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xxsycamore · 3 months

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❝ 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ❞

╰┈➤ ❤ You're overstimulated, and Napoleon is being a bully.

Napoleon Bonaparte/f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Overstimulation; Multiple Orgasms; Creampie; Vaginal Sex; Teasing; Embarrassment; Crying; Dacryphilia; Dirty Talk; Begging; rough but also soft sex; Aftercare • wordcount: 2,048 • masterlist

a/n: I've been wanting to have a napo smut titled Crybaby for SO LONG NOW. Ever since that one event came out where he kept calling MC that. Knowing him, I think he might be into this...

"Napoleon… you're staring…"

Chest still rising and falling in labored breaths, you try to get the attention of the man seated between your legs, as he yet still fails to snap out of the trance on his own.

You know you can do this faster if you close your legs and devoid him of the view that so seems to interest him. But you don't - on the excuse of the tiredness in your limbs.

The load of cum he'd put deep inside you just moments ago has now began to gush out and Napoleon's clear jade eyes, still clouded by lust, proudly follow the white rivulet down the curve of your slightly raised legs.

"I am."

He's shameless and blunt, knowing fairly well the effect it has on you. The embarrassment you're trying to evoke in him ricochets right back at you, as he makes you self-aware of the fact that you feel a certain way about him staring. At least enough to point it out.

Napoleon chuckles, easily making the tension dissipate as he leans down to place a peck against your pursed lips. He notices you trying to prop up on your elbows and is quick to gently push you back down.

"I'll take care of everything, just rest."

Still pouting because he's unfairly knightly as if he wasn't being a big tease just a second ago, you sink deeper into the soft embrace of the duvet, losing the inner fight too soon and letting yourself be pampered. Your eyes are closed by the time he returns, but you feel his presence as he climbs on the bed again.

You can't help the small shiver running down your lower half as your senses register a damp cloth grazing along your skin. The coolness it brings is not unwelcome on your overheated areas, and Napoleon is so gentle with you. He made a mess, it's only rightful for him to clean up after himself, after all.

You mewl as Napoleon's fingers brush past your clit. The added friction from the cloth makes his touch foreign and exciting to your sex, and you try not to fall too deep into the feeling because that's hardly the point. Even if the rational part of your brain understands that this is not Napoleon toying with you, the psychological part has other ideas.

But so does the man above you, encouraged by your lascivious sounds. He smirks and places his thumb right above the bundle of nerves at the apex of your folds, and drags his finger down slowly.

The moment the very edge of his fingertip comes in contact with your sweet spot, shockwaves strike through your core like lightning, making your lower half rise from the bed.

"Ahh!"

The smirk stays on Napoleon's face as he pretends to carry on with his task of cleaning you. His thumb grazes past your clit once more and you jump again, letting out a prolonged whimper.

He must be enjoying your reactions a little too much. While the sight of you writhing in pleasure entertains him every time he finds you underneath him, this time it's so much easier to pry them out, when you're overstimulated like that.

He knows better than to mess with you when you're spent and too sensitive, having earned his fair share of weak slaps against the arms or across his face for such indulgences.

Except, this time your protest never comes.

In the back of his head, he tells himself he's being way too cruel to you, but then he's reminded of your words. You're the one telling him time and time again not to hold back and to love you with all of his heart's intensity; and in the bedroom you're only more encouraging.

He flicks your clit with his finger once again, and your legs instinctively close against his arm.

And when you're being like that, he only falls harder for you.

The cloth is quickly discarded and forgotten as Napoleon makes himself more comfortable between your legs, like a big cat leisurely playing with its food until it's had enough. You peek from between half-closed eyelids, finding the sight of Napoleon's forearm sandwiched between your tightly shut legs. The muscles on it flexing because of the movement of his fingers where you can't see them; the vein running down the side of it becoming more prominent.

The sounds spilling from your lips are characteristic of the moments where he's fucking you so hard you forget to care about being too lewd; yet now he's doing so little and you're sounding so pathetic. Naturally, the back of your hand comes over your agape mouth in an ill-fated attempt to regain some of your decency. You subconsciously bite into the knuckles of it.

Napoleon eyes you with calculation among other things. He needs to be careful for the signs of you being too caught in it all to judge when it's too much, never taking the trust you put in him for granted.

He loves the way you squeeze his hand, even if it soon becomes numbing. He stokes your clit a little more to his best extent, the sensation now doing the opposite to you and making you part your legs wide, releasing him at last.

That only gives him an opening to attack, resuming his slow, firm strokes that make shockwaves run through you.

"Awww, you got wet again."

Your breath hitches, being caught by surprise despite how obvious it is that your body is bound to get aroused again under his ministrations. You watch in embarrassment as Napoleon cooes and gathers some of the lubrication you secreted and rotates his fingers in the air to show you the web-thin thread between them. With how well he cleaned you just awhile ago, your arousal now becomes only more prominent somehow.

When his thumb returns to your clit, it's slicked and the movement becomes more fluid, leaving you with no room to catch your breath between strokes. You let out more needy sounds as overstimulation and fresh arousal clash inside you.

"You're hurting yourself… Let's put that hand away."

Blinking in confusion, you need a moment to understand exactly what he means. As Napoleon gently guides your hand away from your mouth, you see the teeth marks you left on it. Napoleon's own hand follows your own until it falls safely to the side of your head, and he returns his gaze to yours.

There are physiological tears at the corners of your eyes.

Napoleon lets out a short and sharp laughing noise.

"Crybaby."

You toss your head to the side, only making the shiny dewdrops caught on your eyelashes more obvious to the man above you. Your lips are pursed in a permanent pout.

The warmth of Napoleon's hand on yours leaves you only to keep your left leg spread wide, as he quickens the pace of rubbing your clit. He strokes the overstimulation out of you, as your body gradually becomes more pliant and welcoming to his touch in a familiar old anticipation.

But for what it's worth, the slightly raw feeling at your core nudges those tears into finally spilling past your eyes.

Napoleon cooes at you again, leaning down until you feel his breath fanning over your cheek. He kisses your hot skin, his lips catching the tears. You wonder if your tears from pleasure arouse him.

"Crybaby."

He's such a bully.

Despite the obscene circumstances, he seems to find you nothing short of adorable, with the way he peppers you with kisses.

"My poor crybaby darling. What am I gonna do with you?"

The growing arousal makes you greedy and demanding, as you toss again, but this time in a provoking fashion. No, letting your body's language speak for you is not enough anymore, you need to spell it out for him.

"I feel so… empty…"

The momentary halt of his fingers gives him away, even if he pretends not to hear you. Your legs move frantically, switching between closing and opening in desperation. As horny as you are, your body will need more than that to be pushed over the edge. You have no choice but to try again.

"Napoleoooon… put it in… I need your cock again…please…?"

The small curve of that last word that emphasizes your begging does things to him, you know fairly well. He stares you down.

"How are you so sure that I can go again? Or have you been actually just trying to seduce me all this time?"

For a moment your eyes widen, finding reason in his question. Just because you're burning from the inside doesn't mean that Napoleon is also ready to-

The sensation of something hard rubbing against your inner thigh startles you.

Soothing is not the right word to describe this discovery, as Napoleon barely gives you time to rearrange your thoughts before he positions himself over you properly, guiding his swollen cockhead in.

Believing that your little midday love session was truly ending awhile ago, Napoleon had put on his trousers, even if leaving the belt to fasten only after he takes care of you. Now with the change of plans, he cares little about discarding his pants again, as fucking you on the spot is more important.

As a result, the buckle of his belt repeatedly clashes against the bed, the metal prong making a clinking sound that joins with the noises of copulation. Napoleon fucks you into the mattress, knowing he can go as fast and as wild as he wishes, neither of you bound to last long anyway.

The last traces of tears escape from the corners of your eyes that have watered one last time with the intrusion of his cock. Despite the sensitivity of your walls, your core remembers Napoleon's shape so well, greedily sucking him in as soon as he builds up a steady pace.

Your arms and legs lock around him, as if afraid that all of this is just another one of his tricks.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard— fill you to the brim—"

You all but scream against his chest as you can only receive his rapid pounding and wait for him to fulfill his promise. Your walls clamp down around him, desperately dragging him together with you in the pit of pleasure as you feel your orgasm approaching dangerously fast.

The noises of skin on skin fill your ears along with Napoleon's occasional swearing, cracking the composure of his otherwise not too filthy mouth. He slams his hips onto yours sloppily, losing all demure, and finally erupts inside you.

Reaching your peak together with him, you see stars behind your eyelids as Napoleon's cum paints your insides spurt by spurt. For a second among the euphoria you wonder if you feel so full because some of his cum from earlier was still trapped inside you.

The vice-tight grip of your arms around him turns into something softer, more reminiscent of an embrace. So does the hold Napoleon's strong hands have on your waist. As he settles you back down on the mattress from where you soared unnoticeably, your body tight as a string, you gradually begin to relax once more, melting together with him to a content pile of limbs.

Napoleon rains kisses on your face, from your forehead to the curve of your lip to your slightly damp cheeks.

"Now, what if I wanted to watch my cum leak down your thighs again?"

You can't believe him. Rolling over as if to avert your gaze in disdain, you turn your back to him.

He opens his mouth to bite back, preparing something along the lines of not deserving the cold treatment after how good he loved you, but he pauses. On wobbly legs, you arch your back and tuck your knees beneath you.

The sight is all but scandalous as Napoleon's load runs down your leg.

With forehead pressed against the bed, you let out a faux sigh, seeing how lost for words he seems to be.

"Just try not to get aroused again, Napoleon. Please."

Caressing the curve of your thigh up to your ass, Napoleon lets out a wry laugh, even if there's no actual bite to it.

"Look who's talking."

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