine. his kiss was brutal—teeth and tongue, not asking, just taking.

jay’s hand slid up my side, under my bra, knuckles grazing, controlling. when i arched into him, chasing more, he pinned my wrist above my head with one hand, his fingers wrapping around mine like a shackle.

“keep them there,” he growled into my neck.

my breath hitched. “what if i don’t?”

his eyes flicked up. wild. dark. amused.

“then i’ll make you.”

he rolled his hips again—once, slow and rough—and i felt how badly he wanted this. how much he’d held back.

“i think you like being told what to do,” he murmured. “is that what it is? hm?”

“jay—”

“you act like you hate me,” he panted, teeth grazing the shell of my ear. “but your body says something else. you’ve been begging for this since the minute i came back.”

i couldn’t breathe. couldn’t move.

my hands twitched—reflexively wanting to grab him—but i remembered what he said. keep them there. that one command pulsed through my skin like a brand.

“you’re shaking,” he whispered. “good.”

he let go of my wrist, only to drag both his hands down—bruising over my ribs, my hips, squeezing every inch like he wanted to memorize it in pressure. he manhandled me like he needed to feel me struggle a little. like the fight made it mean more.

and i gave in.

let him flip me under him. let him press his weight down until my breath caught. let him drag his hand up the inside of my thigh, stopping just short of where i wanted him most.

“say it again,” he growled, lips brushing my neck.

“jay,” I whimpered.

he bit down, just enough to make me gasp.

“louder.”

“jay—please—”

he kissed me again, this time slower but no less desperate. fingers tangled in my hair. my thighs tightened around his hips. our bodies locked in a rhythm that wasn’t quite there yet, but promised everything.

and just before everything melted into heat and noise and blurred lines—

he whispered, “this changes everything.”

i whispered back, “i don’t care.”

that’s the words he was hoping to hear. he back away and repositioned himself. he was facing my core. he looked up at me with a glint of hunger behind his eyes.

“i heard everything that night,” he smirks as he snakes his hands around my hips to pull my closer to the edge of the bed. making me squeak.

“fuck, I love thinking about you getting off on a dildo molded from my cock. feeling the thick head spreading your lips wide open, stretching you out. imagining the way your cunt would flutter and clench around the shaft as you fuck yourself with it, trying to take it deeper.”

he slips my pants off and pulls my underwear to the side.

“god- i want to feel your breath on my neck, stomach, between my legs… it’s driving me wild.”

with that command, he plunges his tongue deep. instinctively i squeeze my thighs at the intruder.

“little sister tastes so sweet-“ he adds as he licks a stripe up to my clit. bringing me back to reality for a second, but in my surprise his words turned my on even more.

“it wasn’t enough, was it?” he questions.

“because no matter how big and realistic it is, it's still just a piece of plastic. it can't compare to the feeling of my thick cock splitting you open, feeling me twitch and throb inside you as i fill you up with my cum.”

“please-“ i whined lowly as he plunged into my center. i could feel him nipping at me, signaling jay’s interest had piqued.

"i can't stop thinking about you either," he admitted, voice low and rough with desire. "about sliding into your tight little cunt and making you scream for me."

he got up suddenly and started to remove his buckle with no haste. he was just as desperate, if not more, as i am.

i look pathetic as jay stares at me. i’m already fucked out with him barely touching me.

“did you imagine the way i would grab your hips and hold you down as i pound into you, making you take every last inch?”

i hide my face when all of his words are traveling right to my core.

“jay, please just fuck me. i can’t take it any longer.”

“that’s what i thought, you need to be fucked by the real thing, need to feel my hands on your body and hear my voice in your ear. know that it's me inside you, claiming this pussy as mine.” the words melt off his lips as he removes his boxers.

he’s…

huge

and it looks exactly like the toy you have hidden under your pillow.

"tell me you need your big brother's cock."

“jay- mmh- i need you- i need your cock.”

“that’s it baby. spread your legs for me. fuckkkk, you're so wet for me," jay groaned, pushing in just the tip and then pulling back out.

"stop teasing and just fuck me already!" i demanded, trying to pull him closer.

jay reaches over to his bedside table, and i make a split decision. i want to feel him deep, nothing in between us.

“stop,” i grab his arm. he looks at me shocked, “i want to feel every inch, nothing in between.”

jay also came on the spot, he had to take a breath to contain himself. he leaned down and planted a deep kiss on my lips.

“ok baby, promise to look me in the eyes,” he said with smirk.

jay grinned wolfishly and thrust his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. we held eye contact what felt like forever. i was being split apart.

i threw my head back with a choked cry, feeling utterly stuffed full of him. "oh fuck jay! yes, yes, yes!"

he set a fast, punishing pace, slamming into me over and over again. The wet sounds of our coupling filled the room as he took me hard in HIS bed.

"so tight," he grunted, angling his hips to hit my g-spot with every thrust. "gonna fill this pussy up."

my pussy clenched around him as i started to come apart. he pulled out, leaving just his tip inside of me.

"i'm going to breed you so fucking good. pound this tight pussy until my cum is leaking out of you." with that filthy promise, he surged forward, burying himself balls deep in one hard thrust.

i cried out at the delicious stretch, nails raking down jay's back as he set a brutal pace, fucking her into the mattress.

"fuck yes, take it!" jay snarled, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside her. "milk my cock, baby. i want to fill this cunt to the brim."

i was lost to the pleasure, meeting his thrusts mindlessly as ecstasy built within me. "don't stop, oh god, right there! I'm gonna- AH!"

jay snarled and bit down on her neck possessively, fucking her through her orgasm. he could feel himself getting close too. "that's it, cream on my cock. fuck, i'm gonna nut deep."

my orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave and i clamped down around jay like a vice.

"Y/N!" he roared, slamming into me one last time before painting her insides with his hot seed.

“jay- baby, please more,” i say, not yet feeling complete. jay wonders if he just wondered into the bed of a sex beast. he chuckles, heaving slightly trying to catch his breath.

“is little sister always so eager to spread your legs for me, because nothing else can compare to the feeling of your stepbrother's cock stretching you out?” he questioned, feeling you squeeze him.

i nod my head letting little whimpers out.

jay then flipped me over onto my hands and knees, feeling disappointed at the loss of connection between the two of us. i felt his seed spill out of me as he smacked my ass hard enough to leave a pink handprint.

"time for round two, baby girl. you’re going to ride me like the horny little slut you are."

he flipped us again, reversing their positions, until i was straddling his hips, his thick shaft nestled between my wet folds.

"let's see how well you can take control," he said with a challenging smirk, his hands settling on my hips.

i bit my lip, tentative at first as i positioned myself over his cock. slowly, i sank down, letting him stretch me open inch by glorious inch. "ohhh fuuuck..." i moaned, eyes fluttering shut as she adjusted to his girth once again.

“look at me when i'm filling up your greedy little cunt," jay commanded, gripping her hips firmly. "i want to see the pleasure on your face as you bounce on my dick."

my eyes snapped open, meeting his intense gaze as i began to rise up and sink back down. i found a steady rhythm, boobs bouncing with each movement. "mmmm, you feel so good," i gasped, clenching around him.

"fuck yes, just like that," jay growled approvingly, guiding my movements with his hands. "ride me faster, show me what a desperate whore you are for my cock."

i whimpered, complying with his demands as i picked up the pace. the wet sounds of our fucking filled the room, mixing with our moans and cries. jay's hands moved to my ass, spreading my cheeks wide as he thrust up to meet my movements.

"you're being such a good little cumslut for me," he praised darkly. "i bet you can't wait to have my baby in this pussy, can you?"

"please, I need it!" i begged shamelessly, feeling myself start to unravel. "fill me up jay! fucking cum in my pussy. breed me like the naughty girl i am!"

"that's it, scream for me baby," he urged, snapping his hips up harder. "loud enough for the whole fucking street to hear what a needy little whore you are for your stepbrother's cock."

"OH MY GOD!" i threw my head back with a wail as my second orgasm crashed through her, cunt fluttering and milking jay's cock. he kept pistoning, fucking me through my high. he followed moments later, snarling his release as he pumped her full of his hot seed. feeling so full.

they collapsed together in a sweaty tangle of limbs, both gasping for breath. jay pulled me into a filthy kiss, tangling his fingers in her hair. "my perfect little cumdump," he rumbled against her lips.

jay rolls off me, his naked body glistening with sweat as he sprawls out on the bed. his eyes gleam with a mischievous spark.

"fuck, that was hot. i can't believe we just did that, baby. bet you never thought your own flesh and blood could rock your world like that."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

the room was quiet now.

only the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the occasional crack of thunder still rumbling outside. my skin was still buzzing, my breath finally starting to slow, but my heart… not so much.

jay hadn’t moved in a while.

he was still half-draped over me, chest pressed to my back, his arm curled tight around my waist like he wasn’t ready to let go. his breath warmed the curve of my shoulder, slow and steady against the skin he’d once bruised with his mouth.

i turned my head slightly. “you still alive?”

he didn’t answer right away. just hummed low in his throat and nuzzled closer, his nose brushing the back of my neck.

“barely,” he muttered. “you killed me.”

a small laugh escaped me. quiet. nervous. soft.

then i felt it—his hand sliding up from my waist, skimming over my ribs until it found my hand and laced our fingers together.

gentle. like he’d never gripped me too tight. like he wasn’t the same person who’d just pinned me down and made me come undone.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice a low rasp in the dark.

that got me. the softness. the checking in.

i nodded. “yeah. you?”

he exhaled into my skin. “…no.”

i blinked, twisting slightly to look at him. “what?”

jay met my gaze, barely. his lashes were low, and for the first time all night, he looked… tired. raw.

“i’m not okay,” he said again, quieter this time. “because i know what i just did. and i know i can’t take it back.”

i searched his face. “do you want to take it back?”

silence.

his thumb brushed slow circles against the back of my hand. he stared at our fingers, still linked between us.

“no,” he admitted. “but i want to do it right.”

he shifted closer, pulling the blanket higher over both of us, tucking it around my shoulder like a habit. something in him had shifted. his movements, his breath, his touch—they were all different now. still firm, still possessive—but quieter. more deliberate.

“i don’t want you thinking this was just tension,” he murmured. “or a mistake. or something i’ll ignore in the morning.”

i stared at him, chest tightening. “and what if i already know that?”

he met my eyes then, really looked.

something flickered across his face—something like relief, tangled in guilt and hope.

“you still feel like home,” he whispered. “even now.”

and somehow, that wrecked me more than anything he’d done with his hands.

i shifted back into his chest and let him hold me. let myself believe—for the first time in a long time—that maybe this wasn’t just a mistake waiting to happen.

maybe this was what came after.

“i guess you can keep my replica… even though i already ruined you…” we both chuckled in unison.

bittenbyenhypen, 2025

#enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #park jongseong #enhypen #enhypen jay #x reader #enhypen x y/n

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rafesteddy · 1 month ago

Text

+18 -> smut | Rafe sees the reader in her WAG jacket for the first time

𝓗𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝔂!𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓦𝓐𝓖!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

*the sport is not specified. This has been added to my Bar Down AU

c/w: swearing, pet names, fingering in a moving car, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, possessiveness, oral fixation, marking, male dom/soft dom, newer but established relationship, free use, ownership kink + ⚠︎ cross posted on my nhl account ⚠︎

1.3K

You’re curled up in the passenger seat, tucked into the custom jacket they handed out before the game. The zipper drawn halfway up your torso, sleeves falling long past your hands, collar popped just enough to show the delicate chain he gave you resting along your collarbone.

His name, his number, his team—stitched in bold across your back and printed down one sleeve. And since the moment you put it on, he hasn’t been able to look at you the same.

One hand grips the wheel. The other sprawls across your thigh, his thumb dragging slow circles against your skin. They won tonight. He was locked in. But the high buzzing through him now has nothing to do with the scoreboard.

Now he can decompress, replay the moments he had to brush aside to stay in the zone—the way you sat so close, cheering him on with that look that always seems meant just for him.

He noticed a few guys sneaking glances in your direction. He caught fans pointing at you, recognizing your face, your presence, the name stitched across your back. His name was on your body, but somehow it still did not feel like enough.

What you have between you is still new. But the pull of it is already powerful. Rafe’s possessiveness sits tight in his strong chest and low in his gut, curling around every breath he takes. You’ve got him. And you don’t even realize.

He shifts in his seat, jaw tight, breathing deep like he’s holding in a secret.

You glance over at him, smiling, and he chuckles—like he’s annoyed with himself for just how down-bad he already is.

“Baby,” he rasps, slick smile creeping in.

“What?” You ask, tilting your head playfully.

“You really don’t get it do you?” He squeezes your thigh making you shift closer.

Rafe presses a little harder on the gas. His eyes stay on the road, but his thoughts are already racing ahead. He’s thinking about you. About what he’s gonna do the second he gets you through his front door.

His hand slides higher on your leg, and you giggle softly, your smile spreading as you glance over at him. He groans low in his throat, the simple sound driving him insane.

He doesn’t even think, just slides his hand under your thigh and shifts you like it’s nothing. The car rocks slightly as he moves you. One leg lifted over the console, the other planted on the floor, stretching you wide.

You gasp softly, head tipping back against the window as the cool air skims between your thighs.

He doesn’t need to look directly at you. From the corner of his eye he catches everything—the lace, the curve of your thigh, the way your chest rises with each breath.

Rafe’s head falls back against the headrest, his jaw clenched tight. His fingers flex against your inner thigh, feeling just how warm and wet you are, even through the fabric. And for a moment, he almost pulls over. But he can’t… Not with the way he wants to ruin you in bed.

He starts tracing slow, teasing circles over the top of your panties, his focus already shattered. “—You’re mine,” he hums. “Like you were made for it…” You shift beneath his touch, your breath catching, and he glances at you. “Be sweet for me,” he says quietly. “Slide ’em to the side.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach down, dragging the wet fabric to the edge of your thigh. You leave yourself bare to him, breathing shakily, desperately waiting for his touch.

He lets out a quiet sound of approval, his fingers gliding through the slick between your thighs. Then he draws his hand back, bringing his fingers to his lips tasting you with a slow groan. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he sighs, voice rough. He tastes you slow, groaning low. “Fuck. Sweetest thing I’ve ever had—” He’s already reaching out for more, his hand dips between your thighs, and this time he pushes his fingers in deep.

You gasp as he sinks his fingers into you—long and thick—stretching you in a way that makes your hips jerk and your head fall back with a moan.

He works you slow at first, his fingers stroking deep and steady, the pad of his thumb dragging tight little circles over your clit. Your hips buck against his hand, the sounds of your breathing rising over the quiet hum of the road. The car might as well not even be moving—he’s driving one-handed, but all his focus is on the way you’re unraveling under his touch.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your face. “Fucking soaked for me. Can’t even wait to get home.”

You whimper, biting your lip, trying to stay quiet—but there’s no point. He’s curling his fingers just right now, dragging them against that perfect spot that makes you twitch and moan like you’ve got no control left. You grip the door handle, your other hand fisting in the hem of the jacket, your breath hitching with every pass of his thumb.

“I can feel it, baby,” he breathes, voice thick. “You’re close. Gonna come for me right here, aren’t you? In the car, wearing my fuckin’ name.”

That does it. You clamp around his fingers, the pressure snapping all at once as your orgasm hits you hard. Your head falls back; lips crying out his name as your hips grind helplessly against his hand.

Rafe groans low, slowing his fingers as you shake through it, guiding you through every aftershock. “That’s it,” he whispers, dragging his hand back slow. “Good girl.”

He parks with a sharp tug of the wheel and is out of the car in a blink. The passenger door swings open—he’s there, hauling you out like you weigh nothing, spinning you so your chest hits the car, your palms braced on the cold metal—but he stops himself.

You’re both breathing hard. He presses a kiss to the side of your head instead, grounding himself.

Then he pulls you toward the elevator, hand tight in yours, thumb still wet where he tasted you. You step inside, and the doors close around you.

Rafe presses up behind you, his hands wrapping around your waist, his chest rising against your back. His lips brush your ear as he breathes deeply.

“Do you even know how hard it is not to take you right here?”

You shiver as his fingers slip under the hem of the jacket, resting on your warm skin.

“I want you so bad it’s fucking painful.”

The elevator dings. You step out first. He doesn’t say a word, just follows—watching the sway of your hips, the stretch of his name across your back like it belongs there.

And then the apartment door shuts.

He’s on you.

He hauls you into the kitchen, spinning you so your chest hits the counter, your palms braced on the cool granite.

Rafe’s right there behind you, the heat rolling off him from under his crisp white dress shirt.

Your leggings and panties are tugged down in one swift motion. The soft drag of his belt slipping loose is enough to make your knees shake. The jacket stays on, slipping just low enough that his name stretches across your back as his pants fall to the floor.

Rafe’s cock presses between your slick folds, thick and hard, teasing you as he groans at how soaked you already are. “Fuck,” he drawls, almost to himself as he looks at you. “You’ve got my name all over you, baby.” He grips your hips with both hands, pushing in slow and deep.

His thrusts are strong, angled just right; moving like he knows every part of you. One hand stays on your hip, the other shifts to your shoulder, using it to anchor himself as he drives into you.

His body is pressed tight against yours, his breath hot at your neck. His mouth finds your skin, kissing, biting, claiming you more. It is not enough that his name is stitched into your jacket. He needs it etched into your skin.

“No one else gets this. No one,” he rasps, voice ragged and low.

He holds you tighter like he’s barely holding himself back, his hands firm on your hips as your moans spill out louder, more desperate. Then he shifts—lifts your leg, pulls you flush against him, bends you just enough to hit that spot that makes your legs shake and your breath catch, like you’re breaking apart right there in his hands.

Your moans twist into broken, breathless sounds, making him rut into you even harder, his toned hips slapping against your ass with each push. The kitchen, nothing but a mess of slick sounds and cries of pleasure.

He feels you clench around him and moans again—beside himself with how good you feel. So good he just might lose it completely. You glance back over your shoulder, feeling the same heat coiling low in your belly.

Rafe’s jaw is tight; eyes, locked on where he’s buried inside you, the front of his dress shirt bitten between his teeth so he can see his cock fills you. His muscles are tense, every inch of him is focused on you.

Your orgasm takes over before you can warn him. Your body tightens and you cry out, fluttering around him. He manages one more deep thrust, holding on for just a second longer and he pulls out fast.

Rafe hikes up your jacket just enough, finishing across your lower back with a guttural groan, spilling hot against your skin. His body shudders, breath breaking, everything inside him short-circuiting at the sight of his last name on your body looking back at him and his cum in pearly ropes on your skin.

He laughs quietly, still breathless, and when you look back, smiling, he is already reaching for you. “Wearing my name like that… fuck, you make it impossible to think straight,” he says with a hoarse laugh. “You own me…”

Rafe grabs the pocket square out of his suit pocket, cleaning you up as his mouth finds the back of your neck, kissing slowly. “So good,” he breathes. “Fuck, baby. You look good in my name, huh? You know you do?”

The words leave his lips warm and sticky sweet, making you melt into him.

He pulls your panties and leggings back into place, slow and careful, then wraps his arms around you and lifts you up on the counter, finding your lips again.

new tag list

#tw free use #hockey!rafe #rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader smut #rafe blurb 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader

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hivemuthur · 5 months ago

Note

kinda smutty but basically viktor x reader kinda modern au where he has to go to an event later, but reader distracts him by bringing him to bed and making out. eventually leads to multiple hickeys on his neck (i just know this man’s skin would bruise easily) which then leads to rushed makeup haul to find something that matches him to cover up. i love love love love love love love love love love love love love your writing! it’s so good!

Hi Anon! I see we share a common obsession with Viktor's neck. You match my freak.

Cuteness Aggression

viktorxgn!reader mature! kissing, or rather making out, slight dry humping and dirty talk

author’s note: Sue makes a cameo (or rather is mentioned in this fic), because I wanted it to be as inclusive as possible, therefore I am not mentioning Reader's skin tone. Other than that, it's just lovebombing fluff. Also heeh, it has a tiny bit of playful wrestling, because I am an inconsistent twat. Viktor's scent for this fic is: Hyde by Hiram Green.

word count: 2,1K

—

“Why are you looking at me like this?”

Viktor’s voice snapped you out of the wanderings of your deranged mind. Oh, and did your mind wander. It snaked itself beneath the leg of his woollen trousers, hugging his tiny ass so nicely. Then up, up his sleeve to place an imaginary kiss on the vein in the crook of his elbow and lick his stomach right where the belt would inevitably leave a dent in the skin.

Then, your imaginary tongue travelled up, making a stop at every freckle, only to leave a nasty bite mark somewhere in the middle of his chest. And maybe on his neck as well. Which was now flexing proudly from the V-shaped collar of his sweater, the tiniest bit of white shirt peeking from underneath it. A dark brown coat on top, framing him into a model example of someone who just looks effortlessly good.

You were kneeling on the bed, ogling him shamelessly, Viktor’s eyes pensive on you as he tried to squeeze the verdict out of your agape mouth. “Well? My eyes are up here, I will remind you.”

“I, uh…” you mumbled stupidly, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Yes, that looks good.” Eyes still fixed on him, because you forgot how to blink.

“I feel like I should change into something less slutty if this is your reaction. We wouldn’t want people at the charity gala throwing themselves at me, would we?” He smirked, looking at his nails nonchalantly, and suddenly you realised your face was burning.

“God, sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly and hid your face in your palms. “I just haven’t seen you all dressed up in a while.”

“No, no need to be sorry, I am immensely enjoying this, if you couldn’t tell by now,” he said smugly, shaking his coat off and throwing it over a chair. “I would take massive advantage of it if Jayce wasn’t picking me up in half an hour.” He took a couple of steps forward and dropped his cane on the mattress beside you.

“Well, maybe you could take a little advantage then?” you asked playfully, rising on your knees and pulling him by the belt to sit on the bed next to you. Straddling his hips, you wrapped your arms around his neck and licked his cheek all the way up to his temple. “I can’t believe you are abandoning me, looking like this, to flex in front of some STEM bros.”

“Ah, I solemnly swear to atone upon my return.” A low, suggestive whisper rumbled against your skin as his hands cradling your ass sent a jolt up your spine, and you involuntarily sunk deeper into his lap, forcing a grunt out of him. Viktor shot you a scolding look and chuckled, “If you ruin my pants, I’m taking yours. And you wouldn’t want that.”

“You better pray I don’t ruin you and that you can feel your legs when I’m done with you,” you breathed out, placing a trail of slick kisses on the tendon of his neck, and Viktor cackled, the pitch of his laugh embarrassingly high.

Playfully, he pushed you away, his lips forming a comical pout. “You cannot crumple me! We’ve been picking those clothes for an hour, ah—” he gasped as your teeth caught his earlobe. A giggle pushed itself past his mouth, and his hands squeezed your thighs firmly. “That’s it,” he stated, shrugging you off of him, only to crawl on top of you clumsily.

He pinned your hands above your head, lifted your shirt with his nose and blew a raspberry on your stomach, making you squirm and kick your legs around. “Please! I surrender, ah!” You screamed as he tickled your tummy with his nose and tongue.

Viktor lifted himself and shot you a look to check if you did, in fact, surrender and regretted instantly as you wrapped your legs around him and trapped him in a tight squeeze, forcing him to let out a startled huff. He landed with his chest flush against yours, your noses bumping each other.

“I am ready to suffer the consequences of crumpling you, mister,” you whispered against his lips, when a concern crossed your thoughts at the sight of a frown on his forehead. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, only my pride,” he snorted, kissing your neck. “If I knew some nice pants and a sweater would make you go so feral, I’d dress up every day.” You were flashed an incredulous grin and granted freedom of your hands, which you immediately used to tangle your fingers into Viktor’s hair and shove your tongue into his mouth.

He moaned, at first surprised, then just welcoming, when his hands snaked around your body to squeeze your waist and cup your ass once more. He rolled both of you to the side, but you wouldn’t have it and pushed him further to trap him underneath you.

“It seems the more I can’t have you, the more I want you. Something to think about,” you smirked and ground your hips into his mercilessly. Viktor groaned, his hands hovering tentatively around your thighs before slapping your ass playfully.

“I told you how I feel about my pants getting ruined or me getting crumpled, but you seem to be completely deaf,” Viktor huffed, utterly bemused by the sudden rush of want in you, as you licked his neck, making all sorts of obscene smacking sounds.

You cupped his face, your fingers digging into the base of his skull as your tongue traced his upper lip and the seam of his mouth, coaxing him to open. A laugh got caught in his throat as your nose pressed against his and you inhaled him deeply, licking the roof of his mouth and sending a content moan straight to his stomach.

His hips bucked beneath you, making a smile bloom across your lips. You tugged at his hair to expose his neck and placed a trail of loving pecks all the way down to his collar bone. Viktor writhed against you, sending threats in your direction, his breathy tone making them sound entirely unserious. “You have no idea what I am going to do to you when I come back.”

“Oh, baby, are you not enjoying my love?” You cooed against his skin, blowing on a new love mark you sucked into his neck.

“I am enjoying it thoroughly,” he grunted, pressing his half-hard cock up to meet your core and you whined into the crook of his shoulder, careful not to drool on his beautiful sweater. “But I have something around twenty minutes before Jayce gets here, and you are making me look like a whore.”

“But you make such a beautiful whore, Viktor, I can’t help it,” you wheezed theatrically into his ear, drawing another giggle this evening. “Also, this will make it look like you really cared about coming to the gala.” Without putting much thought into what you had just said, you resumed your work on spattering Viktor’s neck with little marks of affection.

And he let you, because it felt too great to stop. The weight of your hips so sweet on his pelvis that he could probably get off on it if he let you grind on him for a little while longer. Your hands groping him greedily, your usual roles suddenly switched, as he was the one panting and writhing for his dear life, praying that his crotch wouldn’t be damp after all of this.

He let himself be pulled by the bite on his lower lip, let his shirt slip out of his pants as you explored his stomach and stuffed your greedy fingers under his belt, tickling his navel. He allowed you to palm him through his pants, even though it had earned you a bite on the neck of your own.

You leeched onto his skin, chuckling between the small nips at his lips, a singular web-like strand of drool connecting your mouths. When you finally lifted to gaze upon your creation, Viktor looked like a fallen angel—his hair a complete mess, face and ears a darker shade of pink, eyes molten, lids hooded, and mouth slightly parted in a soft smile. And his clothes, well, crumpled like a thin paper sheet.

He traced his fingers under your t-shirt, rubbing circles on each of your sides. Admiring the mark that had begun to bloom on your collarbone, a realisation hit him. He was going to be a complete hot mess, his neck most likely stained with bruises. He clasped a hand to his mouth and whispered in exaggerated concern, “How bad is the damage?”

You cocked your head from side to side, smiling innocently, and he rolled his eyes, your name falling from his lips in a playful scold. Shrugging you off of himself, he reached to the bedside for your mirror and nearly choked at the state of his skin—red, bloodshot marks covering his neck, a slight swelling around the spots you bit on harder.

“Lásko, you have outdone yourself,” he sighed, tracing his fingertips across each of the love confessions you sucked into his skin. “And what am I going to do now, hm?”

“A turtleneck?” You laughed, waggling your eyebrows at him. “Or a scarf?”

“Yes, let’s make it even more obvious. Other ideas, and please let them be good?”

“I can suck on the rest of you, so the colour matches everywhere, ow!” You winced at the pinch on your ass and batted Viktor’s hand away. “Alright! Alright, I think Sue left something behind after the last time, let me check if it matches you.” Honest capitulation could be heard in your voice, as you slid off the bed to search for Sue’s foundation in the bathroom—the only person you knew that could match Viktor in the ghastly skin tone club.

You grabbed it triumphantly from the drawer under the sink and threw it in Viktor’s direction, before grabbing your make-up bag and kneeling in front of him on the bed.

“Lift, please,” you said flatly, propping his chin up, momentarily fixated on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed beneath your fingers. You gave his throat an affectionate squeeze and murmured, “Bye, bye hickeys,” making Viktor chuckle.

“You will see them again in the evening,” he said warmly, placing his hands on your thighs.

“Oh, you bet your ass I will. I am going to scrub this makeup off you the minute you step through the door,” you muttered absently, your focus fully on pounding the fluid onto your masterpiece.

“I think this is my best work yet,” you announced proudly, adding more and more product, as the stubborn redness refused to disappear under Sue’s delicate cosmetics.

You had to use baby powder to set it, since none of your humble makeup collection items seemed to match Viktor’s skin tone, making him smell like a newborn, who happened to like birch tar and bergamot cologne.

You patted his cheek affectionately and passed him the mirror so he could evaluate whether the troubleshooting had proven successful, adding in a flat, nasal tone, “We do not accept refunds.”

“Not bad,” he hummed, flexing his neck, which immediately made you weak in your knees.

“I hope you understand I will have to make you squirm for this later, yes?” he said matter-of-factly, slapping his palms flat on your thighs, his eyebrows lifted in expectation.

You nodded and kept nodding until Viktor smiled and your face twisted into a dumb grin. “That’s settled then,” he stated with one final firm pat on your legs and lifted himself off the bed. He grabbed his cane, coat, checked his phone and mumbled something about Jayce already waiting downstairs.

You walked up to him, pinching his ass and picking at his hair, your hands wandering as you tried to straighten his clothes and put his shirt back in place. Before leaving, he pulled you into a tight hug and whispered against your lips, “Thank you. I’m much less nervous than I was half an hour ago.”

“Hmm, no worries,” you murmured between soft kisses placed on his beauty marks. “I am so very proud of you; I hope you know this.”

“Oh yes, after today I am convinced that if you could, you would wear my skin as a pelt,” he chuckled against your neck, his breath fanning your skin with a warm breeze. “I would have to make sure it’s covered with hickeys before that,” you said, adjusting his collar. “And I would never, ever take it off.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #viktor x gn!reader #viktor fluff #viktor x reader fluff #requests

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godmadeaterribleerror · 5 months ago

Text

Making Me Crazy

Main Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, the tiniest amount of fluff, just pure, raw smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, overstimulation, thigh riding)

Title from Cola by Lana Del Ray.

Summary/Warnings: Request from @little-wicked10! Ben overhears you doubting his generosity in bed, and immediately sets out to prove you wrong.

Author's Note: Top ten horniest things I've ever written. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.5k

Supes should be required to announce their presence whenever they walk within earshot of other people. If they were, you wouldn’t have snapped at Butcher that, for the last time, you were not sleeping with Ben. You wouldn’t have scowled and hissed that maybe you made come fuck me raw eyes at him, and maybe you liked him as more than a semi-reformed—you’ll call it about 70%, which was a passing grade—supe teammate, but you weren’t going to fuck him, because he was probably selfish in bed, and your lack of self-worth did not extend to falling to your knees only to get nothing in return.

But Ben hadn’t shouted a warning that he could hear you, and now you were gaping at him—standing at the foot of your bed with a cocky smirk—and trying to find a way out of this. Figure out whatever lie you could tell him that would make him just shrug off what he’d heard and walk away.

You weren’t really confident you’d find one.

“We’ve, ah, we’ve been over this, Ben. I’m not having sex with you-“

“Not now.” He waves you off with firm words that shouldn’t be settling that deep in your core. “But you will.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re awfully confident given I just said no-“

“But you’re going to say yes,” Ben drawls your name, lowering himself down to hold your gaze. “Because I am not a fucking pussy who can’t get a woman off. And I’m going to get you off, over and over until you’re fucking screaming for more, until you’re so fucking cockdrunk you only know my name.”

“Ben-“

He smirks. “Good, you’re already starting-“

“Shut up.” You snap, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I’m not fucking you just because you say you’ll get me off, or so you can proved some sort of point-“

“I don’t have fucking shit to prove.” He shrugs. “And I would get you off, baby. Christ, I’m doing you a damn favor-“

That makes you laugh. “It is not a favor to have sex with me. I could go downstairs, flash my tits at Butcher, and even his ass would jump on me-“

“Butcher couldn’t handle you.” Ben snaps, and you’re suddenly very away of how he’s towering over you, how he’s broad and muscular, how big his hands are, how soft his hair looks, how there’s a bulge in his pants that has to be padded to look bigger-

You swallow, forcing your eyes to his focused, darkened, almost dizzyingly lustful ones. “Ben-“

“I could handle you.” He smirks at you, leaning down until his nose bumps yours, and you can smell his cologne and the whiskey on his breath and something heavier that’s musky and heady and might just be him. “I could fucking ruin you, doll. Make you never want another cock again.”

“Oh.” He must have slipped you something earlier, or there must be a gas leak, because there’s no other explanation for why you nod, lean forward a little further, a little cautiously, and whisper an agreement against his lips. “Okay.”

Then Ben crashes into you, tangling broad fingers in your hair and kissing you with a bruising force that makes your head spin, and you know exactly why you agreed. For this. For Ben, and a chance to taste if he was really that good.

And goddamn him, he was. He was better than good. He was a demanding tongue down your throat and firm hands pulling and rubbing at this skin of your hips and waist. He was a massive, warm body lowering over yours and forcing you to crawl backwards on the mattress.

He was a fucking sex god, and you feel like you’d just committed the worst sin of all. You’d doubted him. And—as his knee shoves between your thighs and you start to see spots when his kiss only deepens—you know you’re about to repent.

And when Ben rips off your shirt and bra in one brutal movement, kisses a sloppy line over your jaw, down your neck, and right to your breasts—kneading with one hand as he pulls your nipple into his mouth—you decide that whatever he demands, you’ll offer. This is already mind-numbing pleasure, and if the only relief he’s offered you is grinding against him and his mouth swallowing every whining moan, you’ll take it.

Then he moves his leg away, chuckles at your needy sound from the loss, and you know he’s onto you. That he’s got you bent to his will.

“Don’t lose your mind yet,” he mutters against your skin, nipping at your breast. “We’ve got a damn long way to go before you can afford that.”

“I’m not, fuck-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as Ben tears off your pants, teases two fingers over the wet spot on your panties, and shoves them aside to expose your bare pussy to the air.

“You’re fucking wet, doll.” He rises back to your face, kissing and sucking all over your face but your lips, where you’re gaping and gasping his name. “All of this for me?”

“It’s- Ben-“

Your voice turns to a squeak as he spanks your cunt once, running three fingers over your folds as the sting fades to pleasure.

“And don’t fucking think about lying.” He hisses in your ear. “I’ll know.”

You swallow, your voice soft and hoarse. “It’s for you.”

“You think I’m fucking hot?” Ben shoves one finger into your pussy, grunting as you squeeze around him. “Fuck, baby, you want me to make you feel good? Want me to prove to you how fucking wrong you were?”

“God, yes.” You squeeze your eyes shut, arching your back as Ben adds a second finger and begins to pump. “Ben, fuck me, please-“

“Tell me what you want, doll.” He picks up his pace, scissoring and crooking his fingers deep inside you until you’re writhing below him. “Say it, say you want my cock-“

Ben rubs right against that spongey place inside you, dangling over the edge of what you need—what you might die without—and you moan. “Fuck, I want your cock, Ben, I want it so bad-“

“Good girl.” He mutters against your skin, his teeth grazing right at a sensitive spot behind your ear. “But you’re still going to need to fucking earn it.”

You have a brief moment of lucidity where you realize what he’s said, and your eyes fly open. “What the fuck do you mean, I have to- Ben!”

He starts to fingerfuck you at a rapid, almost frantic speed that’s made of lewd sounds, desperate, breathy pleas escaping your lips, and a quickly growing bomb of fire in your gut that’s set to burst so soon-

“Cum of my fingers, doll, fucking soak my hand-“

You scream as the bomb goes off, and you’re overwhelmed with your orgasm. It floods your body and launches you into space, higher, higher, and when you fall easily back down to earth you realize Ben hasn’t stopped. His pace has increased to furious, and you’re already on the edge again. You’d be embarrassed by how quickly you came apart for him—how wrong you were—if Ben was slowing down.

But he’s not. He’s dragging you closer and closer to vaulting back into blinding release, and it’s right on the edge of pain and pleasure. It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and God, you just want him to fuck you-

“Ben,” you gasp, grabbing pointlessly at his wrist. “Fuck, I need you, need you so bad-“

He pulls your lower lip between his teeth, his fingers bending and pressing right against that spongy spot inside of you, and this orgasm is only more powerful. You can barely hear his low, growled promise right in your ear.

“Fucking earn it.”

When you regain your head, your pussy is clenching and fluttering against nothing and strong hands are gripping your waist, maneuvering you with no effort at all. And when your vision returns from a hazy blur, Ben’s below you. Holding you on his lap, your legs tight around his thigh.

You stare at him with wide eyes, and he chuckles, rolling your hips with a firm grip as he starts to bite and suck along your collarbone.

“Fuck yourself on my thigh, baby.” He growls, licking right up your throat like a fucking animal, drawing a high whimper from your lips. “Make yourself cum like the dirty little cockslut you are-“

You start to grind on him like he’s flipped a switch in your body. You’re overwhelmed with orgasms, and your cunt is sensitive and raw, but fuck that’s nothing compared to the sheer want for Ben in your body.

So you throw your all into it. Soaking his jeans with your needy cunt, grabbing at his shirt until he tears it off for you to scratch uselessly at his chest. Fuck, you even put on a show for him. Wiggling and rolling your body in his hold, watching him through lidded eyes, diving to kiss at his neck and drifting a hand down to touch that huge cock, straining in his pants-

“Fuck-“ Ben yanks your hand away, his voice stern and low, and you whine. “I’m not fucking done with you, doll, you need to fucking control yourself-“

You just moan, tugging at his hair in a silent please, and his face falls into one that might be—if you didn’t know better—awe.

“Christ,” he mutters your name, running a rough hand up your back to grip at your throat. “You need to my permission to cum, babydoll?”

Babydoll. That does things to you that you’re past trying to hide.

You’re past trying to hide most everything.

You nod, making a choked plea that’s meant to be Ben, but comes out high and feral, and Ben smirks, gripping your hips until you’re sure he’ll leave a mark.

But his words are low on your skin, and his dick is pressed right on your clit, and God, you hope he marks you. Maybe then you’ll feel like this forever.

“Cum,” Ben growls your name in your ear, and there it is. You scream as you reach another, higher state of euphoria, and you’re so close to just exploding when Ben hauls you up his chest and tosses you down onto your back, rising onto his knees and lowering his face between your thighs.

You don’t get warning when he shoves his face right into your cunt and starts to eat you out like he’s never eaten anything before. Like you’re the sweetest fruit or candy, or saltiest and most carefully crafted meal, or just straight fucking heroin into his bloodstream. He goes down on your with his whole fucking face, pulling your raw, swollen clit between his lips before flicking it with his tongue until you’re a whining frenzy, keeping your thighs split open with his hands and barely flinching as you start to buck and fly off the bed, the orgasms falling through you like rain. One hand even sneaks between your legs, and Ben focuses his sinful mouth on your over-attended clit as his fingers plunge back into your cunt, and you destroy yourself on his everything.

You must have squirted somewhere in there, because when Ben finally rises up his beard is shining with your arousal.

But it might also just be that. This might just be so fucking good, Ben might be so good, that you could flood a desert with how much you need him inside you right now. Really, properly inside you-

Ben must read your mind, because he smirks at you, prowls over your loose and fucked-out body, and drags you into a long, slow, shockingly soft kiss that makes you sigh into his throat, his hand rubbing a comfortingly patten on your waist.

“You’re being such a good girl,” He says your name against your lips, and you think that alone sends another small, shuddering orgasm through your body. “Good girls deserve some cock.”

You make the most needy, lustful noise you’ve ever made in your life, gasp slightly as Ben rises over your body, and scream when his cock slams into your dripping, aching cunt without warning.

“God-“

“I’m not God, babydoll.” Ben’s words are spoken against your lips with a smug satisfaction, and you almost blackout as he rolls his hips. “I’m fucking better. Hold on.”

You obey blindly—spun out and faded on how he’s splitting you open, filling you up more than you’ve ever been filled—and wrap your arms around his neck as he starts to fuck you.

This is heaven. God, you hate how right he was, but you might be ascending. You were already ruined from his hands and mouth, and this is being razed. Fucking decimated. This is Ben’s cock hitting spots inside of you that you didn’t know existed, and his hands grabbing and pulling at your tits, his balls slapping against your skin and his mouth leaving little marks wherever he can reach skin, his fucking fingers rolling your nipples and his thumb rubbing on your raw clit until your mouth falls open, and you cum without sound.

He doesn’t stop. You’re drooling, making high, gasping moans of his name, and completely wrecked under him, but Ben doesn’t slow down. He’s grunting and groaning in your ear, chasing his own release deep into your pussy, and you want him to have it.

He’s really fucking earned it. Especially as his thrusts start to stutter and the bed starts to shake in a way that makes you think it might break, and the low, primal noises that leave him as he comes inside you drag one last, smaller orgasm from deep in your core.

He’s going to brag. When Ben pulls out, you’re sure he’s about to mock and taunt you about being right, but he just sets you down carefully between the sheets, walks into the bathroom, and returns with a damp, warm cloth to clean up the mess he left between your thighs.

Then he looks up at you, and now he’s going to grow cruel. To keep dirty talking or fucking you until you’re in a daze you don’t know how to return from, when you just want to rest. Or maybe he’ll just leave you to deal with the soreness of your pussy and throbbing on your skin from all his biting and sucking, and you’ll never speak of this again.

But he doesn’t do either of those things. Ben’s eyes meet yours, still guarded but not hardened, where you can see deeper into him, and he’s a little more human in there. Like you’d worshipped and repented, and now you get your true reward.

And this is it. Green eyes meet yours, he blinks at you with a frown—like he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at—and then crawls back over you. Ben settles at your side, and your body against his own warm, solid, one. He doesn’t speak, but he touches you carefully, like you might break, and it’s louder.

And you might have had a few other things about him wrong as well.

Because Ben doesn’t move through the night, and you wake up still in his arms.

End Note: Found a way to make it emotional too. Am I even me if I don't?

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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riddlemelater · 2 months ago

Text

Ruin Me - T.N

masterlist | nav

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

summary: Theo's struggling with the weight of his duty, lucky for him, you aren't ready to give up on him— No matter what he's done.

wordcount: 4.6k

warnings: Death Eater!Theo X fem!reader, mentions of blood/murder, alcohol use, smut, p in v, slight nipple play if you squint, mild pain kink, rough sex, emotional repression, implied trauma/war, established relationship.

a/n: My humblest apologies for not updating my Mattheo fic. I’ve just lost a very dear family member this week, and I'm struggling with the motivation to write. In the meantime, please accept this Theo draft that’s been gathering dust for months. Take care of yourselves, lovelies <3

The first indication that all was not well was the front door slamming shut with a resounding thud. One that echoed through the dark halls of his family's property and lingered in the air like a bad smell. The sheer force of it had the supporting walls trembling from the impact as it settled into place, as though it had shaken the very foundations on which the manor was built.

Then, it was the heavy drag of dragon-skin boots across the hardwood floors, careless and scuffing at every surface that dared get in their way. Loud, thudding footsteps that resounded through the corridors, causing you to bristle with anticipation. No doubt that Theo was trailing dirt, blood, and Merlin knows what else across the fitted carpets and polished halls. Even worse, you doubted he cared at all, too focused on whatever he'd been cajoled into doing tonight.

He often got like this after a mission, as if he’d lost all ability to think. His usual dry humour and composure replaced by a sort of tunnel vision focus, bordering on obsession. Whenever Theo was like this, he had no regard for anyone or anything— he was volatile, cold, unpredictable.

And there was nothing that could fix that. Not even you.

The poor elves would be appalled when they saw him, his blatant disregard for their strenuous upkeep of Nott Manor an unthinkable sin. You could picture them now, begrudgingly cleaning up the offending footprints while muttering sourly about the reckless heir they were bound to serve. You made a mental note to apologise profusely on his behalf in the morning, already thinking about what baked treats would best appease two scorned house-elves.

Before Theo’s return, all had been well - or, at least — as well as it could be when your boyfriend was in the presence of the Dark Lord.

The soft crackling of the fire in the far corner of the bedroom cast a flickering glow across the room, like the fleeting light of the setting sun on a summers evening. And as the flames burned out to embers you sat tight jawed, fidgety, and trying to distract yourself with one of the books that rested on Theo's bedside.

As one hand flicked through pages you weren't really reading, the other rested in the fur of the purring feline in your lap. The small creature, curled up and warm against your cool skin, soothed the restlessness you fought halfheartedly. You fell into a rhythm, stroking his fur in time with the gentle rise and fall of his tiny frame, biting at the dry skin of your bottom lip.

You hated when Theo was away.

He had been out for hours. So long in fact that you'd abandoned any hope of fulfilling your dinner plans, and instead settled into the plush - but empty - four poster bed. Armed with a book and the cat, who'd soon taken to sprawling out on Theo’s side of the mattress, and you waited apprehensively.

Time twisted in on itself — hours slipping by in a slow, aching crawl. You'd learned not to keep an eye on the clock nowadays, and so you continued to scratch behind the cat's ears, smiling as he purred every so often. You were almost envious of how ignorant the small animal was, sleeping soundly through the heavy thud of boots just down the hall, the footsteps heading to ruin what looked like a perfectly good nap wrapped up in Theo's expensive sheets.

Down the hall, the familiar sound of a cupboard opening, then a glass being firmly sat down on the table echoed through the corridors. Your mind's eye pictured Theo, reaching for one of the many bar cabinets, pouring a healthy glass of whiskey then dispersing of it in one, large gulp.

Not a good night, then. You thought absently and continued your pets, turning a page of the book propped up against the pillow, halfheartedly trying to feign interest. It was best not to pry on nights like this, he'd tell you in his own way once he was ready. Or maybe he wouldn't, and you'd just have to accept that there were some things best left unsaid. Some sins that were best left unconfessed.

You listened to the soft purr of the sleeping animal beside you and waited, anxious.

Eventually, Theo appeared—sullen, quiet. As expected, he said nothing, and so you said nothing either. You stole a glance at him and regretted it instantly: gaunt lines carved into his face, flecks of what you could only assume was blood scattered across his skin. The dark circles beneath his eyes had become a near-constant feature, and his hair stuck out in every direction, like he’d been dragging his fingers through it for hours.

He looked so different now from the fourteen-year-old boy you'd fallen in love with. Back then, his dark circles were from staying up too late in the library, his dishevelled hair from falling asleep on his notes while he tried to practice a particularly difficult spell. Now his late nights were filled with fear, spurred on not by academic success, but by dark magic and a burning mark on his left forearm.

Through your thick lashes, you watched his robes fall unceremoniously from his body, piling in a discarded heap by the ottoman. He kicked them away from his feet, and his boots clattered against the floor a moment later, with the same careless disregard for where they landed. You said nothing, only watched the dull expression on his face— lifeless and miserable— and waited for him to speak.

Theo sighed and huffed as though something was weighing heavily on his mind, yet he didn't speak, only stripped down to his boxers and disappeared into the en-suite. The shower began to run and your eyes flitted up to meet the ajar door he'd just slid behind, tentatively listening to his movements until he settled underneath the stream of water.

Definitely not a good night.

Wordlessly, you rose from the bed and lifted his robes, dropping them into the washing basket without taking a look at them - you didn't want to know what, or who, was staining them. On nights like this, it was best not to ask because you’d never like the answer, and Theo would struggle to meet your gaze.

The water still ran in the bathroom, falling harshly against the tiled floor as Theo scrubbed at his skin with fervour, a ritual neither of you had entirely come to terms with. Your teeth bit at the dry skin of your lips, the air thick with tension, and you returned his boots to the shoe rack, murmuring a quick cleaning spell and hiding them from sight. As if hiding the evidence he'd ever left the house might help him forget.

Whether that was for your benefit or Theo’s was unclear.

In the bathroom, Theo was muttering, not loud enough for you to make out details, but enough that you were aware of it. Whatever had happened tonight was playing on his mind. You knew it was bad, but Theo had come home in one piece - and that? Well, that was good enough for you.

Was it selfish of you? Perhaps. But Theo was alive, and really, that's all that mattered.

In recent years, you'd seen how ruthless Voldemort could be, you'd watched when the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory had appeared before the student body, pale and lifeless, whilst his father wailed at his side. When Harry Potter had fought him in the Department of Mysteries, you’d all seen the news coverage. You could still picture the Daily Prophet's front page announcing his return, clear as day. And when things had begun to change at Hogwarts, you'd only held onto Theo tighter, promised that no matter what, you were there for him.

A promise you would honour to the grave.

Theo was no stranger to the cruelty of the Dark Lord. His mother’s death had marked him, twisted him into something darker even as a child, but it was his father’s loyalty to the cause that had nearly destroyed him. You still remember the look on his face when he received that letter in your sixth year—that letter.

It was December. You’d just finished your winter exams. Theo had decided to stay at Hogwarts over the break, just to be with you, to escape whatever darkness called to him. But that evening, as he sat beside you on the couch, his fingers trembling as he hesitated, something in him was cracked open. He’d been terrified to show you what he’d received in the morning post—a letter that wasn’t just words on parchment, but a death warrant. A promise. One that sealed his future as a servant of the Dark Lord.

The moment he handed it to you, his eyes wide, he looked to you as if you might be his salvation — or his undoing. But before you could say a word, before you could reach for him, he crumpled the letter back in his hand and whispered, "I have to go."

And Theo went home for Christmas that year.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to get clean enough that his hushed murmurs had fallen quiet, and another ten until the water finally shut off entirely. You weren’t sure what version of Theo you’d get.

Some nights he’d come in without a word, he’d shower and scrub at his skin— scrub at that mark until he felt better— then he’d collapse into bed beside you, wrap his arms around your waist and tug you close, whisper sweet nothings into your ear till you fell asleep tangled up together. You wouldn’t speak, but you’d burrow closer, let his tight grip squeeze the breath from your lungs if it meant he could rest easier.

“Still here, then." He said flatly, his tone laced with a bitter sharpness. You looked up at him cautiously, studying him. "Thought maybe you'd have finally grown a spine and left."

The towel around his waist dropped, and he tugged on a fresh shirt and clean boxer shorts, not glancing at you once.

So it was that version of Theo tonight.

You said nothing, your fingers still stroking the cat lying beside you. The small creature stirred a little, then sat up quickly as Theo scoffed. Its eyes narrowed as it stretched out, as if limbering up for an attack— the sweet thing had always preferred you, much to Theo’s amusement, and clung to your side whenever he had the chance. Your gaze flitted from the cat to Theo, concern etched into your features.

"Don't look at me like that. I don't want your pity." He spat, instinctively tucking his left arm from sight, pulling a jumper over his head a moment later. You knew he hated when you saw his mark.

The cat sprang off the bed and scuttled out the door quickly, Theo's words clearly agitating the small beast. You frowned, watching the end of his bushy tail slipping out of sight, leaving the two of you alone.

"You scared him." You murmured softly, your eyes lingering on the slightly ajar door. Then, as if you'd drifted off briefly, your head turned back towards Theo, taking in the sight of him as he dried his hair with the towel, his dark locks tousled and damp from the shower

"Theo baby, I-" You tried, voice tender and careful. Using that word— that name that was only ever his— hoping it might jolt him out of his spiral. Comfort him, ground him.

But he flinched like the word burned him.

"Don't."

It came out like a snarl, cutting through your hesitant words. So unlike your Theo, it was almost unrecognisable. He spun sharply, eyes wide. Wild.

"Don't fucking 'baby' me." His voice was low and cruel. Mocking.

You bristled, swallowing back the sting. Fighting every instinct to physically recoil from his words. He didn’t mean it. You knew that, even if it hurt to hear. Your nails dug into your palms, crescents pressing deep into skin. Every breath felt brittle, like it might shatter in your throat. You wanted to move—reach for him—but your limbs felt like they’d been filled with lead. If you could just get to him, take his hand, press kisses to his bruised knuckles and red skin, maybe he’d see. Maybe then he’d realise you were in this for keeps.

Maybe if you just—

"I killed a boy with eyes the same shade as yours tonight."

He didn’t look for your reaction — didn’t need to. He could feel it in the silence. He didn't need to see your wide eyes or parted lips to know. He just started to pace, hands dug into his hair and tugging angrily, as if he could tear the image of their lifeless faces from his mind if he pulled hard enough.

You swallowed the lump beginning to form, crawling across the bed till you were sat at the edge. Waiting for the right moment to interrupt, but he was talking now, and he needed to talk about it. You needed him to talk.

“A kid. Younger than me.” He muttered, not looking at you, just pacing angrily. As if he were at war with himself. "I didn't flinch."

“What kind of person doesn’t flinch?” He scoffed, a bitter, breathless sound that didn’t quite reach a laugh. “I looked him in the eyes. Held my wand steady as he begged. Do you know how easy it was?”

You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, uncontrollable tears welling up and threatening to spill. He stopped pacing for a moment, just long enough to look at you— and Merlin, there was something fractured in his stare. Like he wanted you to see him as a monster, that cruel snarl on his face as if he wanted you to look away in shame.

“Like breathing. That easy.” He snapped his fingers and you flinched, your whole body jerking like a puppet on a string.

Theo's chest heaved, as though the act had knocked the wind out of him. His shoulders collapsed inward, jaw slack, fingers twitching faintly like they hadn’t gotten the message that the moment had passed.

His eyes fluttered shut, as if he couldn't bear to even look at you. His tongue ran across the inside of his cheek, and he exhaled a bitter sigh, one that was loaded with self-loathing and spite. Your heart broke for him.

"Theo, baby. You had no choice." You murmured weakly, pleading. It wasn't enough, but what else could you say— I'm sorry your father signed you up for a war you didn't want to be a part of?

"I killed someone tonight. Do you even get that?" He snapped incredulously, taking a step closer to you. And it was like that flicker of softness from just a moment ago had vanished, replaced by the hardened composure that had been drilled into him.

Your lip trembled, mouth opening and closing, useless, as you tried to speak. Tears pricked in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stared back at him, speechless.

"Dead. Gone. Just like that. Do you really think you understand how I feel at all?"

He took another step toward you, less than a meter from the edge of the bed where you sat. The same bed that you'd held him in as he cried, sobbed till his voice died out about the things he was terrified to have to do. Things he could now do, as easily as breathing, apparently.

You shook your head in quiet defeat. He scoffed once more.

"Exactly. So don't sit here with your little book and your— your fucking cat and act like everything is fine."

His voice raised louder, crueller, and you forced yourself to look away and exhale shakily. Theo hadn't taken his eyes off you since his outburst; he just stood and watched, chest heaving up and down in ragged breaths.

"Theo..." You said softly, rising from the mattress and reaching out to cup his cheek, holding his face in your much smaller hand like he was made of glass. "You didn’t have a choice. It's not your fault."

He opened his mouth, another argument on the tip of his tongue, and your head shook gently. He blinked, as if he was about to ignore you, but then he pressed his lips together and his eyes softened.

"It's not your fault, baby." You said again, stronger this time. Less like you were trying to convince him, and more like you were telling the truth. Your thumb stroking over his cheek in tender, repetitive swipes. He didn't flinch under your touch, but he didn't lean into it either. Just stared down at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

"You can't forget it, I know." You soothed, "But you don't need to deal with it on your own either. You can talk to me."

Theo's head shook just slightly. "You don't know what you're saying." He swallowed, his familiar blue eyes staring down at you.

"Yes, I do."

He shook his head again, firmer. "I can't. I'll only hurt you. I'll destroy everything good in you just by being with you."

Your hand slid down his cheek, skimmed down past the tender skin of his neck, and paused as it reached his chest. You could feel the quick, uneven thrum of his heart, pulsing in his chest like a trapped bird.

"Then ruin me." You murmured.

It came out soft, but sure—like you meant it. Like it wasn’t some reckless offer made out of pity or panic, but a choice. A deliberate invitation to be broken, that you’d do anything if it meant that he wouldn’t have to break alone.

Theo froze. His chest stopped its ragged rise and fall. His eyes dropped to where your hand pressed flat against his chest, to the place where you could feel the wild, desperate flutter of his heart. And then he looked back at you.

Your breath hitched as he surged forward, lips pressing against your own in a bruising kiss that made you stagger back a step. He was unrelenting, however, and his strong hands only wrapped around you, pulling you back to him.

One hand tangled in your hair, messy and desperate, pressing your head closer to his and chasing your lips hungrily. The other rested on the small of your back, his fingers grasping at your clothes like you'd slip away otherwise.

You let your fingers slide up his chest, over the taut muscles of his shoulders, feeling the harsh beat of his heart under your fingertips, mirroring the frantic rhythm in your own chest.

The kiss was heated, raw, and filled with unspoken words. Theo's grip tightened, the tips of his fingers digging in enough that you winced, and a quiet groan fell from your lips. His breath was hot against your skin as he pulled away just enough to press his forehead to yours. His hand drifted to your face, cupping it like you were the most precious thing on earth.

His eyes searched yours — torn, conflicted, filled with a mixture of guilt and something deeper. His lips parted as if he was going to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he closed the space between you once more, his kiss rough. Stripped of all restraint and filled only with desire.

His hands roamed again, pulling at your clothes with a sense of urgency that matched the frantic pulse of your heartbeat. There was no hesitation in how he moved, only the fierce need to feel something other than the heaviness inside him. To feel you, real and tangible, here with him.

Your back hit the mattress before you could even register moving, and Theo was climbing on top of you in an instant, caging you in between his arms. His lips found yours quickly, pressing desperate kisses across your lips, nose brushing against yours as he moved.

It didn’t feel like his usual tender kisses. It felt like there was something more, as if he was pouring all of the hurt and anger that had boiled up inside him into the kiss, and you were all too eager to take it.

Theo growled low in his throat as he tore his mouth from yours, only to bury it in the soft curve of your neck. His teeth sank into your skin, rough and unrelenting, leaving behind an angry, pulsing bruise.

“Theo—” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulder as a sharp ache bloomed beneath his bite. But he didn’t respond— didn’t even seem to hear you. He was lost, wholly consumed by the feel of your body, by the desperate need to drown in something that wasn’t blood or guilt.

Your spine arched instinctively, pressing closer as he ravaged your neck with hungry, possessive nips. His hands moved blindly, tugging at your clothes with a desperation that bordered on frantic— stripping you like he couldn’t bear even an inch of fabric between you.

“So fucking gorgeous…” he breathed against your skin, voice gravelly and low. His hand snaked down to grasp at your chest, kneading roughly at your tits.

Your head tilted back as a moan tore from your throat, and Theo groaned at the sound— low and wrecked— like it shattered something within him.

“Fuck— do that again,” he muttered, his mouth hot and desperate against your collarbone. His fingers grasping at your nipple and pinching, rolling it between his fingers.

You writhed underneath him, moaning softly, and Theo swore under his breath— something guttural and half-feral. Something that only made you want to moan louder, to give him that satisfaction.

“Drives me fucking mad…” he rasped, lips trailing down your chest. “You don’t even know.”

His mouth wrapped around your nipple without warning, sucking hard enough to make you jolt, his teeth grazing at the sensitive flesh just shy of too rough. His hand slipped between your thighs, forcing them apart with a bruising grip.

“All I think about—” he muttered into your skin, voice breaking. “All fucking day.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his own dark and glazed over with need. “You make it stop.” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your skin, “The only time I can breathe is when I’m inside you.”

You barely had time to process his words before his fingers slid underneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down with a rough urgency that made your breath catch. He didn’t wait for your permission, pressing two fingers against your heat, swearing under his breath as he felt how wet you already were.

“Fuck,” he muttered as if it hurt, “you’re soaked for me— always are, aren’t you?”

Your hips bucked into his touch and his eyes snapped up to meet yours, tearing away from between your thighs as if it pained him to look away. “You love this, don’t you?” He growled, “Letting me ruin you like this.”

He pressed inside quickly, thick fingers filling you, and your cry only encouraged him to work quicker, pushing in and out of you with ease.

“That’s it,” Theo murmured, eyes mesmerised by the way his fingers disappeared inside of you. “Taking it so well, good girl.”

“T-Theo!” You gasped, eyes screwing shut as he continued his ministrations.

At the sound of your voice he smirked, dragging his thumb to your clit and drew small circles, working you open quickly. His mouth still panting against your throat, watching the way you writhed and moaned, “Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name.”

Your thighs trembled as he pumped his fingers into you, whispering filthy words of praise as you whimpered and writhed beneath him. Each thrust felt precise and punishing, his palm grinding against your clit in the most delicious way.

Theo’s mouth was everywhere— biting at your throat, licking over bruises he’d just made, his tongue catching on your pulse point like he needed to taste how alive you were beneath him. Like that alone was enough to keep him grounded.

“God,” he rasped, pulling his hand back to strip the rest of his clothes from his body, barely breaking contact with your sensitive skin. “Gonna lose my fucking mind.” He groaned.

Your legs parted instinctively as he adjusted, and he caught your thighs in his palms, humming approvingly as you opened yourself up to him. His cock was rock hard, the tip glistening with pre cum as he lined himself up, then paused, his eyes meeting yours.

“This what you wanted?” He asked roughly, unable to stop himself from pressing forward just slightly. “Say it. Tell me.” He urged.

“Yes,” you panted, “Theo, please—”

He didn’t let you finish.

He pushed in with a hard thrust, one that knocked the air from your lungs as he buried himself to the hilt in one desperate motion. Your walls clenching around him, causing his body to shudder above you and a strangled sound breaking in his throat.

“Fuck, baby. So tight.” He gritted out, head falling against your shoulder as he started to move. “So perfect for me.”

Every thrust was hard, deliberate— like if he buried himself deep enough he could fuck the memories out of his head. You could feel it in the way his hands gripped your body, the way his rhythm faltered every time you gasped his name.

Your back arched as he drove into you, unrelenting, each thrust dragging little gasps from your throat. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, wet and filthy and desperate, and the broken moans he drew from you only matched the obscene sounds.

“Fuck, you feel—” he choked out, voice raw with need, “—so fucking good. Can’t think— can’t fucking breathe.”

His fingers bruised your hips, dragging you back onto him as if he needed you closer. His mouth finding yours in a kiss that was all heat, and teeth, and breathless groans. You whimpered into his mouth, nails clawing at his back and he only hissed through his teeth, the pain spurring him on.

“Theo— fuck— Theo,” you gasped, head tipping back as your body began to tremble beneath him, your orgasm fast approaching.

He snapped his hips harder, faster, his thrusts turning punishing as he chased both your pleasure and his own oblivion. His face burried in your neck, breath ragged and uneven as he panted against your skin.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned, biting down hard on your shoulder. “Gonna come inside you— fuck— can’t stop—can’t—”

You cried out as your orgasm hit, clenching around him like a vice, your whole body seizing from the sheer force of it. Your orgasm triggered Theo’s and he tipped over the edge just after you. His thrusts faltered as he spilled into you with a low, guttural sound, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself, still clutching onto you tightly.

You were still catching your breath when his body finally stilled, the frantic pace giving way to a trembling stillness as he collapsed on top of you. His hands, once gripping onto your hips harder enough to bruise, loosened quickly— like he was suddenly now aware of how lost in the moment he had been.

His forehead dropped once more, pushing against your shoulder as his damp curls brushed against your skin and he exhaled shakily. For a long moment he didn’t move, just breathed, shallow, broken breaths against your collarbone.

“Shit— I’m sorry,” he mumbled, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to— fuck. I just… I didn’t know where else to put it.”

Your hand rose instinctively, fingers threading through his curls, massaging lightly.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured against his hair, “You’re allowed to let it out.”

He hummed absently, and his arms tightened around you. Clutching on like you were the only thing keeping him afloat. “I love you so much.” He mumbled in an exhausted voice.

“I love you too, Theo.” You replied, and you squeezed him tighter. “Get some sleep now, baby.”

#theodore nott smut #theo nott x reader #theo nott #death eater theodore nott #theodore nott x y/n #theodore not x you #my writing #slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut

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plutotheplum · 11 months ago

Text

Sweet Summer Breeze

sylus x fem!reader

summary: date night with sylus gets out of hand.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, established relationship, smut, p in v, oral sex - m!receiving, praise kink, mild degradation, vaginal fingering, daddy kink, spit kink, public sex

wc: 5k

a/n: pulled his lost oasis card (yay!) and he's just so bf core

also on ao3!

You’re swiping a final layer of lip gloss onto your lips when you hear the rumble of Sylus’s bike outside your apartment complex. It’s obnoxiously loud, the engine revving for a moment before silencing as he parks it by the curb.

Peeking out the window, you smile when you see your boyfriend. He’s handsome as ever, black leather jacket pulled on over his broad shoulders, snowy hair windswept. Butterflies burst out in your stomach, making you fidget slightly. Despite having been together for a few months, you still can’t get rid of the overwhelming feelings that rise up inside of you whenever you meet with him.

Traveling between Linkon City and the N109 Zone constantly just wasn’t feasible for either of you, which was why you and Sylus had settled on meeting up once a week to see each other. You were thankful that regular civilians didn’t recognise your criminal of a boyfriend, although keeping your relationship a secret from your co-workers had proven to be a challenge.

You don’t get to reminisce for much longer, a ding from your phone breaking you out of your thoughts. Giving yourself one last look in the mirror, you grab your purse and your phone, making sure to lock your apartment door shut.

“Hey, baby” a low voice drawls.

Sylus grins at you from where he leans against his bike, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hi,” you smile back, coming to a stop in front of him.

He grabs your hand, holding it above your head and you give him a twirl. Your skirt fans out as you spin and Sylus lets out a low whistle of appreciation, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

“Missed you,” he whispers against your cheek, landing a soft kiss to your skin.

“A shame I can’t say the same,” you sigh dramatically, patting his chest as though to console him.

He smiles devilishly at your little act of feigned nonchalance, his fingers grabbing onto your chin to hold you in place.

“Yeah? My baby needs a reminder, huh?”

You squeak in surprise when he slants his lips over your own, kissing you roughly. A pathetic whine slips out when he licks into your mouth, his tongue grazing yours. He pulls away with a nip to your lower lip, his teeth scraping against the soft flesh.

You blink up at him, dazed. It’s only when you see his glistening lips that you realize that he’s ruined the lip gloss you had put on earlier.

Sylus stares down at you pointedly, and you roll your eyes, tugging him down to wipe away the gloss smeared across his lips.

“I missed you too, asshole” you mutter, thumb swiping over the corner of his mouth.

“I know,” he replies simply, leaning forward to land a softer peck to your lips.

His red eyes bore into yours and you know what’s coming before he even says it.

“We could just stay,” Sylus whispers, “know your cute pussy’s been missing me too.”

His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, his leather-clad hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, disappearing under your skirt. You jerk when he squeezes the fat of your ass, and your hand reaches out, swatting the side of his head.

“Have some decorum,” you chastise, eyes darting to the sides of the streets to check whether anyone’s seen you.

Sylus simply laughs, his hands smoothing over the ruffles he’d caused in your skirt. You watch as he lets go of you to sling a leg over his bike, settling down on it. Sylus holds out a helmet towards you, and you stare at the offending item distastefully.

“It’s gonna mess up my hair,” you complain, “besides, you don’t wear one.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes at your stubbornness. You don’t get to protest further, Sylus simply tossing the helmet towards you so that you have no choice but to catch it.

“I can’t die,” he says dryly, adjusting the fingerless gloves on his hands, “and you happen to be precious cargo, so put it on.”

You let out an irritated huff of air and tuck your hair behind your ears before you pull the helmet on over your head. Secretly, you enjoy his protectiveness. Sylus has his own ways of showing that he cares, and it never fails to make your cheeks flush, but thankfully your face is hidden by the tinted visor this time.

Sylus raps his knuckles against the helmet, and you’re being lifted into the air, his Evol swirling around you as the red tendrils place you onto his bike. You wrap your arms around his waist tightly, feeling the bike vibrate as he starts it up.

He’s far too reckless with the way he drives, the wind whipping around you rapidly. The buildings of Linkon City pass by in a blur. You know he’s made the right call with the helmet, your fingers digging into him as you cling on to prevent flying off of his bike.

The sun has begun to set when Sylus parks his bike next to the large oak tree in the quiet park. You had stumbled upon the place when you had been sent on a mission to clear the area of Wanderers. It was peaceful, and you and Sylus had been coming here ever since.

You take his hand when he offers it, letting him pull you off of his bike. The helmet comes off soon after, and you smooth your hands over your ruffled hair.

Sylus wraps his arms around you, and you smile, head falling back against his shoulder. The warmth of his body seeps into you, his lips pressing against your cheek as he peppers soft kisses across your face.

“It’s nice seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his arms tightening around you, “carefree and relaxed.”

He tugs you back a little, leaning against his bike whilst your back presses up against his chest.

“You make me feel that way,” you confess, tilting your head to peer up at him.

Sylus seems lost in thought as he stares down at you, his hands rubbing up and down your sides soothingly. Your gaze flits away from his, taking in the view before you. Pretty shades of orange and pink have begun to swirl with the clouds, streaking across the sky.

“Could always come back with me,” Sylus says, spinning you around so that you’re facing him instead.

You laugh softly, pressing yourself a little closer to wrap your arms around his neck.

“You know I can’t,” you reply, fingers playing with his hair, “I can’t just abandon my job.”

“Must you always be so righteous?,” he asks, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks.

As much as you missed him, you couldn’t go back. It wouldn’t be possible anyways. Your disappearance would only cause more questions and Linkon City needed its Hunters for protection. You wouldn’t abandon civilian safety just to meet up with him.

“Don’t tell me you’re lonely,” you coo, grinning up at him.

Sylus lets out a low huff of air, shaking his head. He squeezes your cheeks together until your lips jut out in a pout.

“Don’t be a brat,” he says, giving your cheeks another firm squeeze before letting go.

You shoot him a glare, rubbing at your sore cheeks. Sylus leans forward, his head dropping until his forehead rests against your shoulder.

“I could just kidnap you,” he murmurs.

“You wouldn’t,” you say, prodding your fingers into his chest as a reprimand.

Truthfully, you know Sylus is more than capable of kidnapping you. With his connections, it wouldn’t even be a struggle getting over the border and into the N109 Zone.

“Some other time then,” he says.

You know he’s getting restless when his nose drags up the length of your neck, his lips following suit as he presses heated kisses against your skin. A soft sigh leaves you, your hands cradling the back of his head as you tip your head back, baring your neck for him.

He pulls a sharp gasp from your lips when he drags his teeth against the tender skin of your neck, his tongue laving over the bite soon after. You push at his chest, slapping your hand over the spot where his lips were.

“Sylus!” you hiss, shoving his face back, “we agreed no hickeys!”

He grunts at your continued protests, his arms wrapping around your waist to tug you back against his chest.

“Stop complaining, sweetie” he whispers, his nose brushing against your cheek, “there’s barely even a mark.”

Your frustration fades away when he guides your head into a kiss. It’s slow and sweet and so utterly perfect that your eyes are slipping shut contentedly, the tension draining from your body.

Sylus sits down on his bike and you move to stand between his legs, arms wrapping around his neck to steal another kiss from him. It turns into another and another, until you’re both making out languidly, tongues tangling together as spit leaks from the corners of your mouths.

His hands squeeze at your waist, and you whine into his mouth, fingers fisting his soft hair in your hand. Sylus lets out a low groan, his hands sneaking back up your skirt again.

“We- we should go home,” you whisper, pulling away from his lips.

Your breath hitches when you see him. There’s a light flush dusting across his cheeks, his hair sticking out at odd angles from when you’d run your fingers through it. His lips glisten with spit, reddened slightly with how long you’d been kissing.

“There’s no one here,” he says, crimson eyes laced with mischief.

The implication of his words is enough to have your cheeks burning with embarrassment. You shake your head stubbornly, wanting to be back in the comfort of your bed where you can be assured that others won’t be able to see you.

“C’mon,” Sylus coaxes, his hands groping at your ass, massaging the fat between his calloused fingers, “no one’s going to see us, besides if they did,” his voice drops even lower, “I would kill them.”

You watch as his Evol swirls around you both, ruffling your hair and your skirt, the vines of concentrated energy caressing the bare skin of your legs. The thought of him killing someone for you shouldn’t make desire spark in your heart, it’s quite literally morally reprehensible, and yet you can’t stop the slick dripping from your cunt, arousal dampening your panties.

“I hate you,” you mumble, head dropping against his chest.

“I’m wounded, doll.”

You can hear the stupid smirk on his face when he speaks.

His fingers have begun to drift, one hand still groping at your ass contentedly whilst the other slips past the waistband of your panties, drifting further until you can feel his fingers press against the folds of your pussy.

“Pretty pussy’s been missing me,” he rasps, fingers rubbing against your folds, “so fuckin’ wet, baby.”

He’s right. You’re so horribly wet that it’s frankly embarrassing, setting your face aflame. It’s why you shove your face into the crook of his neck, hands curled into his leather jacket tightly.

Sylus doesn’t let you hide for long, his fingers cupping your jaw to draw you out from your little safe space. He pushes his thumb into your mouth and you whine, sucking around the digit as your eyes flutter shut.

“There you go,” he whispers.

His fingers have found your clit, the calloused pads stroking across the sensitive little bud.

“H- hurts,” you slur around his thumb, hand curling around his wrist to keep his hand there, hips grinding across his fingers and the leather of his glove.

“Poor baby,” Sylus croons, “must’ve been hard without me. All alone, rubbing that achy, little clit while I was gone.”

You nod desperately, half-lidded eyes peering up into his. Sylus hooks his thumb around your lower set of teeth, prying your mouth open. Your tongue lolls out immediately, almost like it’s become second nature as he spits into your mouth. He tastes intoxicating, the feeling of his spit on your tongue, perverse and yet so, so right.

Swallowing it down eagerly, you press yourself closer. “Again,” you demand, tongue sticking out.

Sylus laughs hoarsely, his thumb smoothing across your tongue, pinching the tip between his fingers. He lowers his head, his tongue licking against yours before he puckers his lips, letting another glob of spit drip down onto your tongue.

“Filthy, little whore,” he hisses against your lips, “shouldn’t you have some decorum?”

You glare up at him when he uses your own words against you. It was his fault you were acting so needy. Your fingers didn’t cut it anymore, ever since you’d had his fat cock stuffed in your pussy, nothing else would compare.

He narrows his eyes when he sees your glare, his hand coming down on your ass hard. You yelp, jolting in his arms at the unexpected spank.

“Don’t fuckin’ glare at me,” he warns, hand patting against your reddened asscheek to soothe the sting of his harsh slap.

“Jerk,” you huff out.

It seems as though he doesn’t like your little insult, two of his fingers suddenly bullying into your pussy. His fingers are long, reaching much deeper than yours, the pads of them rubbing up against your walls.

“Oh- ah fuck!” you mewl, slumping forward.

Sylus only hums, smiling against your hair as he fucks his fingers in and out of you, his other hand alternating between squeezing the backs of your thighs and your ass.

“Always such a brat,” he chastises, “all it takes is some fingers to shut you up, hm?”

Your thighs shake when he slips his fingers out of you, drifting across your pussy to rub tight circles against your clit. The feel of his fingers is too good, his firm body pressed against yours. You pant into his neck, hands pressed up against his chest.

“Come on my fingers, baby” Sylus whispers, cupping your pussy. All it takes is a few drags of your pussy against his hand, his fingers dipping inside your achy hole one more time to graze the sensitive spot inside of you until you’re shuddering in his arms, gushing around his fingers.

His fingers are damp with your slick when he pulls his hand free from your panties and you watch with half-lidded eyes as he sucks them clean. Sylus lowers his head, lips pressing against yours as he licks into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan, cupping his cheek as he practically leans over you, trying to meld his body against yours.

The bulge of his cock is hard to ignore, digging into your stomach. You bite your lip, pushing at his chest to get him to sit back down. You’re half-way onto your knees when he stops you, catching you by the arm.

A contented smile spreads across your face when Sylus shrugs off his jacket, laying it on the grass for you. He rolls his eyes when he sees the soft, dream-like look in your eyes, tugging you back in for another kiss.

“I’m not completely heartless,” he mutters gruffly.

“I never said that,” you whisper, rewarding him with a quick peck to his cheek.

You sink back down onto your knees, settled between his legs as he sits back on his bike. The outline of his cock has arousal pooling between your thighs again, and you lean forward, pressing soft kisses against his clothed cock.

He grunts, his lithe fingers threading into your hair. You make quick work of his trousers, letting him lift his hips as you tug them down along with his boxers. Saliva begins to gather in your mouth at the sight of his uncovered cock.

Grasping his heavy cock, your lips part, tongue lapping at the pre-cum smeared across the tip before enveloping the flushed tip of his cock into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the head, sucking lazily. The weight of his cock is comforting against your tongue, eyes drooping as you push your head forward a little more, swallowing more of his cock.

“There’s my good girl,” he sighs, “take my cock, doll.”

You peer up at him with hazy eyes, lips stretched out from his cock. Sylus grins at the look on your face, his fingers tightening into your hair. He pushes at your head, and you seize up, his thick cock sinking further down your throat.

“Relax,” Sylus says quietly, his thumb catching a stray tear that drops from your eye, “breathe, baby, breathe.”

You can’t exactly breathe with his cock stuffed down your throat, but you do your best, breathing in through your nose. He pets your hair while you do and you find your mind getting hazier, a thick fog of submission settling in.

Your head begins to bob, slurping hungrily around his cock and he moans raggedly, his head tipping back to expose the expanse of his neck. You whine at the sight, and he digs his fingers into your scalp, holding your head still as his hips roll, fucking his cock into your mouth.

He somehow thickens even more in your mouth. Spit drips from the confines of your mouth, coating his cock and his balls. Sylus doesn’t seem to care, his loud, unabashed groans emanating into the quiet evening air. You hollow your cheeks to try and suck more, satisfaction spreading through you when his hips stutter at your action.

“Cock-hungry slut,” he grits out, his brows pulled in together.

He looks feral, red eyes brighter than usual, his chest heaving as he pants. You pull off his cock when he lets you, giving him a smile before you press your lips against the tip of his cock in a sweet, sticky kiss.

Almost in response, his cock twitches, a thick glob of pre-cum beading at the tip. Licking your lips, you suck his cock back into his mouth, suckling happily at his tip, drinking down the pre-cum that spreads onto your tongue steadily.

One more suckle to his drippy tip results in him yanking you off of his cock, his hands grasping at your arms to pull you up onto shaky legs.

“I- I wasn’t done!” you protest.

“If you keep sucking me off like that then I won’t be able to cream this cunt,” he growls.

You squeak when he bends you over his bike, flipping your skirt up as he pulls your panties down.

“Sy- Sylus!” you squeal when he shoves his face between your thighs.

He ignores you, tongue lapping over your pussy. Sylus gives a harsh suck to your clit, his thumbs pulling your folds apart to spit on your hole, watching as it clenches pitifully around nothing.

Landing another slap to your ass, he stands up, rubbing his cock against your length of your pussy, the tip catching on your clit. A strangled noise leaves you when he drags his cock back up, pushing it into you roughly.

Your body slumps against his bike and he pulls apart the cheeks of your ass to watch his cock disappear into your cunt. You mewl, arching your back a little, letting his cock sink in deeper as your pussy swallows him up.

“Pussy’s always so fuckin’ hungry,” he hisses.

Hips swaying back to meet his thrusts, you drool against the sleeve of your sweater, the fabric darkening. Sylus sneaks his arms around your waist, the weight of his body pressing into you as he leans over you.

It’s so warm, so cozy, despite the cool air blowing through the park. You can hardly care that you're outside, in public where someone might catch you, previous anxieties forgotten as his cock fills your pussy. You can feel your mind turning into mush, his whispered words barely registering in your lust-addled brain.

You’re falling deeper into his embrace, the feeling of his face in the crook of your neck making your heart soar as he ruts his hips into your ass. All you can think about is his cock, and how good he feels and how much you like him and how good he takes care of you. The culmination of such feelings, coupled with his cock stuffing you full is enough to have you crying out.

“Daddy!”

Sylus’s hips stutter to a pause when he hears the word you’ve uttered. You’ve snapped out of your trance, slapping your hand over your mouth when you realize what you’ve said.

He’s pulling out of you, and your heart drops, embarrassment making your cheeks go hot. Sylus tugs you up from where you’ve been bent over his bike, spinning you around so he can look at your face.

“What was that?” he demands, cupping your cheeks so you can’t escape his gaze.

“Nothing,” you mumble, feigning innocence.

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” Sylus prods further.

“I- I think you might be hearing things,” you say.

You know you’re in trouble when he dips his head, his fingers holding your chin as he presses his forehead against yours, his darkened eyes boring into yours.

“Really?” he says slowly, “almost sounded like you were begging for daddy.”

You stifle the moan that threatens to escape you, hands tightening into his shirt when his lips brushes across yours, his voice hoarse. Shaking your head vehemently, you try to push at his chest. If you have to leave him here and drive his bike yourself to save the last shreds of your dwindling dignity, then so be it.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs, picking you up and placing you on his bike so that you can’t move.

His chest presses against yours, his hard cock brushing your thigh as he stands flush with you. You can feel his lips on your cheek, dragging across the corner of your mouth before he places his hands on either side of you, his head lowering to kiss you again.

Sylus’s kisses must be laced with some sort of remnant of his Evol with the way he’s able to get you under his control easily. It’s like he lulls the uneasiness away, soothing your nerves with every move of his lips.

Your hand reaches for his, fingers lacing together. Sylus squeezes your hand and your other hand slips lower, reaching between your bodies to curl around his cock. He lets out an airy noise into your mouth when your hand moves, dragging up and down his length as your wrist twists.

He pushes your hand away a few moments later, grasping his cock as he flips up your skirt again. You squirm until you’re sitting on the edge of his bike, leaning back to let your hips tilt, legs wrapping around his hips.

“Is this what you want?” he breathes out, pressing his girthy cock between your folds, snug against your pussy, “hm? Want daddy’s fat cock filling up this precious, little cunt?”

“Y- yes!” you whimper out.

“Yes, what?” he murmurs, hand gripping your hip.

You shrink away when you realize what he wants, looking away from him. Shifting your hips, you try and get his cock to sink inside of you, but his grip is too strong, holding you in place.

“Say it,” he coaxes, pushing the head of his cock into your pussy briefly, before pulling out, “say it, baby.”

“Yes, d-daddy,” you mumble out, peering up at him, “want daddy’s cock filling me up.”

He groans at the soft, breathy whisper of your voice, cock pushing inside of you again. You whine, head falling back at the feeling of him back inside, pussy clenching around him. You can feel his breath fan across your neck, moans spilling out of you as he draws his hips back before thrusting back in, his fingers squeezing at your thighs and hips.

“Fuck,” he pants, “I’m never letting you go.”

It’s not long before your mind is turning hazy again, eyes slipping shut as your arms wrap around his neck tightly. Sylus’s lips have latched onto your neck, no doubt sucking hickeys onto your skin as he fucks his cock into you.

“Daddy,” you slur, tugging at his hair, “daddy feels s’good.”

Sylus can hardly believe that he’s managed to fuck into such a state, his eyes roving over the drunken look on your face, watching as streaks of drool slip down your chin. You look so vulnerable in the moment that it tugs at his heart, an overwhelming need to take care of you coming over him.

“Daddy’s right here,” he whispers, his lips pressing up against your ear, “doing so well, baby.”

You preen at the praise, sending him a dazed smile before you pucker up your lips for a kiss. Sylus chuckles, leaning forward to capture your lips in a messy kiss as he pounds into you, balls slapping against your ass. The sound is lewd, and he can’t resist spitting into your mouth again.

His spit barely lands in your mouth with how gone you are, but your tongue darts out, licking up the string of saliva connecting your lips, pecking his lips sweetly with a little mwah!

The sound goes straight to his cock, and you whimper in delight when you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

“All yours,” he grunts, “daddy’s cock is all yours, so fuckin’ take it, doll.”

His affirmation that he’s yours has you clenching around him, legs tightening around his waist as you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.

Sylus hisses at the grip of your pussy and his cock, a loud snarl ripping from his throat. You squeak when he suddenly picks you up, his arms wrapped around you.

The strength he displays nearly makes you swoon, arms wrapped around his neck tightly as he adjusts his hold on you, gripping your hips as he drops you onto his cock. You squeal at the feeling, his cock reaching so deeply, brushing against every little spot inside of you.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” you chant, a debauched giggle slipping out of you.

His balls slap against your ass, Sylus using as though you were nothing more than a fleshlight. You mewl, eyes finding his. He stares down at you, giving you a smile and your heart stops in your chest.

Messy, white hair covering his forehead, his cheeks flushed. The smirk on his face has been replaced by the boyish smile only you get to see, his eyes soft and tender as he lowers his head, kissing your forehead gently.

“Daddy loves his baby.”

You gasp, body drawing taut as his words hit you. It’s too much, his hips delivering a particularly sharp thrust to your sensitive pussy. Sylus struggles to keep his grip on you, your squirming making it near impossible as you moan his name, walls tightening around his cock.

“C- come,” you whimper, hands cupping his cheeks desperately, “daddy- daddy has to come with me.”

“Yeah, baby” he grunts, his fingers digging into your ass tightly to keep you on his cock, “daddy’s gonna cream this tight, little cunt.”

Sylus buries his cock deep inside of you, and you shake, little twitches erupting through the muscles of your body as you come. Your thighs squeeze around him tightly, a placid sigh leaving you as you feel his hot, thick cum spill into you. He pants against your ear, muttering out a low curse when he feels your pussy clenching, trying to milk his cock dry.

He can’t keep his hold on you for much longer, his strength weakened by the force of his orgasm. You stand on shaky legs when he sets you down, knees nearly buckling if not for Sylus’s arms wrapped around you. “Easy, baby, easy,” he whispers.

You can feel his cum leaking from you, dripping down your thighs. Sylus presses a kiss to your cheek, fixing himself up before he pulls your panties out of his pocket, crouching down.

You run your fingers through his hair absentmindedly as he maneuvers your legs, putting one of your feet through the holes of your panties before the other, pulling them up so that they sit snug on your hips. He smooths his hands over your skirt, fixing up the rumpled clothing before fixing up your crooked sweater as well.

Sylus drives you home soon after, his body curling up around yours as you both settle into the warmth of your bed. You can almost hear his thoughts, his voice breaking through the comfort of silence.

“Didn’t know you were into that sort of thing,” he says, a smirk spreading across his face.

“Shut up,” you grouse.

“Don’t be so mean,” he coos, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, “daddy will be sad.”

“Shut up, Sylus!”

He laughs, his arm tightening around his waist as he brings you closer into the warmth of his chest. You can feel his hand rub against your back soothingly, his lips placing a kiss to your hair.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too,” you whisper, face pressing into his chest.

You’ve been getting strange stares ever since you arrived at work. Some people refuse to make eye contact with you, others flushing faintly when their eyes land on you.

Even Jeremiah won’t meet your eyes!

You manage to snag on to Tara’s arm, tugging her into the privacy of a corner in the office.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” you demand, staring into her eyes desperately.

“You- you don’t know?” she asks quietly, her gaze dipping down to your neck.

Brows furrowing, you shake your head. She pulls out a little compact mirror, handing it to you.

“Looks like you had quite the night,” she muses, her voice teasing.

A mortified expression settles on your face when you see that the concealer on your neck has been smudged away. There’s no question as to why people would be giving you strange looks. You look like you’ve been mauled, dark purple and red blotches spattered against the expanse of your neck.

You grit your teeth together, irritation pricking across your skin. No wonder Sylus had been fussing with you before you had gotten to work this morning. Your eye twitches when you remember the way he had played with your shirt, the way he had kissed you as he had rubbed his thumbs against your neck. You’d been naive enough to think that Sylus had been comforting you.

A frustrated scream bubbles out of you.

“Asshole!”

#sylus smut #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnd sylus #lnd smut #sylus qin #love and deepspace mc #sylus x you #sylus x mc

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