#I want to tug on your collar
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judesmoonbeauty · 1 year ago
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Just because I thought everyone could use a sexy little meow-meow today 🥰
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prettydumbmutt · 5 months ago
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.post hookup yapping in tags.
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naomigojo · 24 days ago
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“she’ll have your eyes.”
your brows quirk up. “she?”
satoru hums, his large hand rubbing your swollen belly, growing with the life the both of you created together.
“how could you be so sure?”, you murmur inquisitively, fingers gently tugging at strands of arctic white.
your husband chuckles softly at your question, pulling you onto his lap as if you were a delicate thing made of glass, hands resting on your thighs.
his cerulean blue eyes dart down towards your stomach, rubbing the bump affectionately.
“i just am.”
“uh huh,” you sound with an undertone of disbelief. “and i’m assuming your six eyes must’ve shown you, oh great and powerful sorcerer?”
satoru snorts at your sarcastic response, pinching the flesh of your inner thigh gently for your cheekiness. you pout, and his eyes glimmer with amusement.
“maybe it did. maybe it showed me a cute little girl with your eyes and my hair. who knows?”
“hm…well, is that what you want? a girl?”, you fiddle with the collar of his uniform he neglected changing out of, opting to fall straight into your arms the moment he walked through the door.
your husband shrugs, his hands resting on your hips now, giving them a light squeeze. his sights don’t stray for a single moment from your pregnant tummy, caught up in imagining a tiny version of you inside, his heart fluttering with love and excitement.
“don’t care. as long as it’s ours.”
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campanellamaria · 4 months ago
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read a book recently that has left me feeling a little vindicated in my habit of avoiding most greek myth retellings (sorry) but making a clear point of how zeus (who torments one of the leads) and several other male gods are rapists and then going on about how gods should be held to the same standards as humans.......before wrapping things up with "and then everyone came to the wedding on mount olympus" and "zeus shared ambrosia with the protagonist" because Family Conventions in the World of Gods!!! just. I know retellings are retellings, but either fully commit to dismantling this shit as you've apparently set out to do or just don't bother man
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sttoru · 2 months ago
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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. play fighting with your lover quickly turns into you being pounded on the couch.
tags. (assassin!)toji x female reader. smut. dōggy style. age gap implied. with plot-ish. unprotected -> p in v. size difference / kink. power trip-ish. teasing. crēampie. dacryphilia. tummy bulging. pūssy slapping. breēding mention. reader gets called ‘(little) girl, pretty, doll, slut.’ not proofread. wc: 3.4k
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you let out a sigh of relief when your lover comes back home safe from another mission. toji’s risky job always leaves you anxious, knowing what could happen to him if things took a turn for the worse.
“keheh, there’s my pretty girl,” toji grins as he feels you jump into his embrace the instant he steps into the living room. your arms wrap around his waist and your head rests against his chiseled chest. he’s sweaty and bloody, yet you can’t care less. you’ve waited all day for him.
you tilt your head back and give the black-haired man a quick, passionate kiss. he returns it with equal force before picking you up and bringing you over to the couch. once toji put you down, he reaches a hand out to lazily ruffle your hair, “i’m g’nna take a shower, yeah?”
you shake your head and grab his hand before he can think of moving away. “no, want you to stay. just for a little more,” you attempt to coax toji into staying with you for a bit more.
“after i take a shower, doll. i probably smell ‘n look like shit,” the assassin mumbles in a low tone. his hair is wet with sweat, black locks sticking to his forehead. his compression shirt is torn in some places, but it’s neatly outlining his pecs, which makes him look ten times more attractive.
“nu-uh, you don’t,” you refute and tug at toji’s wrist again. he playfully rolls his eyes after giving in to your innocent request. you clearly don’t mind the sweaty state he’s in. you just want to cuddle up and talk to him about all kinds of things. “you look as handsome as ever,” you smile at him once you straddle his lap. toji’s hands find your hips, his nails ghosting over your skin to send shivers down your spine.
“heh. that ain’t nothin’ new,” your lover leans his head back with a cocky smirk. he knows how much you love it when he’s all sweaty and tired. toji never fails to spot the way your eyes wander up and down his muscular figure whenever he’s wearing that signature outfit of his. a black compression shirt that defines his pecs and white-ish baggy pants. you love it.
your fingers trace circles over his chest. you don’t seem to care about the random crimson droplets on his skin. they’re not his, thus you let it go. asking questions about the job he’s finished will only ruin the mood you’ve set. plus, toji clearly needs some distraction from the fact that his limbs are aching. he’s outdone himself today as well.
“you tired?” you ask through a soft murmur. your boyfriend nods while yawning, teasingly pinching your cheek afterwards. “mhm,” toji hums while playing with the collar of your shirt, eyes wandering down to your tits. one of his most favorite spots on your body.
you’re clearly not wearing a bra and it’s making it difficult for him to stay focused. your nipples push against the material of your pyjamas so deliciously, just begging to be touched by his fingers. he quietly clears his throat and looks the other direction to play it off.
“oh?” you giggle and tap toji’s cheek twice to gain his attention, though with no success. he’s trying his best to come off as nonchalant as possible—to remain that stoic man he’s always been. his attempts are proven futile when you press your breasts against his chest.
“come on, babe. look at meeee,” you laugh and resort to tickling toji’s belly and armpits. he freezes for a second before scoffing at your actions, his hands immediately rush under your shirt to tickle you back. you end up squirming on his lap, trying to swat his arms in attempt to defend yourself.
your lover lets out a haughty chuckle as you become defenceless because of his well calculated revenge tickles. “mm? didn’t hear ya, y’ should speak up,” toji teases you, clearly seeing how you’re struggling to talk as he makes you squeal and laugh uncontrollably.
there are tears forming on your eyes. your breath comes in short gasps when you finally find a chance to jump off toji’s lap. “shut up, fushiguro!” you call out, going back to last name basis, which you know toji dislikes. you stumble back a little and stick your tongue out at your lover before fleeing the scene. or at least you try to.
“fushiguro, aye?” you hear toji’s voice right behind you, and when you turn around to face him, he’s already got you caged in his arms. you gasp and kick your legs, hitting him in the shin. the man groans at the contact and loosens his grip a little. you take the opportunity again, jumping onto his back, clinging onto him with your legs around his waist. you encircle your arm around his neck and catch him off guard with a surprise headlock.
“hehe, got you now,” you grin smugly. toji’s not giving his best, you know that, because you’d be on the floor if he did. he’s allowing you to have fun and he’s indulging you, which you more than so appreciate. “what? cat got your tongue, big boy?” you continue challenging him, proud of your little achievement.
you’re painfully oblivious to toji's struggles. how he's struggling with his inner desires, how his hands ball up into fists at his side. he can feel your body clinging onto him, your legs wrapped so tightly around his waist. it’s adorable that you find so much joy in having the upper hand over a grown man like him.
adorable, and such a huge turn on.
toji can’t believe that he’s getting a boner from just playing with you like this. maybe it’s your body that’s pressed against him so snugly, letting him feel every feminine curve or maybe it's the fact that he knows he can easily pin you to the ground and show you what a real man can do until you're begging for mercy.
your nipples are pressed against his back and it’s so hard to act like he can’t feel that. it’s hard to believe you’re not doing it on purpose, but you truly aren’t.
“careful,” toji comments in a husky voice. the corner of his lip twitches, his eyes hidden behind his black bangs, “y’ might start something you can’t finish.” you figure that it’s just bait to scare you off, so you don’t take it seriously. you tighten the headlock a little, biting toji’s ear and nibbling on it as revenge.
“you’re not scaring me with that,” you chuckle and pinch toji’s cheek with your free hand. the older man turns his head slightly, catching a glimpse of your mischievous grin. oh, how cute.
with a swift, fluid motion, toji reaches up with both hands and grasps your thighs firmly. in a heartbeat, your positions reverse and he pins you to the nearby wall. both of his meaty arms cage you in by pressing against the concrete on either side of your head.
“seems like i’m the one who got ya now, doll,” toji murmurs, his voice low and laced with a hint of lust. he gazes down at you, your faces mere inches apart. you can feel his breath fanning against your lips. he’s itching to claim your mouth so, so bad.
but before he can capture your sweet lips with his, you catch him off guard by pushing your full weight forward, causing toji to lose balance. he tumbles backwards onto the carpet below with you on top of him.
“nope, am not giving up so easily,” you giggle as you try to grab at his wrists. you’re oblivious to toji’s desires, too focused on overpowering the man who could snap you in half. it’s fun when he allows you to take control.
however, your lover is slowly losing his rationality. you’re seated on top of his abs and he can swear he can feel the heat of your cunt through your clothes. it’s the only thing he can focus on at that moment. the only thing he craves.
“fuck, c’mere,” toji growls and rolls you over so you’re pinned beneath him on the floor. he can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips when your laughter echoes throughout the living room. even through his lustful haze, he finds your joy thoroughly endearing.
you manage to find another opening and roll over again so you’re on top of him instead. the cycle continues for a few more seconds, your bodies lost in a tangled mess of limbs. you exchange gasps, grunts and giggles while you’re ‘fighting’ for dominance.
when you bite on toji’s shoulder as a way to catch him off guard once more, he hisses. not in an annoyed or pained way— no. he’s so turned on that you biting him sends a jolt of pleasure right down to his aching cock. so turned on that he may accidentally have developed a new kink in that same second.
either way, that little action was his last straw.
toji effortlessly lifts you up on the couch, your body bouncing a bit on the plush cushions as he turns you around on your stomach. one arm hooks around your neck, his bicep pressing against your throat. not enough to hinder your airway, but enough to send shivers down your spine.
“told ya to b’ careful,” toji grunts, his breath against your sensitive skin from behind, “y’ should start listening to me more.” his tongue flicks out and licks a stripe up your ear. his crotch is pressed right against your ass and only then do you notice his raging hard-on.
your eyes widen, cheek smushed against his muscular arm wrapped around your neck, keeping you in place beneath his big body. “oh, fuck, toji,” you let out a shuddering breath. you’re completely engulfed by his large frame—disappearing out of sight. just how he likes it.
“yeah? feel that?” toji grins as he squeezes his bicep around your delicate throat some more. you gasp and whine, turned on by him overpowering you, as much as you had been enjoying the opposite just seconds ago. he mocks your earlier words with a grunt, “think i have’ta remind my lil’ brat exactly what this ‘big boy’ can do to ya.”
and the older man wastes no time to do exactly that.
your shorts and panties are tossed carelessly on the carpet, your cheek smushed against the cushions that you’re desperately gripping. your face is contorted with pleasure, brows furrowed, eyes glazed over and your swollen lips parted to take shallow breaths.
you can feel the ache in your lower back. the arch of your spine is nearly unnatural as your ass is pushed so high up, bouncing back to meet the mean backshots your man is giving you.
“ah, ngh! t—toooji,” you mewl loudly, droplets of saliva trickling down from the corner of your mouth. you can’t deny that this entire situation has you soaked.
the switch toji went through, from being playful and letting you do what you want to reminding you who’s boss at the end of the day— it’s perfect and feels way too good. the cherry on top is the familiar scent of his body, the sweat mixed with his cologne.
it adds to the pleasure, makes you dizzy in a good way.
toji grips your waist, his manly hands trailing down to your hips every now and then for the extra leverage. his fingers dig into your soft flesh as he pounds into you mercislessly, fucking into you like you’re his personal cocksleeve. “ain’t gonna try that again, are ya?”
“dumb lil’ slut,” your harsh lover grumbles under his breath, hand smacking the fat of your ass. toji loves seeing it ripple underneath him, even more so when his hips smack against your rear with strength that leaves your flesh stinging, “bet ya love it when i remind you who owns this cunt.”
toji groans as he slides his thick cock in and out of your tight cunt. you’re gripping him like you never want to let go, like you want to milk him of every drop of the cum stored in his balls.
the sight that he’s blessed with from his point of view can make him bust a load right then and there. you’re presenting your ass to him shamelessly, looking back over your shoulder with lust-blown eyes.
and don’t get him started on the outline of his dick distending your tummy, the one he can feel whenever he reaches a hand around to press against your lower abdomen and circle your clit. too fucking lewd.
“fuck, yeahhhh. take that fat fuckin’ dick, baby,” toji throws his head back as he pushes your body even further into the couch. you swear he’s folding you in half, “let me show ya what a real man in charge can do— how a real man fucks his woman.”
toji’s cock is ruining you, reshaping your insides to fit his massive size and you don’t mind it one bit. in fact, you love it. love the feel of him, the stretch and burn of his thick cock splitting you open.
“yes, mmh, yes! fuck me!” you keen, sobbing from the pleasure. your hand reaches back to scratch at toji’s arm, trying to hold onto him, to find him even in the midst of it all. the view of your desperation and your pleas makes him lose it.
the dark-haired man scoffs, “oh, i’ll fuck ya, all right. . .”
with a low growl, toji plants one foot on the floor next to you, his other leg still bent at the knee on the sofa you’re laying at. the muscles in his arms ripple as he lifts your hips even higher up to be able to meet his thrusts.
“fuuuuuck! right there!” you wail, your head trashing back and forth on the damp sofa. from this new angle, he can drive his fat dick into you even deeper, engorged tip hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes you see white.
toji revels in the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, mixed with your sweet moans. you seem so much smaller than him in this new position, your body helplessly giving in, allowing him to put you in whatever position he wants. it boosts his ego and makes his cock pulse inside of you.
he loves seeing the tears in your eyes as it nearly gets too much for you to handle. it motivates him to fuck you harder until you’re full on bawling, which he can easily get off on. making you cry in pure bliss is all he wants to achieve.
your pussy is tight as it clenches around his cock like a vice. toji’s hand slithers around to circle your clit, making your legs spasm and hips thrust back sloppily. “shitttt, y’r sweet lil’ cunt was made just for this—” he pants as his thumb presses against the nub, “to take my cock.”
all you can do is dumbly nod at whatever your partner says. “mmhm, ah yeah, made for you,” your small whines are music to his ears. the palms of your hands feel clammy as you hold onto anything you can grasp.
everything around you is a blur as the only thing you can focus on is the way his heavy cock fills you so well.
toji can feel your juices trickling down his heavy sack, soaking his thighs and yours, as well as the couch. it will leave stains, but he doesn’t care and neither do you.
“look at ya,” he huffs and slaps your clit once, callused fingers dragging along your puffy lips that are parted obscenely wide for his cock. toji brings his wet finger to his mouth to lick it clean. he hums satisfactorily at the taste, “pussy’s droolin’ aaaall over my dick. nasty girl.”
your pussy starts fluttering around his thick length as it impales you over and over. it’s a telltale sign of your orgasm, one toji has come to recognise quite easily.
“yeah? gonna make an even bigger mess on my cock?” he grins before pressing his chest against your sweaty back, blanketing your small body. the extra weight added to the ecstasy only makes you scream louder for him.
“yes, yes, yes! gonna cum!” you cry out, toes curling and eyes rolling back as you try to prolong your pleasure. even if it’s only for a second.
toji curses under his breath as his hips move faster to drive you over the edge. he can’t wait to feel your cunt get even tighter, to make it feel like you’re about to snap his dick off. he loves the pain mixed with the pleasure of your tightness.
“do it. cream all over me, c’mon, little girl. y’ can do it,” toji coaxes, delivering small smacks to your clit, causing your hips to jolt back with each slap. you can’t do it anymore— can’t hold on any longer.
you scream as you cum, your pussy spasming wildly around toji’s pulsing cock. that sensation alone has the older man gasping for air, nails digging into the flesh of your ass. no matter how many times he fucks you, the moment you cum, he automatically follows.
the way you squeeze his dick and hold onto it like you don’t want to let go is simply too much.
“fuck, fuck, fuck. g’nna make me bust a fat fuckin’ nut inside of you,” toji groans, his rhythm growing sloppy yet his thrusts are still deliciously hard, “gonna pump this pussy full of my load. breed ‘er nice and deep. shitt— take it!”
a strangled moan leaves his lips as he grinds his hips against your ass while his cock jolts inside of you. he pumps jet after jet of hot cum directly into your womb, tip rubbing against the deepest spot he can reach.
“eaaaasy, yeah, just like that. let it soak into ya,” toji hisses as his hips jerk erratically, “good girl. takin’ all of it so well.” it seems to go on forever as spurts of semen flood your insides for a good few seconds.
once your lover fully empties his balls inside of you, he feels himself grow weak. his thighs and arms tremble a bit from overexertion.
you collapse together in a sweaty heap, toji’s softening dick still buried deep inside of you. the only thing filling the room now is your heavy breathing as you slowly regain your composure. it’s quite a comfortable silence.
after a while, toji shifts. he pulls out with a wet squelch and watches with half-lidded eyes as thick, pearly globs of cum trickle down your slit. he grins lazily at the sight before turning you around.
you’re completely fucked out, it seems. your chest is heaving and your eyes are barely open. the trails of tears and drool on your face tells the man enough. toji wipes a stray strand of hair from your face with a haughty chuckle, “damn, keheh, fucked y’ real good. you okay though?”
you weakly nod in response before wrapping your arms around him. your hands rest on his broad back, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.
toji hums and hugs you back, being careful not to squish you under his weight. he presses chaste kisses to your temple as he enjoys your frame molding perfectly against the hard muscles of his body.
“y’ did so well for me, little girl,” he comments gruffly, voice deep and a bit hoarse. you smile at the praise and murmur a small ‘thanks’. nothing is better than being able to feel safe with your lover after an intense session like that.
you pull back a bit and look up at toji with a little, playful grin. “guess i need to challenge you more often. felt too good, babe.”
toji lets out a small scoff and shakes his head. a ghost of a smirk appears on his lips as he slightly pinches your side. he holds you against his chest and buries his nose into your hair, sighing as he finally relaxes his weary body.
“y’ can try. might break ya for real next time, though.”
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possum-tooth · 7 months ago
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everything turns out fine btw 👍
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connorsui · 10 days ago
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He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.
Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”
He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”
His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
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yameoto · 2 months ago
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caitvi sandwich
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wives returning from war
tw; dom!caitlyn, dom!vi, f!reader, double penetration, voyeurism, masturbation, pussyfucking, pussyeating, blowjobs, overstimulation, 3some, sex if it was a competitive sport. wc; 1.8k
you are all they can think about. all fucking day. it’s a wonder they could've waited this long, really, to get home and fuck their sweet, sweet darling. by the time the door opens, they’re ready to jump your skin.
“baby,” vi gasps, bulging arms winding tight around your waist and seizing you—lifting you into the air like you weigh nothing more than a china doll. she kisses you, hard. then kisses you again, and again, and again; peppering down your jaw to your neck to your collar. they’re sloppy in their haste, nuzzling into your throat with a hefty amount of neediness.
seriously. you haven’t even put down your tea, yet.
“stop hogging her.” caitlyn complains, as she collapses back onto the couch. she angles her head upwards, and caitlyn kiramman does not pout—but the gleam of her doe-eyes is uncharacteristically sulky.
vi spins you around, much to your disgruntled (though, secretly pleased), “hey!” before she delightedly turns to caitlyn, smirking. “don’t tell me you’re jealous, little ms. dignitary.”
caitlyn scowls.
“you aren't the only person who’s missed her, you know.” she grouses, and vi just grins. “spread your legs, cupcake.”
there’s a beat in which caitlyn wearily glares, like, really? you’re ordering me around? though she concedes, legs unfolding from their elegant cross to fall open, wide and inviting.
vi promptly plops you into caitlyn’s lap.
caitlyn gasps, pupils darkening in an instant as her knees jerk upwards. she grunts, out loud, when your thighs shift—unintentionally—against her bulge. that’s all it takes, before silk is getting torn of your shoulders by pale hands, and vi is tugging the skin of your nape between her teeth, exhaling shakily against your ear. so. they were clearly on edge.
“been thinkin’ bout you all day, princess.”
“understatement.” caitlyn hisses, hips canting upwards to grind shamelessly up against your groin. oh, gods. she’s getting harder by the minute. “i seem to remember your descriptions on the ride home, vividly.”
“what can I say? it got you all hot and bothered.”
“with nowhere to take care of it.”
you swallow, cheeks hot. “do i get a say in this?”
“no. “no.” two voices resound at once, almost unintelligible with the way vi is biting into your shoulder and caitlyn has begun to ravish the expanse of your tits, like they both won’t be pleased until you leave, bruised and marked to oblivion.
hands seize your hips, flipping you easily—back onto the couch. you can’t tell whose. especially when your eyelids squeeze shut the moment a palm cups your quickly slickening cunt, rubbing over your panties.
“hah..”
“fuck. been dreamin’ bout this sweet pussy all day.” vi murmurs, hungrily, nose dragging up the insides of your thighs. she marks her way in furious nips, getting sloppier and sloppier; desperate to tongue her way to the prize.
“ha.” caitlyn’s voice is drill, yet amused. your eyes fly open when your legs are wrenched apart by large, veined hands, and vi grins up at you from between your legs.
your tea, is now unceremoniously spilled all over the floor, porclein in pieces. all in the name of seizing vi’s pink head of hair and smushing her up against your quickly soddening pussy, whining in need. she winks, the asshole, yanking silken underwear down in clumsy movements, and then her rough hands are clamping, spreading you wide open. she’s being beckoned by the heady scent of your cunt; tantalisingly all-consuming. her mouth is watering.
listen. vi wants to work you up—wants to take her time, relish each and every drop that coats your folds in that thickening glisten. it’s just—fuck, princess. d’you have to smell so goddamn good?
“can you not be patient?” caitlyn husks, and annoyance has never sounded so fucking sexy. “i’m trying to enjoy the view.” her legs have slid, to fit over your shoulders, and when your eyes flutter upwards; you’re greeted with the underside of her cock. it arcs above your head, obscuring most of your vision, and it’s enough to draw a needy little whine out of you, hips jerking upwards—right into vi’s waiting mouth.
that’s how it goes. her tongue drags, hot and flat against your swelling, puffy clit, before exhaling into your cunt like a little fucking tease before she dives in.
“who’s fuckin’ pussy is this?” vi growls, mouthing feverishly, one hand pre-occupied with jerking herself, furiously off, whilst the other slides two fingers, stretching you generously open.
“ah-ah—mm—yours.. ow—!
“ours.” caitlyn corrects, twisting your nipple sharply, in reprimand. it’s hard for her to be too mad, when you nose into the wedge of her thighs, apologetically, your hips shaking the couch—like a kitten nuzzling against an outstretched knuckle.
her gaze lowers, black and blue; and your lips part; glossy, plush, and absolutely begging for it. caitlyn can’t resist—her dick sliding its way into your open mouth.
you take her tip like a greedy thing, lips wrapping round and tongue slicking underneath, arching up for more.
“shit, darling.” caitlyn gasps, entire body shuddering, all around you. it takes everything in her not to throat-fuck you right then and there, nails digging into the fabric of the armrest, eyes rolling backwards as you nurse on her cock.
vi laughs, pleased and breathy. each tremor thrums straight to your core. her tongue swirls, panting; hot and heavy, as she pumps her fingers ever deeper, burrowing into your pussy like a woman starved. there are slurping noises, because she’s a messy fucking eater and there’s nothing she loves more than having you smeared all over her chin, her nose, her cheeks—as long as she’s salivating into your pussy. the searing coil in the pits of your stomach winds, tighter and hotter like a spring, overheating.
you can feel vi’s lips curling upwards with every clench of your thighs—hips spasming—bucking heedlessly into tongue. she fucks your head empty. in fact, all you can do is moan into caitlyn’s cock, and that sends shocks of pleasure trembling up caitlyn’s length to her spine; unable to resist pumping herself, deeper, into the warm, wet heat of your throat.
all of sudden, vi thrusts another finger inside, just as her tongue drags upwards and mouth sucks, hard on your clit. she curls, knuckles pulsing against your tight, tight walls. caitlyn seems to approve, because her slow, treacherously-shaky motions begin to stutter into frenetic jerks, breathing harsh. overwhelmed, you let out a mangled croon—back arching off the couch—pinned down two ways, by the cock in your throat and the tongue in your cunt—and promptly cum all over vi’s face.
vi licks it all up. glances upwards from between your legs, smug and pussydrunk, cum dripping from her lips. she makes a show of swiping it with her tongue, though you’re too spoiled by the warm aftershocks of pleasure wracking your body to do too much about it. caitlyn is still fucking you, trying her damndest to remain in control, but her restraint is slipping with every trickle of white that rolls down vi’s throat, and the way you tug her dick deeper into your mouth, like you were made for it.
all you can do, for the moment, is attempt to catch your breath—chest rising and falling in shallow pants as you suck on caitlyn’s cock, suctioning her in, weakly. her hips rock, and in the fuzzy whiteness that’s throbbing your brain you almost don’t realise vi is lifting up off the couch and fisting her own cock in her hands, until your pussy is being splayed open and—ah—fuck!
“hush, baby.” vi coos, almost in awe at the way your pussy gapes, loosened by her fingers and her tongue and wet, wet, wet with her saliva, your pleasure. it yawns open. takes the thick length of her girth so easily. she fucks back into you, smooth and languid, gently tracing fingers up your hips. you’re trembling in overstimulation, sensitive, sore. they always seem to find a way to leave you like that.
“look at you. takin’ me and cait so well.”
look at you, indeed. the outline of vi’s cock pumps in you, along with caitlyn’s own; one raised against your abdomen, the other down your throat. it has the two of them almost dizzy with arousal. vi buries herself inside you—fucking your aching walls in loose, hot drags; biceps tense in fighting the urge to not roughly slam you balls-deep and fuck you into the couch, like some wild animal—lest you choke on caitlyn’s dick. speaking of—
“oh, darling.” caitlyn shudders, as her balls tighten and her thighs clamp down, around you. “i think i’m—ah—“
at the last second, caitlyn jerks herself out from your mouth and aims. her load shoots out—a thick, white arc that splatters against vi’s tits and streams down her torso. there’s a viscous, glossy streak down the line of your body—like a bucket of paint knocked over.
caitlyn pants. vi ceases her motions, momentarily. glancing down at the mess, glistening down the ridges of her abdomen—and then back up at the woman, thighs locked around your head.
she smirks, chest heaving, hips still working. “wow.”
“oh, shut up.” caitlyn slurs, slumping against the armrest of the couch, temporarily satiated. her cock drizzles weakly, as she pumps it lazily in her hand, watching vi fuck you, gentle and slow—hand curling into your hair. her dick twitches.
“next time, you’re swallowing.”
a drop of leftover cum beads, down her length, and splashes on your lip. your tongue drags out, and it’s with a deliberate little arch, you lick it into your mouth. two, twinning inhales; sharp, and shaky. vi’s hips stutter. caitlyn’s eyes meet yours, dark.
oh, you’re not getting a wink of sleep, tonight.
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oreo-creampie · 2 months ago
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“𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦”
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! caught fucking and neither of you stop, sugar baby!reader, ceo au, light exhibitionism, light voyeurism, degradation/praise, impact play with a belt, choking with a belt, handjob, face fucking, satoru stick his thumb in your ass, cream pie, pain kink, collar and leash (they make one with the belt)
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 ��𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧! Ceo!satoru gets caught fucking his sugar baby at work but he doesn't stop
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The heavy door of Satoru’s office automatically slides open with a small click. On the other side is a beautiful man in a black suit with angular dark brown eyes and long black hair.
His smooth, gentle voice contrasts his cocky smirk. “Thought I drop by for a surprise visit, didn't expect to be the one surprised.”Walking into Satoru’s office, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “Suguru Geto.” Standing in front of you giving you an eyeful of the outline of his thick cock.
Your pussy sinfully clenches, you want them both. Looking up at Suguru pleading with Satoru, “Don’t stop! Don't stop! Nnn feels ‘s fuckin’ good.” Your messy cunt lewdly squelches, fluttering around Satoru. Getting off on Suguru watching you take Satoru’s cock.
Satoru’s long, veiny cock is making a mess out of your cunt. You’re dripping down your thighs as he wrecks your cunt with quick hard thrusts. Filling you with intense body-tingling pleasure making your knees weak.
It’s hot the way Satoru grunts, “Fuckin’ cumslut,” Clenching Satoru, biting your lip when he needy whines. “Her cunt got wetter, she’s a beautiful cock hungry whore.” Sharply smacking your ass, making your cheek jiggle. Crying as sweet hot pain spreads from your cheeks to your needy cunt.
Suguru unbuckles and tugs on his black leather belt. Biting your lip when he loops it, holding it out to Satoru. “Use my belt on her slutty ass. We can see how long it takes for her cheeks red.” Fondling Suguru’s hard cock through his pants. His cock is so heavy and thick, his balls are large.
Satoru slowly drags the leather belt along your cheek. Anticipation builds, “Best pussy sleeve I’ve paid for. Don’t fuck her mouth yet, I wanna hear her crying.” Gliding his cock out.
Smack! Smack! Smack! The desk keeps you from running away from the fourth.
Satoru groans, “It’s so hot when she tries to run away." Smacking your ass harder with the belt. "Where do ya think you're going? Stupid whores like you get their asses spanked for being dirty cock loving sluts.” Jerking forward with each sharp belt crack, clutching the desk.
Another click of the sliding doors. “Damn choke her out with it too while you at it.” A handsome man dressed less formally in white collar and black slacks. Short black hair hangs in his dark ocean blue eyes. His lips have a defining scar.
Satoru informs, “The meeting is delayed by an incoming flight.” Your cheek is warm with sweet white hot throbbing pain. The desk is the only thing keeping you up. “Beautiful,” Smack! “Here is helping me release a little stress.” Satoru massages your aching cheek, dragging the belt along your spine to your other cheek.
Looping the belt around your neck, lifting your head up, and choking you. “Her mouth is free to use.” Satoru lines himself up, swiping his head between your wet lips. Rutting his cock in with a harsh thrust of his hips and a loud smack of skin.
Suguru undoes and pushes down his pants with his underwear. His cock is beautiful, pale with a soft tan at his cockhead. There are two thick puffy veins close together. You want to choke, suck and gag on Suguru's fat dick.
Opening your mouth for Suguru, Satoru squeezes the belt around your neck. You hear the clank of a belt hitting the floor. A rough hand grabs your wrist, and he spits on your hand wrapping your fingers around his cock. Thicker than Suguru, swirling your hand stroking his cock, your fingertips don't touch.
Satoru spreads your cheek apart with one hand. Spitting on your other hole, swirling his thumb then sliding it in. "Since you got here late you can have the glory hole when after Suguru." It's all going to your messy cunt, getting off on being their slut. Hoping all three of them cum in your cunt leaving a mess to drip down your thighs when you head home.
Clenching Satoru's cock, gagging on Suguru's, stoking Toji. You're a mindless, cock hungry mess with spit dripping down your chin. Slick trickles down your thighs smearing onto Satoru's balls when they hit your clit.
Tears drip down your cheeks, Suguru buries his cock in your throat. Your cunt clenches Satotu with each gag.
Suguru croons "Awww she's crying!" Sliding his cock out, you gasp for air but nothing. Toji slides your hand off his cock when Suguru steps aside. Toji smacks his heavy cock against your cheek smearing your tears. Taking your mouth in slow deep thrusts.
Lying limp, trembling on Satoru's rocking desk. Your lungs are screaming for air. Toji's warm cock dragging along your wet tongue. Stuffing his head into your tight throat with a rough grunt.
Satoru holds your cheek with his thumb in your ass. “Fuck! Using her like this! She’s the perfect pussy sleeve.” Loosening the belt around your throat, Toji pulls his cock out giving you a moment to breathe.
Holding your hand out for Suguru’s cock, still slick with spit. Slowly sliding and swirling your hand along his cock. Staying close to his sensitive head, swiping your thumb every so often to smear his pre-cum.
Suguru asks “Do you think she will be ready for round two when we finish work?" Following it with a breathy moan when you pump your fist faster.
Cupping Toji’s balls take his cock in your mouth looking up at him. Your back is arched, cheeks jiggling. "Look at her, she a greedy cock hungry whore." Gagging you with his cock the spasming of your cunt has Satoru whining. As he tries to keep his pace steady, fucking you harder.
The soft twitching of his cock and the pulsing of his veins with his thumb inside your ass gets you closer. It's his hot thick cum spilling inside you that makes your squelching cunt cum.
Satoru tugs the belt wrapped around your neck like a collar with a short leash fucking his cum deep into you. Smearing some of it cum with sloppy slow thrusts.
Satoru's hips smack your ass one last time before he bottoms out. Stuffing in some of the cum that follows his cock back in with his fingers. "She'll be at the door kneeling in lingerie waiting to be fucked like the slut she gets off on being." Thick cum dripping from your cunt as Suguru takes his place.
Oreo’s m.list
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narxcisse · 2 months ago
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★ — Leaving them hickeys
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With: Viktor, Jayce, Mel, Vi, Caitlyn, Ambessa, Silco, Vander and Sevika
CW: suggestive, hickeys, s1
English isn't my native language / Reverse Ver.!
— VIKTOR
He is a mix of bashful and pleased. When you kiss and nip at his neck, he goes still, cheeks flushed as a soft, breathy chuckle escapes.
"You...really like marking me, don't you?" He tries to act unfazed, but when he looks in a mirror later and spots the darkening bruise, his fingers ghost over it.
He'd cover it with a scarf or high collar in public but secretly loves that you left your mark. It's a rare indulgence that makes him feel wanted.
— JAYCE
He leans into it and lets you do whatever you want, practically purring under your touch.
"You just can't keep your hands off me, huh?" He smirks, wrapping an arm around your waist as you kiss him.
He flaunts the marks with pride. If someone notices, he grins wider. "Oh, that? Yeah, my partner's got good aim."
— MEL
She doesn't stop you; she tilts her head to give you better access, enjoying the sensation as your lips press against her golden skin.
"Careful, darling," she murmurs, her voice smooth as silk. "You'll leave evidence of your affection."
She wears her hickeys like jewelry, unbothered by anyone's reactions, because who would dare question her?
— VI
She pretends to complain. She'll huff as your teeth scrape her skin, but she's grinning the whole time.
"Really? You're leaving me looking like I lost a fight?" She teases but tilts her head anyway.
She wears the marks like trophies. "Yeah, my partner did that. What about it?" If someone stares too long, they might catch her smirking.
— CAITLYN
She gets flustered. She tries to keep her composure as you kiss along her neck, but her blush gives her away.
"Are you... trying to make this harder to hide?" She scolds, though her voice is shaky.
Later, she's wearing a high collar. When Vi notices and teases her, Caitlyn glares but secretly feels proud.
— AMBESSA
She chuckles lowly, utterly amused by your boldness. She lets you have your way, resting a heavy hand on your back.
"Is this your way of staking a claim?" she asks with a smirk, tilting her neck for better access.
She wears the marks unapologetically, daring anyone to comment. She admires your daring streak and rewards you for it later.
— SILCO
His sharp intake of breath is the only indication you've caught him off guard. He doesn't stop you, but his hand tightens on your hip.
"Bold," he mutters, his gravelly voice filled with amusement. "Do you think this will deter anyone?"
He hides the marks beneath his collar but touches them absently, conflicted between annoyance and smug satisfaction.
— VANDER
He laughs softly, a warm rumble from deep in his chest as you leave your mark on him.
"You're enjoying this a little too much," he teases, cupping your face to kiss you.
He's not embarrassed about the marks and won't bother covering them. If someone comments, he just grins. "What can I say? My partner's passionate."
— SEVIKA
She smirks, tugging you closer as your lips graze her neck.
"Careful, sweetheart," she growls softly. "I might start thinking you're obsessed with me."
She doesn't cover the marks, wearing them like a badge of honor. If anyone so much as raises an eyebrow, she gives them a warning glare.
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ghouljams · 1 month ago
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Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?
Rating: E (MDNI) Words: ~11k Tags: Ghost x f!Reader, Dirtbag!Ghost, strangers -> ???, groping, non-con kissing, coerced consent, oral (F!Receiving), fingering, squirting, piv sex, kidnapping? Summary: A stranger online promises he'll make your parents' Christmas hell, and you're eager to take him up on the offer. You may have bitten off more than you can chew.
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<Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?
[casual encounters]
“I am a 35 year old former SAS operator with no A levels, tattoos, and a motorcycle. I can play anywhere from 30 to 40 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and I work late nights at my mate’s bar. If you’d like to have me pretend to be in a long term serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.
I can do these things, at your request:
Openly hit on female guests while you act like you don’t notice
Start instigative discussions about religion and/or politics
Propose to you in front of everyone
Talk at length about my time in the army including what it felt like to kill a man(good or bad your choice)
Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on(don’t drink much these days, but I know the drill)
Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.
Only pay I want is the free meal and the entertainment.”
-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers
*
RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?” 
Is this offer still open?
*
RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
Depends how far you want me to travel.
-S
*
RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
Any chance you’re in the XXXXX area? I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk details.
*
RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
Close enough for a free meal. I’m in XXXX
-S
*
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
Let’s meet at Gallery Eats. Also can you send me an ID or something so I know what you look like?
*
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”
[attachment] [attachment]
Know you birds get jumpy, send it out to your little friends. 
Tuesday 15:30
See you there 
-S
*
He’s already at the shop when you get there, scrolling through his phone with his legs spread wide under the little wooden table, a full-face motorcycle helmet taking up more than half of the tiny tabletop.
You hadn’t realized how big the guy would be. Even sitting down he’s massive. You’d bet money he’s over six foot, and he easily eclipses the little cafe chair he’s settled in. His craigslist ad wasn’t lying when it said “tattoos.” The guy’s arms are covered in swirling black ink, and you follow the line of it up to the dark collar of his shirt where it peaks out to creep up his neck. He’s perfect. Your folks will hate him.
Dark eyes meet yours and a smirk creeps over his face, it tugs at a thin scar bisecting his lips.
He stands, and you bee-line for him.
“Thank god you look like your picture.” You huff, settling your bag on the chair across from him.
“That any way ta greet your man?” He grunts, holding a hand out. “Simon.”
You take his hand with a smile, and feel thick fingers wrap around your own. You glance down at the dark seal on the back of his hand, the carefully inked numbers already fading with age spelling out “141.” 
“So,” He smiles, leaning so far back in his seat that the chair tips, “How mad are we talkin’?”
*
It turns out Simon’s motorcycle isn’t his only mode of transportation. You roll up to your parents house in a half-wrapped muscle car that Simon claims he’s been “working on” and you can almost smell the distaste radiating off of your folks when they peak through the front window. Simon makes a big show of ignoring you while you try to get the oddly shaped Christmas gifts out of the trunk, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone while you struggle. Finally your parents decide to wander out onto their front step, and your father stalks over to take the bulkier gifts from you while Simon eyes him.
You grin at him, already pleased with his grumbling and glaring at Simon. Simon, for his part, offers a, “Sure it ain’t too heavy old man?” That makes a vein on your father’s temple throb angrily. He ambles after you and your father, and makes a show of giving your mom a once over.
“Sweetheart!” Your mother grimace-smiles at you, “Who is this?”
“This is Simon,” You sigh, leaning against Simon with a dopey smile, “My boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend.” Your mother grits her teeth, “You didn’t say you were bringing a guest.”
“Oh I know, but you can pull up a chair, right?” You gasp, “We’re not messing up your table are we?”
Your mother’s eye twitches. You know her well enough to know she’s already thinking about people bumping elbows at an overcrowded table. You can almost hear your little cousins complain about the lack of space. You also know she’ll never admit her annoyance in front of a guest.
“Of course not.” She smiles tightly, “The more the merrier.” She turns to Simon. “It’s nice to meet you Simon.”
Simon finally takes his cue, tossing his ashy cigarette onto the stone walkway with a flick of his fingers. He exhales nearly into your mother’s face before seemingly remembering last minute that, that’s rude.
“Nice to meet you,” His eyes flick down to your mother’s chest, “Can see where the bird gets ‘er tits from.”
You could scream with laughter the way your mother’s lips tighten into a thin line and her brows twitch down ever so slightly, the picture of barely contained shock and disgust. You can feel your father fuming on the other side of you.
“Why don’t we put presents down?” You chirp, trying to play at oblivious while Simon leers at your mother. She does her best to subtly cross her arms and tug the neck of her sweater closed. “Simon, do you have a hand to help dad?”
“Course, sweet’eart.” He hums, leaning to kiss your temple. A sweet gesture if he didn’t grab a handful of your ass at the same time, angled precisely so you’re sure your dad can see. “Christ you got a fat ass,” He mumbles, his voice low and graveled as he squeezes you again. You feel your cheeks heat in spite of yourself. It’s all pretend, all things you’ve talked about, but that doesn’t stop your body from reacting. His big hand lingers, fingers dragging over your ass as he pushes past your parents into the house. Uninvited.
You ignore your mother’s pointed look under the pretense of juggling presents, pushing into the house after your fake boyfriend.
Simon unceremoniously snatches the gifts from your father as soon as he’s in the house, haphazardly tossing the boxes under the tree while you carefully place your own presents, seemingly ignorant of your boyfriend’s lack of care.
“So how was the drive?” Your dad asks, trying to find something to talk about.
“Bloody awful,” Simon butts in before you can answer, he jerks his head in your direction, “‘ad to listen to the bird’s music the ‘ole time.”
“I thought you liked my music,” You pout.
“When tha fuck ‘ave I ever said that?” He snaps at you. You stifle the flinch and watch Simon’s brows draw down ever so slightly.
When you’d gone through all the details for this he’d told you to try and temper your flinching, assured you that you didn’t need to be scared of him, that if you were dating he’d never lay a hand on you. That didn’t stop his quick, harsh, response from startling you. At least the small crease in his brow made you think he didn’t enjoy the reaction.
“When we first met.” You smile, playing it off. 
“And you believed that?” Simon huffs, “Can’t believe I’m the first one to grab ya off the street with ‘ow gullible ya are.”
You blink at him, and turn to hastily cover for him to your dad.
“A consensual grabbing.” You assure him.
“Think I’m still deaf in my right ear from ‘ow loud ya screamed.” Simon grumbles, digging a finger into his ear as if to demonstrate his hearing loss. You feel your cheeks heat reflexively. Even fictional it’s embarrassing to imagine that you might have met a long term serious boyfriend in a kidnapping attempt.
Nevermind that the idea of someone like Simon grabbing you off the street is a major plot point in some of your favorite videos. You try to keep your mind out of the gutter, a difficult task with Simon’s fingers grazing your ass.
“It was a prank.” You continue covering.
“Bet actually.” Simon corrects in an attempt to make things worse. “Seein’ ‘oo could take the prettiest bird ‘ome.” He nudges your dad as if he’s bringing him in on the joke, “Should’ve seen ‘ow much this one struggled, should’ve known she’d be an ‘andful.”
“Your friends sound-” Your dad swallows whatever distaste boils behind his tongue in an effort to keep the peace, ���interesting.”
“Served together.” Simon sniffs.
“Oh!” Your father seems to brighten at this new information.
“Lost a lot of good men, but kept all the worst, eh bird?” Simon tosses a smile your way. The playful grin lights up his face, tugs at his scars in a way that’s far too charming. 
“Where did you serve?” Your father asks, too eager for war talk.
“Went where I was needed.” Simon grunts. It’s an end to the conversation. You can see your father trying to think of where to go from there, if he should push for a different answer or ask about if Simon enjoyed his time in the service. He settles on exactly what you’re sure Simon was hoping for.
“So what do you do now?”
You almost brace yourself for his answer, and you’re glad for the added tension in your shoulders because it stops you from barking out a laugh.
“Beside fuckin’ the bird?” He doesn’t get another word out before your father growls out a loud.
“Alright-” that your mother cuts off with her well timed, if sudden entrance.
“Your aunt is on her way,” She informs you, “She’s excited to meet your boyfriend.”
“You got a lot of people comin’ ta this thing?” Simon asks, as if you hadn’t given him a full guest list.
“Just a few,” Your mother smiles, “my sister lives nearby so she’ll be bringing her boys.”
“Would’ve been nice ta know there were brats comin’ ta this thing,” Simon gives you a look and you pout.
“I told you this was a family thing.” You remind him.
“Didn’t know ya had so much family,” He sniffs, “Brother isn’t comin’ ta this too is ‘e?”
You have to stop yourself from grinning at the family landmine Simon so perfectly walked into.
“Henry doesn’t come to family functions anymore,” Your mother tells him curtly.
“Heard ‘e got tired of havin’ you scare off ‘is girls,” Simon grins, “thought you’d be a bigger bitch.” You choke. You mother’s gaze whips to you and you carefully go about adjusting the presents under the tree just so you don’t have to look at her. 
“Well I don’t know where you heard that,” The high note in your mother’s voice betrays her, the faux-calmness barely covering the boiling anger that’s starting to show, “but it’s not true.”
“Are you callin’ me a liar,” Simon’s voice takes an icy note in response and you glance over your shoulder to watch him roll his shoulders back. You can see the way his musculature moves even under his jumper. The threat is palpable, and also completely inappropriate for the situation.
He’s good at this.
It’s your father’s turn to diffuse the situation.
“You a footie fan?” He asks, because he’s ass at calming your mother (or anyone else) down. You can practically feel Simon’s attention shift, like the air in the room has to adjust to the pressure he exerts.
“City.” Simon huffs. You dad grins, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. Playful ribbing that somehow always ends in a screaming match.
“Manchester boy, eh? Ya find it hard losin’ to Liverpool all the time or do ya get used to it?” Your father jokes. The question hangs dead in the air. Simon hasn’t moved a muscle, so still it scares even you, and you know it’s just an act.
“You like chewin’ your food?” Simon asks, his voice so deathly calm that you grab his arm with  a laugh and pull at him.
“He’s just kidding Simon,” You placate, trying to pull your --wow this guy’s bicep is huge-- fake boyfriend away, “Right dad?”
“Oh come on,” You father tosses your way with a shake of his head, “I can handle a Manc-” He snorts and turns to Simon “-at least better than their players handle the ball.”
Simon flexes under your hands, and you physically can’t restrain him from shaking you off to stalk over to your dad. 
“Simon please,” You plead, you don’t even have to act, the way he grabs your father by the shirt collar you all but leap to wrap your arms around his waist and try to pull him back, “not again!”
“Again!” Your mother yelps as your father holds his hands up, eyes wide with fear.
“It was a joke,” Your father assures Simon.
“Fuckin’ better be.” Simon relents, releasing his hold on your father and turning those dark eyes to you.
“Look’t you grabbin’ me,” He grabs you before you can let him go, your muscles still vibrating with adrenaline. He holds your face with the same hand that had held your father, squeezes your cheeks with his fingers.“Real cute, thinkin’ you could ‘old me back.” Your stomach flips. “Taught you better’n that didn’ I? You want somethin’ you gotta ask, yeah?”
“I don’-” You try to shake yourself back to your senses and Simon squeezes you a little tighter, “Please let go.” Embarrassment settles hot in your stomach at the spark of… something in Simon’s eyes.
“There’s my girl,” He smiles, “Now give us a kiss love.”
You feel your stomach drop out, and you’re sure it shows on your face. Simon raises a brow. Your tongue feels too big in your dry mouth. You swallow and glance at your parents.
“I thought you said no PDA,” You try. This wasn’t in the brief.
“Just on the cheek then,” His smile is absolutely devilish, you wonder where he learned it, “Wouldn’t want ta embarrass you in front of your folks.” Your mother scoffs. Simon turns to glare at her and you rush a quick peck on his cheek just to get it over with.
His stubble is sharp where it pokes against your lips, but his skin is surprisingly soft. You almost hesitate pulling away. Your skin already feels hot with the humiliation of kissing a veritable stranger whose only goal is to antagonize your parents for the evening, so you don’t waste time with the action.
You’re saved by your aunt opening the front door with a loud, excited:
“Happy Christmas!”
Before she freezes in the doorway. Your cousins rush in, seemingly unaware of the tension and you take the opportunity to pull out of Simon’s grip.
“Is this a bad time?” Your aunt asks as tactfully as she can given the energy in the house.
“It’s a great time,” Simon answers for the crowd with a smile. Your mother throws an alarmed look your way and does her best to plaster on something less emotional for her sister.
“I thought you were gonna help with the presents,” Your uncle calls from behind your aunt, who immediately turns to help him get the boxes in. You see her vaguely gesture at the house through the crack between the door and the frame and wonder just what she’s trying to convey. 
This holiday is already off to a terrible start. Which is great. But you can’t shake the feeling that it’s going… worse than you’d initially thought it would.
“When are we eating?” One of your cousins asks, you turn to see the teen, Jack, staring at you. You suppose you’re the only adult that ever really gives any of them the time of day, makes sense he’d ask you.
“Uh,” you blink, trying to come up with a decent answer for him, “probably soon.”
“I wanna open presents,” One of the little ones whines.
“You gotta wait,” Jack tells him. 
“Ok!” Your aunt announces as she comes back inside, now holding gifts, “Looks like you’ve already started the party!”
“Haven’t even started drinking yet,” Simon assures her. Your uncle joins the fray, shuffling past you to set his gifts under the tree as well.
“You drink.” Your mother clarifies with a smile, she’s hiding the horror well.
“I’m the life of the party love,” He tosses your mom a wink and turns to look around. You assume for the liquor.
“What do you drink?” Your uncle asks, good natured as usual. That’ll change.
“Bourbon.” Simon hums, “But I’ll take a beer if that’s all ya got.”
“Sure there’s somethin’ around here somewhere.” Your uncle meanders over to your parent’s short liquor cabinet and starts rifling through the bottles. Your mother shoots you a look that practically begs you to stop him.
“Do you need something mom?” You ask, oblivious.
“It’s just a little early to start drinking, don't you think?” She asks, a leading question. You know what she’s trying to do.
“You sayin’ I can’t get a drink?” Simon asks.
“Let the man have a drink,” You uncle cajoles, “It’s a holiday!”
Your mother’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t comment on the glass your uncle pours for Simon, but she does retreat to the kitchen with your aunt in toe. You’re almost tempted to follow them and see what they’re saying. Maybe you could throw some fuel on the fire. Simon throws an arm around your shoulders before you can move, holding you against his side to keep you in place. You glance up at him, he doesn’t look at you. 
You tug your phone from your pocket for something to do, trying to look busy and uninterested in the chaos Simon is sowing, when it’s all you can think about. He manages a normal conversation with your little cousins, going through introductions like a regular person, even commenting on the shirt Jack is wearing. You glance at it and just know that was a fight with his mother. Looks like it’s based off some horror movie, blood dripping off a knife held aloft by a masked figure. Not very Christmas-y.
You can almost hear the argument that must have taken place when he’d put it on.
Simon must be smart enough to figure that out because he’s really hyping up the teen over the shirt. Talking about the movie and complaining about how his mom sounds like a bitch. Your cousin blinks at the swear before you see a grin split his face.
“Fuck yeah, is aunty letting us swear now?” Jack asks, too excited to contain it.
“The fuck is she the queen of England?” Simon laughs, turning to you, “Your mum’s not lettin’ ‘em swear?” You shrug.
“She says it isn’t ‘proper’.” Jack rolls his eyes.
“Fuck proper.” Simon snorts. He shoots you a look as he sips his drink. You’re sure Jack will be cussing the rest of the evening with Simon to back him up. Your mom’s gonna love that.
Your aunt comes out of the kitchen and grabs her husband to whisper in his ear. Your uncle glances at Simon and makes a confused face. One of the younger ones runs up to them and loudly asks:
“What’s fuck mean?” 
Simon averts his gaze and you feel his shoulders shake with restrained laughter. You have to hold it in yourself, the glare your aunt sends Simon’s way is too funny. The kid was bound to hear it from his brother eventually. Really, Simon is saving the teen from being grounded with that one.
Your mom comes sweeping into the living room just in time to save Simon from getting an earful. Your aunt’s glare transfers to her before she can fix her face. Your mother’s lips pucker, an unpleasant understanding that something is happening crossing her eyes. She ignores it, much like every other unpleasant thing you’ve witnessed with her, in favor of normalcy.
“Dinner is ready!” She announces.
“That was fast,” You blink, usually she spends more time milling about and waiting for people to finish a few cocktails.
“Well,” She smiles at Simon, “I thought I’d speed things up so nobody misses any other christmases.”
“Got nowhere to be.” He informs her.
“Oh I’m sure you’re mother would-”
“Mum’s dead.” Simon sniffs.
“Then your fath-”
“If the bastard was still alive I’d kill ‘im myself.” Simon smiles at her over the rim of his glass before knocking back the rest of the bourbon and pouring himself another two fingers, “You got me all night if I want.”
Your mothers lips pucker again, the slightest hint of distaste in her expression before she manages a smile.
“We’re glad to have you.” She offers. You expect she’ll still try to force you out early. “Dinner?”
“Bloody starvin’.” Simon grunts, pushing past her towards the kitchen.
Your uncle is already serving himself from the various pans laden with food. Your father isn’t far behind him, eyeing the roast like a man starved.
You grab one of the Christmas patterned plates and hold it out to Simon, letting him queue behind your father. He glances around and you watch his eyes land on your cousins hovering nearby.
“Adults serve first,” You whisper to Simon when he steps back from the line for food to let the kids cut in front. It’s a quiet motion that presses him into you, he glances back like he might give you an apology before he makes eye contact with your aunt and loops his arm around you instead. 
“What?” He asks loudly, “Your mum tryin’ ta starve the poor buggers or somethin’?” You blink at him. He raises a brow. “No heart under those tits, eh?”
Your aunt gasps and he gives her a once over. You keep your eyes on your little cousins as they happily load up their plates with turkey and mashed potatoes. One of the older boys smothers his whole plate in gravy and honestly, you can’t blame him.
“Can’t be jealous, ya clearly got the better ass.” Simon tells your aunt as you scooch around him to get your own plate. He catches you around the middle and pulls you back, curling over you. He tips your head back with a hand on your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to dimple the skin.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks. You barely hear him over the roll of butterflies in your stomach. Your cheeks blaze with heat, and you clench your thighs together tight at the way he glowers down at you.
“I’m gonna make you a plate,” You tell him, he pinches your cheek and lets you free.
“Good girl,” He tells you, “Got ‘er well trained don’t I?” He jokes to your aunt, who you can feel radiating anger behind you.
You don’t really know what he likes, but Simon is a big guy so you get him a bit of everything, loading up his plate like you do this every day. It’s probably too much food, but part of you sort of likes the idea that he’s eating what you “made” for him. You hand him the full plate and he smiles, you turn back to grab your own food --you must still be nervous from having his hand at your throat-- and he smacks your ass. You bite back the yelp that threatens to break free. The sharp sting of pain spreads through you like wildfire, blossoming over your skin even through your skirt.
You quickly pile food onto your plate, hoping your aunt takes your speedy exit as one of embarrassment and not one of- well a different sort of embarrassment.
You manage to squeeze into the seat next to Simon, feeling his thick thigh press against yours like a warm anchor. Your mother gives him a dirty look as he reaches to fool with one of the candles in the middle of the table. You’re sure she heard his loud announcement that she doesn’t care about her nephews. His other hand settles on your leg under the table and you stiffen. Thick callused fingers grip your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh with something you desperately want to call reassurance. He knows no one can see that, right?
You watch the rest of your family fill the table, your little cousins already picking at their food, stuffing salad leaves into their mouths and pretending not to lick the gravy off their fingers. You wait for everyone to take their seats before you pick up your fork and your aunt shoots you a look.
“I’d like to-” your aunt starts only to be cut off by your fake-boyfriend.
“I want ta make an announcement.” Simon tells the table loudly, the conversation goes dead, your mother’s eyes bore holes into you, begging for anything but an announcement. You think she might bend her fork with how tight she grips it watching Simon shove his chair back to drop to one knee. You clasp a hand over your mouth, doing your best to play the part of shocked girlfriend, despite having planned this. 
“Simon!” You squeal as he tugs a black ring box from his pocket.
“Lemme talk baby,” Simon hushes you and you shut your mouth quickly, “I know it’s only been a couple a months-” the look in your mother’s eyes could kill an elephant, “-but I’m mad fer ya, an’ I know birds like you get off market quick so if I wanna keep that ass to myself I bloody well better get ya tied down.” Your mother gasps.
“Shut ya gob, I’m tryin’ ta propose.” He snaps at her, and she leans back like she’s been struck. Simon turns back to you, and you feel a rush of heat drip between your legs at the look in his eyes. This guy should be on TV with how good an actor he is.
“Will you marry me?” He finally gets out and you nod.
“Of course I will!” You fling yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
His big hands find your waist and squeeze. You pull away to take the ring box and he nearly pulls you out of your chair, only to push you back into it as he kisses you.
Your eyes go wide and you struggle to keep your hands on him when all you want to do is lurch away. Not a good look on an excited and newly ringed up girlfriend.
But the way he kisses you makes your stomach churn. His lips cover yours and almost as quickly as you get used to the feeling his tongue is trying to force its way into your mouth. You rush to close your eyes only to feel his tongue, thankfully, retreat. And be replaced by his teeth, biting your lip hard enough to bruise, prying your lips apart to slip his tongue in and lick your teeth. 
Your head swims, your eyes rolling at the way his hands grope and squeeze you, tagging every soft scrap they can find while he attempts to devour you. He does something with his tongue, twists it against yours to tickle the roof of your mouth, and you make a noise without meaning to. It’s all you can do to remember to clumsily slide your lips against his. You’re not sure you make a pretty picture when he pulls away, his spit trailing off your slick, swollen, lips. You suppose this evening isn’t really about painting a pretty picture.
It makes you squirm to feel his big thumb swipe over your lower lip, dragging the poor thing down to see your teeth. 
A chill racks your body as his eyes follow the motion of his thumb.
Your father loudly clears his throat. Your mother looks mortified. Your little cousins are covering their eyes while the teen pointedly looks at his phone.
Simon rubs the ring on your finger, pressing the metal back and forth against your skin. When the fuck did he put that on you?
“I’d like to say Grace,” Your aunt tries to wrestle the evening back into familiar territory as Simon sets you back in your chair. 
Your family bows their heads and you smack your knee on the underside of the table as you jump, unprepared for how high Simon’s hand settles on your thigh. You don’t even hear whatever prayer your aunt is saying with the way the blood rushes in your ears at the wide splay of Simon’s fingers. So. Close. 
You settle your hand on his and try to push him back to safe ground.
Jesus this guy is strong. Pain in your-
“Everything okay over there?” Your uncle asks. You must have looked like you were struggling more than you thought you were. 
“Fine,” You tell him, even though things are decidedly not fine and Simon won’t move his hand, “Just fussing with the ring.”
“Oh yes,” Your aunt holds her hand out across the table, “let’s see it.”
You hesitate before taking your hand off Simon’s. He doesn’t move, seemingly settled with where he’s settled. You hold your hand out for her to grab, let her turn your hand this way and that. Simon had told you he’d grab a ring, so you haven’t actually seen it yet. It’s pretty. A nice pear cut diamond with a trinity of what looks like pearls on either side. You wonder where he got it, you’re just glad it looks less fake than costume jewelry usually does.
“How nice,” Your mother coos, it sounds even less sincere than her compliments usually do.
You’re thankful you don’t need to do much talking at dinner. Simon more than makes up for you. He talks at length about how “mint” your friends are --he’s never met them-- and how his mates are begging for a go with you. He explains to your teen cousin, at length, how his violent video games could be worse, after your aunt bemoans the fact he’s been playing war sims. He makes no move to censor himself, actually from the few conversations you’ve had with him, you think he’s swearing more than he usually does. He even manages to start an argument with your father about “taking the gloves off” during combat.
“Different once you’re in active combat,” He explains like he’s talking to your father, “You do what you have to, keepin’ your ‘ands clean isn’t exactly front of your mind.”
You glace across the table at Jack, the teen looks completely invested in whatever Simon is saying. You can almost hear the look your aunt has fixed you with, you’re sure you’ll get a call later about your fiance “encouraging him to get himself killed.” 
“Oh please,” Your father blusters, “if that were the case the royal service would be under investigation. We’d see it on the BBC: Special Air Service members torture civilians. What a load of horse-” Your mother coughs and your father shuts his mouth.
“Got plenty of men like me givin’ orders,” Simon digs into his pocket to pull his cigarettes, stopping with his teeth around the filter of one when your mother coughs loudly. He shoves them back into his pocket with a grumbled swear. “Like I told ya earlier, ‘s not the good men that come back.”
“You’re so cool,” Jack tells Simon with wide eyes. Your aunt smacks his arm with the back of her hand, reprimanding. Simon’s eyes narrow.
He watches your aunt the rest of dinner. The conversation drifts as plates are emptied. You attempt to stand to help clear the table, and Simon holds you in your chair. Your mother putters around the table with your aunt, you smile and thank them. You’re almost done. Then you can go home and wait for the flood of texts/calls from your mom.
You can just imagine the way she’ll try to convince you to break off your (fake)engagement. You’ll wait a few weeks before spinning up some story about Simon cheating on you. Your family will be so grateful Simon’s gone they won’t ask any questions.
“Does anyone want pudding or are we going straight to-”
“Presents!” Your youngest cousin cuts your mom off, rushing  to the tree as soon as his plate is cleared. Your aunt grabs him and brings him back to the table only for him to run over again. She manages to pull a gift from his little hands, and bring him screaming back to the table. You wince at the sharp sound, the fat tears rolling down the kid’s chubby cheeks, crying about opening presents. Your aunt reminds him shortly that there’s still dessert to get through. It barely makes a dent in the tears. The kid pulls at his mom’s grip, screaming and kicking. 
Simon’s hand on your thigh tippens its grip. 
You know, you know. It’s never fun sitting around with a kid throwing a tantrum, but you’re sure your aunt will handle it-
There’s a sharp crack as your aunt spanks the kid. Hard.
Simon shoots up from his seat.
Your little cousin’s tears turn to sniffles and a wobbly lip as his mom gives him a hissed warning. 
Your hands shake as Simon stalks around the table to grab your aunt’s hand.
“The one thing you’re not gonna fuckin’ do,” He tells her in a low warning tone, “is hit your fuckin’ kid in front of me.”
It’s so different from the anger he’d had with your father over football. You know that, that was acting, but this… It radiates off of Simon like a miasma, dark seething hatred, anger like you’ve never seen. Your aunt looks at him like she’s seen a ghost. Her eyes are wide and scared, her hand still holding your cousin’s arm squeezes tighter, like the child is her only lifeline. 
“Ow!” The kid whines, the sniffles starting again in full, “Mum that hurts.” 
Simon cocks his head, his own grip tightening.
“Let ‘im go,” Simon presses, his anger as cold as death, “Or I’ll break your arm.”
“Simon,” You don’t know what you’re hoping your voice will add to this, not even sure what you should do, all you know is that you brought Simon into this house which makes him your responsibility.
“He’s alright,” Your aunt tries to assure Simon, “aren’t you sweetie?”
“Mum!” Your cousin whines again. Your aunt lets go of his arm like it’s burned her.
“Now apologize.” Simon demands. Your aunt nods sharply and swallows.
“Mum’s sorry baby,” She directs the comment at your cousin but her eyes are fixed on Simon, watching him like a rabbit watches a wolf. “It was just a little spank.” You think the pleading justification makes it worse with the way Simon’s eye twitches. 
“I ever catch you hittin’ ‘im again-” Your aunt’s eyes dart to you, to the fake rock on your finger, “-and it won’t just be your arm I break.”
Your glance to your mother for- God you don’t even know, help? Maybe? She glares at you like this is your fault. Fair enough. Your uncle seems quicker on the uptake.
“Maybe we take Christmas to go,” He chimes in, “Grab the kid’s gifts, since they seem tired.”
Your mother grabs hold of this lifeline as quickly as she can wrap her head around it.
“Absolutely!” She hurries to the tree to start sorting out gifts, “Oh I didn’t realize they’d be so exhausted, we all know fits are just fits, right Simon?”
“I look like I’m throwin’ a fuckin’ fit?” Simon asks her, his voice still cold.
“You know I’m pretty tired too,” Your aunt agrees.
“I’m not.” Jack chimes in.
“Yes, you are.” His mom hisses.
“And it looks like snow,” Your uncle adds, “so we should go.”
You hardly get a word in before your cousins are rushed out the door, no hug or forced familiarity from your aunt as she and your uncle juggle presents and strapping kids into car seats.
Simon takes one of the armchairs in the living room amidst the chaos, dangling his glass with his fingers on the rim as he glowers at your aunt. Your attempt to help them gather presents is stopped by Simon pulling you down into his lap. You stiffen reflexively to try and leverage some of your weight off of him, and he pulls you to lean against his chest. 
Maybe it’s good you don’t say good-bye. You’re not sure anything you could say would sound sincere with the way you’re perched on your fake fiance. You’ll definitely be hearing about this later.
You’ve never seen anyone in your family leave that fast. Your mother must blame you for this social faux pas with the way she glares at you. She’s not even trying to hide it, seemingly having deemed Simon as unworthy of her usual polite routine. She stops just short of yelling at you in front of him. Must be too afraid of what he’ll do to her if he’s willing to break your aunt’s arm over her kid.
You’re not sure when you lost control of the evening, but you’re ready to go. Your aunt’s exit should be your exit too. You even open your mouth to tell your mother it’s been a lovely evening.
Simon beat you to it.
“Let’s open presents.” You’d almost call it an order with how edged his voice is.
“We don’t have any for you,” Your mother attempts, “it wouldn’t be fair to open them now.”
“Don’t need a present,” Simon assures her, “Bird’ll gimme somethin’ later.” Your mother’s eye twitches. Simon’s hand slides over your thigh, his thumb rubbing gently at the sensitive, clothed, skin. Your nerves must be on high alert to feel his touch so acutely. He gestures with his glass at the tree. “Go’an,” He orders again.
The tension in Simon’s form slowly seeps out of him as your parents shuffle presents out from under the tree. His body, which had previously seemed poised to leap at the slightest provocation, relaxes back against the chair as your mother hands you a present. She smiles at you warmly, almost pitying, when you thank her. Simon’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh, possessive in a way that feels too close to reality. 
“Oh wait,” You tell your mother as she pulls one of the gifts you brought from the pile. You slip from Simon’s lap, and for some reason he lets you, bent at the waist to point to a different box. His hand slides over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum and you have to stop the tremor in your voice as your blood rushes south. “That one first,” You smile, “otherwise this one won’t make sense.”
The normalcy of it is more welcome than you’d thought. Somehow your usual family Christmas doesn’t seem as tense or fraught with conversational landmines now that Simon’s intruded. If nothing else you suppose he’s given you that. It’s certainly easier talking to your parents when they keep casting nervous glances at Simon to make sure this is an appropriate line of conversation. 
Simon, for his part, does little except keep you in his lap as you tear into the paper wrapped boxes. Occasionally his hand moves from your thigh to squeeze your stomach, or your side, as if he’s checking that you’re still all there. It’s not exactly casual, and the heat that builds between your legs as he drags his callused fingers across your stomach makes you want to squirm back into his chest, just to try and escape the ticklish feeling.
You try to focus on the gifts, drumming up the appropriate amount of excitement to look grateful while all of your attention is on the spread of Simon’s fingers. His hand splays wide against you and you try to trace the outline of it, distract yourself from how big his hand is. 
But distracting yourself from the spread of his hand directs you towards the spread of his legs, to the firm muscle of his thick thighs, to the slight softness of his stomach when your back starts to hurt and you lean against him with less stiff of a spine. Your eyes drift to the window as your mother coos over the knitting supplies and class pass to her favorite craft store. It’s so dark out, the sun already disappeared behind the horizon and the streetlights are doing their best to shine even when the night dims them. You’re already tired.
Your phone buzzes and you check it with a glance.
It’s a weather alert.
You scramble off Simon’s lap only to be dragged back into it.
“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” He asks, his hands grip your sides, fingers just brushing the edge of your bra. You can’t deal with the way being pulled like this makes your head swim. Fuck, maybe he could just grab you off the street and- NO.
“Simon,” You push at his hands, “problem.” 
“No problem love,” He hums. Lips brush the shell of your ear and you stiffen as heat blooms over your cheeks, “‘Cept you gettin’ up oll the time.” “It’s snowing.” You insist, still pushing at his hands.
Your father looks at you with confusion and glances out the window. It’s hard to see when it’s so dark out. You’re suddenly hit with a grim understanding of why the street lamps seem so dim. Your dad walks to the front door and tugs it open only to be pushed by the gust of cold wind and snow that rushes into the house.
The wind is positively howling.
Your father muscles the door shut and your mother nervously clicks on the TV to check the weather. She doesn’t even help your dad brush all the snow off him, worrying her lip as her eyes fix to the screen. 
“Not gonna be able to drive home in that,” Your father grimaces. Your mother shoots him a look before skirting her eyes around you to watch Simon. You can almost feel his smile.
“You wouldn’t mind us stayin’ ‘ere would ya?”
You flip on the lights in your childhood bedroom. Simon looms behind you. Reasonably you understand why he insisted on staying, even why he insisted on sharing a room. As far as your parents know you’re happily engaged, and as far as you could tell there was a blizzard raging outside. Honestly you’ve never seen anything like it, and if you didn’t know any better you might have blamed Simon for it. 
You have never in your life been more aware of another person’s presence. 
“In you go love,” Simon tells you, pressing you forwards with a hand on the small of your back. You stumble into your room and turn in time to watch Simon close the door. He bends down to unlace his boots and you manage to kick off your shoes in the time it takes him to straighten again. Now that you’re alone you feel on edge. All the casual friendly airs that Simon had been putting on when you’d met him before have done nothing to prepare you for the weight of his full attention. You’re only too happy when he turns to survey the room.
“I can take the floor,” You inform him, already gathering the spare blankets and pillows your mom had set on your twin bed. 
“Sit down,” Simon orders, your ass hits the side of your mattress so fast you haven’t even registered the command before you’ve followed it, “You’re takin’ the bed.”
His tone leaves no room for argument. You suppose it could almost be called kind of him to give you the bed.
“Sorry,” You tell him quietly, mindful of your parents in the next room.
“What’re you actin’ sorry for,” He huffs, “Sweet bird like you doesn’t mind sharin’, does she? Besides,” He knocks your knees apart with a big booted foot, “I still gotta get paid.”
You stare up at him, confusion plain on your face. 
“I thought you just wanted the meal.”
“Meal’s not finished, is it?” He tells you, “Never got dessert.”
“Wha-”
“Take your fuckin’ pants off.” His tone is clipped, short, and deep. It sinks into your skin, prickling goosebumps everywhere he’d touched earlier. Which feels like it must have been, well, everywhere. 
You should say “no.” Literally nothing about this man has given you any indication that he’s someone you should want to get undressed for, and he’s spent the better part of the day tormenting your family. Granted you did ask him to do that, and honestly his efforts do land squarely in the “pros” category, but he’s a little too good at playing a dirt-bag. And this? This just seals the deal on that particular observation.
So you should say “no.”
But the way his big hands had grabbed you, the way his tongue had wound against yours, the way he looks down at you now, hungry, makes you desperately want to do whatever he asks you to. 
“My parents are in the next room,” You whisper, glancing back at the wall that separates the two rooms.
“Who gives a shit?” Simon snorts, “Don’t ‘appy couples celebrate their engagement?” Your eyes flick down to his trousers, the implications aren’t lost on you. He must catch you looking because his hand grabs your hair and tips your head back. “Trust me birdy, I’m tryin’ ta be nice, but if ya wanna choke on it…”
You race to get your trousers open, fingers shaking as you push them down. You don’t need to see his cock to make some leaps of logic that it’s just as big as the rest of him, and if he’s offering you the choice between his mouth on you, and your mouth on him-
Simon leans forward and unceremoniously shoves his hand into your panties, your trousers barely down your thighs. Your train of thought comes to a full halt as big fingers stroke through your folds.
“Atta girl,” He hums, “much ‘appier like this, aren’t ya?” He tugs his fingers free, spreads them in front of your face with a pitying pout at the way your slick glistens on his skin. “Least your cunt knows what’s good for it.”
He pushes your head back, tossing it towards the bed as he releases your hair. Your back hits the mattress and you have to work to keep from hitting your head on the wall. Simon’s fingers find the hem of your panties and drag them down your thighs, catching your trousers to discard the lot on the floor. 
You snap your legs shut against the chill of the room and he growls. 
“None of that now,” He advises, prying your legs apart. His fingers dig into the soft meat of your thighs, his gaze fixed on the wet mess between them. The way he stands over you makes him feel massive, makes the way he leans over you feel looming. 
His hands slide over your ticklish inner thighs and you have to stifle the giggle that threatens to spill from you. You doubt Simon would appreciate your laughter, might even think you’re laughing at him. Again your eyes dart to the hard length straining against his trousers as his thumbs spread your folds.
“Pretty,” He says it so plainly, casually, like he’s judging a toy. It blazes through you, lighting up your nerves and making you shiver. Any other protests you might have had die on your tongue as Simon drops to his knees. 
Seeing him between your legs makes your stomach clench, makes your cunt pulse with desire. One of his thumbs rubs up and down the seam of your cunt while the other keeps you half-spread. He presses his thumb firmly against your clit, the pressure makes your hips squirm, makes you ache for more stimulation. The pressure stops, and his thumb traces its way back to holding you open.
He spits.
You flinch when it hits your spread folds, body vibrating with embarrassed heat as it slides over you. Simon’s eyes follow it the whole way down, and his tongue drags it back up.
Simon’s tongue cards through your folds, warm and wet, and he groans low in his throat. It’s positively sinful the way he pulls his tongue slow and flat over you, like he’s trying to savor the taste. You snap your hand over your mouth, stifling the soft whimper that the attention brings to your lips. 
Simon’s eyes flick to your face and he makes a frustrated noise. You feel his teeth touch your skin just before he bites you. You yelp at the sharp pain, your hand shooting from your mouth to his head in an attempt to push him away. Simon tips his head back to bite at the meat of your palm, his teeth digging into the firm flesh before his tongue licks over it. There’s a sharpness to his teeth, chipped edges that scrape at your skin and ache before he soothes them. 
You don’t want him to bite you again.
You don’t think you do.
Do you?
His tongue rolls over your palm, wetting the dry skin with spit and slick. His mouth has a heady sheen to it that makes you want to drag your tongue over his lips, to clean up the light prickle of his beard with your own mouth.
“No sense lettin’ you breath if you’re not gonna scream for me,” Simon informs you. Your face has never felt hotter than when his teeth scrape down your palm to tease your pulse. You’re too enraptured by the way he moves to let spit drip off his tongue and onto your clit to really register what he said.
His tongue rubs against your clit, working the firm bud back and forth before letting his tongue roll over it. Each hot swipe sends a new shudder of heat and pleasure through your body. You whimper, your wet hand tangling its fingers in his short cropped hair just to feel him shake his head like a dog. 
It’s filthy the way he drags his lips over your folds, sucking and slurping at you like he’s trying to be loud. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, prickly and sharp next to the warm wet mouth that sucks at your clit. His tongue keeps twisting over it, keeping it sensitive and tingling before he’s ducking down to fuck the slick muscle into your hole. Simon moves his tongue against the entrance to your cunt like he’s hoping to stretch out the hole with it, circling around the delicate outer edge before pressing inside, over and over until your brain feels like it’ll melt out of your ears. 
Then that wet heat is dragged up to your clit, circled and sucked, licked in broad strokes that wiggle against you just so he can hear the way your voice pitches up in pleasure.
He turns his head to wipe his mouth against your thigh, lips parting to lick a long stripe before he sinks his teeth into the meat of it and sucks. Your own lips close tight around the whimper the dull pain of it pulls from you. 
He muscles your leg up against his shoulder, his arm moving to find a comfortable angle as he hooks his thumb in your fluttering cunt. You blink at the intrusion, the thick digit may as well be two of your own fingers the way he pulls at your entrance and stretches you open. That isn’t what steals your focus from his mouth though, what tugs at you is the way his other thick fingers rub over your ass, spreading your slick and attempting to soften the hole into something pliant.
He’s grabbed your hips to roll you onto your stomach before you can raise a protest to the searching fingers, big strong hands dragging your hips up so your knees settle on the edge of the bed as he stands. It forces your face into the quilts, muffling the noise of surprise that the motion shakes out of you. Again you find protests on your lips, you hadn’t even come, and again they’re snuffed by his fingers.
Two of them push into your cunt and you moan low in your throat at the burning stretch that they provide. Your hips rock back into them, your stomach fluttering with need as more heat courses through you. His fingers crook and he thrusts them down into your cunt, hitting some throbbing tightness that makes you cry out.
Simon makes a low cooing noise in the back of his throat and his fingers stroke against your walls. You turn your head to rest your cheek against the bed, your lips pouting and your lashes fluttering as he gives you just long enough to suck in a breath before his fingers are pressing against that soft aching spot again. Your eyes roll, your breath caught tight in your throat at the thrum of pleasure that tightens like burning heat in your aching cunt.
His fingers pump faster and faster into your cunt, and you cry out, your hips wiggling and your fingers gripping at the quilt. The wet squelching noise that comes from his fingers fucking into you makes an embarrassed heat rush over your skin, and you burry your face in the blankets just to gasp out your moans. Your mouth hangs open, drool dripping off your tongue as your breath stops in your throat. The tight heat between your legs feels like it’s winding its way all the way up through your diaphragm. Your muscles are tensed so tight you think you might snap, and you let out a low moan as your breath finally shakes free. You suck in air between sobs, each punch of his fingers into your cunt pushing a new noise free of your lips.
The wet noises just get wetter.
And then something inside you snaps. Your stomach clenches tight and your cunt follows, spasming around Simon’s fingers as they pump in and out of you. Stars dance across your vision and you bite the quilts to stop from screaming. Something trickles out of you and he rewards your orgasm with a throaty chuckle.
He pulls his fingers from you and rubs soaked fingers over your ass before he’s trying to push one inside.
“Been eyein’ this ass all night.” He hums.
The firm pressure hurts the harder he presses, and you whimper out a sniffled reproach to the feeling, a soft “hurts” that you’re sure will fall on deaf ears. Simon stops, pulls his finger back and slicks it in your cunt again, the feeling of his fingers twisting against your soft spot making your eyes roll. It hurts, an overworked burn that makes you whimper for an entirely different reason.
He pulls his thick fingers from your cunt and you feel the tip of one teasing your ass again. It’s barely a pressure when his finger tries your ass again, and he lets out a slow breath as you’re filled.
“Just sunk right in,” He tells you, pumping his finger in and out, the drag of heat has your lashes fluttering, your head spinning at the deep pressure that makes your cunt clench, “Isn’t that pretty.”
His thumb catches your cunt again, tugging at the slick hole. The click of his belt and rustle of fabric clues you in to what comes next.
That doesn’t mean you’re prepared for how big his cock feels nudging at your entrance. A chill runs over your skin, goosebumps raising to meet the air where your jumper has slid down your back. The blunt head of his cock presses against your hole, and you arch your back into the feeling, desperate to find the right angle for it to slip in. 
Simon doesn’t seem as eager. He pushes into you slowly, lets you feel the way you burn and stretch around him, lets you feel every centimeter of that big cock. You feel tight, even as wet as you are, you feel like you’re squeezing the life out of him. Your cunt is hot and tingling, and your clit throbs with the need to be touched. 
You feel his hips press against your ass, and he grinds into you. Another wave of goosebumps rushes over you at the deep ache he pushes into. You squeeze your eyes shut just to stop the way they keep trying to roll back in your head.
Simon pulls back, and you can almost feel the drag of his head against your walls. He grinds the tip against the soft spot near your entrance before punching his cock back into you. You make a choked noise before your throat seems to open and a flood of moans and pleas flows from you. Each push of his cock into you pitches your voice up and you moan in desperate panting sounds.
You ache. You’ve never felt so full. He hasn’t taken his finger from your ass, instead he presses it down to try and feel his own cock stretching out your walls. You shove a hand between your legs to try and stroke your clit only to feel the stretch of your skin around his fat cock. You’re so wet that your fingers slip over your folds, uncoordinated, and you can’t get a good angle. You open your mouth but can’t find the words to ask for what you need.
One of his thrusts pushes you up the bed and your hand moves immediately to push against the wall with a ‘thump.’ 
“Simon,” You whine, “Simon.”
His free hand pets up your spine, bunching your jumper up under your armpits to unhook your bra, before finding its way to your hair. He curls his fingers and finds a tight grip near your scalp. The bite of pain makes you want to push back into him. The deep pressure, the slight sting, from your ass makes your body stutter, your brain crashing into itself.
Oh God.
“Not a thought in that pretty little ‘ead is there?” He asks, the fingers gripping your hair tight pull your head back, you moan your pleasure for him as he gives a hard thrust into you, your bleary eyes opened just enough to focus on the white wall. “Course not,” Simon grunts, a huff of laughter edging his voice, “Wouldn't've responded to my ad if there was.” 
You reach back to claw at his thigh and find it still, painfully, clothed. A burst of humiliation shoots through you at the thought that Simon hasn’t even bothered to get undressed. 
“Stupid thing, really could’ve just grabbed ya off the street.” He mumbles, there’s a touch of fondness to his voice, a smile that doesn’t feel appropriate for the way he fucks into you. Like he’s trying to teach you a lesson.
The only thing you’re learning is that Simon’s cock hits something deep and needy inside of you. The finger in your ass starts to pull out and you scream. Simon groans as you tighten around him, your cunt desperate to keep his cock inside. You’re buzzing with your orgasm, settled right at the edge with nothing to push you over the edge. There’s too much stimulation. His cock pistoning into you and his finger starting to tug at your ass. You’re still sore from his fingers but you can’t stop yourself from clenching tight around him.
“Mad fer it,” Simon chuckles, “tell me what ya need bird.”
“Clit- clit,” You stutter out, still barely able to keep the words straight in your head. 
“Louder love,” He teases, “don’t think I heard ya.”
“Please,” You sob, your moans still tearing from your chest on each thrust, “touch my clit.”
He drops your head back down onto the bed, and you muffle your noise with the quilt clenched between your teeth. His finger pulls from your ass and you scream your pleasure into the bed. It’s so hot, your ass burning with something that isn’t entirely painful. It just makes your clit pulse harder. 
Simon’s fingers find their way between your legs and he pinches your clit between them. One roll of the tight bud between them has your legs shaking. The second has tears brimming at your lash line and your mouth hanging open as you flutter and drip on Simon’s cock. You tense and release around him, your orgasm crashing into you like a train. Waves of it rush through you, shaking your muscles loose until you’re laid like a doll against the bed. Your skin is burning and you ache,
And Simon keeps fucking you.
The smack of his hips against yours fills the room, his breath heavy and his fingers now tight on your waist. You push back into his thrusts and it makes stars dance across your vision. That deep aching part of you makes everything draw tight again. 
Simon’s thrusts grow quicker, rougher, his fingers grip you so tight it hurts. You scream for him again, his hard thrusts pushing you to the edge a third time. The blistering heat of his come hits your overworked cunt and you moan. 
“Too much,” You whine. Everything is sore when he pulls out. You don’t think you can move.
Your knees slip off the edge of the bed and you just lay there.
Simon rolls you back onto your back, and manhandles you into laying on the bed properly. 
You sit up just enough to tug your jumper off and toss your bra to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Simon ditches his shirt and you sleepily take in the cut musculature of his chest as he wanders to turn off the light.
You pass out before he ever gets his pants off.
*
Your parents have already gathered the presents from last night by the front door when you wander downstairs in the morning. Your father doesn’t look at you, but your mother positively glowers. You try not to think about how loud you’d been last night.
Simon’s had his hands on you since you woke up. His fingers splay wide on the small of your back, as your parents attempt to rush you out the door. 
You’re settled in Simon’s car, driving down the street when you finally let the laughter take over. You giggle and snort, pressing your fingers against your mouth to try and stem the flow of them. But really, what can you do? Despite being forced to spend the night putting a dent in your plans it’s worked out perfectly. Your parents won’t be asking about you getting a boyfriend any time soon.
If you’re lucky your mom will never ask you about your relationship status again, even when you “break up” with Simon.
You’re still giggling, glowing with happiness at a successfully executed plan, when you try to pull the ring off your finger.
Something sharp digs into your skin and you yelp in pain. 
“What the fuck?” You question, whimpering when you pull harder and it only sends the sharp bit further into your skin. You raise your hand to look at the ring, and find a sharp tooth just under the diamond, clearly a feature not a bug. Still you glance at Simon. “I think this ring is defective,” You tell him, “It keeps stabbing me.”
Simon hums, turning right down a street. 
“Then stop tryin’ ta take it off.” He advises. You twist the ring around your finger, trying to find  a way to work it off.
“I can’t get it off,” You grunt in annoyance.
“Not suppose ta,” Simon tells you plainly, taking another turn, “That’s how bein’ engaged works.”
Something squirms in your stomach.
“We’re not engaged.” You remind him.
“Wearing my ring,” He reminds you, like he’s explaining it to a child, “said ‘yes’ to my proposal-” A smile splits his face, predatory in a way that makes you press your legs together, “-probably still buzzin’ for my cock too. Sounds engaged to me.”
You balk, your mouth hung open as you gape at him. Is he insane?
Simon doesn’t even look at you, just reaches to the side and presses against the underside of your chin with gentle, firm fingers, closing your mouth. Then he leans past you to open the glove compartment and tug a crumple of papers out onto your lap.
“If ya get bored you can look over those.” He tells you, flicking on his signal to hop on the highway.
You glance down at the mess of papers settled on your thighs, a mass of text and fine print that your eyes can’t focus on because they’re so shaken by the two poised at the top:
“Marriage License.”
divider by @/saradika-graphics
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moonsgemini · 2 months ago
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nobody knows - rafe cameron
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summary: a secret relationship between the kook king the sweet innocent kook & bathroom sex
warnings: 18+, cursing, reader being jealous, alcohol, SMUT, slight choking, semi public sex, pinv
an: hiiii hope y’all enjoy <3 this is a lil shorter than my usual stuff. I need drew starkey bad !! Might turn this into it’s own lil universe
-
This party was going to kill you. The scene in front of you calling for you to do something irrational. It was almost as if he wanted you to accidentally spill wine on Lindsey’s head.
The way her hand constantly found a place on his bicep has you gripping your glass a little tighter. The friendly smile on Rafe’s lips not helping ease your jealousy. Neither was the way he kept leaning down so he could hear her better, as if they were at a rave. It was a fairly small party for crying out loud there was no need for that.
If you had super powers the entire back yard would be lit up in flames with the way you were glaring at the pair. Of course he also wore that shirt you loved on him. The one you had mentioned on multiple occasions that it was your favorite.
You wished you could go over there and yank him down by the collar and smush your lips against his. Let everyone know that it’s your name he’s moaning at night and his lips and body that have your coming undone almost every night.
You wished everyone knew exactly what was going on between the two of you. Then you wouldn’t have to disguise your jealousy as a head ache. You knew it was because of you that the two of you snuck around but you’re starting to want things to change. You couldn’t stand the sight of your man giving another woman attention.
“Garrett is such a dick I can’t believe I didn’t dump him sooner,” Your friend Nessa mumbled.
You hummed and nodded in agreement while finishing off the last of your wine. Not really paying attention to what your friend was saying.
“You’ve been quiet today. More than usual, all good?” Nessa asked.
You nodded, “Yeah just have a head ache again.”
“Then lets get you another glass, being drunk will help with that,” Nessa grabbed your hand. She led you back over to the small cocktail bar that was set up which was right past Rafe and Lindsey.
As the pair of you passed them you pretended not to see Rafe. Obviously Rafe’s eyes followed you, not really paying attention to whatever the girl in front of him had been yapping about.
He was trying this new thing where he wasn’t going to be an asshole to people. Unless they deserved it obviously, but it was really fucking hard when all he wanted to do was talk to you. The old him would have just ditched her mid sentence but that’s not who he wanted to be.
He watched as you poured yourself some more wine, your friend going on about something as you nodded along. His pretty girl always being the best listener.
After a minute you said something to your friend before walking into the house. After a few seconds Rafe said something about going to the bathroom and left the babbling blonde behind. He didn’t care he wanted to find you.
When he stepped inside he saw your half empty wine glass on the kitchen counter. He walked down the hall to the guest bathroom and knocked.
“I’ll be out in a minute Ness!” You shouted from behind the door.
“It’s Rafe,” he said.
The locked clicked and the door opened to reveal your pretty frame. You had chosen to wear that dress he loves in the color he loves on you. He wasn’t the only one who chose what they’re wearing for a specific reason. You poked your head out and looked both ways before tugging him inside by the collar of his shirt. He chuckled at your antics
“Don’t you think it looks more suspicious if we’re in here together?” He smirked with a raised brow. In all honesty he didn’t really give a fuck if people saw you two together but he knows you aren’t ready.
You rolled your eyes, “It’s not like you were flirting it up out there with Lindsey.”
His smirk widened at the realization that you were jealous. He liked how around everyone you were always sweet and polite, sometimes even a little timid. But with him it was a different story. He loved the way you talked back to him and rolled your eyes at him. He loved the dirty things that sweet innocent mouth said to him when he was relentlessly fucking you.
“You jealous baby?” He stepped forward so the small of your back hit the counter.
Your scowl deepened as you crossed your arms, “No.”
He reach up stroked your cheek gently. His eyes going down to your lips, “You being a tough girl now. Come on baby you know she doesn’t have anything on you.”
Your scowl softened, “Well it doesn’t matter because it’s not like she knows that.”
Rafe leaned forward and kissed your cheek then your jaw and continued his way down to your pulse point, “I’ll let her know, we can let everyone know princess. I can fuck you right here right now.”
You gasped at his words and at the scrape of his teeth on the sensitive skin of your neck, “Rafe,” you practically moaned.
“Doesn’t sound like you’re too opposed to that,” His finger slipped under your dresses strap and pulled it down. His lips kissing the newly exposed skin as he went down to your chest, “Make you scream my name as I bend you over.”
You wanted to talk back to him but you couldn’t as your eyes fluttered shut. His hands had moved down your waist and to your thighs. Slowly dragging his fingertips up them until he plucked at your stringy underwear letting it snap back against your skin. He made you such an incoherent mess and you loved it.
With everything in you you mustered back a reply, “You sure you want Lindsey to hear.”
He chuckled against the top of your breasts that were exposed. His fingers now pressing against your wet clothed cunt.
“It seems like you want her to hear baby,” He pressed his fingers against your clit and rubbed soft circles, “look at how wet you are huh. My dirty girl.”
A whimper escaped your lips at the sensation. His fingers slipped under your tiny panties and he slid them through your sopping cunt and groaned against your neck, “God I love how you feel.”
You tugged his face up to meet your desperate eyes as you pulled him in for a kiss. You both moaned at the feeling. You loved when Rafe fucked you but you loved kissing him even more. His fingers picked up the pace a little against your throbbing clit. You could feel your wetness dripping down your legs.
“Please let me fuck you right here baby,” He mumbled against your lips, “I’ll do it so good. I’ll make you cum all over my cock.”
That whole being more nice thing Rafe was working on never applied to you. You were probably the only person on the island who had ever heard the kook king say please and thank you. Sometimes he even practically begged to fuck you or eat you out. You lived for it. It made your skin tingle and your tummy flutter.
You nodded your head, “Yes Rafey.”
He pulled his fingers away from you and practically shoved them into your mouth. You loved it though, tasting yourself on his long thick fingers. Your tongue licking them clean. He bit his lip and groaned with hooded eyes. Rafe was utterly obsessed with you.
He pulled his fingers out with a pop and leaned in capturing your mouth in his in another searing kiss. It was sloppy and made your head spin. He pulled away spinning you around. Your hands landed on the counter to steady yourself as he hiked your dress up to your waist.
Rafe gave your ass a firm squeeze and took a few seconds to admire you on this position. He loved that he could still see your pretty face in the mirror, he could see just how fucked you were for him. Your swollen lips, hooded eyes, and messy hair all because of him. It made his heart beat faster and his ego grow. He loves that no one else has known you in this way until he came around.
You watched as he began to undo his pants and pull his thick cock out. You whimpered at the sight of him stroking himself a few times. Grabbing the tiny string of your panties he pulled it to the side before lining himself up with you.
“You’re a fucking dream,” He groaned as he slipped his tip in. The warm wetness of your pussy making him throw his head back. Slowly he slotted himself in you. The feeling of you clenching around him already getting him so close.
“Fuck you’re coming home with me,” He groaned as he began moving in and out.
You nodded with hazy lust filled eyes. You’d do anything he asked of you. The feeling of him stretching you out was out of this world. You didn’t understand how he was always able to hit that spot that had your back arching and mouth forming into an o.
He fucked you as quietly as he could. Rafe didn’t give a fuck if people heard but he knew you did. It’s not like you were embarrassed of Rafe and he knew that. It would just make things complicated if people knew. There’d be constant prying and knit picking at everything you two did and how you acted.
“Oh Rafe,” you mumbled standing up so your back was against his chest. He groaned and wrapped one of his hands around your throat. Your head fell back against his shoulder.
Rafe’s other hand found it’s way to your chest. He pinched one of your nipples and squeezed your breast. He did the same thing to the other one before sliding down your stomach and to your clit. He rubbed circles as he continued to thrust into you.
He moved the hand that was around your throat to hold your jaw. Tugging your head down to look in the mirror.
“You see that baby, He nodded towards your reflection, “see how good you look when I’m inside you. My girl takes me so damn well.”
“I-I mmmph oh Rafe,” you mumbled incoherently but he knew what you were trying to say. He could tell you were close by the way you tightened around him and the way you dripping down him.
“I know,” He groaned, “I’m there too.” A loud moan began escaping you but rafe moved his hand up quickly to cover your mouth.
“Shit look at you, no one will ever compare. Fuck I’m all yours,” He grunted.
Your moans were muffled by his big hand as you came. He wasn’t farm behind as he buried his face in your neck as he came inside you.
“Well we’ve never done that before,” you giggled.
He huffed a laugh, “I’m pretty sure we’ve done that plenty of times before.”
You shook your head, “We’ve never done it in a bathroom at a party.”
He smirked as he pulled out of you and adjusting your clothes for you. He gave your ass a gentle slap, “I should make you jealous more often.”
You rolled your eyes and turned around to face him, “So what if I was jealous.”
He kissed you, “You have nothing to be jealous of. I’m yours.”
You smiled softly as your heart swelled, “Rafe maybe we should tell people.”
His eyes widened slightly, “Really?”
You couldn’t help but laugh at his excitement, “mhmm I want to go on dates here in town. I want to be the one who has your attention all night and when I get too drunk you drive me home.”
He smiled, “Sounds perfect.”
After fixing yourselves to look presentable again you opened the door and led Rafe out not really thinking. But before you could even step through the doorway you were face to face with Lindsey who had a scowl on her face.
“Finally,” she rolled her eyes but then she saw the person standing behind you, “oh that’s where you disappeared to?” that scowl never leaving her.
Rafe nodded with a smirk, “My girl needed me.”
You blushed as you stepped past her with Rafe’s hand in yours with smiles plastered on both your faces.
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iniquitousyearning · 4 months ago
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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER
october 4th. mattheo - virginity loss / corruption kink.
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PART TWO | kinktober masterlist. | 2024.
summary: pls read part one first for a lil buildup. also. im laughing at myself bc there was a perfectly good bed…right there…
warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, virginity loss, PIV, so much dirty talk, so much patience from mattheo, (more of a realistic virginity loss bc it’s not always easy), praise!!!!, slight degradation, fingering, multiorgasm, handjob, best friends lil sister trope.
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Mattheo Riddle was so accustomed to this. The pulse of adrenaline in the dead of night, the quiet hum of anticipation stretching every second longer than it needed to be. You weren't naive to that, not to him, nor the danger he carried so effortlessly in his stride. He wore it like a second skin.
But you—you were not accustomed to it. Not to any of this.
So when you pushed open the door to the room of requirement a little over ten-minutes later, you hadn't been sure what you were expecting to find. Something darker, maybe. More foreboding. But when the room revealed itself before you—silent, draped in soft moonlight that pooled over the bed with a window wide and open, spilling that pale silver fog across the floor—you almost laughed.
Too perfect. Too on the nose, like the castle itself had been watching you both for months and had decided this was the moment it would indulge you.
"You're late." Mattheo's voice cut through the quiet.
His back was to you, suit jacket discarded on an old oak desk against the wall, dark curls falling just above his collar as he stood by the window, eyes fixed on the lake. The moonlight made the ripples dance, just like the tension in the room.
You took a step toward him, silent.
He turned, finally. His eyes met yours and you saw it—the hesitation, the way his gaze moved over you, slow, cautious. He took in the way the light draped itself over your shoulders, moving lower—and it was as if for the first time, he allowed himself to see you fully, all the details he had so tried to ignore, now right in front of him. He drank them in.
You gave him a small, nervous smile, hoping it would ease the weight of his stare. "I didn't realize you were the type to keep track of time."
He moved closer, but not close enough. Not yet. His breath was tight, chest rising and falling too fast. The space between you felt like a chasm, though it was barely there at all.
"You've a lot to learn, little girl," he teased, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though it did nothing to mask the conflict in his eyes. It was meant to disarm you, but it only made the air heavier. His jaw tightened. "You're sure about this?"
"Quite sure," you breathed, stepping closer, close enough to admire the sharp line of his jaw, the soft stubble. "You're the one who's hesitating."
"I'm not hesitating," he muttered, though the roughness in his voice betrayed him. He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this with you. His best friend's little sister. He wanted to give you every chance to stop this, to walk away. "Just trying not to rush this—rush you."
You let out a small huff, your hand moving up to find his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Mattheo Riddle was nervous.
"You've been making me wait for months," you whispered. "I don't think a little rushing would hurt."
He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on your hand as it trailed over his chest, lower, teasing. Every touch was a flame against his skin, every breath between you a match struck in the dark. He wanted you, more than anything, but the weight of it—the wrongness, the danger—clawed at his conscience.
His hand caught your wrist, intending to stop you, but his fingers lingered against your skin. Frozen.
"We shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, the words thick in his throat. "Your first time should be—"
"My choice," you interrupted, pressing closer, your body flush against his, your lips brushing his jaw as your hand slid lower, teasing the edge of his belt. "My virginity is mine to give, Mattheo. And I want to give it to you."
He shuddered, your words settling, sinking into the dark space that held you both captive. His hand found your hip, the other threading through your hair, gently tugging your head back to expose the soft skin of your neck.
"You’re not thinking straight," he rasped. "You'll regret this..."
But even as he said it, his hands tightened, pulling you impossibly closer.
"I'll regret nothing." Your fingers slipped lower, grazing his crotch, moving with nothing but instinct and need. Biting your lip, you felt the outline of him, hard and aching under your palm, and squeezed—he grunted, snapping his hips, and you throbbed. "Shit, Mattheo..."
"You are—fuck..." Mattheo's voice was a ragged breath, the words drawn out like he'd been holding them back for months. "...such a little tease."
You let go as quickly as you'd squeezed, and he growled against your skin, fingers tightening in your hair. Your hands found his face, pulling him in, crushing your lips to his. You moved with intent, pushing him back until his thighs hit the edge of the desk, and he groaned again—this low, guttural sound that sent a thrill through you.
You smirked into the kiss, tasting his frustration, savouring the way his defences cracked open. When you pulled back, his chest was heaving, lips swollen, eyes dark with want.
"I learned from the best," you whispered, teasing as your fingers slid down, finding the buckle of his belt. He watched you, every breath uneven, as you worked at the latch, pulling the leather free. "You've had months of fun tormenting me," you continued, moving to the button, the zipper. "Kissing me, only to say it was a mistake. Grabbing my ass every chance you could. Talking sweet when my brother wasn't looking..." your smirk deepened, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "...it's my turn now."
His pants sagged around his hips as you undid them and he cursed under his breath—his brain was struggling to catch up, like he couldn't believe the sudden shift, couldn't quite fathom the boldness with which you undid him.
Until—his hands were on you, spinning you around, your back hitting the desk with a thud.
"You think you're in control here?" His fingers slid up your hips, dragging your dress along with them, baring your skin to the cool air. "You think you have any goddamn idea what you're doing?"
You shuddered—you'd never seen him like this before—there was something feral in the way he moved, now, something sharp in the way his hands worked. His thumbs hooked around your panties and in one swift motion, they were gone—torn down your thighs before he urged you back onto the desk, parting your legs with his torso.
You were breathless, chest heaving, pulse thrumming wildly. His presence consumed the room, and for a moment, it was all you could focus on—the intensity of him, the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes.
You stared up at him, mind empty, until—
Smack.
His palm came down on your inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of sensation straight to your cunt. Your skin stung from the contact, but that wasn't the part that made you gasp. It was the heat, the way it surged through your veins, flooding your abdomen in a slow, aching pulse. You liked that.
"I asked you a question." His lips brushed against your ear, breath warm as he leaned in. "Two, actually."
You couldn't think, mind swimming—the press of his body, the rough timber of his voice, the weight of his hands as his fingers teased, climbing higher, brushing closer to the ache between your thighs. You sucked in a breath, trying to recall what he'd asked, trying to focus anything but the fire he was lighting in you—
But then, his fingers slipped further, closer, just barely brushing your slit, and your hips jerked involuntarily, chasing that touch.
"No—I don’t—“ the shame in the answer barely mattered. His fingers were so close, so close. "Gods—I just know I want you—"
"That's all you think about, isn't it?" He smirked, lips falling to your neck, tongue tracing the places he knew would wreck you, each soft, wet press making you whimper despite yourself. "You don't care about anything else..." his fingers slipped lower, dipping between your folds—and you cried out, shameless, the sensation unlike any other you'd ever felt. "…not the consequences, not the risk...you just want me…”
Your nails dug into his back and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, wetting his fingers in your arousal before gliding back up to your clit and tracing over it.
"Oh—Gods—" you whinged, moaning into his shoulder.
Mattheo’s hands were experienced—that much was certain. Those fingers knew exactly how to move, precisely how to trace light, delicate circles over your clit that made you twitch, squirm— nerves stripped as you took in the new sensation. It wracked every inch of you, and you could feel him savouring your helplessness, drawing out every ounce of tension that had been building between you for months.
“You’re soaked.” You could hear the disbelief in his voice. “...filthy little thing for me, aren't you?"
"Gods, Mattheo, yes—" your eyes rolled, thighs twitching against his hand. "I am—ohh—"
"Yeah?" His tongue traced a slow, wet path up the side of your neck, teeth dragging over your pulse. "You like this?"
His words were enough to make you want to scream, but no sound formed—just a low, broken moan that spilled from your throat, raw and shameless.
"Answer me," he murmured. "You ever orgasm from this before? Hm?"
"No—" your voice choked, trembling as you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to look at him, something like shame pooling in your stomach. "Oh, fuck—"
"No, what?" His fingers pressed harder, circles growing faster, more insistent, and his voice—Christ, his voice— "I asked you two questions, little slut. Keep up. You wanted this."
"Yes—mmf—I like it—" you whined, the words a desperate spill from your lips, too flustered to form anything coherent. "And no—Gods—you're the first to...to touch me like this..."
He figured as much but the admission tore through him nonetheless, his teeth sinking into your shoulder with a groan—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark, a bruise, a reminder. His hand dipped lower, a finger pushing inside you without warning, pressing deep into your slick heat, and you cried out, your body tightening, pulsing around him, vision swimming.
"And this?" His voice was a smirk against your skin. "You let anyone else inside you like this?"
You knew he already knew the answer. You both did. He was reveling in it—the way he had you, trembling, helpless. You'd never heard him like this, never heard him so crass, so unfiltered, and the way he spoke made your whole body flush with heat.
"No." The word was a strangled moan, barely a breath. "Gods—Mattheo—you already knew that—"
He crooked his finger inside you, and your back arched, the stretch unfamiliar yet mindnumbing, his thumb working your clit. You felt teeth nipping at your earlobe, a hum into your eardrum—his body thrumming with the satisfaction of finally, finally letting himself have you where he wanted.
"Perhaps I did." He added another finger, curling them inside you, his teeth scraping along your neck in a smile. The groan that slipped from your lips was desperate, pained in its pleasure, your body reacting to every new inch of him. "Fucking hell—you can barely take two..."
Your head shook, words failing you. "Gods—Mattheo—I...fuck..."
A low grunt rumbled from his chest, his fingers moving quicker, slick with the evidence of your desire. "Feels good?"
"Yes—" you moaned, breath hitching, vision blurring as he pumped his fingers in and out, building something inside you that you couldn't name, something new, something overwhelming. "I feel—oh, gods—something...happening—"
"You feel something?" His voice was mocking, drenched in that innocent, teasing tone that had you falling apart. "Yeah? What's happening, princess?"
You couldn't find breath, couldn't form the words to answer him. The pressure inside you was mounting, intensity unbearable, your body tense and straining toward an edge. You clung to him, breathless, desperate for more, desperate for something, anything—
"I don't—" your voice broke as his fingers curled deeper, wetness flooding between your thighs, his thumb relentless. "Pressure—fuck—so much—"
He nodded. "Yeah? Pressure in that pretty stomach? Feels fucking good, doesn't it?"
"Fuck—yes, yes," your lids fluttered. "S’good—"
"You're so close." He watched you, drunk on your downfall, and smirked as you neared the edge. "You're going to cum for me."
Sanity shattered in your throat—words trapped, swallowed by the tension, leaving only the soft, unbridled whimpers you once might've once found embarrassing. But there was no shame now, not when you were this close, the pressure coiling tighter in your core, ready to burst.
"Ohh—" you managed, lungs sputtering, head tipping back. The sound of your voice, the way you moaned, was foreign, unfamiliar to your own ears. "Gods—oh fuck-"
"I know," he cooed, sweet like sugar. "I know."
You were a mess. Too close, too overwhelmed—everything was him. His scent, the heat of his skin, the feel of his fingers working that magic that had your body convulsing before you could even cry out, before you could process the way your vision blurred with the force of it. The climax hit like a wave crashing over you, and your moans were swallowed by his kiss, his lips on yours the second your body tightened, shaking against his hand.
He was relentless, rough and insistent, kissing you like he wanted to devour you whole—drowning out the world as your body pulsed around his fingers. You’d never felt such an intense sensation, lava coursing, replacing the blood in your veins. His breath stuttered against your mouth, a low groan vibrating through him, the sound making your spine tingle.
"F-fuck," he muttered, pulling his fingers from you, glistening and wet. "Messy little thing."
The words sent a shiver through you, not just from their meaning but from the way he said them, like something perverse, intimate. Your chest tightened with the warmth of them.
"You—" you panted, trying to find your voice. Blinking through the haze of lingering bliss. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not?" He chuckled your name against your neck, lips brushing a path to your ear. "Because you might fall in love with me?" His teeth grazed the sensitive spot under your lobe, along your jawline. "Oh wait...you already have."
"Shut up," you whispered, stomach flipping at the way he said your name, the way it dripped from his mouth like honey. "Have not."
"I've known for a while, you know," he mused, his voice so low, so quiet. "Don't think I haven't seen it—the way you look at me." He kissed your skin again, working his way up, each press of his lips something sacred, moving closer to your mouth. "The way you can't get enough of me."
You could kill him for it, for the way his words sunk into your bones, making all the feelings you've buried rise to the surface, pulling you under. He just had to go there—had to milk every inch of your composure out of you, because it's not enough for him to have you disarmed physically—sexually—he needed to have you disarmed emotionally, too.
Perhaps the worst part of it all is how right he was. Arrogant bastard.
"Stop talking," your hand drifted down, grazing the bulge in his pants, your fingers slipping under the waistband, rubbing him through the thin fabric of his boxers. It was reckless. You've never done this before, but God, you wanted to. "Stop talking and teach me."
The room tilted—the world off its axis. His breath caught, choked in his lungs as he grabbed your face and pulled your lips to his—his kiss wild, his tongue insistent, running along your gums and wrestling with yours for control.
"Fuck," he groaned into your mouth as you tugged his boxers down, freeing him, your hand wrapping around him. Hot. Hard. "Wrap your fingers around it, princess. Gentle strokes. Just like that."
Your heart stumbled at the sound of his voice, thick, raw and open. You tightened your grip, stroking him slowly, experimentally, and he hissed through his teeth, a groan vibrating through his chest.
"You're so big," you murmured, forehead against his, the words spilling out without thought. "So thick..."
"Fucking minx," he moaned. "Stroking me and telling me how big I am—fuck—you're not as innocent as everyone thinks."
"Only you know this," you whispered, your hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, pulse soaring as he groaned. "Does it feel good, Matty?"
"Fuck—Christ—" his breath was jagged, words ripped from his throat like they barely wanted to come out, hips jerking mindlessly. "Tighter, mm—little tighter—"
Your cunt throbbed—each whispered invocation of a god not his own, of something he didn't believe in, forced a shudder through you. That's how you knew. Knew how lost he was. He’d no mind left at all if he was muttering muggle gods.
"Like that?" Your fingers squeezed around him, your gaze burning into his as you looked up through fluttering lashes.
His face was a storm—flushed, eyes half-shut—but at your voice they opened and flicked down to yours, and for once, there was no arrogance, no mockery in that stare. Just raw, primal need, burning so fiercely it made you ache. His hips rocked, desperate for more. Painfully. A hole in his chest torn wide open for you to see, and he didn't care. Couldn't care.
"Yeah—shit—just like that," he gritted out, grip on your hips bruising, but you welcomed it. Needed it. "Fast learner, aren't you?"
"You're a good teacher," you whimpered, a sound that was barely yours as his fingers slipped between your thighs, finding your slit, teasing you open again. "Oh—"
"You've always been a little teacher's pet," he groaned, thrusting into your hand as he slipped a finger inside you. The stretch made you wince, pleasure and pain blurring into something that sent sparks behind your eyes. He watched you, gaze molten. "Fuck—it’s gonna hurt, you know that, right?"
The ache spread through you, but you didn't flinch. "I know," you whispered as his thumb found your clit, making you gasp. "I trust you."
"I know you do." His voice dropped, eyes dark and soft at once as he pushed another finger inside. "You know you’ve always had me wrapped around your fucking finger. You know I care about you—“
His words were too much, pressing on something fragile inside you, and you pulled him into a kiss to shut him up—deep, desperate, drowning. Your hand tightened on his length, the heat between you flaring, and you moaned against his mouth, shaking with the need for more.
"I want you," you breathed, each syllable shivering on your lips as you clenched around his fingers. "I've wanted you for months—"
Months? No, it had been years. Years of wanting, needing, watching from afar, heart in your throat. Years of avoiding anyone else because no one was him. You knew he’d felt the same and it killed him. It wasn't logical, wasn't supposed to be like this—not with you, not now, not his best friend's little sister, not him whispering sweet, dangerous things while knuckle-deep inside your virgin cunt.
It was as if you both shook those thoughts from your minds at once. You’ll think about the implications later.
"You've got me," he rasped, hips grinding involuntarily against your hand. "Just—fuck—don't hate me after this."
Hate him? The very idea was laughable, absurd. You could never hate him. Not even in those moments you tried, not even when he deserved it.
"I could never hate you," you murmured, drawing him closer, lips trembling against his. "Just—please—"
Something shifted in his eyes, and he knew. Knew what you needed. What you both needed. You were vulnerable, trembling, but you trusted him—completely. You’d been in his life for so long. You knew he’d never hurt you. He could see it your eyes, the trust, the in the way your body bent to his touch.
"Alright," he said softly, a hand running up your body to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Alright."
His fingers slid out of you, leaving you bare and breathless, and you swallowed. This was really about to happen.
"Lay back," his voice cut through your haze. "Legs to your chest."
The command wrapped around you like a vice, tightening the anticipation, and you fell back on your elbows, staring up at him as you raised your legs. Vulnerability crept in, making your thighs tense, but Mattheo was there, spreading you open with firm hands, pressing himself against your slick. His eyes were locked onto yours, all that self-assurance gone, melted into something more human—something raw, unguarded.
You could feel it; the vulnerability of this moment stretched between you both—the distance you'd maintained for so long, the careful walls you'd built, were nothing now. He was in too deep, and so were you.
"Stop me at any time," he whispered, his voice a raw rasp, eyes meeting yours. "Just breathe.”
He leaned down until his lips ghosted over yours, and you kissed him like the world might collapse if you didn't. He guided himself against you, the press of him at your entrance an unbearable ache. He was hot, hard, huge—and despite the wetness slicking down your thighs, your body resisted, too tight, too unsure of this.
You whimpered, instinctively trying to pull away, but he stayed, pressing kisses to your hair, your temple, whispering something that sounded like comfort but burned like fire. It hurt more than you expected, more than any of the fantasies you had dared to entertain.
Doubt curled through your chest, what if you couldn't take him? What if—
"M-Mattheo..." his name broke in your throat as you clutched his arm, nails digging into his skin. He tried to push in again, but your body resisted. "It—you—you can't fit..."
"Shh," his lips ghosted over yours, his hand slipping through your hair, trying again, moving slow, controlled. "You're just—so goddamn tight—"
The way he said it sent a spark through your veins. It was filthy, shameless, and it lit you up from the inside, despite the pain. No one had ever spoken to you like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears pricking as he tried to work you open.
And then—he was in.
"I-it hurts," you hissed—pain lighting up your spine as he worked his cockhead inside you, pushing against the resistance of your walls. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, each inch a battle. The pressure was unbearable, the sting so sharp it was paralyzing. "Oh, fuck, Mattheo—"
He groaned, a sound from deep within his chest, his head bowing, sweat creeping over his brow.
"Shhh, I know—I know..." he murmured through shredded cords, fighting to maintain control as his hips paused, barely halfway in, just enough to make you feel like you might break. "S'okay...you're doing so good..."
It was overwhelming—the fullness, the ache that felt like it might split you in two. And yet, beneath the pain, something else stirred. His words, soft and rough all at once, made the sensation bearable, turned the hurt into something else. You focused on his voice, on the way he stroked your hair, the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.
"Why—mmff—gods..." you could barely speak, the words tangled in your throat. "Why do you have to be so big—"
A strangled laugh escaped him, though his eyes stayed shut tight, his jaw clenched—cock twitching inside you.
"I don't—fuck—know." His fingers brushed your lips, covering your mouth gently. "Don't go talking like that—not right now—"
You might have laughed, too, if your body wasn't so taut, strung tight with tension and pain and something far more profound. He was barely inside you, his words making your insides clench, drawing another groan from his lips at the squeeze.
His hand held your jaw, palm pressing lightly over your mouth, enough to breathe, to speak—
"Why—" you knew what he meant, knew the warning in his eyes, but you couldn't stop yourself. "—not?"
His breath hitched. "Because—" he swallowed hard, words coming through gritted teeth, his fingers tightening around your jaw, a warning in his grip. "Because—fuck—your mouth will get you in trouble."
Oh. That was what he meant.
"But—oh fuck—you're so...big..." the words slipped out before you could catch them, a disgruntled moan falling from your lips as he sank all the way in, filling you so completely it was dizzying. The pressure, the heat, the sensation of being pried open—it was all too much, and you cried out, unable to stop the sound from spilling out. "Ohhh—so big—"
"I said, fuck," he cursed, hand clamping firm over your mouth now as his body shuddered, as he ground his hips gently into yours. "—don't say that."
It was too late. You didn't need to say anything further. He could feel it—he could feel everything in the way you clenched around him, barely letting him move—so goddamn tight it was almost painful—he could feel it in the look in your eyes, in the trembling of your body beneath his.
"I can feel you thinking it," he grunted as you squirmed beneath him, every movement making him twitch inside you, drawing another choked groan from his throat. "Merlin sakes—"
You knew he wasn't used to this. To slowing down, to drawing out the tension like this, to the maddening slowness of every motion. He wanted to lose himself, to break you open hard and fast, to take and give and take again until both of you shattered into something unrecognizable. But he couldn't—not with the way your eyes glistened, not with the way you gasped and whimpered as he filled you.
"No talking," he sucked in a breath against your neck, his hips rolling into yours in slow, unbearable waves. "Only if you need me to stop."
He was breaking. So were you. Every thrust was an exquisite kind of torture—an ache that twisted and stretched, dulled only by the flick of his fingers against your clit. His lips pressed along your neck, kissed along the line of your jaw, groaning with each deep, patient push, carving his way into you as you clung to him, your mind floating through the fog of pain into something different—something overwhelming.
Your head fell back. “Oh—Oh gods—“
Each gasp felt like it might be your last as that something built deep inside you, tight and unfamiliar, an ache that didn't hurt but begged to be released. And he felt it too—Mattheo felt it, the way your body pulsed beneath his, the way you tightened around him like you couldn't bear to let him go.
"Bloody fuck—are you—are you going to—" his words were ragged, broken. He couldn't finish the thought, couldn't hold himself together. "Are you—"
“Mattheo—” your voice trembled, a breathless moan as your back arched, pressing into him, your body seeking more. The pain was null now, replaced by an overwhelming pressure, something tight and aching and good—you felt every inch of him inside you, every pulse of his cock as he moved, slow but relentless. “Mattheo—oh gods—”
"Fuck—" he bit down, teeth sinking into your neck as his fingers swirled your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. "You're gonna make me—"
You choked because there was no space for words, no breath for anything but the raw sound of your bodies—moans, gasps, ragged inhales tangled together as you both hurtled towards something inevitable. The light of the moon radiated the man above you and that was all you could register other than the rising crescendo of your climax—something so intense it scared you, almost broke you apart—your body seizing, trembling, as his fingers pressed harder against your clit, as he thrust deeper.
And then, there was only one more blink until you shattered beneath him, the orgasm tearing through you in oceanic motion, muscles clenching around him so tightly he could barely move—and then he was there, too, his body jerking as he groaned into your skin, his release ripped from him in jagged gasps as you milked him without mercy. He slumped on top of you, fingers digging into your skin, the two of you pulsing together in the aftermath, the room spinning, your bodies still trembling from the force of it.
The world was slow to return, the roar of sensations fading into something quieter, softer. The weight of him on top of you was grounding—his forehead pressed against the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Neither of you moved for a long while, just basked in the silence, kind that settled in after something irrevocable had passed between two people.
And then, Mattheo pushed up, enough to meet your eyes. Your chest ached at the softness inside his own.
“Are you—” he swallowed as he drank you in, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the flushed cheeks. His words hung in the air as if he didn’t know how to finish the question.
“I’m okay,” you nodded, voice hoarse. “I’m good.”
Mattheo nodded too but didn’t move, still buried inside you, just taking you in. Then, gently, he shifted, pulling back with a slow, careful movement that made you wince slightly. The second he’d pulled out, you felt different—more aware of the vulnerability you’d just laid bare, more aware of the line you two had just obliterated into absolute shambles.
“You sure?” he asked, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—
You nodded again, the smallest smile pulling at your lips, though your heart was still racing, the enormity of it all sinking in.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m sure.”
His jaw tightened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.
“This changes everything, doesn’t it?” His voice was barely audible, like he didn’t want to admit it out loud.
Of course he was thinking it too—how could he not? This was no longer something you could pretend didn’t exist, no longer something you could hide behind banter and stolen glances and secret kisses.
“Yeah,” you breathed, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the heat still radiating from his skin. “It does.”
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serotonins-stuff · 5 months ago
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As a boy Katsuki never understood why men cried whenever they saw their bride for the first time.
When it came to his turn to stand at the altar, suited up and slicked back hair,he finally understood why.
His heart is pounding violently against his ribcage, so loud that he can hear it reverberate through his head. His palms were damp, and his gaze stays fixated on the double doers before him. The doors that will soon open to reaveal the love of his life.
His foot meets the floor repeatedly in a tapping motion, and his hands are rough as he shifts his collar side to side. His body litters with goosebumps and involuntary quivers.
He's suddenly grateful for this being a small wedding with only close family and friends. He wouldn't want a large crowd witnessing his nerves get the better of him.
Kirishima smiles though the tears flowing down his face. He's honored to be the best man on his best friends big day, because that means he gets to see the tough Katsuki find pure happiness and put his walls down for the one he loves. If it's enough to make the great lord explosion murdered god dynamite nervous, then it's love that should be cherished.
Katsukis stomach flutters when the pianist begins to play your song.
It's time.
He fiddles with the cuffs of his blazer and submerges the urge to run his hand through his perfectly styled hair.
When he locks eyes with you for the first time that day. It feels as if time itself slowed down. In this moment, every ounce of anxiety he had been carrying fades away. You are radiant under the soft orange glow of the sun, your skin shimmering like a precious diamond. His precious diamond.
His heart dances swiftly against his chest, touching every nerve in his body.
He catches a glimpse of your hands nervously fiddling your dress by your sides and remembers that he isn't alone. You, the love of his life, are sharing the same nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.
He begins to see you more clearly as you approach him. The soft glow of your eyes, your perfect lips and curves.
And when he hears his name flow so sweetly from your lips he can't help it. He chokes out a sob, and immediately your hands reach up to gently swipe away his tears.
The audience give a numerous amount of awww's, which cause a smile to tug its way onto his lips.
His glossy eyes stare longingly into yours. "You look beautiful" he whispers.
Saying his vows was the hardest part. He just couldn't stop crying, and the tears wouldn't stop flowing. You were there assuring him and giving him gestures of love. When you started to say your own vows, seeing his redened nose and tear stained face cause tears of your own to flow down your face.
With a gentle yet firm grip his palm finds comfort on the curve of your waist. The minute the officient said you may kiss the bride. Your arms evelop his the soft skin of his neck and your heads tilt to the side as if it's instinct.
This kiss hold a firm yet sweet connection, a silent promise that this love would endure for eternity.
He was finally married to you, his angel, the girl of his dreams. He looked forward to calling you his wife, to starting a family-
Hot tears stream uncontrollably down his face, an explodion of raw emotions he can't contain. His heart swells with overwhelming swarm of love, joy, and deep appreciation, a feeling he once never believed possible.
With a shaky breath, he pulls away softly before resting his forehead on yours. "I love you" he choked "so fuckin much"
You huffed at his cuteness "I love you more Katsuki"
He places one more kiss to your lips, and nuzzles your nose with his.
"Impossible"
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yuutryingtowrite · 5 months ago
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Yandere!Maid x Vampire!Reader
A/N: If you like this setting, consider reading about your chef at the castle too. And, if you wanna know more about the levels, check this post :)
Warning: Not nsfw, but suggestive. MDNI. Butler (side character) calls reader “Mistress”
Danger level: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Submissive level: ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♡ ♡
————————————————
Yandere!Maid who looks at the castle in front of him, then the flier in his hands, then the castle again. Unless there was a typo in the address, the job interview should be here. He hesitantly uses the bat shaped door knocker and waits...This place looks so creepy and ominous, was this a prank ? Was it to scare him? Seriously? Sigh…He has had enough of being treated like a fool. As he continues his descent into frustration, bitterness and self-pity, he doesn’t hear the door opening. Nor does he see the butler standing at the entrance until he hears a: “Sorry for the wait, my kind sir. Are you here for the housekeeper position?”.
Yandere!Maid who thinks the butler is telling him a load of bullshit. According to him, the owner of this place is a vampire in search of additional staff members. He resists the urge to scoff. Whatever, if the “mistress” wants to take part in some weird role-play, then so be it as long as he would get paid. The same guy tells him to “please take a seat” in the living room and that “mistress will come and attend to you in a moment”. Soon after his departure, the air shifts. Black particles float around until it materializes something, or rather someone. The poor boy's shock and confusion quickly turn into enchantment. Fuck, you are totally his type. This is bad, he can feel his face burning. “Shall we go to my office?”, you ask with a smile.
Yandere!Maid who hates you. Who hates the fact that your personality matches your looks. Who hates how much control you have over him. The other day, your...pet sneezed on him, so he needed another uniform. “It seems that I only have a female one left ”, you told him. “There is no way in hell I am wearing that”, he sneered. “But wouldn’t you look cute in it? Besides, it is either that or cleaning with your normal clothes on until your new uniform arrives here-” “Alright, shut up, just give me that”, he abruptly took the offending dress from your hands and went to change. Since that conversation, his work attire has fully transitioned to said maid outfit. Maybe he becomes a bit too proud of himself whenever he catches you staring at him. And maybe, just maybe he wants to give you a nice view by bending down and taking his time “to clean the table” whenever he knows you are behind him. He will never admit that though.
Yandere!Maid who, one day, demands asks you about your eating habits. As soon as you answer, something regarding animal blood, he turns oddly quiet. You are about to ask what is wrong, but then he surprises you by climbing into your lap. You watch him get comfortable and, with trembling hands, undo the first buttons of his dress. The cherry on top is him pulling on its collar a bit to show a silver of his chest. He now avoids eye contact as he waits for you to take the lead…You are still just looking at him, so, with a blush becoming darker, he snaps at you: “A-are you stupid or something ? Do you want me to spell it out-” “I am just enjoying the view”, you respond with a teasing smile. Before he can sputter more insults, you grip his chin and tilt his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry gaze. “But if you insist…Thank you for the meal <3”
Yandere!Maid who has his face buried deep in his pillow while he tries to calm his flustered self down. After you finished drinking from him, he hurriedly got up and scurried to his room without so much as a word. The more he recalls the embarrassing noises he made in front of you, the more mortified he becomes. It was not his fault, it just felt really good and you even pulled him closer and tugged on his hair and-He whines and squirms in his bed as he feels his body turning hot again like that time. The action causes him to feel a sharp sting on his neck. He freezes. That is right. You marked him. You marked him. You marked him.
...
Don't drink from anyone else, ok?
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crushmeeren · 6 months ago
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Sex chocolate with Hawks, Dabi, Aizawa and maybe Toshinori???
⋆ ft. izuku ⋆
⋆ this is written as if the guys didn’t know they’d eaten the chocolate and how they’d react to the treat. sorry I didn’t put Toshinori in this, I’m not quite sure how to write his personality yet. (ó﹏ò。)
𝛏 master list link 𝛏
// @emmab3mma hope you enjoy! ₊˚ʚ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎₊˚✧ ゚.
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Izuku’s lips would tug into a sheepish smile, no doubt thankful for the sweet treat pick me up. His eyes would brighten, a satisfied hum dancing in the air.
Izuku would be unbearably jittery out on patrol that evening, hopping from the sidewalk on one side the street to the other, green light crackling in his wake. He’d do it mindlessly, thoughts wandering to you and what you currently could be doing.
Suddenly, he’d be flailing mid air when he vividly imagines you on your knees, plush lips stretched so wide on his cock he knows it must hurt your mouth. Izuku would stumble when he hit the concrete, catching himself on the bench nearby.
Izuku’s expression would twist from calm to horrified, thoughts running a mile a minute when he steadies himself and realizes his cock is…hard. Throbbing. Straining against his hero suit. He’d make haste running to the nearest building with a public restroom.
Izuku would shut the door to the restroom and lock it before anyone could even notice he entered. He’d be frantic, shoving his pants down mid thigh as he leaned against the wall and hissed through his teeth when the cool air hit his freely bobbing cock.
He’d have a million concerns in the back of his head but not be able to focus on a single one. Izuku would have a one track mind, wrapping a hand around himself and jerking until he came in less than 20 seconds to the image of you on your knees.
Izuku would be so embarrassed afterwards, cheeks bright pink as he adjusts his clothes and washes his hands.
Being as smart as he is, he’d have a suspicion this is related to the chocolate you gave him and he intends to find out once he’s home. Once he returned, he’d tease you until you’re on the edge of tears and blurting out the truth, fucking you until your mind whites out and you scream his name.
Lucky you.
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Keigo would give you a flirty grin, winking playfully as he snatched the chocolate from you and swallowed it within two bites. You’d give him an unimpressed look but he’d just laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
Keigo isn’t surprised when he got a boner while soaring through the skies on the way to his agency. He’d been thinking about you anyways and his dick getting hard wasn’t uncommon when he thought of you. It’d be fair to say that happened often, if he’s honest.
Keigo would take note of the violent flush crawling down his neck and snaking under the fuzzy collar of his flight jacket. He’d suck his bottom lip in between his teeth and adjust his cock in his pants so it’s sticking straight up instead of outward.
He’d be able to somewhat focus on the business meeting he didn’t want to attend in the first place, only being reprimanded a few times more than normal for zoning out.
Keigo’s pulse would thunder. He’d wear a neutral expression, letting his chin rest in his propped up hand as he sent a feather to find and turn on the air because why the fuck is it so hot in here?
He’d text you something filthy as discreetly as he could under the table, biting his knuckles when you sent back a picture of yourself with your tits on display. Keigo would come to the conclusion that maybe he was a bit more pathetically horny than normal and he needed to ditch this meeting yesterday.
Keigo would go straight home, ignoring anyone who had tried to speak with him on his way out. He’d find you on the couch with nothing on but an oversized shirt and waving what’s left of the chocolate bar at him with a smirk when he entered through the balcony.
He wouldn’t even be upset when you told him what you’d done. He’d just crowd close, looming over you with a wolfish grin that shot a thrill down your spine.
Keigo would succumb to the aphrodisiac completely. He’d bend you over the backrest of the couch at hip level and wrench your arms taut behind you, fingers circling your wrists to secure you in place.
Keigo would have no mercy, sliding his cock in your tight pussy before you’re turned on enough to take him smoothly. He’d send a feather down to play with your clit until you strain to escape, not stopping despite your pleas because “this is what you wanted, isn’t it baby? yeah, so stop yapping and take it.”
In the end all you can do is nod, because if you truly wanted him to stop you’d only have to say the safe word.
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Shouta would raise an eyebrow with a bored expression on his features. He’d roll his eyes and eat the chocolate after you pushed your lower lip out and fluttered your lashes at him.
Shouta’s a sucker for you.
He’d be grading papers that afternoon, knuckles rubbing at his sleepy eyes in the office of your shared home. He’d take a break, pressing his palms to his eyes and resting his elbows on the desk.
A scenario would pop into his head, one where you sat on the edge of the desk while he’d relax in his chair and lazily eat you out. He can imagine the way your clit would feel against his tongue, how warm and soft your pussy would be on his lips.
Shouta would lean back in the chair, a hand absently dropping to his lap to palm his cock and he’d be startled at just how much he’d filled out already. His dick hot and sticking to his inner thigh. Shocked at the unavoidable thick warmth swirling in his belly when it’d usually take a bit more than a brief daydream to get this worked up.
He’d be certain that you had something to do with this and irritation would lance through him. He’d sit in the kitchen once he’s finished, arms crossed and cock stubbornly refusing to flag until you returned home.
Shouta would ask you about it as if he were asking a child if they had stolen a cookie from the cookie jar. Easily, you admit to it. No hesitation, no shame, just a smug air about you.
Then, Shouta would make his fantasy a reality. He’d eat your pussy until you were right on the edge of cumming and then he’d stop. He’d speak condescendingly, saying “poor baby, your pussy just wants to cum doesn’t she?” as he sits you roughly down on his cock.
He’d spank you a few times, teasing you a bit more but he’d make you cum so intensely your toes would cramp — and then he’d keep going until his own brain got fuzzy.
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Touya would say fuck no at first. He doesn’t like chocolate. Until you mention there’s something special about the sweet and he assumes it’s an edible. You don’t bother to correct him because, technically, it is an edible, just not the kind filled with weed.
Touya would be leaning his back against the railing on your balcony, angled so he can peer into the open doors of your living room. He’d have a cigarette dangling from his lips, scrubbing at his cheek with one hand because yeah, his cheeks are typically roasting but they’re never this hot.
He’d shrug it off and nonchalantly light up the cigarette with his pointer finger. He’d startle as the tiny flame bursts into a fireball that he really didn’t mean to create when you stride past the doorway in soft shorts that show the crease of where your thigh joins your ass.
You’d freeze mid step and turn to stare at him incredulously, lips parted slightly when the aftershock of heated air damn near singes your skin.
Touya would be flustered. Cheeks painted rosy pink with embarrassment at the lack of control over his quirk. He’d scowl harshly, pinching his brows together as he dropped and stomped on his cigarette to put it out. He’d stalk towards you and snarl “why the hell are you wearing those fucking shorts?” as if his sudden overbearing lust is your fault specifically.
You’d roll your eyes and begin walking in the direction you’d intended in the first place but Touya would snatch your wrist tight enough the bones grind together and drag you to your bedroom. He’d ignore your obviously fake bewildered expression and shove you onto the mattress. He can’t focus on the fact that you seem to be going along with this a bit too easily.
His cock would be jumping and pushing painfully against the zipper of his jeans before he so much as kissed you. He wouldn’t get either of you truly naked, he’d just slide your soft shorts to the side and unzip his jeans. He’d shove your shirt to your collarbone so he could watch the way your tits are about to bounce.
Touya would yank your ankles up and over his shoulders until the backs of your thighs press into his chest and then fold you in half like you’re a fucking blanket. He’d tilt his hips until his tip catches on your pussy and then he’s shoving his cock all the way inside to steal the breath from your lungs.
Touya wouldn’t have the self control to stop for a long time that evening and you’d almost regret giving him the chocolate. Almost.
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