#I know that this probably doesn't make a lick of sense

[fandomfluffandfuck]

i am SO here for the influx of love for “keep quiet”. that fic… S…

potentially my favorite fic of yours to exist and if you EVER wanted to temporarily put pause on pussy steve to bring back this sloppy, squirty, dumbified, pretty pussy bucky i would be forever in your debt

related to this, and this

of course, also, "Keep Quiet, Nothing Comes As Easy As You"

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Thank you!!

And, listen, why spend time just talking about one of those boys when you can ramble about them both?

Attempted 69, oral sex, fingering, teasing/dirty talk, etc.

Bucky is scorching hot--red-hot--from the tips of his ears aaaall the way down to his clenched, curled toes. It is redicious, how fucking lethally high the fever he's running has gotten. But he's not just flaming. Every inch of his body is a guitar string twisted and tightened to the point of breaking.

He's so fucking tense and yet so useless, too, limp like an overcooked noodle that's weak, falling apart, barely keeping it's head above the surface of the simmering water. Both. He's, yeah, he's both.

He's burning up, evaporated, but he's also just a liquefied puddle. Solid mush. There is too much sensory onslaught to track.

And Bucky can't make sense of it all, spinning and sloshing inside his empty head. He's so fucking thankful he's lying on his back, face-up with their sex-mused, sweat-damp sheets stuck to his arching, tingling back because if he were anywhere else he would be crumbling. Falling to his knees, or, worse, more embarrassingly, straight onto his face. There is no way to hold himself together when such intense pleasure flows through him like a fucking waterfall. All soaked. There is no way to hole himself together when he's consumed by flames in the middle of a firepit. Burning hot.

Bucky is quivering chaotically, uncoordinatedly, and he's moving his mouth, sloppy and fast yet slow, and he's not talking, he's barely able to rattle out moans, and he's blushing so badly from head to toe that he must look like he's been dipped in a pool of wet, glistening pink paint and he's swollen from how fucking much he's blushing, his blood boiling, and he's sensitive. Tingling. Sparkling. His blood is wreaking havoc on his body as it rushes through his veins, boiling, boiling, thick, and pumping.

Oh, god.

It's so goddamn overwhelming.

Bucky doesn't know what he's doing--he doesn't even know if he's making Steve feel good. Because. Yeah. That's right. That's what he's supposed to be doing.

He has a mission here and he's probably utterly fucking failing at it. He can't rub two brain cells together to think about how to do better, though. He is, just, consumed by this. Now. Here. Hot. Wet. Sensitive.

Steve told him he'd make him feel good if Bucky made him feel good, too. And he's trying. He's trying so hard that he's pretty sure there are tears leaking out of his eyes, but his face is also so slick and coated in the wetness of Steve's arousal that he can't tell.

What's tears?

What's dripping wetness from Steve's hot cunt?

What's the fucking difference?

Bucky can't tell if he's crying, sobbing, choking, or just using his whole face so uncoordinatedly, so unashamedly getting up in Steve's pussy that he's smeared his heated, briny wetness so high up on his cheeks that he thinks he's crying. There's sweat beading his hairline, too. He's soaking into the mattress from the perspiration seeping from every pore on his body. His lips--his mouth and his... not mouth lips--feel swollen from how long they've been at this. Overused. Licking and tonguing and nipping each other to rip out moans and gasps and cries of pleasure. Orgasm after orgasm.

Bucky spread across their bed, Steve on top of him, flipped the other way.

When he got like that, positioning their bodies just so, Steve lewdly spread his legs to expose himself from his cute, sweet swollen clit past his wet, clutching vagina to his tight, tight asshole; he's so pink and pretty and Bucky might be fucking burning, but he's also drowning and suffocating and dying a million different ways between his legs. Steve on top of him, bodily, his weight shoving Bucky down into the mattress.

Jesus.

Bucky has pressed his entire face up against Steve's pussy, diving in, and he's dying that way plus dying at how Steve is doing the same for him.

Too much pleasure.

He can't.

Steve is doing a much, much better job. Bucky is... pretty sure. He can't think straight. Earlier, he had his tongue on Steve's clit and two fingers buried in his cunt and was pulling more fucking sticky, hot, salty wetness out of him with the stimulation but at some point. Christ. At some point, Steve stepped up his game, and Bucky couldn't. He needed something else to hold onto. He needed to dig all ten points of his fingers into Steve's hips to keep from thrashing and squirming hugely, getting away from or getting more of Steve's talented mouth. He doesn't fucking know. God.

Please.

He can't.

He whines needily, stupidly into Steve's pussy, licking at him broadly to try and give some of what Steve is giving him back. It's so hard. He doesn't know what he wants; he doesn't know what he needs; he doesn't know what he's doing.

It's a stupidly pathetic and delicous display. The difference between them stark. They're both so fucking aroused but Steve can keep his cool and keep his technique, Bucky, on the other hand, can't keep a single fucking shiver from shaking through him as if it's the most devastating earthquake. Steve is curling three fingers deep inside him and sucking at his clit and Bucky feels like he could fucking burst out of his skin. Steve's pressing hotly against that spot inside him that has his vision blurring into a hot, white void of, just, need and he's sucking on his clit hard enough that it hurts. It's that bite of too much, too good pain that leaves Bucky failing to swallow down a little behind-his-teeth shriek.

Steve is too good at multitasking for this to be fair. Bucky can't help it. He can't keep up! He's infamous for going dumb during sex and he's so sensitive between his legs, just one touch, one murmur of sweet words, and he can't handle it, and Steve is too damn skilled at eating pussy and he's just--

It's not fair!

If Bucky wasn't crying before, now he is.

He is.

Crying.

"C'mon, princess," Steve pulls back only the slightest bit with a truly obscene sound. Almost a goddamn wet slurp. All that fucking wetness dripping like honey out of him, making Steve's breath against him even more noticable, his huffing feels painted on. Every word leaving Bucky quivering and exposed.

Brazenly, at the same time that Steve's voice purrs over those teasing words, he drags his three fingers out of Bucky's tight, trembling pussy and slips them up and down, up and down, up and down his wet slit, teasing him, playing with him so fucking effectively. Shit. He feels how fucking hard his clit is but also, god, he feels swollen everywhere.

He's blushing with his entire body, so how can all of his blood be centered between his legs, making him flush hot and swell with arousal? It doesn't make sense. It doesn't have to make sense. Bucky can't make sense, he can't put one thought in front of the other.

Oh, fuck. me.

"C'mon, pillow princess, baby, don't stop," Steve doesn't stop. Nevermind how he's not even out of breath, the fucker.

He's terrible. Eating pussy like a champ, dirty talking like he doesn't care about how pornographic his mouth is getting, not ashamed for even an instant, and totally merciless as he strips Bucky down.

Bucky whimpers, sucking wet, sloppy kisses down the inside of Steve's thighs clenched around his face to try and not drown. If he didn't already know Steve likes it--likes him like this, likes teasing him--he'd know now with how he's flooding him, shoved in so close to his cunt.

Bastard.

Meanwhile, Steve fucking kisses him on the pussy like he'd kiss his mouth if they were face-to-face, frenching. Filthy motherfucker. He will call him names until his eyes roll back because he's awful. And names are the best he can do. He doesn't have anything else going for him--so weak.

"Thought I told you not to stop," Steve rumbles, sliding the tease of two fingertips in him, making him really fucking feel how his hole clenches tight.

Bucky whines like he's dying because he is.

In retort, Steve slaps him; he doesn't hit him in the face or let his big, heavy hand collide with his ass, spanking him, nah, Steve's worse. Steve is a pervert. 'Cause, no fucking problem or hesitation, he's manhandling Bucky's legs apart, spreading him wide and leaving him vulnerable to the rush of cold air across his sex, and, from there, he's bringing his hand down flat and stinging across his pussy.

He slaps Bucky's pussy.

And.

Bucky just fucking squeals, his eyes rolling all the way back into his skull.

He's gone.

If he was useless before, then there isn't a word for how vulnerable and helpless and fucking dumb Bucky is now. There's no one home. He's vacant. Eyes glassy and far-away. But it isn't enough for Steve. It never is. It's not a true Rogers marathon fuck session until Bucky passes out.

So, as Steve turns around--purposefully grinding his pussy against Bucky's lazily open mouth, hanging wide, before he dismounts him, using him how he wants--Steve makes sure to arch his back, showing off his goddamn perfect ass, and settle neatly in his lap. Okay, almost in his lap. He's offset enough to grind, humid and sticky, against Bucky's thick upper thigh. Riding his leg as he unceremoniously shoves two fingers back into Bucky's cunt. Torturing him.

"Should've known better," Steve muses to himself as he fingerfucks him into oblivion. Two fingers in, fucking him good, giving him something to clench down on while his thumb is against his clit, rubbing and pressing tight enough to leave his vision to ignite into sparking fireworks. Shit. Wet sounds fill the room as the air grows thicker and more fragrant around them. It smells like sex. Like pussy. Undeniably.

"There's no fuckin' way you could handle 69in', 'course not," he smirks to himself, his accent really coming out the hotter he gets for this. "You get too fuckin' dumb. Can't even do anythin' when I'm just touchin' you. How could you have any smarts when you're getting touched and expected to touch me, too? Fuckin' pillow princess." He's all too self-satisfied because he fucking knows he does this to Bucky. Before him, Bucky wasn't so--yeah. He didn't get so dumb. It's just Steve. Steve gets all Steve, and Bucky can't handle it!

Bucky is so dumb now that he can't even argue. He can't agree, either. So, he just lays there, whimpering and pleasured so exorbitantly he can't hardly take it.

He's gonna cum again.

P.S. I don't have an ask to relate this to as an excuse to write it, so I'm just gonna fucking stick it here because why not-?

So, imagine pussy Steve getting it into his head for one reason or another that he's gonna peg the shit out of Bucky (even though pegging implies that it's a woman doing it to a man and they're both men here), like, he's gonna dick his boyfriend better than Bucky can dick him.

He's stubborn.

He's competitive.

He's... oh.

Bucky gets him a nice big, thick strap, something that will be a struggle for him to take because he's hungry like that, and Steve harnesses it on.

He puts his shiny new toy in place and he's so fucking excited that he's all wet and slippery between his legs, and he fucks in and, "OH!" He can't keep his moaning gasp in. It's just the way his clit grinds against the base of his toy. It feels like lightning cutting through him. White hot.

He was so into the idea of fucking Bucky and taking him apart but here he is, puppy panting, tongue out, shaking because every time he jerkily thrusts, it makes him wetter. He's so sensitive down between his legs, he can't help it. Every thrust is a bigger shock for him.

Plus, the sight of his strap fucking in and out of Bucky? Jesus Christ. How does Bucky ever do this, much less do it while being able to feel his dick? What the fuck?

Steve squeals when Bucky chuckles and strains to reach between his legs, cupping his wet, swollen sex in one big palm and asking, "aw, is this too hard for you? Are you too sensitive down here?"

Steve. can't. take. it.

[makorragal-312]

This might sound crazy, but wouldn't it be something if Chris ended up being a catalyst for Buck and Eddie to have their respective realizations about themselves and just, everything?

Like Eddie's still dating Marisol unfortunately, Buck's still dating Natalia why god why, and Chris kinda begins to distance himself from both of them and it's making his parents concerned as all hell, especially Eddie. And it isn't until Chris ends up in the middle of a Eddie/Marisol and Buck/Natalia double date and storms off that Eddie and Buck can't take it anymore and go ask Chris what's been going on. And Chris just goes off on both of them:

"Before, it always used to be just the three of us! But now, we're barely together anymore and if it's not because of work, it's because of them! Why can't it just be us?"

And it isn't until everything has calmed down, the girls are gone, and Buck and Eddie are in their respective rooms ready to crash that they just stop and think:

"Why can't it just be us?"

And that's when Buck FINALLY recognizes the hamster wheel he's been on and puts a full stop to it by dumping Natalia and Eddie realizes that he's just not into Marisol and breaks things off.

After that, they spend the rest of the season just focusing on themselves, upgrading the Buckley-Diaz family and going through their respective bi/queer awakenings before the end of the season, where either Buck is the one pining or there's mutual pining from both Buck and Eddie.

[brightsuzaku]

a really stupid idea popped into my head it is called, "ok, so imagine if i became a spaceship suddenly, that would make me a monster, so even if i didn't think i'd become like, a werebeast, i would be some form o- OK, BUT IMAGINE A WERESHIP" .... and yes, before you ask, "how the fuck does that work"

by the light of the moon, suddenly you start to become Some Guy and you gotta land. fast.

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[marksbear2]

Are you still taking requests? If you don't mind of a request of male reader x homelander of the male reader Recording and taking pictures of him during sex. Sorry if this doesn't make sense but love your work<3

Thank you for loving my work my friend. I would get Homelander pregnant if I had the chance. And I lowkey wrote this when I was bad so sorry.

⚠️Warnings- recording, blowjob, mocking, taunting, face fuck, cumshot, facial, pure smutt and etc.⚠️

HOMELANDER X MALE READER

“Get that stupid camera out of my face…” 

Homelander mumbled, did he mean his words no. Not one bit.

“Why should I…? Don’t you know how much money I would make if I posted this on pornhub or something. Plus you look so beautiful and pretty…” Y/n’s said as he held his phone to his chest angled down at the superhero that was currently on his knees.

“Cmon…show the world how you suck a man’s cock.” Homelander ignored Y/n’s words as he licked on the semi hard cock.

“Look at the camera, let me see those pretty blue eyes.” Y/n taunted as he used his free hand to hold his cock rubbing the tip of his cock against Homelander’s lips. 

Homelander looked up at the camera as he opened his mouth pushing his mouth around your cock. Homelander used his other hand to prep himself from behind.

“Get my dick all wet…” Y/n said as he began to move his hips back and forth in the supe’s mouth not thrusting yet just moving.

“Fuck…your so bad at this.” Y/n softly taunted as Homelander glared up at him. Y/n used his free hand to run his hair in the blond’s hair just brushing his fingers on his head. Homelander slowly took the cock inside his mouth moving his head in a back and forth motion. Homelander’s mouth already looked so full.

The grip on Homelander’s hair tightened as Y/n softly cursed under his breath as he held the camera to the supe’s face. 

The second Homelander went down deeper on Y/n’s cock, Y/n thrusted into his mouth causing Homelander to immediately gag and pull away coughing. Y/n yanked his hair forcing his head to go back to his cock before thrusting back inside his mouth.

“Relax, then you won’t gag as much.” Y/n spoke as he thrusted half of his cock into’s Homelander’s mouth. Homelander was doing the exact opposite of relaxing. “So good for me, I love it.” Y/n said in mocking tone as Y/n slowly pushed his cock deeper and deeper inside. Homelander was whimpering around the cock probably protest. Y/n pulled his cock out and laid it out on the supe’s face.

John immediately began to catch his breath. He was panting as Y/n’s dick around his face glaring at him as Y/n slapped his dick on his face.

“Alright say ahh.” Y/n said as he went back to stroking Homelander’s hair in a comforting fashion.

Slightly hesitating Homelander opened his mouth and took Y/n’s cock back inside him. The blond sucking and licking around Y/n’s dock. Homelander moaned around his cock as he used his free hand to push his fingers more deep inside his hole pleasuring himself.

Y/n gently rocked his hips back and forth not face fucking him, but definitely planned to in the future.

“Fuck— who knew the leader of the seven, would be this eager sucking dick.” Y/n said as he lowered the phone more to see Homelander’s face and his features more. The supe’s eyes ignored the camera glaring to the side.

“Cmon, don’t be shy…look at the camera.” Y/n mocked as he thrusted his full cock inside Homelander’s throat.

 Homelander immediately flinched and choked around the cock. But this time Y/n didn’t let him pull away instead pressing his cock deeper forcing Homelander to take it. 

“Yeah take it, your the number one right? This should be nothing for you.” Y/n laughed as he felt Homelander couch and gag around his cock. Y/n pulled out letting him catch his breath and stuff.

Homelander coughed and gasps as he finally looked back at the camera. 

“There’s those two pretty blue eyes.” Y/n immediately said as he laughed as he pushed his cock back inside the superhero’s mouth completely face fucking him.

Homelander moaned and whimpered around the cock as his head tilted back as his jaw stops clenching, trying to relax his body. The wet sound and the muffled moans filed the room. Homelander could smell Y/n’s scent perfectly, he smelled the musk and cologne he used. Y/n continued to face fuck him letting our heavy breaths as he moved.

“Fuck…” Y/n cursed under his breath as he continued to thrust. Y/n’s cock moving deep inside. Y/n continued to face fuck him.

Homelander started to realize he was powerless, far from control. Y/n left hand left of the side of Homelander’s head and rested it flat on the wall in front of them as he thrusted his cock roughly inside of Homelander’s mouth.

All what the supe could do was sit there and take it, he felt Y/n’s cock reach down deeper into his mouth. As Y/n’s cock reached further he felt it graze the end of his mouth. Homelander gagged and chocked around if even more. 

John lets out muffled moans around Y/n’s cock shoving in and out of his mouth. With every time Y/n pulled his cock out it’s only limited time for Homelander to catch up with his breathing before eventually having Y/n’s cock shoved back in his throat.

Gag after gag, Y/n’s cock reached the back of his mouth face fucking him merciless.

It was hard for Homelander to keep his eyes open since his eyes was watering from the constant choking and gagging. His own cock was throbbing and aching as he stared up at the camera. Sometimes occasionally Homelander’s eyes would turn red with the laser threatening to come out.

Y/n continued to let out curses from under his breath as he felt his stomach tightening

“Holy shit— I’m close I’m so fucking close.” Y/n said as he pulled out of Homelander’s mouth and began to jerk off his cock right above Homelander’s face.

Homelander’s mouth was open since he was panting and trying to catch his breath heavy. Y/n squeezed and stroked his cock with a few more moans his cum spurts out of his cock with cum landing on the superhero’s face. Homelander was closing his eyes as the cum landed on his cheeks and forehead. “Look at that…” Y/n said in an amused tone.

“You look so pretty with a face full of cum.” Y/n taunted as he stroked himself out of his high as he used the hand to record a close up on Homelander’s features and body. 

“Cmon we should get started for the real sex tape.” 

Y/n spoke as he setup his phone at an angle it can have a full view of both of them.

[sxcret-garden]

Ateez when they're jealous ღ NSFW Edition [M]

ღ Ateez all members x fem-bodied!reader ღ genre: smut, headcanons (dom-sub dynamics in some parts, semi-public sex in some parts, most of them get more or less possessive) ღ warnings: alcohol consumption in some parts

Author's note: Maybe I went a liiiittle overboard with this.... maybe I'm also very tempted to turn one of these into a full fic....

Hongjoong:

He's usually one to deal with his jealousy in a very adult manner and simply talk it out with you. However, after coming home jealous one day and having what was probably the best sex in your relationship up until that point, you've made an arrangement to deal with your jealousy in the bedroom. So it's really become more of a game to him than a pestering feeling to get rid of asap. And today as well, after you've spent a little too much time (in his opinion) having a very engaged conversation with the cute waiter of your regular place to get dinner, Hongjoong can't wait to get home and to drag you off to his bed. And that's exactly what he does, as you're filled with expectation because you didn't exactly miss the evil smirks he's been giving you throughout dinner, and you could guess what would be coming once you're home. He's moving slowly as he crawls on top of you, brushing his lips against yours in teasing kisses, and then telling you to strip naked for him. Will be the biggest little shit ever as he touches you in all the ways he knows will rile you up, and has you cursing underneath him when he pulls his fingers out of you just as you're about to cum. "You're gonna have to beg for it, babe," he whispers, licking his fingers clean. "I'm not gonna let you cum until I know you can't take it anymore."

Seonghwa:

Is so shocked when after weeks of suffering he finally figures out that seeing you with your male best friend makes him jealous, that he impulsively decides to get (almost blackout) drunk. What he forgot to consider was that you were scheduled to make dinner with him at his place, and so when you walk in on him having downed what's probably his third bottle of soju you're definitely mad at him. Wondering whether it'd even make sense to try to reason with your drunk boyfriend, you do eventually end up scolding him, but the second you're within reach he pulls you down onto his sofa, crawling on top of you. He's blushing from the alcohol, and usually you'd have found that cute, but today the cold stare he gives you makes you shiver. Worriedly, you ask what's wrong with him, and finally he explains. "I'm jealous. Like really jealous of your best friend. And drinking it away wasn't the best choice but right now I just need to make you mine." You're not sure if you should be impressed how in control he is for the amount he drank or if you should just be insanely turned on by his words, but when you give him permission with a nod it's not like he leaves you any time to think about this further anyway. Has you both naked in no time and pins you down as he fucks you rough, and if you think he'll be satisfied with giving you just one or two orgasms that night, you couldn't be more wrong.

Yunho:

Doesn't get jealous ever, except for that one time when you had only just started dating and were still in a bit of an awkward phase of figuring everything out together. Now usually he doesn't mind you going out to see your other guy friends, he has no reason to worry about that because he trusts you to never betray him. However, who he doesn't trust is that one guy who very obviously has a crush on you and he wouldn't put it past him to try to steal you away. And so he even went so far as to warn you about it, but you just brushed it off, defending the other guy and saying he's just a friend. And well, when one night your boyfriend witnesses how that guy drops you off at Yunho's place and he's being just a little too touchy before he hugs you goodbye, that's when the jealousy sets in. Needless to say he's upset when you walk inside, and not knowing what to do with that feeling, he simply kisses you. And it's a passionate kiss filled with need, the kind of kiss you've never received from your boyfriend up until that point. Yet he takes the lead, and soon he pushes you up against a wall, hands roaming your body and his lips nipping at your throat. "I don't ever want to see that guy touching you like that again," he mutters, rolling his clothed hard on against your hips, making you throw your head back. "You're mine and nobody else's." When he feels you going limp in his hold and all you can do is agree and whine at his touch, he takes you right then and there, proving to you that nobody could ever make you feel as good as he can.

Yeosang:

When he's jealous he needs reassurance above all else, especially towards the beginning of your relationship. The only problem is that he's kinda slow at figuring out that he's jealous, and so it's often you who picks up the cues before he does. And you know he tends to get sulky and avoidant when he feels bad but can't quite put his finger on why, so one day you decide to try to help him out of that. And so you approach him, telling him straightforward that you want to have sex with him. And pulling him out of his bubble takes a while of hesitation from his side, but when you take him by the hand to walk him to your bedroom, he doesn't protest. Crawling on top of him and making out with him, you wait until you can feel him somewhat relax underneath you. Your fingers of one hand tangled in his hair while the other roams his toned upper body has him melting underneath you, and just then you ask him whether he's jealous, in the sweetest tone you can muster. "I... I think so," he mumbles. "Do you need me to prove to you that I only want you?" you ask, and Yeosang nods. And you'd be surprised how quickly he can go from desperately clinging to you as you get him off slowly, humming praises for your boyfriend, to him flipping your positions around and with a "Sorry, I need this now" he starts thrusting into you, hard and slow. The pace as well as him suddenly taking charge of the situation makes you see stars, and his desperate but possessive groans could make you cum right then and there.

San:

Seems more helpless than anything else the second he comes back from picking up some takeout coffee for the both of you when he sees a complete stranger flirting with you, and you doing nothing to ward the guy off. And of course he'd be jealous at the sight, but he decides to play the tough guy for now, telling the guy off as he approaches. "Dude, what are you doing flirting with my girlfriend?" He puts an emphasis on his last word, and his voice sounds darker than usual. And though the stranger leaves immediately and you two continue your date as usual, something's off about San once you arrive home. Dragging you off to the bedroom by the sleeve of your shirt, he doesn't say anything and doesn't let you see his face right until he has you pinned to the bed, hovering above you and pressing a fiery kiss to your lips. Clothes don't stay on for long, and when he finally has his hips snapping into you, you have to slow him down from how rough he's being. "Fuck, that guy pissed me off," he mutters as he buries his face in your neck, leaving his mark there. When he has you coming undone underneath him, he doesn't stop, continuing to fuck you towards your next high, and your head starts to spin when you hear his next words, growled into your ear, "Don't ever flirt with another man again. Don't even look at someone else, or do you think anyone else could ever fuck you this good?"

Mingi:

Well if he isn't a wild card idk what. Gets jealous rather easily, and from him sulking like a kid to him taking charge and dragging you off to the nearest secluded space, anything could happen. It entirely depends on his mood that day, and a bit on the situation too. Mingi definitely needs you to comfort him if it's the former option, but the good news is that he'll be fine rather quickly after you assure him he has nothing to worry about. However, after you've been dating for a while and he's internalized that you're not gonna let someone else take you away from him, that helplessness soon turns into anger at whatever guy is flirting with you. And so one night when you're out with friends, all being a bit tipsy and this one guy just won't stop giving you all of his attention, Mingi eventually shoots up from his seat and drags you to the restrooms without an explanation. Kisses you feverishly after locking up the stall he entered with you, and only when you ask him what's wrong he gives you an explanation. "I don't like the way that guy looks at you. It pisses me off," he hisses, before going right back to kissing you. His hand finding your core underneath your clothes in no time, he starts fingering you, even teasing you about how you're already wet for him, and eventually he'll flip you around so he can grind his clothed bulge against your ass as he gets you off, relishing in the way you're desperately trying to suppress all noises.

Wooyoung:

Big switch energy so this can go one of two ways, but after the initial deep conversation you had about jealousy and how you can trust each other despite that feeling sometimes arising, the one thing that's for sure is that you're gonna resolve it with sex.  Even when the jealousy is barely even there, just like earlier today when you had commented to your boyfriend on how handsome one of Wooyoung's friends looks in his latest insta post, he doesn't miss the opportunity to seek proof that at the end of the day you only have eyes for him.  "And what about me?" he'll asks as he walks up to you from behind, hands put on your waist and his lips ghosting above your neck. The tone of his voice gives his intentions away immediately, and it doesn't take long for him to spin you around in his hold so he could kiss you, dragging you off to the nearest surface to have sex with you on (whether that's the bed, the sofa, or the dining table he doesn't care). And it really all depends on your mood whether he'll pin you against it, making you beg for him until he's satisfied, or put all the power into your hands and let you have his way with him until he's the one whining for your touch. One way or the other, the reason for his jealousy will soon be forgotten, because now all that matters is you and him chasing pleasure together.

Jongho:

You're at a party hosted by a mutual friend of yours, and from the moment you dressed up at home you've known that your outfit choice today is doing something to your boyfriend from the looks he's been giving you. You like the attention, you're not gonna lie, and you can imagine what this night will lead to once you're back in the comfort of your own home, after making him stare at you all evening. However, what you didn't expect were the death glares he's been giving one of your male childhood friends who's been occupying you ever since you walked into that party. You know Jongho isn't the type to get jealous easily, but when he does he usually struggles with expressing it. However, you also know your boyfriend will usually do the right thing anyway, and so when he pulls you into the empty kitchen and locks the door behind himself, you expect him to simply tell you about his feelings. What you certainly do not expect is him backing you up against a counter with a possessive stare glued to your lips. "What's wrong...?" Kisses you instead of answering your question and makes your head spin from the way he runs his hands down your body alone. There's need and anger behind his actions, and in no time he has you pressed up against the kitchen counter, facing the wall now, both your pants and underwear pulled down just enough so he could fuck you from behind, teasing you with just his tip until he has you begging for more, and this really is just what he needed to alleviate his unnecessary feelings of jealousy...

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the heavy weight of guilt (part one)

words: 900

warnings: 18+ only!!, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, age gap (reader is 25 though), married!rafe (but not to reader), aged up!rafe, cheating, cheating fetishization, female receiving oral, brief mentions of pregnancy but reader is on birth control, recorded sex, semi dub con in sense of rafe doesnt know hes being recorded

part one / part two

“tell me again.” you moan out, back arching off the bed as rafe pounds into you, as if the act isn't enough.

“you're better than her.” rafe grunts out. there's no point denying it, not when he keeps coming back for more, abandoning his wife to make dinner for herself why he claims to be busy, but the only thing keeping him away is burying himself in your cunt.

“tell me.” you continue, eyes squeezed close as his cock stretches you.

“you're tighter than her.” rafe knows what you want to hear. anything that confirms his feelings for you and not his pleasant wife.

“i know.” you moan out. it's not the first time you asked rafe, and it certainly won't be the last.

“ill leave her for you.” it's not the truth, and both of you know it. the only way that rafe would ever leave is if he gets exposed. he can't ruin the perfect image of his life, the family he poses with for christmas cards and kids he sends away to daycare or boarding school so he doesn't have to grapple with the fact that they're actually his.

“yeah?” you smile up at him, your eyes wicked. “leave her so you can fuck my young pussy every night?”

in truth, you're not even that young. you're 25 years old, but it's a big gap between rafe.

you're certain that's why his wife would never suspect him to be cheating. probably thinks he's past his prime and can't get it up easily, but that's just when he tries to sleep with her. when with you, rafes hunger is insatiable.

“cum in me. make me pregnant like your stupid wife.” you beg out. you're on birth control, but the thought of stopping, of refusing to swallow that little pill, has you excited.

“fuck!” rafe shouts out, spurring his hips even faster, pounding into you until his cock swells and releases, ropes of cum spurting inside of you, warning you from the inside out as rafe grunts your name repeatedly.

he's worried about slipping up if he sleeps with his wife. imagining he was fucking you instead of her. maybe turning her face down so her mop of brown hair is the only thing he can see, reminding him of your soft curls he loves to tug on.

“eat me out.” you tell rafe, commanding him. he may be older, but you're the one in charge of the situation, the one that seduced him into sleeping with you in the first place.

he felt so guilty after that he almost drank himself to death, but still came crawling back a week later, dick painfully hard.

rafe pulls out and plugs your hole with his finger, just like he used to do to his wife when trying to get her pregnant, but only because as soon as her tummy swelled it meant he could stop sleeping with her.

the marriage wasn't a completely loveless one, but they both knew what joining the two most powerful families in the outer banks meant. at least as far as he knows, his wife has been faithful throughout.

his finger inside you is different. as he slides to his stomach between your legs, it keeps his cum from dripping out, but more importantly, allows him to quirk his finger up and press against the gummy spot that has your eyes widening as you gasp.

rafe smiles up at you briefly, the sounds of your pleasure like the sweetest melody, before diving into your pussy.

he misses your taste on his tongue whenever he has to spend a few nights away as he obsessively licks and sucks at your clit. he's learned what you like best, what makes you cum the hardest and fastest.

moans of his name fall from your mouth, louder than you normally would to make sure they're picked up as you reach a hand down, pushing through his messy hair, still slightly wet with sweat from the exertion of fucking you.

rafe looks up at you, your bare chest moving up and down with every heavy breath, pert nipples on display as your mouth falls open as he sucks at your clit.

“close.” you warn, feeling his finger inside of you move even faster.

only a few more strokes until you let out a loud shout, cumming to screams of his name as rafe licks you gently through your high, feeling your clit pulse against his tongue.

rafe pulls away quickly with a sigh, always feeling the heavy weight of guilt seconds after getting you off.

“you should just leave her, rafe.” you sigh as he stands from your bed, quickly grabbing his clothes to get back to his house.

“i can't. it's not that simple.” rafe says. you've been through it all before. the prenup, the status, the judgment. all reasons he can't leave.

“fine.” you huff, standing up as he heads towards your door, not bothering to get redressed yourself. “don't bother coming back then.”

rafe looks at you with hurt in his eyes, partially for you and partially to his wife, knowing it's not fair to either of you.

“hey.” rafe says softly, pressing a kiss to your lips. “ill see you at my lunch break tomorrow?”

“fine.” you say again, prompting another kiss from rafe before he flees.

you wait until you hear the front door open and shut to turn to your dresser, picking up the teddy bear and looking into the hidden camera in its eye with a smile on your face.

“sorry, mrs. cameron.” you say with a dark chuckle.

[delphi-shield]

:// sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ / ʙɪʟʟʏ.ʙᴜᴛᴄʜᴇʀ

Billy Butcher x Reader smut, hurt/no comfort wc: ~5.2k mdni read on ao3 digging the worms out of my brain real quick since i finally caught up with the boys. idk i think i worked through something personal with this, so like, that's a win for me.

summary: Butcher knows better than to be fucking around with you, but there's 50 quid in it for him if he gets you to call him 'daddy'. Easy money.

content: s4 spoilers, dubcon, butcher's pov, an exorbitant amount of kessler in the first half, age gap, general sleazy behavior, handjob, finger fucking, piv, pussy slapping, some just the tip action, blowjob, mentions of titfucking, degradation, general objectification, public sex, not proofread.

“Makes you realize men have nipples too.”

The bar is packed for a Wednesday night, but Butcher already knows exactly what Kessler is talking about. You’re a ditch lily, sitting tall in this shithole. He turns his head away, pretends he doesn't see the way you lick up a trail of spilled cosmopolitan from the side of your glass, pink tongue parting your lips, eyes half-shut. 

Fucking typical. Kessler could sniff out daddy issues and sadness from a mile away, and he was lethal at half that distance. He could have them wrapped around his finger in the time it took Butcher to take a piss.

His eyes linger. A thing like you doesn't belong in a dump like this. This is the sort of place girls like you stumble into at 1 AM, survey the crowd through the haze of cigarette smoke, and wobble right back out onto the streets, take your chances with the elements rather than the haggard, unfriendly crowd that hunches over their drinks.

Butcher likes Midwest 10's. Begs Kessler to stop ogling barely legal co-eds, says he's not some sleazy cunt in a John Hughes film. He can lie all he wants. If it makes him hard, it makes Butcher hard. 

He glances sidelong at your face. You've got this Christmas-light bright smile that makes his dick jerk. Kessler’s more than under his skin. He’s in his veins, in the same blood that raises his cock up like a goddamn bicycle pump when you lean over the bar, arms squeezing your tits together.

"You could probably fuck 'em." Kessler tips his head to the side, eyes locked on your cleavage. His eyes narrow, lips pursed, evaluating your chest and charting a course for his dick to travel.

"Shut up."

"Huh?"

Fuck. Your tip your head to the side from two seats away, brows pinched together. Cute, in a lost little lamb kind of way.

Butcher's eyes cut to Kessler. He's cocked it all up now. The sly, punchable grin on Kessler’s face turns him back to his drink. He drains his glass and gestures for another. If he doesn’t look at you, if he keeps drinking, this all goes away.

"Nothin'. Don't you worry about it, love."

That should be the end of it, but you’ve clearly got something wrong with you. You fiddle with your purse, pluck up your courage, and drop yourself onto the barstool next to him. Whether you’ve got no sense of self-preservation or you’re just that damn oblivious, he doesn’t intend to get to know you well enough to find out. Butcher's strained smile doesn't do much to smooth the worry lines away.

Kessler chuckles, leans back and props his elbows up on the bar. Cunt just wants to watch him squirm.

"No," Kessler corrects, drawing the word out. "I want you to get some pussy."

His eyes dart over to Kessler, looming over you, hands ghosting up your arms to squeeze your shoulders. He blinks rapidly, rubs at his face, tries to play it off like he's nervous or tired or whatever the fuck but when he looks down, there's your tits again. Butcher lolls his head back to the ceiling. Laugh it up, you fuckin’ cunt.

And Kessler does. Makes a show of slapping his hand on his thigh, head knocked back, grinning toothily.

He tries to ignore you, but you’re straddling that stool next to him in your little skirt and ordering another cosmo. This isn’t the kind of bar for cocktails, and he knows without even seeing the bartender’s eye roll that he hates you.

It's none of his business. He ought to keep himself sat there drowning in his drink ‘til last call and past that, make them throw him out on the street, give him a reason to swing first. It's a better idea than messing with you.

The bartender drops your drink off in front of you and turns before the words ‘thank you’ leave your glossy lips. Another sickly pink cocktail with a dried out lime dropped on top. Butcher can’t help himself. He’s got a soft spot for the clueless.

“Cheery bloke, isn't he?” He says, casting a sidelong glance at the bartender. He taps a finger against the bartop, inclines his head toward your cocktail. “That the only drink you know the name of?”

Your cheeks warm. You hide it behind a hand, turning your face away from him to laugh.

“What? No. I just think they taste good.”

Kessler snorts. “That’s a fat load of shit.”

Butcher agrees. His mouth twists into a half-hearted smile. He slides his glass over to you. 

“Try it,” he insists.

There’s hardly a passing thought for your own safety. You look between his scotch and his face and seem to decide it’s safe to take drinks from strange old fucks in bars. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, warm and soft - sticky. You must be more sloshed than you look, must keep spilling your drinks. Hell, for all he knows, maybe this place does make the best cosmo in the city. Maybe the bartender just hates your ass because you keep making a mess.

You don’t even ask what he’s drinking. (Maybe this is all a grift, he thinks. Kessler’s at his ear, chuckling - she ain’t bright enough for that.) You lift his glass and leave your lipstick behind.

“Oh my god.” You sputter, pound a fist against your chest. It makes your tits bounce. Fucking miracle your shirt is containing those things. “That tastes like ass.”

“That is the highest quality scotch this bar serves.”

“It tastes like someone put a cigarette out in a glass of whiskey.”

“It’s a shit bar.”

You laugh, head tipped back, nose scrunched - the works. You’re too tipsy for it to be on purpose. Being cute comes naturally to you. Must be how you’ve made it this far.

You pass his drink back and scoot your cosmo closer to you, spilling it as the glass skips over the pock-marked countertop. Butcher snorts, dabs it up for you with his sleeve. He’s starting to think his theory about the cosmopolitans might hold true.

“Well, here, a trade’s a trade.” He takes your drink by the stem (fucking amazed they even have martini glasses in this place) and pounds back a mouthful.

It isn’t that bad, but he makes a show of scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He slides your drink back over to you and mirrors the way you had clung to your drink.

“You’re kidding,” you laugh. “It’s better than yours. I don’t know how you drink that.”

“I’ll keep my liquid ashtray, thanks.”

Your eyes are all lit up when you smile, but it emphasizes the raw edges, the puffiness that lingers. Rough night for you, by the looks of it. Not like he’s having much of a better one.

There’s no harm in it. No harm in showing you what a proper drink tastes like, broadening your horizons and helping you both forget what a shit hand you’ve been dealt. He buys you a drink on the condition that you try something that isn’t a cosmopolitan. You can hardly stomach a whiskey and coke. He orders you a fernet and coke for shits and giggles, expects you to spit it out like all the rest, barks out a laugh when you declare it’s tasty, notes of lavender drawing you in. Notes of lavender - Christ, what fucking suburb did you pop out of? 

He introduces you to more drinks, leans closer with each empty glass. You're new here, you tell him. You tell him your name, too, not that he remembers. Got stood up on some shitty date. He knows it’s got to be shitty because what idiot in his right mind would take you here, of all places?

By the time he orders you both shots of Rumple Minze, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. Your hand splays against his chest, head leaning against him. You lift his shot to his lips for him and he’s too drunk to find it childish and irritating. He downs it and does the same for you, watches you extend that pretty neck to drink it down.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he slurs, rocking unsteadily to his feet.

“I already called an Uber.”

Jesus. It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes. Fucking kids. Allergic to one night stands, couldn’t take a hint to save their life. Even Kessler is on his side, his head thunking against the bartop.

It's for the best, he thinks, trying to curb his disappointment. He's got shit to do. Ryan to worry about. Kessler's a right cunt, pushing him to you. He hasn't got the time to be fucking about. This entire thing had been a waste of time, too busy trying to get his dick wet to make the most of what he’s got left.

Butcher stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, steps back, ready to split and stumble his way back home. He nods quick and sharp, tight-lipped smile to keep his frustration locked behind his teeth.

You show him your phone, make him squint to see what he’s supposed to be looking at. “My Uber is still a couple minutes away, so…”

Kessler picks his head up from the bar. He's a bloodhound for pussy. He picks up the leading edge in your voice before Butcher’s even done parsing your words.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Kessler drones. “You can’t even get it up, can you?”

“I’m damn well going to try.”

“What?” You laugh, swaying on your feet.

Butcher wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side. “Nothin’. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll keep you company. Make sure no nasties try to get you.”

The cold outside is bracing. You wrap your arms tight around yourself and this time Butcher’s too drunk to pretend he isn't staring at the way your tits press together.

It’s your idea. Really. The way you look up at him, the way your lips stay parted while the pair of you pace the sidewalk. You wrap your hand around his bicep and squeeze, eyes drifting slowly to the side, to the alleyway just a few strides away.

See? It’s your idea, honest. He drags you behind a dumpster, pins you to the wall of the alley, and shoves his tongue down your throat, yeah, but you moan so fucking loud and drag him closer. It takes longer than he'd like for your hand to stop massaging his chest and start fondling his cock, but you're a sweet girl - don't seem the type to do this too often. Need some guidance.

Butcher lays his hand atop yours, wraps your fingers tighter around his bulge. Your breath hitches, your eyes flicking down to your hand, mouth popped open - got this sweet, vacant little look in your eye.

He'd bet real money you go dumb for cock.

“$50 says you can get her to call you ‘daddy’,” Kessler pipes up, leaning against the wall next to you. He tips a cigarette into his mouth, cups a hand around to light it, and Butcher swears the light from his zippo gleam in your eyes. He doesn’t doubt it. Seems cruel, though, especially when he can’t remember your name.

“What was your name again?”

It takes a bit for you to get dick off your mind and fish around for your name. You mumble, make him lean in close and tilt his head to get you to say it again, clearer.

You're the obedient sort. Pick up on cues so easy. Don't even make him ask for it again. He pats your cheek, smirk creasing his face.

By your side, Kessler flashes a crisp $50. He plucks it taut, fans himself with it, makes a real show of being a dick while you try to take Butcher's out of his pants.

At the end of the day, 50 quid is 50 quid.

“How ‘bout you ask daddy for permission, sweetheart?”

Your mouth moves wordlessly.

“Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s real polite. But it ain’t what I asked for, is it?”

“Can I please play with your cock, daddy?”

“Better.”

Kessler slips the fifty into Butcher’s coat pocket while you fumble with his belt and free him from his pants. You lay his cock in the seam of your hands, cupping him like he’s a gift on two legs. You stroke him reverently, look up at him with big, thoughtless lamb eyes.

Your heart’s in it, but you’re too reserved for his taste. He grips your hand in his and guides you down his cock, shows you when to squeeze, when to twist your wrist, how to flick your thumb over the slit of his tip.

He can never make it last when he drinks. Should have warned you before he came on your pretty skirt, but you’ve got a natural talent for stroking dick. He keeps his groan locked up tight. It rattles through his chest and he leans into you, crushing you against the wall of the alley. His hips stutter and rut into your hand, still wrapped around him, coaxing every drop from his tip. You still toy with him while he tries to catch his breath. He’s got to push away from you with a mumbled “Christ, all right, that’s enough.”

It’s like he’s taking your favorite toy away. You pout up at him, hand still molded for his cock by your side, by the skirt his ruined with his cum. He almost gets an apology out, but you drag a finger through his mess and bring it to your lips, make a show of licking it up.

His chest aches. He isn’t sure if it’s the tumor or his heart desperately trying to pump enough blood down to his dick to get him up again.

Butcher crams two fingers into his mouth and scrapes the dirt from beneath his nails with his teeth. The rest is a blur. He knows that he kicks your feet apart, traces your slit through your panties before he pushes them to the side and finger fucks you until your head snaps back against the wall. It’s quick, messy - leaves his forearm soaked. He’s not so sure that was real, but he’s too drunk to figure it out, too gone ask.

He tucks himself back into his pants. You set your panties back in place, skirt still hiked up to your ribs. You slip a little lower down the wall, panting. He stops you before you can slip all the way down, pats your cunt, and tugs your skirt back into place.

“Let’s get you a cab, eh?”

That’s the last thing he remembers clearly. You’d missed your Uber, had to take a cab with him anyway. He remembers you leaning against him, tucked up against his side, hand stroking his chest. He’d pet your hair - soft as lamb’s wool - and whispered nonsense against your head just to get a laugh out of you. After you get out, the whole thing’s blank.

When Butcher wakes up at 2 PM the next day, choking on his own vomit, he can't find the 50 quid. He turns his jacket inside out searching for it. A scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it falls from his jacket pocket. He doesn’t spare it more than a glance and keeps digging for his wallet.

Lambs lose their appeal after the flying cunts nearly bit his cock off.

That farm had been dirty business. Wicked stuff, the kind that doesn't wash off. This work always has been, but this time the blood doesn't come out from under his fingernails. He tastes bile every time he breathes. The copper twang of blood trickling down the back of his throat is the only chaser he gets anymore.

He doesn't think of you often. He knows it'd break your little heart to hear it, have you looking up at him with those ‘fuck me, I'm sad’ eyes and that little girl pout that makes him feel every bit the lech he is. You’re a sweet thing. Vacant, just like him. It didn’t take long to piece that together.

You’re easy and malleable, quick to fit yourself around him in whatever way he demands. He liked that about you at first.

But when he calls on you at three in the morning for a quick lay and you answer the door in a full face of make-up, hair done and wearing the sort of nightgown that no one actually sleeps in, all he feels is distaste.

You let him crowd you against your couch (a neutral color, no blanket in sight, your living room just as blank as the rest of you) without so much as a ‘hello’. You hook a leg over his hip. No panties, he realizes, eyes locked on your drippy cunt, already flushed. Been touching yourself to the thought of this. He warms a little at the thought.

Butcher wedges his knee between your leg and grinds. Any warmth you’d kindled with wet pussy dissipates the moment you moan so goddamn loud, the sound hollow and plastic. He keeps his leg still, flexes his thigh for you to grind on. His jaw tightens. He nearly shoves his fingers in your mouth to keep you from making those stupid fucking noises.

You let him twist you up however he wants, more a posable toy than a person. He pushes you further along the couch until your back arches awkwardly against the arm. You don't protest. Of course you don't.

His thick fingers trail down your slit, part your slick folds for his inspection. He sways back on his haunches, admires the pretty way he's got you arranged, pinned open on his fingers for him.

He brings his hand down sharply on pussy once, twice - and the third time directly to your clit is just because you kept making that annoying fucking noise. That nasally, porn-star whine that drills him between the eyes and makes his hard-on flag. The way you twitch and jerk at each hit might be genuine but that fucking noise drives him up a wall. Christ, there's got to be something about you that's real.

Pussy’s real. Can’t fake that, he thinks.

“Stay right there,” he says, a bite to his voice when you try to shift against him again. If you could just lay there and take it - is that so much to ask for?

He guides himself to you, hips rocking experimentally. You suck his head in and his chin dips to his chest. He groans deep. It turns to a growl when you raise your hips. He lays his forearm against you, pressing you down - and that moan might have been real.

“Can't you do fucking anything right?” He snaps. His hips push forward, bullying himself deeper into you. You suck a breath through your teeth, your hand bracing against his forearm. “I told you to stay right there.”

A spark of indignation flickers in your eyes, flash-fire flushed out by the same pitiful little lamb wool you pull back over your eyes. Makes you look all downy, plush and fuckable - he's fished more respectable shits from the toilet.

You’re a good girl for a few more shallow thrusts, lay there just like he wants while he works himself to the hilt. He finds his rhythm sloppily, one knee propped on the couch, the other foot planted on the floor. Your tits bounce with every thrust and he’s stupid enough to take his hands off of you, trust you not to move while he gropes at your breast.

Immediately you rise to your elbows, try to arch your back deeper. He’s positive you’re trying to mimic some video, down to the exact angle of your spine, but your heart isn’t in it. His cock butts against your walls, shallower than before, the pleasure that had been tearing through his blood coming to a screeching halt. He hisses through his teeth, grinding out his frustration.

“Don't –” his shoves you back down, hand flattening against your cheek and pushing your face into the couch. Feels fucking awful any other position. “–fucking move. Don't fucking move. Trying to cum. Goddammit.”

Your hands curl into fists by your head. You hide your face, press it deeper into the cushion and he presses your face deeper to help you. The noise you make is pitiful, but at least it's real.

Fucking hell. Now he’s completely out of it. You’ve gone and fucked up pussy for him. He didn’t think that was possible. He can’t find the angle he needs, can’t get back to that gummy spot that make his vision blur.

He pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, ignoring the little whine you make. You don’t raise your hips - god forbid you take a fucking hint - so he sits you up for him and wedges his dick back in. It only takes a few thrusts for him to realize this is worse. Tighter, dry, chafing his dick like goddamn sandpaper.

“Your cunt shrivel up or something? Feels fucking terrible.”

He snatches your wrist, pulls your arm back at an angle that makes you cry out, and fills your palm with lube. Can't even get wet on your own. Fucking Christ, he's got to do everything for you. Even has to curl your fingers around his cock, drag your hand back and forth until you final get the big, swinging fucking hint and jerk him off.

He meant to stuff himself back into your cunt, but at this point your hand will do. Six one way, half a dozen the other. At least your hand doesn't chafe.

You’re silent now. Small mercies. The only sounds are the slick of your palm working him over and his labored breaths. Your hand is clumsy at this angle, but he’s not going to risk letting you move and fuck it all up again.

Once he’s close, he drops your hand and flips you onto your back again. A big hand presses your knees apart, opens you up for him. You're still so pliable, even if the sheen is gone from your cunt. You try to fix your hair. If he notices the tears brimming your eyes, he doesn't say anything.

He lines himself back up with your cunt, dragging himself through your folds. Your knees knock closer with each pass of his bright red tip over your clit. He taps it once with his cock, expecting another produced moan to rattle the walls, but you only whimper, your thighs trying to close around him.

Butcher smirks. He pumps himself into you, keeps himself shallow - just the tip past your puffy lips. 

You whimper, try to shuffle down and take more of him. Butcher’s hand grips your face, squishing your cheeks so hard it stings.

“Don't you fucking move,” he grits out. You used to take instruction so well. Now you've gotten all up in your own head. Nobody likes an uppity bitch, he ought to make you see that.

What he really ought to do is make you get down there and jerk him off. Your hand is still slicked, but you'd probably piss yourself at the chance. Instead, he pushes your knees damn near up to your ears and barks for you to hold your own legs. Your hands curl around the backs of your knees. There you go. Figuring it out again.

His hand strokes his dick quick and hard, one hand dedicated to keeping himself just inside you. It doesn't take long for him to cum. It’s a slow burn that seeps up through his belly, lattices up his ribs and congeals in his chest, makes him ache and cave over your body while his hips sputter. He squeezes himself dry, pumps his cum into your pussy until it flows past his tip and seeps down onto your couch. 

Butcher lingers over you, catching his breath. He’s already gone soft, his cock dropped out of you. He sits back against the opposite arm of the couch, splays himself out while you curl up.

Something burns in his chest - remorse, maybe. You’re all curled up against your couch, cheek cushioned on your arm - won’t look at him, don’t paw at him or lean against his side, don’t even reach to clean yourself up.

His head knocks back to the ceiling. He can’t be bothered to pull answers out of you. He reaches for the tissue box on your coffee table, plucks a handful, and cleans himself off.

He tosses the box back to the coffee table and shoves his boots back on, barely taking the time to lace them up properly. He scoops he coat up from where you’d shucked it onto the floor, buttons himself back up, and you still haven’t moved. His eyes linger on you for a moment, brow set low.

Can’t be bothered, he reminds himself. He runs a hand through his hair and makes for your door, boots thunking heavily against your floors.

“Can I see you again?”

You’ve managed to pick your head up when he glances back at you. You sound so desperate it's pitiful. His lip curls. He runs a hand over his head, looks anywhere but you.

Christ, even your apartment is blank and devoid of personality. He hadn't noticed it before, too consumed with the need to get between your thighs. He shrugs, and gives you a lifeless smile.

“We'll see.”

Butcher closes your door behind him and hurries down the hall. He turns the corner to see Kessler’s cheshire grin greeting him in the dark of your stairwell.

He ought to get right with you before his time comes. He isn't proud of the way things ended. Butcher’s a right bastard, but he isn't blind; he'd seen the look on your face, the hopeful shine in your eyes dulling when he'd left you there without so much as a ‘cheers, love, thanks for the rub’.

He doesn't bother texting you. He's already posted up outside your apartment. Giving you a heads up would only give him time to pussy out.

Besides, you're home. He knows it. You’re piss-easy to track. Home to work, work to home, same route, same time. It will be easy to knock on your door, get his closure, and slip out of your life for the last time.

It should be easy. He’s had harder conversations with people who meant more to him but he keeps staring at your door, trying to will himself to knock. He’s not that weak yet. He can still raise his hand.

Butcher turns to leave just as you open the door. His shoulders tense when you call out to him.

“Billy?” You blurt out. There’s genuine surprise there.

“I just thought I’d –” He turns to catch a glimpse of you and it sends him headlong into silence.

You look a right mess. No face isn’t done up, an oversized t-shirt draping off your shoulders. Your pajama pants are fluffy, snowflake print - tackiest thing he’s seen in a while. 

You duck your head down, trying to catch his eye. 

“You okay?” You hook your thumb over your shoulder. “Want to come in?”

He doesn’t. Not even a little. He wants to rip the band-aid off, forget he ever met you and let you get on with your life - whatever it is you do. But you step to the side and fix him with a weak little smile that he thinks might be real, and his feet take him in through the door.

It’s a nice place in the daytime, he realizes. Natural sunlight, open floorplan, your shelves crowded with plants and knick-knacks he’s never seen. You offer him a drink, laugh when he says water and fall quiet when he insists.

You hand him his drink and collapse onto your couch. Your legs kick up onto your coffee table, and for the first time he realizes your socks are fuzzy, too. He looks around, scans you from head to toe. Is this the right place? He keeps picking at his nails, trying to free the grime from under them.

Once you realize he’s baffled, you’re merciful enough to start the small talk. It’s awkward and stilted - his fault, his answers halting and quick. You give him grace, sip on your drink. Your laughs never quite reach your eyes, but you scoot closer to him on the couch anyway.

“Why are you really here, Billy?” Your hand settles on his thigh and curls inward.

It’s not how he wanted this to go, but he doesn’t stop you from sliding your hand higher while he chokes on his words. You’ve got his belt undone by the time he manages to string a sentence together.

“I've been a right cunt to you.”

“Mhm.”

“You don't got to put up with it, yeah?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Got your whole life right ahead of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Fucking Christ, could you give him more than a noise? A few moments ago you’d held a conversation with him.

His irritation is snuffed out by your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and sucking hard. Your hand pumps his shaft, twisting your wrist on the way back up. Good God, you learn quick.

Butcher could spoil you rotten if he had the time. He could get you whatever you wanted - if ever you wanted for anything. He cups a hand over the back of your head, encouraging, not guiding.

You’re methodical. You let your hand work what your mouth won’t reach, fondle his balls with the other one. It’s clinical. You’ve committed the moves to memory, when to swirl your tongue, hollow your cheeks, when to moan around him, when to look up at him with those tears straining at your waterline.

He finishes quick, his chest heaving. You pass him his water while you reach for a tissue box. He drains it and nearly misses you spitting his cum into a tissue, wadding it up and tossing it into the bin.

“I haven’t got much time left,” he says, breathless.

Your brow creases. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your lips swollen. “What?”

“I’ve got this –” he gestures nebulously with a hand, like he’s trying to pluck the right words out of the air. “– thing. In my brain, see? Inoperable. So, if I up and vanish on you, it ain’t personal.”

You stay silent, stone faced. He wishes you’d say something. Even one of the irritating platitudes people like to parrot would be better than this. Your eyes harden. You purse your lips, breathe deep, and stand from the couch.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. It was good to see you.”

Butcher’s still trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself back into his pants, a mess he’ll clean up later, and rises unsteadily. You don’t reach out to help. He makes another nebulous gesture towards you, his hand quivering.

“You want me to..?”

“Nah. Don’t strain yourself.”

He stuffs himself back into his coat, watching your eyes linger - maybe realizing for the first time how much slighter he’s looking. Butcher pats your cheek gently as he passes by.

You don’t ask to see him again. For your sake, he hopes this is the last time.

[reveluving]

Phillip Graves getting jealous because his shy wife is getting flirted on by someone else but she doesn't know how to respond?? Yes please!!

(could be sfw at first but when they get back home graves pounds his wife against any surface he sees because he can't stand seeing his wife getting flirted on right in front of him)

YUUUUH I HAVE JUST THE THING!! I know, it's been AGES with these, and this one from last year but I still hope you like it! and I know you said doing the nasty back home, but I thought "man, I'm already here. might as well!" and filthy-ize(???) it even more for good measure 😘💗

Includes; soft (& slightly mean dom) & possessive graves, fingerf~cking, unprotected sex (p in v), petnames ('sugar', 'pretty girl'), licking, biting & marking, praising, dirty talking, mentions of voyeurism & exhibitionism!!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

It happens. 

A lot.

The library, your favourite diner, your flower shop—anywhere.

It happens more than you can imagine, but with Phil around, it’s mostly from afar. The kind where they could only dream about making a move on you, if not for the guard dog with the sharp tongue.

Hence, when he’s not around, he worries a little for you, but he knows you can protect yourself when needed, thanks to the self-defence lessons he has given you when you were still dating.

So, imagine the unlucky bastard who thought it was a good idea to take advantage of your gracious hospitality, not knowing your husband was around.

It happened when he had finished work, but instead of heading home, he took the route where your flower shop was. Closing time was ten minutes ago so he knew you’d be waiting for him at the cafe next door, probably nursing a cup of your favourite drink or nibbling on a pastry.

He hated it whenever he couldn’t reach you on the dot or before, no matter how many times you’ve reassured him. 

Reaching the neighbourhood shops was like a breath of fresh air, enjoying the sense of familiarity and the breeze as he turned the corner, passing by the cafe first.

But with a glance, his brows furrowed, seeing that you were nowhere in sight. He quickly took it as a sign that you were still working, though a thirty-minute overtime was almost uncommon of you.

He parked his convertible close to the entrance of your shop but still out of view, and for a brief moment, he caught sight of you through the window. 

And just his mood lifted, ready to greet you with open arms, his smile dropped.

You were dealing with a customer, a man likely in his 30s and dressed, well, if one were told to dress formally, and they did it haphazardly, then that was exactly what it was. His body language was a little awkward, almost unsure what pose may look alluring in your eyes.

Though Phil had a knack for judging certain people by their looks, if and only if their personality rubbed him the wrong way, he didn’t have an issue thinking of the worst insults about the man, if not for the uncomfortable smile on your face.

So, leaning against the wall, away from you or the man’s sight, he listened in. 

“So, your husband’s in the military, huh?” He asked, but Phil wasn’t dumb enough to think it wasn’t a sneer in disguise. Probably thought he held some rookie position, “Must be hard not having someone to hold to every night.”

Phil didn’t bother hiding the scornful look on his face.

“It’s not bad,” He immediately perked up at the sound of your voice. The gentle sound that could heal even his worst wounds, “He finds time to check up on me.” 

Whether or not you were telling the truth or if you were downplaying your thoughts if his absence really did bother you, he’ll ask you later, but for now, he wanted to tell you how proud he was. Not letting some schmuck stick their nose in someone else’s business, and your marriage, no less.

“Well, sure, but look at you! I don’t know about you but if I had a girl like you? Shoot, I don’t I’d ever get any work done,” The audacity. Phil’s jaw tightened, listening to him weakly defend himself when you didn’t respond, undoubtedly displeased by his unnecessary opinion, “But that’s just me, y’know.”

“Right, um,” You turned to the row of flower pots, using the second to roll your eyes to the back of your head before showing him the bunch of bluebells in your hands, “How about some bluebells?”

The man pretended to think, “Nah, I mean, they’re cute but I’m looking for something… more,” He then leaned in, resting his arm on the counter, “A little bland, if I’m being honest with you.”

You forced a smile, but Phil, oh Phil.

He wasn’t smiling. 

Who was this man, no, who was this kid to not see how uncomfortable you were with his god-awful ‘flirting’ skills and judge your taste in your very own store?

“That’s fine, I’m sure we can find something else.” Oh, that pitiful tone of yours. Just how long has this man been bothering you?

You bit down a sigh, placing the bluebells back into their pot before walking back to the back of the counter. You knelt, possibly looking for something else, though Phil wouldn’t blame you if you were doing so to drown him out for a bit.

Phil had listened long enough. Moving off the wall, he clicked on the lock button of his car keys. He spun his keys on his finger as he entered the shop, the rattling sounds prompted the man to follow his figure. His eyebrows knitted further, more so when Phil casually stopped right in front of the counter as if used to coming over.

His eyes darted from Phil’s attire; simple yet sophisticated, and how he carried himself, then the convertible behind him. The sudden insecurity forming in the guy’s mind was a no-brainer.

You must’ve heard the extra pair of footsteps and the keys, “I’ll be right with you!” 

He didn’t respond, opting to eye the man—Chad, which he would later learn—with full of judgement. The latter flinched when their eyes met, though he tried to act cool soon by clearing his throat.

But the stare may have been too much for him, as he asked, his voice less confident than before, “Do I know you?” 

“You tell me.” He responded loud enough for you to hear, and just as he hoped, you straightened, visibly lighting up at the sight of him. 

“Phil!” You cheered, already forgetting about the customer as you rushed over to your husband for a hug, “I thought you wouldn’t be back until tonight?”

He shrugged, wrapping one of his arms around you while he caressed the apple of your cheek with his free hand, “Change o’plans. Drove here as fast as I could.” He gave you a lazy smile, more so when you jutted out your bottom lip, pouting at his statement. 

“Phil, you know how I feel about you speeding home,” You sighed, despite leaning into his touch, “But I’m glad you’re back. Safe.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him, not with that cheeky smile of his before he pressed his lips onto yours. You could feel the upturn of his lips when you yelped, and he didn’t even bother hiding his amusement—his delighted huff when you returned the kiss.

But before he could feel you, before he could melt into your hands as they held his face, you broke the kiss, almost hiding in his chest for a moment before motioning to the man watching—his face that of panicked realization.

“Phil—Customer…”

Ew.

Well, at least he learnt he had messed with the wrong married woman.

Phil suddenly grinned, and a painfully fake one, judging by the lack of positive emotion, or any emotion in his eyes as he looked at Chad.

“Y’here for an arrangement?”

“U–Uh, no. I’m just… looking around. Thinking of buying one for my, uh, girl.”

The man wasn’t dumb enough to think the smirk on Graves’ face wasn’t the face of mockery. A man who has done enough interrogations to know just how much he was bullshitting.

“Huh, Y’must be lookin’ for a special one if you’re makin’ my girl workin’ overtime,” He glanced at the clock just hanging by the door, his arm not leaving you once, “Y’sleepin’ in the dog house or somethin’?” 

“Phil.” You hissed, and ever so cutely, might your husband add. You briefly apologised to Chad, even if you wanted nothing more than to send him on his way.

“Sorry, sorry,” If you noticed his lack of sincerity, you didn't call him out on it. Graves held his hand out, the corner of his lips twitched when Chad took a step back, “Graves. Commander and CEO. Proud husband of this pretty girl right here.” 

Chad accepted, albeit hesitantly, nearly squawking when Phil purposely squeezed his hand. He had a feeling he wouldn't mind breaking his arm if it weren't for the obvious repercussions and well, you being there. 

“Mr Thompson was just looking for a bouquet for his girlfriend. It might take a minute so you can hang around for a bit while I help him.” You explained, standing close to your husband, now that he was with you.

“Or,” Phil spoke, and you should’ve suspected something was up just by his tone, despite his so-called generous offer, “I help him look for what he needs, while you go ahead and close up, get your bag, lock the back room and all.”

You raised your brows, “Phil, are you sure?”

He hummed, “C’mon. ‘Bout time I put my flower knowledge into good use. And who knows?” He glanced at Chad, sharply. With his eyes on the unwanted customer, he leaned to your side, as if whispering, despite making sure Chad heard him loud and clear, “It’s probably nothin’ more than a lil’ trouble in paradise. Nothin’ I can’t sort out, man to man.”

You thought for a moment. You had your suspicions when Chad stopped by the same time your shift ended. And while you wouldn’t have minded, he wasn’t exactly helpful about his request either. Giving you doubtful answers such as his supposed girlfriend’s favourite colour or the occasion. 

Plus, you were a little eager to be away from Chad, even for a short while.

In the end, you nodded, much to Chad’s horror.

“Okay, I just need to organize a few boxes in the back,” You squeezed Phil's arm, “Thank you. I won’t take long.”

Sliding his hand down your arm, he raised your hand to his lips before letting you go.

“Take all the time y’need, pretty girl,” And as soon as you were out of sight, his voice dropped, the upturn of his lips now in a manner that Chad knew this was going to be anything but a quick talk amongst men about which apology flowers were the best, “Take all the time y’need.”

His smile was nowhere to be seen as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched Chad pinching a leaf of random flower in the guise of interest.

But by the third flower, Graves had enough, surprising Chad with his authoritative tone.

“Y’just gonna stand there and ruin my wife’s flowers or are y’goin’ to buy somethin’ and get out?” 

“I’m…” Chad began but Phil didn’t give him the satisfaction to explain himself. He didn’t need to.

“Look. I’m really fuckin’ tired, and my girl is, too, but I’m sure you’re too busy trying to look down her dress to notice that.”

“That’s—”

“Cut,” He didn’t even need to raise a single finger as the tone he normally used on his team on a bad or serious day was enough to shut the man up, “... the bullshit, alright? Y’can buy all the flowers you want to impress her, save a puppy as soon as you see her coincidentally walk by at the park. Fuckin’ pick-me.”

The impatient smile plastered on his face told Chad everything about the commander’s patience.

“I know a degenerate when I see one.” Chad knew not to trust how calm Phil sounded, “And I know she can defend herself just fine. Hell, I taught her everything she needs to know t’deal with boys like you. But I can tell y’one thing; I’ll do so much worse than what she’s already capable of.”

Graves’ heavy footsteps sounded like a disaster waiting to happen in mere seconds before he stood in the middle of the shop.

“Might wanna get out while y’can.” He gritted out, and Chad didn’t waste a second to find out what would’ve happened if he didn’t that very instance, whether it was from you or your husband.

You returned just in time to find Graves appreciating the tulips, though, unbeknownst to you, he was also slightly miffed that some were stained by Chad’s hands alone.

“Oh, did he find what he needed?”

“‘Guess so. Took off as soon as he figured it out. He didn’t buy anythin’ though,” He swiftly carried the bag for you, pulling you in for a kiss on your forehead, “Sorry he wasted y’time.”

“That’s alright,” You grinning, not expecting him to apologize over that, “I just need to keep the flowers in the back. Mind helping me?”

Of course he didn't mind.

He moved with you, carrying much more stock to the cool room where the unsold flowers were kept. During his second run, he lightly tapped you on the ass, stealing a kiss before telling you to lock the register instead. You did just that, carefully organizing the cash and coins before locking it.

Phil worked with ease, pushing necessary pots and displays to one side and pulling the blinds down like the tasks were at the back of his hand. But he didn’t draw the blinds close all the way, though, leaving a small opening at the bottom of the windows where you and Graves could see the sun shining through and the feet of passers-by. 

But unbeknownst to you, he locked the front door and with great care, avoided the usual click.

He shamelessly glanced at you at every possible moment, watching you sit prettily as you focused on your task behind the counter. 

Once his side was done, he approached you, stannding in between your legs as soon as you locked the register.

“All done.” You smiled, crinkles forming in your eyes.

“Perfect.” He opened up his arms, closing the space in between as you embraced. But just as you basked in the wholesome reunion, you froze up, eyes wide at a familiar tent prodding your stomach. He didn't bother concealing his amusement, his smile grew at your giggles, showering one side of your face with kisses to hear more of you. 

“Thought he'd never leave.” He murmured against your skin with zero shame, which prompted you to pull back.

“You threw him out?” You asked in disbelief.

“He threw himself out,” He shrugged, not exactly lying but telling you the whole truth either. He cooed at your little frown, even holding his hand up in a saluting manner, “I’m serious. Scout's honour.” 

“Were you even a scout?” 

“Nope,” He responded without missing a beat, “But I do know how to tie a knot.” 

“Phil!” You smacked his arm, but it did nothing to deter him, “I wasn't even gone that long.” 

“Four minutes was all I needed.” He brushed his nose against your neck, looping his arms around you. You couldn't help but melt, sighing but more so in contentment than disappointment. Granted, you were anything but the latter, but who knows where your business would be if Phil did, well, whatever to your customers the way he did to Chad.

“He was bothering ya.” You knew it wasn't a question and there was no point denying it, so you hummed in confirmation.

“Kinda figure that out after a while,” You shrugged, though you didn't want him to worry either, “I, uh, had my suspicion as soon as I asked him what he was looking for.”

“Yeah? What did he really tell ya?” 

“Just said he wanted some pretty flowers for a pretty lady, and then,” You mimicked the awkward eyebrow-wiggles he did to you, much to Phil’s amusement and disdain, “And then said no to all of my suggestions.”

Phil’s tutting was akin to a Southern mother's, being his blood and all. That, and he was having second-hand embarrassment—to think Chad thought he'd have a chance using that line on you.

Hell, on anyone.

“It was getting a little embarrassing, honestly.” You couldn't help but snort, only for your smile to grow when he, too, expressed his amusement. 

‘A little’ was putting it lightly.

“You and me, sugar.”  

You leaned your weight against him just as he did against the counter, figuring that this was one of those days where he needed to just relax. Be around you as if you exuded great energy, and in his eyes, you were.

A far cry from the more despicable chaos he and his partnering team have to deal with for a living.

You brushed your fingers along his stubble, smiling to yourself at the familiar, prickly sensation. Ever the perceptive man, he angled his face so your lips were pressed on his instead of his cheek.

It was much needed for the both of you as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Though, you tried not to go too far with it, your nerves rising as your eyes flitted to the door, despite Phil’s breathy reassurance that he locked it.

Noticing your hesitance, he broke the kiss to rest his head in the crook of your neck. His warm breath tickled you, more so when his hands languidly moved up and down your body.

But then, his hands didn't stop moving upwards.

He swiftly pulled down the straps of your dress, trailing his lips along your shoulder. Though the dress wasn't fully removed, the way you haphazardly held the front of it against your chest, amplifying your cleavage which was just as alluring as you were topless.

“Phil!” You choked out, and yet, he continued. Licking across your newly exposed skin with the tip of his tongue. Starting from the collarbone, down to your tits when he squeezed your breasts together, and then, sucking on the plush at random spots. Eager to leave a mark wherever he could with shameless sounds of suckling and pops, “Here?!” 

If the way your hand shot up to his hair, massaging his scalp and pulling his head close instead of pushing him away was anything to go by, he knew dead set on making you scream.

He took a step back, encouraging you to stand up before hooking his arms under your ass, lifting you effortlessly to seat you on the counter.

His bulge was snug against you, thanks to his taller stature. The way his hands slid down your thighs prompted you to wrap your legs around him, despite the growing warmth in your face at the lewd display. There was something about the sliver of possibility of being watched that raised both your worries and anticipation, despite the opaqueness of the cream-coloured window blinds.

Plus, the shop wasn't exactly soundproof either.

He leaned forward, forcing you to lie back on the surface. His lips hadn't slowed down since, enjoying your squirms and breathless moans as he peppered your neck in kisses before raising his head.

“My wife's a beaut, isn't she?” He whispered against your temple, rolling one of your tits in between his fingers before sliding his hand down to your thigh, squeezing the plush of it, “Got these boys actin’ stupid around ya.” 

You gasped when his hand slid further under your skirt. He toyed with the waistband of your panties, teasingly pulling them up and wedging the lacy material in between your sopping pussy.

“Even I can't resist her sweet lil’ charm,” He purred, pulling your panties to the side and then bunching the hem of your dress for him to delight in all its glory, “Y’know that, don't cha?” 

He swiped two of his fingers across your lips. Even the softest touch elicited the most delicious squelch he had ever heard. 

He hummed in approval, teasing you to his heart's delight, “But she's also so, so dirty, deep down,” He made sure you made the slightest mess, letting your juices drip bit by bit, down to your tight hole and the counter itself, “And this—this is only f’me to see, right, pretty girl?’ 

He captured your lips with his before you could even muster out a breathless ‘yes’, the kiss ending just as quickly as it happened before tapping your lips with his fingers.

You didn't need to be told, but that didn't mean it was any less embarrassing. But his approving hum at your first, kitten-like lick was encouraging. It had you chasing after his praises, verbal or otherwise. 

His cock was downright throbbing, wishing it was his cock you were eagerly drooling on instead of his fingers, but who was he to say he wasn't enjoying the view in hand either? 

Once he was sure they were wet enough, he slid them out of your mouth, crudely enjoying the string of saliva for a second before dropping his fingers to your cunt. 

He mirrored your parted lips, watching your face scrunch up as he eased in one finger. Your whimper was pitiful, and the slightly wicked side of him couldn’t help but coo at you almost condescendingly, knowing you could handle something much bigger than his mere finger, even if they were much thicker than yours. 

He set a torturing pace, taking in the way your body moved, rolling your hips in hopes you’d have his fingers knuckles-deep in you. The way you half-heartedly covered your face with one hand was endearing, probably too overwhelmed by his unapologetic stare.

Then, he cranked up the speed with two fingers, greedy for more of your juices leaking out each time he moved in and out. And by the time you were clenching around three fingers, he was ruthless with his pace. 

Unforgiving. 

He looked euphoric just from bringing the pleasure to you, tipping his head back as he listened to you struggling to hold back your moans and whines whenever he pulled out to tease and slap at your clit.

“Colour?” As casual as he tried to sound, he was just as breathless as you were.

“Green…” You whined, pleading him to continue, even if it felt like you were overstimulating, “Phil, please… Please…!”

You didn’t have to repeat, for he amped up his pace and chased after the climax when the pitch of your voice heightened, arching your back like you weren’t sure if you wanted him to carry on or push him away when you were getting close.

He didn’t falter, nipping on your shoulder just a tad harder just before you trembled, cumming and clenching hard around his fingers. He cupped your face with his other hand, soothing you from your high with praises and kisses. 

“Such a good girl, my good girl. Always so brave f’me, makin’ the sweetest faces. None of those boys gets t’see what I see.” 

It wasn’t long before he carefully slid his fingers out, comforting you each time you whimpered or twitched.

Opting to continue caressing your face, he took the chance to snag a taste of you. Savouring the one taste he had been dying for each time he was away for work.

But he didn’t finish it all. As much as he wanted to, he needed to save the rest for his cock, itching to have a mere feel of your wetness.

Speaking of, he was straining, standing proud and curved a little as the tip, just a hint of red, nearly touched his belly button as soon as he pulled his trousers down. It yearned to feel you, tight and hot, his extra-vulgar actions were the results of restraining himself. 

He shuddered a little—it was entrancing, holding one of your legs up for him to brush his lips against and seeing his cock slide up and down your pussy lips. 

Even after prepping you well, it felt like his cockhead was breaching your walls. You let out a breathy sigh, tilting your head at the upside windows, tensing up at the sight of passersby’s feet at the foot of the glass.

“What do y’think, pretty girl?” He murmured against your leg, still pushing into you, “Do y’think that Thompson guy’s around, wonderin’ why the window’s closed while the car’s still out there?”

The way your head tilted back against the counter in ecstasy, the last rays of the sun shining down on your skin. Even with the AC still on, it stopped neither of you from sweating. The thinnest layer of perspiration, especially gathering along your throat, down to the valley of your breasts—oh, what a shame it would be if he didn’t have even a single lick of it.  

And he did just that, leaning in to give one of your tits a teasing lick.

Those half-lidded eyes, that drunken smile—oh, he was losing it.

He felt like the most blessed man in the world.

“Eyes on me, bunny. He can listen all he wants but this—it’s you and me.”

And it wouldn’t take long for you to reach your peak, Phil kept his eyes on your facial expression because if it wasn’t the sexiest look he had ever seen before he, too, cums with you. In you.

Holding himself up with one hand beside your head, he used the other to caress your face, allowing you all the time in the world to catch your breath. But truth be told, he had fucked the senses right out of you.

“You alright?” “Mmm…” Your murmurs had him chuckling as he carefully gathered you in his arms.

“Can y'walk? Or do I have to carry you? Because y'know I don't mind either way.” Not especially the latter. He may not be as buff as some of his team but he feels good being able to prove the assumptions wrong. So wrong.

You shook your head, and though none of you were even certain what your answer was, Phil somehow understood, but not before letting you collect yourself for as long as you needed. There was no need to rush. Not now.

“Alright, pretty girl. I can do that.”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[l1tw1ck]

dean winchester consumes my mind LAWDDD I beg for anything with that man, surviving off of scraps looking for more top male reader x dean 🤕

- 🛸

No Longer a Mentor

Sub!Bottom Dean Winchester x Top!Male Reader

☆ Word Count: 1,512 ☆

After spending his young adult years with you, his mentor, more than his father, Dean found himself falling for you. He eventually made a move and forever changed the dynamic of your relationship

🕯️: well luckily for u, i just finished this draft :3

CW: Age Gap, First Time Bottoming, Blowjob, Fingering, Frottage (Sort Of), Creampie

Dean’s known you for a couple years, you're a friend of his dad’s and a fellow hunter. You became his mentor in place of his father, who often hunted on his own and left Dean in your care. You liked to stay in your state since the area was basically a supernatural magnet while his father preferred to travel the country so he chose you to finally allow Dean to stay in one place for more than a week. If you were anybody else, Dean would've been annoyed that his dad didn't take him along despite his age and experience. Instead of going to college, Dean spent those years learning to hunt with his father and mostly you. Thanks to all the time you spend with each other, his allegiance to you is almost stronger than his allegiance to his father. He hangs on your every word and treats you like a god. It's thanks to you that he finally accepted his bisexuality. But he doesn't want to tell you that.

He first started feeling differently towards you when you started to become more physical with him. You often hold onto his shoulder with your strong hand or pull him out of the way by his waist and it drives him crazy. He so desperately wants to feel your hands on other parts of his body and vice versa. Your voice makes him weak in the knees and you sound especially attractive when you've found your prey. You're much older than him but he can't get rid of his feelings for you. He tries his best to be content with just having a crush.

After you two had dinner, you decided to drink with him. The two of you laughed and talked over a few cans of beer and deepened your relationship further.

“You ever been in a relationship, [Name]?” Dean asks, slightly tipsy.

“A few. I mostly slept around in my college years and experimented a bit with other hunters but in the end I decided to marry my job instead.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to marry someone I could tell everything to so I tried dating within my circle but none of the hunters seemed to click with me in the ways that really matter.”

“That makes sense…then you probably haven't…” He trails off.

“I probably haven't what?”

“Had sex…lately……”

You laugh. “No, I haven't. Honestly, I think getting laid would really help me. It's been a rough couple weeks.”

“I…” Dean gulps. “I could help with that….if you don't mind…….being with a guy..”

You look at him in surprise. “You're drunk.”

“I’ve only had two cans and a half…You know I don't get drunk that fast.”

You look at him differently, no longer with the eyes of a mentor. “You’ll bottom?”

Dean nods.

You smile in amusement. “I might be a little rough, can you handle that?”

He nods again, more enthusiastically this time.

“Come here.” You motion for him to come over to your side of the table. He stands in front of you. “Kneel.” You order. Dean immediately kneels, his cock steadily growing in size. You unbuckle your belt and pull down your underwear. Dean stares at your cock in awe, body heating up as he watches you jerk it to its true size.

“Fuck. You’re big.” He breathes out.

“Too big?”

“I can handle it.” He says, licking his lips.

“Attaboy.” You run your hands through his hair. Dean blushes. “Ever done this before?”

“Never..” His eyes are trained on your length.

“Is this your first time with a man?”

“Yeah…”

Your gaze changes. Dean shivers in arousal. “How long have you wanted this?”

“A long time…I’ve been…fingering myself, in case we….” He looks away.

You grin, turned on by the thought of that. “You'll have to show me that some day.”

Dean’s face gets redder.

“Now, let me see how you suck cock.”

He's so hard right now. He opens his mouth and slowly swallows your length. He makes a dragged out moan in pleasure as he feels your thickness enter him. Pre cum leaks out of his cock as he imagines how it’ll feel in his ass. He bobs his head up and down enthusiastically, mimicking his past girlfriends by simultaneously swirling his tongue around your shaft.

“Fuck–” You moan. “That's it– good boy.”

Words can't express how happy Dean gets when you praise him.

“You're better at this than I expected, baby.” You smile at his cuteness. He can't hide how pleased he is. “You like sucking dick, don't you? I never thought you’d be a cock slut, Dean.”

He moans. He’ll happily be your cock slut. He pulls away and licks your length in a very sexy way, gaining more confidence thanks to his elevated horniess. “I love your cock, sir.”

“Of course, you’re my cock slut.” You press your hand against his cheek. “Stand up and take your clothes off, I wanna use your other hole.”

Dean’s cock throbs even more. He stands up and quickly removes his clothes, shivering under your hungry and lustful gaze. You pat your lap and he quickly sits on top of you, your shafts pressed against each other.

You grope his ass. “I don’t have any lube..” You trail off, mesmerized by his soft butt.

“I already fingered myself earlier.” He smiles.

“Good boy.” You praise him. “Then spit’ll be enough. Say ‘ah’.” You bring two fingers into Dean’s mouth. He sucks on your fingers in the sluttiest way he can before you take them out and gently push one of your saliva covered fingers inside his soft hole. You give him a moment before adding the second, then you start to finger him.

Dean lets out the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard. “[Name]~” He arches his back and subconsciously thrusts his hips, his cock rubbing against yours. “Your- yours feel so- fuck~” He groans. “So much better!”

You moan as well thanks to the sudden friction. You bring him into a sloppy kiss, the temperature between the two of you steadily rising. Dean pulls away first, more desperate for air, and presses his forehead against your shoulder. “Don't stop– mm- gonna come~” He whimpers. Your fingers find his prostate, an immediate gasp of pleasure leaving Dean’s lips. He throws his head back. “There! Yes!” He moans, grinding against your cock even faster. The combination of his moans, his expression, and his cock against yours all contribute to bringing you to closer your orgasm.

Dean comes first, cum splattering over the two of you. Yours comes second thanks to the amazing look on Dean’s face.

“You're so fucking sexy, Dean, you know that?” You take your fingers out and knead his ass.

“I know.” He gives you a kiss. “I want you inside me.”

You lift Dean up and slowly lower him down on your cock. You both let out noises of pleasure as you penetrate him. He bites down on his lip, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his ass stretching to accommodate your girth. Once you bottom out, you give him time to get used to it. “Your cunt feels fucking amazing.” You groan. It's hard to hold yourself back but thankfully for you, Dean has no intention of waiting any longer. He places his hands on your shoulders and starts riding you. He quickly loses his momentum as the pleasure begins to overwhelm him. You help him out by grabbing his waist and doing the work for him, allowing Dean to fully enjoy himself.

He knew anal sex would feel good, especially because it's anal sex with you, but he never really had an idea of how good it’d feel until now. Now he's completely blissed out and only able to moan like a slut. It's especially thanks to your quick and rough speed that he's unable to think properly. You couldn't get yourself to go slower even if you tried. His ass just feels way too good.

“Your ass is perfect, Dean–” You groan. “So fucking good-” You hold him and stand up then gently place him on the table after clearing it of the empty cans. You rut into him like a monster, so horny that you feel like you could fuck him all night. You can never get enough of him.

Dean arches his back and shakes as ropes of cum spurt out of his dick. You know you should stop, or at least slow down, but you can't. “‘M sorry baby, fuck–” You moan, hanging your head low as you find your orgasm approaching. “‘M gonna come inside, okay? Gonna fill up your tight fucking cunt with my seed–”

Dean’s conscious enough to understand you. “Ye- yes!” He grins. He's been wanting to know what it feels like to get creampied. “Co- come inside!”

Encouraged by his words, you spill your cum into his warm and welcoming hole. Your thrusts come to a stop and the two of you start to catch your breaths.

“That…was so fucking good.” Dean says, leaning back.

[brayneworms]

prompt: l lawliet + food play + pink

wc. 2.8k. gn!reader, foodplay, virgin!l, handjobs, sliiiight come eating, reader is a wet cat in a cardboard box kinda, safe sane and consensual, no real power dynamics.

L contextualises things in the way he sees the world.

Strings of numbers, statistics, behavioural patterns that he's memorised to a 'T' until he can tell guilt from the aversion of an eye or fury from the remnants of nails pressed into the palm of someone's hand. It's why maybe something like sex or desire is a struggle for him. It's not that he doesn't understand it, it's more like he doesn't see the—the need for it, or whatever. You chalk it up to him being extremely busy and also probably totally asexual and don't think about it.

(Don't think about it much.)

It sort of surprises you that it's you he corners with his questions about. Maybe he's more embarrassed than he lets on—as it is, he looks cool as a cucumber save for the faintest shade of pink across his cheekbones. There's no way he would escape a conversation about it from anyone on the squad without a degree of ragging. Misa would squeal like a pig if L dared to broach the topic with her, you're sure. Matsuda would blush bright red and trip over all his words, and Aizawa would probably stare at him like he'd set his firstborn on fire.

And Light is Light. He probably knows little more than L, for all the airs he puts on.

So it's you he comes to. When it first starts, you think it has something to do with a case or lead he's hunting. Tell me, have you had sex before?

Perched like a frog, licking whipped cream off his finger. You don't know if he's doing to be provocative or not; don't know which is worse, that he's aware of what he's doing or not.

"This isn't exactly proper workplace conversation L."

A flicker of a smile. Cheeky, omniscient. "Feel free to report me to HR, in that case."

You do answer—honestly and concisely, if not with a shade of awkwardness. He's essentially your boss. But L seems so far removed from the worlds of sexuality and desire that it seems harmless, occupational, and eventually it stops feeling embarrassing. Out of nowhere—what is the purpose of restrains in an intimate context? Why do you think some people like to feel as though they have no control in the bedroom? Would you say that visual pornography has given watchers unrealistic expectations of actual intercourse?

One night, the two of you alone in front of a big glowing screen, turning to him and asking. "Why do you ask me this stuff, anyway? Is it for a case?"

"No," he says neutrally. A quick glance from his dark eyes you could almost describe as coy. "I'm just... curious."

"Curious," you echo, deadpan. "You?"

"Does that surprise you?" he murmurs. You almost feel that your honest answer—yes—would be insulting now, so instead you just shrug and mumble something incoherent under your breath. "You're not completely wrong. I thought having a better understanding of things like sex and power dynamics would be beneficial in the long run. Most people have a greater knowledge of it than me, which—puts me at a disadvantage." He says these last words with an air of revulsion, as though the very concept of knowing less than someone sours in his mouth, and you chuckle at his childishness.

"That makes sense." You pause. Wonder if you're reading this all wrong, then barrel ahead anyway. "Wouldn't actually experiencing it for yourself lend a better understanding than anything else, though?"

L's eyebrow raises. His smile has vanished, leaving him bug-eyed and unreadable. "What are you suggesting?"

He's not stupid, and you're not subtle. He knows exactly what you were suggesting. The fact that he's trying to get you to go into more detail rather than firing you on the spot is probably a good sign, and further than you expected to get. You squirm in your seat.

"You know. It's like being told about how something feels rather than knowing," you say awkwardly. "I'm just—can I ask—"

"It only seems fair," L says slowly. "After I've been badgering you with my own questions for so long." His chair spins; he rests his wrists on his rucked-up knees, fingers steepled in front of him. "Please."

Hot-faced, you spin your chair aimlessly. "Okay, well, uh—have you? I mean, before?"

L hesitates before he shakes his head, an almost imperceptible twitch that has his dark hair floating. You swallow the sudden large dry lump in your throat.

"Okay. So. Probably somewhere to start," you mumble.

L seems to consider this. "Would you be willing?"

You don't have the right to be surprised, with all the dancing around the subject, but you are, still. You choke on your spit and fly around to look at him, which is a mistake. His gaze is so dark and intense, and you think he can see right through you before you even open your mouth to answer.

"I'm not—" you stammer, with no idea what you're going to say. "I mean—"

"I had assumed you would be," L goes on calmly, but you catch the slight flicker of his eyes, a ghost of uncertainty that makes your chest squeeze. "If I have read your responses incorrectly, though, feel free to forget I asked. I can guarantee no awkwardness tomorrow."

"It's not that," you blurt. L blinks at you, go on. "It's just... do you have any idea what you're, you know. Into? Where to start?"

L's eyes flicker, the barest furrow knitted between his brows. You can tell he hasn't thought too hard about it. "What would you suggest?" he asks, curling his long fingers over his knees.

You swallow. "Well... anything you like the idea of, I guess. Something familiar, to ease you into it."

L's eyes roll over to his desk, where a perfectly glistening slice of strawberry cake waits for him. Pink sponge and halved red berries, topped with pale pink cream. "Familiar," he echoes. "I may have a suggestion."

-

So you feed L a strawberry just to get started.

Hold it up. It's distinctly awkward; L just stares at it for a moment, the berry dusted with frosting that glistens between your fingers. You tell him, "If you're not comfortable with this, sex is probably going to be—"

He leans forward and plucks the fruit from between your fingers; you feel the barest ghosting of teeth, the sweep of his tongue sharp and curious against the pads of your fingers before he leans back again. You watch the motions of his jaw and throat as he chews and swallows. Pins you with his headlamp stare, wide and dark.

You deconstruct the strawberry cake carefully, removing the berries and setting them to the side. Cast a look over at him. "Take off your shirt?"

L twists the hem of this shirt for a few moments before removing it. It feels so strange to see him devoid of clothing, like a knight removing their armour. Pale ribs, pinched waist. He's not whipcord-thin like you had imagined—there's lean muscle packed under the skin, his stomach flat and somewhat soft. It flexes almost nervously when you look at it. He reclines back on his bed without being told, bracing his weight onto his elbows, legs dangling off the side.

"You sure about all this?" you ask, glancing from the smooth planes of his white skin—shit—to the plate of crumbling pink dessert. "Didn't think you'd be into, you know. All the mess."

"I have a shower," L says reflexively.

You take that as permission to approach with the plate. You place the strawberry halves in a red dotted line, starting at his clavicle, watching him shiver and flex at the cold touch. Down—one at the bottom of his ribs, one above his bellybutton, one at his naval just above the low sling of his jeans. He's started to flush, prettily pink down his chest. It makes you slightly dizzy.

"Okay. So. Okay." You try not to feel so nervous, but it's more like you feel out of place, or time, or space. It feels surreal, basically. Standing between L's legs with your fingers stained pink from fruit and frosting. Him looking up at you like that, all big dark round eyes and slightly parted lips. Damn it. You take a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, so, I'll start now if you're okay. And just say if you don't want—if you want to stop, or if you don't like anything, just say, okay?"

"I understand the basic premises of consent, if that's what you're trying to affirm." The words are all L, but there's an element of breathlessness to them.

"Just making sure we're clear," you mutter. You lean forward and smooth a palm over his collarbones. They're sharp, they jut up to meet your hand like cut diamond, and you hear and see his breath hitch, which is slightly intoxicating. His skin is warmer and softer than you thought it would be. You run your hands over his shoulders and neck, which he squirms away from with a wrinkled nose.

"No neck?" you ask.

He shakes his head. So no neck.

Once you're done exploring this part of his body, you lean forward, close your lips around the strawberry and bite the end of it, sinking your teeth into the flesh. Pink juice runs down your chin; L's eyes follow it, transfixed, as you tilt your head forward and push your mouthful against his lips. They part unquestioningly, and you push the strawberry into his mouth with your tongue. Your lips brush together, tantalising and sweet with sugar. A mimic of a kiss, a palimpsest of intimacy. You don't want to overwhelm him, anyway.

This goes on; your hands over his chest next, the soft pectorals. An experimental brush of your thumb over his left nipple that makes his whole body shudder. He's so sensitive, reacting to every prod and touch and tweak with a jerk and a shiver. Gooseflesh blooms up his skin, pebbling his nipples, and when you tweak the other one gently he lets out a choked sound.

Finding the strawberry nestled under his ribs. Taking it between your teeth and passing it to him. His face gets pinker with each one. Stomach, concave, flexing with every hard breath. A ticklish spot over his belly button. Strawberry, bite, pass. The flex of his jaw as he chews.

Fingers over his waist, indenting the skin as much as you dare. You try not to think of how easily he would bruise. Brushing your touch over his lower abdomen makes his breath catch again. You find the strawberry, hold it between your lips. L cranes his neck, searching this time—he thinks he knows the game, has memorised the steps, found the pattern, the sequence. He doesn't know that the best sex is the unpredictable kind. This time, you press your lips against him and when your tongue pushes the strawberry into his mouth it stays there. His lips part, slack against yours, either in shock or inexperience. You allow yourself the briefest twirl of your tongue against his before pulling back with a wet pop.

L stares at you as you retreat. The strawberries leave pale pink residue on his skin. Pulling back fully reveals the hardness between his legs, pushing up against the dark denim of his jeans. He grunts when your eyes land on it, either out of embarrassment or frustration. You swallow and its like sandpaper.

"Still want me to...?"

"I have not changed my mind," he replies, slightly hoarsely and a beat slower than usual. You shrug, smooth your hands over the tent at his crotch, and he whines. It's the most searing noise you've pulled from him yet, and all from some halfhearted palming over the jeans. It sends a thrill zipping through you, hot and addicting. His arms shake with the weight of holding himself up, neck craning to follow as you sink to your knees between his legs.

You unzip him, pop the button, and he groans slightly at the freedom from the constraints of his clothes. He's fully hard, straining against his dark underwear. You experiment, rubbing at the tip, feeling for the wet spot, and he keens and thrashes, losing his stability and crashing to the mattress. He makes a frustrated noise just after, as though cursing himself for his own lack of control.

"That—" he swallows hard, breathes shakily. "That feels..."

Your hand hovers. "Am I stopping?"

"No, I don't..." He scrambles. L scrambles over his words. "Please, continue."

You stroke him over his underwear for a few concentrated minutes, mostly enjoying the way he twitches and huffs and occasionally makes soft, whiny noises, the way he starts to rut his hips against your hand. No technique, no rhythm, just some sort of baseless desire that you find incredibly hot. There's almost a frustration to it that makes you want to laugh—of course there would be nothing more agonising to someone like L than seeing what he wanted so close to him but being unable to accomplish it himself.

When he starts gritting his teeth, you pull his boxers down to his thighs and he makes a choking, embarrassed sound. When you wrap your fingers around his cock for the first time, finding it velvety-soft and leaking, his eyes roll back and his hips arch into the loose wet tunnel of your hand. "Oh," is all he says. Small and soft like he's surprised. His neck twists and his mouth presses into the starched white sheets. "Oh," he says again as your fist moves slowly, stroking with intent, up and down. He's not overly big, fits nicely in your hand, makes swiping over the head where the pre beads with your thumb nice and convenient. And you love the way he shudders and thrashes when you do it.

"How does that feel?" Your voice is lower than you remember it being. L cracks a bleary eye open; his face is flushed bright pink now, a flush that bleeds all the way down his chest, blending in with the strawberry stains.

"It feels," he starts, before his brow pinches. "I—I am not sure how to—how to describe..."

"It's okay," you tell him. His thighs shake, flexing against the edge of the mattress. When he tips his head back the cords in his pretty throat bulge, so biteable. "You can come whenever."

"I wasn't—oh," he gasps, squirming. "I wasn't aware I n-needed your—permission, oh."

"Yeah, well," you say intelligently, a little struck dumb by the sight before you. "Just making sure we're on the same page."

"A-and what page is that?" he pants, thrusting his hips messily into your hand. He's so fucking sensitive that you swear you can see his eyes growing shiny.

"The one where I help you out, so don't be a brat," you murmur. L laughs breathlessly, trying, you think, to summon some retort. You twist your fist around him and it died, half-formed in his brain, his eyes rolling back and fingers flexing hard in the sheets.

After another minute, he reaches out and grabs your wrist hard enough to bruise. He doesn't say it—can't, maybe. But you know. Your pace speeds up just a touch and he honest to god moans, spilling out of him soft and breathy before he comes, streaking over his stomach in pearly arcs. You watch him flinch at the contact, fingers slipping on your wrist. His chest flexes—in, out, in, out.

You collect a big scoop of pink frosting on your finger and dip it in the come starting to cool between his pecs before pressing it to his lips. L's brow wrinkles, startled—but he opens his lips and lets your fingers pass into the hot cavern of his mouth. Like a cat he licks your finger clean, pointed pink tongue prodding with no technique or flourish, just something steadfast, something stubborn.

You do him the dignity of tucking his softened cock back into his underwear and zipping up his jeans. Unsure how to proceed until L sits up rather abruptly. His hair is even more tousled from his tossing and turning as he reaches for a tissue to wipe himself down.

He looks at you. "I understand it's customary to offer some sort of equivalent exchange in these circumstances." A pause whilst he gathers his breath. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm not quite feeling up to the task."

His tone is normal, if a little shaky. You rock back on your heels. "Did you like it?"

L blinks at you. "My curiosity has been sated," he says, carefully. "Yes, I believe I did enjoy it."

Well, that's a relief if nothing else. The pink remnants of the strawberry cake it on the plate; the shade matches his blush.

[pedroshotwifey]

Hello

My drabble ask is infidelity 🫣 with Joel.. but readers current bf is really toxic and doesn't treat her well and she's planning on leaving him anyway and Joel says that he doesn't want to share and that he wants to be with her 🥺

Oh I can't tell you how excited I was for this 😈 I might have to make another infidelity fic bc holy shit 👀 (obviously I don't condone this behavior irl, but ooo is it hot in fic)

*****

“Oh shit,” Joel grunts. “Little wider for me, baby, you’re too fuckin’ tight. Poor lil pussy ain’t been gettin’ fucked right.” 

Your face heats at his words, but you obey, whimpering as you help him spread your legs further apart, your muscles aching in a delicious way paired with his cock dragging in and out of your slick cunt. Your back arches, your head getting thrown back onto your pillow as he hits something devastatingly deep inside of you. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, pussy fluttering around him. You feel like all your senses have been cut off, your sole focus on the way he’s stretching you out for him. 

“Tha’s right, baby, call my name. Sounds better than that fuckin’ boy you think’s so good for ya. You know he can’t make you feel like this. His dick’s probably as shriveled as his damn brain.”

You hate the way your pussy clenches upon hearing Joel talk shit about your boyfriend. It’s wrong—god, it’s so wrong—but it feels so fucking good. You know he can hear the way you fake coming around Liam’s cock most nights, knows the difference between the way you moan Joel’s name so gutterally and the way you have to say your boyfriend’s like it’s an obligation—a chore. 

It took him a few weeks to get you into his bed. A few weeks of him comforting you after fights and tantrums from your boyfriend. A few weeks of you trying to hold back your lustful gaze from your much older next door neighbor. A few weeks of you ignoring how he looked at you the same way. 

It took your boyfriend hitting you for you to finally listen to what Joel was telling you, what you knew was true. 

Joel was there waiting at his door when he saw Liam leave the apartment. It’s a good thing he didn’t see what happened before, because he probably would have killed him. You slept with him that night not only to distract him from your freshly blackened eye, but also because you came to that realization. 

Joel would do things for you that your boyfriend would never even consider. It wasn’t until he split you open on his cock for the first time, gave you four orgasms, then fed you, showered you, and held you tenderly until you fell asleep, that you understood that’s what you deserve. What Joel kept insisting you deserve. 

You deserve the way he’s making you drool right now, using your legs as leverage to pummel into you at an ungodly pace. You deserve the way you both fall apart at the same time, clinging to each other and moaning and licking into each other’s mouths like you’re trying to consume each other. You deserve the way Joel showers you in dirty praise as you pant and catch your breath after coming for a third time. 

And Joel deserves the way you’re going to go back to your apartment and pack your shit tonight.

****

More drabbles here

[ccscocoapuffs]

Aegon Targaryen NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Super Clingy, he wants you to hold him close to your chest and play in his hair. Maybe let him softly suck on your nipples while he lets out soft whines from coming down from his high. He adores skin to skin as well afterwards. If you were into to trying it he would love to cock warm with you and fall asleep still inside you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) His favorite part of himself is honestly probably his dick, the boy cherishes that thing, its probably the thing he uses the most on his body as well lmao. He is 100% a tit man, sucking them, biting, fucking them, it doesn't matter he adores your tits, he adores them no matter the size as well.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He loves cumming inside you no matter what, it inflates his ego to astronomical levels to see himself leaking out of you knowing that he is the only one who gets to fill you with his cum. If you dom him though make him cum all over his tummy and lick it off of him and he will go absolutely feral.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Definitely has stolen a pair or two....or more of your panties for him to wrap around his dick when you aren't around to please him. He loves the feeling of the soft lace going up and down his cock while he pleasures himself.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) He is pretty damn experienced in the world of sex, i mean come on the man is a bit of a man hoe. (We love our little sad man hoe though)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) He loves trying all kinds of different positions with but he has two favorites to use with you. His first favorite is facing each other on your side with your leg over his waist and he will just thrust up into you while looking into your eyes. The second is cowgirl he adores when you ride him and take charge f the situation.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) He can really be both, sometimes he will be kinda goofy with you and make you chuckle then other times he is so into the feeling he gets from having sex with you that he just kinda zones out and becomes more serious into the moment.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He has a very small bush o hair that borders on being a darker shade of a blonde, it certainly doesn't match the gorgeous silver hair that adorns his head. He doesn't really keep it tidy, but keeps it managed if that makes sense.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Depending on the mood of the moment, he can either be very intimate with you and kiss up your neck while he tells you how much he adores you or he can be very straight to the point which is what tends to happen of the point of having sex that day to simply make a heir.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He masturbates alot, even though you two have each other he just enjoys pleasuring himself when the moments you two can't be together arise. As I mentioned before when he does masturbate he usually wraps a pair of your panties around his cock and will moan the filthiest shit as if you are right there with him. "Oh fuck....baby....feels so good wrapped around me like that".

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Mommy kink Slight bondage feel like he might have a bit of a lactation kink as well pegging light spanking (like put him over your knee and give him a light smack to his ass, don't worry you'll see more of this later)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He doesn't give a flying fuck where you two have sex but his favorite place is without a doubt the throne. He loves setting you on his lap and letting you ride your king till he spills himself deep inside of you on the most wanted seat in the seven kingdoms.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Everything, Aegon stays in horny mood 24/7. He would get really into things though if you initiate things, like walk up to him and whisper in his ear "Be a good boy, Aegon and I'll reward you with your pretty cock in my mouth.""

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) I think Aegon would be very firm on never hitting him, he doesn't mind you smacking his ass or something like that but never hit him in the face. It would just bring back alot of memories about Alicent he doesn't wanna have at that time.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He loves to eat pussy, he would lowkey tell you it's his favorite meal. You will 100% have to push him away from you to get him to stop fucking you with his tongue. He will keep on till his face is soaked in your release.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) He doesn't have a preference on the pace sometimes he wants fast and rough other times he wants a slower pace and to savor the moment. He leans towards being slower and sensual more often then anything else.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He loves a good quickie, especially the ones where anybody could walk in at any second. His favorite place for a quickie is the dining room table, he loves to just bend you over it and fuck you to his hearts desire.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Oh he is definitely risky, he likes the thrill that comes with being so risky. We have already mentioned a few of the risky things he likes to do such as stealing your panties and the quickie locations.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Usually about 2 back to back, though if you have sex several times throughout the day then he can go for many more rounds then generally.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He definitely owns a few dildos, both for you and for him. He loves being pegged as well so there is for sure a strap somewhere in his room.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He definitively likes to tease and make sure you know that he is being extra needy for you. However if you tease him then he will be a whining mess.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Loud, he doesn't care who hears. If the whole castle hears him getting fucked then so be it, he will let out the loud whines and whimpers. If you peg him he may actually scream when he cums.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) When he's been a brat bring him to your chambers and lay him over your knees. Give him soft spankings while telling him "Mommy wants you to be a good boy for her *Smack* I want you to learn to not be a brat *Smack*" 9 times out of ten he will whimper back "I'll be go mommy, promise"

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Aegon is about 6 inches in length and has a medium sized girth. He is just big enough to make you feel the most sweetest stretch. Don't be fooled though he can still shove it down your throat and make you choke on it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) It's Aegon, he is possibly the horniness person in the world. He wants you all day everyday which I feel makes his yearning in the category of VERY VERY high.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Almost instantly, He wants to be snuggled up to you first before getting nice and coxy under the blankets. He would adore if you played in his hair while he drifted to sleep.

[parkerluvsu]

the song “diet pepsi” by addison rae is lowkey my guilty pleasure 😔 but maybe you can write something with art inspired by the lyrics :3

“when we drive in your car, i’m your baby/ losing all my innocence in the backseat”

diet pepsi (art donaldson x fem! reader)

my boys a winner, he loves the game/my lips reflect off his cross-gold chain

youre not ashamed, you know art can see you leaning forward in your seat, even wearing sunglasses he can tell that your eyes linger on his v-line when he lifts up his shirt to wipe his face. he doesn't mind it though, how could he complain about his gorgeous girlfriend oogling him from the stands. arts head always whips toward you when he wins, looking for a wide smile on your face. the moment he steps off the court you're jumping into his arms, letting him twirl you around and kiss you passionately, letting the adrenaline do the talking for him.

i like the way he's telling me/my ass looks good in these ripped blue jeans

arts a sucker for you. if anyone asked him what his weakness is he'd respond quickly with "my girlfriend". you always have to hold back your giggles when his mouth drops open as you step out of your apartment for your date, the fabric of your blue jeans hugging your curves just right. he snaps out of his stupor to open the car door for you, placing his usual hand on your thigh as he drives. before you enter the restaurant he'd chosen for your date, he leans down to whisper in your ear " your ass looks good in those jeans"

my cheeks are red like berries in spring/bodies a work of art you'd diet to see

you blush, your face heating up as you sit down at your table for dinner, the red of your cheeks visible even in the low light of the restaurant. art almost doesn't even have the mental capacity to order food, his eyes stuck on the way your skin glimmers from the candlelight, longing to reach out and touch you.

untouched, xo/young lust, lets- (ah)

most people would make fun of art for how hard he's fallen for you, saying that he doesn't know what love is, he's only in his first year of college, but he disagrees, the love he feels for you rivals anything he's ever seen in a romance movie. you bring him back to reality by holding his hand over the table, squeezing it lightly. "you wanna get out of here?" art asks, and you giggle, sensing his eagerness to be near you once again, not seperated by a stupid dinner table. art pays for the meal, leading you out of the restaurant with a hand on the small of your back.

when we drive in your car, im your baby (so sweet)/losing all my innocence in the backseat

the parking lot is empty when you get there, thank goodness, although you doubt that anyone could see in through the foggy windows, but they could probably tell what was going on by the rocking of the car. arts hips pressed against yours, his feet planted on the floor of the car, balancing you on his lap. his slender fingers hiking up your dress, the warm palms of his hands pressed against your hips, almost as warm and comforting as his lips on yours. your head tips back onto the headrest, allowing him access to the panes of your neck, the soft skin making him lick his lips in anticipation. he hopes the marks he leaves behind will stay, scaring off admirers so he can keep you all to himself. art almost feels bad, seeing you squeeze your eyes closed in pain when he presses the flared tip of his cock into you. the way you always have a hard time taking him makes him feel like his taking your innocence, like your body is trying to stay pure. nevertheless, he's in love with you, and the way you always suck him right inside, squeezing so tight that it's hard for him to pull out. he's so sweet though, rocking your hips for you, cooing sweet nothings into your ear, encouraging you that no ones gonna see you, the parking lots empty. art would never admit it to himself, he's not a slut like patrick, but he can't deny the twitch of his cock when he thinks that anyone could find you here, and figure out what he was doing, the cute tennis player, always lagging behind his friends and not speaking unless spoken to, is fucking his girlfriend in the backseat of his jeep. when art cums, he makes sure that you pull your panties up right away, "i want to keep being inside you" he says, as if he could feel your pussy while not being inside you, just because his cum is there. when he drops you off at your place, he takes great pride in seeing a drop of white running between your thighs.. maybe he's more like patrick than he thought.. <3

[weird-an]

Billy doesn't remember how he got here. He stares at Harrington's big ass house, perfectly cut rose bushes and freshly mowed lawn.

It's nearly midnight. His arm throbs, each one of Neil's finger leaving a violet shadow behind. Why did he come here?

Harrington and him only met two times, shared hungry kisses and touches no one can ever know about. The vague sense of relief, of not being alone, made Billy ache a little less for that moment.

He's probably looking for that. To ease the pain, because Harrington is better than an advil.

Ridiculous. He should go, lick his wounds somewhere else. Harrington is a rich brat, once he sees the ugly truth behind Billy's smiles he's gonna toss him away.

The door opens. Billy halfway expects the stern looking man he has seen on a photo in the hallway to yell at him, to chase him away.

"Billy?"

But it's just Steve. Steve whose face turns from confused to something softer, something warm, something Billy wants to curl up in if he only was allowed to.

"What's goin' on?" Steve steps aside. Billy can't move. He doesn't belong here, because this place is golden and bright and shines on all his scars.

"Come in," Steve says.

Billy knows that he must have walked, because suddenly he's sitting on the couch and Steve puts a blanket around him.

"What are you doin'?" Billy asks. He's staring at some weird ass marble sculpture of an otter and it all doesn't make sense.

"You're hurt." Steve chews on his bottom lip, somehow unsure. They've already crossed a line tonight, Billy knows that. "How can I help?"

"I don't need help," Billy says and it's not even a lie. Neil gets angry, Billy hides, that's just how it goes. He wants to get away, but he's never going to make it. He knows it. Neil knows it, too.

Steve tilts his head. The otter stares at Billy.

"Hot chocolate," Steve declares.

"I'm not a kid," Billy snorts. He's a son, but he's not a child. Never allowed to be.

Steve ignores him. The otter seems to laugh at Billy when he listens Steve rummage in the kitchen.

There's a hot cup getting pushed into his hand. There's a gigantic pile of marshmallows on top of it. Billy looks from the chocolate to Steve, to the otter and back.

"Do you want more marshmallows?" Steve asks - he sounds nervous. He sips from his cup and Billy watches him lick away the stain of chocolate from his lips.

"It's fine," Billy says. The chocolate tastes rich and sweet and there's tears in his eyes, tears he has cried before when he was a kid and still had a mom.

"Thanks," he manages, hoping Steve doesn't see him cry like a little bitch - or so his dad would say.

"Anytime." It sounds like a promise.

Billy can't feel Neil's hand on his arm. He only feels warm.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Geto pants, his face screwed up so sweetly as his hand rests on the back of your head, trying his best not to buck pathetically into your mouth. Your curious experimentation would be the end of him.

"F-fuck..." is all he manages to grit out as you release him with a wet plop. You look at his flustered face, a sense of satisfaction coursing through you at his expression, mouth open, hardly daring to breathe any louder than he already was.

"Something wrong?" You lick a stripe up the underside of his fat cock, feeling all the little veins pulse against your moist tongue.

"N-no." He's on the verge of losing control. You've been so patient with him after he admitted he doesn't like making out because of his ability to swallow curses. But he hadn't expected that resulting in you chartering an expedition to find out what other things you could do for him with your mouth.

This probably topped the list. He had nothing to compare it against. You were his first.

"Then why are you resisting so hard?" You swirl the tip of your tongue around his leaking slit, enjoying the taste of his precum.

Geto's face is red and flushed, creeping down his neck. He's blushing like a summer peach. "Just slow down a little. I've never..." he averts his gaze feeling his arousal grow at the sight of you kneeling between his legs. He's trying desperately to regain his thoughts, not wanting his inexperience to show.

"I know. But Sugu... I wanna make you feel good." You give little kisses up his length the softness of your lips nearly sending him over the edge.

There's sincerity in your voice, and he gives a shaky nod before you work your way down his erection, softly cupping and playing with his balls, noting the pretty noises that leave his lips, his beautiful hair sticking to his face from the sweat.

"I'm gonna... Oh fuck," he whimpers, the sexiest sound you've ever heard in your life. A few more bobs of your head and he moans softly, cock twitching and spasming in your mouth as he empties his load into you.

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