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no-144444 · 26 days ago

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the oscars- o.piastri

꩜ summary: you bring your own oscar to the oscar's!

꩜ pairing: married! oscar piastri x actress! fem! reader

꩜ a/n: just realised i never posted this and it has been sitting in my drafts for over a month and a half ish lol

I want you to come with me.

Those words had run through his head like a fucking jack-hammer for weeks. What did that even entail? Acquiring a tux, sure. He could do that. Learn all the names of the people he could potentially meet, any celebrities or old co-stars he’d probably met but didn’t remember. Again, he could do that. Sit beside you all night and let you be your wonderful self as he got a first class seat and bragging rights about the fact that he was yours, he did that all day everyday.

So why did this feel so different? He’d been to award shows before. Not the award show, but motorsports ones. You’d come as his date. The world knew about you two. He’d gone to the BAFTAs with you one year. He should be fine. He knows he’s just there to hold your hand all night and make sure you don’t forget to eat something, but this just feels… different. This was the Oscars. The one night all of Hollywood steps out in their very best, hoping to get something back. And you were nominated in 3 categories.

“Fix your bowtie,” Hattie fussed over him as he rolled his eyes. You’d even invited his whole family. You weren’t super close with yours and they hadn’t really supported your career, but the Piastri’s had. Nicole went to every premiere you offered her, sometimes flying last minute just to be there to support you. He remembered how touched you’d been when she showed up at your Cannes debut, you called him crying that night, not even knowing what to do with yourself because you thought it was just so nice. You were 14 then, but you were 24 now, and you weren’t just his girlfriend, you were his wife. You were officially part of the family, even though you had been from the moment he’d brought you home. He started playing with his ring, a nervous habit he’d picked up since getting married.

“It is fixed,” he snapped back as she fiddled with it. “Mum said it looked fine-”

“I wasn’t looking at you when I said that!” she called from the other room. Oscar rolled his eyes again.

“Your eyes are on swivels today,” Mae teased, looking up from her phone. Oscar fought back rolling them again, and instead went for a scoff.

“I’m the only reason you guys are even coming,” he scoffed, Hattie still fixing his tie. Mae’s jaw dropped in offence.

She gasped. “Excuse you! I think Y/n would still invite us even if you guys got a divorce.”

A shiver went up his spine at that thought. Leaving you? He couldn’t do it. He knew in his bones he’d adore you until he was old and grey, and probably a while after that too.

“She definitely would,” Eddie added, walking in. “Plus, she’s dressed now, if you want to see her.”

Oscar tried to pull away from Hattie, but he just got choked by his bowtie, resulting in a fit of coughs and a gaggle of laughter from his sisters.

He heard a chuckle he knew all too well and he turned his head. You were radiant. A burgundy formal gown, your hair exactly the way you loved it, and that wonderful look in your eyes. The one he saw when he woke up next to you. The one that made him blush no matter how long you’d been together. “You alright there?” you questioned.

He chuckled and Hattie finally finished with his bowtie, so he turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours as he lifted you off the ground- just slightly. You grinned against his lips and he felt the panic that had been building completely subside. You pulled back as your feet reached the ground again, and chuckled. “Do I have lipstick?” he asked, a question he asked most days. You nodded, but Mae got up to take a photo, giggling at her brother with you. It didn’t bother him. You finally just wiped it off and smiled at him.

“What do you think?” you asked, pulling back and giving him a spin. You showed off the low back and he knew he’d be ripping this dress off of you tonight. He swore the breath was knocked from his lungs every time you looked at him, but truly, you were breathtaking.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the entire world,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Oh yeah?” you smirked. He nodded.

“Oh yeah.”

The Red Carpet was as overwhelming as usual, but he enjoyed watching his sisters interact with the few fans of theirs that were there. He watched you with so much love and pride in his eyes, so much so that Tim had to nudge him to remember to walk on and not just stand in the back of your photos looking at you lovingly. When you finally finished up, you grabbed his hand as he led you into the auditorium.

“You still have my speeches?’ you questioned. He tapped his chest, signalling that it was in his breast pocket. You smiled. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he smiled back. “Forever.”

As soon as your moment began, it ended, because Nicole pulled you away to go talk to people and he fucked off to the dinner table. He watched as you worked the room, animatedly speaking to people as he watched on from his seat at the table, thoroughly enjoying his food.

It was his dad who pulled him out of his daze, asking how he was feeling.

“I’m fine,” he nodded, only slightly lying.

Chris smiled. “She’s going to win ‘em, I bet you.”

“She will,” Oscar nodded. “Her work has been incredible this year.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. “I cried for three days over the Outrun.”

Oscar laughed out loud as his dad shook his head. “I know what you mean.”

Just then, Oscar caught your eye from the other side of the ballroom and you smiled at him, waving. He waved back. You were a vision in burgundy. He swore to go he was going to get heart palpitations from how beautiful you were.

“Starting soon now,” Tim clapped his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. “Better be ready with those acceptance speeches.”

Chris smiled at Tim. “Took the words out of my mouth,” he chuckled. “Also have to practice your shocked face. Even though we all know she’s going to win every single one of them,” Chris tapped his leg. “Like how she pretends to be shocked when you win.”

Oscar laughed, his cheeks going red. Why was he being embarrassed by his own father and step-father at the Oscars right now? He wanted you back, you could always calm them down, make them less… whatever they were.

“Busy?” you asked, coming up to the table, your question directed at him. He stood up immediately.

“Not at all,” he shook his head, the boys behind him chuckling like schoolgirls. He took your hand and you led him to the foot of the stage, squeezing his hand.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, leaning to his shoulder. “Thank you for coming.”

“I'm so proud of you,” he smiled, his hand sneaking around your waist to pull you closer. He loved this. These quiet moments between all the hustle and bustle of your own lives. The room melted away behind you as you both stared at the stage you hoped you’d end up on tonight, but he knew you would. “I’ll always come.”

You chuckled. “You said cum.”

He rolled his eyes, the soft moment between the two of you, now abruptly over due to his choice of words. He looked down at you and you laughed at his unimpressed stare. “I love you?” you offered, cupping his cheek.

“I guess I love you too,” he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours gently, but quickly- as to not get lipstick all over his mouth.

“And the nominees are; Anora, written by Sean Baker. The Brutalist, written by Brady Corbet, Mona Fastvold. A Real Pain, written by Jesse Eisenberg. , September 5, written by Moritz Binder, Tim Fehlbaum; co-written by Alex David. The Substance, written by Y/n Y/l/n,” the crowd cheered and he felt your hand squeeze his just a little tighter. “And the winner is… Anora, written by Sean Baker!”

Despite the loss, you stood and clapped for him. Oscar joined you, though he thought you should’ve probably won. You both sat back down as his speech began and he took your hand again. “You alright?”

You nodded beside him, your eyes fixed to Sean and his speech. “There’s still like 4 hours left, don’t worry.”

He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your hand. Ever the positive person.

“And the nominees are; Anora, Sean Baker. The Brutalist, David Jancso. Conclave, Nick Emerson. The Outrun, Y/n Y/l/n. Wicked, Myron Kerstein,” you tensed beside him. “And the winner is… Y/n Y/l/n, The Outrun!”

And the room stood for you. He felt like he was in slow motion. You both stood up at the same time, a bright smile on your face (he was sure he looked ridiculous), and you turned to him and you hugged him.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. He smiled back, nodding.

“You fucking did it,” he cheered as he pulled the speech out of his pocket. “Go accept it.”

You nodded and started your descent down the stairs. The entirety of Hollywood was on their feet for you. You’d been working in the industry since you were a kid. Everyone knew how wonderful you were. Only he got to see it everyday. He watched, pride practically spilling from every pore as you stood up on that stage, taking the award in your hand, the sheet of paper in your hand. You looked up, a teary smile on your lips. “Wow,” you breathed out, looking at the room, but your eyes immediately met Oscar’s, and you both smiled again. “Hello, and thank you,” you started. “Umm… alright, speech- yes!” you unfolded the piece of paper in your hand and took a deep breath. “Well… first of all, I’d like to thank the academy, because this-” you held up your award. “Is incredible. And next, I’d like to thank my family. Nicole, Tim, Chris, Hattie, Eddie, Mae,” Oscar was already tearing up, and he was sure his mom was at the floodgates stage of it all. “You’ve been so incredibly kind to me over the past decade. You took me in when I was just a random 14 year old your son or brother was dating, and you gave me a family, and I'll always be grateful. Next, I’d like to thank my husband-” he felt a tear fall down his cheek and he knew there were about twenty cameras on him. There were a few cheers from the crowd. “- Oscar, you’ve made me insanely happy, and you’re my everything. But you’re also the only person I’ll ever let in my editing room. I love how curious you were at the start, and now, how effortlessly you help me. Truly, this is half yours-” you chuckled, and so did he. “No matter what. Whether you were coming in from a race weekend, totally exhausted, or just come back from a run, you’ll sit beside me in silence and help me make it all work. I don’t think you understand how much that means to me, so, thank you. I love you all, thank you!” you finished off, just wiping the small tear that had fallen away, as the crowd rose for you again. Oscar was a goner, tears falling freely as he tried to wipe them away. God, you were too kind. He adored you.

The night ended at 3am, you walked away with two Oscar awards, and one Oscar. He was grinning the whole time, too. Couldn’t stop. You won Best Editing and Best Supporting Actress. His family were elated and you giggled on the way back tot he hotel as you watched videos of them react to you winning, since they weren't sitting beside you.

Both you and Oscar were exhausted, so you fell into bed, immediately tangling with each other and knocking out.

He ran a hand through your hair as he lazily closed his eyes. "Y/n?"

You hummed against his skin, sign enough that you were slightly conscious.

"I adore you," he whispered, the silence of the room seeming even quieter in the dark. You looked up at him through tired eyes, a soft smile on your lips.

"I feel it," you smiled. "And I love you too."

Best night ever.

mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

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a-hermit-pining · 2 days ago

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LaDs Men Getting "She's busy bro" Text

Request: Hi!! I waited patiently (and eagerly) for your requests to open again, I'm so happy!! I love your writing!! I laughed so hard at the previous request where you mentioned Tara. I have another "Tara is on thin ice" idea, lol. Tara and Mc are having a girls night at Mc's place. Mc is cooking or just doing something, mc's receives a message from the lads men (something random like "hi, how are you, I'm off work"). Tara tells Mc she got a message (since Mc is doing something and she can't answer), and mc tells Tara to reply for her. All good and sweet, what does Tara reply with? "Hi, all good, she's busy now, she will talk to you later!" (Basically, the "she's busy bro" prank but with an oblivious Tara that didn't mean to prank them, lol)

AN: Hey anon, I am sorry for how last I am posting this. But thank you for requesting such a fun scenario. I hope you enjoy this!! Might be ooc at times but I am woman of dramatics so excuse me.

Ingredients: 75% fluff , 25% drama

My Fav: Zayne 🥺

Genre: She's busy bro, prank

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

You’re in the kitchen, half-focused on stirring the pasta and half-listening to Tara rant about her latest training match when your phone buzzes on the counter.

“Hey, your phone just lit up,” Tara says, leaning over to check the screen. “It’s one of the guys. Something about ‘how are you?’ and ‘off work.’”

“Just reply for me,” you say, tossing a handful of garlic into the pan. “Tell him I’ll get back to him later.”

Tara shrugs, picking up your phone and squinting at the message. Her thumbs fly over the screen as she replies, “Hi, all good, she’s busy right now, she’ll talk to you later!”

She hits send with a satisfied nod, setting the phone back down without a second thought

Rafayel:

You lunge to catch Tara as she collapses, her hands flying to her throat, her breaths coming out in sharp, choking gasps.

“Tara!” you gasp, your watch buzzing with frantic alerts, the tiny screen flashing red with proximity warnings.

And then you see it. The curving, sinuous tendrils creeping from the edges of the painting on your wall. The one Rafayel gifted you not long ago. The inky black swirls ripple like living shadows, curling toward you.

You snatch your phone from the counter, one arm still braced around Tara’s trembling form, your body blocking her from the painting as the tendrils inch closer. You hit Rafayel’s contact, your finger jabbing the call button with a fury you can barely contain.

He picks up on the first ring, and you don’t give him a chance to speak.

“Stop it. Now.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, the sound of crashing waves and distant seagulls crackling through the line, but you don’t flinch.

“I swear to the fucking seas,” you snarl, your voice low and dangerous, “I will never talk to you again if you hurt her.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, a flicker of hesitation, and then the tendrils retreat, coiling back into the frame like startled serpents, the air around you cooling as the painting slowly still.

Tara collapses against you, her breathing evening out, her death grip on your arm loosening as she gasps for air. You meet her wide, dazed eyes, your own heart still hammering in your chest.

She gives you a shaky, crooked grin. “That was kinda hot,” she croaks, her lips twitching into a weak, mischievous smile, and your heart melts on the spot.

It takes Rafayel three weeks of pleading, apologizing, and bribing (both you and Tara) to be forgiven for 'the incident'. He sends flowers, chocolates, and a rare pearl necklace that you suspect he made with his anguished cries.

But the painting stays. “For protection,” he insists, his tone defensive, his eyes shifting away from yours when you bring it up. “You’ll thank me one day.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t push it.

Xavier:

He just shows up at your door. Because, of course, he does.

However busy you were, he could stop it. He is a victim to the sunk cost fallacy. If he has to pull you out of some other guy’s orbit, he’ll do it, no hesitation.

He knocks once, twice, each rap firm but patient, the ripped delivery package dangling from one hand, his other tucked casually into his jacket pocket.

The door swings open, and he inhales to deliver his practiced excuse." “Delivered to wr....” He blinks, momentarily thrown off as Tara opens the door, her hair a chaotic mess, pasta sauce smeared up to her cheeks like she’s just face-planted in a pot of marinara.

Behind her, you’re hunched over a massive dish of pasta, a noodle dangling from your lips, your eyes going wide as you choke at the sight of him, your face turning a lovely shade of tomato red.

“Oh, he—uhgh!” you splutter, breaking into a fit of coughing, nearly dropping the fork in your hand.

Xavier’s eyebrow twitches, his frown slowly morphing into a wide grin as his shoulders relax, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in the chaotic scene.

There’s a long, painful beat of silence.

Then Tara, completely unfazed, just wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, shrugs, and steps aside. “You coming in or what, dude?” she says, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Somehow, Xavier ends up joining your girls’ night, plopping down on the couch, grabbing a fork and helping himself to the monstrous bowl of pasta, because why not?

He makes a few snarky comments about your terrible math skills, but shuts up when you threaten to make him eat his own disastrous cooking as punishment.

Predictably, he’s the first to fall asleep. Conveniently, on your shoulder, his head tucked against your neck, his soft breathing mixing with the faint sound of the movie still playing in the background.

Zayne:

Zayne, of course, doesn’t take the bait.

He’s the only one who doesn’t react to the “She’s busy, bro” text like it’s a declaration of war, because he’s seen this sort of thing before.

As a surgeon, he’s often out of reach, his pager passed off to a resident while he’s deep in the OR, his hands steady, his mind clear as he cuts through flesh and bone. He knows what it’s like to be unavailable, to be occupied with things that demand his full focus.

So when he gets the text, he just blinks at his phone, smiles a little, and sets it down without a second thought, already mentally filing away a dessert he can bring you later, something to help you relax after your busy day.

And he does. He shows up that night, a paper bag in one hand, his coat still smelling faintly of antiseptic and coffee, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the faint lines of old scars.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, a little shy, like he’s not sure if he’s intruding. “I brought tiramisu. Thought you could use a break.”

He’s literally the most precious bby, and you have to resist the urge to hug him right there in the doorway.

Sylus:

He’s in the middle of a deal, lounging back in his leather chair.

He checks his phone on a whim, his fingers flicking over the screen, and sees your text. His lips curl into a slow, arrogant smile as he types out a quick, casual, “Hey, what are you up to, sweetie?”

When the "She's busy, she'll call you later," text comes back, the smile freezes on his lips.

Busy? Busy?

His mood sours instantly. His fingers curl around the edge of his desk. He flicks his gaze back to the fumbling dealer in front of him, and his generosity reserves run dry.

“Out.”

The dealer stumbles back, wide-eyed, sweat beading on his forehead as he stammers out a “Y-Yes, sir!” before practically tripping over his own feet to escape the room.

Sylus leans back in his chair, teeth gritted, jaw tight, the soft click of his metal-tipped fingers against the desk the only sound in the now-silent room.

But just as he’s about to mentally spiral, his phone buzzes again.

“Made a pretty big batch of pasta, would you like some?”

He blinks, eyes flicking to the photo you’ve attached. A literal tub of way too much pasta, the noodles piled high, the sauce thick and steaming, a chaotic heap of carbs that only you and Tara could possibly miscalculate into existence.

He huffs, a quiet, exasperated chuckle slipping past his lips, the tension in his shoulders melting away. He leans back, his head tipping against the cool leather of his chair, a small, fond smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll be there in 20. Don’t start without me.”

And just like that, his mood is ruined in a completely different way, his dark, dangerous aura slipping into something much softer as he straightens his tie and stands, already picturing you waiting with a bright grin and a mismatched fork.

Caleb:

“Why does she get to use your phone and I don’t?” Caleb storms around your apartment, his boots clomping against the hardwood floor, his uniform still perfectly pressed.

It’s been an hour of this. A Fleet Colonel throwing a full-on tantrum in your tiny studio, pacing like a caged animal, his jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he’s debating strangling the nearest pillow. You did put your plushies away at the first given chance.

Pouting. Whining. Sharp, accusing glances thrown your way every time you so much as move.

You’re honestly grateful that Tara had left before this. She’d probably just laugh and egg him on, and you don’t need two chaotic messes in your living room right now.

“Caleb, I was busy,” you try to reason, leaning against the kitchen counter as he paces. “I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

He whirls to face you, his eyes dark, his jaw ticking, his hair somehow still perfectly in place, untouched by the cap he’d clearly ripped off the second he stormed through your door. Your mind unhelpfully drifts to the way that uniform clings to his shoulders, the way his collar hugs his throat, and nope, now is not the time for that.

“Busy?” he spits, his voice a low, irritated rumble. “Busy with what? And why with her, exactly?”

You sigh, pressing a hand to your forehead, already exhausted from the emotional hurricane that is Caleb. “I was cooking, Caleb. With Tara. I didn’t want to leave you hanging, so I asked her to text you back.”

He scoffs, his shoulders tense, his eyes narrowing like he’s daring you to try that excuse again.

Rage bait Tara is Colonel Caleb’s worst nightmare come to life. Given how you never seem to care how close she gets to you, how easily she invades your space, how unapologetically she teases you.

Much to Caleb’s dismay, you never seem to mind.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace headcannon #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #caleb x reader #fluff #love and deepspace reaction #jealousy au #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace xavier #Tara being chaotic #drama #crack

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littlelamy · 3 months ago

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he's still dripping saltwater onto the hotel bed when his phone buzzes, throat tight from shouting at ward on the yacht, some bullshit about respect that doesn't matter now, not when his screen lights up with your name. again. fucking finally.

he told you to call.

told you to keep him updated, send pictures, let him hear your voice so he didn't lose his mind being stuck here with rose’s fake ass laugh and his dad pretending he gives a shit. but you haven’t. barely a word. a missed call he couldn’t answer at dinner, some half-assed text before bed last night. it’s not enough. not even fucking close.

he snatches the phone up before it stops vibrating, fingers still damp as he unlocks it, and—

jesus christ.

his breath gets knocked straight out of him like a gut punch. the video starts with you spread out on your bed, wearing the tiny lace panties he bought you last summer, the white ones with the little satin bow at the front. the ones he told you not to wear when he wasn’t around. your skin’s soft in the low light, thighs shifting, a teasing little wiggle of your hips before your fingers dip between your legs, pressing against the wet spot already showing through. he can hear you, a soft, breathy sigh, and his cock twitches to life in his swim trunks.

his jaw clenches as the video plays. his grip tightens on the phone.

“miss you, rafey,” your voice, saccharine sweet, a little breathless. “wish you were here.”

your fingers slip under the lace, pushing it aside, and fuck—he gets a perfect view of your glistening folds, of how wet you already are for him, all from just thinking about him. his free hand curls into the sheets, nails digging in. his cock’s aching now, straining against his shorts, but he doesn’t move, just stares, entranced, pupils blown wide as you tease yourself, spreading slick with slow, lazy strokes. you always did love putting on a show for him.

his teeth sink into his bottom lip when your fingers slide inside, a needy whimper slipping out, hips lifting to meet your own touch. he should be there. should be the one filling you up, wrecking you like only he can. his jaw flexes. his breath’s coming short now, heavy, uneven. your back arches, your pace picking up, and he hears it—his name, the way it tumbles from your lips, needy, desperate. his head tips back against the headboard, exhaling sharply through his nose. he’s so fucking hard it’s painful.

then you bring your other hand up, two fingers dipping into your mouth, coating them in spit before trailing down, pressing against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles. his vision goes white-hot for a second. his hips jerk up involuntarily. your moans turn breathy, higher pitched, his name slipping out between them like a prayer, like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

then you’re gasping, thighs squeezing around your own hand, chest heaving, back arching high as you come with a soft, broken cry—

and the video ends.

his thumb hovers over the screen, like maybe if he presses just right, it’ll play again. like he didn’t just watch the whole thing burned into his memory in perfect, agonizing detail. his pulse is hammering in his ears. he drags his tongue over his bottom lip, glancing toward the bathroom where the shower’s still running.

his fingers fly over the keyboard.

you’re fucking dead when i get home.

he hesitates, staring at the screen, then adds—

call me. now.

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monstersholygrail · 1 month ago

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Alien bf never knew there was even more love and affection to behold than what you had shown him and what he’s seen in the data archives found on their ships computers. But ever since he discovered sex and what it felt like to be so deeply connected to you he had turned into a fiend.

If you thought he was taking up all your time before, you literally cannot take a breath without him sliding up behind you and gathering you in his giant arms. Picking up your plush body with ease and molding it against his hard frame.

He carries you everywhere to the point where you often forget the last time your feet have touched the ground. The rest of your crew looks over at you in pity but you honestly can’t find it in yourself to complain. He views you as his mate, it only makes sense to want to do these things for you.

You can’t even delude yourself into thinking it’s innocent anymore. He knows what he’s doing, especially since he was caught watching porn with a hand around his cock. Moaning your name loud enough for someone to think he was calling for help. And he loves it. Making you squirm as he shamelessly feels you up. Soft chirps leaving him as he noses at your cute blush.

But his favorite noises from you come when he’s gotten six or seven orgasms out of your pretty cunt. Making a total mess of his throbbing cock that’s been wrecking you for hours. Fucking you stupid to the point where you forget your own language and start letting out the familiar clicks of his species.

His clawed fingers curl around your waist, using you like a fleshlight as he slams back down on his cock at a brutal pace. Meeting his own thrusts to hammer up into you even harder. Those lovely clicks that sing your pleasure pierce the air and your pussy pulses around his thick girth.

It brings him more satisfaction than he can express. Above all he relishes in the fact that there’s no doubt by now that your crew knows what’s going on in just the next wing of the ship. That’s right. You’re taken and no human cock could ever compare to what he can give you.

“Louder, sweet mate. L-let them, unngh, let them hear how good I make you feel. Need them to know you’re mine,” he growls, his cock twitching inside you and hitting that spot that has you seeing stars.

You cry out loudly, not wanting to admit how good his possession over you feels. Now that you know it’s intentional it makes it all a million times hotter. You’d be embarrassed by the loud squelch that echos with each thrust if you weren’t so unbearably needy, even after coming so much already.

The coil in your belly tightens so hard you fear you’re about to burst. And the second it snaps your releasing streams of your orgasm all over your Alien bf’s huge lap, soaking his lower half entirely. He only lasts for a few more thrusts before he’s burying himself inside you and splashing buckets of cum into your eager cunt.

He keeps you firmly on his lap, your bodies still deeply joined long after he grows soft again. Both of you panting heavily. His breath ghosts across your burning skin as he nuzzles into you, showing no signs of letting go any time soon.

It won’t take much to get him going again. So you take advantage of the break for as long as you can. Trying to ignore the way your pussy flutters as if trying to get him hard again. You can’t control it, he’s turned you into as much of a sex fiend as he is.

Reaching behind you, you brush your hand against your bfs large cheek until you’re weaving your fingers in his long silky hair. A deep purr rumbles from his chest and he leans contently into your touch.

“You’ve gotten pretty good at this whole human intimacy thing. Is there anything else you want to learn?” You ask teasingly, every inch of your body humming with satisfaction.

But of course he takes your words seriously. Perhaps humor will be next up on the list of lessons to get through. Something to think about perhaps when his cock isn’t creating a bulge in your soft belly.

“I wish to learn everything… so long as it’s you teaching it to me, my mate.”

Though all thoughts of lessons and teachings fly out the window when you feel his long thick fingers slowly making their way down to your swollen puffy clit. That he finds with ease by the way. Your bf already growing needy for you again.

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machveil · 6 months ago

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I can't resist the siren call

Roommate!Simon Riley that low-key enjoys fucking with your friends Y/N

subtle foreshadowing… I suppose I can dip into my nsfw Roommate!Simon Riley thoughts

Roommate!Simon Riley who shares a laundry bin with you, it had been agreed a long time ago that just doing a big load would be easier. you takes turns, knowingly stealing each other’s clothes every couple days when the laundry is fresh out the machine. you know Simon took an oversized t-shirt you owned, but that’s okay, you took his favorite gym hoodie

Roommate!Simon Riley who doesn’t get embarrassed about his underwear being in the bin with yours, it’s all going in the machine anyways. that doesn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow though when his favorite boxers go missing. he was sure he put them in with the dirties, well, the cleans now. he figures the machine ate it, or maybe they’ll show up some day by chance - he shrugs it off and separates his clothes from yours, snagging one of your oversized sweaters to lounge in later

Roommate!Simon Riley who freezes when he sees you on the couch that night. eyes wide and jaw slack, he can’t bring himself to move. sat watching something on the tv - he can’t be bothered to acknowledge whats playing - he stares at you, wearing his boxers as shorts. “Hey, come watch this— I’ll catch you up since it just started. I’m not pausing it though so you better pay attention.”, your words are all in one ear and out the other. suddenly his legs are moving on their own, stopping in front of you. he doesn’t register what you’re saying, telling him to move because you can’t see the tv, but then he speaks

Roommate!Simon Riley whose voice is deliciously deep, a little raspy from how his throat suddenly feels dry, “S’that mine?”, he asks, eyeing his boxers. he’s never had such a hard time swallowing before, heartbeat erratic as you casually respond, “Huh— oh, yeah. They’re really comfy, the fabrics nice.”. fabrics nice, yeah, he knows. “You— ya know those are boxers, right love?”, he asks, hands twitchy as you reply, “Mhm, just borrowin’ them.”

CW: guilty wank, man is hopeless [kisses his cheek]

Roommate!Simon Riley who’s a mess after that interaction. you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him, but he’s losing it on the inside. he’s seen you be audacious with stealing his clothes before, taking his loose-fit tank tops that left little to the imagination on you, stealing clothes you knew he favored and parading around in them, but his boxers? that had him stalking back to his room, quick to turn on his heel before you could see his pants tent

he’s sweating, closes the door to his room a little harder than he meant to. god, he wants to go back out there and see you again, get an eyeful of how comfortable you looked - wearing his boxers like they were yours. you wouldn’t know, and he can’t help but think about it, but you had stolen his favorite pair. they’re plain, a simple black pair, something he bought at the store because he needed new underwear. but when you wear them? they suddenly looked different, makes his heart hammer against his chest. it feels like he walked out into the living room and you wearing lingerie, not something he got for fifteen pounds

he feels a little guilty, shoving his jeans down his thighs as he sits down on his bed. you’re home, sat in the living room just down the hall, and here’s Simon fishing his leaky cock out of his underwear. he really shouldn’t, he should sneak into the bathroom for a cold shower, think about war and blood and bullets to get his boner down. but he isn’t, he’s spitting into his palm and groaning, bringing his free hand up to cover his mouth - he’s never been good about keeping quiet. it’s not his fault you were out there wearing his clothes, you were the one that decided to look so— so cozy and content in your makeshift shorts. domestic

when that word settles at the forefront of his brain Simon’s hips jerk, you looked domestic, wanting to watch some show with him. his leg jolts slightly, hand moving to shallowly pump his weeping head. maybe your friends are right, Simon does take care of you - could bend you over and make you sob his name - he’s basically your boyfriend, often mistaken for your husband. his thighs tense when he imagines a ring on your finger— no, his dog tags hanging from your neck— god, holding you at night as an actual couple—

he’s choking out a moan, muffled and hoarse, as he coats his hand. eyes fluttering shut and breathing heavily, all his thoughts fly out the window as his cum drips down his fingers - all his thoughts except for one. he’s going to have to go back out there later to eat dinner with you, and oh, fuck, he sucks in a deep breath as he chubs up again

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ellieputellas · 2 months ago

Text

guilty as charged | a.putellas

— Alexia was the perfect roommate. Well, except for one fatal flaw: she always lost your chargers. Fed up, you searched her room, only to find something you definitely weren’t supposed to see.

Tags: 18+, mdni, roommate!Alexia, dom!Alexia (kinda), strap r!receiving, fingering r!receiving, biting, impliedfuckboy!Alexia, slightly long build up before the smut content, tldr: finding Alexia’s strap and not being able to get it out of your mind, not proofread | wc: 6k+

masterlist | do not repost or plagiarize!

"Alexia!" You shouted at your roommate who was taking too long in the bathroom. "Where's my charger? I thought I told you to buy your own already."

"Espera!" The Catalan called back out to your frustration, still taking her sweet time in the showers.

"Rich as fuck but can't afford to buy her own charger," you muttered under your breath.

Alexia had developed a habit of leaving her chargers in the locker room or lending them out to her teammates, forgetting to get them back. And, instead of buying her own replacement, she had been relying on your generosity and kindness.

At first, you were cool with it. After all, Alexia has always been a generous roommate — buying you new shampoo whenever you were running low, ordering dinner for your weekly movie nights, and always buying wine for you two to share. So, naturally, you had no problem sharing your charger once in a while. You even decided to buy Alexia her own charger — the fancy kind that charged ultra fast. It cost you a bit more than the average phone charger would but you figured it was just your way of saying thanks for her generosity.

She lost that too. Within just a few days.

So, she resorted back to borrowing yours. And while it was just mildly irritating at first, it only got fully annoying when she started walking into your room while you weren't there, taking your charger and even bringing it with her to training. Without even asking. She just assumed you’d be fine with her borrowing it.

It was always a different excuse every time she lost it.

"Oh sorry, I left it at my locker."

"It's somewhere in the car… I think."

"I think I already returned it."

You tried not to let it get to you, thinking that getting pissed over something so shallow was too petty and childish. But you needed your iPad to do your work, and for that iPad to function, it needed to be charged… which was impossible to do if Alexia kept treating your chargers like they were disposable.

"God," you groaned as you stared at the wall clock, feeling antsy about a deadline. "Alexia! Can't you just tell me where it is?"

"Espera! I'm still washing my hair." She said with an annoyed tone which just annoyed you even more. How is she the one getting annoyed? She’s the one who lost it again.

"Fuck it, I'll get it myself." You groaned under your breath before rifling through her stuff with zero patience. “Where the fuck did she put it?”

Annoyed, you yanked open the drawer built into the side of her bed frame. Unlike the other drawers with things haphazardly thrown in, this one had its contents neatly folded beneath a thin blanket. Without thinking about why the blanket was there in the first place, you pulled it back and froze.

That’s when you saw it right in front of you: a massive, light pink dildo strapped to a harness Your brain short-circuited. You weren’t exactly prudish or conservative; you had your own vibrator tucked away in your panty drawer. But this? This was… a lot.

Your eyes darted over the rest of the drawer. Bottles of flavored lube. Handcuffs. A ball gag. A various selection of dildos and vibrators. On top of it rested the huge pink strap-on you first saw, the cherry on top to this kinky mix. Who knew your polite, friendly roommate was this —

“What are you doing?”

Your soul left your body as soon as you heard Alexia calmly inquire behind you. You spun around, heart hammering. Alexia stood in the doorway, fresh from the shower. She was clad in nothing but a sports bra and a towel slung low on her hips. Her hair was damp from the shower, hanging by the side of her face, dropping beads of water down her wide shoulders and further down her glistening abdomen.

“I—I was looking for my charger,” you stammered nervously, standing up from your crouched-over position. You straightened yourself, wiping the beads of sweat on your forehead and straightening your shirt. “I couldn’t find it and I’ve got a deadline today and... and you know how much I need it.”

You stumbled upon your words, causing Alexia to raise an eyebrow in amusement. You cleared your throat, trying to seem unbothered by what you just saw. “This is just like… the sixth or seventh charger that you haven’t returned.” You said, trying to steady your voice.

Alexia’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as her gaze flicked to the cabinet you’d so carelessly left open. She didn’t look embarrassed or pissed. Not even remotely phased. Just… amused. “Right,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s literally right there.”

She nodded toward the direction of the chair in front of her work desk placed at the corner of the room. Sitting on top of her iPad, plain as day, was your charger. Heat rushed to your face. How had you missed something so obvious? You could have just swept the room first. Instead, you’d snooped immediately through her drawer and discovered she was some kind of sexual deviant.

“Oh,” you squeaked. Without another word, you lunged for the charger, swiftly grabbing it. You gave a tight-lipped smile to Alexia before holding it up just to show her you got it. It took everything in you to only look at your roommate from the head up, not allowing your gaze to lower down to her bare torso. You were never flustered like this around Alexia. She was often sauntering around the house in just a sports bra and workout shorts; it never bothered you… until now. “I guess I just missed it.”

You spun on your heel and bolted for your room, shutting the door behind you. Pressing your back against it, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “What the fuck did I just see?”

Alexia found it cute how flustered you acted after the incident.

She had always been careful about her intimate life. When living with roommates, she never brought girls home, never let her personal indulgences spill beyond the walls of her bedroom. It was a part of her life she preferred to keep discreet and private. Though, at times, it wasn’t easy.

She briefly recalled the short period when she roomed with Marta during the pre-CGH days, when her co-captain was still single. Keeping that side of herself hidden had been a challenge, especially when they were sleeping just a few feet apart, separated by non-soundproof walls. Bringing girls home had become a strategic endeavor, timed around Marta’s schedule, because Alexia was very aware that her extracurricular activities weren’t exactly… quiet.

After years of having roommates, Alexia thought maybe it was time she stopped sharing her space. She was earning enough to live alone, and most of her teammates no longer needed to split rent either. It had seemed like a natural step forward.

Then you came along.

You were the team’s new graphic designer, originally working for the men’s team until the club restructured and brought in a new agency to replace your old role. That shift had introduced you to the women’s squad, and Alexia had taken an interest in your work almost immediately. At first, you chalked up her attentiveness to her captain’s duties; it was something you presumed was to be expected of Alexia.

But then she did something you never saw coming.

When the team heard you might have to quit — your apartment was full of black mold, and finding an affordable place nearby on short notice was impossible — Alexia made you an unexpected offer. She had a spacious place with two bedrooms and didn’t mind charging you below market value, making it the perfect solution.

You had understood what a big gesture that was for her. What you hadn’t known was just how much she had given up by letting you move in.

Her newfound freedom was gone. She could no longer bring girls home on a whim, given your unpredictable work modality schedule. Late-night hookups were practically impossible when you were always up until ungodly hours, hunched over your iPad in the living room, working on some random side gig.

Alexia knew that you two were old enough to understand that sex was a part of life and that bringing home girls shouldn’t be a thing to be ashamed of. But she knew that her situation was different. It wasn’t that simple

Still, she didn’t mind. She liked having you around far more than she missed fucking around.

Though you having found her stash did have her thinking that probably she treated it far more taboo than what it was. So what if she liked loud, unrestrained sex that could last for hours? It wasn’t like it happened every night. And surely, you had a few toys of your own tucked away in your room.

Maybe this could be an opportunity — a way for you to start accepting that your roommate simply… enjoyed being active.

So, she tried opening up the subject. While you two were cooking your respective dinners, Alexia tried casually asking you if you remembered what you had seen in her cabinet. You were so startled you nearly cut your finger instead of a potato.

While you two were on the drive back from work, Alexia tried to engage you in a conversation about sex but you pretended to have a bad stomach, making fake groaning sounds to pretend you couldn’t hear what you were saying.

Honestly, Alexia should have been frustrated by your immaturity, by your outright refusal to discuss something so simple like an adult. But she couldn't fully get annoyed with you ever... and it was because of the massive crush she had on you.

Alexia always found you cute. She liked your quirky mannerisms and the way you made her laugh even if you didn’t intend to. She liked your work ethic; she always valued people who took their job seriously. It didn’t help that you were always walking around the house in very tiny shorts with silly cartoon designs that always caught her eye.

Her attraction to you had only grown the closer you became. You were naturally affectionate with her, always touching her in small ways — a hand on her arm, leaning against her shoulder, sitting on her lap whenever the squad was around and there weren’t any seats. You never seemed to mind being touchy with her.

A part of her knew that maybe she didn’t mind not bringing girls home because… well, she had you. Your company and presence meant more to her than casual sex ever could. That didn’t mean, of course, that she wouldn’t have you if you let her.

There were nights when she had to physically stop herself from suggesting a friends-with-benefits arrangement. She valued your friendship too much to risk it over something so fleeting; she wasn’t about to fumble a great friendship just because she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. Besides, after seeing how you squirmed at the mere mention of sex, she knew you'd never go for something like that.

…Or would you?

You were hunched over your iPad, rushing to finalize a mock-up for new merch designs. The design head thought that since you managed social media, you might as well help out with merch design too. It made no sense to you but she had drilled into you that it was crucial you got it done by today. You wouldn't have been so annoyed by a task outside your job description, if only the assignment wasn't given a day before the deadline.

Hence, why you were stressed-out and aggressively illustrative design mock-ups on your iPad. It was already midnight and you were expected to report to work at 9 in the morning. It was just too little time.

And then, just as you were adding the final details, your iPad screen went black. The device shut off. When you tried pressing the power button, hoping it was just an accidental press that put the device to sleep, it displayed the dreaded low battery logo.

“Fuck!” you cursed, slamming your Apple Pencil onto the desk. You let a frustrated groan rip through your chest. You knew the battery had been low, but you had been so deep in the work that you ignored all the low battery notifications.

Great, now the momentum is gone, you thought.

Fine, whatever, you said to yourself. You just needed your charger. You pushed back from your desk and marched to your room, heading straight for the spot where you knew you had left it, which was right on top of your makeup bag.

Except… it wasn’t there.

Frowning, you checked your drawers. Nothing. Your bag? Not there. You even looked under your bed, as if it had somehow magically fallen and rolled into hiding. And then it hit you. Alexia had borrowed it again earlier this morning with the promise that she'd return it instantly.

You grew frustrated. In the past days, you haven’t really been angry or emotional around Alexia and it was mostly because you felt awkward about the drawer incident. But now, all you could think of was how fucking annoying it was that this happened again.

She knew how important your charger was, how often you needed it for work. And yet, she had forgotten to return it again on deadline night of all nights. Adrenaline pumping, you stormed toward her room, fists clenched. Without hesitation, you pushed the door open.

“Alexia, where the hell��”

Your words caught in your throat.

Alexia stood in the middle of her room, dressed in nothing but a sports bra and a pair of loose shorts that showed off the top of her Calvin Klein underwear, mid-stretch, her toned stomach and arms on full display.

You blinked, caught completely off guard.

For a moment, you forgot why you were even there. Then, you shook your head, snapping yourself out of it. “Alexia, give me back my charger.”

She didn’t even flinch at your tone. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, a smirk growing on her face. “Oh? Someone seems mad.”

You groaned. "I'm not just mad, okay?" You corrected. "I'm fucking stressed. I have a deadline for a task that isn't even part of my job's jurisdiction and I've been working all night on Blender and Procreate and —"

You paused to take a breath. "I just had enough, okay?" You said more calmly. “I just need to finish this right now but I can't cause you took—"

Alexia tilted her head. “I took your charger?”

“Yes?" You said incredulously.

Her brow lifted slightly. “I returned it earlier today.” She said. "Remember? At breakfast? I even fixed you a bowl of chocolate oatmeal as a thank you?"

You frowned, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

“I borrowed it this morning, but I gave it back before you left to work at that café.”

And just like that, it clicked.

Fuck.

You probably didn't notice Alexia returning it cause you were too busy working. Suddenly, you remember you had taken it with you. You had plugged it in at the café, worked there for hours, and then… left without it.

Your anger deflated instantly, replaced by embarrassment. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, feeling your face heat up.

“Oh.”

Alexia let the silence stretch just long enough to watch you squirm, then let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll let that one slide.”

You sighed, rubbing your face. “Sorry, Alexia. I’m just—”

“Stressed,” she finished for you. Then, her voice softened. “Cariño, don’t be. I’ll talk to your boss tomorrow and make sure you get another day. I’ll just put the blame on me.”

She smiled, stepping forward. "They can't say no to me."

Before you could react, Alexia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer to her by the waist, offering a small hug to comfort you. You exhaled, tension still buzzing in your body.

“Okay,” you mumbled, leaning into her. “I'm sorry for storming all mad and accusatory like that.”

“I know,” she murmured. “Why don’t I give you a back rub?”

You hesitated, but your muscles did ache from hours of work, hunched over a table and stressed beyond belief. Your shoulders were practically begging to be rubbed. “…Fine.”

Alexia guided you toward the bed, settling herself against the headboard while she sat you in between her legs with your back resting against her. The second her hands found your shoulders, thumbs pressing firmly into the knots of tension, you exhaled a slow breath.

“Oh,” you muttered, eyes fluttering shut. “Alexia, yeah, that feels good.”

She hummed in response, continuing to knead the stiffness from your shoulders. Her hands were firm yet gentle, and before you knew it, your body melted into her touch. She rubbed into your shoulders at the perfect firmness, finding where the knots were on your upper back and shoulders before massaging them away.

“Mmm,” you murmured. "Fuck, that's so good."

Alexia’s hands moved lower, moving from your upper back and shoulders area to something more in the middle of your back. Alexia's hands kneaded the tension from your back, her fingers expertly working under the shoulder blades. You let out a slow exhale, sinking into the warmth of her body behind you.

“Let’s take off your cardigan,” she murmured, her voice smooth, low. “It's getting in the way.”

You nodded absentmindedly, already half-lost in the sensation of her touch. You were practically floating in the sensation, only to be snapped out by the sensation of her arms grazing your chest as she unbuttoned your cardigan. You bit your lip as her fingertips grazed against your nipples as she helped you shrug off the cardigan. The contact was fleeting— perhaps, accidental — but it was enough to send a sharp jolt through you.

Your breath hitched, and you hummed, trying to brush off the growing heat in your core.

Alexia continued the massage, but this time, as one hand stayed firm on your shoulder, the other drifted lower, her fingers ghosting over your left nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but your body reacted instantly. You jumped slightly at the sensation.

Alexia leaned in, her lips grazing your ear. “Relax,” she whispered in a low voice, her breath warm against your skin. "This is gonna help you release all tension. Trust me."

You hesitated, pulse quickening, but you didn’t stop her. You let yourself sink back against her, allowing it to happen. Her touch grew bolder. Soon, both hands were on your chest, the pads of her fingertips rubbing slow, teasing circles over your hardened nipples, the friction from the fabric of your shirt only heightening the sensation. A quiet moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

Alexia smirked at your reaction. "Yeah, just relax and let go." She cooed in an innocent tone as if she was still massaging your back. Now, Alexia's fingers moved deliberately, alternating between rolling your nipples between her fingertips and slightly pinching at them, coaxing more breathy sounds from you. Your head soon rested back against her shoulder, and she took the opportunity to press a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

A soft hum vibrated against your skin. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, your body answering for you as you let out another shaky moan. Alexia's mouth was on you again, gently kissing and nipping at the delicate skin of your neck as you felt her hands slowly move under your shirt.

You whimpered her name as you felt her fingers against your bare skin, running against them. Alexia smirked at the way you were reacting and quickly agreed to letting her touch you like this.

Before you could even realize, Alexia was reaching under a nearby pillow. Under it, she had a toy she left from her own masturbation session last night. If your eyes were opened, you would have probably chickened out at the sight of the neon pink massage wand but you were too busy enjoying Alexia's playful, little massages.

Soon, Alexia had slotted in the head of the toy in between your legs, pressed against your soaked pajama shorts. She clicked the on button and you practically moaned out instantly. Your eyes opened but before you could say anything in protest, Alexia shushed you. "It's just a massage wand. It'll help you loosen up."

You were a smart girl. You knew what Alexia was doing and normally, you would have called her out but tonight… Tonight, you were exhausted. You were tense. And with the way her hands had been working over your body, the way the vibrations of the wand had begun to hum softly against your core, the fact that you've spent the past few days fantasizing about what it would be like to experience the Alexia Putellas…

You found no reason to stop her.

“…Okay.”

Your voice was soft, almost breathy, and it sent a visible shiver through Alexia. She loved hearing you like this: so obedient and pliant, so willing, so cute when you agreed to let her touch you.

She pressed a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear before murmuring, “Now, be a good girl and take off your bottoms for me, okay?”

You didn't hesitate, swiftly lifting your hips to push your bottoms off of you, kicking them off with your legs. Alexia put a hand firmly under your left thigh, pulling you closer to her. With her right hand, she put the toy back against your core, sending a wave of vibrations that had your legs trembling.

Alexia's left hand was back in your left breast, pinching at them to elicit tiny and cute moans that she loved so much. You unconsciously rocked your hips against the toy, seeking to chase out the pleasure, praying Alexia would turn up the speed so you could arrive at your orgasm sooner.

As you whimpered, gripping the sheets beneath you, Alexia carefully removed the toy from between you. “W-what?” you stammered, your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body.

Alexia’s hand on your waist tightened slightly. “Last night… when you fell asleep on the couch…" she paused, teasingly. "You were whimpering.”

Your eyes snapped open, embarrassment crashing over you like cold water.

Shit. You had dreamed about her again.

Before you could even attempt to defend yourself, Alexia chuckled, her breath warm against your skin. “That’s not even the best part.” She leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just beneath your jaw. “You dropped your phone on the floor — probably right before you dozed off." She murmured. “So, naturally… I picked it up.”

Your stomach twisted in mortification, and you didn’t even have to ask to know where this was going. Alexia hummed, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Imagine my surprise when I saw what you were searching for.” Another soft kiss, this time against your shoulder. “How to ride a strap.”

A whimper escaped your throat as she increased the speed suddenly. At this point, your legs were shaking.

Alexia let out a quiet laugh. “I thought it was cute.” Her fingers were now teasing circles against your inner thigh, making you twitch. “And I know you’ve been stressed. High-strung. So instead of just teasing you…”

She suddenly pressed the vibrator against you again with more pressure, turning up the speed without warning. A loud, broken moan spilt from your lips as pleasure began to build inside you. Your head tilted back, resting your weight onto the Catalan, body arching into the sensation as Alexia guided the toy against you.

“There you go,” she murmured, watching in amusement as you squirmed, your thighs trembling against hers. She subconsciously licked her lips as she saw your wetness completely cover your core and inner thighs. “You’re making such a mess, cariño.”

You barely heard her, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure. It was too much, too good. It felt like at any moment, you were going to explode with pleasure.

And then, just as you were about to orgasm, Alexia pulled the wand away again.

Your eyes flew open, a frustrated whine escaping your lips. “Alexia, what the fuck.”

“Shh,” she interrupted smoothly, putting aside the toy. “We’re just getting started.”

The next moments went by so quickly that you could not process how you managed to end up completely naked on top of Alexia who was now wearing the pink strap you saw from the other day around her waist, on top of her Calvin Klein underwear. You bit your lip as you straddled her upper thighs. It seemed like you were gaining consciousness now as you stared at the silicone member. It was long and girthy, shining slightly with the lube Alexia poured on it.

Alexia’s hands traced lazily on your legs and thighs. “Come on, show me what google told you to do,” she teased.

You bit your lip as you stared at the obscene size of the silicone, hesitating. “Alexia, I don’t think…”

Alexia sat up, grabbing your waist as she pressed a kiss on your mouth. “Shh, of course you can,” she reassured in between kisses. Her mouth felt so soft and warm against yours. The sensation of her mouth on yours was hypnotizing you again, making you feel soft and needy. It’s like her lips make me dumber, you thought to yourself.

Alexia shifted the position so you’d be laying on your back and she’d be slotted in between your spread legs, she continued to kiss you, knowing it was what you needed to not feel intimidated and hesitant. Soon, you could feel her hands stroke your inner thighs. “Why don’t I help you out,” she whispered. “Just so you wouldn’t be so shy, hmm?”

You nodded, obedient and docile under your roommate. Alexia locked eyes with you, breaking the kiss. A sigh escaped your lips as her warm hazel eyes met yours. It felt like you could melt into those beautiful, honey-colored pools.

You were so captivated by Alexia’s eyes that you didn’t notice that she had two fingers playing around your entrance, desperate to enter you.

You opened your mouth and let out a gasp as soon as two of her fingers thrust into you, deliberately with a careful firmness to them. Alexia smiled, eyes still fixed on yours, as she carefully curled them into you. The Catalan practically moaned at the feeling of you tightly clenched around her long and thick fingers.

“Fuck,” your voice came out softly as you felt yourself clench around her, soaking her fingers with your slick arousal. “I want more… please.”

That was all Alexia needed to hear. It was enough to send her over the edge. She started thrusting in and out of you with a faster, harder pace to it. You moaned out loud as you felt her fingers slam into you, curling every time into your sweet spot, causing you to arch your hips and grip onto her shoulders.

“Just like that,” Alexia muttered against your ear, her breath hot and uneven. “Let me hear you, cariño.”

Any sort of restraint you had left was gone. Your moans spilled freely as her fingers drove into you mercilessly, stretching you open, coaxing you toward the edge. You felt delirious, drowning in sensation, the heat between your legs unbearable.

Alexia couldn’t count the number of times she had touched herself to the thought of you like this — writhing, moaning, begging for her. But even her filthiest fantasies paled in comparison to the reality of you falling apart in her hands. You were so much more unbelievably stunning, intoxicating, and wrecked beneath her. No girl she's ever fucked before has gotten her this worked up. It was taking everything in her not to ruin you completely. She didn't want your first time to be too intense.

Her fingers worked you open with ease, curling inside you as her mouth traced a path of heat across your skin. She kissed and sucked at your neck, her tongue dragging along your collarbones before moving up to your jaw, nipping just enough to make you whimper.

But her favourite spot was the crook of your neck, right above your right collarbone, where she latched on and sucked hard, marking you. The second she did, you dug your nails into her back, moaning her name so loudly she knew the whole floor would hear but you were completely fucked out of your brains to even care.

You could feel Alexia’s smirk against your skin as she heard you moan out loud. She positioned her hand differently now so not only was she thrusting into you with two fingers, she was also rubbing your clit with her thumb. It was driving you insane.

Your thighs instinctively clenched around her hand, trying to slow her down as the pleasure was getting intense and you were growing sensitive. But Alexia wouldn’t let you control the pace or her movement. She pinned your hips down, forcing you to take everything exactly how she wanted.

“Take it,” she gritted, lips brushing against your ear. “If you try to press your legs together again. I swear to god I’ll stop right now.”

You acquiesced, trying to not fight the urge to clamp around her, desperate to get that orgasm. Alexia smiled as she pumped her fingers faster, readjusting her position and pressing her palm flush against your clit. Each thrust of her hand sent waves of pleasure crashing all throughout your body. The knot in your stomach coiled tighter, unbearable now, your entire body tensing.

Your roommate knew you were close, judging by your stuttered breathing and the way you were clenching tightly around her, but she knew she couldn’t let you cum yet. Not while she’s had the pleasure of letting you live out your fantasy.

Alexia pulled her fingers out of you, leaving you throbbing and empty and before you could even think to complain, she hooked her arms around your back and lifted you effortlessly. A small gasp escaped your lips as she shifted you back onto her lap, holding you steady against her hips, exactly where she wanted you.

“Ride me,” she said, her voice low and commanding. Her hands settled on your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin, grounding you. “Show me what you want to do to me.”

With your desperation to cum, there was no hesitation left in you. You nodded eagerly, obediently, as you squatted above the strap, your thighs trembling with anticipation. You hovered just above it, adjusting your position, but even as you took control of the movement, Alexia never relinquished her dominance. Her fingers tightened around you, her presence overpowering, making it clear that even though you were on top, she was still in charge.

You bit your lip, carefully making sure that you were lined up, but Alexia was growing impatient. With a strong grip, she held you steady and thrust upward, burying herself inside you with one smooth motion. The sudden intrusion knocked the breath from your lungs, your balance wavering as you instinctively grabbed onto the headboard for support. The head of the dildo pressed deep, almost kissing your cervix, causing you to curse and shut your eyes at the sensation.

You took a deep breath before lifting yourself slowly, feeling every inch of her slide against your walls, then sinking back down, your movements cautious at first.

Alexia watched you, her eyes dark and hooded, her grip possessive as she guided your pace. But it wasn’t long before her restraint wavered. As soon as she saw you settle into a rhythm, she met you halfway, thrusting up in perfect sync, pushing deeper, filling you more completely.

Your moans spilled freely from your lips as your body surrendered to her, the stretch overwhelming but intoxicating. “Fuck,” you gasped between gritted teeth, your nails digging into her skin as you kept balance. “You’re so big.”

Alexia smirked, dragging her hands up your sides before pulling you down harder onto her length. “Yeah?” she taunted, her voice thick with amusement and desire. “Too big for you?”

You could only nod, barely able to think, barely able to breathe, as she took back every ounce of control you thought you had. “Yeah, but it feels so good.” You said breathily. Even if you were already getting a bit winded, you knew you couldn’t stop now. Not while your orgasm was slowly building up inside you again.

Alexia moved one of her hands from your waist up to your breast, squeezing your plump breast firmly. She squeezed again at the sensitive bud of your nipple causing you to moan out again. She moved her hands back to settle behind you before she quickly sat up so that she could suck on your breasts while you continued to ride her.

The shift in her position caused the silicone member to curve into you, now pressing and grazing your sensitive spot with every bounce and thrust. Paired with the sensation of Alexia’s tongue skillfully playing and flicking against your nipples, it was surely sending you closer and closer over the edge.

You moved your hands to Alexia’s shoulders, giving you better mobility to ride her, breasts practically bouncing in front of Alexia’s face. She chuckled, sensing your desperation. She sat back up again, holding you upwards to keep your balance.

“Fuck, Ale,” you said, voice whimpery and erotic. You sounded almost obscene. “I’m so fucking close.”

Alexia moaned at the sound of your broken plea, her own arousal spiking as she felt the way you moved against her, grinding down harder, chasing your release with reckless abandon. “I know, baby,” she husked, her voice thick, hands tightening on your hips. “Just a bit more. Be good for me.”

You obeyed, but it was barely conscious — your body was on autopilot, instinct taking over as you rode her with increasing urgency. You felt yourself clench around her, your hips stuttering as the orgasm was slowly building up, causing you to clench. Thankfully, Alexia never loosened her grip. Even as your strength wavered, she held you firm, guiding you through it, her own body rising to meet yours. The shift in control was subtle but absolute; your arms wrapped around her tightly, your forehead pressing against her shoulder as you let her take the lead, her strong hands dictating your pace, her hips rolling upward, filling you over and over until you were unravelling completely in her hold.

Your moans grew louder, almost obscene and pornographic, echoing off the walls in a way that made Alexia smirk. If you kept this up, you’d both be getting a formal complaint from the condo association by morning. Alexia shushed you. “Cariño, I know it feels good but you need to quiet down.”

“Can’t–” you muster to say out, still moaning. Alexia groaned, torn between wanting to hear every filthy sound you made and knowing she had to shut you up before the neighbors got an earful. Thankfully, she got an idea.

“Baby,” she murmured between gritted teeth, punctuating her words with a sharp thrust that made you jolt. “Why don’t you bite my shoulder?”

You shivered at the suggestion, barely processing her words but nodding anyway, too far gone to argue.

“So no one gets mad at you for being such a good girl and riding me, yeah?”

That was all it took. You latched onto her shoulder, hesitant at first, lips parting against her sweat-slicked skin. But then she snapped her hips up harder, gripping your waist and bouncing you with ease, using her strength to fuck you onto her strap. The sudden onslaught made you lose control. Your teeth sank into her skin, muffling your moans into the muscle of her shoulder.

Alexia groaned out but the sting of your teeth pressing against her skin didn’t stop her or slowed down her pace. The pain felt like a motivation to get you where you needed to be. It didn’t take long. Alexia could feel by your shaking legs and the tightness of your grasp and the breathy moans you were exhaling into her skin.

“Come on, baby,” she rasped, voice strained as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “Give it to me.”

With only a couple more deliberate thrusts that pressed against your sensitive spot, you came undone, practically melting into Alexia’s arms.

It was a great idea for you to be biting against her or else your moan would have been heard throughout the whole building. Alexia held you through it, her hands steady, her grip firm, prolonging your pleasure as she slowed her thrusts, letting you ride it out. When your body finally sagged against her, she stopped the slow thrusting and wrapped her hands around you to form a hug, rubbing your back as she allowed you to breathe heavily against her skin.

You unlatched your mouth, a string of saliva forming from her shoulder to your mouth. You wiped at it sluggishly, still breathless, still full of her as she had not pulled out of you. Your forehead pressed against hers, the intimacy of the moment settling between you both.

“I forgive you,” you murmured, your voice hoarse, breath still uneven.

Alexia blinked, still coming down from the high. “Huh?”

“For stealing my charger.”

There was a beat of silence before Alexia burst into laughter, her breath mingling with yours as she shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You hushed her, planting your lips on hers. "You still gotta make up for the seven or eight more you lost." You teased.

"I'll make it up a hundred times over if I have to." Alexia responded, a smirk toying on her face. "Just make sure you can take it."

It was gonna be a long night.

a/n: i feel like this is identical to all the other strap fics i've written but idgaf at least im writing again!!! anyway, still working on the longer fic and working on other ideas for shorter Alexia fics. i hope you guys still liked this AAAAAAA pls be nice

masterlist

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas smut #minors dni #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas fic #alexia putellas imagines #alexia x reader #wlw fics #wlw smut #woso smut #mdni

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falesten-iw · 5 months ago

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Being someone who fights for their family in a world that barely acknowledges Gaza’s suffering? That’s its own special kind of hell. Every time a loved one is injured, whether it’s your partner, your child, or even yourself, the doctors rush in. But don’t expect any miracles. The tools they bring aren’t fresh from pristine, state-of-the-art hospitals. They’re the leftovers of a world that has abandoned Gaza. Surgical plates aren’t delivered by some heroic supply chain. They’re pulled from the bodies of the dead, handed down like cursed heirlooms. Metal meant to heal now carries the weight of death, and infection waits to take what little hope remains.

Doctors are left with impossible decisions: amputate, scavenge through the dead for a plate to salvage, or wait for one that may never come. And the price? These plates cost more than most families in Gaza could ever afford. As resources vanish, everything becomes more expensive. It’s a cruel game with no winners, and we’re all stuck in it.

This is the reality for 26 members of my family, all just trying to stay alive. Two orphaned children. A loved one paralyzed by shrapnel that tore through her body. Her survival hinges on removing infected plates that shouldn’t even exist in her story. Every hour that passes steals more of her future while the world stands still. And yes, you’ve probably seen the video of her injuries shared before. In case you missed it: Link.

This isn’t just about my family. This is Gaza. It’s about a world that watches genocide unfold and calls it politics. A world that stands silent as families like mine scrape by with nothing but scraps, while doctors stitch together lives using whatever’s left behind. But here’s the thing, we won’t let this be the end. Hope is still a choice we make every single day, even when the world seems to have forgotten how to care.

Please help my family in Gaza get a chance to survive. Click the link. Donate if you can and reblog to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead.

Donate on GoFundMe: Link

Donate on Paypal: Link

Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

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reidrum · 11 months ago

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like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows.

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy.

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch, you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point.

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured.

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere.

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

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rafayelxsylusho · 3 months ago

Text

The first time he heard you 🫲🏻 yourself...part 2

Finally done with this one!!

TW: SMUT

and also Caleb calls us meimei a couple of times

Enjoy!!!

"Did you call for me pipsqueak? Did you moan my name because you needed me?"

Your heart races as you tug your hands away from your sensitive flesh, a rush of embarrassment and shock coursing through you.

You can't help but let your gaze rake over Caleb's form, tall and imposing. His eyes are dark, almost black in the dim light of the room, and you feel pinned in place by his intense stare. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest as you sit up, the sheets rustling loudly in the sudden silence.

"Caleb," you breathe out, voice trembling slightly as you try to gather your thoughts. "I... I didn't know you were awake. I thought..." You swallow hard, realizing there's no way to explain what he just saw. What you were doing.

Embarrassment colors your cheeks a deep, telling red as you quickly tug his shirt down, trying to cover more of your bare legs. Your hair is messy around your face, a clear indication of your recent activities. You feel the lingering heat between your thighs, the dampness that coats them, and pray that Caleb can't somehow sense it, that he can't guess at the filthy thoughts that were running through your head just moments before.

You feel your heart leap into your throat as he approaches you, dominating the space around the bed. His eyes, dark and intense, never leave yours as he closes the distance between you. You can't look away, trapped by the force of his gaze.

His large hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the fabric of the shirt you're wearing. The shirt that was once his. The one you "borrowed" without asking, loving the way it smells like him. Like home.

"Pipsqueak," he murmurs, his voice is low and rough, sending shivers down your spine. "You moaned my name." It's not a question, but a statement. A realization. His fingers curl into the fabric of the shirt, fisting it slightly.

"And I heard you," he continues,he is so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. His other hand comes up, cupping your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. "I heard you moan my name, princess."

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, a gesture that's almost tender. Almost loving. But there's something else beneath it. Tension. Hunger.

"No wonder I couldn't find this shirt," he says, giving the fabric a slight tug. "It was here all along. With you." His eyes bore into yours, searching. Seeing. Knowing. "Were you thinking of me, pipsqueak? Is that why you were touching yourself? Imagining it was my hands on you instead of your own?" His voice drops to a whisper. "Making you come undone?"

You try to speak, to form words, but your throat feels tight, your mouth dry. Caleb's proximity, his eyes looking at you, has rendered you speechless. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, echoing loudly in your ears as you stare up at him, eyes wide. He's so close now. Too close. Close enough that you can feel his breath on your face, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. It's intoxicating. Overwhelming. Your head spins slightly as you try to process his words, the implication behind them.

His hand on your chin, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt that you're wearing, it's all too much. Too intense. Too...everything. Your body feels hot, your skin tingling where he touches you, where he's not touching you. You're aware of every inch of you.

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. Trying to deny his accusation. But the words won't come out. Because deep down, he's right. In your mind, it was him. His hands, his touch, his body. You were imagining it was him bringing you to the brink of ecstasy, his name on your lips.

Your tongue darts out, wetting your dry lips, and you see his eyes follow the movement. Your breath hitches, chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggle to maintain some control. But it's a losing battle. You're losing yourself in his dark eyes, drowning in the intensity of the moment. All you can manage is a breathless whisper, a single word that hangs heavy in the air between you. "Caleb..." It's a plea. A question. A prayer. You don't know what you're asking for. But you know you need it. Need him.

Caleb leans in even closer, his nose brushing against your hair, inhaling deeply. He breathes in your scent, his lips curling into a smile against your temple. "You smell like my shirt. Like you've been wearing it all day, maybe hoping I wouldn't notice." His hand slides from your chin, fingers trailing down the side of your neck. Your pulse jumps beneath his touch and he feels it, of course he does. Nothing escapes Caleb's notice.

"What were you thinking about?" he murmurs, his voice low against your ear "When you had your fingers buried deep inside your little cunt." His other hand moves from the shirt, his palm pressing flat against your stomach, fingers splaying possessively over your belly. "Tell me what had you so worked up, princess. What dirty thoughts were running through this pretty little head of yours?"

His lips press against your neck, just below your ear, and he nips lightly at the sensitive skin. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make your body jolt with pleasure and pain. You can't hold back the moan that escapes your lips as his teeth graze your neck, your body arching into his touch involuntarily. "Caleb," you whimper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. But before the sound can fully register, he's hushing you, his finger pressing against your lips.

"Shh, keep your voice down," he warns, his own voice a low rasp. "Grandma's sleeping right next door. Wouldn't want to wake her." Despite his words, there's a glint of dark amusement in his eyes, as if the idea of being caught together like this appeals to some primal part of him. His hand on your belly moves to your inner thigh. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin, growing more intense with each inch he covers. As his fingers reach the apex of your thighs, he pauses, brows furrowing as he encounters an unusual texture. He glances down, noticing the damp spot that has formed on the sheets and shirt beneath you, a clear indication of your arousal. His eyes widen slightly, understanding dawning on face. He looks back up at you. "Pipsqueak," he murmurs "You're not wearing anything under my shirt, are you?" His fingers press lightly against the drenched fabric of the shirt.

"You're fucking drenched," he says, "Were you this wet just from thinking about me? From touching yourself to the thought of being with me? Fuck," he groans, his own arousal growing, straining against the confines of his pajamas. "If this is what you're like from just touching yourself, I can only imagine how soaked you'd be if it was really my cock buried inside of you"

You squirm beneath his touch, feeling the heat of his hand so close to your aching pussy. Deep down, you know this is wrong. Dangerous. "Caleb, we... we shouldn't be doing this," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not right, not with Grandma right next door..." Your words trail off, lacking conviction even to your own ears. You want to push his hand away, to put an end to his sinful, tempting touch. But your body remains still, frozen in place, trapped between the need for him and the knowledge that this is a line that can never be crossed.

Caleb ignores your protest, too consumed by your body's response, the damp patch on the shirt growing with each passing second. His thumb finds your nipple, touching the stiff peak through the thin fabric of his shirt. He circles it slowly, teasingly, feeling it harden even more under his touch.

"Shouldn't be doing this?" he whispers, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches your face, taking in every expression, every hitch in your breath. "But your body's telling a different story, pipsqueak."

His hand leaves the heat between your legs, trailing up, slipping underneath the shirt to cup the soft weight of your other breast. He squeezes gently, kneading the supple flesh.

"Look at how hard they are for me," he whispers, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "Look at how much your body wants to be touched by me. Tell me to stop then," he challenges, his eyes dark and intense. "Tell me you don't want this. That you don't want me."

As Caleb pinches the nipple, he is touching under your shirt, between his thumb and forefinger, a jolt of pleasure shoots straight through your core. Your legs part instinctively, knees falling open to expose your dripping sex to the cool air of the room. At the same time, your back arches, pressing your chest further into his touch, silently begging for more. He takes advantage of your body's display, bending his head to capture the stiff peak of your nipple between his teeth. Even through the thin, damp fabric of his shirt, you can feel the heat of his mouth, the way his tongue swirls around the sensitive bud. He suckles hard, the wet patch on the shirt growing as your nipple hardens even further from the intense stimulation. "Fuck, the way you respond to me," Caleb groans around your nipple, his words muffled but still clear. "Like your body was made for my touch. Made to be claimed by me." Your fingers tangle in Caleb's hair, tugging him closer as he lazes his tongue over the sensitive peak of your nipple. A needy whimper escapes your lips, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. Your thighs tremble, legs falling open even wider, inviting, offering yourself up to him.

Caleb's hand touching you under your shirt moves down and hovers, once again, dangerously close to your dripping sex. He teases you, not quite touching, his touch maddeningly close but not close enough.

"Tell me what you need, pipsqueak," he murmurs, his breath hot against your nipple, his words vibrating through your core. "Tell me to touch this pretty little pussy. Beg me to make you come all over my fingers."

"Caleb...please"

He bites your nipple softly, your fingers tighten in his hair, your body trembling with need beneath him. "Please what?" he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "I need you to say it. To tell me exactly what you want." Your hips twitch, trying to close the minimal distance, to grind your aching cunt against his hand, but Caleb pulls back slightly, denying you the contact you crave.

"Tell me to touch this desperate, dripping cunt," he demands, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. "Tell me how badly you need my fingers inside you, filling you, fucking you until you scream my name."

His thumb brushes maddeningly close to your clit, making your body jerk and your breath hitch.

."Please, Caleb, please touch me," you whimper, your voice breaking with desperation "Please I need you inside me" Your hips buck upwards, trying again to close the remaining distance between his teasing fingers and your soaked, aching sex. "Please, I can't take the teasing anymore. I'm so fucking wet for you, Caleb. I'm dripping all over your shirt. I need you to touch me." You look up at him with hooded, lust filled eyes, your cheeks flushed a deep, needy red. "Please, Caleb," you breathe out.

Before Caleb can act on your desperate pleas, you suddenly yank the shirt over your head in a desperate motion. Your naked breasts bounce free, the cool air of the room pebbling your hardened nipples. Caleb takes in the sight of your bare flesh, his gaze raking over every inch of exposed skin.

"Fuck, look at you," he growls "Desperate to be touched, to be claimed. Desperate to have my hands all over your body."

He leans down, taking one nipple into his mouth once more, but this time, there's nothing between his lips and your skin. He suckles hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud and at the same time, his hand moves, finally closing the distance between his fingers and your dripping sex. He cups your pussy, feeling the heat radiating from your folds. A low groan rumbles in his chest as he feels how wet you are, your arousal coating his fingers, making them glisten in the low light.

"God, you're fucking soaked," he murmurs against your breast, his fingers teasing along your slit, not penetrating, but close enough that you can feel the promise of what's to come. "Is this all for me? Are you this desperate for my cock every time you touch yourself, imagining it's me fucking this tight little cunt?"

"Yes, it's for you, it's always for you" you moan, spreading your legs wider.

Without warning, he plunges two fingers deep into you. Your walls flutter and squeeze around the sudden intrusion, trying to draw him in deeper. Caleb groans against your breast, the vibrations rumbling through your chest as he starts to pump his fingers in and out of your needy sex.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight," Caleb grunts, feeling your walls clench and ripple around his plunging fingers. "I can barely get two fingers inside your pretty cunt."

He starts to thrust faster, his fingers curling to rub against that sensitive spot deep inside you with each pass, his mouth moves from your breast, trailing open mouthed kisses across your collarbone. His tongue, hot and slick, drags up the column of your throat until he reaches the sensitive skin behind your ear. And then Caleb's thumb finds your clit, circling the swollen nub with ruthless precision. The combination of sensations, his fingers pumping into your dripping pussy, his tongue laving your neck, his thumb teasing your clit, has your hips bucking up to meet his touch.

"Caleb," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close as you grind yourself against his hand. "Oh god, Caleb..." He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Keep your voice down, beautiful."

He pulls his fingers out from your dripping sex, leaving you whimpering at the sudden emptiness. Before you can protest at the loss, he's settling his broad shoulders between your thighs, his mouth mere inches from your core.

Your body tenses, anticipation and nerves coursing through you as you feel his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. You bite your lip hard, trying to stifle the needy whine building in your throat. He looks up at you, his dark eyes glinting with mischief and a dark promise. "I'm going to make you scream my name, I'm going to make this pretty little pussy come so hard, you'll forget your own name. The only name you'll remember is mine."

With that, he leans in, his tongue parting your folds in one long, slow lick. A moan tears from his throat at the first taste of your arousal, the sound vibrating against your flesh. Your back arches off the bed, your hands fisting in the sheets as pleasure crashes over you.

"Oh fuck, Caleb," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. Your thighs tremble, the muscles quivering with the effort of staying still, of not closing around his head and grinding your sex against his face. Caleb plunges his fingers deep inside you once more. He curls them just right, rubbing against that sensitive spot that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back in ecstasy. His tongue, hot and slick, laps at your clit, circling and flicking over the swollen nub in a rhythm that has your hips bucking uncontrollably.

Your moans grow louder, more wanton, despite your best efforts to stay quiet. The combination of his fingers pumping in and out of you and his skilled mouth devouring your pussy is unlike anything you've ever experienced. You've touched yourself, imagined this scenario countless times, but the reality of Caleb's touch surpasses even your most vivid fantasies.

Caleb feels your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his fingers as your climax approaches. He doubles his efforts, fingers thrusting deeper, tongue flicking faster, determined to send you hurtling over the edge into blissful oblivion. Your hands fly to your mouth, trying to stifle the scream of rapture that threatens to escape your lips as your orgasm crashes over you.

He doesn't let up, continuing to thrust and lick, drawing out your pleasure until you think you might pass out from sheer ecstasy. The feeling is indescribable, a mind-blowing explosion of sensation that eclipses anything you've ever experienced alone.

Caleb slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean "Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined" He crawls up your body, his eyes dark and hungry as he takes in your flushed skin and heaving chest.

As his face comes into view, you find yourself acting on pure instinct. Leaning up, you capture his lips with your own, pouring all the pent up desire and longing from years of secret admiration into the kiss. Your lips move against his with a fervor that surprises even yourself. He kisses you back, his lips moving against yours with a familiar hunger that sends a jolt of memory through you. The memory of a stolen kiss, years ago, in the dim light of the garage. A kiss that tasted of forbidden fruit, a kiss that you swore never to speak of again. But as your lips move against his, the memory comes rushing back, as vivid and intense as the day it happened. The feel of his lips, the scent of his skin, the way his hands gripped your waist and pulled you closer. It was a moment of teenage passion, a moment that you both knew was wrong but felt so right.

Now, as adults, that kiss takes on a new meaning. It's a promise, a vow, a declaration of intent. Caleb's hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts, kneading the soft flesh as he deepens the kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth, exploring every inch of you.

You can feel his arousal pressing against your thigh, hard and insistent. The knowledge that you've reduced him to this state sends a thrill of power and desire coursing through you. You know you should put a stop to this, but you can't. You don't want to. The need to be one with him is overwhelming.

Caleb breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your lips. "Tell me you want this," he demands "Tell me you need me as much as I need you."

"I need you," you breathe out, your voice heavy with desire. Your hands fumble with the hem of his shirt, trying to tug it up and over his muscular chest. Caleb helps you, pulling the shirt off in one swift motion and tossing it aside. Your eyes widen as you take in the sight of his bare torso, the muscles and lean lines. Caleb smirks at your appreciative look "You like what you see, pipsqueak?" he teases, flexing subtly under your touch. "This body is all yours, for the taking. All you have to do is say the word."

He leans down, capturing your lips in another kiss as his hands roam your naked body, caressing every curve. You can feel the heat of his skin, the power in his muscles, and it makes your core clench. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point.

Caleb grins against your skin at your eager movements, he feels you struggle to remove his pajama pants. "So impatient," he teases, but he helps you anyway, lifting his hips to allow the fabric to slide down his muscular thighs and calves. His cock springs free, long, hard and throbbing, the thick shaft pulsing with his racing heartbeat.

His smile fades as your small hand wraps around his thick cock. He inhales sharply at the contact, his hips jerking slightly. "Fuck, your hand feels so good," he grunts, his voice strained. But then he pushes you back down onto the bed, his large hands gripping your shoulders.

"No, not right now, princess," he says, shaking his head. "Right now, I need to be inside you. I need to feel your tight little pussy wrapped around my cock. I need to make you mine." He settles himself between your thighs. The thick head of his cock nudges against your folds, slipping through the wetness and leaving a trail of your arousal in its wake. Caleb's eyes lock with yours, his gaze intense and full of unspoken promises.

"Tell me you're ready, meimei," he demands, his voice low and rough with desire. "Tell me you need me inside you, stretching you, filling you up. Tell me you want me to fuck you" He doesn't push inside, not yet. He waits for your permission, for your confirmation that this is what you truly want.

"Please, Caleb," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. You reach down, gripping his ass, your nails digging into the firm flesh and you guide him to your entrance, the head of his cock catching on your hole for a moment before you push him forward, urging him inside.

Caleb flips your positions in a swift, smooth motion, leaving you straddling his lap. He grips your hips, his large hands spanning your waist, and lines himself up with your entrance.

"Set the pace, princess," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble. "Take what you need, what you want. Fuck yourself on my cock until you're satisfied."

His eyes are dark and intense as they lock with yours, filled with a mix of desire, love, and something more, something that says he wants to watch you claim him, to take your pleasure from him without holding back.

"Fuck me, meimei," he growls, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. "Show me how much you need it. Show me that this is what you've been dreaming of, what you've been craving. Show me that you're mine, now and forever." He doesn't push up into you, doesn't force you down onto his thick cock. He leaves that power in your hands, trusting you to take what you need, to set the rhythm and the pace. His heart pounds beneath your touch, his chest heaving with each breath.

Caleb inhales sharply as you sink down onto his thick shaft, his eyes fluttering closed at the exquisite sensation of your tight cunt engulfing him. He grips your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he fights the urge to thrust up into you, to bury himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

Halfway down, you pause, a soft gasp escaping your lips. "It's too much," you whimper, your voice tight "I feel so full, Caleb. So incredibly full."

Caleb's eyes snap open, his gaze intense and concerned as he takes in your expression. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, clenching and unclenching as they struggle to adjust to his size. He knows he's stretching you more than you've ever been stretched before, knows that the feeling of fullness is almost overwhelming.

"Shh, it's okay, princess," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "You're doing so well, taking me so deeply. Just breathe, meimei. Breathe through the sensation and let your body adjust."

His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. "You feel incredible," he breathes out "Like you were made just for me, like your body was made to take my cock."

He sits up, pulling you flush against his muscular chest. His arm wraps tightly around your waist, holding you close as he starts to guide your movements. He doesn't force you to take him any deeper, respecting your need for adjustment. "Like this, princess," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Nice and easy, just like that. You're doing so well, taking me so beautifully."

He rocks your hips with his, helping you establish a gentle rhythm. The new angle allows you to slide up and down without feeling overwhelmed, the drag of his cock against your sensitive walls sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Caleb's hand slides up your back, his fingers threading into your hair. He tilts your head to the side, his tongue traces the line of your jugular, feeling the way your pulse jumps and flutters at his touch. "Your body is incredible," he breathes out against your skin, his voice rough with desire. "The way you move on my cock, the way you take me in..." His other hand slides down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit. He starts to rub the sensitive nub in slow, deliberate circles, matching the pace of your hips. The added stimulation makes your walls clench and ripple around him, drawing a low moan from deep in his chest. As you continue to move on his lap, finding your rhythm, you start to take him deeper with each downward thrust. Caleb's breath grows ragged, his quiet moans filling the room as your walls grip him tighter and tighter. The feeling of you enveloping him inch by inch, your pussy engulfing his throbbing cock, is almost more than he can bear.

"Fuck, princess," he grunts, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. "You feel so fucking good. So tight, so perfect around my cock." He starts to meet your thrusts, rolling his hips up to drive himself deeper into your core. The new angle allows him to hit that special spot inside you with each surge of his hips. "Am I hurting you?" he asks, his voice strained with concern and desire. "Tell me if it's too much, tell me if you need me to stop."

But he doesn't stop, can't stop, driven wild by the way your body is consuming him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth finding your pulse point. He bites down, marking you, claiming you, as his hips thrust up into yours, driving himself deeper and harder with each passing second.

"Fuck, I can't..." he pants out, his voice wrecked and raw. "I can't hold back much longer, meimei. You feel too good, too fucking perfect. I need... I need..."

Caleb's eyes flutter open as you still your movements, meeting his gaze. Before he can speak, you capture his lips in a searing kiss, your mouth moving against his with desperate hunger. He kisses you back just as fiercely, his teeth nipping and tugging at your bottom lip.

"I love you," he breathes out against your mouth, the words tumbling from his lips like a sacred vow. "Fuck, y/n, I love you so much. You're mine, all mine." Hearing those three words, feeling the raw emotion make a new wave of emotion crash over you, and you start to move again, taking him to the hilt this time. You sink down onto his cock, your walls clenching and fluttering as you envelop him completely. You roll your hips, rising and falling, as you ride him with wild abandon. Each downward thrust drives him deeper, each upward roll of your hips bringing you back to the brink of ecstasy.

Caleb's hand slides from your hip to your stomach, feeling the way it bulges and stretches around his thick cock. He presses down on it, feeling the shape of himself inside you, the hard length of him pulsing and throbbing against your womb.

The sensation is too much for him. With a quiet moan of your name, he surges up into you, burying himself to the hilt. His cock jerks and twitches as he starts to come, his hot seed spurting deep inside your core.

"Fuck, y/n! Fuck, I'm coming! I'm coming inside you" His fingers dig into your hips, gripping you hard enough to bruise as he holds you down, forcing you to take every last drop of his release. His eyes squeeze shut, his head thrown back, lost in his climax.

The feeling of his hot cum painting your insides, claiming you from the inside out, pushes you over the edge. Your walls clamp down around him as your own orgasm crashes through you.

"Caleb!" you silently cry, not able to hold back anymore" Fuck...Yes, yes, yes!"

Your bodies shake and tremble together. The pleasure is so intense that it borders on pain. You cling to each other, riding out the waves of your releases, lost in the heat and the haze of your passion

Caleb hugs your waist tightly, his strong arms wrapped securely around you. He buries his face between your breasts, his panting breaths hot against your sensitive skin. His face is flushed, a deep rosy hue painting his cheekbones, proof of the intense pleasure and release you've just shared.

"Don't move, princess," he whispers against your skin "Let's stay like this for now. I want to feel you, all of you, wrapped around me."

"Do you feel that meimei?" he asks softly, "The way our hearts are beating together? The way our bodies fit, like two puzzle pieces made to interlock? Don't ever forget this moment," his gaze intense as he stares up at you. "Don't ever forget the way I feel inside you, claiming you, loving you. You're mine now, princess. Truly and completely mine."

Part 1 here

#love and deepspace #lnds #lads #lads smut #lads x reader #lnds x reader #lads x you #lnds x you #love and deepspace reader #lnds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

Text

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

Masterlist

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #konig #konig x you #konig x reader #nikto x reader #sebastian krueger #krueger x reader #cod nikto #konig cod #neighbor!reader

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anonymityisfunwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Every Part of You

Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader A.N. - Alright, I've been asked to write about Bucky and Sunshine's first time many, many times. And the thing is, like sure, I could write that, but also I want us to take a moment to consider trying to build up to that. There's so many firsts buried in there that I think need to be navigated through before they even get there. This is one of those firsts. Like the first time you see Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Grumpy Sunshine Series

"You're just- " You stop speaking, searching for his lips again. Though you're breathless, you can't bring yourself to pull away from him, "You're so pretty."

You shudder as you feel his hand slip under your sweater. The occasional graze of the cool metal on your skin enough to send shivers down your spine.

His lips trail down, nipping at your jaw, "I'm not pretty."

Your hands, winded in the hair at the nape of his neck, glide down his neck, to clutch the fabric of his henley. The moment he feels your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, his heart hammers against his ribcage. Not in the sort of way that he usually feels in these moments with you. He feels a sense of dread, of panic. It wraps around his spine like a python. It feels like he can't breathe.

"You're so -"

He wrenches away from you, his chest heaving, "Stop, stop, stop."

You freeze, immediately dropping your hands. Panic starts creeping up your throat, coating your words. "Did I - did I do something wrong?"

He gulps, silently shaking his head. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, to regain the ability to speak clearly, "No, no, you're - you're perfect."

Guilt starts to eat at him. He can see you doing your very best to keep your own feelings off your face. He can see the sting of his rejection in the way your lips press together in a tight line. The embarrassment in the pallor of your once flushed cheeks.

You two have worked so hard to overcome your own personal issues and traumas, to build trust in each other, moments like these hadn't come easy. And he so callously pushed you away, it makes him feel worse. And what makes his heart ache even more, he sees nothing but concern for him shining in your eyes. You just look so worried for him.

Your hands rest in your lap. You twist and untwist your fingers. "If you don't want to, we don't - we don't have to do anything. I'm really sorry -"

"No, no, please don't be sorry." He reaches for you, gently squeezing your hand. It soothes him as much as it does you. "I want to. You don't know how much I want to."

"But?"

His eyes squeeze shut. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes. "You haven't seen it before - my arm, my shoulder."

"Oh."

He drops your hand. That feeling takes over him again. It feels like there's not enough air in the room. He slides away from you, closer to the edge of the tiny couch in your apartment. "It's - I am not pretty."

It breaks your heart, watching him pull away from you. You can only imagine how many people have turned away from him before. "James..."

He fervently shakes his head, refusing to open his eyes, "No, no, I know what you're gonna say, but it's bad. A lot worse than you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"It's bad," he insists. "I see it every day and I can barely - it's just bad, okay?"

You take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "It's okay if you don't want me to see it. I understand."

He finally opens his eyes again as his eyebrows pull together. He still doesn't meet your eye. "No, no, I want to - I trust you with this, I do. I just - I want you to be prepared."

In that moment, you realize that it's not really about preparing you. Not at all.

He thinks you're going to react badly. He thinks that this will make you turn away from him for the first time ever. He's worried that the love and adoration in your eyes will turn to disgust and repulsion.

It's less about preparing you for the scarred flesh, and more about warning you that he couldn't take a bad reaction. He's not sure he could take it if you turned away from him too.

"I love you," you promise him. "There's nothing that you could show me that would change that. I hope you know that."

There is no response to that. And you know that he won't believe it until he sees it. It takes him a moment. His hand toys with the hem of his shirt. His hand grips the hem, only to let it go.

"I love you," you remind him.

He takes a large gulp of air, pulling off his shirt with one quick movement.

You weren't really sure what you were expecting. You knew the story. You knew how Bucky lost his arm. He even confided the bits and pieces he remembered from getting his vibranium arm.

Your eyes trail over his skin. The shoulder is scarred, scars jut in every direction. Each scar is etched into his skin. It's clear it was a painful, violent experience for him. The metal plate protrudes from the scar tissue in a way that you're sure was painful when first placed. You look on with curiosity, you're not really sure how this, a sign of survival, a badge of resilience, could ever make anyone turn away from him.

He's as breathtaking as you could ever imagine.

Your eyes flicker up at him. He looks at the blank wall of your apartment, scared to watch your facial expressions as you take it in. "Can I?"

He nods, barely able to look you in the eyes. He sucks in a breath when your fingers make contact with the scar tissue surrounding the metal plate.

You immediately pull your fingers back, worried you've accidentally hurt him. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he answers reflexively.

You know he's lying. "I've seen you holding your shoulder before - holding it like it hurts."

"Sometimes," he amends. "The doctor said there's a lot of nerve damage. Things they can't fix."

"Does it hurt now?"

"No."

You run your hand over the plate, over his scars, down to his shoulder blade.

"Still think I'm pretty?" he sarcastically remarks.

You press a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder. "I'll always think you're pretty. Every part of you."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a@weallhaveadestiny@mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064@michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73@withyoutilltheendoftheline@the-photo-hoe @rae-nna@sarachabeans1 @double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep

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yanderedrabbles · 5 months ago

Note

I love the additional notes that yandere boyfriend/husband does! Anymore facts that he does during marriage life, aside from building cabinets and stuff?! 👏🥰🥳

Yandere Boyfriend - Husband Duties

He's secretly a total house husband. He'll spend an ungodly amount of time just attacking the house with a feather duster because he knows how you hate your sinuses acting up. And he does most of the cooking - he's a health nut after all and he needs to make sure his family is getting all their nutrients. Besides, there's something so intimate about feeding his wife with his own labour.

He's the type to bring you breakfast in bed almost every Sunday and hand feed you each bite, his pupils blown out with lust when you look up at him in that half lidded way.

He fixes everything. Light bulb burnt out? You won't even realise it because he's that quick to grab a ladder. Taps need new washers? Done. Kids want their rooms a new colour? Done before the end of the week. You want to rearrange the furniture? Just sit pretty and point at where you want the stuff to go.

He's a light sleeper so he's almost always the first one up if the kids start crying. Once you walked in on him with the newborn, cooing and begging the kid not to wake his wife because you've had a hard enough day.

At first, it feels strange seeing such a big guy holding a tiny little bundle in his paws. But he's so tender that sometimes all you can do is lean against the doorway and watch him.

He isn't the best with homework but he's a master at school projects. Once, he built a three foot bridge that actually lifted up to let little toy boats through.

When he talks to the kids about you, it's almost always my wife instead of your mother. In his mind, you'll always be his before anyone else's. And he loves the way it sounds - wife, wifey, his better half, finally all his.

He loves to play with the kids, but especially if you join him. He'll swing you up over his shoulder and tease the kids that he's stealing you away, they've gotten enough mum time today. And he'll grin when they hammer at his legs and demand he give you back. It's good to see the kids have just as much of a possessive streak as he does.

Honestly, he's set such a high standard that your daughters find almost every guy they date falls horribly short. And your son? Oh, he has to be the one to initiate break ups because no one who dates him wants to let him go - not when he's such a perfect partner.

"Where's mom? My wife is very busy right now actually."

#yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere drabbles #x reader #yandere oc #Yandere boyfriend #Yandere husband #House husband

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 2 years ago

Text

*NSFW* The mating habits of Yandere! Animal-Human Monsters

Yandere!Monster men who sometimes forget that their poor darling is a human and misinterprets their actions when it comes to mating. Short drabbles about yanderes trying to seduce their darlings, but the list gets progressively darker the further down you read.

*Warning* dub-con, non-con, yandere possessiveness, dead dove

Yandere!Crow Harpy who was a little disappointed when you refused to move out of your house. You didn't understand why the feathered man seemed so infatuated with you, but after a long while of him begging you to move in with him you agreed, only on the condition that he moved into your home. It wasn't a traditional harpy relationship, but he was ecstatic regardless, deciding that if he couldn't build a nest with you he could at least win your favor as a perfect mate by decorating it. It got on your nerves sometimes, coming home from work to find shiny bits of trash and feathers tucked into every nook and cranny of your home. Eventually the two of you created a list of acceptable "treasure" to bring home, and what you considered to be actual garbage. He spent weeks "decorating" your already furnished house, before one day pulling you into the living room where he had piled every blanket and pillow you owned into a makeshift nest on the floor. His smile was insecure, desperate for your approval as he wrapped you into his large wings, holding you tightly against his warm body before sinking down into the mass of fluffy objects. You could hear his heart hammering against his chest erratically as he gently began placing kisses against your collar.

"I wanted to help build a home with you, so it wasn't yours or mine, but ours. I pray that my attempts to prove I'll keep you and our future children comfortable impressed you..."

Yandere!Merman who couldn't help but feel awestruck by your beauty, often going on long rants about how much you inspire him. It was a chance encounter while you were studying abroad, and you grew emotionally attached to the beautiful man who sang you words of praise. Although he whined whenever you had to leave the beach, the bags under his eyes became deeper as the weeks went on, chronic exhaustion taking it's toll on the merman. Whenever you tried to convince him that his sleep was important, he would only give a dopey smile, responding cryptically about how his secret project was just as important as spending time with you, and that he would have time to sleep once it was all over. One day when you arrived on the beach he was already there, shaking with excitement and impatiently trying to drag you into the ocean before you could get on your snorkeling gear. Deep where the sun barely touched, a huge intricate mural was sculpted into the ocean floor. As your eyes widened in an attempt to take in just how massive the artwork was, following each perfectly symmetrical swirl, two strong arms snaked around your waist with a tired, yet content, sigh. He blew words into your ear that you were somehow able to understand despite the water, as he sunk with you into the middle of the circular masterpiece.

"You take my breath away every time we meet, and I wanted to do the same for you. Please say that, if you could, you would lie here in my arms forever.."

Yandere!Puppy-Hybrid who was always just a ball of energy, a hyperactive sweet heart who couldn't sit still when he was awake. Most of your days together, it was easy to forget that he could even have urges, with how innocent your relationship was, kisses and cuddles but nothing more. As a species who had mating cycles, although he would never tell you out loud, he was always waiting for you to go into heat. But it was taking so long! He did such a good job being a patient boy for you, you didn't even know why he was being so whiny lately, attributing his neediness to his attention seeking personality. But eventually, he took your phone to do some research. At first he was shocked, humans didn't have mating cycles?? How did you know when it was time to make a baby? Then he came across an amazing discovery. Ovulation. It took a couple of months, holding your belly to his face and breathing deeply for a couple of minutes each day, but he finally learned the subtle changes in your scent throughout your cycle. You had no idea what was going on, thinking he was just being extra goofy lately, until he refused to let go one day, tightening his grasp as his breathing turned into heavy pants, grinding your leg in between his.

"Ah.. you can't hide it from me.. I've been waiting for this for so long... Please don't say no..."

Yandere!Humanoid Spider who always did his best to never frighten you. Even when you first met, it was with him holding his hands up and pleading for you not to run away from him in a soothing voice. Despite the lower half of the creature you met in the forest being a giant spider, the top half was such a kind and handsome man that you quickly began to trust him, soon considering him to be a good friend. He was so thoughtful, always raising his hands as a show of surrender, whether he was approaching you from afar and didn't want to startle you or if you were jokingly fighting over something silly. Even amongst humans, he was the one you trusted the most. If you had known anything about spiders though, you would have been more on guard with his overt displays of feebleness, especially after he began telling you how beautiful you were. You didn't even fight back at first when he suddenly grabbed you from, until he bit into your neck. The kind man, no, the monster you thought you knew, wasted no time sliding your pants down as he still held your backside to his chest, chuckling into your shoulder.

"Ah, my stupid little human~ Were you just pretending to be that naive because you wanted me to take you? ❤️"

Yandere!Naga who couldn't feel love in the same way that humans did. As a researcher working towards her doctorate specializing in Naga people and their many sub species, you were overjoyed to meet a small tribe of Naga men who were willing to allow you to enter their home and record their daily lives. There were so many types of Nagas loosely related to snake species still alive today, and they each had their own cultures, languages, and biology. Based on the coloration you couldn't tell what type these men were, but despite not being fluent in their language they were very kind to you. They seemed to have been in a period of mourning before you arrived, and lavished all their attention on you, babbling on in one sided conversations you could only understand a few words of here and there. One phrase they all stated was flattering only for the first few times they repeated it, but quickly became unnerving as they became more comfortable caressing your face and running their fingers through your hair. And when they pulled you into the center of a giant nest, taking turns thrusting their long tongues down your throat and running their hands over your body, trapping you in a pile of cold men staring deep into your soul with hungry eyes, you learned the species they were closest to.

"We need you... We need you..."

Yandere!Humanoid Scorpion who rescued you after a tourist attraction went arry, promising to protect you until you could be rescued. A strong, bulky man who enjoyed holding you (almost too tightly) in his arms whenever his peers came near. Everything was honestly lovely until in the black of night you were awoken by a strange chorus of sounds echoing outside the burrow the hybrids allowed you to sleep in. A blue light illuminated the large home, and as it noticed you finally woke, approached, revealing himself to be the scorpion man who rescued you, glowing with bioluminescence. Before you could ask what was happening, fear struck you like a bolt of lightening seeing a large, inhuman cock emerging from just below his human half. He lunged forward, and you threw up your hands in self defence. Your hands intertwined with his, fighting against him with all of your strength, but the harder you fought, the more excited he grew. You pushed and pulled, but he didn't loosen his hold on you. Eventually it seemed he had enough playing, and threw you effortlessly onto the bed. Tears streamed down your face at your helplessness, but this only widened his smile as he peeled the shirt off your sweaty body.

"There is no need to fear, my mate. As you can see, no one can match my strength. You and our brood shall be safe under my protection.."

Yandere!Humanoid Waterbug disgusted you, from the twitch of his antenna to the flirtatiousness of his voice. The moment you met him on the water of your lake house, there was no escape. Every time you left or returned back home he was effortlessly skating across the waters surface towards you, begging you to come closer. Although you did your best to ignore him, his loud cries for attention eventually wore you down. Maybe if you entertained him just this once he would leave you alone? You approached him calmly, but as soon as you were within reach he grasped your hands tightly, pulling you partially into the water. He spoke sickly sweet words of affection, chilling you more painfully than the cold morning lake water. You tried to turn him down politely, gently pulling at his grip. He pulled you into the water further, swiftly pushing the two of you away from the shore in one kick of his legs, his unamused gaze no longer holding the playful, flirty gleam it had before. One set of hands held yours tightly, while another pair grabbed your head shoving it without warning under the water. You struggled against his grasp, rapidly losing oxygen as you panicked, black spots filling your vision. But before you lost consciousnesses, he brought you back up, still staring into your eyes with cold fury as your lungs felt like they caught fire. He confessed his love again, but when you began sobbing he thrust you face forward into the water again with a painful smack, holding you down beneath him until stopped struggling. In the air once more, snot flowed and mixed freely with your tears as he aggressively smashed his face into yours, fishing out your tongue and biting it harshly.

"There's only one correct answer to my question, (Reader).. Be mine, or die. If I can't have you, then no one can."

Yandere!Marsupial Hybrid you never saw coming. Lost in the Australian outback, you cursed yourself and your impossibly terrible luck. Hybrids and monsters freely roaming the world were terrifying enough, but being in the land where even the greenery was planted by Satan himself? Your phone had lost it's signal about two hours ago, and your jeep died shortly after that. Trudging along by foot, you continuously felt eyes following your every step, and the fear that a giant spider or monster snake was stalking you made you cry for hours as you walked under the merciless sun. On top of the heat and new blisters forming on your soles, you had to use a restroom as well. Quickly surveying the tall bushes to make sure you weren't about to go next to one of Satan's previously mentioned bushes, you pulled down your shorts in discomfort. The feeling of eyes on you hadn't left since your vehicle randomly gave out despite being double checked before you left the city, but your bladder couldn't care at that moment. A rustle nearby ended your attempt to go before it started, pulling up your shorts so fast it hurt. A hybrid with round ears and a lung brown tail with white spots charged into you, knocking you down. His face was red and slick with tears and sweat, his eyes wide and frantic as he latched his sharp teeth into your neck with excitement. Everything was so fast, with his alternating between feverish rambling and biting into whatever part of your flesh he could reach as he tore off your clothes with a desperation you couldn't comprehend. Tears blended with your own as he kissed, licked and bit every piece of you as he fought your legs open, ignoring your screams of pain.

"You accepted me didn't you?! You knew I chose you! Ah, it hurts! Why'd you put your clothes back o-ah! I need you, I need you now!"

#yandere monster #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere monster x reader #smut #dead dove do not eat #minors dni #bad writing #not proofread #yandere drabble #yandere hybrid

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