#after the big dust-up outside | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

st4rbwrry · 1 month ago

Text

𝓢𝓤𝓖𝓐𝓡. eren yeager.

‎𐦍 ₊˚♱ ෆ . . . 5.1k. fem!reader, set in 01’, country!eren + bluecollar!, housewife!reader, established relationship, domesticity, ovulation, oral ꒰ f + m. ꒱, kreaming + squirting, rough sex, nasty talk ofc, unprotected, daddy kink, spanking, pet names ꒰ sweetie, baby, mama ꒱, praise, hair pulling, check ins + aftercare, choking, breath + sensitivity + salvia play, minors aren’t allowed! reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . a lil sum i thought of randomly. this is related to the dangerously in love couple. <3 visual. visual. visual. wish i had a link for the exact position i have in my head, so here’s a small example. hopefully i explained them well. :<

part three. <3

ivory sunflowers are imprinted along the frilly apron that hugs your body cutely, the coquette lace floral dress with a baby pink ribbon to create a corset style underneath. the warm scent of strawberry pie baking in the matcha green vintage oven blooms your heart. dusting flour over the counter to roll and mush at the dough you’ve created for the chicken pot pies, one of eren’s favorite meals. the sun was fairly hot today, your eyes fixating on the two beautiful tawny cows roaming your farm, their mouths chewing at grass as the wind blows serenely.

you told eren to keep a close eye on them while he was outside, watching your husband stand halfway down the driveway with sweat dripping from his brow as he tinkers with the engine of his polished black 1968 ford f100. he’s been having troubles with it this past week, and constantly handling it became tedious. he expressed his anger a few times now, this truck being his first big purchase for himself and he was having issues only a year later.

his light blue levi jeans and classic wife-beater was streaked with grease, clinging to his muscular thighs as he crouches low, peering intently at the mechanical innards. every so often, he wipes his hands on a rag before reaching for another tool, his calloused fingers moving with practiced ease. the sun casts a glow on the definition of his biceps as he lifts and maneuvers heavy parts. angelic brown strands held back by a black cap turned backwards.

you’ve been subconsciously humming along to the 70s and 80s rock tunes he has stationed on the radio. don’t dream it’s over currently on play. meanwhile, inside the cozy farmhouse kitchen, with the tantalizing aroma of food and your chocolate brown maltipoo who eren named honeybelle sleeps on her bed by the window — although this moment was romantic and peaceful to view, you weren’t too happy of a woman.

this was one of the few days he was off from work, and he’s been outside fixing his car since your eyes opened to an empty bedside. it’s nearing nighttime, and you’d spent half your day to your lonesome. shaving your body, doing your skincare routine and deep conditioning your handful of a curly head that’s currently pinned up away from your soft features. it’s felt like such a long time since the two of you enjoyed a full day together, let alone make love. your ovulation period not making this any easier on you, feeling like a wild animal in desperate heat. the only time you really interacted today was when you brought out a fat honey-turkey club sandwich, knowing he tends to forget to eat sometimes.

brushing the crust you created for the pot pie after layering them in crisscross patterns with butter, your mind wanders off, daydreaming as the sun begins to set and the sky blooms into color palettes of saffron and coral. the air outside turns warmer, and you study your husband once more, watching the ball in his throat shift as he chugs on a pitcher of water, droplets hitting his chest. his briefs are peaking out from his jeans, feet in his black timberlands per usual. his arms have veins streaming from the middle of his forearm to his big, dirty hands. silver wedding band on his right.

those slanted viridescent eyes of his catch your stare as he glares at you over the pitcher, swallowing and giving you a movie star smile with pearly whites. you smile faintly, returning the gesture. your heart pounds rapidly in your chest, shifting in your spot as you realize you’re biting your lips and almost riding the air. your blood is thrumming throughout your body, needing him to come inside right now.

the chicken pot pies are done in thirty minutes, each crust perfectly golden brown. and within that time, he’s still outside messing with his truck. you wanted to be understanding that he needed his truck in order to head to work tomorrow to further provide for you and the home as he does, but you can’t help that feeling of abandonment in your chest. you really didn’t want to cause an argument, but this was becoming irritating.

removing your apron, you slip on your outside shoes to head towards the garage where he resides, being faced with his broad back and gruff noises of agitation.

“baby.”

“yes, sweetie,” he replies quickly, groaning as he twists the wrench.

“dinner’s done. you’ve been out here all day. please come inside,” you pout, going to wrap your arms around his waist, laying your cheek on the column of his back.

eren removes his cap, scratching at his head before smoothing his hair back and placing it on again. “mhm, baby, i know. gimme like ‘nother hour, i just gotta connect the fuckin’ valve springs to the camshaft.“

“i thought it was just overheated?”

“yeah it was, the water pump wasn’t sending coolant through. the crankshaft wasn’t movin’, ‘n the radiator cap had too much pressure so the spring in the cap compressed ‘n flew over in the coolant reservoir. glad i ran to the auto shop beforehand.”

he’s saying a lot of shit you don’t understand if being frank. sighing, you let go of him, knowing he was real intricate with his truck so he definitely wasn’t going to be done in an hour. he stops what he’s doing to turn and face you, observing your expression.

“what i say about that, mama. huh?” eren sighs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “don’t be givin’ me that face. i’m tryin’ my best right now. swear ima be in, i’ll make it forty-five instead.”

“that’s not the point,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “fuck the dinner, i want you to be with me. you’ve been out here since eleven in the morning. not once have you come inside the house ‘n checked on me.”

his jaw clenches, your tone expected but not what he wanted to hear right now. “i ain’t tryna argue with you.”

“then don’t, help yourself to dinner.”

“꒰♡꒱.”

turning with clear attitude, you stroll back into the house, honeybelle barking softly as she follows you around. you feed someone in the house, pouring kibble into her beige bowl before patting her head and watching her scruff down the food. by this point you’d lost your appetite, huffing and puffing in your kitchen as you set the food back into the oven and made your way up the staircase.

to cool yourself down, you decide to run yourself a bath. twisting the gold faucet to fill the clawfoot tub with hot water, crouching on your knees to swish the water around to help form the bubbles. it was fully dark outside now, lighting aromatherapy candles and opening the double vintage windows that overlooked the farm you and eren spent years creating. stars in the sky and clouds camouflaging. undressing yourself, you grab a novel off of the shelf and submerge yourself into the tub, closing your eyes in bliss and leaning your head back against the spa pillow that elevates your neck.

eren manages to take approximately thirty minutes to finish up his project, starting up the truck and test driving it before he sighs in relief to see she’s back in shape. after parking it back into the garage, whistling at the cows to get them to follow him back into the barn after much needed playtime, he’s finally stepping into the house. honeybelle skips towards eren, sniffing at his ankle and wagging her tail. eren smiles, patting the top of her head.

“where’s your mommy, girl. huh?” he coed, scratching under her chin.

his eyes scope the dining area, finding the table set up just for the two with candles that were half burnt, blown out. the homemade sweet tea in a pitcher leaking with condensation, ice cubes melted. the pie you baked was set into a glass cake stand, and the pot pies are settled into the oven under the light. it was definitely clear you were upset with him, groaning and putting a hand on his head. he truly didn’t mean to take away this day from you, aware of how much you’ve missed him. hours at work are longer since the power plants needed more tending to from low employment.

just last week he had to go out of town and leave you for an entire three days to travel to another refinery. in that time you’d tend to your farm while also helping eren’s father with his. you knew what this lifestyle would mean for your relationship. things around the house including you will be secure, but having him come home exhausted to the point where you rarely spend as much time as you’d like with him was difficult. at most he had two days off a week, but a lot of times they’d call him in because someone else didn’t show up.

you’ve suggested countless of times that he should switch locations, but this one provided better benefits and he was close to a promotion that would also guarantee him extra off time. ‘it just takes time, baby.’ he’d constantly tell you. and you’re not one of those wives that complain about every single thing to make her husbands life harder, the two of you rarely even argue, but you do have your moments where you’re too stubborn.

the heavy thud of his boots sounds in the home as he heads up the stairs, softly calling your name to see where you reside. with his hand on his toned stomach under his shirt, he finds you rested in the tub, head turned away as you sleep comfortably. his tall frame leans against the doorframe, watching you with a pout on his face. you look angelic, cloud white bubbles flowing around your body, the jets in the tub keeping them in tact, slowly dissolving. the tankless water heater he installed a while back kept the water warm, making you comfortable enough to drift off to light slumber.

he makes his way closer to you, crouching before you to brush the tendrils of curls dangling in your face. your breath is light, lashes feathering against your cheekbones as he caresses your jaw with his thumb. he bends to pull the plug and drain the tub, not fond of you sleeping in water. you didn’t have it too high up, but people drown in tubs a lot more than you think.

you hum gently, eyes opening to see him looming over you, studying him in silence. sitting on his behind, he grabs a pedicure knife to clean under his nails, tattooed arm dangling into the tub and under the running faucet to remove the impurities.

“don’t like you fallin’ asleep in the tub, sweetie. you could drown. this isn’t your first time doin’ that,” his brows deepen, grabbing a nail brush and applying some of your cashmere and goat milk soap you currently smelt of with to scrub at his manicured fingernails.

you bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms over your knees. “sorry.”

eren scans your face, eyeing the beauty of your entirety. perfectly white painted toes and matching nails, dark, big curls framing your face, slowly falling from the claw clip on the back of your head. the fullness of your lips with the cupids bow curve of them. soft skin, pretty eyes . . you were all his. such a beautiful wife. so when you’re mad at him, it makes him feel like shit. the way you look at him is different as well. your eyes are dead almost, a scolding glare in them.

“this day was supposed to be for us, i know,” he breaks the silence. “old shit was being difficult, ‘n you know i gotta drive far, sweetie. gettin’ ‘n a crash isn’t somethin’ you’d want happenin’ to me, right baby?”

the frown on your face serves how you feel about that. “i’d lose my mind if something bad happened to you.”

“ ‘n i’m not tryna guilt trip you or anything like that. i understand how you feel. i miss you just as much. i think about you all fuckin’ day at work. but, as time passes, eventually i’ll be in a better position ‘n you can have me with you whenever you want. jus’ lemme handle shit, okay?”

his strong hands go to caress your ankle, the silver jewelry shining there, lifting your foot to kiss at the shape of it, eyes low and focusing on you, unable to help the heat that swims within your hips and core.

“i really just needed you so bad today,” the sound of your throat clamping up causes him to go alert. you bow your head, wanting to hide your face as the tears threaten to spill. “it’s so stupid. i spent all that time pampering myself and cooking for us — i just hated being alone, even if you were still here.”

“c’mon, baby. why you cryin’ ? none of that. i’m sorry, truly,” he’s rising up on his knees, kissing at yours.

“missed you touching me,” you whimper, sniffling and pouting. “missed your kisses. i miss you.”

ah, so that’s what it is. he doesn’t make any effort to hide the smirk on his face, scoffing lowly while dropping his head. you can be such a brat when you’re horny, and given it’s been about two weeks since he’s last fucked you, he now gets why you begged for him to be with you today. quality time was still needed, but he can tell by the way your body tenses and your lips part to release tiny gasps while he strokes the pads of his fingers across your hips . . that you’re ovulating.

“that’s all you needin’, mama? some touches?”

salvia trails down your throat as you swallow, thighs squeezing together out of reflex, throbbing from those damned eyes of his, nodding with hooded lids. “mm hmm. so bad.”

“mm, yeah?”

the butterflies in your stomach swarm as he brings his face closer to yours, his touches on your skin causes you to grind when his mouth suddenly connected with your throat, your jaw widening as you gasp and toss your head back, his mouth sloppily kissing at the right side of your body. lips moving from your collarbone, each sound coming from him emphasized as he sucks at your chest, pulling your areola into his mouth and trailing his tongue down the side of your stomach, down to your hip and the crease between your thigh and waist. every kiss and lick is rough, his groans exaggerated as you moan from every touch.

“ooo, fuck. oh my god,” your hips can’t stop moving, his tongue gliding back up before his fingers indent into your cheeks, turning your face to his so he could kiss you roughly, sliding his tongue on yours.

eren doesn’t kiss you for long, detaching your lips with a lewd slick, both of your lips pouty before he’s arching over the tub and guiding his mouth along the left side of your body, repeating his motion of sucking and licking you. your eyes gloss back, spreading your thighs further apart when he gets closer to your pussy, swallowing your bottom lip inward.

he cocks his head back to lewdly spit over your clit, the string of saliva and the vein on the side of his thick neck making your face heat up. your mouth hangs open as he takes his fingers and slowly spreads it over, grumbling, "want me all over you," before rubbing your clit in smooth circles, groaning at the weak noises you made.

you were so needy, every touch he gives you consuming, a lust and desire looming over you that only he could give you. your hips twitch and hike midair, and your positive you've made your lip bleed by how hard you bit into it, doe eyes hazily watching his face. brows furrowed as he tentatively paced his fingers, repositioning himself so he could tug you down flat in the tub, your knees pressed to your chest as he clutches onto the sides of the tub.

“hold ‘em there, be good.”

a squeal envelops eren’s ears once he cranes his neck and drops his mouth over the puffy nub, enclosing his lips to kiss at your folds. your pussy is soaked, dripping between your ass cheeks, inner thighs twitching while he licks you up. the cap on his head continues to hold his hair back, his biceps flexing from every noise you make, trying to keep his composure. he wanted to make you feel real good, you deserve it, and he’s missed you.

“b—babyyy,” a mix between a groan and a whimper flows from you, keeping your legs open and squeezing at your chest hard, slowly rocking your pussy on his face, voice shuddering from the feel of his light stubble on your soft skin.

eren spanks the back of your thigh, dragging his mouth to soothe the feel after with an open mouth followed with more of his tongue. he loved tasting you, clearly. melting on the velvet of his tongue like sugar. his chin is doused by your slickness as he buried his face deep, circling your clit in languid strokes, lower lip dropping to bring it back into his mouth. you’re never embarrassed by how loud you get, knowing you’ll be reprimanded if you do keep silent. so a pathetic, drawn out whine fills the space when he removes his mouth.

“feed it to me,” eren hisses, spanking the back of your thigh again, french kissing either side of your ass. the hungry aggression through his eyes tell you to listen, his body almost entirely inside of the tub to make sure he’s giving you what you need the right way. “c’mon, girl.”

the gruffness in his tone makes you squirm, like he’s just as pent up as you. easing your hips up, you hold your legs fully up so they’re past your ears, gripping on his arm for balance as you dip your hips so your pussy connects with his face, your face curling up as he spits and slurps, your body trembling.

“mmmahh,” you weakly moan, chest heaving and breath stuttering, his tongue occasionally dipping into your hole to taste that sweeter place, eren grunting and bouncing his head along with your movements, teeth every now and then biting at your inner thighs. “g-g’na—squirt, f-fuck, nnnngh.”

eren acts on instinct, reaching to grab the back of your neck as your body arches forward to hold you so you won’t hurt yourself, swallowing at your achy bud as you coat his throat in your juices, humming and savoring every ounce. the static of your legs as you sing out your moans makes his dick harder, straining in the confinements of his jeans.

he pulls away, your body flat within the tub as he stands and undoes the leather belt on his waist, ears perking up from the sound of his zipper and then awaits the weighty girth of his dick. blush pink tip and tan with a protruding vein trailing up the underside. you find energy to lift yourself up, clinging to the side of the tub like a mermaid on rocks. reaching for the back of his leg to pull him closer, eren’s brows lowered at the sight of your eyes setting into seductiveness.

your mouth opens instinctively, giving him those big brown irises that has his dick jump in your face. eren’s waist spasm backwards, fingers grasping the coils of your hair to stop you. “no, no. not now. y’know you’ll make me cum too quick.”

“y’know you can’t fuck me till i taste it,” you pout, evidently upset, keeping your lips parted as a need to have it. “just a taste, daddy. i want it.”

“fuckin’ hell,” eren clenches his jaw, pupils dilating, lowering his jeans and boxers to his thighs to inch his dick to your lips. “yeah, jus’ a lil taste, baby. gimme those pretty lips.”

eren moans when you waste no time intaking half of his dick, tongue licking at the underside and slurping him up, bobbing your head and letting him hit the back of your throat in nasty squelches. his head falls back then to the side as he squeezes his eyes shut, attractive neck showcasing, grunting and slowly thrusting into your throat.

“f-fuck, ꒰♡꒱. love this sweet fuckin’ mouth of yours. show me that throat, baby,” two hands go to clutch your neck, eren pulling his dick out, salvia dribbling down your bottom lip. you widen your mouth, angling your face up so he can see your tongue in it’s entirety, the tight ring in the hollow of your esophagus calling him.

“good girl, take this shit deep,” he whispers painfully, teeth clamped together in a hiss as he lays the heaviness of his dick on your flat tongue, pushing in till his pretty, leaky tip connects with the back of your throat, constricting around him. “a-ahh, yeahh.”

you let him use you as long as he anticipates, eyes drooping low, trying to focus on eye contact with your nose mushed to his happy trail, the scent of the day and his cologne seeped into his skin. you heave when he pulls back entirely, whining and riding the air. he’s so damn masculine it makes you so feminine and submissive.

“one more time, hold it,” bending his back slightly, he slides back into your mouth, gently holding your neck in place to thrust a few times more, deep melodies of grunts and hisses pouring as he furrows his brows and studies how you made his dick wet and shiny, balls slapping against your chin.

with your mouth stretched open, you take him in as deep as he likes, closing your eyes to shut off your brain so you don’t choke. eren holds you there, huffing out ‘ooh fuckin’ god, baby.’ before smoothing his hand on the side of your face after he withdraws his hips to let you breathe, his own chest knocking from holding his breath.

“love you,” eren reminds you as he peppers kisses all over your face and you smile, a continuous gesture he’d do every time to make you aware, especially when he’s too rough.

the trance you have on his dick is sickening, following it as he maneuvered around the bathroom, retrieving a towel he spread on the lower part of the tub before entering, not bothering to take off his boots. you giggle as he hovers above you, biting at your nail and shifting your body beneath him so he could slot in. the weight of his cock lays on your stomach, eren grinding to rub along your folds, coaxing your hidden clit to show. eren steadies his figure, knuckles turning white from him grasping either side of the tub and holding himself up by indenting his feet into the towel.

“i fuckin’ need you,” eren growls, biting at your neck before licking and shifting his hips to nudge the tip against your opening, easily sliding in slow.

the warmth fills your face again, abdomen pinching from pain and pleasure, pawing at his slightly dirty wifebeater and hiking it further up his chest you were desperate to touch. the silver chain around his neck sways in your face, squinting your eyes and dropping your jaw when he begins pounding into you with the need he expressed. the sluice of your pussy is loud, his balls slapping against the rounds of your ass while your thighs hit his pelvis.

“this what you needed, right? what you been whinin’ for?” eren grunts in your face, taking your lips in his for passionate kiss, moaning together.

“y-yesss, mmmph,” the pleasure swarming in your stomach feels foreign, whimpering from every stroke he gives you, clawing at his sides. it felt so fucking good, your eyes scrolling and your breath inordinate along with his. “dick feel so good, ‘ren.”

“mhm hmm,” his face curls up, leaving an open mouthed kiss on your cheek and behind your ear, his touches making your body burn. “i hear it, she’s creamy as fuck.”

and it was, peering down between where you two connect to see him covered in you, the sticky slaps making his eyes lose focus, rutting into you harder. so hard it makes you scream, that sweet spot being pressured and your tummy flutters.

“e—ren,” you can barely see him, whines and whimpers being your only way of communication. spreading yourself wider by holding yourself open with both hands, arching your chest into his face where he sloppily eats at your brown skin again.

“talk.”

“annngh,” your lips turn into a pout, face completely gone. every word and sound coming out brokenly. “f-feelin’ something. s’so fuckin’ deep in me. you fuck me so good. w’na cum on it.”

“mhm, cum on it. cum on your dick baby, make it creamier.”

it’s quiet at first when you cum, legs shaking almost violently as eren lets go of the tub and lays his entire weight onto you, tucking you fully underneath to angle his hips and dig his dick in deeper, rough and steady pivots making you reach for his hair to tug, knocking off his hat. his fingers grip your cheeks, big hand almost covering your whole face as he brings his forehead to yours, growling rough.

“yess. give. it. to. me. lemme hear it.”

“g-god, y-yessss, fuck. right there, right there. please don’t fuckin’ stop . . oh my god.”

a long, exasperated groan disperses, vibrating in your chest and in his ears, hiccups and gasps following as you clench and suck him tighter. he feels the throb from your orgasm, dick twitching inside of you, rolling his waist and keeping you close to let you ride it out and feel it longer.

“take your time, there we go. feel it all.”

it pulsates harder from hearing him, grasping his wrist and releasing what’s been caged within you; a cry. “oh . . my . . g-god. eren!”

it’s not that you’re hurt, it’s that you’re experiencing too much at once. overwhelming pleasure, your husband’s embrace, the way he speaks to you, fucks you, the love you have for him, how he loves you, and even the annoying rise of hormones from your ovulation. a cry bolts from you, body convulsing and your voice dying out, grinding mindlessly on his dick and kissing his lush lips.

“that’s it, it’s okay.”

eren’s kissing all over your face, soothing you and giving you time before he holds you close to his chest and turns himself around so he’s leaning up, resting his head back on the spa pillow and twisting you so your back is to his chest. he balances your weight, taking the initiative to sling your right arm over his shoulder, eren smoothing his palms up the back of your thighs before locking your knees to your chest with his forearms.

“you good, baby?” eren whispers, smooching your cheek again.

chewing at your lips, you nod. “uh huh.”

eren moans as your fingers thread through the brown coils of his hair, tugging and planting a kiss on the shell of his ear, jumping slightly from the way he patted your pussy with his dick, sinking back in deliciously slow. with your lips parting in sync, eren flattens his feet to fuck up inside of you, your walls spasming from how good it feels and the sensitivity.

collecting the tresses of his messy hair, you fist it harder which makes him fuck you harder. your tits bouncing on your chest you fondle at.

“watch us,” he says, placing both of his hands on either side of your head to force your head down to stare at how he fucked you, keeping your legs locked with his arms.

the sloppy collision of your stickiness coating his cock that plunges into you roughly, his heavy hits making the both of you whimper. eren begins to grow so weak from being in your pussy and the hard labor he’d done today, and you can tell by the slowness in his pace after a few minutes. he’s throbbing hard, knowing he’s close to cumming, wanting to making him feel it too. he also had to get up early and still eat dinner, so did you.

“ ‘ren,” slithering your head from his grasp, you guide them to sit at your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as you tug at his hair again and nibble at your bottom lip.

moving your body further up, you arch your chest forward and implant your feet flat to the surface, snapping your ass down to fuck him instead. eren tightens his hold on you, jaw slacking and squeezing his eyes shut while placing his forehead on your shoulder. you gasp, bouncing on him and constantly groping at your chest, skin clapping louder.

“you g’na cum in me, baby?” you speak with a whiny tone, taunting him.

“y-yeah, baby. please. bounce on that shit harder,” eren sucks at your side again, retracting his hand to land a harsh spank under your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt. “fuck, you do it so good, ꒰♡꒱. do it so good.”

“mmmm,” you smile drunkenly. “this daddy’s pussy, right?”

eren whines, and you love when he gets this way, so horny he lets his guard down. makes sounds he wouldn’t usually make. his tongue on you again causes your hips to stutter, that pressure building back up, a shaky moan pressing out the harder you fuck yourself on him.

“it’s daddy’s pussy. oooh, shit baby. don’t stop, i’m g’na bust all in your p—ussy.”

“all in my pussy?” harder, faster, you pounce your ass down, knees hiking and reconnecting as you drop down completely, feeling your orgasm near and riding him by scooting your ass on him.

“all . . in it— fuck. good girl.”

weakness fills your bones, loosing your balance completely, eren bellowing out curses and grunts as he locks his hand around your neck to pull your back to him again, swiveling his hips with yours while you both ride out the wave. heaving on the side of your face after he lays his cheek on yours, warm cum leaking into you while you gush all over him in exchange.

eren softly kisses at your shoulder, embracing you in his hold and moaning from your walls clenching on him. you can’t even find the energy to speak, enduring the comforting silence and weak breathing. rubbing your arms and molding his face with yours, skin to skin a necessity for him. rocking you side by side, smiling into his forearm he used to lock against your neck, inhaling the coconut fragrance in your hair.

“we need a shower, and that chicken pie i worked hard to make for you.”

“and that strawberry pie,” eren chuckles within the crook of your neck. “i’ll eat it all just for you.”

“you better.”

#eren x reader #eren smut #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren x black reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x y/n #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager smut #eren jeager x you #eren jeager x black reader #snk smut #꒰ ─── 𝓬𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓼.

4K notes · View notes

springtyme · 8 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 ♡ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖! 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

Simon catching baby fever, but you’re only roommates...

141 masterlist (there'll be a part two of this)

Before you, the only time Simon really left his flat when he was home on leave was to go to the gym or to go get groceries.��

He was content with this routine, he found comfort in the familiarity of it, and enjoyed the peace and quiet of his own space. Or at least that is what he told himself. This way of life had been sufficient for him for a long time, but as time went on he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

That is when Simon found himself considering the idea of getting a flatmate. He thought about it for a while, weighing the pros and cons in his mind. On one hand, he enjoyed his independence and privacy. On the other hand, having someone else around the flat could be a good thing, and he does have an extra bedroom in the flat that’s just collecting dust. Maybe it would be a good idea… Maybe.

After much contemplation, Simon finally decided to take the plunge and start looking. He posted an ad online, and waited for responses to come in. To his surprise, he received a good handful, he had actually not anticipated that that many, if any, would be interested in sharing his space. It is a little overwhelming, and as he goes through the applications he starts to doubt whether he had made the right decision.

What if he didn’t get along with any of them? What if they were messy or loud or just generally annoying? It was a dumb idea to begin with, he thought to himself, but then as he looked through the last application, something caught his eye.You.

You seemed responsible, tidy, and overall like someone he could get along with. But there was something more about you that intrigued him. Maybe it was the way you wrote about your love for cooking and how you were looking for a quiet and peaceful place to call home. Or maybe it was the photo you attached to your application, a warm smile on your face that made Simon feel at ease.

Maybe this could work out after all.

And work out it did, maybe a little too well. It has now been a little over a year since you moved in, and despite Simon being gone on deployment more often than not the two of you have become very close. You cook meals together. You watch movies on lazy nights, where you will sometimes fall asleep on the couch, your lashes kissing your cheek as the soft glow of the tv illuminates your face, and Simon can’t help but feel a warmth in his heart as he tucks the fluffy blanket, that you had brought with you when you moved in, over your sleeping form.

After you moved in, his flat feels more like a home than it ever had before. It’s like you were always meant to be there, filling up the empty space in his life that he didn’t even realise was there.

There is something so oddly domestic about all the small things you do together – sharing a cup of tea in the evenings as you talk about your day, or even playfully arguing over who gets to do the dishes that night, even though he secretly never actually minds doing them.

Pushing the trolley down the aisles of the supermarket as the two of you do the big shop together on Sundays are one of his favourites, though. Because he knows what it looks like from the outside – just a couple doing their weekly grocery shopping. The only thing that would make the scene even more picturesque would be with a little baby in the trolley, a perfect blend of the two of you, giggling and reaching out to try and grab for the items on the shelves as you both laugh and try to keep them entertained.

These thoughts will sometimes sneak into Simon’s mind, and he will quickly shake them away, reminding himself that it is just his imagination running wild. He can’t think like that, it isn’t fair to you or to himself. But still, the idea lingers in the back of his mind, growing stronger with each passing day.

It has started to get harder and harder to ignore these thoughts, these feelings. He tries to push them away, to bury them deep down, but they keep resurfacing. He never really expected to feel this way about you, about anyone, really. But now that he has you in his life, so close yet so far from what he actually wants to be he can’t help but dream about a different life, to have a family, a future, a life outside of the military and his flat.

Suddenly, Simon starts to notice more and more babies around him. Whether it’s at the park when he is on his runs, in Tesco, or even on TV, they seem to be everywhere. And each time he sees a baby, his heart aches with longing. It doesn’t help that your neighbours just had a baby, and he has to watch you coo over the little boy every chance you get. It is like a knife twisting in his chest, knowing that he will never have that with you.

It has always been a secret desire of his, a wish he knew he would never be worthy of having fulfilled. And yet, it linger in the depths of his heart, elusive and shimmering like a mirage in the desert. The dream of someday having a family of his own, of doing things right, of breaking the cycle he had grown up in. After meeting you, his dreams became more vivid, more concrete.

He has fallen in love with you, and that scares the living daylights out of him. He never thought he would be in this situation, especially after all the sick shit he has been through. But here you are, filling up the empty space in his heart, making him yearn for a life he never thought he could have.

But Simon is good at keeping his emotions in check, so he continues to play his part, to act like everything is okay, like he doesn’t feel this overwhelming love for you that threatens to consume him.

But late at night, Simon lies awake in bed, when he is sure you’re sleeping and he is staring at the ceiling, his heart feels heavy with the weight of his unspoken feelings.

And when he tries to decompress, by fisting his aching cock in his hand, guilty thoughts of you will flood his mind, making him ache with longing.

He knows it’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way. But the images of you, of your smile, of your laughter, of your kindness, they linger in his mind, fueling his desires. The way you smile and laugh and light up his life in ways he never thought possible, it fuels a fire within him so all consuming, so intense, that he can’t help but give in to it, even if just in the confines of his own mind.

And as he strokes himself, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you in his bed, to feel your touch, to hear your moans of pleasure. He imagines what it would be like to hold you close, to feel your warmth against his skin, to hear you whisper words of love and affection in his ear. To have you beg for him to fill your womb and mark himself as yours. He would love it – to pump you so full with his cum, for it to take root, to see your body change with his child, to create a life with you, to have a family of his own.

He will have to bite down on his own hand to stifle his groans and to stop himself from moaning your name out loud. It’s a dangerous game he plays in the silence of the night, as he knows that these feelings, these desires, can never be acted upon. But still, he can’t help but indulge in these fantasies, in these dreams of a life that he may never have.

And as he lies in his bed after, spent and worn, a sense of guilt wash over him. He knows that it’s wrong to have these thoughts about you. But he can’t help it, he can’t control it, and as he lies in the darkness of his bedroom, he can’t help but feel the sting of longing in his chest, knowing that you lie in your own bed just down the hall, so close yet so far away.

6K notes · View notes

reilemon · 4 months ago

Text

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Possession 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

♡︎ synopsis: You move into an abandoned mansion looking for a fresh start. Little did you know you're not the only one living there.

♡︎ pairing: demon!Sylus x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: restraints, corruption (if you squint), breathplay

♡︎ word count: 10k

♡︎ a/n: the fourth story for kinktober 2024.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

The night wraps around you like a vice, pressing down on your skin. Every breath feels heavier than the last as the low, eerie hum seeps into your bones. The melody is fractured, broken, sung by something that doesn’t understand human warmth. It’s wrong, so wrong, and the more you hear it, the harder it is to pretend that everything is normal.

You sit up in bed, the silk of your nightgown sticking to your skin, cold sweat beading along your neck and back. You strain your ears to listen, catching every sound the house makes—the creak of floorboards, the low groan of the wind clawing at the windows. But beneath it, that humming persists, growing clearer.

A footstep.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Something is walking—no, pacing—just beyond your bedroom door, almost as though it knows you're listening.

You tell yourself, ‘this is ridiculous’. You’ve lived here almost two weeks, nothing dangerous has happened.

Two weeks living in this forgotten, decaying mansion. At first, the isolation felt like a cure, a place where you could finally breathe after years of soul-sucking work. The realtor had been so eager to sell it. You remember that first visit—dust motes swirling in the dim afternoon light, the scent of mildew hanging in the air. The long-abandoned estate was priced absurdly low for such a massive property. You had asked about its history, about the family that owned it. “Old money,” the realtor said dismissively. “They never even lived here, not really. They’re eager to get rid of it.”

You pressed her—why would they abandon a mansion like this? She’d shrugged, evasive. “Just one of those things, you know? Big house, lots of upkeep. Not practical anymore.” She'd forced a smile, deflecting. “People want something more modern these days.”

At the time, you didn’t care. You wanted solitude, escape, a place to start over after the chaos of your previous life.

In the first week, you brushed off the oddities. The strange cold spots in the halls, the faint scent of smoke that seemed to come from nowhere, the occasional flickering of the old lights. You reasoned ‘the house is just old, settling’. Maybe it was the stress from the move, or just the overwhelming quiet after years of city life.

But then, things became harder to dismiss.

You remember waking up one night to the sound of soft whispers, like voices just beyond your door. You convinced yourself it was a dream, that you were still half-asleep, that your mind was playing tricks on you. But when you opened the door, the hall was filled with an icy draft, despite every window being locked tight. Your skin prickled with the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

With every night, your paranoia has grown. You’ve stopped sleeping through the night. Every creak, every gust of wind outside feels like a threat. The humming has become a nightly occurrence —soft at first, almost melodic, but it twists, becomes distorted. And tonight, the footsteps. They’re louder. Closer.

You sit there for too long, your mind racing. Each beat of your heart pounds in your throat as you try to summon some logic to ground you. ‘There has to be an explanation’. You’re not some helpless woman in a cliché horror movie. You won’t let fear consume you.

But the footsteps stop, right outside the door. And in that moment, the air feels too thick to breathe.

Fuck.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor shocking against your bare feet, dragging you out of paralysis. The silk robe slides over your shoulders, its fabric a poor defense against the dread crawling up your spine. You move slowly, the wooden floor beneath you creaking with each step toward the door. Your fingers hover over the handle for a moment, hesitation making your hand shake.

‘It’s just a draft’, you tell yourself, though the words feel hollow. ‘Just the old house’.

You open the door. You swallow, flipping the light switch with a trembling hand, lighting the empty hallway. The old bulbs buzz and flicker before casting their weak glow, but the light feels sickly. You take a deep breath, forcing your legs to move, fingers brushing along the wall as though the contact will somehow steady you. With every step, the hum grows fainter, retreating deeper into the house, drawing you further from the safety of your room.

The sitting room’s light flickers as you pass, casting distorted shapes along the walls. The silence between the hums stretches, amplifying the creaks and groans of the house around you.

The dining room is next. You hesitate at the threshold, your breath hitching as the light stutters overhead, threatening to plunge you into darkness again. But it holds, if only just. The hum is still distant, still teasing, but now there's something else—something heavier beneath it. A low, barely audible rasping breath, like the sound of something alive, breathing with you.

Your hand grazes the light switch to the kitchen, fingers trembling. The moment the light flares to life, it dies.

The room plunges into complete darkness. A thick, suffocating blackness that feels like it’s crawling over your skin. Your pulse spikes, cold panic flooding your veins. The hum is gone now—replaced by the unmistakable feeling that something is in there, waiting, watching.

A faint whisper—right next to your ear, soft and malicious—sends a scream clawing up your throat, but you bite it back, too terrified to make a sound.

‘Move. Move, now.’

You stumble backward. The floor seems to shift beneath you as you flee towards the stairs. You crash into the bedroom, your breath ragged, chest heaving. You slam the door shut with a resounding thud, and the thin wood feels too fragile, too weak to keep anything out. You press your back against it, gripping the doorknob with trembling fingers, your raging heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You stand there, frozen, waiting for something else to happen. But nothing does. No footsteps, no whispers, no movement beyond the door. Just stillness.

You exhale, forcing yourself to unclench your hands from the doorknob, willing your body to stop shaking. ‘Get a grip’, you tell yourself, trying to suppress the waves of panic that threaten to consume you. You're not going to lose your mind over this. ‘It's just the stress. That’s all.’ The isolation, the strangeness of living alone in such a vast, decrepit place—it’s been messing with your head. You force your breathing to slow, sucking in deep, calming gulps of air.

Pushing away from the door, you cross the room and sit on the bed, retreating back into the sheets. It’s late—too late to do anything about it now—but in the morning, you’ll change every lock in this mansion. No more creaky doors, no more unlocked windows. You’ll seal every inch of this place if you have to. And you’ll call Tara. She’d laugh at you at first, no doubt. She teased you for choosing to live in such a remote, old house. "You’re gonna end up starring in one of those haunted house stories," she'd said, half-joking. You smile weakly, despite the dread gnawing at your gut. It’s time to take her up on her offer to visit. Tomorrow, you’ll call her.

Lying back on the bed, you try to focus on the plan—changing locks, calling Tara. You’ll handle this like you handle everything. The house creaks softly, as if responding to your newfound resolve. You ignore it, pulling the sheets up over your face, the fabric cool against your skin. ‘Sleep’, you tell yourself. ‘You need sleep’.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next day arrives sluggishly. You barely slept through the night, but daylight always brings a faint sense of hope. You push yourself out of bed, running through the motions, pretending for a moment that everything is normal.

Tara arrives just after lunch. You open the front door for her, her playful smile greeting you. But it quickly fades when her eyes catch the tension in your shoulders, the dullness of your skin. "You look like hell." You want to make a joke or a clever comeback in return, but the weight of the last two weeks presses too heavily on you. So you just let her in. You’ve told her over the phone this morning already, but now you tell her everything in more detail. You tell her about the footsteps, the humming, the cold spots. How the house doesn’t feel right.

"Okay," Tara says after a moment, her brows furrowing. "I’m not saying I believe in all that, but I’ve read enough ghost stories to know we don’t mess around with this kind of thing. I brought something." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bundle of sage. "We’ll burn this. Clears out bad energy, or at least it’s supposed to. Couldn’t hurt, right?"

You stare at the bundle for a moment, feeling both ridiculous and relieved. Maybe it’s silly, but she is right, it can’t hurt to try. "Thanks," you mutter, trying to smile.

"And I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows a good priest," Tara adds, her tone light again, though you can hear the genuine concern beneath it. "Someone could come over and bless the place, right? If nothing else, it’ll give you peace of mind."

You nod, though part of you still feels absurd for even considering it. Together, you and Tara walk through the house, lighting the sage. The oppressive weight that has been weighting you down lifts, just slightly. The creaking stops, the cold spots seem to fade, and for the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe.

"See? Not so bad," Tara says, giving you a reassuring smile. "It already feels better in here. Maybe that’s all it needed—some good ol’ sage and positive vibes."

You nod, grateful, feeling a spark of hope. Maybe this is all it took. Maybe that’s the end of it.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

That night, you follow your routine, trying to remain calm. You lock every door, check every window, twice, and make sure nothing is out of place. By the time you slip into bed, you’re exhausted. You lie there in the dark, the cool sheets against your skin, your eyes slowly fluttering closed.

But in the depths of the mansion, something stirs. The energy has changed, shifted. The air hums with a barely-contained agitation, a dark presence swirling in the corners, crawling through the walls. It had been watching you, waiting. And now, with the sage burned and the mention of a priest, it’s no longer content to simply watch.

A sound pulls you back from the edge of sleep. You freeze, straining to listen. At first, it’s faint, like distant laughter. It’s low, dark, amused, seeping through the room as though it’s mocking your very presence here. You sit up abruptly, your pulse spiking. The laugh is gone, but the air feels colder now. The wind outside picks up, slapping against the windows, and then—you hear it. A loud, sharp caw. A crow’s cry, shrill and eerie, slicing through the still night air. You turn your head toward the window, expecting to see its shape perched on the sill, but there’s nothing there, just the empty darkness beyond the glass.

‘It’s just a bird’, you tell yourself. ‘Just a bird’.

But then the footsteps start again.

They’re louder this time. Not like before when you could pretend it was just the old floorboards shifting. No, these are deliberate. Heavy. The distinct sound of boots on wood, moving slowly down the hallway outside your bedroom. Each step echoes through the house, growing louder, closer, until they stop right outside your door. You can feel your pulse in your throat, every instinct screaming at you to stay in bed, to not make a sound. But the silence is oppressive. You can’t just lie here anymore. You push yourself up on shaky legs, feet hitting the cold floor as you move toward the door, your hand hovering over the knob like before. But this time, you don’t need to open it.

The door swings open on its own.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything is still. The dark hallway stretches before you, stretching into nothingness. But then, at the far end, you see it—a faint, flickering glow. A dim, blood-red light. It pulses, stronger with each passing second, growing brighter, sharper. Your chest tightens as the glow intensifies. You swallow hard, a cold sweat forming on the back of your neck as the realization hits you that this—whatever it is—isn’t something you can ignore.

“Who… who are you?” you stammer, your voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

The red glow flickers, focusing on you. You feel it in the air around you. The presence you’ve been denying, the thing that’s been watching, waiting. Now you’ve acknowledged it. It begins to solidify, drawing closer. The figure takes form—broad shoulders, a tall, towering frame. And then, his face. Sharp, defined features, red eyes, and silver hair. His gaze locks onto you, and it feels like he’s peering into the deepest, darkest parts of your soul.

You stumble back, heart racing, unable to comprehend what you’re seeing. This can’t be real. This has to be some nightmare. But he’s there, standing before you, fully formed—real.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, his voice deep.

You stand frozen, every inch of you trembling. This isn’t some ghost story, some figment of your imagination. You take a step back, your legs weak, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. “W-waiting for what?” you manage to choke out, though your voice barely rises above a whisper.

His smirk widens. “For you to understand,” he says softly, his tone almost condescending. He takes a step closer and the floor creaks under the weight of his boots, the sound amplified in the eerie silence of the mansion. “This place… it’s mine. Always has been.”

You stumble backward again, your mind racing, desperate for some way to rationalize this. But you can’t. The thing standing in front of you isn’t human. “I don’t understand,” you whisper, shaking your head. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

He laughs softly at that, a low, dark chuckle. “I am not the intruder here,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. “You are.” His eyes narrow, the humor fading, replaced with a cold, hard edge. “This house, this mansion, has been mine for centuries. I’ve seen generations come and go, trying to claim it as their own.”

You’re barely holding on, fear coursing through you. “Who… who are you?” you ask again, though now your voice is almost a plea.

He leans in, his face close enough now that you can smell the faint scent of something burning, something ancient. “I am Sylus. This house… my house… it’s been mine longer than you can imagine. And you—" His gaze sharpens. "You’ve been tampering with things you shouldn’t."

He steps back. "I’ll give you a chance. Pack your things. Leave." His words are like a command, absolute, and it makes your chest tighten.

Something in you snaps.

The fear, the dread that’s been building for days—it all crashes into something else, something raw and angry. You clench your fists. Leave? After everything? You’ve fought too hard to be told to just give up.

"No," you say, your voice trembling, though whether it’s from fear or anger, you’re not sure. His smirk widens, a dark chuckle escaping his lips as if amused by your defiance. "No?" he repeats, the word dripping with condescension, as though your resistance is nothing more than a child’s tantrum to him.

But you’re not done. "It’s not fair," you continue, and you can feel the flood of emotions you’ve been holding back surging forward. "I worked for this. You don’t get to tell me to leave!" Your voice rises, trembling with frustration. You can feel your eyes burning with unshed tears. "I can’t just… pack up and go?! This place was supposed to be my fresh start!"

Sylus’ amusement falters. He was expecting fear. Submission. Not this. Not the raw emotion pouring out of you.

You take a shaky breath, your words tumbling out now unfiltered. "I’ve given up everything! My life was a wreck before I came here. I had no friends, no purpose, nothing.” Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t stop, the anger blending with exhaustion. "This place was supposed to be my dream," you whisper, your voice cracking. "And now you’re telling me to leave? After everything I’ve been through?”

Sylus says nothing for a long moment. He stands there, watching you with an intensity that feels almost suffocating, the mocking air that surrounded him fading as something shifts in his expression. His tail, once flicking in amusement, goes still. He opens his mouth, perhaps to laugh, to mock you again, but no sound comes out. Something about your defiance, your honesty, seems to catch him off guard. He had expected you to cower, to run, to tremble at his mere presence. Instead, you’re standing here, pouring your soul out in front of him.

The room is silent.

Sylus’ gaze doesn’t leave yours. "You think your struggles give you claim to this place?" His voice is softer now, almost contemplative. "You’re not the first to come here, seeking something better. But none of them stayed for long."

You don’t back down. "I’m not them," You say quietly. "I’m not running."

Sylus watches you for a long moment, his sharp features unreadable. Finally, he speaks, his tone more subdued, more thoughtful. "You have spirit, I’ll give you that." You stand there, still trembling, but something in the air feels different now. Sylus, for all his power, doesn’t seem as dismissive as he did before. He turns around, giving you one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows. "Don’t bring a priest. Don’t burn any more sage. Consider this a warning.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the nights are quiet.

After the tense confrontation with Sylus, after his warning and your emotional outburst, something shifted. You still feel him—his presence lingers in the mansion like a shadow that never quite leaves—but it's no longer oppressive.For several nights now, you’ve slept soundly, undisturbed by the creaks of the floorboards or the strange hum echoing through the halls. And though you sometimes catch a glimpse of movement in the shadows, Sylus doesn’t show himself. It’s as if he’s made a quiet, unspoken truce with you, staying out of your way—for now.

A week passes, and the mansion almost feels… peaceful. Maybe it’s the quiet, maybe it’s the way you’ve started to make the space your own despite his warnings. You’ve begun to settle in, unpacking more boxes, putting things in order, reclaiming the mansion in small ways.

One evening, you decide to tackle the attic. You pull the creaky ladder down and climb, your flashlight casting light across the wooden beams and piles of forgotten items. The air is thick with dust, and the faint smell of mildew hangs in the air. Boxes are piled high, old trunks and forgotten furniture clutter the space, draped in old sheets. You take a deep breath, brushing away cobwebs as you start sorting through the old belongings. It’s mostly junk—old letters, tarnished trinkets, broken ceramic figurines. But then you open a wooden music box and your eyes immediately land on something shiny.

A brooch.

It’s in the shape of a raven, carved from some kind of dark metal, accompanied by a large red gemstone. The moment your fingers brush against it, the air in the attic grows thick. You can feel a chill crawl up your spine as you lift the brooch, turning it over in your hand, examining the beautiful craftsmanship.

That’s when you hear him.

"Put it back."

You whirl around, and there he is—Sylus. His red eye glows brighter than usual, flickering with barely contained agitation. His tall frame looms over you, his tail flicks behind him, tense, snapping in the air like a whip.

You freeze, the brooch still in your hand. "Why?" you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

"That doesn’t belong to you," Sylus growls. He takes a step closer. "Put it back in the box. Now."

Slowly, carefully, you place the brooch back into the wooden music box. The moment you do, you can feel the tension in the room ease. Sylus watches, his eyes never leaving the brooch until it's safely out of sight. His broad shoulders relax, his tail flicking behind him in a slower, more measured rhythm.

"Why does it matter so much?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze lingering on the closed music box. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more guarded, as though he’s choosing his words carefully. "It was made for someone. No one should be touching it."

There’s a story there, buried deep beneath his cold exterior, but he’s not offering it to you.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. Your mind spins with possibilities, but you keep your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to pry further into something clearly painful. Instead, you glance at the music box, not daring to touch it again. Its melody feels strangely familiar. You pause, recognizing the tune—the same haunting melody you’ve heard in the dark, late at night.

"Is this… the song you’ve been humming?" you ask carefully, lifting your gaze to meet his.

His eyes narrow, but there’s no anger there. He doesn’t answer immediately, but after a long silence, he gives a short nod. "It is."

A soft breath escapes you, and you can’t help the small smile. "Well," you say, your tone a little lighter "you’re always off-key." The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a moment, you freeze, wondering if you’ve crossed a line—if teasing a demon was, perhaps, not your smartest move.

Sylus blinks, his expression unreadable at first, but then—he chuckles. The sound is rough, almost rusty, as though it’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to find humor in anything. "I didn’t know I had a critic," he mutters with a trace of amusement.

You let out a shaky breath, relieved, but still stunned by the sound of his laughter. You find yourself staring at Sylus, watching the way his red eyes soften, the way the usual predatory edge to him seems to dull, just for a moment. You don’t know what to say, but you don’t need to. Finally, Sylus breaks the silence, his voice quieter, less guarded than before. "Be careful with what you touch in this house," he says, though there’s no threat behind his words, only a quiet warning. "Not everything here belongs to you."

You nod, understanding more than he’s willing to say. "I didn’t mean to…" you trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, the faintest smile on his lips. "I know." And with that, he turns, his figure dissolving into the shadows of the attic, leaving you alone once more.

But this time, the air doesn’t feel so heavy. The mansion doesn’t feel so hostile.

And Sylus doesn’t feel like a demon lurking in the dark anymore.

For the first time, he feels like someone who’s been through more than you could possibly imagine. Someone who’s carrying the weight of loss and pain for centuries. And somehow, despite everything, you’ve seen a glimpse of something human in him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The days that followed felt different. The mansion, though still steeped in its eerie silence, seemed to breathe a little easier. Sylus, who had always been a constant, brooding presence in the shadows, began to make himself known in new ways. You would be working around the house—organizing a room, fixing up old furniture, unpacking boxes—and you’d feel him. A brush of air, the faintest warmth at your back.

He never fully revealed himself during the day, not at first. But there were brief moments, when you’d catch a glimpse of him—standing in the doorway, his red eye glowing faintly before he slipped away, or a flash of silver hair in the corner of your vision. And slowly, he started to help.

At first, it was subtle. You’d be struggling to move a piece of furniture, and when you turned around to grab something for leverage, it had already shifted into place, as if someone had pushed it for you. Tools you needed would be mysteriously laid out before you reached for them. And sometimes, when you lost track of time working on a project, you’d find a fire already lit in the fireplace before the chill of the evening would creep in.

One afternoon, you were standing on a chair in the kitchen, trying to reach a high cabinet when you suddenly lost your balance. Before you could even cry out, you felt strong hands on your waist, steadying you, with a firm grip. You turned to find Sylus standing there, his lips curled into that familiar smirk.

"Careful, kitten," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Kitten. The word caught you off guard, and you blinked at him. Something about the way he said it—so casually, yet with a hint of affection—left you speechless. He had called you ‘kitten’ like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t mind the new nickname. Not at all.

The touches became more frequent, intentional. When you passed each other in narrow hallways, his hand would brush against your arm, or his fingers would trail along your back. Every touch would make your heart flutter, your cheeks heat up.

One evening, your muscles ached after hours of working tirelessly around the mansion. You sat by the fire, sipping tea in an attempt to relax. The room was quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, but then you felt it—his presence. Sylus was watching you from the doorway.

“You’ve been pushing yourself,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet. His eyes focused on your hand as it pressed against your shoulder, kneading the sore muscle.

“Maybe a little,” you replied, leaning back into the chair, letting your eyes close for just a second. “But I can handle it.”

Sylus chuckled softly. “You don’t always have to be so stubborn.” He leaned in closer, standing next to you. “Let me help.” His hand rested lightly on your shoulder, his touch warm.

For a moment, you hesitated, but the ache in your muscles urged you to accept. You gave a small nod and turned your back to him. He moved closer, his hands resting fully on your shoulders now. You could feel the strength in them through the thin fabric of your shirt. His fingers dug in gently, working into the tight muscles with a careful yet firm pressure. You let out a small sigh of relief, the tension starting to ease under his touch.

But then his hands moved more slowly, the pads of his fingers tracing over your skin in a way that felt… intimate. The soft kneading of your muscles became something more, his thumbs pressing into the knots in your back with expert precision. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips, your body instinctively leaning into his touch, craving the release from the pain.

“You like that?” Sylus murmured, his voice low, teasing as his hands moved lower. Your breath hitched as his fingers worked their magic, easing the soreness out of your muscles. It was impossible to ignore the way his hands felt against your body, the way each touch made your skin tingle.

“You’re so tense,” he muttered, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in.

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. His hands on your body, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all felt overwhelming. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through you, and though the massage had started innocently enough, there was no mistaking the shift in energy between you. As his hands moved lower, brushing dangerously close to your hips, you could feel the warmth pooling in your lower belly.

Flustered, you quickly pulled away, standing up from the chair before things could escalate any further. “Th-thank you for the massage,” you stammered. You could feel your face flushing and you didn’t dare look him in the eye.

Sylus leaned back slightly, his lips pulling into that knowing smirk. “Of course,”

You took a small step back. “I think I’ll just… take a hot bath before bed,” Without waiting for his response, you turned and made your way toward the bedroom. The heat in your cheeks only grew worse as you walked away, your legs feeling like they might give out from the mixture of embarrassment and the lingering effects of his touch. You felt his eyes on you, taking in every movement, the subtle sway of your hips as you retreated to the safety of your room.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The phone call left you feeling strange—half-flattered, half-disconnected. A friend of a friend, someone from your old life, asked you out on a date. You politely declined, giving some excuse about being too busy, about focusing on your new home. But that’s not entirely true. The call was a reminder of the life you left behind, and the strange new one you found here.

You sigh, setting the phone down and reaching for the bottle of wine you opened earlier. Pouring yourself a glass, you settle into the sofa and pick up a book. You sip the wine, letting the tension of the day slip away as you open the book. But it’s not quiet for long.

The air shifts, and before you even look up, you feel that familiar presence. Sylus arrives without a sound, as he always does.

With a smile, you lookup from your book. "Care to join me for a drink?" you ask as you raise your glass to him. Although you aren’t sure if demons even can drink.

He chuckles softly, his boots making the faintest sound as he crosses the room to stand beside you. "I haven’t tasted wine in centuries," he admits.

You tilt your head. "So you don’t eat? Or drink?"

Sylus shrugs, "I haven’t needed to," he says simply, but there is something in his tone—an almost wistful note. "I suppose I could try."

You laugh softly, offering him your glass. "Here, then. Let’s see if you still can."

Sylus hesitates for a moment, but then, with a slight shake of his head, he accepts your offer. He takes a small sip, tasting the wine before swallowing.

"Well?" you ask with a smile. "Can you taste it?"

Sylus’s lips curve into an amused smirk. "I can taste it," he says and takes another sip. He makes a face, mockingly disappointed, and returns the glass to you. "I think you should buy yourself something nicer," he teases. "This is a bit cheap."

You snort, playfully rolling your eyes. "Of course you have an expensive taste."

Sylus chuckles. But then, the relaxed expression changes to a serious one. "Who was on the phone earlier?"

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers tightening around your wineglass. "Just someone from my old life." Sylus raises an eyebrow, and you feel compelled to continue. “Asked me out on a date, but I declined.”

You avoid his gaze, but you can feel Sylus watching you. "Why did you decline?" he asks, his voice low. "You’ve been here for months. You don’t get out much. Why not say yes?"

You swallow, trying to gather your thoughts. The truth is too heavy, too tangled, and you aren’t ready to admit it, not even to yourself.

"You’re one to talk," you say raising an eyebrow and mustering a playful tone. "If anyone’s used to solitude, it’s you. You’ve been alone for centuries—I think I can manage a little bit of solitude for a few months."

“Touché.” he chuckles. His gaze turns towards the flickering flames of the fireplace, “But solitude… it wears on you. You might think it’s peace, but after a while, it starts to feel more like a cage.”

The words sink into you, unsettling. But, before you can respond, a question begins to form at the back of your mind, heavy and uncomfortable. Was he truly alone all this time? Were there others before you, drawn into the same dark intensity of his presence? What if this isn’t new for him—this attraction, this electricity between you? What if you’re just another fleeting distraction in the long centuries of his existence?

You can’t stand that thought. You want to believe that you’re different, that something about you has made him change, drawn him out of the shadows in ways no one else ever has. But the growing feeling of jealousy won’t let go. Because if he’s been like this before—if there had been others—then what does that make you?

You take a deep breath, shoving these feelings aside. You feel foolish for letting your mind even go there. The two of you are just co-existing, just roommates in a weird way.

You glance at the clock on the mantel. “Oh,” you say, your voice a little too bright, “look at the time. The movie I wanted to watch is about to start.” You grab the TV remote, as if turning on the television can stop the thoughts from spiraling out of control.

Sylus doesn’t miss your deflection. He never does. “Another distraction?” he asks. He could sense your agitation, your mind wandering somewhere.

You shoot him a look, but the teasing edge in his voice makes your heart flutter. “Do you want to watch it with me?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “It’s about to start. I know how much you love TV,” you add with a playful glance his way. You know how fascinated he is with television, even though he’ll never admit it.

Sylus arches an eyebrow, and for a moment, you think he might decline. But then he stands and settles beside you on the sofa. He’s close—too close.

“I suppose I can indulge you,” he says. “Though, if this movie’s as boring as the last one you picked, I can’t promise I’ll stay.” His arm rests casually along the back of the sofa, and you can feel the heat radiating from him, even though he’s not touching you.

You smirk, rolling your eyes as you flip through the channels until you find the movie. “I’m sure it’ll hold your attention, Sylus,” you shoot back, though your mind is still racing, the earlier doubts lingering in your mind.

The movie begins, and for the first few moments, everything seems normal. It’s a late-night thriller, with captivating plot and ominous music. You let yourself sink into the sofa, grateful for the distraction, but the comfort doesn’t last long. About halfway through, the movie takes an unexpected turn. The tension between the characters on screen snaps, and suddenly, they’re in a dimly lit bedroom, their bodies pressed together. The soft, breathy moans fill the room, while the scene of naked bodies rolls on the screen.

Your breath hitches, and you fumble for the remote, your fingers shaking slightly as you try to find the button to change the channel. “I didn’t know it would… turn into this,” you mutter, clearly flustered.

Sylus snatches the remote from your hands. “Don’t change the channel.” His eyes are on the screen, amusement plastered over his face. Heat floods your cheeks, your heart racing as the sounds from the screen grow more intimate. You can feel Sylus shifting beside you, his arm still resting along the back of the sofa, his fingers just inches from your shoulder.

You try to focus, try to steer your mind away from the images on the screen. And then the uncomfortable question shows its ugly head again.

Had there been someone else?

You’re not sure what you are to him. You’re not sure if you’re just another passing moment in his long, endless existence.

You can’t think about that. You need to clear your head.

Sylus laughs as a relieved sigh leaves your lips when the steamy scene ends, and you can’t help but laugh a little with him.

You make a mental note to call the man from earlier. You’ll call him in the morning, when Sylus is resting, and try to schedule the date after all. Maybe it’ll help clear your head, help you sort through the tangled mess of emotions that has built up since you moved into this mansion, since Sylus slithered his way into your life.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next day, you had avoided Sylus all morning, deliberately keeping yourself busy with small tasks that didn’t require much thought—dusting the bookshelves, scrubbing the kitchen counters, tending to the plants. But no matter what you did, you still felt him. Normally, you’d catch a glimpse of him here or there, a shadow slipping through the hallway or leaning against the doorway, finding any chance to tease you. But today, you avoided those moments, slipping out of rooms just before he appeared.

You tried to escape the gnawing feeling of guilt as well.

The call you’d made earlier in the morning had gone smoothly. The man had been more than happy to hear from her again. You agreed on the time and even though he was willing to pick you up, you insisted to meet at the restaurant. The conversation was light and sweet. But as soon as you hung up, a part of you regretted it. Even though you shouldn’t have.

After lunch, you retreated into the safety of your bedroom. You took your time getting ready —something you hadn’t done in a long time.The hours dragged on, and you continued to stay in your room, pacing, glancing at your reflection in the mirror - the tight dress is flattering, accentuating your curves. You set aside high heels that made your legs long and irresistible. You still had time to kill, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the room. You didn’t want to face Sylus. Not yet. The thoughts of last night still weighed heavily on you—the tension during the movie, the heat of his body next to yours, how you craved his touch.

Then, a knock at the door.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Sylus never knocks. He never enters your bedroom, to give you some semblance of privacy.

"Are you alright?" You can hear genuine concern in his voice from the other side of the door. "You've been in there for a while."

You hesitate, heart racing. Part of you wants to tell him to go away, to keep the distance you’d been trying so hard to create today. But the sound of his voice makes your chest tighten. You swallow, steeling yourself before you answer.

"Come in." Why did you tell him to come in?

The door creaks open slowly, and as Sylus steps into the room, you can see the brief flash of surprise on his face—the way his red eyes widen as he takes you in. For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way fabric of the dress clings to your body.

"Well," he finally says, his voice low. "I thought something was wrong… that you weren’t feeling well. Or that you were avoiding me."

There’s something about the way he says it, the flicker of concern behind his usual teasing, that touches you. You force a smile. "I wasn’t avoiding you," you lie. "I just… took my time to getting ready."

Sylus steps closer, his eyes over you again, savoring every detail. Then, his expression softens. "You look beautiful," he says, the words slipping from his lips with surprising tenderness.

The compliment stuns you. Of all the things you expected from him—teasing, possessiveness, maybe even anger—this was the last. You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you stare back at him, unsure how to react.

He doesn’t let you recover, though. He steps even closer, his gaze holding yours, and he adds, "You always do."

His words are so sincere. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to find your voice, "Thank you," the words are barely audible, your heart still racing from the weight of his gaze.

Then his lips pull into that teasing smirk. "So, you are going on that date after all?"

You feel your stomach twist at his words. “Yes, I’m going on a date.”

Sylus steps closer, his towering form closing in on you with that familiar, quiet intensity. Your heart races as he moves forward, and instinctively, you step back. But he doesn’t stop. With each step he takes, you find yourself moving backward, the space shrinking, guiding you slowly toward the edge of your bed.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” he asks, his voice low and laced with that dangerous amusement.

You swallow, trying to stay composed. “You’re the one who suggested it,” you say, hoping that your words don’t betray the storm of emotions inside.

He smirks, clearly not fooled by your attempt to steer the conversation away. His gaze never leaves yours as he steps even closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, sending a shiver across your skin. “Is that so?” his tone is almost taunting, “If that’s what you want - to go out… to have fun with someone else… then you should.”

His words hang in the air, but the way he says it—the challenge, the possessiveness barely veiled—makes it feel like anything but permission. His fingers trace down from your cheek, slowly grazing your jawline before trailing to your throat, where they rest lightly, just enough to make your pulse race under his touch. But it’s the way his tail moves—sliding up the back of your leg, curling around your thigh—that sends a wave of heat flooding through you. It lingers there, teasing, the smooth, firm pressure making your legs tremble.

“You can say the word,” he whispers, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes your lips, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. “If you want me to stop, to keep my distance… just say it.”

His tail continues its slow, deliberate trail over your skin. The air feels thick, suffocating, as you stand there, torn between your desire for something normal, and the undeniable pull of the dark, dangerous connection between you and him.

The silence stretches, thick with tension as Sylus waits, his lips so close to yours. His gaze locks onto yours, waiting, daring you to speak. But your throat is dry, your breath caught somewhere between fear and desire, and no words come. You can’t say it. You don’t want him to stop. And Sylus knows it.

"You’re not stopping me," he murmurs. His tail tightens its grip on your thigh, its smooth length curling higher, the teasing pressure sending a wave of arousal through your body.

Your knees buckle, your body trembling under the weight of his presence. You stumble, falling back onto the bed, but before you can even react, Sylus’ hands are there—gripping your waist, guiding you down gently so the landing is soft. The bed creaks as he follows, his hands and knees resting on either side of you, caging you in.

His eyes are dark and hungry as they roam over your body, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, the way your lips part in anticipation. His hand slides up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip, teasing, making you crave more.

"You belong to me," Sylus whispers. With that, he finally closes the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a slow kiss. In that moment, everything else falls away—the date, the outside world, the fear of what’s happening between you. All that matters is Sylus.

The kiss deepens, your body melting into the bed as Sylus’ lips press harder against yours, his tongue slipping past your parted lips, swirling with yours leaving you breathless. His teeth graze your bottom lip, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. Your hands are buried in his silver locks, trembling as his kiss grows hungrier, more urgent. But before you can pull him closer, Sylus breaks the kiss. Slowly, he reaches down, his fingers grazing the straps of your dress and bra before tugging them down your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He slides one hand up, gripping both of your wrists in a firm, yet careful hold. He lifts your hands, pinning them above your head against the soft sheets.

"Do you trust me?" he asks with softness in his voice.

The question catches you off guard. You swallow hard, your throat tight as you whisper, "Yes."

Sylus’ eyes flicker with a flash of satisfaction, and before you can process what’s happening, the space around your wrists tightens. You glance up and see the dark tendrils of magic winding around your wrists, binding them together. The energy pulses softly, not painful, but firm—like his touch. Your pulse quickens as you realize just how vulnerable you are beneath him, your body completely at his mercy. Sylus takes in the sight beneath him, and you can feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

Without another word, he leans down, his lips capturing one of your nipples, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak. His mouth is hot, teasing, as he licks and sucks at your breast, his hand squeezing the other, rolling the hardened nipple between his fingers with just enough pressure to make you whimper.

As his mouth works your breast, his tail slides up beneath your dress, the smooth length teasing the inside of your thighs. You shudder at the sensation, your body twitching in anticipation as the tip of his tail finally finds its way to your panties, grazing over the damp fabric.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as he watches you squirm beneath him. "Look at you," he murmurs, his tail pressing just a little harder against your panties, making you gasp. "So wet already…" The smirk on his lips widens as his tail continues to tease you, the sensation maddening as he presses against your swollen clit through the fabric. Without warning, he pulls the bottom of your dress up over your hips, exposing your lace panties to his hungry gaze. His eyes flicker with a brief flash of jealousy at the sight of the lacy fabric, but then a different look takes over—pride. He is the one who gets to take them off, the one who has you like this.

"Pretty," he says with a teasing edge as his fingers brush over the fabric before gripping the waistband. "But I think I prefer you without these." His tail slides aside, giving way to his hands as he hooks his fingers under the lace and slowly peels your panties down, leaving you bare and exposed to his gaze.

The moment Sylus’ fingers slide between your folds and feel how wet you are, his breath hitches. He can feel the throbbing need building inside him, but he keeps himself steady. He will not lose control. Not yet. A wicked smirk plays on his lips as he teases you, his fingers gliding lightly over your entrance, brushing against your clit just enough to send shocks of pleasure through you. You whine, your hips bucking instinctively against his touch.

"Please," you whisper, your voice breaking with desperation, your wrists still bound above your head as you tug uselessly against the restraints. The heat between your legs is unbearable, and every teasing stroke of his fingers makes it worse.

Sylus leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he coos softly. "Tell me what you need," His fingers continuing their torturous, feather-light touches. "I want to hear you say it."

Your body trembles beneath him, and for a moment, you hesitate, the embarrassment battling with the overwhelming need. But the feel of his fingers stroking you, teasing you, is too much, and your voice wavers as you whisper, "I… I need you inside me. Please."

The smirk on his lips widens. "Good girl." He leans back, straightening up, and in one fluid motion, he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. His body is incredible—broad, muscular shoulders leading down to a strong, toned chest and perfectly defined abs. You can’t tear your eyes away as Sylus’ hands moved to the waistband of his pants, the motion enhancing the muscles and veins of his arms. His gaze never leaves yours as he slowly pulls down his pants and underwear, just enough to free his cock. Your eyes widen at the sight of it—thick, long, and already leaking with precum. The sheer size of him makes your heart race with a mix of excitement and nervousness, and for a moment, doubt creeps in. ‘How am I going to take that?’ you swallow hard as you look up at him.

Sylus notices the flicker of worry in your eyes, and a smug grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "Don’t worry," his voice is laced with amusement as he wraps his hand around his length, stroking himself slowly. His eyes lock onto yours as he kneels between your legs, his fingers sliding back down between your thighs, teasing your dripping pussy again. "I know you can take it"

Sylus positions himself between your legs, his eyes fixed on you as he lines himself up with your entrance. His cock presses against your slick folds, the thick head nudging inside, eliciting a whimper from your lips. You’re trembling, but the weight of his body and the heat radiating off him keep you anchored.

“Relax, darling,” his voice is soothing as he strokes your thigh. His gaze is soft as he watches your reactions.

Slowly, carefully, he pushes forward, easing himself inside. The stretch makes you gasp. It stings, just a little, but there’s a dizzying pleasure that follows it, a heat that courses through you as he fills you inch by inch. Your breath is shallow, and you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by how full you feel, how intense it is.

“Angel,” Sylus growls softly, his voice thick with desire as he pauses, halfway in, letting your body adjust to the stretch. “Look at me.”

You bite your lip, too lost in the sensation to bring yourself to open your eyes. That’s when you feel his hand slide up to your neck with a firm grip, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Eyes on me,” he orders, his voice soft but commanding, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. “I want to watch your face as I slide inside you. I want to see how beautiful you look.”

Your eyes flutter open, and the intensity of his gaze nearly steals your breath. His red eyes burn with a mixture of lust and something deeper, something more tender. His fingers tighten slightly around your neck, just enough to keep you grounded, to keep you focused on him. He’s watching you closely as he pushes in deeper, sinking further inside you.

You’re a whimpering mess by the time Sylus finally bottoms out. The stretch makes your head spin, tears prick at the corners of your eyes, spilling over as you gasp beneath him. Sylus notices the tears almost immediately. His gaze softens and his thumb moves from your neck to gently wipe them away, the pads of his fingers tender against your flushed cheeks.

“Shh, darling,” His thumb swipes over your skin, catching a tear before it falls. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good, taking me so perfectly.”

His words send a shiver through you, and despite the ache and the fullness, there’s something comforting about his touch, the way he speaks to you. His thumb lingers on your cheek for just a second longer, before he shifts his grip to your waist, pulling you tighter against him. His hips draw back slightly, the head of his cock dragging against your inner walls, sending a shock of pleasure through you.

Sylus groans softly, his voice catching as he feels your slick walls gripping him. He holds himself still for a moment, trying to stay in control, but the truth is, he’s so close to losing it. This is the first time he’s done this since becoming a demon—since being cursed with his immortal body—and the sensation of being inside you, of your tight, wet heat surrounding him, is almost too much. He can’t tell you that, can’t admit that you are the one in control.

He starts to move, his thrusts slow at first, almost careful, but the way your pussy clenches around him makes it impossible for him to hold back. His breath comes in ragged gasps as he thrusts into you, each motion sending ripples of pleasure through your body. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice strained as his hips snap forward again, harder this time. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “You feel so good, so fucking good…”

He’s too close, and before he can stop himself, the pleasure overtakes him. After only a few more short, sharp thrusts, he pulls out suddenly, his cock throbbing as hot spurts of cum splash across the skin of your belly.

You’re stunned for a moment. You did not expect him to finish so quickly.

Sylus’ chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes glinting with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. He glances down, where his release glistens on your skin, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something like embarrassment in his eyes. He should’ve expected for you to have such an effect on him.

But even as he catches his breath, his cock is still hard. Without a word, he reaches down, his fingers gripping his length, and he guides himself back to your entrance. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing, the lingering warmth of his release still fresh on your skin as he presses the head of his cock against you again. He watches your reaction closely as he slowly pushes back inside you, the wetness of his release mixing with your own arousal as he fills you once more. “I’m not done with you.”

The stretch feels even more intense the second time, your body still sensitive from his earlier thrusts, and a gasp escapes your lips as he slides inside, burying himself deep again. His hips snap against yours, his cock sliding in and out of you with a rhythm that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you closer, deeper with every thrust.

Sylus’ tail snakes around your waist, the smooth, firm length of it tightening as it pulls you flush against him, keeping you pinned beneath his body. His hand moves to your throat again, fingers pressing just enough to make you aware of his control. The pressure sends a thrill through you, intensifying every sensation as he picks up the pace. Each thrust drives him deeper, the head of his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over, making your body tremble with pleasure.

You try to turn your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, but Sylus doesn’t let you hide. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to command your attention, as he growls softly, "Look at me, darling."

His fingers slide between your thighs, finding your swollen clit with a precision that sends a jolt of electricity through your body. You’re overwhelmed by the sensation of his thick cock filling you completely, the wet heat of your bodies moving together in sync, and the relentless pressure on your clit. It’s too much, all of it—too intense, too good, too consuming. You try to close your eyes, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze, but Sylus isn’t having it.

“I said, look at me,” His tail winds tighter around your waist, anchoring you in place. His hips snap against yours, faster, harder, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you, forcing broken moans from your lips. The fingers move faster, rougher on your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Your eyes flutter open, locking onto his. You’re teetering on the brink, every nerve in your body on fire. His thick cock slams into you harder, deeper, his fingers relentless on your clit, and your body surrenders completely.

Sylus watches you—his breath ragged, muscles taut, holding back just enough, waiting for you. His hand stays firm on your throat, keeping you grounded, his fingers pushing you towards your peak. He can feel it in the way your walls flutter around his cock, squeezing tighter, and it drives him wild.

"Come for me," he growls, his voice thick with command.

His words are all it takes. Pleasure slams into you, stealing your breath as your body tightens around him. Every pulse, every clench makes the orgasm crash through you in waves so intense that all you can do is cry out, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Your back arches off the bed, but Sylus is there, his hands and tail keeping you pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy. You're helpless, lost in the dizzying sensation, and he holds you tight, letting you ride out every wave.

“That’s it,” he groans, his restraint slipping as he feels you clench around him, your body milking him with every pulse. His voice is rough, almost desperate now. “Just like that, angel. Just like that.”

As you come down from your high, your breath still shaky, you feel the tension of Sylus’ magic keeping your wrists bound above your head. You tug weakly against the restraints, wanting to touch him, to feel his skin beneath your hands, your body aching for the closeness.

“Sylus,” you whisper, your voice soft and hoarse from the intensity of it all, “please… I want to touch you.”

Without hesitation, the dark tendrils of magic around your wrists fade, releasing you. Your arms fall limply to your sides, trembling with exhaustion. But it only takes a moment before you reach up, wrapping your arms around Sylus’ neck, pulling him down into a tight, desperate embrace. The second your hands grip him, your lips find his in a messy, breathless kiss. The taste of him is intoxicating, the heat of his body pressing down on yours offering you comfort.

Sylus groans against your mouth, his hips moving in slow, languid motions, drawing out every ounce of pleasure. His cock fills you completely, each gentle thrust making your body shudder beneath him. His grasp on your hip is almost bruising, his fingers digging into your skin as though holding on to you is the only thing keeping him grounded. But his other hand is soft, cradling the back of your neck with tender care, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

His lips barely pull away from yours between frantic kisses. "Where... where can I finish?" His voice is strained, and his hips falter for a moment. You can feel the way his body trembles with the effort of holding back. His thrusts begin to quicken, each thrust hitting deeper, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.

"Inside," you whisper breathlessly, your voice trembling as your hands tug him closer. "Do whatever you want... I'm yours."

Something in Sylus snaps at your words. His thrusts grow erratic, his body trembling as he reaches his peak, and with one final, deep thrust, he lets go. His release hits him hard, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills, groaning into your neck as the pleasure crashes over him. His grip on you tightens for a moment before his movements slow, his breath heavy and uneven.

As he rides out his high, his lips find yours again, kissing you softly. His hips slow to a gentle, rolling motion, drawing out the last waves of pleasure, but never pulling away. His hand cradles the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, while his other hand loosens its hold on your hip, stroking your skin as if to apologize for the bruises he left behind.

"Mine," he whispers against your lips. His forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel his breath mingling with yours in the stillness that follows. You realize there’s no need for words. Wrapped in his arms, with his silent affection surrounding you, you know this is where you belong.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus x you #sylus l&ds #lads smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace fanfic #sylus fanfic #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

2K notes · View notes

leona-hawthorne · 5 months ago

Text

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S KINKTOBER

october 3rd. theodore nott — toys, voyeurism, bondage.

theodore nott x fem reader

summary ; you have some… interesting experiences with theo when you and your friends decide to spend the night in an old haunted manor. words ; 5.1k warnings ; toys (use of dildo and vibrator), unprotected piv, bondage, voyeurism, 18+ content

navigation kinktober masterlist

The crisp October night wrapped itself around you like a cold embrace, the wind whispering through the overgrown vines that clung to the rusted iron gates before you. The abandoned manor loomed in the distance, a decaying relic of the past, its towering silhouette dominating the sprawling grounds.

"Are we seriously spending the night here?" Pansy's voice wavered between excitement and fear as she glanced at the foreboding mansion.

"Of course," Mattheo grinned, his usual cocky demeanor unfazed. "Nothing wrong with a little ghost hunting with friends."

Blaise snorted, smirking. "Yeah, unless we end up as ghosts ourselves."

"Relax, you nitwits. It's just an old house," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes as he pushed open the creaking iron gates.

You shivered, instinctively pulling your cloak tighter around your shoulders. "Theo, are you sure about this?" you asked softly, your gaze flickering to your boyfriend standing beside you. His sharp features were illuminated by the pale moonlight, his hair falling lazily over his eyes. He glanced at you, smirking as his hand slipped into yours, sending a wave of warmth through the chill.

"Don't tell me you're scared," he teased. "It's just an old house."

"You said it was haunted," you reminded him, trying and failing to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Theo's smirk widened. "Rumors. Superstitions. Nothing you need to worry about."

With a playful tug, he pulled you forward, leading you through the rusted gates.

When you reached the massive oak doors, Theo paused, glancing at you over his shoulder with that same teasing grin. "Still want to go inside?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, the oppressive energy of the place thickening the air, but you wouldn't let him see your hesitation. You swallowed hard and nodded, determined not to back down now. Not in front of him.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice laced with approval.

With a forceful push, the doors groaned open, revealing the dark, decaying entrance hall. The air inside was colder than outside, thick with dust and the scent of mildew. Torn tapestries lined the walls, forgotten remnants of a grandeur long faded.

You groaned, glancing around in disbelief. "Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you muttered, frustration mingling with your mounting anxiety.

Theo led you deeper into the manor, his steps confident as if he'd been here a thousand times. The others followed behind, their footsteps echoing through the grand, dilapidated space. Cobwebs hung from every corner like old lace, and the weight of the silence was almost suffocating. Theo turned to you, extending his hand once more.

"So," he said with a grin, "what do you think? Spooky enough for you? Let me know if you need someone to hold your hand."

You shot him a glare, though the knot in your stomach betrayed your bravado. Your fingers brushed lightly against his. "Shut up. I told you, I'm not scared," you grumbled, though the darkened hallways told a different story.

Your heart thudded in your chest, the mix of fear and his teasing making your pulse quicken. “But I won't lie, there is something about being here that makes my skin crawl," you admitted, barely above a whisper, as you unconsciously inched toward him.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you slightly closer. "I thought you weren't scared," he teased again, though his voice was softer now, almost amused. "Maybe you need a big, strong man to keep you safe after all."

Rolling your eyes, you elbowed him lightly. "I said shut up."

His lips curled into a gleeful smile, clearly enjoying your unease. "Lucky for you, love, I'm here to save the day." With your hand firmly in his, he led you further into the manor, the old floorboards creaking beneath your every step.

The shadows deepened as you ventured further inside, their long, jagged shapes seeming to reach for you. Theo's grip tightened on your hand, offering silent reassurance as the cold stone walls closed in. "We should stick together anyway," he mused, his tone lighter now. "Safety in numbers, right?"

Eventually, the two of you found yourselves in a grand sitting room, the large windows covered with tattered, moth-eaten curtains. Faded portraits lined the walls, their painted eyes tracking your every movement with unnerving accuracy. A cold, dead fireplace loomed at the far end, its once-mighty hearth now filled with lifeless ashes.

"Cozy," Theo smirked, wandering over to a dusty bookshelf. He trailed a finger along the spines of the old books, eyeing them curiously. "I bet there's some fascinating reading material in here."

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you playfully nudged him. "Only you would think about books in a place like this, nerd."

Before he could reply, a loud thump echoed from upstairs, causing both of you to jump. Theo's eyes widened momentarily before he composed himself with a chuckle.

"Probably just the others... or maybe the ghosts," he joked, his hand resting protectively on the small of your back.

With a shared look, the two of you headed back to the foyer, where your friends were gathered, lounging on worn furniture and discussing their next move.

"Well, well, looks like our little explorers found nothing but dust and cobwebs," Lorenzo called from his spot on an aged velvet sofa, a grin plastered on his face. "I say that’s enough sightseeing for now. We’ve got a whole night ahead of us. How about we liven things up with a game of Truth or Dare?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "Truth or Dare? Seriously, Enzo? What are you, fourteen?"

Mattheo chuckled, shrugging. "What else are we gonna do in a place like this?"

"Fine, fine," Theo said, throwing up his hands. "But I’m only playing if there’s alcohol involved." He turned to you with a wicked grin. "Since my lovely girlfriend is feeling so bold tonight, why don't you start us off? Truth or dare?"

You met his gaze, unwilling to back down from the challenge. "Dare," you replied, lifting your chin defiantly. "I'm not afraid of a little challenge.”

A slow grin spread across Theo's face. "Alright, I dare you..." He paused dramatically, letting the tension build. " ...to kiss me. Right here, in front of everyone.”

The collective groan from your friends was almost comical. "That's hardly a dare," you scoffed. "I mean, you are my boyfriend."

"Maybe I just wanted an excuse to kiss you," Theo shot back with a cheeky grin.

You rolled your eyes, but your annoyance couldn't hide the small smile tugging at your lips. "You're such a show-off.”

Without further hesitation, you stepped forward and kissed him deeply, your fingers threading through his hair as your lips moved together. You blocked out the catcalls and whistles from your friends, focused only on the warmth of Theo's body pressed against yours. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the eerie manor and all its dangers faded away.

As you broke apart, breathless, Theo smirked, his forehead resting against yours. "Much better than I expected," he murmured, his tone filled with playful pride.

You blushed, looking away. "Shut up. You got what you wanted."

Theo's low chuckle vibrated against your skin as he nuzzled into your cheek. "Oh, I did indeed," he purred, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Now, who's next?"

Lorenzo's mischievous grin widened as he turned toward Mattheo, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Truth or Dare, Riddle. You're up."

Mattheo leaned back, stretching lazily before his dark eyes flickered toward Lorenzo. "Dare, of course. Give me something good."

The game spiraled from there, the room filling with laughter and mock indignation as truth after truth was spilled, and dare after dare was accepted with varying degrees of bravado. Lorenzo had Blaise sprinting across the room in his underwear, Pansy revealing a rather scandalous secret about her latest fling, and Mattheo howling in laughter after being dared to serenade one of the portraits on the wall.

It wasn't long, however, before the attention returned to you, and the smirk on Lorenzo's face sent a chill crawling down your spine. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long before he spoke.

"Y/N," Lorenzo began, the edges of his grin sharp. "I dare you to go up and explore the attic."

The room fell into a heavy silence, all eyes suddenly on you. Your heart clenched, beating too fast as you turned to look at the darkened staircase leading up to the second floor. The attic? You had barely been able to stomach walking through the front doors, let alone venturing into the bowels of the ancient manor—alone.

"Go to the attic... alone?" you repeated, your voice sounding far smaller than you'd intended. The shadows seemed to press closer, thickening the air.

Theo's fingers tightened around your waist, his familiar warmth grounding you for just a moment. You could feel his smirk without needing to look. He loved this, loved teasing you, loved pushing you to your limits just to see how far you'd go. And you hated that it worked every single time.

"Too much for you, love?" he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. "Because I can always come with you." His voice dropped lower, becoming a rumbling hum that sent a shiver racing down your spine. "Just imagine—us, together, in the dark... how thrilling that could be."

Your mouth went dry as his words sent your imagination spinning. You could feel the others watching, waiting for your response, but all you could focus on was the heat of Theo's body against yours and the way his fingers trailed possessively down your arm.

Theo's grin widened as he nipped at your earlobe, voice dark with amusement. "What do you say, Y/N? Want me to hold your hand?"

You huffed, pushing away the growing tension. "Shut up," you muttered again, glaring at him in mock irritation, though the playful twinkle in your eyes betrayed the act.

His hand slid from your waist to your lower back, and he leaned closer, whispering, "If you're too scared to go, just say the word. No shame in admitting it."

Your breath caught as his words lingered between you, a challenge wrapped in seduction. You squared your shoulders, unwilling to let him win. You'd spent far too long playing this game with Theodore Nott, and you weren't about to back down now.

"Fine," you said, louder this time as you stepped away from him, brushing his hands off with a deliberate flourish. "But I'm not going alone." You shot him a pointed look. "You're coming with me."

Theo's smirk softened, the gleam of triumph in his eyes unmistakable. "Of course I am," he murmured.

Lorenzo groaned dramatically from his spot on the couch. "Oh, come on, that's cheating! She's supposed to go by herself."

Mattheo chuckled from the other side of the room, shaking his head. "Let them have their fun. At least one of us might get something out of this trip to hell."

Ignoring the banter, Theo wrapped an arm around your shoulders and steered you toward the staircase. The creaking of the old wood echoed through the hall as you ascended, each step a reminder of the isolation waiting above. The air grew colder, thicker, the musty scent of forgotten years clinging to every surface. The hallway stretched out before you, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the cracked windows.

Theo's grip on you tightened as you reached the attic door, its old wooden frame warped and splintered with age. He paused, his hand on the doorknob, glancing at you with a raised brow. "Ready for this, love?" His voice was soft, teasing, but there was something darker flickering in his gaze, something that made your stomach flip in anticipation.

You hesitated, the weight of the dare pressing down on you like the air in the old manor, thick and suffocating. But with Theo by your side, that familiar heat spreading through your veins, you nodded. "Yeah."

With a smirk, Theo twisted the knob and pushed the door open with a loud creak.

The attic yawned before you—dark, dust-choked, and thick with an eerie stillness that made your skin prickle. Cobwebs clung to the rafters, and the only sound was the faint rustle of wind outside, whispering through the cracks in the walls.

You took a tentative step inside, the floorboards groaning beneath your weight. Theo was right behind you, his presence a steadying force as you ventured further into the darkness. Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, each step sending a pulse of adrenaline through your veins.

There was a four-poster bed lying in the middle of the attic, as if the people who lived here all those years ago had used it as a bedroom.

Theo, ever the opportunist, moved closer, running a finger along the edge of the mattress.

"This place really does have a certain charm, doesn't it?" He turned to you, a wicked glint in his eye. "Almost romantic, don't you think?"

Before you could respond, he pulled you onto the bed beside him, the springs creaking under your combined weight. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzled your neck.

“Romantic? That’s funny. You’re too horny for your own good, Theodore Nott.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned in, lips grazing your ear. "Guilty as charged, love. But what can I say? You bring out the worst in me."

His hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your hips, slipping under your shirt to tease the sensitive skin of your lower back. His touch ignited sparks across your flesh, and you found yourself arching into him, craving more.

With a deft tug, he pulled your shirt off over your head, tossing it carelessly aside. His gaze raked over your exposed torso, lingering on the swell of your breasts tucked away beneath your bra before meeting your eyes with a smoldering intensity. "Beautiful," he breathed, voice husky with desire. "Absolutely stunning."

He pulled back for a moment, swiftly running a hand over his face. “I actually, um… found some pretty interesting things of yours the other day. In your dorm.”

Your eyes narrowed, cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. “What are you talking about?" you demanded, trying to keep your tone steady despite the sudden rush of heat coursing through your veins at the thought of Theo rummaging through your belongings.

Theo's smile widened, an amused glint dancing in his eyes as he reached into his messenger bag. He pulled out a small pink vibrator, waving it tauntingly before setting it on the bedside table. "This little number, for instance," he purred, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I must say, it looks quite impressive."

Next, he produced a purple silicone dildo, holding it aloft like a trophy. "And then there's this... rather large toy you've got stashed away. Quite the collection you've got going on here, love." His gaze flicked back to your face, drinking in your reaction with a knowing smirk.

"How do these magic tricks work, hmm? Do they come with instructions, or are you an expert in carnal delights already?"

You felt your face flush even hotter at the sight of your most intimate belongings being waved around so casually. A surge of anger mixed with humiliation threatened to overwhelm you, but you forced yourself to maintain a facade of nonchalance.

"When did you even find those?” you murmured embarrassedly.

Theo's smirk deepened as he watched the play of emotions across your face—the blush staining your cheeks, the tension in your jaw, the defiant spark in your eyes. It was a delicious combination, one that stirred his blood and set his nerve endings alight with anticipation.

"Last week, when I stayed over at your dorm," he replied casually, as if discussing the weather. "I was looking for some cigs in your nightstand drawer while you were in the shower and well..." He shrugged, a picture of feigned innocence. "They just sort of jumped out at me.”

He traced a finger along the length of the dildo, humming thoughtfully before he moved closer, his fingers trailing up your thigh as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you. "Quite the naughty girl, aren't you, love?" He leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim every inch of your mouth.

As he kissed you deeply, Theo's hand slid higher, fingers brushing the waistline of your jeans, unbuttoning them before dipping underneath to caress the smooth skin of your inner thigh. His touch was electric, sending shivers racing up your spine as he teased the sensitive flesh mere inches from your core.

"So, tell me, baby," he murmured against your lips, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth along your jawline, nipping at the tender skin beneath your ear. "You prefer this—" He held up the dildo, wiggling it suggestively, “—fake cock when you have the real thing right here, always ready and willing?"

His fingers continued their maddening exploration, inching closer to the heat of your center with each passing second. His thumb rubbed against your clit through the thin barrier of your underwear, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as he continued to tease you.

"I mean, they're cute and all, but nothing compares to the feel of my cock buried deep inside you, does it?" He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered. He gestured to himself, his meaning clear. One hand drifted down to palm the bulge straining against his trousers, a silent invitation, a promise of pleasure.

"Is my girl really that impatient, hm?" he mused, a teasing lilt to his voice. "That she can't just wait for her boyfriend to come and fuck her senseless whenever she needs it?"

His fingers slipped beneath the waistline of your pants once again, teasing along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Your breathing hitched as his touch grew bolder, fingertips brushing against your clothed sex with feather-light strokes. The ache between your legs intensified, your panties dampening with each passing second.

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through you like a physical caress. "Using these cheap substitutes instead of demanding what she really wants. Why don’t you give me a little demonstration?"

His hand cupped your mound possessively, applying pressure that made you squirm.

You gasped sharply as Theo's fingers pressed against your aching sex, the contact sending shivers racing down your spine. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction, more relief from the throbbing need building within you.

“It’s not like that…” you mumbled. “Just… please…”

"Please what?" Theo arched a brow, a mocking tilt to his lips. "You think you deserve real dick right now after keeping secrets from me? After using toys behind my back like some desperate slut?"

He withdrew his hand abruptly, leaving you aching and empty. Rising from the bed, he stepped back, folding his arms across his chest as he leveled you with a stern look. "Strip. Now. Let's see how much of a show you can put on for me."

Theo's gaze raked over your body, his eyes lingering on the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips. He licked his lips slowly, deliberately, a predatory gleam in his eye. "Come on, baby. Don’t get shy now. Show me what you've been hiding."

You kicked off your shoes, and as you unclasped your bra, he drank in the sight of your full breasts, nipples pebbling under his heated gaze. Lower still, past the dip of your waist and flare of your hips, until your jeans pooled at your feet, leaving you clad in only a scrap of lace.

“Fuck, look at you," he growled appreciatively, palming the growing hardness in his trousers. "Such a pretty little thing, aren't you? All mine to play with."

He relaxed back on a nearby armchair. "Now then, why don't you show me exactly what these toys of yours can do?"

Theo lounged back in the chair, his eyes never leaving you as you stood there trembling, exposed and vulnerable. A wicked grin spread across his face as he watched you with hooded eyes. “Go on then, sweetheart. Show me how you like to be fucked. Pretend I'm not even here."

As you grasped the dildo, he panted softly, drinking in the sight of your hand wrapped around the smooth plastic. He reached down to adjust his bulge, the fabric of his pants bunching obscenely as he watched you remove your panties.

You leaned back, spreading your legs wide in a lewd display, but you didn’t know what to do with the toy in your hand. Not when he was right in front of you.

A cruel smile played about his lips as he saw the hesitation in your eyes, the reluctance in your movements. "What's wrong, love? Suddenly shy? You weren't shy when you were fucking yourself silly with these, were you?"

With trembling hands, you brought the toy to your lips, flicking your tongue out, tracing the contours, coating it in saliva. Then, you trailed it lower, over your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts. You circled a nipple with the toy's tip, gasping at the sensation.

"There we go. Now, move it down and start rubbing it against your clit. Nice and slow. I want to see you squirm."

He reclined further into the chair, making no move to join you, simply observing your every move with an air of dark amusement.

You whimpered, feeling exposed and humiliated as you followed Theo's instructions. Your cheeks burned with shame as you brought the dildo to your aching sex, rubbing the slick head against your swollen clit.

You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, fighting back tears of mortification. But beneath the embarrassment, a spark of arousal ignited, fueled by the knowledge that he was watching you so intently.

Your hips began to rock instinctively, the toy gliding through your wet folds, stroking places that made you shudder and moan quietly. You couldn't meet his gaze, too ashamed to see the smug satisfaction in his eyes.

"That’s my girl… Now, put it inside you where it belongs. Fill up that greedy little cunt.”

With a shaky breath, you aligned the dildo with your entrance, pushing it in gradually. Your walls clenched around the intrusion, and you cried out at the feeling. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you forced yourself to relax, letting the toy sink deeper.

"Fuck, look at you taking it like a good little slut," Theo drawled, leaning forward in his chair to get a better view. He reached down to stroke himself lazily, his thumb rubbing circles over the straining bulge in his trousers.

Reaching for the smaller vibrator on the bed beside you, he tossed it onto the sheets. "Pick it up. I want to hear you scream as you cum all over both of them. Show me how well you can multitask."

Your hands shook as you fumbled for the small device, turning it on with a buzzing whine. You positioned it against your clit, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your core. Your hips rolled faster, the dildo thrusting in and out of your stretched hole in rhythm with the toy's relentless stimulation.

“Come on. Make yourself cum while I watch you rut on that toy like a bitch in heat. I want to hear you moaning like the desperate whore you are.”

Theo's eyes gleamed with sadistic glee as he watched you writhe in ecstasy, your moans echoing off the walls. The obscene sounds of your self-pleasure filled the room, mingling with the creaks of the bed and the soft buzzing of the vibrator.

"That's it, baby. Fuck yourself senseless. Show me just how depraved you can be when you're alone with your filthy toys," he sneered, stroking himself harder through his trousers.

As the pleasure built to a fever pitch, your inner muscles clamped down on the dildo, milking it for all it was worth. With a keening wail, you came undone, your whole body shaking as wave after wave of intense orgasm crashed over you.

"You're so beautiful when you lose control like that," Theo purred.

He sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes burning with a dark hunger as he watched you collapse back onto the bed, spent and panting. "Look at you, covered in sweat and cum... Such a lovely mess."

He rose slowly, unbuckling his belt and freeing his aching cock. It sprang forth, thick and pulsing, already leaking precum. With a wicked grin, he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your splayed thighs.

Theo grabbed your wrists roughly, pulling them above your head and securing them to the headboard with silky ropes. He repeated the process with your ankles, spreading your legs obscenely wide and tying them to the footposts.

"Just relax, love. This won't hurt a bit," he murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he bound your wrists above your head to the headboard.

Once you were completely immobilized, he stepped back to admire his work, licking his lips as he drank in the sight of your helpless, exposed body.

"I think it's time I took my turn playing with you," he rasped, trailing a finger along your slick slit. "Open up for me, sweetheart. Let me fill this greedy cunt with something real."

Theo's fingers probed your dripping entrance, circling the rim before pushing inside. He groaned low in his throat at the feel of your velvety walls clenching around him. "Fuck, you're still so tight... Even after all that."

He worked two fingers deep, pumping them slowly as he watched your face contort with pleasure. His thumb found your sensitive clit, rubbing firm circles over the bud. "I bet you'd love to have my cock instead, wouldn't you? To feel me splitting you open, filling you up until you can't take anymore?"

His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Tell me you need it. Beg me to fuck you raw."

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, your body trembling from the aftershocks of your intense climax. As Theo's fingers delved into your sensitive flesh, you bit your lip hard, trying to stifle the moans that threatened to spill free.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the image of him replacing those fingers with his thick, throbbing cock making your pussy clench hungrily. You wanted it, craved the sensation of being stretched and filled beyond capacity.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "Please, I need it. I need you inside me."

Theo smirked as he heard your breathy pleas, his ego swelling at the power he held over you. “Such a dirty, needy girl for me, aren’t you?”

With a growl of triumph, he lined himself up, the blunt head of his member nudging insistently at your entrance. In one swift motion, he hilted himself inside you, stretching you deliciously around his thick girth.

"Fuck!" he snarled, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in. The bed frame rattled with each powerful thrust, the obscene sound of flesh smacking against flesh filling the room. Theo set a brutal pace, pounding into you with single-minded focus, determined to make you scream.

Theo's hand shot down beside your body, grasping the vibrator. He turned it up to its highest setting, the intense vibrations making your entire pelvis quiver.

"This should really get you going, doesn't it?" he sneered, grinding the toy against your clit with each punishing thrust. "Feeling my cock splitting you open while this thing eats at your poor little pussy..."

His words were punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin as he continued to rail into you, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each brutal stroke. The dual sensations of the vibrator and his cock driving into you relentlessly pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body jerked violently as the vibrator hit full force, the intense vibrations making your clit throb in time with Theo's merciless thrusts. The restraints held you in place, forcing you to submit to every punishing stroke, every deep, grinding push against your cervix.

Pleasure and pain blurred together, the overwhelming sensations threatening to short-circuit your mind. Tears streamed down your face, your vision blurring at the edges as you teetered on the brink of another explosive orgasm.

Your toes curled, your back arching as much as the bonds would allow, trying to take him even deeper.

You cried out, writhing around, the restraints holding you back as he used you mercilessly, tears pricking your eyes. His free hand grabbed at your tits, roughly squeezing them as his thumb flicked over your nipple.

"Don't hold back now, cum for me, pretty girl," Theo commanded, his own climax rapidly approaching.

Theo felt your walls spasming wildly around him, signaling your impending orgasm. He redoubled his efforts, pistoning into you with ruthless intensity as the vibrator buzzed against your clit.

"That's it, baby, make a mess for me,” he muttered, his own release coiling tightly in his abdomen.

Your cry of ecstasy echoed through the room as you shattered, convulsing beneath him in the throes of an intense climax. Theo rode out your waves of pleasure, prolonging your orgasm with deliberate thrusts.

Just as he was about to crest the peak himself, he abruptly pulled out, leaving you empty and aching. With a few quick strokes, he spilled his seed across your stomach and chest, painting you in his essence.

Theo collapsed beside you on the bed, chest heaving as he caught his breath. After a moment, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his side.

"I love you, baby.” He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his touch soothing as he wiped a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your face. “Let’s clean you up.” And with a flick of his wand, the white fluids covering you were gone.

“Our friends probably think we’re dead by now, you know. We’ve been up here for so long,” you murmured.

“Darling, I’m pretty sure they’re smart enough to know that the screaming coming from up here wasn’t because of ghosts.”

kinktober taglist: @mattheoriddles-slutt @theeslutintheroom @esmerai-artemis @gigival @cloudyyydayzzz @sn000py @abeoavita @yesiamthatwierd @shaquilles-0atmeal @roseofsharron438 @iouinotes @romantasyreader28 @c3liaaaaa @daenerystorgaryen @emma-grace0 @tori-303 @ilovehpb0ys

#— 𝑙𝑒𝑜’𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 ❧#theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #smut #theo nott smut #lorenzo zurzolo #slytherin boys #theodore nott smut #harry potter #slytherin #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #kinktober #leona-hawthorne kinktober

2K notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 11 months ago

Text

There are men across the street.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse.”

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

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

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

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

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

You blink, surprised and confused.

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

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

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

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

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

“This is Guy.”

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

“Guy?” he asks.

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

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

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

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

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

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

“What are their names?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, the short one.”

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

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

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

Someone’s at the door.

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

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

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

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

“Morning,” you chime.

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

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

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

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

“No.”

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

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Noon.”

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

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

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

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

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

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

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

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

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

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

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

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

“It is late.”

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

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

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

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

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

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

Well shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

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

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

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

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

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

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

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

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

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

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

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

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

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

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

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

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

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

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

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

4K notes · View notes

luveline · 7 months ago

Note

YES to luna lovegood/dreamy!reader!!!!!!!!! Can we possibly get one with Spencer? <3

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

Hotch appreciates the softness of your voice, as someone who also speaks in a very measured tone, but the sound of it has his brow furrowing. You’re a brilliant analyst, and a worse distraction whenever you’re in the main office.

“It sounds terrible?”

Hotch peers through the window to get a good look at the scene. You’re sitting in Spencer’s desk chair with your hands stretched out in front of you. Your outfit is very pink, considering the occasion, but it’s a non-abrasive light pink that flatters your skin. You have a clip in your hair, a small silver star with pink jewels embedded along the lines.

Emily sips at a cup of coffee, leaning against the desk, her face to the side. Hotch can see her perturbed smile.

“It’s fine! I’ve just been sleeping on the sofa.”

“Well. That’s a call to pest control.”

Spencer returns to his desk with a frown and two mugs. “Pest control?” he asks, the mug he places in front of you steaming.

“There’s a raccoon living in her bedroom.”

Spencer burns himself on his coffee, swearing as he puts it down hurriedly beside yours. “There’s a what?” Spencer asks.

“He’s friendly. He came in through my vent.”

“So friendly he’s stolen your bedroom?”

You lean back in Spencer’s chair like it’s a La-Z-Boy, blowing at the hot surface of your drink with a similar lazy smile. “Imagine being that little and having such a big bed? When you usually sleep in the garbage?” You give a breathy laugh. “He must be having the time of his life.”

“How are you getting ready in the mornings?” Spencer asks worriedly.

“We’re cohabiting.”

Spencer licks his lips. He likes you, and you seem aware of that fact, and that’s nerve-wracking for everyone involved.

“Um, maybe we can make him a house? Like, outside? Raccoons are far happier in their natural habitat, and they’re also, you know, highly diseased and contagious compared to humans. I really don’t think you should let him inside.”

“Spencer,” you say, giving him a dozy grin, “I didn’t let him in. He knows how to get in all by himself.”

“I’ll call a repairman, too,” Emily says with a groan.

She walks away, probably to find JJ and get her in on the repairs. Spencer looks at you for a long time, just drinking your tea, and Hotch mentally goads him into making a semblance of a move. Even if it’s just to fix your drooping hair clip.

“You’re looking at me strangely again,” you say.

Winces all around. “Am I?” Spencer asks.

“Yes. Is this about Thursday?”

“No.” Spencer swallows. “Yes. You didn’t answer my texts, after. I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

“What I’m thinking?”

“Yeah. I thought about it a lot, so maybe you did too. Or maybe you didn’t, and it didn’t mean anything.”

“Of course it meant something, Spencer.” You put down your mug, dusting your knees off before you stand. Spencer is not much taller than you where you’re standing in front of him, but you look up at him anyways. Your face tips ever so slightly to one side. “Would you want to do it again?” you ask softly.

Spencer looks around the office. He neglects to check Hotch’s window, perhaps because the blinds are more often drawn than not, and so he doesn’t realise Hotch is watching as he draws you in for a kiss.

You preen and lean back, hands fighting to cup his cheeks, a gauzy, practically gleaming aura around you as you smile into his mouth. Your fingertips tease his hair, and Spencer’s hand settles in place against the small of your back. You kiss back for only a few seconds before you’re laughing.

Spencer moves away quickly, taking your wrists into his hands to pull them away from his face.

“You give up too fast,” you say.

“I don’t think this is the place for it.”

“Well, we can’t do it at my place. What if the raccoon sees?”

“Good point. How about Marina’s, would that be better? We can get dinner at the same time.”

Hotch feels oddly proud of Spencer’s suave suggestion, but he also has a migraine brewing between his brows. He really doesn’t need the extra paperwork.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

nanaslutt · 1 year ago

Note

HATE SEX WITH GETO PLEASE 😭😭🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

contains: fem reader, spanking, choking, manhandling, hate fucking, rough sex, dirty talk, cheating, spanking, bathroom sex, angst w/ no comfort, proceed with caution :3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Just thinking about hate sex with ex-boyfriend Geto. You received a video from an unknown number a couple months ago of your boyfriend at the club, big arms slung around two pretty girls as one ground on him under the flashing lights and blaring music of the club. The video was short, but it was all you needed to see. You forwarded the video to Geto, captioned with the words, "fuck you."

The night he went out he told you he was having a guy's night out with Gojo, so imagine your surprise when you woke up to him acting like a whore in public. You still did never find out who sent you that video. Geto spent days blowing up your phone, using your mutual friends to try and talk to you, even going as far to show up to your house, but you rejected all of his advances.

After about a month and a half, when things had calmed down and it was evident to the both of you that your relationship was well over, you finally started going out again. The reason it took you so long? The two of you were in the same friend group. There's a reason they say to date outside of your circle, for situations exactly like this.

Your big debut back into your circle of friends was a night out clubbing. Gojo, Shoko, Utahime, and Nanami were sitting on the plush cushions around you. The only reason you agreed to go out with them tonight was because Shoko had promised Geto wouldn't be there, saying he was stuck at work. Truthfully though, Shoko had missed you so much in the group outings, that she would've found a way to drag you out of the house even if Geto was going to be there.

"This is nice, I'll admit. I missed you guys." You said, working on your second cocktail of the night. Drinks always tasted better when Gojo paid. "Awww~ I don't know how you went so long without seeing me, honestly~" Gojo teased, ruffling your hair in the process. You swatted his hand away, fixing your hair while you shot him a nasty side-eye. "Us, he meant US." Utahime corrected, placing her hand on your knee while also shooting daggers at Gojo.

Gojo stuck out his tongue at Utahime, crossing his legs as he leaned back into the cushions, his arms spreading out behind you and Nanami on the top of the couch. "It's true though, it's nice having you here," Nanami added a light blush dusting on his face from how many drinks he had already downed; he must not have work tomorrow. "Thank you Nanami." you smiled at him before leaning back, crossing your legs over one another, your short black dress riding up your thighs slightly in the process.

"I've been so pent up all month, this feels so good." You giggled, tipping your head over as you directed your words to the girls. "Yeah? I know how you can feel even better." Shoko smirked, sipping on her straight vodka. Utahime smiled giddily, leaning her body forward in interest as she also waited for Shoko to speak. "Blondie over there at the bar has been eyeing you up since we got here, go talk to him." She nudged, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You have been wound up in more ways than one since you and Geto had broken up. He always dicked you down so good, you would miss that. Who knows though, maybe blondie with the nice jawline and pretty face would give you good pipe in the bathroom. You eye him up, biting your lip as you dragged your eyes over his sturdy frame, only noticing he had been watching you oogle him like a slab of meat the whole time when you went to rake your eyes over his handsome face. He smiled, his dimples showing themselves as they dug into his cheeks, fuck he was hot. This was the perfect guy to use to get over Geto, screw that cheater.

"Oh shitt~ Look at them eye fucking each other~ Haha!" Gojo laughed, sipping on his sweet, non-alcoholic, bright pink drink. You turned your head to smirk at Gojo before you placed your hand on his shoulder and used it to push yourself off the seat. "You're really going for it?" Shoko asked incredulously, giggling behind your hand as you smoothed out your dress. "Why not? I'm horny and single, and a hot man is looking at me like I'm the hottest woman he's ever laid eyes on." You said, smiling down at your friends.

"That's because you are," Shoko added, grabbing your thigh for leverage she spun you around to face the man behind you sitting on the barstools, waiting for you to approach him. "I would be jealous If I liked men, he's a cutie." She laughed to Utahime as she watched you take a deep breath and walk off toward the man.

You walked through the club with confidence, a heartbeat already forming behind your panties as you got closer and closer, watching the way he eyed up your body as you walked. "Friends talked some sense into you, huh?" The man spoke when you got within ear shot. You took the seat next to him, plopping down on the barstool you spun the seat around to face him, your legs slotting together with one another as you placed your heel-clad feet on the bottom of his barstool.

His eyes darted down to your legs, watching you insert yourself into his space with confidence. "Too shy to come up to me yourself?" You asked, placing your hand on his knee as you rubbed circles against his pants, making him swallow the lump in his throat, feeling the heat rise to his face with how bold you were being. "You kidding? Those guys you're with are fucking repellent. Didn't know if you were with one of them or not." He laughed, taking a sip of his drink to ease his nerves.

"But you were watching me anyways?" You teased, keeping your eyes locked onto his. He took in a deep breath, pressing his lips together as before he spoke. "You have no idea what you look like, huh?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at you. "Who wouldn't be able to resist looking at someone like you?" His words sent shivers down your spine, you needed to get him in a bathroom stall with you hours ago. As the two of you continued flirting with one another, eyefucking each other as you sipped on your respective drinks, someone unexpected entered the club.

"Heyy." Geto's voice echoed into your friend's ears. The dark-haired man was half up, half down in his signature bun, one hand tucked into his pocket while his other was held up in front of him, waving to his friends. "Hey troublemaker~" Gojo smiled largely. Shoko groaned along with Utahime. "Thought you couldn't make it?" Nanami asked as he slid in next to him on the couch, spreading his long legs out on the cushions as he took Nanami's drink from him, taking a gulp.

"Got off early, thought I might come by." He responded, laughing when a drunk Nanami snatched his drink back from Geto, muttering to order his own drink. "Come by my ass, you work on the other side of town." Shoko laughed incredulously, adding that you were not going to be very happy. "She's here?" Geto asked, his demeanor immediately perking up. Shoko looked to Utahime knowingly before she looked back to Geto, hissing air in through her teeth.

"Yes cheater~ Of course she's here, and she's about to score by the looks of it." Shoko laughed, making Gojo whistle as he dragged his gaze to you, watching you pull your head back from the whispering something in the mans ear before his lips moved, head moving in tandem as you slid off of the barstool, taking his larger hand in his as you dragged him away from the seat, making him place his drink down on the bar top, abandoning it as you dragged him away to the bathroom.

Geto had just watched the entire scene unfold in front of him that the rest of them had seen. Of course, Geto had come here for you. Shoko was right, he worked almost half an hour away from the club, he was exhausted from work but when he saw you say in the group chat you were going to be here, he knew he had to make a detour. He knew he fucked up when he lied to you about going to the club, but truthfully he had done nothing more than let a couple girls fawn over him, grinding on him while they peppered kisses on his cheeks, never coming close to his mouth.

He still loved you, of course, he did, but you had been adamant about not seeing him at all for almost two months. He hadn't really given up, he would never give up on trying to get you back, he just figured maybe a little break and letting you calm down would lead you back to him. Clearly, he was wrong as he watched you maneuver your way through the crowd, dragging some man you met five minutes prior away to fuck, looking good as all hell.

He grits his teeth, pressing his feet firmly on the floor Geto was on the move in a heartbeat, no one could stop him. "Oh look what you did." Nanami huffed, looking at Shoko. "She's gonna be fucking pissed you know." Shoko's jaw was on the floor. She severely underestimated the amount of balls Suguru Geto had. "How the fuck was I supposed to know he was gonna go chase after her???" She said, looking at him with an expression that almost resembled horror, making Gojo laugh his ass off between them.

Once you made it to the secluded corner of the club just outside the bathrooms, you spun your body around, wrapping your arms around the man. "You wanna fuck me?" You whispered into his ear, feeling his large hands wrap around your waist, his knee sliding between your legs. He groaned at your words, staring between your lips and your pretty eyes as you bit your lip at him, "Fuck yeah, pretty girl." He smiled, shaking his head as he leaned in for a kiss.

You closed your eyes, waiting for a sensation against your lips that never came. Your eyes shot open when he yelled out an exasperated "Hey! What the fuck!" His lips loosened on your waist as he was dragged away from you by a strong grip on his hair. "Geto?!" You yelled, spinning your body to look at him, your body heating up with rage combined with the neglect of pleasure. "Who the fuck are you?!" The blond-haired man yelled, trying to grip Geto's wrist to make him release the hold he had on his hair.

"Her boyfriend." He deadpanned, throwing him in the direction of the club as he reached his hand over your head, pushing the door open behind you, forcing you into the small bathroom with his large frame, leaving you no time to refute. "I didn't know man, fuck!" The man's voice was cut off as the bathroom door shut behind the two of you, Geto's hand coming down to lock the door, leaving you alone in the personal bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You asked, shoving his chest back, Geto not even moving a muscle as his jaw muscles bulged out under the weight of his clenching teeth, his dark eyes watching you fume. "What the fuck were you doing?" Geto responded, walking toward you slowly, making you step back unconsciously, trying to keep some distance between the two of you. "Why is that any of your fucking business?" You spat, almost laughing at his audacity.

"We never officially broke up." Geto retorted, clenching his fists by his sides. "Oh! Oho!" You laughed, "Excuse me, allow me to make it official for you, we are fucking done." You dug your nail into his chest, squinting your eyes as you looked into his, your tall heels making you feel more confident as your height difference wasn't as dramatic now. "Thought I made it pretty fucking clear when I didn't respond to you for almost two months, but you always were pretty dense." You huffed, backing away from him once you got your point across.

"Were you just trying to get even with me? Huh? Thought fucking some random guy in the club like a slut would make you feel better about yourself?" He yelled, continuing to walk toward you until your back hit the wall, making you jolt, you hadn't even realized you were walking backward. "The fuck did you call me?" You asked, scrunching your eyebrows together. "You're such a fucking hypocrite, acting like that wasn't exactly what you did to me." You laughed again. You felt like you were going crazy, why was he acting like you were the one in the wrong here?

"I never fucked them! Never! Maybe if you answered my fucking calls or looked at my texts you would know that!" He shouted, getting in your face. You shook your head, looking at him with disdain. "Oh, because letting girls dry hump you is so much fucking better, right?" You yelled back, the ghost of a smile gracing your features, you were so done with him.

"God you really are the worst." You spat, your eyes shooting daggers into his own. "How the fuck are you gonna make up for scaring that guy off, huh?" You asked, tilting your head at him, making his eyes lock onto yours once more. Geto cocked his head at you, clearly uncomfortable with you mentioning the blonde stranger, knowing damn well you meant you were going to fuck him, and now you were left dry.

You scoffed, "What? Don't like the thought of me getting off on someone else's cock? Moaning someone else's name? Huh? That shit make you mad?" You got in his face, keeping your squinted eyes on his dark ones. Geto doesn't know what came over him, but he couldn't stand to hear you talk anymore. His lips were on yours, swallowing your surprised moans, immediately slipping his tongue into your mouth, crushing his jaw into yours, your head bumping into the wall behind you.

You were still mad as hell, but his lips felt so familiar, your arousal crept up through the cracks of your irritation and made you kiss him back harder, fighting him for dominance. His hand came to grab your throat, squeezing harshly, his fingers digging into your delicate skin, making you whine into the kiss. He was never this rough with you, and you were loving it.

He pulled back, his free hand coming down to undo his belt quickly, pulling the leather through the loops as he threw it somewhere on the floor of the filthy bathroom floor, "Don't you ever talk about someone else fucking you in front of me." He growled, squeezing your throat to emphasize his words, You smiled through the lack of oxygen, little black dots clouding your vision, but you still felt the need to fight back. "Fuck you." You whispered.

Geto spun you around in one swift movement, making you face the wall, your hands coming to brace against the brick as you felt him lift your skirt over the curve of your ass, your panties being roughly yanked down midway on your thighs. Everything was happening so quickly, the adrenaline pumping through your veins only fueling your arousal. You knew this was not a good idea, but your body was too weak to Geto.

Geto shook his head as his eyes came into contact with your dripping pussy. He bit his lip between his teeth, pulling his cock out through his pants as he gave himself a couple rough strokes, his hand sliding down to your ass as he rubbed his thumb through your folds, spreading them and rubbing your wetness around before he dipped the digit into your hole, slowly pumping in and out. He was absolutely fuming at the thought of you giving this to someone else, he wondered if you had in the time you haven't been talking.

"You this wet from that fucking loser, or from me yelling at you?" Geto asked, pulling his thumb back to leave a rough smirk on your ass, pushing his hips forward as he rubbed his tip along your folds, getting his cock slick with your juices. "You're so full of yourself, shoulda seen the way he was touching me under the table." You giggled, turning your head to the side to look at him. You kept your words vague on purpose to piss Geto off. He had been touching you under the table, but only your thigh.

"You fucking slut." Geto grit through his teeth, his hand coming to grip the back of your neck, his fingers pinching your skin with how hard he was gripping you. "And you still wanna fuck me." You laughed, the noise getting cut short when he pushed his cock into you all at once with zero warning, keeping his balls pressed to your ass as he let his cock throb inside your walls still, his back pressing agaisnt your chest as he leaned into your ear, his deep voice whispering, "That's enough out of you." His voice alone was enough to send shivers down your spine.

"Fuck!" you yelled when he pulled his hips back before he bullied his cock back into your unprepped walls, stretching you open as he meanly fucked you against the wall. "Shit- Think he could fuck you better than me? Huh?" Geto asked, leaning back as he pressed the back of your neck into the wall, his other hand holding under your hip as he held you in an arch, the pace of his hips making your knees squeeze together, bending slightly at the stimulation.

You brought one of your hands down between your thighs to rub little circles into your clit, your eyes crossing at the feeling. Geto must have felt how tight you got because he groaned through his teeth, his hand leaving your hip for a moment to come down to leave a harsh smack on your ass. "Fuck- I don't know, heh- If you didn't interrupt me I w-would've found out. He shook his head, smiling through the malice he felt coursing through his veins. "You're such a fucking brat." Smack, "Just sayin' that shit to get me worked up so I'll fuck you like the whore you are."

You wanted to hit him back every time he slapped your ass. Sure, it felt good, but you knew he was trying to put you in your place, so the action made a vein pop out on your forehead. You were so glad he couldn't see your face right now. Your words might've been sharp and snarky, but your face was flushed red and your eyes were rolling back in your head every time his fat cock thrust right against your sweet spot deep inside you, the one only he could reach. "I-I hate you-" You moaned out between his mean thrusts.

You heard him coo in response, his hand leaning the back of your neck so he could grip your waist with both hands and yank you back on his cock harder, fucking whines from your lips. "Don't talk to me like that baby, hurts my feelings~" Geto retorted, his jaw dropping in a small o when you rubbed your clit harder at his words, making your hole clench around him so tightly it felt like you were trying to milk him of all he was worth.

"Would you really be squeezing me this tight if you hated me? Hmm?" He teased, practically slamming your ass back on his pelvis, loud squelching noises bouncing off the walls. Thank god you were in this loud-ass club or everyone would know exactly what was going on, not like you really cared. "Shut up and fuck m-me." You responded curtly, closing your eyes as you tried to focus on reaching your high, timing your finger rubbing circles against your clit with his thrusts inside you.

"That's what I'm doing, dumb s-slut." Geto groaned, dropping his gaze to where the two of you were connected, feeling a warmth in his stomach bloom at the white ring of cum that had formed around the base of his dick. "Godd pussy is fucking milking me- you cant survive without me, need me- need this dick." Geto spoke between rough thrusts, his own words working himself up as he felt his high creep over him.

You grit your teeth at his words, moans spilling from your lips without your permission. He was fucking the shit out of you, you don't think he's ever been so rough before. His words, his hips, his hands, all of it, so fucking rough, and it was quickly working you up to your orgasm. You were too overwhelmed, tears started forming in your eyes with all of the stimulation and emotion you were feeling. He was hammering into your g-spot, making your legs shake uncontrollably.

"God- fuck- Gonna make me cum inside my pussy, my fucking pussy-" Geto babbled, shaking his head as he tried to get a peek at your face, noticing how you had bitten your lip between your teeth, tears streaming down your face. "Fuck, you crying? Feels that good?" He laughed. You didn't want him to know how good you were feeling, didn't want him to know his words were true; you couldn't live without him or his dick. His cock alone was literally fucking tears out of your eyes, it was so intense.

"Not gonna speak huh? Fine, stay quiet then." Your ex-boyfriend huffed, looking down at your pussy stretched around his girth as he fucked himself to his orgasm, you close behind him. "Shit- shit I'm coming- take it baby fu-ck~" Geto groaned, leaning over your back, burring his face into your neck. You felt his teeth dig into your neck when you felt the first rope of his warm seed shoot inside you, making your orgasm crash over you.

The two of you rode your highs out together, Geto's hips weakly and unceremoniously thrusting into your sopping cunt, working you through your orgasms. Geto jerked against your body, his strong hands wrapping around your torso as he kept you pressed against him, unloading his cum into your abused pussy. You whimpered into the wall, feeling his teeth leave your neck when he started coming down from his high, his face keeping its place in your neck.

The two of you stayed quiet for a while, relishing in the silence save for the dull booming of the club music echoing through the walls of the bathroom. Geto's hands were petting the skin of your hips, and for just a moment, you let yourself think everything was okay, losing yourself in the feeling; until he spoke. "I am sorry you know. So fucking sorry." He whispered into your neck, not daring to move.

You heaved out a sigh, pushing his arms off of you. You reached behind you and pushed his pelvis back, wincing in overstimulation when his softened cock slid out of your walls, his cum chasing after him, making your face scrunch at the uncomfortable feeling. "That wasn't what this was." You responded coldly. Bending down you pulled your panties up, keeping his cum snug inside you.

You turned around to watch him open your mouth, to which you held your hand up, stopping him; amazed when he actually listened. You pushed past him, bumping his shoulder in the process. Without another word, you unlocked the bathroom door and on shaky legs, left the small room and out into the nightclub to find Shoko and Utahime and get the hell out of there. Geto sighed deeply, tipping his head back as he stared at the ceiling before he closed his eyes, feeling the remorse wash over him, "fuck."

4K notes · View notes

fatecantstopme · 1 year ago

Text

Spell Bound

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen...I couldn't help myself.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names. An excessive amount of heavy SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), rough sex, oral (F receiving), multiple cream pies

"I freaking hate witches," Dean mumbled as he picked the lock on the apartment door.

You chuckled softly, very used to hearing him grumble every time you were hunting a witch.

He slowly walked into the apartment and you followed in after him.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" you asked quietly.

"Big scary magic book. Sam said it's probably on or near some kind of altar."

"Big scary magic book," you muttered under your breath. "Makes perfect sense."

You sighed as you walked into the living room and noticed several bookcases lined with large books. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Dean shot you a weary smile. "Guess it might take a little longer than I thought."

"You think?"

You took one side of the room and Dean took the other. Sam had described the look of the book to the both of you, but there was really no way to be 100% certain if you found it.

About 15 minutes into your perusal, you spotted a large leather-bound book tucked under what appeared to be an altar cloth. You slowly removed the cloth, wary of what you might uncover. The book was almost exactly as Sam had described, so you had a feeling it was the right one.

"I think I found it," you said aloud.

At almost the same exact moment, a crash sounded from behind you and Dean let out a string of curses.

You spun around to see the hunter brushing off some sort of florescent pink dust from his face. "What the hell did you do?"

"I was moving some of the books and this box fell out and some powder just kinda...sprayed my face."

"Seriously?"

He looked sheepish. "I didn't even see it."

You sighed. "Great. God only knows what the hell that was."

He looked at the box carefully, but there was nothing written on it to identify the powdery substance he had inhaled. He gave you another sheepish look and shrugged. "Maybe it's not harmful."

You shot him a stony look. "Dean...it's a witch. It's not gonna be fairy dust."

He sighed, knowing you were right. He started shifting his shoulders a bit as if he was uncomfortable.

"Let's get out of here. I'll call Sam on the way back to the motel and see if he has any idea what it could be."

Dean nodded and followed you out the door. By the time you got outside the building and to the car, he was twitching like an addict in need of a fix.

"Dean?" you asked tentatively.

"My skin feels like it's on fire and--and it's like--itchy. And there's a weird feeling inside that I can't describe, but it doesn't feel nice."

"Okay...how 'bout I drive?"

He looked up at you with concerned eyes, but he handed you the keys and got into the passenger seat. You knew he must really be feeling terrible if he was letting you drive Baby.

You started the car up and pulled out of the parking spot while simultaneously calling Sam on your cell. He answered on the third ring.

"Dean got some sort of witchy powder on his face and now he's...itchy?" you said quickly in lieu of a greeting.

Sam sighed. "What are his symptoms?"

You put the phone on speaker. "Dean, what are your symptoms?"

Dean couldn't look at you and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a growl. "I feel like crawling out of my own skin, everything aches, and I'm having a hard time breathing right. Oh and I can literally smell (Y/N)'s skin, which is totally not normal!"

"You can smell my skin?"

He grumbled under his breath. "I can smell your skin and your shampoo and your goddamn body wash, and I want--fuck. What the hell is wrong with me, Sam?"

"Uh, I honestly don't know. Let me call Bobby and see if he has any ideas."

You set the phone down on the seat beside you. "Maybe you're turning into some kind of animal?"

"What?"

"Well, I mean...you can smell me...which is weird and kind of--animalistic."

"I don't think that's it," he said harshly. "My body is aching in a way I can't even begin to describe to you, but I don't think I'm morphing into anything."

You eyed him carefully, worry etched into your face. He was your closest friend and trusted hunting partner, and you hated seeing him like this. Witches scared the shit out of you...you knew what they were capable of.

"Maybe drive a little faster," he hissed.

You pressed harder on the gas and the Impala shot down the road. When your phone rang, you answered it immediately.

"So I think I might know what it is, but I have something I need to ask Dean first," Sam said.

"Okay." You looked at Dean. "Can you hold the phone? Sam wants to ask you something."

Dean took the phone from your hand, hissing as his skin made contact with yours. "What?" he grumbled.

"This is gonna be awkward, but I need to know, okay? Do you feel--umm--aroused at all?"

Dean was silent for a moment as he let his brother's question sink in. Ohhh fuuuuck, he thought to himself. He glanced down at his jeans and noticed the bulge straining against them. With the intense pain he was experiencing, he hadn't really noticed. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled. "Yeah."

"Okay, well the good news is, I know what it is. It's called sex pollen."

"It's called what?"

"Sex pollen. The name doesn't really matter, but you have all the symptoms. They're only going to get worse until--well until you die."

"Die? Is there a cure?"

You looked over at Dean in terror, your foot pressing down even further on the pedal. Dean's hand was shaking slightly as he put the phone on speaker so you could hear.

"You have to--uhh--well--shit. You have to umm...fuck it out."

"I have to what?"

"Dude, I know, okay? But you don't have a choice. If you don't you'll die a rather painful death."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said again. "Can I, umm, take care of it myself?"

"According to what Bobby read, the only option is actual intercourse with another person."

"How long do I have?"

You were acutely aware of Dean's close proximity to you, and now you understood the nature of his pain. Your own breathing was more labored, but you desperately tried to maintain control of yourself. Don't make it weird, (Y/N), you thought to yourself.

"30 minutes from the time of contact until...until death," Sam answered.

"30 minutes?" you gasped. You started doing the math in your head as Dean continued talking to his brother. "We have maybe 10 more minutes until we get back to the motel and that leaves about 10 until..."

Dean looked over at you, his normally green eyes dark with need. "I'm so fucked," he muttered.

"That doesn't really leave us time to find someone for you to--you know," you said worriedly.

"Shit."

"Might wanna make it fast," Sam said.

"Obviously," Dean snapped. "How long will it take to...get out of my system?"

"That depends," Sam began. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

"Another story?"

"It could take a lot longer."

"Great," you mumbled.

"Sam, don't be there when we get there," Dean growled at his brother before hanging up the phone.

"Dean?" you questioned softly.

"Just drive, (Y/N)."

You continued driving, but your focus was most definitely not on the road. You could hear the heavy breathing and the soft pained sounds coming from the man beside you and it made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. It certainly didn't help that you had wanted him for years and seeing him like this was making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't be feeling.

Dean flirted with you regularly, but he flirted with almost every person he came into contact with. It's just a part of his personality, so you never read into it. While Dean quite obviously adored you (and you him), you were not his type. You were a good fighter, sure, but where you really excelled was research. You were brilliant--almost as knowledgable as Bobby, though you still had plenty to learn. You were also significantly more--voluptuous than the women Dean gravitated to. Soft, chubby, more to love--whatever you wanna call it. As such, you'd never made any sort of move to announce your feelings for him. You didn't want to face his rejection.

"Sweetheart, if you don't speed up, I'm liable to die before we make it there," Dean hissed.

You shot him a look. "We're less than two minutes away, so don't die on me yet, Winchester."

He exhaled sharply and nodded. "I'm not gonna make it either way, (Y/N). Like you said, we don't have enough time to find a, uh--partner."

You took a deep breath. "I can't let you die."

He looked over at you and you felt his gaze boring right into your soul. "I can't do that to you."

"I really don't see how we have much of a choice here."

You pulled into the motel parking lot before he could respond.

"Let's go," you said quickly as you got out of the car and made your way to your room.

Dean was right behind you, so close you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. As soon as the door was unlocked, Dean was pushing you through it and locking it behind you.

"Shit," he muttered. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"It's okay, Dean," you said softly. "I'm not afraid."

His eyes widened and he grabbed your chin. "You should be...I'm going to lose control."

"It's alright...use me."

He let out a low growl and squeezed your chin tighter. "I--I won't be able to make this good for you."

You pressed yourself against his body, feeling the hard ridges against you. "It's not about me. You need this."

That was all it took for Dean to let go. His lips attacked yours with a hunger you were not expecting despite the intensity of the situation. He was not at all gentle as he tore your clothes from your body, ripping his own off with equal force.

He tossed you down on the bed with shocking ease. He had absolutely no difficulty manhandling you. You weren't sure if it was the sex pollen or just him.

His lips and hands were everywhere, touching every inch of your soft skin he could possibly reach. He needed to be inside of you so badly it was almost impossible to breathe. His skin burned with each touch and his instincts screamed at him to just break you.

He moves his way down your body and you're surprised as he stops just above your core. "Dean, what are you doing?" You knew he needed a release--and soon--or he wasn't gonna make it.

A voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him this was (Y/N), his (Y/N). Even in his current state, he wanted to avoid hurting you if he could. "Need to get you ready," he grunted.

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was devouring your pussy. The sounds he made were incredible, the feeling almost electrifying. He slid two fingers in and moved them in a scissoring motion to help loosen you up.

He was only down there for a 30 seconds before he came up and locked eyes with you. "I can't hold off anymore."

You nodded. "Just let go. I'll be okay."

He knew the moment he slid inside you, he'd be a goner. Whatever tiny amount of self control he'd managed to hang onto would disappear in an instant. But he could also feel the roaring agony inside him and he needed to feed it before it devoured him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your ear a split second before he sheathed himself fully inside you.

You cried out--pain mixing with pleasure as his large member stretched you in ways you'd never before experienced.

Dean couldn't give you time to adjust--he was too far gone. His hips began to move and his sole focus was on his own pleasure--his own release.

His thrusts were powerful and fast, so much so that your body started to scoot farther up the bed. He grabbed your hips and held you in place, pace never faltering. The sensations were almost painful given his size, but you wouldn't have stopped him even if you could have.

"Fuck, baby--you feel so good," he grunted.

You were more than a little surprised when he spoke--you hadn't pegged him as a dirty talker. Then again, it could very well have been the pollen. The same could be said of the sounds coming from his mouth. You'd never heard such sinful noises and you loved them.

"So tight--squeezing me so good. Feels like heaven."

You squeezed his cock purposefully, making him groan each time you clenched down. He needed his release and you were gonna make sure he got it. Your own enjoyment was far from your mind--this was essentially a transaction--a lifesaving measure. You had to view it that way to protect your heart...at least that's what you told yourself.

"Baby," he moaned. "Imma fill you up--so close."

Despite the voice in your head telling you this wasn't real--that you shouldn't have any emotional attachments--you reached up and touched his face, caressing it lovingly. "Cum for me, Dean," you whispered.

His eyes locked on yours and he bit his lip--hearing you say his name in the heat of the moment was a bigger turn on than he'd ever imagined. It pushed him right over the edge and he spilled inside of you with a grunt.

You lay beneath him, panting despite the minimal exertion on your part. He'd had his orgasm, but he was still moving, much to your surprise. "You're not done--?"

He shook his head. "Need more."

He pulled out and quickly flipped you over with no warning. You instinctively lifted your hips to allow him access, which he took without hesitation. His cock was still throbbing and the need still burned in his veins. His mind remained singularly focused on his relief--his pleasure.

He slammed into your pussy and set a brutal pace, earning a cry of pain from your lips. This new angle allowed him better access, sending his cock deeper inside of you. His head brushed against your cervix with each thrust, a stinging pain accompanying the pleasure.

Dean's large palm came down on your ass with a hard smack, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips. Your pussy clamped down on his cock as he landed another slap to your round cheek.

"Fuck baby, you like that don't you?" Smack. "You like it when I slap this sexy ass?" Smack. "Fuck--squeezing me so tight, sweetheart." Smack.

He was right though, you loved it. You always had, but there was something extra enjoyable about having your ass smacked by Dean Fucking Winchester. Even if you couldn't verbally express your pleasure to him, your pussy made it well-known.

Dean's right hand gripped your hips tightly, pulling you flush against him as he continued pumping. His left hand trailed up your back until he grabbed a fist full of hair at the base of your neck and pulled. Your head snapped back and you cried out, but you didn't fight him.

"Do you know how badly I've wanted to pull this hair, pretty girl? Fuck--I think about it all the time." His pace was relentless and his hand remained entangled in your hair.

You'd never really noticed him looking at your hair in any particular way, so you assumed once again the pollen was making him say such dirty little things.

After several more thrusts, Dean let go of your hair and pushed down on your upper back, forcing you to press your upper body into the mattress. Dean gripped your hips with both of his hands and slammed into you with an intensity that was unmatched by any of his previous actions.

You had a feeling he was close to another orgasm, at least if his grunts and curses were anything to go by. You clenched down around him again, intent on pushing him past the brink.

It worked like a charm. Dean came with a cry of your name, thrusts continuing as he emptied inside of you once again.

You were exhausted and you hadn't had a single orgasm. Part of you really hoped Dean had gotten it all out of his system, but another part of you didn't want this to end. Even if it wasn't real--even if he didn't actually want to be having sex with you, you liked pretending, if only for a little while.

Dean pulled out of you slowly and rolled you over with a surprising gentleness. You assumed that meant he was satiated and the pollen was out of his system.

When you met his eyes, you were surprised by how brilliantly green they were. You'd almost gotten used to the dark forest color that had taken over as a result of the pollen. He was looking at you with an odd expression you couldn't quite place, but for some reason it made you want to scurry away and hide.

"Better?" you whispered.

He cocked his head to the side and a small smirk played on his lips. "Not even close," he murmured.

His lips met yours in a fiery kiss before you had time to respond. Unlike the previous kisses, this one was more passionate, more intense. It made your body tingle all over and a warmth spread through your veins.

Dean's brain fog had finally cleared enough that he could actually slow down and focus on what was happening--on what he was doing, or rather who. He hated that he'd cum twice without even thinking about you, let alone making you orgasm. Dean prided himself on being an excellent lover and he wasn't about to let you leave this bed unsatisfied.

His cock brushed against your pussy as he shifted to hold you closer. You both inhaled sharply, enjoying the sensation. Dean's lips began to travel down your neck, leaving soft, wet kisses in his wake. He nipped at your pulse point, earning an excited moan from you. He liked hearing that sound, so he sucked on that spot until you were panting heavily beneath him.

His hands traveled over your soft curves, touching and squeezing all the parts of your body you were self-conscious about. Dean didn't seem to give a damn that your stomach wasn't flat, that your hips weren't narrow and your thighs weren't skinny--in fact, he seemed to be reveling in the feeling of softness.

His lips were so gentle as he continued his downward movements. He kissed and licked and sucked on each of your breasts, spending several minutes focusing on each one. "You have such perfect breasts," he murmured.

You were too surprised, and perhaps too lost in pleasure, to formulate any kind of response to his words. Luckily, he didn't seem to need one, and he refocused his attention on you.

Once he was satisfied your breasts had received enough love, he continued moving down your stomach, stopping to place soft kisses to every mark and scar he saw.

When he reached your sweet pussy, he spread your legs as wide as he could and settled down between them. You were surprised at his actions, especially since you knew he was still hard--that he still needed another release.

Dean was now singularly focused on one thing--and that was you. Now that his damn brain was working properly, he wanted to make sure you enjoyed this--even if it was a one time thing because you didn't want him to die, he wasn't about to walk away from this without making you scream his name at least once.

He breathed in deeply, smelling your arousal mixed with his own spend, and he smirked. His eyes flicked up to yours and his mouth latched onto your clit, unleashing an overwhelming assault on your swollen mound.

You gasped as the sudden pleasure washed over you. You couldn't take your eyes off the man between your legs--nor did he take his eyes off you. Every time your hips bucked or you tried to move, his strong arms held you in place so he could continue to watch you.

You were writhing against the sheets in what felt like seconds--it was probably longer, but either way you felt embarrassed at how quickly you fell apart under his touch. Your orgasm tore through you like a hurricane, broken moans dripping from your lips.

To your shock, and perhaps concern, Dean didn't stop his assault on your pussy. Even as you tried to squirm away, he held you in place, desperate to give you another orgasm. You whimpered that it was too much, begged him to give you a break, but all of those words quickly morphed into pleas to keep going--don't stop.

"Dean," you gasped as your fingers slipped into his hair, grabbing hold of the short locks by the roots. Your nails scrapped lightly against his scalp and he let out a soft groan.

His tongue seemed to dance across your clit, creating beautiful designs and languages only he seemed to know. He paid attention to what motions made you quiver, which ones made you moan, and which ones had you tugging on his hair with an iron grip.

"Dean, please--I--so close," you moaned.

He smiled, enjoying the immense pleasure he was giving you just as much as you seemed to enjoy it. A few moments later, you were once again coming apart against his mouth and he eagerly lapped up everything you had to give him.

This time as you tugged on his hair and squirmed away, he obliged, lifting himself up from between your thighs. He licked his lips as he looked down at your blissed out face.

"You taste like heaven, baby," he murmured. "Wanna taste?"

Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes widened and you nodded hesitantly. He smiled wolfishly as he leaned down to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth almost instantly, allowing you to taste yourself.

You moaned into the kiss and he held you even more tightly, lips sealed to yours like he needed your air to breathe.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to control his urges long enough to coax two orgasms from you, but he could feel that control waning. "I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips. "I need you so badly."

You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. You lifted your hips to brush against his cock and he groaned at the contact. You nipped at his jaw and pulled him back down to you. "Fuck me, Dean. Please."

He groaned. "Yes ma'am."

He didn't hesitate as he gripped his cock firmly and lined it up with your entrance. He slipped inside easily, having plenty of lubrication to assist him. Despite having been inside of you multiple times at this point, he was still taken aback by how fucking incredible you felt.

"God, I love this pussy," he murmured. "She was made for me."

You moaned softly at his words and the feeling of him inside you once again. As he started to move, he was much more gentle and you found yourself enjoying the sensations--perhaps more than you should.

"You're so good for me, (Y/N)," Dean mumbled, already lost in the feeling of you.

You would have given anything to hear him say that, but the words broke your heart a little. Had he had any other choice, he likely wouldn't be here right now--you wouldn't be the one he was fucking.

"Hey," he whispered, a rough, calloused hand running along your cheek as he looked at you. "Where's that pretty little head at?"

You smiled at him. "Right here, Dean."

Somewhere inside of him, he knew you were lying, but the damn pollen was still affecting his senses. He accepted your response and went back to his actions, focusing on the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock like a vise.

He wanted to feel you cum one more time...wanted to feel the way you'd squeeze his cock as you came. He wanted to watch you come undone beneath him, lost in pleasure he gave you.

He grabbed a pillow and gently lifted your hips, sliding the pillow under them. This provided him a new, improved angle, allowing him to cage you beneath him and hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Dean!" you gasped as the first thrust hit your g-spot.

He grinned and picked up his pace, slamming into it repeatedly. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge of an orgasm you knew would ruin you. Dean Winchester already made you feel things no other man ever had and his ability in bed was no exception. Damn him.

His thrusts were firm and measured, each one sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through your body. The familiar tightening in your gut was so intense you thought you might actually explode.

Dean's strong arms were on either side of your head and he was looking down at you with that same strange expression from earlier. "You're so damn beautiful, baby. I wanna watch this pretty face as you cum for me."

You gasped, unprepared for the way his words made you feel. You felt emboldened, so you asked for what you needed. "I need more, Dean."

His hand slipped between your bodies, a single finger gently massaging your clit as he continued to fuck you. "That better, baby?"

You nodded rapidly, earning a soft chuckle from his sweet lips.

"You gonna cum for me beautiful?"

You nodded again.

"Yeah? I want you to keep those pretty eyes open when you cum, okay? Wanna see you fall apart."

"Dean..." you whispered.

"I know, sweet girl. I've got you."

Your brain seemed to short-circuit in that moment. All you could feel was a blinding hot pressure immediately followed by an intense euphoria. You heard someone scream "Dean!" and you belatedly realized it had been your voice.

The intensity of your orgasm sent Dean spiraling over the edge of his own. He hadn't even been prepared for it--the mixture of you screaming his name and the sensations of you squeezing him so tightly and the gorgeous way your face contorted as you came was all he needed.

He emptied into you a third and final time, his cock finally beginning to soften as he helped you ride out your high.

He pulled out and flopped down beside you on the bed, his body aching from what had to be some of the best sex of his life--sex pollen or not.

You were just as sore as Dean--probably more so given you literally couldn't move. The two of you laid there in silence, slowly coming down from the electrical highs you'd experienced, both trying to catch your breath for the first time in what felt like hours.

Dean was the first to recover. "Did I hurt you?" he asked so softly you almost didn't hear him.

You turned your head to look at him and your heart clenched at the expression on his face. He was genuinely worried, brows furrowed in concern. You contemplated lying to him, but you knew he'd see right through you.

"A little," you said honestly.

He winced and his beautiful eyes closed. "I'm so sorry, (Y/N)--I would never hurt you on purpose--ever."

You offered him a small smile he couldn't see, until your hand touched his cheek and he opened his eyes again. "I know."

There were a thousand other things you wanted to say--a thousand words you wanted to string together into just the right sentences, but you couldn't. You wouldn't put yourself through it.

"Shower?" he asked softly.

"I honestly don't think I can stand."

A smirk played on his lips. "That should not make me feel so damn good."

You laughed lightly, glad to hear the teasing tone in his voice that you loved so much.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position. "It's not ideal, but there is a bathtub..." he trailed off.

"I wouldn't mind a bath," you admitted.

He nodded and got to his feet. He was a little unsteady at first, but managed to make his way to the bathroom. You heard the water running as he filled up the tub.

You laid there thinking about everything that had just happened. This was a position you'd never imagined you'd be in--with anyone, let alone Dean Winchester.

You knew this wasn't something you were going to be able to forget about, but you hoped things would go back to normal between the two of you and eventually this would just be a funny story.

Suddenly, Sam's words from earlier snapped into your mind. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

One and done...one and done. This most definitely had not been a 'one and done' scenario. But didn't that mean...? No. No way. Impossible. Dean Winchester does NOT have feelings for you.

You began to rationalize your thought process. Maybe "care about" included a friendly relationship. Yeah...yeah that made the most sense. Of course Dean cares about you. You're his best friend. There couldn't possibly be anything more to it...right?

As if on cue, Dean stepped back into the room. "Bath's ready."

"Okay." You tried to pull yourself up, but you immediately fell back against the mattress, body too worn out to sustain any kind of movement.

Dean chuckled lightly and came up to the side of the bed. He pulled the pillow out from under your hips and slipped his arms under your body, hoisting you up bridal style.

"Jesus!" you yelled. "Put me down! I'm too heavy--you'll throw out your back."

Dean laughed. "Calm down, (Y/N). I just threw you around this bed repeatedly with zero issues. I promise I can carry you to the bathroom without dying."

"But--"

He glared at you and tightened his grip on you as if to prove his point. "Ain't a damn thing wrong with your body, so shut it."

Your mouth closed immediately. His words sent a jolt directly to your core and you were almost annoyed by it. As if three orgasms wasn't enough...

Dean very gently set you on your feet in the bathroom and slowly helped you into the tub. As soon as he got you into a seated position, he got into the tub as well, slipping in behind you.

"Umm...whatcha doing?"

"Taking a bath."

"Isn't the tub a bit small for both of us?"

You could feel him shrug behind you. "I think it's perfect size. Now come here." He grabbed your shoulders and gently pulled you back so you were laying against his chest. "That's better," he muttered.

Your mind began to race once again as you laid there, body tense and uncomfortable.

"Okay, (Y/N), I know you better than anyone, so don't you dare lie to me. Where's your head at?"

"I--" you sighed. "I'm not really sure how to feel."

He nodded. "I know you didn't want this--I feel like I had to literally force myself onto you and I hate that. I know you only agreed so I wouldn't die, but--"

"Woah--stop." You sat up and turned your head to face him. "That's not true at all. You didn't force me to do anything."

"Okay, maybe 'force' is the wrong word...but you did have sex with me to save my life. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I'm painfully aware," you muttered.

He ran his hand over his face. "I'm not saying any of this right."

"Then what are you trying to say?"

He bit his lip. "Remember what Sammy said? About...how long the effects would last?"

You nodded.

"Well in case you didn't notice, I had three orgasms."

"Both me and my very sore vagina noticed," you said lightly.

He sighed. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, (Y/N)?"

You turned a little more so you could see his face better. He had that same look he'd had when he was making you feel incredible. "I need to hear you say it..." you whispered.

He nodded and leaned forward so his face was mere inches from yours. "He didn't mean 'care' as in 'we're friends, so I care about you'...he meant 'care' as in 'love'."

Your lips parted and you inhaled sharply.

"So you see, I don't just care about you as a friend...and I don't just love you as a friend...I'm in love with you."

"You--you love me?"

"In love," he repeated. "For as long as I can remember."

"You're in love--with me?"

He chuckled softly. "Who else would I be talking to, baby? Yes, I'm in love with you."

"I--I don't know--" you stuttered.

"The only thing you need to know is how you feel. Do you know how you feel about me, (Y/N)?" he whispered.

You nodded slowly.

"And?"

"I'm in love with you too."

He grinned widely. "Yeah?"

You nodded, cheeks turning red.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against him. He looked down at you with that expression he'd been wearing and you suddenly realized what it was...it was love--real, true, beautiful, heart aching love.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to your lips, which you returned in kind. He held you tightly, loving the feeling of your body in his arms.

"We better get cleaned up before this water gets cold," he said softly, lips pressing to your hair.

"Mhmm," you hummed.

He chuckled. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me, babe."

"But I'm comfortable," you whined.

He smiled against your cheek. "Give me five minutes to clean you up and then we can sleep, okay?"

You looked over at him and smiled. "Deal."

Loved this fic? Support my work by buying me a coffee 💜

#supernatural #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader smut #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfic #supernatural smut

6K notes · View notes

precupid · 26 days ago

Text

─── b2b

WC ─── eight hundred twenty-seven

GENRE ─── fluff, just fluff, idk kinda angsty though, established relationship

SYNOPSIS ─── sleeping with you is hard, but sleeping without you is even harder for jake.

MARI NOTES ─── not proofread bc i literally just finished writing this </3 very very self indulgent, i literally could not stop thinking of sleepy and cuddly jake and that one quote “not when it’s you” m(_ _)m please enjoy and leave feedback if you’d like <3

Jake is not used to noisy sleepers. He is not used to people who are constantly moving in their sleep. And he sure as hell isn’t used to being punched in the face during slumber.

However, that doesn’t mean he won’t sleep with you. In fact, because you’re you, Jake willingly allows you to torture him in your sleep. That’s how much he adores you. He’ll take every punch, every slap, and every kick just to hold you close when you’re away in dreamland.

Yes, he does lose a lot of sleep. Yes, he does have large dark circles. And yes, he falls asleep during his classes. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stop sleeping with you.

“Jake. I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

The statement is enough to send Jake’s heart and mind into a frenzy. Are you mad at him? Did he do something wrong? How does he not know?

His puppy dog eyes are enough to give away that something is amiss and you pout at him, “I’m not mad. Just so you know.”

His voice is wobbly when he replies, “Then why? Do you hate me?”

Well. He wasn’t supposed to say that, but it comes out anyways.

You laugh, patting his cheek, “No, of course not! I just think you deserve a good night’s rest. I know how hard it is to sleep within my general vicinity, so I want you to have the bed tonight.”

Jake’s eyes go big and he grabs the hand that rests on his cheek, his thumb softly rubbing against your skin. “Thank you, my love. You’re so sweet.”

Truth be told, Jake is not looking forward to sleeping alone. Despite how difficult it is to sleep with you, he’s gotten used to the disarray that comes with sharing a bed every night. He’s used to falling off the bed, being whacked in the face, and your random murmurs every so often. He doesn’t know how he’ll cope without your warmth radiating from your side of the bed.

The night goes on, and suddenly, the night sky is draped with clouds and stars, the moon hung low in the sky. Jake pouts at you from his spot on the bed, pillow in his arms, as he watches you do your skincare routine, “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep with me? Like a thousand percent sure?”

A chuckle leaves your lips, “Yes. You should sleep for more than four hours. You deserve to.”

His heart hurts at that statement. He wants to sleep so badly, but not without you. Eight hours of sleep without you is nothing compared to the four hours he gets with you.

Jake follows you to the couch, which has been pulled out into a bed, and stands in front of it. His arms are spread out like a starfish, preventing you from going any closer. “Please. I’m desperate. I want to sleep with you.”

“Jake, but you should have a night to yourself where you can sleep soundly,” the way you sound almost sad makes Jake rethink his begging. “Just one night, Jake. Then I’m all yours.”

His arms drop to his sides and he holds out a pinky, “Promise?”

“Promise,” you smile, intertwining your little fingers.

Two hours after you’ve gone to bed, Jake lays limply and alone in the dark. His eyes are glued to the ceiling, his ears glued to the snoring coming from outside the bedroom. He hasn’t slept a wink at all and all he can think about is how much he misses you and your sleeping form.

Huffing, he pushes himself off the bed, and walks to the living room. You sound like a hacksaw, sprawled out along the couch. The comforter is on the floor and your pillows have been tossed to the side.

Jake picks up a pillow, dusting it off quickly, and places it under your head. He takes the other pillow and places it next to yours. Slipping into the spot beside you, he sighs as your warmth envelopes him and the back of your hand whacks him softly on the cheek.

Feeling the impact, you open one eye and whisper, “Jake? What are you doing here? I thought you were sleeping already?”

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” he mumbles. You shift so Jake can position you in his arms.

“I thought my sleeping bothered you, so I wanted you to sleep alone for once. Y’know, sleep peacefully,” you admit. The grogginess in your voice makes Jake’s heart flutter, but your confession makes him feel like he’s sinking.

“You could never bother me. I love you,” Jake replies. He digs his nose in your neck and leaves a chaste kiss. “Nothing about you could bother me. I adore everything about you.”

Sniffling, you turn in Jake’s hold so you can look into his eyes. “I love you,” you say, trying to kiss Jake’s lips. Your brows furrow as he dodges your kiss. “What?”

“Sorry, babe,” Jake laughs breathlessly. “You got sleepy breath.”

“Whatever,” you pout.

Jake runs a hand through your hair and kisses your forehead, “Let’s just go back to bed.”

655 notes · View notes

777bae · 19 days ago

Text

ALWAYS YOURS JACK HUGHES

Summary :: Jack finally realises he was truly always yours

Warnings :: kissing

Word count :: 2.1k

The locker room is alive with the chaotic energy of celebration. Laughter echoes off the walls, loud and boisterous, and the clatter of equipment fills the air. Jack sits in the corner, his skates still tied tight, his hair damp and messy from the game. The adrenaline should still be coursing through him—after all, they’d won tonight. Another tally in the win column, another moment to add to his growing list of career highlights. Yet, despite the great victory, his thoughts are elsewhere.

His mind keeps wandering back to you.

He remembers the way you smiled at him before the game, standing just outside the locker room, bundled in a coat too big for you, your cheeks kissed pink from the cold. It was the kind of smile that could quiet the loudest of arenas, one that reached your eyes and made him feel like he was the only person in the room. It had lingered with him all night, far more potent than the cheers of the crowd or the rush of the game.

Jack finishes untying his skates and runs a hand through his damp hair, staring absently at the ground for a moment. The sounds of his teammates fade into the background as his heartbeat picks up. He knows where you’ll be—where you always are after every game. And the thought of you standing just beyond those locker room doors, waiting patiently for him, fills his chest with warmth that no win on the ice ever could.

He doesn’t rush as he gets up, but there’s an eagerness in his step that he can’t quite suppress. By the time he pushes open the heavy door, the world outside feels quiet and still. And there you are, leaning against the wall in that effortless way only you can pull off.

The sight of you stops him in his tracks. Your hair falls loosely around your shoulders, catching the soft fluorescent light overhead, and your hands are tucked into your coat pockets. There’s nothing overly remarkable about this moment—you’re just standing there, looking up at him with a gentle smile—but to Jack, it feels extraordinary. He drinks you in as if you’re the first light of dawn, a quiet sort of beauty that demands no attention but steals his completely.

“You were amazing out there,” you say softly, your voice carrying a sincerity that wraps around him like a blanket.

Jack’s lips tug into a lopsided grin as he moves closer to you. “Trying to impress you,” he teases, though there’s a slight tremor in his voice that betrays the weight of the words. He’s never been good at hiding how he feels about you.

You laugh lightly, the sound like music to his ears. “You don’t have to try, Jack. You already have.”

The words hit him square in the chest, and for a moment, he’s left speechless. His gaze lingers on you, taking in the way your eyes hold his, unwavering and full of warmth. It’s a look that makes him feel seen, not as the rising hockey star everyone expects him to be, but as just Jack—the guy who gets nervous around you, the guy who’s never been more certain about anything in his life than he is about you.

He steps closer, close enough that he can see the faint freckles dusted across your nose, the way your lashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks. His hand brushes against yours, and even through the fabric of your coat, the contact sends a jolt of electricity up his arm.

You tilt your head, studying him like you can see right through the walls he keeps up around everyone else. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself,” you say, your voice soft but steady. “I’m here, Jack. Always.”

Your words stir something deep within him. He’s spent so long trying to be everything for everyone—his team, his family, his fans. But here you are, reminding him that he doesn’t have to shoulder it all alone, that it’s okay to let someone in.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker to yours, filled with something raw and vulnerable.

You smile, a quiet, knowing smile that holds no pity, only love. “That’s not for you to decide,” you reply, your fingers reaching out to brush against his wrist.

The simplicity of your words is what undoes him. There’s no grand declaration, no overly complicated sentiment. Just you, standing here, promising to stay.

He steps even closer, his hand lifting to cup your cheek with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. His thumb brushes over your skin, tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he’s memorizing it. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you is heavy with unspoken emotions, a quiet understanding passing between your gazes.

“You’re too good to be true,” Jack murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, almost as if the words are spilling out before he can stop them. His eyes search yours, wide and vulnerable, like he’s laying every piece of himself bare for you to see.

The weight of his confession lingers in the space between you, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. The air is heavy with the kind of electricity that makes your pulse quicken, yet somehow, everything feels impossibly still. His hand lifts, trembling slightly, as if he’s afraid to touch you and ruin the fragile moment. But when his palm finally cups your cheek, his fingers spreading gently against your skin, it’s as if a piece of him falls into place—like he was made to hold you like this.

Your heart swells at the tenderness in his gaze. There’s no bravado now, no teasing grin, no easy confidence. Just Jack, raw and unguarded, looking at you as if you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

A small, knowing smile tugs at your lips as you lean into his touch. His skin is warm, and the roughness of his calloused fingertips contrasts with the softness of your cheek. “So are you,” you whisper, your voice gentle but steady, like a quiet promise you need him to believe.

The words seem to undo him. His brows furrow ever so slightly, and for a moment, he just stares at you, as though he’s memorizing the curve of your lips and the softness of your expression. Then, without another word, he tilts his head and leans in.

When his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft—so soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, trying to savor the moment before it slips away. The first brush of his lips against yours sends a shiver down your spine, and he lingers there, his breath mingling with yours as though he’s memorizing the taste of you. Then, slowly, his mouth moves against yours, more deliberate now, with an aching tenderness that makes your knees feel weak. It’s the kind of kiss that demands nothing and yet gives everything, unspoken emotions pouring into every second.

There’s a quiet desperation in the way his lips mold to yours, a searing intensity that speaks louder than words. It’s as though he’s been holding this inside for so long that now, faced with the reality of it, he doesn’t want to let it go. He kisses you like this moment could end at any second, as if this might be the last chance to tell you how he feels without ever saying a word.

The taste of him is intoxicating—a mix of the lingering sharpness of spearmint gum and something else, something unmistakably him. It’s warm and familiar, like the comforting scent of home after being away for too long. The sensation makes your head spin, and all you can focus on is him—how close he is, how he feels, how this moment is everything you never dared to imagine.

His free hand moves with purpose, sliding to your waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of your coat. The touch is firm yet careful, as if he’s afraid of pushing too far, but the way he tugs you closer speaks volumes. He needs you nearer, closer, as though the space between you is unbearable. His grip on you tightens slightly, his fingertips pressing into the fabric like he’s anchoring himself to you, holding on to something he’s terrified of losing.

Your hands rise instinctively, trembling slightly as they find their place against him. One threads through the damp strands of his hair, the soft messiness of it slipping between your fingers. The strands still carry the faint coolness of the rink, but the warmth radiating from him overpowers it. Your other hand rests flat against his chest, where you can feel the wild rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. It beats fast—so fast—and you realize it mirrors your own, an unspoken acknowledgment of how deeply this moment has shaken you both.

The sound of his heartbeat, steady yet frantic, feels like the only thing in the world grounding you. The heat of his body presses into yours as the kiss deepens, and the weight of his emotions bleeds into every movement. His lips become more insistent now, as though he’s trying to tell you things he doesn’t know how to say out loud—how you’ve somehow become the only constant in his world of chaos, how your presence has anchored him in ways he didn’t even realize he needed, how he’s never felt more alive than he does right now, with you.

There’s an urgency to him that’s almost overwhelming, and yet you meet it with just as much intensity. Your hand tightens in his hair, and the press of your palm against his chest grows firmer, as though you’re trying to memorize the feeling of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. The connection between you feels electric, raw and unfiltered, like a spark has ignited and there’s no putting it out.

When Jack finally pulls away, it’s not because he wants to—everything about him screams that he’d stay like this forever if he could—but because he has to. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, and his forehead comes to rest gently against yours. For a moment, neither of you moves, as if even the slightest shift might break the fragile perfection of this moment.

His breath is warm and uneven against your skin, fanning over your lips as he exhales shakily. His hand is still on your waist, his grip firm but not confining, like he’s afraid to let go. The thumb of his other hand strokes slow, soothing circles against your cheek, the gentleness of the motion contrasting with the intensity of the kiss that just ended.

Your breaths mingle in the stillness, shallow and unsteady, and the air between you feels thick with everything unspoken. His gaze is locked onto yours, his blue eyes impossibly bright, shimmering with an emotion you’ve never quite seen in him before. Vulnerability. Awe. Something like quiet wonder.

His voice, when he finally speaks, is barely above a whisper. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” The words tumble out of him, raw and unpolished, like a confession he couldn’t hold back any longer. There’s a quiet reverence in the way he says it, as though admitting it out loud makes it feel more real, more permanent.

Your lips part, still tingling from the kiss, and you smile softly. “You didn’t have to wait,” you reply, your voice equally quiet but filled with certainty. Your fingers trail lightly along the sharp edge of his jaw, your touch feather-light but grounding. “I was always yours.”

The words hit him like a tidal wave, and for a moment, all he can do is stare at you, his expression a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming relief. A small, almost shy smile tugs at his lips, and his forehead presses more firmly against yours. His hand on your waist pulls you a fraction closer, and his thumb never stops its gentle circles against your cheek, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve of your face.

The world around you feels far away, the echoes of the rink and the chaos of the night fading into nothing. It’s just you and Jack, wrapped up in this moment, this connection that feels unbreakable.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Jack feels at peace. And as he looks into your eyes, still catching his breath, he knows one thing for certain: he’s never letting you go.

#nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl x reader #nhl x you #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #jack hughes imagine #hughes imagine #jh86 #jh86 x reader #new jersey devils #new jersey devils imagine #new jersey devils x reader

456 notes · View notes