#also YES his jaw and whole neck slides down into his chest if he opens his mouth all the way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeyinde · 2 years ago

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circle the drain | Captain John Price x F!Reader

》 WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ — P-in-V sex; unsafe sex; gendered female reader, female gendered anatomy; implied power imbalance; no substance only smut SUMMARY: Somehow, you know his hands are the only things capable of keeping you whole. 》 WORD COUNT: 7,6k 》 NOTES: This was supposed to be a valentine's day gift, but it's super late on account of me being ridiculously sick. I'm also becoming the Patron Saint of "soon-ish" but this is the sequel to Caught p., i. Yeah. That fic that's been requested a bunch lmao. ANYWAY. It's FINALLY here. This was written in a day and edited under a feverish delirium in what feels like four months but was actually less than 10 minutes.

His hands are firebrands, fingers the lit end of a cigar. When he touches your skin, you hear the sizzle of your flesh burning away, and the pop of it cauterising under his blistering heat. He seals a little part of himself in the wounds he wrought: buries them deep in your dermis until they leak into your bloodstream.

There is no victory in this.

And yet—

"Fuck me, captain—"

—you just can't help yourself sometimes.

His eyes flash. "I didn't tell you to stop."

》 Caught p., i

MASTERLIST | JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | AO3

It's the firm press of his front against your back that starts it all.

His hands, rough, firm. Scorching. They drop to your shoulders, one palm sliding down your bicep, fingers curling over the soft skin in the crux of your elbow.

You try not to tremble when his broad back presses flush to your spine. When he ducks his head down, bending a little at the waist to reach you—Price is a mountain, a tower—and you feel the coarse hairs along his jaw, chin, scratch against the soft curve of your neck, the back of your ears, your cheek.

"Steady."

Your teeth snap tight together when you feel the rumble through his ribcage before he even opens his mouth to utter the words. The rasping little groan—mmh—he makes rolls over your spine, the back of your ribs. It rattles through your bones, clotting in the fibrils of your tissue.

The fluttering wings of a hummingbird beat in the cavity of your chest when he speaks.

"One…two notches higher."

You scent burning sycamore when he breathes out, the rasp of his breath brushing your shoulder. Heat bleeds into your spine when he sidles close to you, hands firm on your body as he strings you into the position he deems best.

You wonder, then, how those broad hands would move you around in a different context. How the unyielding press of his chest would feel naked against your back—

"—y'right?"

Squeaking out a clipped affirmative is all you can do amid the roiling currents that batter through your chest—a dizzying concoction of want, need, for the man pressed against your spine.

He rumbles again, his pitch a guttural whisper that seems so opposed to his very essence—Týr in flesh and bone; a behemoth on the battlefield yelling himself hoarse—and the slow, smoky roll, the muted murmur, makes your toes curl. Fingers itch.

"Yeah?" He presses, unwilling—or unable—to let go until he's satisfied, until the worry in his chest over his men, over you, is abated. Shifted to some other place where it can't distract him. He leans in closer, and you find notes of Tobacco and malt nestled amongst the cindered Sycamore. Psalm ashes tickling your nose.

"Yes—," it's barely more than a breath. A ghost of something you can't place.

When it comes to Price, you never sound like yourself. Breathless, breathy. Voice a whisper amid the rumbling clatter of a rockslide careening down a mountain. His very presence seems to syphon the air from your lungs until you're gasping.

It feels like you've run a marathon—throat throbbing like an open wound; infected and raw. The taste of heme wells on your tongue. Your lungs burn. Ink blots clot over your vision.

"I'm—yeah, I'm good, cap." You say, and try not to focus on how his proximity makes you dizzy. Desperate.

He feels good against you, and you can feel the smoulder of his body even through the thick layers of his tac-vest, his military-issued jacket, and his long-sleeved shirt. The heat is dizzying. Liquifying your sense of propriety, decorum; it leaks over your threadbare resolve—that brassbound lockbox where you keep all of your hidden secrets tucked inside a place no one, nothing, can touch it.

It's absolute hot—one decillion, four hundred and twenty nonillion degrees celsius—and, well—

Who can withstand the hottest possible temperature matter can reach?

The box isn't just burnt or turned to ash—but erased. Swallowed whole by the flames that spark so hot, they don't even leave behind a scorch mark but burn the platform it laid on, too.

It frees everything you struggled to keep bound within you when he steps back, when there's more distance between his thundering heart and your liquified spine than ever before. A chasm.

Your chest is a hollow crevasse, an inexistent hole, and when he steps back, you feel threads of absolute zero snake over the scorched flesh.

You hear the sharp inhale through tobacco-stained teeth when you add sir, and wonder if he feels the same chill clot inside his marrow that you do.

When you swallow, his eyes drop, flashing to the smooth column of your throat. Liquid puddles in those sapphire pools—cenotes framed in burnt umber—and the burn of his eclipsing pupils makes you feel like you're choking.

Price clears his throat, his eyes skirting away from you in a mockery of something disquieted, demure. The loss of his eyes on you makes something sour twist in your guts.

You want it back, you think, and know, then, that it's far too late. That whatever tenuous hold you had over yourself had been carbonised and charred to cinders when he touched you with his molten hands, melting that gossamer of resolve you clung.

And—

Fuck.

His eyes are fixed somewhere on your forehead—either unwilling or unable to look you bare in the eye, and you worry for a moment that he knows. That he can see the want in your gaze, the heavy weight of sin that rolls over your shoulders until they quiver. The want in your hands makes your fingers tremble.

But it dissipates when he offers a facsimile of a smile.

"Good work," he says, the words sticking to the nicotine in his throat, and you wonder if you could become addicted to smoke just from the fumes he exudes.

(You feel the itch in your veins for the smooth draw of smoke into your burning lungs when he moves away from you.)

Fuck—you think, eyes fixed on his broad back, his taped waist, heavy shoulders—indeed.

You've never smoked a cigar before, and somehow you find yourself feening for a hit, for the smooth curl of tobacco smoke in your throat, sticking to your teeth.

Your eyes are drawn to the flash of orange in a perfect ring of controlled fire, to the stem of dark brown clenched between an even thicker thumb and forefinger; the lips pursed around the butt, the beard peppered with ash.

The craving hits you harder than ever when you look at him: the complete picture of your leader, captain, hunched over a bed of papers and files.

It's when the ashlar blue of his gaze flickers up, catching the end of something Soap says, that you know, without any sense of uncertainty, that all the cigars locked inside his case wouldn't be enough to quench the hunger in your chest. Rapacious. Greedy.

(Greedy hands, they'd say when you took too much.

Your joints burn with the urge to cling, to hold.)

Price looks up, catching your wanting gaze. He holds it for a moment, just long enough for you to forget how to breathe, how to function. Something shudders over the thin veil of indifference he wears, sealed over his face like a scab. It splits, peels back until the oozing wound below is once again exposed to the open air.

Raw, pulsating.

You wonder what would happen to your mortal body if you syphoned the ichor of Tyr, let it pool on your earthly tongue.

Your mouth is dry. Lips chapped and numbed. Your tongue lashes out, wetting them. A distraction—an unconscious action. You've studied enough to know that chewing on your lips, nails, the inside of your cheeks until the skin splits and bleeds is a self-soothing mechanism to abate the flood of anxiety that rips through you. Still. You do it, anyway.

It's a trick of the light, you think, when his eyes dim, lowering down to your blood red mouth, narrowing at the tease of your tongue flicking across your trembling bottom lip.

A manifestation, a delusion.

When you want something so badly, your mind is startlingly, debilitatingly, adept at playing pretend.

Your gaze drops to your unfinished plate, and you struggle to pretend you're not losing your mind to the whims of your desire because for a moment there—a brief, almost imperceptible second—it almost felt like he wanted you, too.

You bum a cigarette from Soap, and try not to think about that cold, windy night in Cairo when Price dropped his cigars to save you.

The barking laugh that hacked from his soot-stained lungs when you found a pack of Cleopatra Lights in the warehouse you were hiding in.

"Ain't the same, love." He huffed, white teeth flashing in the blue-green light of the Azbakiyyah quarter spilling in through the smeared windows. "No substitute for the real thing."

You take a drag, and sputter over the side of the balcony, gasping and coughing through the thick musk of tobacco that chokes your lungs.

It does nothing to abate the hunger inside of you.

With tar-stained lungs, and nicotine glueing to your aching throat, you think: no, not the same at all.

(Once you get a taste of the perfect vice, love, no imitation can compare. Keep the cigs. They'll only make me anxious if I start smokin' 'im now.)

The itch in your joints becomes too much.

You slide your fingers over your flesh, and wish it was him—

Your head lifts, glancing once more at the entranceway to the changing room.

Liquid sapphires. Brow drawn tight.

Your heart stutters. "C—captain, I—"

His eyes flash. "I didn't tell you to stop."

It's curt. Direct. Blunt. Everything he is—all narrowed down into this claustrophobic space that fogs with steam; the walls bleeding with condensation. It's sticky, balmy. Feverish heat that prickles hot and cold against your skin.

He says: I didn't tell you to stop.

And you say: I didn't tell you to watch.

An impasse. Stalemate. No victor, no loser.

(Except you. Always, always you.)

This promises nothing but your ruin should you let your arms drop from the tight clench around your bare breasts, nipples hardened, prickled and sensitive from when your delicate, small fingers rubbed at them and dreamed about his mouth.

An invitation.

One you can't bring yourself to open. The envelope is ripped, torn. But the card is folded neatly on the table in front of you.

(Take a peek, it beckons when he shifts, the unmistakable outline of his thick, hard cock bulging through the fabric of his trousers. Just a little look. A little taste.)

But it won't be, will it? Just a little. Laughable. Don't be stupid.

You never learned how to say no to yourself, how to hold back.

(Your moon is fixed in Cancer.)

You give, give, give—and, in equal, if not a little more, measure: take, take, take.

Want, want, want.

You think of his heat searing your back, liquifying your spine, turning your calcified bones to polymer, and know, deep down within your aching marrow, that what you crave is blue.

You can't let yourself want this—want him.

It's dangerous. Wrong. It's a gaping maw of hurt and agony just waiting to sink its teeth into your fleshy body, to tear you apart; ripping you limb from limb until you're a pulpy mess of tendon and crushed bones, barely human, but alive. Stuck in anguish.

He's heartbreak in smoke, in Maduro brown with a golden logo on the stem.

—means dark. Ripe. Used to only be made from the highest leaves, 'cause they spend the most time on the plant.

Dark. Ripe. Price.

Dangerous. Addictive. Inescapable.

His eyes—l'heure bleue—gaze at you through the dense fog. Waiting. Waiting. It's in your hands, now. The option to march forward and commence, to push yourself into his palm, in the worn hands that touched brushed the small of your back one day, and ignited a fire in your veins.

Or to retreat.

To walk back, to end this. To call it. Mentor, mentee. Captain. Disciple. Distance will split between you, stifling like the air that clogs the tiled, tacky room. Heavy, oppressive, and—

Inescapable.

Fuck.

You either take, take, and then deal with the aftermath of a bloody battle that will leave false starts on your bones, cutting deep to bleed marrow into your bloodstream, or you—

Forfeit.

There is no future in this. No grand declaration of romance or togetherness. It's the artificial merging of bodies in an offering to Hēdonē; an evanescent dance. It leaks heartache in the seams, and carries the tang of disillusionment should you dip your fingers in glacial blue. It'll stain you. His fingertips are drenched in agony—molten red, a hot poker—and will brand your flesh, scar your body with the perfect imprint of his touch. Of him.

It'll rear, in those soft, lonely moments when your thoughts are too loud and the room is too quiet, and the phantom press of his skin will become a burden.

Yearning.

You hate how it tastes oh so familiar.

Perpetual. Never-ending. Stasis.

You look at him and see blue: blue eyes, blue blood, blue heart, blues.

(Ache.)

But if you don't:

Stagnancy.

(Is it so different from stasis, really?)

It's nautical twilight somewhere, surely. The centre of the sun is six degrees below the horizon. You have six more degrees to go before it ends.

Six.

And then—

(It's not a jump, but a leap.)

Your fingers dig into the skin of your forearm. Piercing. Painful. The bite leaves crescents behind. Blue moons. You pry them apart, and—

Drop.

Into the sea. Into blue.

He says your name when you bare yourself to him again, consenting to this—whatever it is—and giving yourself over like an offering to some whimsical god of lust and poor choices.

The rasp of it makes your spine prickle—a low simmering heat sparks in your belly: satiated by your own fingers but never satisfied. Him standing before you, eager and wanting, strokes the flames until they burn in a frenzy of wildfire; consuming everything in its wake until you're raw, charred husk on the verge of collapsing.

A fragile supernova.

Your core is molten; liquid heat—absolute hot—and when he moves, you feel the foundations wobble, and start to fall apart at the seams.

(Somehow, you know his hands are the only things capable of keeping you whole.)

Price, still dressed in his sweatpants—tented with the obvious outline of his turgid arousal—and tight t-shirt crosses the threshold in seven easy steps. The soft squelch of his feet against wet tile echo in the room, somehow louder than your gasping breaths.

He doesn't walk to you, he stalks. His gait is measured, purposeful; each step brings him inches closer to your trembling, bare form, and the heaviness of his lidded gaze, liquid blue in a chamber of pearlescent white, cudgels into your ribcage, breaking your resolve apart as it pries the protective ivory wrapped around your delicate, fragile heart apart.

"Price—"

The grey of his pants is splattered with the inkblot stain of the water sprinkling from the looming showerhead. The darkening patches draw your eye to the jut of his hips, wide and expansive, and then further down to the damp outline of his thick, heavy cock still housed in a cotton polymer.

There's a fever in your veins—a sickness echoed in the folds of ever blue that pierce through the smog clouding around you. A blunt weight, a burning heat.

His shirt moulds to the contours of his chest when he finally, finally, stands in front of you. The burnt umber of his chest hair bled through the logo of his faded, worn tee. Liverpool Football Club in bright red against stark white. It glues to his pecs, his biceps.

Your mouth waters at the sight.

"You want this?"

His hands lift, biceps bulging, flexing under the tight cotton when he presses them against the slick, humid tile. His hair clings to his forehead, dark and wet. Droplets bead in his beard.

He presses forward, eyes brimming with want; a palpable sense of desperation that shouldn't frisson over his rigid lines.

Price won't repeat his words—not when his voice is thicker than tar, and stripped bare—and you arch against the cool porcelain pressing into your back, the duality of his unrelenting heat, and the chill of ceramic making every synapse in your head misfire.

Trembling, shaking, and desperately trying to hold on to some sense of cognisance amid this turbulent reality, you force a nod. A jerk of your chin.

He breathes through his nose, the breath wisping over the bridge of your nose. Frustration, you think, and—

Impatience. Uncertainty.

"Do you—"

Your facsimile of consent isn't enough for him. He's not a man known to repeat himself, and this—the words that are ripped from the smouldering depths of his chest should be a warning, if not a bare-faced testament to just how much he wants this—makes your heart flutter. A thrumming beat that seems to echo in the scant space between your bodies, the crevasse pitched at an intentional distance by his stalwart sense of control, propriety.

He won't touch you unless he's absolutely sure you want this, him—

Frustrating.

Verbalising your assent, your eagerness, makes something churn inside of you. As if uttering the words aloud will somehow break the spell you cast over him by your pithy voice ringing his name in the shades of your pleasure, the sight of your delicate fingers threading between your swollen, drenched folds.

You want him—haven't wanted anything nearly as much in your life than to feel his damp, naked chest flush against yours, his hips prying your thighs apart, his massive hands grasping your flesh like each pound was owed to him, and he was collecting his dues.

But—

That leap, the precipice you balance yourself on, is daunting. A touch won't be enough. A taste would just be a tease. A morsel.

You don't want a crumb—you want it all.

"Price," you whine instead, biting back the words he wants to hear. "Just—give it to me—"

It makes him groan. His head tips forward, eyes burning pits of sapphire-stained coal.

"Need to hear you say it."

It borders that illicit equinox of being both too much and not enough: that dangerous precipice where you either climb to higher, deadlier altitudes or fall down to certain death.

You wonder if there is a win somewhere in that. A choice when you come out unscathed, whole.

Price leans in, hair wet, matted to his forehead, beard slick with droplets of water that bead against the auburn, and immediately you think: no.

There is no victory in this.

And yet—

"Fuck me, captain—"

—you just can't help yourself sometimes.

. . .

It's wicked. Intense.

The clothes he wore were shed from his body like a second skin under your quiet, hungry acquiescence. They sit in a sopping pile that keeps drawing your eye.

He's naked—just like you—but there is something marginally more intimate, vulnerable, in seeing your stolid leader in such a state of disarray. His hair is clumped from the humidity and moisture—matted on the top, but moussed on his side when he stepped away from you, and peeled the drenched shirt from his body. It sticks up in pieces near his ears, and your fingers ache with a longing to smooth them down.

Make him presentable, somehow.

Or maybe it's a distraction. A way to skirt around the tangibility of him standing before you, touchable and real, and—

And wanting.

The same shades of your desire are echoed in the rucked crevasses of cenote blue when he gazes down at you, head bowed, and catching the spray like your own personal protector. The water hits the nape of his neck, and glides down his broad shoulders, his chest.

You want to sink your teeth into the puddles caught by the jut of his clavicles. Want to taste the briny water running in rivulets across his skin.

Want, you think, and want, want, want—

Price's hand knots in the fine hair at curve of your neck, a perfect fistful in the thick of his palm, and he uses it as an anchoring point, a steer, to bend your chin in whichever way suits him best to slant his rapacious mouth over yours, and devour.

His kisses are blistering—contained: controlled, powerful, and measured; and desperate: soft gasps, gentle hums, and needy noises spill from the parted seam of his teeth, muffled by his nicotine-soaked tongue that dips in each crevasse it can find.

It's addicting—just like you knew he would be.

His touch is better than anything your nimble fingers could ever conceive; broad strokes of his rough hands run down the inches of skin available to him. Calloused thumbs catch the mooned curve of your nipple, grazing the soft tissue until your mouth drops in a gasp of his name. He rolls the blunt pad of his finger over them until they tingle from his touch, until each brush sends a shock of pleasure to your core.

Price's hand slides down, fingers ghosting over the wet skin of your side, your hip, your thigh. Each whisper of a touch drags out a whimper from your throat. It's too much. Your skin prickles with goosebumps in his wake, and leaves you feeling feverish and chilled at the same time. A war, then, starts as your body tries to oscillate between stemming the ache inside of you, the emptiness in your cunt, and the delicious drag of his flesh over yours. A droplet of intimacy and tenderness in a sea that collects the ashes of Gomorrah when it rains.

It is a shade softer than what you've come to expect from your captain, and far more delicate than you deserve.

The unexpected tenderness of this moment is a stab to your chest. Blunt, brutal—it's a sharp juxtaposition to the ginger way he touches you; the soft reverence in his gaze when he looks down at you.

Just sex, you think. Lust, want. Greed, hunger.

It isn't supposed to mean anything outside of unexpected happenstance; the melding of two willing bodies in a sign of ritualistic devotion to Hēdonē.

And yet—

You want. Full stop.

Everything. All of what he has to offer, and more, because you're never satisfied with just one. Never content until you've consumed, devoured, everything. Every iota of whatever it is that ensnared your attention.

And it's terrifying.

It's not a jump, but a leap. A careening descent down an embankment that has no ledges for you to sink your fingers in, and cling to. It's a treacherous fall to the bottom.

And still. Still. You won't regret the plunge. The drop.

How can you when you know what his skin feels like under your palm—warmer, softer, than you could have ever imagined. What he smells like when he leans in close, head dropping to suckle on your pulse point—vetiver and smoke; thick and musky—and the scent of his damp hair, cigar and malt, that darkens when it's wet, and curls slightly at the ends.

He's hairier than you'd imagined he would be—a thick bed of black curls on his chest that taper off into a line down his stomach, his navel, before thickening around his pelvis. A bed of curls, untrimmed and wry, that frame the jut of his thick, uncut cock. It curves a little to the left, and what he lacks in length—though you'd hardly call nearly six inches lacking—he makes up for in sheer girth. He's fatter than anything you'd ever felt in the palm of your hand, than you'd ever taken before. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you wonder if his cock would taste the same as the skin of his neck, his red nipples that peak through the coarse curls.

Wonder, then, if you'd even be able to take him all the way down to the base or if he'd stuff you full, and make your jaws ache just around the head of his fat cock.

When you gasp it out—wanna choke on your cock—Price shudders. The hitch in his breath, humid on your neck where he buried his face, nipping the skin around your jugular, is punched out of his chest, and accompanies a low snarling noise that sounds more animalistic than it does human.

"Fuckin' hell, love," he heaves through clenched teeth. His gaze flickers up, staring at you through the dusting of brown lashes cut over blue ashlar. His mouth is red from the trail of peppered bites, nips, he laved against your wet sternum. It's sin, you think, when he shivers. When his nostrils flare. "You can't just say shite like that—"

"Played with your pretty little cunt earlier, thinkin' of me, mmhm? Made yourself cum, didn't you?" Price stands to his full height, head bowing over yours. His hand wraps around the thick of his cock, eyes cresting in pleasure at the touch. There is a moment, then, when his gaze flickers to you, catching the burning anticipation that greets him like a kiss. "Gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The look on his face, the hunger lingering in the cut of cerulean that gleams through the thin mist that clouds around you, is magnetic. Captivating. You can't tear your gaze away from the almost primal way he stares down at you. Wanting. Needy.

You taste heme in the back of your throat, and feel something knot inside your chest—something animalistic, possessive—when his eyes drop like an anchor to the smooth curve of your throat when you swallow the ichor down.

There's is the faintest flash of teeth from beneath his wet beard. A gnarled grimace. A botched grin. He bares the whites of his canines and moves closer to you. The blunt press of his throbbing cock steals the last vestiges of air from your quivering lungs.

"Teasin' me, eh?" He rasps, eyes dropping further to catch the sight of him dragging the silky head over your wet flesh until it's notched at the apex of your sex, kissing the divot above your aching clit.

With your lungs collapsing, you can't find the words to refute him, and settle instead for a meek nod.

"Use your words, love." It's a snarl punched through the clench of his teeth. "I want to hear you, yeah?"

"Yes," you gasp, back arching, aching for him. "Yes, captain—"

His broad shoulders tremble, lashes fluttering when the head of cock meets your cunt. The slide of him, iron-hard and velvet soft, has you mewling out some broken whisper of his name. Price responds with a groan. A wet, rasping noise spills out from his heaving chest.

"Fuck—," the curse is sawed out from between clenched teeth, the brush of his cock parting your slick folds, pressing taut to your leaking hole, has something wanting and possessive simmering in those cerulean pools. A gnarled hunger.

It makes you wonder, then, how often he'd leaned back against the same tile, his hand wrapped around himself just like this, and whispered your name into the steam.

"Look so pretty like this," he rumbles, fingers leaving indents in the thick of your thigh when he grasps you tighter. "All desperate for my fuckin' cock. Want it, don't you?"

The whimpered yes is ripped from your throat and shredded between the small gap of your jaws before his words take any tangible shape in your mind.

Your captain asks you a question—want my cock, don't you? So fuckin' desperate for it, ain't you?—and you respond immediately. No questions asked.

Pavlov's dog, you think, mouth watering when his cock slips against your cunt.

Price stops with just the head of his cock kissing your entrance, movements halting abruptly.

The protesting whine is cut off when he leans down, lips slanting over yours in a soft kiss, a brush. His beard scraps over the sensitive skin of your cheeks and chin, but the wet drag of his coarse hair feels good.

"Price—"

"Are you ready for me?"

No. It's immediate. Quick and decisive. A firm, assured thing that echoes in the scant spaces of your ribs.

You should say no. No, because then you'll want more. No, because once will not be enough to satiate the hunger inside of your chest. The growing chasm that growls out its need with each soft utterance of your name, each touch of his hand.

You're greedy.

You don't, though.

The hunger is stifled under the waves of desire that roll through you when his cock notches against your clit.

Instead, you nod. Whispering, I want it.

His gaze is blistering when he levels it on you. Gyre blue; arsenic white. His mouth knots into an even line, thick with anticipation. Determination. He echoes your nod once, and then presses his forehead against yours, holding it there.

His eyes bore into you when he steadies his hand on your thigh, trapped in his firm hold, and pushes himself against you once more.

"Breathe for me," he rasps, the word a low command, and then he rocks forward.

His cock stretches you with each inch that slides into your cunt. It's a white-hot heat that licks up your spine—the edges of too much and not enough, and how could there possibly be another inch when he's already so fucking deep?

The doesn't stop until his hips are flesh with yours, filling you to the brim. When his cock presses against the plug of your womb, you expect him to stop. He's bottomed out, filling you so deeply that you can almost taste his bitter tang on your tongue, but he doesn't. He doesn't.

His cock notches into your womb: a pulsing grind into the very end of you. The slide of it makes you hiss, makes your nails rake over his flesh, leaving rivers of red when you claw at him, struggling to keep yourself from being swallowed by the waves of pleasure, pain, that roll over you.

He pauses his slow rolls for a moment, just long enough to catch your lips in a searing kiss, and lift his hand up, pressing his palm flat against the wet tile. Distracting you, maybe, from the drag of his cock pulling out of your pulsing, gripping him tight as if to keep him locked inside of you forever. With his mouth on yours, fingers threading through the wet, clumped locks of his hair, you barely have time to brace yourself when he plants his feet on the floor, and rocks into you.

The air is forced from your lungs with the even cant of his hips, the slide of his cock back into you. It burrows deep, hitting something behind your naval that makes you keen, head reeling from the phosphenes that blink, coruscating in front of your eyes. An illicit lure in bioluminescence.

The blunt, bludgeoning thrust rattles through you, hard enough to make your bones tremble, and your head spin—dizzy and heavy with the blow of his hips fucking into the tight clench of you around him.

His hand drops from the wall, falling to your thigh.

He doesn't give you a moment to ready yourself before slips his fingers around your flesh, and hefts you up. Your back slides against the slick wall, thighs pushed tight around his marrow waist, held tight in the grip of his hands.

"C–captain—!"

Price shushes you with a searing kiss full of teeth, tongue. It tastes of charcoal and Sycamore bark when his tongue rolls over yours; a heady, smoky tang that makes you dizzy off the pure nicotine nestled between his teeth.

Comfortably situated in his grasp, legs wrapped around his waist, he starts a new rhythm. The stretch of his cock sawing into your pussy stings, edging sharply against your mettle as he fills you deeper, wrenching you open wider, than you'd ever experienced before.

But it's a good pain.

The kind you don't think you could ever live without now that you had a taste. No substitute for the real thing.

It's a scorching heat that ebbs, notching higher and higher as Price holds you tighter against the slick wall, fucking into you like a man starved.

His pace is hard, fast. Unrelenting.

Pleasure blooms inside of you and feels like a bruise when it brims in your nerves. Sparks of pain, ones that edge into that dangerous precipice of feeling somehow good despite the ache, weave together with the bliss. A quit of too much knotted into an overwhelming sense of euphoria.

Maybe it's the taste of success, of victory, when Price drops his head to your temple, mouthing across your damp skin. His tongue is scorching when it laves over your flesh, chasing the droplets that leak from your hairline to your cheekbone.

The graze of his beard running over your skin feels like everything you wanted, and more.

Your fingers curl over his broad shoulders, holding him close to your trembling chest. He's an anchor, a beacon—a buoy in the middle of the ocean. You can't help yourself from thinking six degrees when his chin lifts, and his mouth swallows the gospel of his name as it's choked out between your bruised lips.

The noises he makes, deep, rasping growls of your name; grunts of pleasure; hisses when you clench tight around the thick of him, desperate to keep him locked inside of you, are better than any fantasy you could have conjured up. The weight of his body on yours, the tight grasp of his hands, the rasp of his tongue, the whisper of your name—it piles and piles; the heavy weight falling on you like an anvil.

Velvet softness, and heat. Each drag of him over your sensitive walls makes you keen, toes curling, back arching in pleasure.

You're already sensitive from earlier, from when you played with yourself thinking of him, and the fullness, the slight sting of taking him into you, make a knot form behind your navel. A spooling thread of bliss pulling taut with each deep plunge of him seating deep behind your belly button.

"Touch yourself," he demands, words rucked through the clench of his teeth, bared in pleasure as he syphons bliss from your willing body. "C'mon, love—want you cum around my cock. Wanna feel you—"

You had expected blunt brutality—it had circled your fantasies the moment you pressed your back against the tile, and slipped your fingers through your folds. It's a staple of him, you think; who he is. Ferocity in flesh and bone. He'd touch you with the same rough hands, and regard you with rougher words.

"Mm, spread your legs for me, dove."

"You want it bad, don't you?"

Words reeking of the same smoke on his breath. Heavy commands fell from his blistering lips. It brought you to the brink, to the ledge of that white-hot pleasure until the thought of his hands branding your skin shoved you over.

Hearing it uttered aloud now nearly has you weeping. Frenzied with desire, and that unignorable sense of victory when he leans down, hands roughly hiking your thighs higher up his waist as he fucks into the molten centre of you. Accomplishment when your skin smarts long after his hand drifts away, knowing there will be a mark left behind—blood pooling under your bruised flesh when he gripped too hard.

It's enough to make you delirious.

"Come on," he husks, pressing the flat of his teeth against the underside of your jaw. "You made your pretty cunt cum on those fingers earlier, mmh? Do it again. Make yourself cum around my cock. You wanted this, didn't you? Moaned my fuckin' name with your fingers buried inside your sweet pussy. Well, now you have it, love. So, fuckin' cum—"

His words make you moan loud, your belly quivering at the heat in his voice when hisses the command into your skin.

Your hand slips from the vice grip around his shoulders, dropping to the apex of your spread thigh. Your cunt is burning to the touch, and hotter than the steam billowing around you like a thick cloud. Condensed sin. The lips of your pussy are slick, and swollen from the brutal way he fucks into you. The tips of your fingers ghost over the chafed, raw skin of your pussy, feeling the thick slide of his wet cock, sticky and drenched in the mess of your arousal, as it pounds into you.

Everything feels somehow heightened, real, when you feel the stretch of your flesh around the molten heat of him.

It makes you moan—a noise you'd never heard yourself make before: low, needy. A desperate whine, broken at the first vowel of his name. Jo—John—!

"That's it, love," he gasps, low and desperate, lashes tickling the skin of your jaw. "Cum for me—uhhh, fuck—gonna—gonna fuckin' cum—"

Your fingers pass over your throbbing clit, circling in tandem with each blunt piston of his cock kissing the seal of your womb. Oversensitive from your earliest orgasm, it doesn't take much for you to march toward that precipice once more, dusting over your nerves where it stings like a bruise, and rips through you like a gale.

The building crescendo of your pleasure ends when Price snaps his hips against yours, hitting deep, and finding a spot inside of you that seems to be a direct link to Nirvana, to bliss. He throws you over the ledge until you're once again falling down with nothing but him (him, him, always him) on your mind, and his name slipping off your tongue.

"C–captain—!"

Your cunt throbs around him, fluttering like the rapid pulse beating against the thin skin he nips with his teeth. It floods your veins with liquid bliss, and the euphoric haze that congeals in your head, a mushy slurry of chemicals and victory, is soporific, heavy. It falls on you like an anvil, an anchor around your neck, and you cling to him, murmuring his name into his crown as his thrusts grow sloppy, clumsy.

Price lifts his head, hands holding you tight to him as he fucks the tight clench of your cunt. His lips slant against yours in a messy, wet kiss, broken by gasps of your name spilling from his mouth. His tongue lashes across your teeth, rhythm stuttering into a desperate series of thrusts.

He groans in your ear, a hushed noise cudgelled in the background of everything else—the slap of his balls slapping against your sopping cunt as he plunges into you, pushing in as deep as he can go, and then deeper still, the heavy pants that tumble from your lips.

"Yeah, fuck, love—," another brutal snap has your mind whiting out in pleasure. "Jus' like that. Takin' it so good. So fuckin' good, ain't you?"

He batters against the seal of your womb like he was trying to bludgeon his way inside.

"Fuck—gonna cum—gonna—"

You spasm around him, tied tight at the base of his cock like a pretty little knot, a bow, and he groans low and dazed when he pulses deep inside of you, filling you up with his cum.

"Fuck—!"

He snarls your name, mouth sliding across your skin; wet and messy. His hands are hot on your skin, heavy and branding as he clings to you, riding out the last smouldering vestiges of his release that paints insides pearlescent with the stain of him.

Branded, you think, inside and out.

Your lips sting when he rubs the coarse hair of his chin over them, mouth trailing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses up the bridge of your nose.

He comes to himself in increments, and you catalogue each notch as they unfold before you. Heaving gasps against your neck; messy, wet kisses; murmurs of devotion into your hairline, your temple (fuck, love, fuck, feels so good, so good, good for me, perfect little thing, aren't you? So fuckin' perfect, can't get enough of your little cunt around me, gonna taste you after, gonna bury my face between these pretty thighs and make you ride my face, kitten, gonna make you cum on my tongue—); and finally, finally—his head lifts.

The sight of him, cheeks stained roseate from the heat of the still running shower, from the exertion of spreading you open, and fucking you against the wall—

It's breathtaking.

His eyes are dark, cindered ash and crushed basalt around the edge of a liquid blue cenote. A lunar mare—Oceanus Procellarum dusted with fine azure.

Thunderclouds of blue.

Something intense brims in the arsenic gyre when he stares down at you, lidded eyes heavy with the weight of his lingering pleasure; subdued and far more docile than you'd ever imagined he was capable of.

He blinks slowly and languidly; liquid strokes of a pale curtain suffering over the glacial canyons cut into ashlar—the motion is almost hypnotic when the thinning fog from the cooling shower sweeps across the scant space between your bodies. A veil of diaphanous white.

The haze makes him seem almost ethereal. Incorporeal. It almost feels like a dream—a manifestation of your wants taking shape in your subconsciousness. An illicit tease from the depths of your endless desire.

But the thud of his heart under your palm, the feeling of his cooling flesh glued to your skin like gauze, and harsh breaths ghosting across your flesh are too good to ever be a dream.

You're not imaginative enough to conjure the phantom feeling of his softening cock seated deep within your aching, tender cunt.

Or the sting of your flesh.

Your body feels like one massive contusion. The throbbing sting of strummed rubber bands snapping across the places he touched, gripped tight between his fingers.

It feels like the aftermath of a battle, and the comparison makes your mouth split, unfurling into a satisfied grin as the quiver in your muscles begins to remind you of that time you sprinted through the bustling streets of Cairo together. The heat blooming in your chest, your core, as hot as the sun that scorched your exposed skin.

The burn in your thighs is the same throbbing pain you felt when you slid on loose sand, and skinned your bare knees on the cobblestone of a hidden alleyway, tucked behind an alcove.

Price is a firm mountain holding you steady—just like then, when he picked you up off the ground despite your protests (just a scratch, cap, I can walk—), and carried you through the maze of winding tunnels on the outskirts of the city centre. Solid. Stalwart. Your dependable leader.

You've looked at him the same way for the last four years. Respect, want. Admiration, desire. Greed. You crave him in ways that always, always, felt unattainable. One-sided.

Silly.

And that was it, you think, staring into the naked blue of his eyes. Bare. Raw. Vulnerable.

You've been so busy running from your own feelings, your own ways, convinced without any proof that they were one-sided. A one-way path without any parallels, any concurrents. All this time, with your head buried in your chest to avoid getting caught staring at him so wantingly, you've missed the look in his eye, bent by refraction—your own avoidance.

The way Price looks at you is rapacious—a twin flame to your own covetous desires.

There's something so unfathomably fragile about how he stares at you, now. Head bowed, catching the brunt of the chilled spray as it rains down on him, shielding you from the cold. He keeps you warm, and tucked safely in the fold of his arms. Unwilling, you think, to let go just yet. To slip back into the same impasse as before. The same forced stalemate forged by hesitation.

It drags something out of your chest—a laugh, maybe: broken and frayed at the edges, a vocal fry of derision, and disbelief.

His chin lifts at the sound, brow furrowing together in a knot of confusion between his nautical blue eyes. Six degrees. You feel every notch when he slowly lowers the two of you to the ground, falling in a clumsy heap to his knees, and still buried within you.

"What?"

The word is drenched in the thick tang of the bloom of his dormant hesitation shucking the tendrils of sleep away as the spell around you splinters at the broken laughter that tumbled from your lips. It makes you coo—a soft, soothing noise to placate the dent between his brow, and the knot of his mouth souring into an even line.

"Just thinking," you hum, legs tightening around his waist, knees now hiked up the sides of his ribcage.

He hisses teeth gritted teeth when you wriggle on his lap. "About what?"

Your palm sides down his slick chest until the thud of his heart sits in the cup of your hand. "About this."

Your words draw a low hum from his throat, and you feel it reverberate through your joints. "That so?"

That cold night in Cairo rears again. No substitute for the real thing.

The thing is: with your head buried in the proverbial sand, you missed the way his eyes never wavered from your face when he said it. How the corners tightened with something that felt like irritation, but now feels like restraint.

Why you had to hunt for Cleopatra's, anyway.

(—losin' some bloody cigars' is hardly the same as losin' you, love. Don't you ever do that to me—to us—again—)

In some ways, you think you lost the battle—many of them, in fact—but when he winds his arms around your waist, keeping locked in his embrace, you know you somehow won the war. The unwinnable victory thudding steadily against the palm of your hand.

You glue your forehead to his, and murmur: "been waiting a long time for this."

"Well," he rasps, voice ghosting over the shell of your ear. "Hell of a way to get my attention."

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #this was edited in a feverish daze so if you find any mistakes #don't @ me about it #i did my best #ahhhh #it feels like it's been forever since i wrote for Price??#but it really hasn't???#anyway #captain john price #captain price #john price #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain john price x you

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jobean12-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Dressed to Impress

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Pre/No!Outbreak)

Word Count: 3,057

Summary: You and Sarah manage to convince Joel to dress up for Halloween. He's not too excited about it but agrees anyway. However, once he see's your costume...Halloween jus tmight be his new favorite holiday.

Author's Note: This is part of my kinktober celebration and the PPCU Halloween event. Thank you bunches to Sel @jupiter-soups and Harley @huffle-punk for setting it up! 💕💕love and hugs! I took two prompts; one from fluff: You and Sarah convince Joel to dress up for Halloween. He isn't thrilled. And one from smut: You surprise Joel by dressing up for Halloween as something that he has mentioned finding sexy. For the second prompt I didn't get specific because I figured it would be more fun for the reader to imagine their own sexy costume- whatever you wear- Joel LOVES it. I also want to thank my dear friends @flordeamatista and @mrsmischief209 for helping me with Joel's costume, you're both amazing! ❤️💕Thank you all so much for reading and much love always! ❤️❤️❤️

Warnings: it's fun and fluffy, silly and soft, lots of flirting and tension, Joel is sweet but definitely grumpy, reader has some sass, semi-public f-in-g-e-ri-ng, light d-ir-t-y talk, it's a whole ride lol

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Joel Miller Masterlist

“No.”

His hands land on his hips as he stares back at you.

“But Joel, it’ll be…”

Your words are cut off by his second, “no.”

“Joel!” you whine.

“Darlin’,” he warns.

You stick your bottom lip out in a pout and give him your best sad eyes.

“Still no,” he says.

You change tactics.

With a sweet smile you step into his space and press yourself against him.

“I know it’s not your favorite idea but don’t you want to do it for me? Make me happy?”

His hands falls from his hips and land on yours, pulling you closer.

“Now you’re playin’ dirty angel.”

Your lips curve into a wicked smile. “I can play much dirtier than this if you want.”

You lift your fingers to his hair and comb them through, lightly scratching his scalp before they slide down the back of his neck and trace his jaw.

With a light brush of your lips you whisper, “please Joel. Just this once. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You kiss him before he can answer and you feel his low growl rumble through his chest as he pushes you against the wall of the bedroom.

With rushed hands you pull at his tee shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Your fingers caress his warm skin as his lips kiss and nip at your neck.

“Joel,” you moan.

He grabs your thigh, lifting it to spread you open so he can settle between you legs.

“Now who’s playing dirty,” you gasp when you feel his hardness press into your stomach.

His hand slides higher and his fingers dip into the waistband of your leggings.

“You started it,” he murmurs.

“Is that a yes then?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady as his fingers tease your skin.

His cell phone rings before he can answer and you both let out a frustrated groan.

“One guess who’s callin’,” he grumbles.

He grabs his phone from his jeans pocket and flips it open, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Hey,” he says which you follow right after with, “hey tommy,” loud enough so he can hear it on the other end of the line.

Joel reluctantly releases you and takes a step back but his intense gaze tracks your every move while you fix your clothes.

As you start to walk out of the room you sing out, “since you didn’t say no that time, I’m going to take it as a maybe!”

Before you get out of the doorway he comes up behind you and smacks your ass, making you squeal. His arm wraps around your waist and he drags your back to his bare chest, his soft breath tickling your ear when he whispers, “a maybe.”

You can hear Tommy on the other end of the line asking what the hell is going and when you look over your shoulder Joel’s eyes are dark, his ‘maybe’ and so much more hanging in the air between you both.

“How many times did he say no?” Sarah asks the moment you walk into the kitchen.

“Only three times,” you smile.

She blows out a raspberry and stabs her eggs with her fork.

“BUT!” you continue. “I think I’ve got him at a maybe now and if you lay it on thick we might be able to convince him.”

Sarah smiles deviously and when you hear Joel’s heavy footfalls on the stairs you both straighten your shoulders in preparation.

“Hey dad,” Sarah chimes brightly when he walks in.

You match her smile and offer him a hot cup of fresh coffee.

He looks between you both, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t even try…” he begins.

“BUT DAD,” Sarah interjects, “we all have to dress up. You can’t come trick or treating otherwise!”

“Who said I wanna go trick or treating?,” he says before sipping his coffee.

Both you and Sarah give him a stern look.

“YOU HAVE TO!” you both shout.

He sighs and sits down at the table.

“PLEASE,” Sarah says. “We can think of something awesome for you to dress up as.”

“I already have an idea,” you say, clasping your hands together in excitement. “You’ll look amazing.”

You wink at Sarah and she grins before turning pleading eyes to Joel.

You grab your plate and seat yourself on Joel’s spread thigh, curling into him and grabbing his fork to feed him a bite of eggs.

“Please,” you say softly.

Joel studies your face before he moves his eyes to Sarah.

“Fine,” he mumbles then takes the bite of eggs off the fork.

You and Sarah let out an excited cheer. Sarah hops out of her seat and comes around the table to kiss Joel’s cheek. You do the same on the other side.

He grumbles out something unintelligible but you can see the smile playing upon his lips.

“See you guys later,” Sarah says as she grabs her schoolbag and rushes toward the door.

Just before she’s out of the house she turns back and looks at Joel to say, “your tee shirt’s inside out.” Then she disappears out the door.

You giggle into your hand but quickly press your lips together to suppress any further joy when Joel pins you with a glare.

“Shit,” he says, looking down.

“Oops,” you say with feigned innocence and a shrug of your shoulders.

With a smug smile you hold up the fork again. “You have to eat more before you’re late.”

He looks up and takes the bite but then removes the fork from your hand.

“Oh I plan on it darlin’,” he simpers.

He swats at your ass until you get up and then promptly moves the dishes over and sits you on the edge of the table.

“Joel…” you breathe out as your arms wrap around his neck.

Just as his thumbs hook into your leggings you hear the loud clunk and roll of Tommy’s truck.

“Ah fuck,” Joel sighs, dropping his face to your neck.

You let out a little whimper and cling to him.

“Later,” he promises before kissing you softly.

Tommy barges in all smiles.

“Hey you two,” he greets.

Joel mumbles some form of a greeting and you go give Tommy a hug.

Tommy gives you a squeeze then looks to Joel. “What up his ass?”

“He agreed to dress up for Halloween this year,” you answer happily.

Tommy grins and walks over to Joel, slapping him on the back. “Shit brother, your girls can get you to do anything huh?”

You do a little happy victory dance as you place the dishes in the sink.

“Come on,” Joel says to Tommy, “let’s go.”

“What about my breakfast?” Tommy asks, checking the pan.

“We’ll pick you somethin’ up on the road,” Joel sighs.

You gently pat Tommy on the back. “There would have been pancakes but we’re out of mix.”

Tommy gives you a lopsided smile and then grabs the last piece of toast.

“See you later babe,” Tommy says before he heads back out to the truck.

He takes one last look at Joel, the toast dangling between his fingers as he points and says, “your tee shirt’s inside out.”

With another muttered curse Joel grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

He stalks toward you at the counter, caging you against it with his arms on either side of your body.

“You,” he whispers as he leans in and bumps his nose along yours, “are all mine when I get home.”

“Is all this gel really necessary?” he asks as you run your fingers through his hair for the hundredth time.

You stand between his spread legs and look him over, adjusting a piece of hair here and there.

“Yes. It is,” you state. “Eeeeeee Joel!”

After wiping your hands you check his bow tie, pulling on the ends to tighten it before you straighten it again.

“PERFECT! Sarah get in here!”

You grab Joel’s hand and drag him to his feet. Sarah rushes in and immediately gives out a loud ‘whoop’ before laughing.

“Dad this is so good,” she says. “You look just like Gomez!”

Joel turns to look in the mirror, his expression full of his usual grumpiness.

“Well, you’ve already got the grumpy look down perfectly,” you tease.

He just scoffs as he lifts his fingers to touch his hair.

“DON’T!” you tell him. “Just leave it!”

“You look amazing,” you tell Sarah. “Super scary.”

Sarah smiles and does a twirl to show off the full affect of her costume.

“You look great sweetheart,” Joel says before his eyes slide back to you.

“What about you darlin’? Where’s your costume?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m going to get ready now,” you say with a twinkle of your fingers. “See you downstairs.”

You pepper his face with kisses before shooing him away.

You’re just applying the finishing touches to your make-up when you hear Joel coming up the stairs.

“Angel, are you almost rea….?”

His words die on his parted lips as he takes you in, his eyes traveling hungrily from your head to your toes.

“Well?” you ask, smoothing your hands down your body.

The grind of his jaw says it all and your smile grows.

“Joel…?” you purr. “Couldn’t wait for me to come downstairs?”

He walks all the way into the room and shuts the door.

“I wanted to see what was takin’ so long…”

“Well I’m ready now,” you sing with a sweet smile. “Let’s go.”

He stops you with his body, his heat washing over you and his mouth dipping to your ear.

“You think I’m goin’ trick or treating and to some party with you lookin’ like this?”

“Like what?” you ask, your tone demure.

The air between you is charged and disappearing by the inch.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, his breathe a whisper along the shell of your ear.

You look at him through your lashes, the light scruff of his beard brushing your cheek and making you sigh out his name.

“We’re going to be late and Sarah is waiting….”

You step back and hear his sound of disapproval deep in his throat. It makes you shiver.

His eyes are glued to you as you turn and open the door and when you meet his gaze again it’s filled with heat and filthy promises.

When you enter the kitchen Sarah whistles loudly and grins. “WOW!”

You give her a bright smile and start toward the door. “Time to trick or treat!”

Once Sarah has plenty of candy you usher her off to her friends house for the night. They are having a sleepover with scary movies and lots of sugar.

As soon as Sarah is safely delivered to her new destination Joel settles his hand at your lower back and starts to push you back toward the house.

“Did you forget we have to stop by the neighbors house for the adult party?” you giggle.

He stops walking and presses himself against your back. “Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough today angel?”

“No,” you state, turning to face him. “I don’t think you’ve suffered at all in fact.”

Joel opens his mouth to argue but you press your finger to his lips.

“I’ve seen you smile and I know you love how much everyone is gushing over your costume and it won’t kill you to hang out with some friends for a couple of hours.”

He kisses your finger and then grabs your wrist to pull your hand away.

“An hour,” he growls.

“Two,” you counter.

He stares at you daringly, leaning forward and covering the inches between you, his eyes falling to your lips.

“And it’ll be your fault when I drag you somewhere dark and get my fingers inside you.”

Your breathy sigh is followed by a lick of your lips, Joel’s eyes following the movement with a hungry stare.

You don’t respond, not trusting yourself when your brain and body are consumed by him, and instead take his hand and move in the direction of the party.

“All the beer is still warm so I got you wine.”

You hold the glass out for him then search for a seat. When you see there aren’t any left you situate yourself on his thigh and rest yourself along his shoulder.

He takes a sip of the wine, eyeing you over the rim.

“Any good?” you ask.

Without an answer he curls his hand around the back of your neck and drags you down for a kiss, giving you a taste.

“Mm,” you hum against his lips. “Yummy.”

You chat with some of your neighbors, snacking and sipping your drink.

“You’re pulling off the whole grumpy Gomez thing really well,” you tease when there’s a lull in conversation.

“Who said I’m grumpy?” Joel replies with a smirk.

You dance your fingers up his chest and then lightly scratch them over his beard.

“I want another kiss,” you whisper.

He happily obliges but when you press yourself closer, shifting in his lap, he groans out a curse and pulls away.

At your questioning look he sighs.

“Darlin’…unless you want to stay in this chair for the rest of the night you better stop kissing my like that and wiggling your ass.”

You move again, unintentionally, and the hardness between his legs pushes against you.

“Oh,” you squeak. “Ohhh….”

He tightens his grip, his fingers digging into your skin in warning.

“Behave.”

“I’ll be good,” you promise with a slow blink.

“That’ll be a first,” he mutters.

You kiss him again, giggling when he starts to squirm beneath you.

“Oops.”

“I’d smack your ass right here and now if it weren’t for the creepy neighbor.”

“Creepy…?” you repeat and look around.

You lock eyes with your neighbor from across the street. He’s starting, his eyes blatantly roaming over your curves.

“I’m gonna knock his teeth out,” Joel threatens with a low rumble.

“He’s definitely drunk Joel. Not worth it.”

“He’s starin’ at what’s mine.”

You take Joel’s chin between your fingers, dragging his murderous gaze away from the neighbor until he’s focused on you.

“Come on, let’s go get some fresh air,” you whisper.

You rise from his lap and he takes your hand, keeping you close as you work your way around the crowd of people in the living room. When you reach the back door he holds it open for you and ushers you outside, walking you toward a darkened spot on the side of the house.

He lets out a deep exhale before grabbing your waist.

“Finally,” he says, in a hushed, rumbling voice as he pulls your back against his chest.

His hand slides along your side, tracing the curve of your waist before he closes his fingers around your wrist and lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing softly along your knuckles.

“What a Gomez move,” you tease lightly even as you melt into his embrace.

His free hand brushes along your shoulder and his fingers dance along your neck until he tilts your chin back, exposing more of your skin. With teasingly soft kisses he works his way to the spot just under your ear and whispers, “lift your dress.”

“Joel,” you breathe out, your voice wavering when he nips on your earlobe.

“Angel, I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

His hands wander along your skin, kneading and squeezing as he goes. When he finds your ass cheek he grips it hard. You don’t answer, arching against him, and when he gives you a sharp smack you cry out.

“Is this my punishment?” you ask as you catch your breath.

He smacks you again, soothing the sting with soft caress.

“Lift your dress,” he repeats, his voice low and deep.

Your fingers reach down for the hem and you slowly lift the front, whimpering when his hand leaves your ass and slides across your stomach and between your legs.

“Someone might see,” you gasp even as you spread your legs for him.

“Fuck darlin’,” he groans when he feels the wet patch on your panties.

His finger brushes over the damp fabric and he wraps his other arm around your shoulders to keep you pressed to his chest, his touch torturously light.

When he pushes your panties to the side and slides his fingers through your arousal he lets out hum of satisfaction.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.

His finger slips inside you easily, pumping slowly in and out as he continues his kisses along your neck.

“You feel beautiful, too.”

He slides a second finger into you and growls, the sound vibrating right through you.

“Joel please…please,” you beg as your legs start to shake.

His grip tightens and he pushes his fingers deeper, pressing on your clit with his thumb. You wiggle and writhe against him, chasing your release as it builds.

“Joel,” you hiss through gritted teeth, trying your best to remain quiet.

He curls his fingers just right and continues circling your clit, the tightening of your walls giving him enough warning to slide his hand over your mouth and muffle your cries as you buck against him.

You slowly come down and sag into his strong hold.

He draws out your pleasure, pumping his fingers with deliberation and whispering praises in your ear.

“That’s my good girl,” he coos. “Letting me to fuck you with my fingers even when someone might see.”

He still has his hand clamped over your mouth, softening your continued moans.

“I’m taking you home,” he states, leaving no room for argument.

He slowly removes his fingers and releases his hold on you. You turn in his arms and watch as he slips his soaked fingers between his lips and licks them clean.

“First I’m goin’ to get a better taste and then I’m goin’ to fuck you good and hard.”

You let out a whimper of want and drag your hand down his chest, palming the hardness between his legs.

He stops you with a firm hold on your wrist and your lips part to argue but he interrupts, dipping his head and brushing his mouth across yours when he whispers, “no, not here angel. I don’t want to miss a single sound that falls past these pretty lips when I’m buried deep inside you.”

@hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @littleseasiren @lizette50 @blackwidownat2814

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #pre!outbreak joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #pre!outbreak joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #pre!outbreak joel x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ppcu server event

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mynameismckenziemae · 4 months ago

Text

A Little Bit Stronger

Part 7

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OFC

Summary: Bradley is happy to let you try something you’ve always to do. You and Bradley help Jake surprise Reese.

Just like everything else I write/post: this story is for 18+ only. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It will contain smut, adult themes, situations and language. Please also note this story may be triggering due to the topic of domestic abuse (physical, emotional, sexual) violence-feel free to message me with any questions before reading.

Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving, mentions of f receiving), a whole lotta fluff, talks of being blindfolded, etc.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

There’s a pleasant ache between your thighs, soft snores in your ear, and a hardness pressing against your ass when you slowly open your eyes to the early morning sun just starting to come through the windows. The two of you had finally succumbed to sleep a few hours earlier, exhausted from the pleasure you’d wrung from each other.

There had been more passion, more emotion, more feeling in one night of lovemaking with Bradley than in all the years you’d been married.

A smile tugs at your lips when Bradley’s snoring pauses to pull you in closer. Arousal races down your spine and between your thighs when you feel his boxer-clad morning wood against your bare bottom from where his shirt you stole to let Hank out rode up during the night.

“I can’t think of a better way to wake up than with you in my arms,” he murmurs against your neck, his gravely morning voice making you shiver.

“No?” You gasp as he gently sucks on the side of your throat, releasing you before it leaves a lingering mark, “I can think of something.”

“What’s that?” He hums, smiling as you turn to face him.

“Can I try…” you trail off, feeling suddenly shy.

“Anything,” Bradley finishes for you, “anything you want, Shae.”

There’s so much adoration and trust in his gaze, that it has you blinking back tears.

“Okay,” you whisper, gently pushing him onto his back.

“I like it already,” he smirks, but it falls at your wince when you straddle him, “what’s wrong?”

“Just a little sore,” you lean down for a kiss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs with the cutest frown when you pull back.

“I’m not complaining,” you assure him with a small smile before kissing the scar on his jaw down to the one on his neck.

“This okay?” You ask, running a fingertip over his nipple.

“Ye-yeah,” his breath catches when you pinch lightly, just like he did the night before, “I like it.”

“What about this?” You whisper before ducking your head and flicking your tongue over one while teasing the other with your fingers. He gasps when your lips close around it and suck.

“It’s good,” he groans, cock twitching eagerly at your ministrations, precum staining the front of his boxer-briefs. “Fuck, Shae. That-ah! That’s good too,” he pants when you add your teeth, nipping gently.

You smile against his skin before switching sides to see what further reactions you can elicit.

It’s not long before you’re soaked and grinding against his thigh for friction at the sounds you’re pulling from him.

His hands slide into your hair as he grows desperate, more as an anchor than to persuade as you explore his body. Eventually, you continue south, pressing wet kisses to his heaving chest and stomach.

“I love these,” you breathe as you come across the V-shaped muscles low on his stomach, flushing at Bradley’s chuckle when you realize you’ve said it out loud. It turns into a wheeze when you suck a bruise right above the waistband of his underwear before pulling them down.

Your mouth waters at his cock just inches from your face, and the need to taste him far outweighs any nervousness.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Bradley reminds you, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

“I want to,” you whisper, refusing to give into the urge to look away as you slowly lick up his shaft, reveling in the way he shutters. “Tell me what you like,” you continue, licking down the other side, “I want it to be good for you.”

“Oh God, it already is,” his head drops to the pillow, hands fisting the sheets as you lap at the beading precum before sucking gently on the head, moaning at the salty-bitter taste.

“Yeah,” he breathes, cheeks ruddy, eyes falling shut when you slowly bob your head, getting used to the weight of him on your tongue. “That’s it, just like that.”

His hands find your hair again when you take him as far into your mouth as you can without gagging. He inhales sharply while his thighs tremble as he fights the need to thrust into your mouth when you swallow. You moan and repeat the action when you’re rewarded with another burst of precum.

Your hand replaces your mouth when you pull off to catch your breath, stroking him like you did the night before. “Will you cum in my mouth?”

His hips thrust up into your fist, eyes wild as they fly open to meet yours, “Wh-you want me to?”

You nod before lowering your head again, using your hand to pump him in time with your mouth.

“I-I’m getting close,” he warns as his hands gather your hair into a loose ponytail to watch, “it’s okay if you change your mind,” his tone grows desperate as he babbles, “and-and you don’t have to swallow, spitting-whatever you want is f-fuckkkk!”

You whimper at his drawn-out groan while your neglected pussy clenches as he cums in your mouth.

He slowly opens his eyes to meet yours, inhaling shakily when you swallow. “Come here,” he rasps, pulling you up his body.

You squeak as he kisses you, surprised he wants to kiss you after…that. But you melt at the first swipe of his tongue against yours.

The world spins as he flips you onto your back before sliding down your body and settling between your thighs.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

The rest of the day is spent in his bed, as well as every other moment the two of you get alone over the next week. When you are apart, you can’t get your mind off of him either.

Reese notices, laughing at the way you flush when she has to repeat herself more than once at work.

The weekend is here again before you know it.

“You got the goods little Kernsie?” Bradley asks on Saturday as Drew climbs into the backseat of the Bronco while you fail to suppress your yawn.

Bradley had kept you awake until the wee hours of the night, and you loved every minute.

You wave to Reese and Jake standing on the porch as Bradley drives off. Jake’s smile is forced, obviously nervous for what’s to come.

“Yeah,” Drew’s practically vibrating with excitement as he hands you the small ring box. “Here Shae, will you hold it until we get there? I don’t want to lose it.”

“Course,” you smile, “are you excited?”

“Yeah,” Drew grins, “Jake’s the best. Do you think I’ll have to give a speech at the wedding? ‘Cause I don’t know if I want to talk in front of that many people. Will I stand on Jake’s side or Mom’s? I’ve never been to a wedding so I don’t know how any of this works.”

You smile and Bradley chuckles as he reaches absentmindedly for your hand on the console.

“I’m sure your mom won’t make-“ Bradley starts.

“Roo! Are you boyfriend and girlfriend now?!” Drew interrupts excitedly, noticing your intertwined fingers.

Bradley gives you an apologetic look but before he can reply, you do.

“Yeah,” you smile at Drew as you squeeze Bradley’s hand, “we are.”

“Yes!” Drew exclaims before smacking Bradley’s shoulder, “I told you she liked you back!”

You laugh when Bradley’s cheeks turn red as he shakes his head.

“This is the best day ever!” Drew sighs with the biggest grin, “Unless my mom says no. She won’t, right?”

“I’m sure she’ll say ye-“

“Yeah, she’ll say yes,” he agrees before Bradley can finish. “Wait, Shae! Does this make you my aunt?” Drew asks, his brow furrowing adorably, “Or do you have to be married for that?”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“There!” Drew says excitedly an hour later, “That’s gotta be it! Jake said it’s the field with the yellow flowers.”

“I think you’re right Little Kernsie,” Bradley agrees as he slows the Bronco.

Rows upon rows of yellow daffodils line the field, pretty and bright even with the overcast skies.

“Wow,” you murmur as he parks out of sight, “it’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Bradley agrees, leaning over for a kiss once Drew gets out, “doesn’t compare to you though.”

“Thank you,” you murmur against his lips.

“Come on guys! You gotta see this!” Drew shouts from outside.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley and Drew race down the rows while waiting for Jake and Reese to arrive. You trail behind, smiling at Drew’s peals of laughter as your mind wanders to thoughts of Bradley proposing, getting married, and maybe having his children someday.

The thought makes you pause, realizing this is the first time in years that the thought of having a baby doesn’t fill you with dread.

“What’s up?” Bradley asks breathlessly as he runs back, Drew thrown over his shoulder. He giggles as Bradley sets him down before taking off again.

“I love you,” you whisper, cupping his jaw before capturing his lips in a tender kiss.

“I love you too,” Bradley smiles as he pulls back when his phone pings. He turns to Drew when he checks it. “They’re almost here, we should be able to stay hidden over by that tree there until Jake’s ready for you.”

“Okay!” Drew agrees before running that way.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Drew giggles when he sees a blindfolded Reese get out of the truck with Jake’s help.

Once he gets her to the middle of the field and gives Drew a thumbs up, you press the record button on your phone while Drew creeps out of hiding as Jake slips off the blindfold.

Surprise flashes over her face before she bursts into tears. “Oh, Jake.”

There’s no holding back your own tears as Jake starts crying too, murmuring something in her ear for a moment before he gets down on one knee, just as Drew approaches them from behind.

Reese laughs in delight when Drew slips past her to hand Jake the ring, and she nods eagerly before he can even ask.

The sun has been elusive all day, but shines through a hole in the clouds when Jake slips the ring on her finger; a sunbeam highlighting the 3 of them as they embrace.

“I knew he’d make an appearance,” Bradley whispers thickly, yet there’s a smile in his voice.

Your heart pinches in your chest when you lower your phone and see the tears steadily flowing from his eyes.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“You knew and didn’t tell me?!” Reese laughs as she pulls you in for a hug.

“Not only did she know, she came with me to approve the ring I chose,” Jake smiles, hugging you next, “thanks again, Shae,” he whispers, giving you a squeeze before he releases you.

“‘Of course,” you murmur.

“God, you’re good,” Reese shakes her head, “I had no idea. We even talked about it last weekend!”

“I’m glad,” you reply, “I would’ve felt terrible if you would’ve suspected anything.”

“I didn’t until he had me put the blindfold on in the truck. I figured he was either going to propose,” she pauses to look for Drew, making sure he can’t hear, “or things were about to get kinky. Though Jake’s usually the one getting blindfolded…”

“Jesus Reese,” Bradley cringes, making you laugh while color rises to Jake’s cheeks.

“Alright alright,” Jake shakes his head, blushing furiously as he grabs her hand before turning to find Drew, “that’s enough outta you.”

“Might be fun,” you whisper to Bradley as you follow them to the vehicles before you chicken out.

“What’s that?” Bradley asks.

“Using a blindfold,” you reply, looking down when you start to second guess it, “maybe? We don’t have to either, I just thought it might be fun. If you’d want to…too.”

He stops walking and raises your chin to look at him.

Your breath catches at the heat in his eyes.

“Oh, I want to.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek! Jake and Reese are engaged 🥹 Shae’s getting bolder too. 😏 Let me know what you think! Also…who’s going to be the one getting blindfolded?

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I LOVE hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than anything.

Tagging:

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hookslove1592

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@k-k0129

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@jessicab1991

@djs8891

@lonelysoul50

@mrsevans90

@landpiranha-blog

@bellaireland1981

@shanimallina87

@writtingrose

@fandomology101

@amiets2

@psuedochakra

@lyn-js

@averagereader35

@emma8895eb

@midnightmagpiemama

@blindedbythelightt

@whitewolfsbitch

@that-daughter-of-hephaestus

@sbdunksblog

@glowingtree

@thelightnddarkness

@seitmai

@skathanstewart

@els-marvelvsp

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun smut

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lovingchrissposts · 11 months ago

Text

Jawline

.💖😽

warnings: making out, use of y/n, slight touching, name calling, sweet, soft, short!

I’ve always had some obsession with Chris’s jawline. It was just so.. hot. I know most girls don’t like admitting it, add me to the list. But what I would kill to have a jaw line as sharp as his is priceless.

It’s around 11:34 at night and I’m in Chris’s bed. I’m wearing one of his white “Ransom” t-shirts and my black Nike pros. I have my phone in my hand scrolling on instagram liking and commenting my friends posts. I let out a soft sigh.

“Chrissy.” I whine softly putting my phone down on my chest. He glances over at me noticing my body language. He chuckles softly and clicks a few keys on his keyboard. He grips the arm rests standing up. I smile as he does. He clicks the power button on his pc.

God from this angle he looked so good. I stared at his jawline getting shivers down my spine just thinking about kissing it.

“I’m comin’ ma.” He states before walking over to his bed I’m in. He gets to me and sees my phone on my chest. I glance down at it and he grabs it sliding it into his hands. He places it on the Nightstand next to the bed.

“What’s goin’ on y/n?” Chris asks me before crawling over me to lay next to me on the bed. I roll over so we are both facing each other.

“I just want attention.” I admit glancing down at his jawline, his knife sharp jaw.. god how was i so lucky to land on him. He chuckles softly at my response and drags his hand with the silver bracelet onto my waist. I smile at him and he smiles back. “You have cute dimples.” He whispers poking my cheek making me giggle.

“Chriss!” I whin softly giggling before grabbing his wrist. He glances at our hands and stops poking me. We never have really held hands. I mean sure sometimes but not just like, out of the blue. Like this. I also glance up at our hands which makes me and I blush softly. Chris looks down at me and he softly presses our lips together before he pulls away making a little sound. We both realize we want more.

Chris chuckles and snakes his hand back down to my waist. Shit, shit, shit. I can feel my face immediately going red.

“Relax ma,” Chris whispers into my ear, making his jaw and neck right next to my face. Oh my god it’s right there. I feel my heart flutter. He kisses the side of my face. I grab onto one of the thick straps from his tank top.

He feels me grab his shirt and he starts to kiss my jaw softly. “Oh.” I whisper causing him to softly chuckle against my jaw. I giggle with my mouth closed softly scared he’s gonna stop. He rolls over on top of me pulling away from my jaw.

“Hey,” he whispers in his super hot, low, gruffly voice. God he makes me fucking crazy.

“hi.” I whisper feeling a little shy. He just chuckles making me giggle back. He kneels over me, his knees on either side of my hips/waist. He pulls away slightly and takes my hands in his. He can obviously tell I’m super shy, (if it wasn’t obvious to him already.)

“You doing okay there?” He asks me and I nod my head, he sighs softly and puts a finger under my chin making me look at him straight in the eyes. “Can you use your pretty little words?” I open my mouth to talk.

“Yes, I’m doing okay, just a little ner-“ I start to say but he cuts me off by pressing his lips against mine. Oh my god, every time he kisses me I feel something in my stomach fluttering around. I kiss his soft, plush, pink lips back.

My hands find their way to his jawline. I loved kissing him. It was perfect. He never rushed me through it, he always guided my hands everywhere but.. I wanted to do it by myself. I didn’t need him telling me what to do, don’t get me wrong i absolutely love Chris with my whole heart but I think we’ve kissed enough that I’ve got it down.

“ Chris?” I ask softly pulling back and he also pulls back and looks me in the eyes.

“Yeah?” He asks his lips still wet, his hair slightly messy from his headset. I Shake my head telling him ‘never mind.’ He gives me the look To tell him either way. I sigh softly but give in.

“You don’t need to tell me what to d..doo…” my voice trails off as his lips cling onto my neck. He just softly mumbles against it something inaudible but I just nod softly and bite my lower lip, I exhale focusing on the small nips and kisses against my neck. “Chris don’t stop please.” I whine softly and he nods against my neck.

Once he’s obviously left his mark on my neck he pulls back making me whine softly and he just chuckles softly. “Baby, I gave you what you wanted.” He comments and I look up at him nodding. “I know, I just love you- WAIT-“ shit, shit, shit, why did I say that?!? he chuckles and presses his lips against mine again before pulling back softly. “I love you too y/n, never forget that.”

Ok um, so I got this idea in the shower and I was OH EM GEEEE so I wrote it down and I’m so sorry it took so long to make, but like I can’t even be in the wrong here, Chris’s jawline is like 😻😻😻😻😻😻😻 LIKE DAYUMMMM. Anywhozle I hope u enjoyed and I’m so sorry it took fucking forever to come out. 😜 #schoolsucksass

#sturniolo triplets #artists on tumblr #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #preppy #school #making out

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ashthewaterghoul · 2 months ago

Text

Are You Really Okay? - A DewTom One Shot

They tried to lean forwards for another kiss, sliding forward off the bed to straddle Dew. “No, Phantom. I called red.” Dew said while wriggling out from under Phantom. The hurt in Phantom’s eyes carved a hole in Dew’s chest. “You’re always so good for me, my perfect girl.” He cupped their tear and snot striped face in his hands, “But I’m not comfortable doing anything right now. Not until you tell me what the problem is.” “It’s not me who has a fucking problem!” Phantom blurted out, practically shouting it and they both froze. Phantom never raised their voice. Or, What Dew and Phantom thought was going to be their average hotel night whilst on tour, turns into a much needed conversation neither will soon forget.

Words: 1462

Rating: Mature (it does start off spicy)

Tags: Hurt/comfort, angst, self-harm (discussed not shown), starts spicy but leads elsewhere, safeword use, they/them Phantom, confrontations, Phantom wears a dress and also gets called a 'good girl', grief/mourning, Dew and Phantom need hugs, scars.

A/n: Both Dew and Phantom's anatomies are left ambiguous here because ultimately, it doesn't matter. It can be whatever you want! Mind the tags and enjoy!

Title taken from 'Are You Really Okay?' by Sleep Token. I would say it does sort of set the vibe for the story as well.

~~~

Dew didn’t know what city they were in, and his brain was too fuzzy to remember how Papa had addressed the crowd just hours before. It was their day off tomorrow, so they were in a hotel tonight. The pack had been out clubbing, and after many intoxicating substances, they all split off to make the most of the space and privacy that a hotel afforded but a tour bus did not.

Dew had been staring at Phantom all day. From the moment he noticed them wearing one of Rory’s crop tops to soundcheck, their lovely little curves as they warmed up and seeing that nimble body on stage. When they all showered and changed for their night out, Dew nearly went weak in the knees when he saw Phantom in a tight little black dress that started just under their armpits and ended just below their butt.

So, Dew didn’t know what city he was in, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was that Phantom was finally under him in the hotel room.

Both still fully clothed and hands flying all over each other’s bodies. Their lips were melding together in a filthy kiss that was more fang and tongue than anything, Phantom desperately gripping handfuls of Dew’s black dress shirt which he had purposefully left rather open the whole night, his tattoos and piercings on display for all to see and it had achieved its goal of driving Phantom mad.

“Calm down, Bug, I’m not going anywhere.” Dew chuckled against Phantom’s lips.

Phantom whined, “Please. Need you.” they said, untucking Dew’s shirt out of his waistband and trying to undo what few buttons he did actually fasten.

“I’ve got you, baby. Gonna take good care of you, yeah?” Dew said, moving to kiss down Phantom’s neck and purposefully focusing on a spot in the junction of their neck and shoulder, intent on leaving a mark there.

When Phantom had finished with the final button, Dew helped get the shirt off his shoulders and thrown in a heap on the floor. He pulled back a moment to start working on his belt, and Phantom’s legs wrapped tight around his waist.

“No, don’t leave me.”

Dew saw a certain desperation in Phantom’s eyes that he usually only saw when they had been going for a while or doing more intense scenes, and this was neither.

Read below the cut or on ao3

“Phantom.” Dew threw his belt to the floor and cupped one side of their jaw in his calloused palm, “Are you okay? What’s your colour, Bat?”

“Green, so fucking green. Please, need you.” Phantom said immediately.

“You’ll tell me if that changes, yeah?” Dew asked, face fully serious, no amount of anything would ever stop Dew from making sure they were comfortable.

“Yes, now please-“ Phantom cut themself off by launching their mouth back against Dew’s causing him to chuckle low in his throat.

Dew rolled up what little of Phantom’s dress covered of their lower half, providing a more direct point of contact for the two. Phantom started panting and squirming against Dew, making his own interest pique. Phantom was also letting delicious little moans and whimpers fall out and Dew swallowed as many as he could. He put a hand on each side of Phantom’s torso and bracketed them in. Phantom’s hands went to each of Dew’s forearms and they kept letting little whines fall out as their claws skirted across the uneven skin.

“So fucking gorgeous. All for me.” Dew said.

“Yours, all yours.” Phantom affirmed, their feet kicking at Dew’s waistband to get it to budge.

“Be patient, Bat. I’ve waited all day for this, we don’t want it to be over too quick do we?”

“Fuck, please! Need you. Don’t ever want to go a second without you, I can’t. Please!” Phantom said, tears starting to bead on their lashes.

Dew’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight, knowing something was wrong, but Phantom’s deft fingers were already fussing with Dew’s button and zipper, pushing right against where he’d been burning for them all day.

“Bug-“

“Shut up, please. Want- need you. Dewy, please.” Phantom was practically sobbing. And Dew sobered immediately, anxiety churning deep in his stomach and smothering the flames that had been steadily growing all day.

“No. Bug, no. I’m calling red.”

Dew backed away enough so his core was out of Phantom’s reach.

“No! Dew, please. I need you so bad.” They were sobbing now.

“Not when you’re like this.” Dew said, grabbing Phantom’s hands and bringing them to sit up on the edge of the bed, fixing the short dress back down and cover up what little it could. He knelt down on the floor before them, “Something’s up with you, what is it?”

“Nothing, I promise!” Well that wasn’t convincing at all, “I’m just horny, I just need you, please! Wanna be good for you, wanna be your good girl.”

They tried to lean forwards for another kiss, sliding forward off the bed to straddle Dew.

“No, Phantom. I called red.” Dew said while wriggling out from under Phantom.

The hurt in Phantom’s eyes carved a hole in Dew’s chest.

“You’re always so good for me, my perfect girl.” He cupped their tear and snot striped face in his hands, “But I’m not comfortable doing anything right now. Not until you tell me what the problem is.”

“It’s not me who has a fucking problem!” Phantom blurted out, practically shouting it and they both froze. Phantom never raised their voice.

“Wh- what do you mean?” Dew asked, his hands dropping from their face.

Phantom took a deep breath, steadying their voice against their tears, “We’ve all noticed. It feels like we’re watching you wither away. I can’t lose you.” They rambled.

Dew’s mind immediately understood. He wasn’t exactly making any effort to hide it, but he was hoping no one would notice.

“I can’t help it.” Dew said, backing away in shame as his arms wrapped around his own torso.

“So let us help. Don’t leave us, please.” Phantom begged, crawling over to be face to face with Dew and taking his hand, holding it tight to their chest and putting all his fresh little scars on full display.

“I’m sorry, it’s the only thing that feels right. It’s the only pain I can control.”

Dew’s soul had been in a torrent of hurt since Aether was forced back to Hell, and it had taken a long time for Dew to even accept simply living in the same space as Phantom. But he had gotten over it and gotten better. Or so he thought. It was about a month into the tour when Dew got off stage and instinctively searched for Aether. And in a terribly glorious moment where he completely forgot, he panicked and spiralled thinking that something had happened to Aether, terrified that he couldn’t see his mate. Of course something had happened, it was just months prior.

Since then, Dew had fallen back into his habit of self-harming. He didn’t really know what the goal was, if he wanted to live on, if he just wanted some pain to remind him he was alive. It was just the only thing he could think of doing to fill the void that Aether had left.

“You can’t leave us. You can’t leave me.” Phantom said, “I finally have you, you’re in my very soul. I won’t loose you.”

Dew choked on his tongue as he felt the unbridled emotions filling the shitty little hotel room in who-fucking-knows-where.

“Please, Dew.” Phantom begged, “Stop hurting yourself. It’s hurting all of us too.”

And if that didn’t cut deeper then any blade Dew had put to his skin.

“Bat, I-“

“We all love you.” Phantom said, before putting a gentle kiss to one of Dew’s new scars, “We’re all here for you.” Another kiss, “Just let us help you.” Another kiss.

Phantom went along Dew’s arms and torso and kissed each and every mark, laving it with the love Dew hadn’t shown himself for a while.

“I’m sorry, Bat. I’m so sorry.” Dew said, pulling Phantom in for a bone crushing hug that they returned. It felt as though they thought he would fade away at any moment, and that just made Dew hold on tighter.

“I’ll try, I promise. I’m sorry.” Dew repeated like a mantra.

“We all love you so much, Dewy. I love you so much.” Phantom cried, kissing whatever they could reach without loosening their hold, “Please never forget that.”

“I’ll try, I promise I’ll try.” Dew swore.

And he meant it. With all his heart, with all the love he had for his pack, current and lost, he meant it. He could only hope he wouldn’t be too weak to let everyone down.

One shot master post can be found here!

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loverontheleft · 9 months ago

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Don’t Take Me Home (revised)

Original request: oooh maybe car sex with b? perhaps teen!Brendon and you need a place bc both of your houses are occupied so you take this long romantic drive out into the middle of nowhere and just…

Brendon x reader

Warnings: dirty talk and language, car oral and sex.

Word count: 4.9k➡️5.5k

-||-

“Brendon,” you murmur, clinging to his hand with both of yours as you leave the theater. “I don’t wanna go home.” He turns to you and meets your eyes, biting his lip. “Don’t take me home yet.” You’re practically begging now. “It’s a Thursday night, tomorrow is a teacher workday…don’t take me home.”

“But your parents…” Brendon’s hesitating, understandably so, and you squeeze his hand.

“Are at that wedding three hours away, and are staying the night. They got the sitter for Henry for the whole night.” You give him a suggestive smile. “So they won’t know when I get home. But…” and you tug him closer as you get to his car, leaning up against the side so he presses against you. “Home is also not an option. We’d never make it upstairs without the sitter noticing, and the couch is therefore obviously not a viable location for making out.”

“Hmmmm.” Brendon’s face tells you he’s seriously considering your request. “Well, I do want to make out with you.” You nod and tip your head up to kiss under his jaw. He groans and presses against you more. “I really want to make out with you,” he murmurs, his arms tightening around your waist, fingertips brushing the waistband of your skirt. “Damn, I mean…Y/n, I…fuck,” he sighs helplessly.

“What about your house?” You look up at him hopefully, and he shakes his head, pushing a hand through his hair. You can feel the frustration and regret rolling off of him. “Oh wait, your parents are having that dinner party, aren’t they?” He nods, eyes shut. His cock is stirring against you, and you rock your hips, seeking more. You love the pressure, and he leans against you more firmly. “We should at least get in the car,” you tell him, lips moving over his neck again.

“You’re right…get in the car, Angel,” he tells you, moving his hands down your back and over your curves. “Get in the car, please.” He shifts you slightly so he can open your door. “God, get in the car so I can kiss you, darlin.” You slip under his arm and settle into the seat while he crosses around the front of the car and yanks open his door. “Come here.” He beckons you urgently and you clamber over the center console to settle in his lap, your skirt spreading, as he reaches down between his legs and slides his seat back.

“Hi, B,” you giggle, cupping his cheek. He turns his head slightly to kiss your palm before brushing a finger down your jawline to curl under your chin and draw you close. At his touch, you weaken. At his kiss, you melt into him. You can feel his groan rumble through his chest as your tongue teases his; he clutches you closer and you rock against him as he murmurs how much he loves you.

“I love you too,” you tell him. “I love you so much.”

“So much. Let me keep kissing you,” he begs, snaking an arm around your waist and rubbing back against you, matching your movements. He’s urgent now, thrusting up, pressing his cock right where you want him, and the friction against your underwear is incredible; it’s driving you closer and closer to the edge, and you know he’s got to be just as desperate as you are. “I gotta—Angel, please.” The petname sends a thrill through you. You nod, telling him yes, and he freezes. “Yes?” He doesn’t want to sound too hopeful, but you can feel his body tensing under yours.

“Yes,” you repeat. “I want you too. Fuck, I need to come too.” At his stunned silence, you pause and look at him carefully. “Shit. That isn’t what you meant; oh god, Bren—I’m—” and you cover your face with your hands, blushing deeply. The two of you have only been sleeping together for a few months now, and you’re obsessed with the way he can get you worked up with just a single look or touch. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about sex with him all the time.

“Hush, Y/n,” he says softly, kindly, moving your hands and crushing your mouths back together. When you part for air, he stares at you longingly. “That is what I meant—but we can’t—not here.”

You glance around, confused, and he clarifies. “I mean. It’ll have to be here in my car I think…I mean, if you don’t object…we don’t have a lot of options,” and he grins ruefully, nuzzling your nose with his. “…but not here. Not in the movie theater parking lot. We need to go…somewhere else.”

“So take me somewhere else,” you whisper, nuzzling his jawline. “Take me somewhere we can be alone.” He nods and kisses down your neck, hands squeezing your hips and tugging you down against the bulge in his jeans for a brief moment before urging you back into your seat.

“We might be driving for a bit,” Brendon warns you, his hand moving up your skirt and over your thigh. “But I’ll try to be quick.”

“We’ve got nothing but time. Just get me somewhere we can be alone safely,” you tell him, resting your head on his shoulder and shifting slightly so his hand slips between your thighs. He groans and nods, fingers flexing gently. “Need you,” you murmur, resting your hand over his. “Bren, I need you so badly.”

The drive is agony, and you’re both silent; his eyes are fixated on the road while yours are on his face. His thumb is rubbing soft circles over your inner thigh, and you’re subconsciously spreading your legs so he can move his hand higher. You’re both tense, and you know as soon as he parks the car, you’re going to be on top of him. It isn’t long before he pulls off the road and kills the headlights; as he does, you’re unbuckling and scrambling into his lap. “My sweet girl,” he says softly, caressing your cheek. “I love you, you know that—right?” He looks at you seriously, and you nod, nuzzling his palm. “Good,” he whispers. And with that, he leans in to kiss you softly as your hands move to his jeans. Quickly, you unbutton and unzip them so you can reach inside and wrap a hand around his erection. “Fuck,” he groans, letting his head drop back on the headrest. “Your hand, baby; your hand is so good.”

You stroke him firmly and he grunts, hips bucking up to your grasp. “If you think my hand is good, wait til you see what else I have in mind,” you tell him, and he laughs a little desperately, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you in place while he leans to rummage through the glovebox. When he produces a foil packet, you take it eagerly and rip it open, meeting his eyes as you roll it over his hard length. “Need you,” you murmur, rising up above him slightly so you can guide him into you.

“Fuck, Angel,” Brendon groans, fingers flexing against your hips as you sink down and settle into his lap. “You’re my fucking angel; I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you tell him, resting your forehead against his. “I love you too; fuck, you feel so good in me.” You gasp when he moves against you, lips finding yours. “Oh god,” you whisper, clutching his shoulders. “Brendon, I can’t—I can’t like this—” you’re at a loss for words, your thighs burning and back starting to hurt. You look at him helplessly, frustration and discomfort evident.

“It’s okay, we can stop,” he tells you, and you protest, whining and shifting so you’re resting against the steering wheel, telling him to fuck you like this.

“Yeah?” Brendon watches you carefully, staring at your face as you work yourself down against his cock. “Is this okay? Is this better?” You nod, and he leans over to kiss your neck. “My dirty Angel, begging me to fuck her in my car; she’s such a bad girl, but just for me, isn’t she? She’s my bad girl, my best girl. Love her so much.” He’s whispering this against your skin as he nibbles along your neck and collarbone. “My girl gonna come for me?”

“Yeah,” you moan, back arching off of the wheel as you press yourself against him. You’re both fully clothed, with his jeans down just enough and your skirt bunched around your waist. “Yeah, I’m gonna—”

“Be my sweet girl and come for me,” Brendon pleads, hips moving faster now. You close your eyes and nod, clinging to him. “Baby, you gotta—I can’t hold—you feel too good,” he murmurs. “You gotta come first, oh fu—yes, fuck!” His voice drops into a guttural moan as you clench around him, coming hard. “Yes, Y/n, come for me,” he encourages, panting and thrusting urgently.

“Fuck! Brendon, yes, yes, yes!” Your eyes are wide, and you’re moving against him eagerly. “Your…fuck,” you manage. “Your turn.” He bites your shoulder and you feel him pulse with his orgasm, the heat—even with the condom—spreading through you. “Oh god yes, Brendon, yes!” He’s gasping your name as you tug at his hair, both of you moving gracelessly, frantically against each other. “Holy fuck,” you whisper when your pulse evens out. “That was…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pushing his hair out of his eyes as you can launch yourself forward and kiss him hard. “I love you,” he repeats, your lips moving together tenderly. “I love you so much.”

-||-

“Brendon!” You squeal with laughter as he lifts you off your feet and tosses you over his shoulder outside the bar where he’s just finished a small acoustic set. The rest of his bandmates laugh and turn away, giving you some privacy. “Urie, you’re drunk,” you declare, beating your fists against his back gently. “And I’m drunk. Put me down.” Obligingly, he places you back on your feet and looks at you.

“Are you actually drunk?” Brendon’s examining your face closely. “You know my rule, Y/n.” He wags his finger at you playfully. “No sex if you’re inebriated.”

“Well now I know you’re not drunk,” you shoot back teasingly. “Getting ‘inebriated’ right on the first try.” He laughs and pulls you close, burying his face in your neck, murmuring that he’s high on you, but not drunk. “I’m not either,” you promise, scratching at his back idly. “Definitely tipsy and in love, but not drunk.”

“Yeah? You wanna hang out for a bit more, sober up, then get out of here?” He looks at you suggestively and you nod, wrapping your arms around his waist. “My place is off limits; Shane is hosting game night,” he tells you, and you frown.

“Hannah is doing some Mary Kay party,” you say with frustration evident. “So it sounds like both of our places are off the table.” You’re both visibly frustrated by this, until you see an idea register on his face. “What?” You look at him suspiciously. “You’ve got your thinking face on…”

“Mmmm,” he agrees, kissing your jawline. “Thinking about senior year, when we fucked in my car after the movies.” You blush, and he gives you a teasing look. “You remember, don’t you, Angel? You begged,” and he stresses the word ‘begged’ with relish, “me not to take you home yet. You were desperate for me.”

“I always am,” you murmur, tipping your head back to give his lips more space to roam. “Don’t you know your girl is addicted to you?” He grins, grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him. “Shit, you can’t do that,” you warn him. “Feeling you start to get hard like this gets me all worked up, you know that.” He mumbles that he does know that and he likes it. “Tease.” You give him a playful shove, and he bites at your neck in response. “Fuck,” you groan. “You gotta stop, Bren. You’re making me want you more and more, and now I know I can’t have you. We don’t have any place to go.”

He pulls back and gives you a curious look. “Angelbaby, didn’t you hear me say that I was remembering senior year?” You nod, and he grins when he realizes that you clearly aren’t getting it. “We’ve got my car,” he tells you. Your eyes widen. “Yeah. Exactly. We’ve got my car. Give me twenty minutes and a bottle of water, and I’ll be good to get us out of here and somewhere we can be alone.”

After he’s sober enough for both of your liking, he loops an arm around your waist and pulls you close, leading you back out into the parking lot. “Take me somewhere we can be alone,” you tell him, running a finger down his chest. “Want to be someplace private with my man.” He nods and opens your door for you, closing it after you. He settles in the car and inhales sharply when your hand rests over his erection. Without commenting, he puts the car in drive and leaves the parking lot, fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel. “You doing okay there, Urie?” You tease, squeezing lightly. He nods, giving you a quick glance.

“I’m doing great. Thinking about eating out my girlfriend in the backseat of this car, getting her hot cunt all over my face. You?”

“Fuck,” you mumble, letting your head roll back as your fingers trail over his erection. “That wasn’t what I was thinking, but it sure is now.” He grins, telling you to keep thinking about it. “I will,” you promise. “The way you kiss my inner thighs and along my pussy, letting your tongue tease me…” you close your eyes. “Damn…want you between my legs, baby.”

“I want to be there,” he reassures you. “Want to taste my sweet girl as she rubs against my face. Wanna make her come with my fingers and my tongue. Wanna lick her clit and make her squeal, wanna see her lose control from my mouth. Wanna watch her from between her pretty thighs, wanna hold her hips and kiss her all over…”

“Brendon,” you moan, wriggling in your seat. “Need you. Hurry.” He nods and, scanning the road once more, pulls off into a deserted clearing. “This isn’t sketchy at all,” you remark as you climb into the backseat. He laughs as he follows you.

“Do you want me to go back to driving so we can keep loo—oh god.” He cuts himself off when you slide your jeans down your thighs, leaving you in his favorite pink lace underwear. “If you don’t mind, I’m not driving anymore,” he tells you, kneeling between your legs on the backseat.

“You look horribly uncomfortable,” you remark, watching him try to bend down far enough to taste you. “We can reevaluate positions if you need.”

“Yeah,” he groans, rolling his neck. “I love eating you out and that position was going to ruin it. I’m just gonna—” and he slips off the seat so he’s kneeling in the foot space, back against the back of the passenger seat. “Now if you’ll scoot down and—” he beckons you and as you move, he reaches up and spreads your legs while coaxing you forward. “Is this comfortable?” He pushes one of your knees up so it’s parallel to the back of the seat.

“Yeah, I’m fantastic. You?”

“Definitely better. It’s a tight fit, but I’d put up with far worse circumstances to get my tongue in your perfect pussy, Angel.” He grins at you and rubs his thumb over the dark center of your panties. “Right through…damn…” Brendon sighs, and you watch his eyes dilate in pleasure at the mere thought of tasting you. “So wet, Y/n…”

“I am,” you agree in a low voice. “You should do something about it. It is your fault after all.” You grin at him and he laughs appreciatively, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to your thigh as he shifts higher onto his knees to get closer and work your underwear down your legs. “This is an interesting change, you being on your knees for me.”

“You make it sound like I don’t—” Brendon starts to protest, clearly insulted at the idea of him not loving to eat you out, and you shake your head quickly.

“No, no—I just mean this position. You’re very generous with your mouth, baby, and I love it—and you. But we’re usually in bed or I’m on top of you. You’re not normally literally on your knees. That’s all.” You tug his hair affectionately and roll your hips towards his mouth.

“That’s better,” he comments with a grin. “Didn’t think you were taking my mouth for granted or anything…but I’d hold out on you if I needed to prove a point.”

You pout, and he laughs. “We both know I wouldn’t last long.” He gives you a teasing lick, letting the tip of his tongue move in a quick circle over your clit. You gasp and your back arches; you tug at his hair and he makes a soft sound of approval, switching to deep, slow strokes while his fingers slide into your heat.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop,” you groan, rocking under him. “Brendon, baby, so good; lick it honey, just—oh god, so fucking good!” His fingers curl while his thumb rubs; his eyes meet yours as he mouths over you, tongue rolling repeatedly against your clit. “Oooooh shit!” The squeal is practically ripped from your body and your eyes snap open wide. “Brendon, yes! Yes yes yes!!” The leg that is parallel to the seat back drops and pins his head between your thighs; he groans, pressing closer and keeping his fingers moving. “Oh god!” Your voice is high and tight, and you’re rocking eagerly against his mouth, holding him in place with your grip in his hair and the pressure of your thighs. “Making me come, oh fuck!”

“Come for me, Angel,” he begs in a muffled voice that sends you over the edge, shrieking and moaning and swearing. “That’s my good girl,” Brendon murmurs when your hips stop moving and your legs part, freeing him. He starts licking your inner thighs idly, watching you with dark eyes. “My Angel knows how much I love her coming on my face. Love tasting you, licking you, sucking you…my best girl.” He places a soft kiss against your hip before crawling up on top of you, propping himself up on his forearms over you.

“Kiss me,” you say softly, craning your neck to reach his mouth. “Need you.” You throw an arm around his back and press him to you; he grunts as his full body weight comes down on you and your legs tighten around his hips. “Any chance of you whipping that cock out and fucking me while we’re back here?”

“You did not just use the phrase ‘whipping that cock out,’ did you?” Brendon looks at you in amusement, body shaking with suppressed laughter. “I cannot take you seriously with those words coming from your perfect mouth.” You blush, and he laughs, catching your lips again. “I will fuck you, but only if you promise to never ask that way again.”

“That’s a more than fair deal,” you agree, before zipping your lips shut. “I got a little carried away, sorry. I was going for ‘desperate,’ but in hindsight, not my most sexy phrasing.” He laughs again and kisses you hard, one hand cupping your face while the other works between your bodies to unzip his jeans. When, together, you’ve worked his jeans down his legs, he grips your thigh and rocks into you slowly. “Oh god,” you moan, closing your eyes. “That feels so good.”

“Yeah,” Brendon groans, face buried in the crook of your neck. “Oh god, yeah. Angel, you feel so fucking good…” He’s moving at a painfully slow pace, and you squirm under him, trying to get more. “Patience,” he chides, lifting your leg higher on his waist so he can fill you. “I’m gonna take care of you, Y/n. You know I’m going to take care of you and make it so good for my girl.”

“Yeah,” you manage, both hands clawing at his back through his shirt. “Yeah, feels so good; Brendon, my god, yes!” His mouth is moving over your neck and the way he’s holding you, keeping your hips tipped up so he can go deep, is sending you closer and closer to the edge with each thrust. “Brendon, baby, you’re gonna make me—oh god, please don’t stop, please, please, please!”

“Yes, Y/n, oh god, your pussy feels so—you feel so—oh fuck, Y/n, I’m gonna come,” Brendon groans, picking up speed and biting desperately at your neck. “Can I come, Angel? Can I come in you?”

“Fuck, please!” You scratch at him desperately, the pleasure you’re feeling evident in every breath and word and movement. You two have only recently made the choice to stop using condoms, and you’re still enthralled every time he asks to come inside you. You can’t get enough of him. “Come, Brendon, come for me. Come in me.” You feel his body shudder against yours; it pushes you over the edge. You let yourself tense around him as your back arches. He groans, and you whimper when he comes. “Yes,” you moan, clinging to him. “Oh fuck, yes!”

“Angelbaby,” Brendon murmurs, breathing hard. “My sweet girl, my good girl, my perfect girl looks so good coming on me…” he’s stroking your hair now, lips pressed to your forehead.

“Brendon,” you whisper, tipping your head back to kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he replies, twisting a lock of hair around his index finger. “I love you so much. Goddamn, I want to marry you.”

You freeze and look at him with wide eyes. “You don’t mean that.” Your voice is soft, and he raises an eyebrow in amusement, though you can see the nervousness reflected in his own eyes. You pause. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes,” Brendon tells you without hesitation, his voice steady. “Yes, I mean it. I—but this isn’t me asking—I’ll do it better, my love; I’ll make it so romantic and special for you, and I’ll—dammit, I’ll have a ring too. Fuck, I’ve ruined everything by saying something now—ah, shit Y/n, I’m so sorry; you deserve—”

“Yes,” you murmur, kissing him. “Yes. Yes, Brendon. Yes.” His face lights up, and he takes you in his arms, peppering your face in soft kisses, laughing when you squeal in pleasure. “Yes, I will marry you!”

-||-

“Y/n Y/m/n Urie, your husband needs you!” Brendon’s voice rings through your bedroom, and you shake your head with a laugh, heading for his closet. “Hi, Angel,” he purrs, opening his arms for you to step into his embrace. “You look gorgeous. Love this dress on you. Will you pick out a jacket for me?”

You both look at the pile of clothes on the floor. “B,” you say with a smile. “You are thirty-four years old and what’s more, you manage to pick out clothes for and dress our children every day. You can’t pick out your own jacket?”

“I just want to look good,” he grumbles playfully, swinging your entangled hands back and forth. “Throwing my Angel a birthday party tonight, and I just want to look good enough to be on her arm.”

“You’re sweet, Brendon,” you murmur, hugging him. “You know you’ll look good in anything.” He looks at you expectantly and you smile, bending down and selecting a black jacket with metallic detailing. “This one. This will look good with my dress.”

“I hope you know I don’t mean to make it about me,” Brendon murmurs in your ear as he slips his arms into the jacket. “I just—” but you silence him with a kiss.

“It’s all good, B,” you assure him, kissing his neck and pushing him back against the wall of the closet. He groans and rolls his head back, letting you step closer so you can keep working your lips up his neck and behind his ear. “Want you to be comfortable. Want the photos to look good—know we’re gonna be taking photos, so…” you nip behind his ear and let your hand slide down between his legs; you grin when he grunts and rocks forward into your palm.

“Angel, don’t tease me right now,” Brendon pleads, wrapping an arm around your waist and rubbing himself against your hand. “You know I want you.”

“And I want you,” you retort playfully, flexing your fingers. “You want me to drop to my knees and take care of you the way we both want?”

“That,” Brendon manages in a strained voice, “sounds more like a birthday present for me. Today is your birthday.”

“True,” you murmur, nibbling at his earlobe. “But neither of us have ever needed a birthday in order to get the other on their knees.” Brendon laughs appreciatively, and you think you may have won and are moments away from talking your husband out of his pants, but instead, his hand comes up and tangles in your hair.

“We can’t be late, Angel,” Brendon whispers, and you can hear the regret in his voice. Instead of pushing him, you slip out of his grasp and coax him to the door, curling a finger as you linger in the doorway. Without hesitation, he follows you, all the way out to the driveway.

“Does it ever amaze you that we’ve been wanting each other for seventeen years?” You look at him with a sweet smile once you’re both settled in the car. “We started dating the night before my seventeenth birthday. And here we are now.” You rest your hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly.

“Here we are now,” Brendon agrees, moving your hand higher. “Married with two beautiful children; meanwhile you don’t look a day over twenty-two.” You laugh and thank him for making you old enough to drink; when he kisses you, you palm his dick through his pants gently, rolling your hand to hold him in place while still driving him wild. He wraps a hand around your wrist to keep your hand against him. “God, you get me so hard,” Brendon groans after a minute, and you flex your fingers. “Fuck, Y/n, teasing me so good…”

“Me? Tease? Never. But my husband is so hard for me…really I’m just teasing myself…” you moan and squeeze his erection. “Seventeen years with you and fucking you, and I’m still insatiable.”

“Like I mind,” Brendon says, watching you through heavy eyes. “Wanna fuck my Angel good for her birthday…” you both glance ahead of you, gauging the distance to the venue and then at the digital display clock. “I think we have time,” he tells you. “I’m gonna pull over now.” Brendon guides the car off the main road, into a shopping center and parks behind one of the stores, positioning the car behind a loading dock.

You smirk at him and open your door so you can crawl into the backseat. “You’re bad, Urie,” you tell him.

“You love it,” he shoots back, following you. “Now, I want that dress up, the panties down, and you should brace yourself against the window.” You obey and put a hand flat against the window, raising your hips in offering to him. “That’s my good girl,” Brendon murmurs as he rocks into you from behind. “Seventeen years together, so she knows exactly how she likes me to fuck her. Such a good girl, my Angel. But she’s my dirty girl too, isn’t she? Look at her, on her knees in the back of this car, showing me her wet pussy, spreading herself with two fingers, showing me exactly where she wants my cock. Yes, honey, yes, you know I’m gonna give you my cock,” Brendon groans as he starts moving slowly.

“Brendon!” You yelp his name, and he spanks you gently. You give a small squeal of pleasure at the contact and push back for more; he obliges and moves faster, moaning your name as he works. Carefully, you move your other hand to the window so you can fully brace yourself against the glass. You spread your knees slightly so you’re more stable on the cushion of the backseat; Brendon shifts with you and just the feeling of his hands on your hips as he thrusts into you hard is overwhelming your senses. “Yes, Brendon, yes!” Your voice breaks with pleasure and he moans, kissing your neck and digging his fingers into your hips.

“My - Angel - gets - fucked - good - for - her - birth - day,” he pants, filling you fast and hard with one hand moving to rub your clit while the other wraps your hair around his fist, tugging gently and making you moan louder than you have yet. “That’s right,” he murmurs in your ear. “Let me hear how much you love getting fucked in our car like we’re still horny teenagers. Desperate for each other, can’t keep our hands off each other; just want to fuck you til we both collapse—you like that, Angel? You gonna come on your husband’s hard cock?”

“Brendon! Love it, love you, love your cock, oh fuck fuck fuck! Brendon, make me come!” You’re gasping and moaning and bucking back against him, head tipped back so he can hear you clearly. “Fuck me, make me come!”

“My Angel wants to come all over my cock?”

“Please!” You’re whimpering now and he bites your neck lightly, making you squeal and tighten around him as he thrusts hard.

“Good girl, begging for it. Come,” Brendon tells you, doubling his pace before bending over you and resting his hand on the window to keep himself upright. “Oh fuck, Y/n, I’m gonna come, gonna make me come!”

“Ooooh shit!” Your words come out high and loud, and you push back onto him as you come. “Oh fuck shit Brendon yes fuck fuck fuck!”

“Angel, fu—” Brendon just manages his pet name for you before his body tenses over you and you feel him come, fast and hot. “Yes, fuck yes…”

Both of you are breathing hard and trying to steady yourselves when he pulls back and out of you. “Fuck,” you say with a breathless laugh as you turn around and curl into him. “The car has changed, but we have not.” He laughs too, dropping a hand down to fix your hair. “Do we have napkins or anything? We have to go be polite and civilized and appropriate at this party, don’t we? And I’m fucking soaked and have your cum dripping out of me. God.”

Brendon groans, settling into the seat beside you and running a hand through his own hair before he guides his pants back up into place. “Fuck, you’re so damn sexy. I think there’s a pack of tissues in the glove compartment. I’ll check.” Leaning forward now, Brendon rummages through the glove box and center console, finally producing a few napkins. “Here we are. But I’ll be honest, the thought of you wet and dripping with us all night is not a bad one,” he says with a laugh. “Just think about it; the two of us slow-dancing, my hand pressed to the small of your back, mouth dipping down to your ear to ask if you’re still wet for me. We both know you will be.” You whine and swipe between your legs before tugging your panties up into place.

“You’re being a tease,” you tell him, pushing your dress down before resting your head on his shoulder.

“Maybe a bit. Should I be sorry?”

“No, probably not.” you smile up at him, snuggling into his chest as he drapes an arm around you. “We broke tradition,” you point out, tracing hearts on his pant leg. He gives you a curious look, and you smirk. “We always fucked in the car after whatever we were at because we couldn’t or didn’t want to go home.”

“Oh no,” Brendon says in mock horror, grinning a little. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text and when he catches your inquisitive look, he laughs. “I just asked Steph to stay later with the kids.” You raise an eyebrow, and Brendon squeezes your thigh affectionately. “I asked because it sounds like I’ll have to fuck my perfect wife in the car again before we get home to our beautiful children. My life is so hard, clearly.” He gives you a faux-longsuffering expression, making you laugh.

“Mmmm, your life is hard,” you agree, kissing his cheek and palming him through his pants. “Just make sure that when we leave this party, your cock is too.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #my work #he could fuck me any way he wanted #fanfic #imagine #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 months ago

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read below for a small snippet | read the whole fic on ao3 | masterlist | explicit content warning

The war against Koschei has taken a toll on everyone. In the weeks, the months, that followed everyone has tried to find a way back into the old life, to adapt to the new situation, to the new life in a somehow new surrounding. Many parts of Prythian have been destroyed, and slowly have to be rebuilt. Also the Illyrian war camps.

Nesta wouldn’t quite say the war and the time that followed have taken a toll on her and Cassian’s relationship, it has only grown through fighting at each other’s side, but his absence, all the time he spends in Illyria where she is alone here with the Valkyries healing the wounds the war has left upon all of them, is affecting her. Is affecting their relationship.

She misses him greatly. She misses being with him. With her mate. She misses talking to him, laughing with him, waking up with him. Most mornings Cassian is either already gone or he didn’t even come home the previous night.

She misses being in his arms, she misses him holding her, him making love to her, him kissing her, them training together and then sleeping together afterwards. She yearns for time with him. For intimacy. For a few days and a few nights just with him. Just with Cassian. Just the two of them.

She pulls her lip between her teeth, trying to fight the tears by tightly shutting her eyes. SHe hates that they are apart, but she can’t also leave the Valkyries behind and go with him to Windhaven. In addition, Cassian is busy up there, anyway, and the wouldn’t have time for one another.

Nesta’s brow furrows – she hates how selfish this all sounds. Windhaven and the Illyrians need their general, but–

Nesta peeks an eye open when something—someone— brushes their hand over her head. It is such a familiar gesture that silver starts to line her eyes and a smile breaks out on her face.

“Hello Nes.”

There is no sound more beautiful than her mate’s voice, so rich and rough but at the same time a tender brush against her skin.

He is smiling at her when she lifts her head, looking at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There is a sort of sadness within the hazle of his eyes that she has barely ever seen there before. Only a handful of times. And all these times she had been the reason for it. She hates that as well, to have once been the reason why Cassian hurt.

“Hey,” she mumbles, and her voice betrays her, mirroring the sadness within his eyes.

The general’s hand falls to the side of her face, thumb slowly stroking over her cheek. “I‘m sorry for being so absent lately. I miss you, Nes.”

It almost feels like a weight lifts from her chest, allowing her to breathe again when she hears say that. Cassian is feeling just like her.

Nesta has worried she might have become too needy and that she shouldn’t bother him with her needs, but her mate is feeling just like her.

“I miss you, Cass,” she whispers as his thumb brushes the corner of her lips. “How was Windhaven?”

“As usual.” Cassian smiles weakly, candlelight flickering in his face, his lashes drawing shadows on his cheeks. “Nothing special happened, just a lot of work. But let’s not talk about it.” He sits down next to her with a sigh. Turning to her, Cassian reaches between Nesta’s legs and pulls her chair closer to him.

Before Nesta gets a chance to gasp his lips meet hers in a hungry, feverish kiss that makes her heart dance and sing. “Let‘s not talk at all, Nes.” He clasps the back of her head with his broad hand and his lips glide down to her jaw, then her neck, sucking lightly, until he moves on to her collar bone. “Let our bodies do the talking.”

Yes. Nesta thinks, arching her back to give him better access to … all of her.

Easing her onto his lap, Cassian makes quick work of sliding his large hands beneath the hem of her nightgown, bunching it up and then pulling over her head. The breath gets caught in his throat, she is so beautiful.

His lips find her breasts, her nipples, rosy and perked, in an instant and his lips close around the right one, fingers toying with the other and Nesta moans, the sweetest and one of the most beautiful sounds in Cassian’s ears. The most beautiful sound to him is when she laughs.

He revels in the noise of the breathy pants that follow when she starts grinding against him, rubbing her aching core against his growing bulge.

“I missed you,” Nesta whispers. She frees her mate’s hair from the leather ribbon, tossing it away so she can tangle her hand in his locks. Then she seals their lips. “Day and night I‘ve been thinking about you. Holding you, loving you. I missed this. Kissing and fucking.” She laughs hoarsely and it also draws a chuckle from Cassian. His laugh is cut short, though. With ease that is beyond him, Nesta opens the ties of his pants, freeing his already half-hard cock, palming and stroking him at first before getting up to discard off her panties.

Climbing back onto his lap she kisses him, simultaneously easing his broad length into herself. Cassian allows her to guide them, loving it, and savouring every little moment of it.

Their lips meet in a ravishing kiss when their bodies come together, move as one, nails piercing into the other’s body, clawing and holding on. Their lips whisper words of love and passion in between the kisses while they chase their climax, coming together and riding out their high together.

In the moments that follow Cassian pampers her face with kisses, brushes his fingers through her hair, the thumb of his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her hip bone. “Coming home to you is the best part about these trips to Windhaven.”

Later, when their limbs are entangled and they are lying in bed together, no more words are exchanged. With soft touches and small kisses they communicate everything they have to say, every feeling within their hearts – the happiness and relief that they are once more united.

tags: @helhjertet @moonlightazriel @crushedcloudx @brekkershadowsinger @girasoli-e-sorrisi @ignite-me @swifti-ed @cassiansbigwingspan @burningsnowleopard @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @bookishbroadwaybish

@nessianweek 🩶

#nessian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian

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forever-rogue · 3 years ago

Note

Hmmm. I think Marc “Murder BB” Spector also needs some love. Especially after that ending scene 👀🥵

AN | That scene was absolutely unnecessary but also so necessary. They knew exactly what they were doing 🥵 have some spice! That’s all this is - PwP (you’ve been warned)! 18+ only or you will be blocked.

Pairing | Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, Smut [unprotected PiV, fingering, possessive!Marc]

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Main, Moon Knight

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Marc,” the air was warm, almost suffocating with its dry heat, and you were covered in only a thin bed sheet. The curtains to the room were pulled open, allowing in the bright sun; it was already hot despite being so early in the day. You spied him standing in front of the window in only his boxers, staring out at the bustling street, “come back to bed.”

“How long have you been awake?” he turned around, arms crossed over his broad chest, a smirk pulling up his features. You sighed before sitting up and stretching, letting the sheet pool at your waist. You hadn’t bothered to dress after he’d practically wrecked you last night, wanting to relish in the feel of his warm, golden skin on yours.

“Long enough to want you to come back,” crooking your finger at him, you motioned for him back. He easily obliged, shaking his head in amusement as he came back over to you, crawling in next to you. He moved his body over yours, caging you in between his arms before leaning down to ghost his lips over yours, “hi.”

“Hey gorgeous,” he finally kissed you, every part of him invading your senses as he lingered against your lips, nose brushing yours. He was in hurry to do anything, his touch slow and saccharine compared to what it had been the night before. You leaned into him, opening up to him as he licked over the seam of your lips, wanting to taste every bit of you. You easily granted him access, allowing him to taste you and have his way. He pulled back much sooner than you would have liked, but before you could complain, he pressed gentle kisses all over your face, “use your words, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“You,” your arms looped around his neck, running a hand through his shock of inky curls. He dipped his head down to kiss along your jaw, moving down your neck, delicately biting and sucking at the delicate flesh to mark you as his. A soft moan escaped your lips, making him smile against you, “fuck Marc. Please touch me.”

“I am touching you,” he rasped with a deep laugh, as he dragged his lips across your collarbone before moving on to the tops of your breasts, “do you want to touch me somewhere else?”

“You know where,” your protest quickly dissolved into a moan as he moved his hand between your legs, dragging a thick finger through your slick sex. You couldn’t help but arch into his touch, wanting more, more, more. He hummed in content at how easily your body responded to him. He licked the soft skin between your breasts before taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You cupped the back of his head, trying to keep him as close to you as possible.

“Look at you,” if you hadn’t been melting into his touch, you would have teased him, but your whole body was currently blooming in warmth. He lavished your other breast with the same attention, rubbing your clit in slow circles, “good girl. Want more?”

“More,” you nodded, biting your lip in an effort to keep down your soft cries and whimpers, “please more.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he gathered up your wetness on two thick fingers before slowly sliding them into you. You felt so full from just the two fingers, but then he used his thumb on your clit, causing you to arch into his touch. He kissed you, swallowing those sweet sounds that he loved so much. You could hear how soaked you were already, feeling your arousal almost dripping onto your thighs, “so wet. All for me?”

“Yes,” your answer was breathy in his ear, “always you.”

“I know,” he took your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at him, “mine.”

“Yours,” you promised, letting him part your lips with your thumb, “always.”

“Cum on my fingers,” it wasn’t a question or request but a command. It sent a shiver down your spine, causing you to curl your toes as you felt that familiar warmth blossom throughout your body. He brought on your orgasm with such calculated ease; he knew exactly how and where to touch you to bend and break you to his will. He scissored his fingers inside of you, opening you up for him before giving you that final touch that sent you over the edge.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, easily his favorite sound in the world as you came undone beneath him. He could feel your legs shaking, a sure sign that he had done well as you fisted the sheets, eyes shut tightly. It wasn’t until you reached for his wrist, attempting to push him away that he stopped, “no more, please, too much.”

“You did so good,” he praised, pulling his hand from between your thighs, displaying it so it caught the light and you could see your cum and slick coating his fingers. His eyes, so dark and blown with lust that they were practically black, were locked onto yours as he licked his fingers clean. A small little sound left your mouth as you clenched your legs together, “taste even better.”

“And what about you?” you leaned up to kiss him, slotting yourself between his legs, rutting your hips against his, putting just enough friction against his hard cock. He hissed lightly at the contact, “don’t you want to cum? Don’t you want to be inside me?”

He roughly, but never too roughly, grabbed your jaw before sliding his hand down your neck, squeezing just enough to cause you to sigh softly, “is that what you, gorgeous girl?”

“Mhmm,” you reached blindly for the waistband of his boxers, attempting to push them down his legs. He couldn’t help but laugh at your eagerness, going back to kiss you as he kicked the offending article off, “handsome.”

He gathered up more of your arousal, taking his cock in his hand and stroking his length a few times, coating it with your arousal. He tossed his head back, unabashedly letting you see and hear his pleasure. A large hand splayed on your hips, pulling you down towards him. You spread your legs, allowing him easier access to your aching cunt.

“Wait - how do you want me?”

“Just like this,” his large hands were on your thighs, as he gently dragged his fingertips over your skin, “so I can watch you make that pretty face when you cum all over my cock.”

“Romantic,” you took one of his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together before kissing the back of his hand, “now fuck me.”

That stupid, smug little grin that you loved worked its back on took his face as he lined himself up at your entrance, not even giving you a chance to breathe before he pushed into you. He didn’t stop until he was fully inside of you, almost knocking the air from your lungs at the sting of him stretching you out turned into pleasure.

Marc studied you for a moment, an attempt to memorize every little detail of your features, from how your mouth was open in a small o to how your brow furrowed, your eyes never strayed from his. His hands gripped your waist, hard enough to leave you with finger-shaped bruises that would linger and remind you of this moment.

Before you could taunt or tease him any further, he pulled almost completely out before slamming his hips back into yours. A moan of unadulterated pleasure left his lips as he started to pound into you. This wasn’t about being sweet or gentle, this was purely carnal, both of you wanted nothing more than a wave of release.

“Look at me,” his voice was dark and commanding, making your brain into mush as you forced yourself to keep your gaze on him. You reached up and raked your nails down his chest, scratching just enough to sting lightly. Marc growled, deep in his chest, the sound rumbling and low as he gave you a particularly forceful thrust, pushing you higher on the bed, “look at you, taking my cock so well.”

“Marc,” you weren’t even able to form a proper sentence, his name accompanied by a whisper of soft, unintelligible words. One of his hands released its iron grasp on your waist, and he started to circle your clit with the pad of his thumb, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He bit his lip as he continued to thrust into you, “good girl, so desperate and needy. Your pussy was made for me.”

The sounds of the busy streets wafted into the room, reminding you that the curtains were wide open and anyone could see in. The idea that anyone could watch gave you a small thrill, knowing anyone who saw would know you were his. The only sounds from within the room was the sound of his hips slamming into you, his cock in your dripping sex as he continuted on relentleslly, and the noises that were nothing soft of erotic coming from both of you.

He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer; it had been so long since he’d been able to be with you, the effect you had on him was palpable. He could feel your walls start to clench around his thick cock, squeezing him tighter and tighter like a vice grip with every thrust.

You could feel his cock start to twitch as you wrapped your legs around his waist to try and get him as close and deep as possible. He reached an arm behind your body, pulling you up so your chest was crushed against his; the change in position allowed him to hit a deeper angle. You could feel yourself melting into him as he kissed you; it was a messy tangle of tongue and teeth as he tried to kiss every part of you he could reach. The little bit of stubble he’d allow to come in scratched deliciously against your skin as he left his mark all over you.

“Please,” you gently grabbed his face and brought him to your lips, kissing him deeply, “gonna cum.”

“There’s my girl,” he circled your clit faster, a little harder, and before you knew it, your vision grew hazy, your whole body feeling like jelly as your second orgasm washed over you, “you gonna let me fill you up?”

“Mhmm,” you clung onto him tightly, as he kept pushing you when once you were over that sweet, blissful edge, “want to feel everything.”

“You’re going to be feeling me for days, sweetheart,” the possessive tone in his voice made your eyes almost glaze over, “gonna fill you up so I’m dripping out of that sweet cunt and you remember who you belong to.”

“Yes,” was all you could say, your voice like heaven to his ears and causing him to spill inside you after a few more hard, deep thrust, “Marc.”

“Fuck,” it was a low, feral sound as he came inside, filling you up with his seed. He stilled after a few moments, trying to catch his breath, as you buried your face into his chest, “nothing compares to your sweet pussy.”

“Marc,” you pressed your lips against his neck and jaw, before both of you broke into a fit of laughter, “I love you.”

“You’re just saying that because I made you cum,” he touched the side of your face, gently stroking your cheek, “twice.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you leaned into his touch, “but it’s still true.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he promised, “get some rest before we have to get up and get to work.”

“Only if you promise more of that later.”

“Absolutely.”

#marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x fem!reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac x you #steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight

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roanniom · 2 years ago

Note

Okay I can’t send the gif because apparently it’s too big but you KNOW the one I’m thinking of. And when I tell you I am obsessed with it. The learning curve of his torso when he moves, the open shirt, THE THIGHS. It’s a whole 5 second clip and it’s so attractive.

I’m imagining it’s Poe just getting back from a mission where his flight tech had an error, and he’s sweaty, full of adrenaline, PISSED that a dumb fault could have killed him but relieved he made it back to you. And now obviously he needs to come and show how relieved he is but it’s still with that mix of irritation that he has to channel out of his body somehow. So you get woken up in the middle of the night with a frantic, need heavy Poe absolutely pawing at you, breathless and stinking of burnt fuel.

Okay I hope you enjoy that thot luvubye 😘

Oh. My. God.

Back

Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: PIV sex, and ANGST. Hooo boy and I don’t even write angst. What is this? Who am I? Are these tears?

You wake up to the feeling of hands on your face and and a body lowering heavily down over yours. Over the covers, still fully clothed in a flight suit that wreaks.

A rough, unshaven face descends on you, scraping your skin as lips press feverishly to your forehead, your cheeks.

“Poe…?” you mumble sleepily, coming to as fast as possible. You weren’t expecting him back so soon. His mission was slated to last another two days. An early return could only mean one of two things - the mission had either gone tremendously well or horrifically wrong. “Poe? Is everything ok? Are you ok?!”

Poe hears the ratcheting anxiety in your voice as you scramble beneath him to sit up, clutching at his clothes and feeling his extremities, most likely groping to find if he is still in one piece.

“Shh yes, I’m fine, sweets,” he reassures you, but there’s an edge in his voice that doesn’t convince you.

“You’re ok?” you ask, gripping at his jaw and forcing his bouncing gaze to land on your eyes. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

Poe’s jaw sets, even under your hands, and you see his brow knit with anger. He takes a deep breath in and out through his nose, fanning you with hot air that centers you in the here and now somehow more than the feeling of his body on you.

Poe is breathing. He is alive.

“We almost went down. Jaynes made a rookie mistake -,”

“Your new flight tech?” You ask, your own heart rate accelerating to match his own. “I said he was too green. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing! What -!”

“Sweets!” Poe cuts you off with a hand on your chest. Despite his anger, there’s a light chuckle in his voice and how easily riled you are when you get protective. “He’s being chewed out by the general as we speak, I think letting you at him will be a punishment not fitting of the crime.”

“He deserves to get chewed ON, not chewed out. And by a blurrg no less if it means you almost didn’t come home to me.”

Tears are forming in your eyes and your knuckles pale from how hard you’re gripping the fabric of his flight suit. Poe stares at you long and hard, all humor gone from his features. Then he lowers his face slowly down to yours, kissing you firmly and deeply on the lips.

He plunders your mouth. Drinks you in and swallows you whole, his hands gripping all over you. His motions increase in speed and intensity until he’s feverishly ripping at the blanket and then your clothes.

“Oh Poe,” you breathe into his open mouth when you feel his body shudder. He doesn’t stop though, not until your clothes and his clothes meet on the floor. But you understand. Because you also feel the need to have his skin on yours so bad you think you’ll burst into flames without it.

Or maybe you’ll burst into flames with it, you think deliriously to yourself and Poe slides back onto of you naked. His lips track your heartbeat from the pulse point on your neck, to the heaving center of your sternum and down to the apex of your legs.

“No, I need you,” you argue, tugging at his curls to try and pull him back where you can see his face. Your body betrays you, however, seizing with pleasure as he slides his tongue through your folds and sucks on your needy clit.

“I need you,” Poe corrects. His hands reach up and squeeze at your curves - your hips, your breasts - as he lavishes you with his mouth. “I need this. I need all of you. All the time. Sweets.”

His grip is almost painful on you and you’re sure you’ll have bruises in the morning, but none of it is as painful as the ache in your chest when Poe’s voice cracks on his nickname for you.

“Come back to me. Please come back,” you all but whimper, your hands scrabbling at his shoulders and arms, trying to heft him back despite your unmatched strength.

Your words break through to him. Maybe you sound hysterical. You are a little hysterical. Poe clambers back up, framing your head with his forearms and looking down at you.

“I’m here. I’m here.” He says comfortingly, as you would to a child who wakes screaming from a night terror. You must look wild because he reaches down to grab your hand, pulling it up and clasping it crushed between your bodies. You can feel the frantic beating of both your hearts this way. “I came back.”

You are the one who lunges for him now, kissing him deeply and tasting yourself now on his lips.

You kiss until kissing is all there is. There’s no thought. No yesterday and no tomorrow. Till yours are just two bodies intertwined in the here and now. Bodies doing what bodies were made to do. He hardens and you feel his hips begin to roll down into yours. His length meets your heat, unguided and unfinessed. He’s just grinding into you. Feeling you. Neither of you bothering to unclasp hands long enough to truly guide him inside.

It happens eventually. You’re not sure if you just become so wet, so empty, so incomplete without him, tilting your pelvis just so to where he simply slips in. Or if one of you in a second of blind passion did miraculously reach down and situate him inside you before returning to clasp the other’s hand.

Either way, he is soon moving with you, and you with him. The rhythm isn’t perfect. You’re both nearing exhaustion and your energy is frenetic, desperate.

When you cum together you see stars. Stars like the stars you gazed up at just earlier that night, hoping and praying to any gods out there that his ship would fly straight and true.

And bring him right back here to you.

~*~

Goodness gracious that got away from me and EMOTIONAL.

Thank you @paper-n-ashes for sending me spiraling (love you ♥️)

Tinier tag list because fewer people follow for Poe (I think?): @mariesackler @sacklerscumrag @millenialcatlady @butyoudidthis4what @maybe-your-left @foxilayde

#poe dameron x reader #Poe Dameron/reader #Poe Dameron smut #poe dameron angst

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rubysunnday · 4 years ago

Text

bloody hands | k.b

A/N: this is my first time writing for ye old kazzle dazzle and i'm terrified, lol (i'm also shit at summaries)

Summary: Kaz never feels the need to explain his entire plan. He knows that, whatever happens, it will inevitably go according to plan. But when his plan goes wrong and Y/N is injured, Kaz is suddenly forced to comprehend with the skeletally hand of death once again.

"So, was the gunfire part of the original plan?"

Kaz shoot Y/N a withering look - one that would have anyone in their right mind turning around and running. Y/N just beamed at him.

"No, it wasn't," Kaz replied, glowering at her. "Jesper shouldn't have started so early."

"He's on time," Y/N reminded him.

"For Jesper that's early."

"True."

Y/N and Kaz ducked back behind the wall as bullets whizzed past them smashing into the houses behind them.

"So, we are being fired at because you couldn't be bothered to explain the full plan," Y/N said, trying not to glare at Kaz.

"No, we're being fired at because Jesper's timing is horrendous," Kaz snapped.

Jesper, as if summoned, suddenly appeared at Y/N's side, sliding to a stop on the slippery cobbles. "Right, that's that, then."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "What -"

She was cut off being a tremendous explosion from inside the warehouse they'd all just being chased out off. Smoke billowed into the air and flames rolled up into the sky. The men who had been firing at them all exclaimed and ran off to the warehouse, leaving the alley empty.

"Well, you could have done that sooner, Jes," Y/N muttered stepping out from behind the wall.

"Well, of course, but then what's the point, love?" Jesper asked, winking at her,

Y/N began to laugh but was cut off as a more gunshots echoed through the street. She ducked and Jesper pulled her behind a barrel as he fired back at the lone gunman, hitting him in the shoulder as he ran off.

"You alright?" Jesper asked, panting. He glanced at Y/N who was nodding, albeit shakily.

"I'm fine," she said, peeking her head over the top of the barrel and slowly standing up. "Nearly died, but I'm fine."

"You didn't nearly die," Kaz drawled, walking over to them.

"We all nearly died, Kaz, all because you can't explain any plan in full detail!" Y/N yelled. "Inej almost got stabbed!"

"But she didn't," Kaz replied, glancing up at the roofs where Inej was inevitably haunting.

Y/N glanced over at Kaz and let out an exasperated sigh. "Would it kill you to actually explain a plan in whole? It would make our lives so - ah."

She cut herself off with a gasp of pain. Y/N lost her footing as she stumbled forward. and Jesper grabbed her, wrapping one hand around her waist, the other snaking around to rest on her back.

"Hey, you ok?" Jesper asked, his dark eyes full of concern as he supported almost the full weight of Y/N.

Y/N glanced down at her side and noticed a dark patch spreading from just under her right breast, staining her waistcoat. She raised a shaking hand to the blood stain and let out a surprised gasp as her hand came away wet with blood.

"Oh."

The sight of the blood on her hand seemed to push her over the edge and Jesper exclaimed as her legs buckled. His grip tightened as he caught her and gently lowered her to the cobbled street, kneeling down with Y/N and putting her head in his lap.

"Inej!" Jesper yelled, unable to see where the Suli girl had vanished too.

Kaz stared as blood dripped onto the cobble stones. His mind was still watching Y/N yell at him for being him. It wasn't meant to happen like this. His grip on the crow's head of his cane was almost crushing and he could feel the tiny, delicate beak cutting into his hand through his gloves.

Y/N was dying because of him.

If he'd told them what his actual plan was or if he'd just told her.

Y/N's hand was pressing against her right side, Jesper's hand covering hers as he helped put pressure on her side. The blood was seeping over both of their hands, staining them red.

Inej suddenly appeared out of the shadows, hurrying over to Y/N's side in silence. She unwrapped her scarf from around her head and began wapping it around Y/N's side as Jesper moved Y/N's shaking hand away from the wound. Jesper carefully lifted Y/N up as Inej meticulously wrapped it around, trying to slow the bleeding.

"We need Nina," Inej said aloud as she tied her scarf in a knot, securing it around Y/N's side. She looked expectantly over at Kaz.

Kaz was clenching his jaw tightly. He forced himself to swallow the fear and the mental image of Y/N lying next to Jordie on the Reaper's barge. "She's at the White Rose. Bring her to the Slat."

Inej nodded. She cast Y/N a worried glance before she climbed up a drainpipe and vanished into the clouds, leaving no sign she'd ever been there except the now bloody scarf around Y/N's side.

"Jesper, your face looks weird without a smile on it," Y/N said softly, her left hand finding his, their fingers entwining.

Jesper forced himself to smile down at her. He smoothed back her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Sorry, love."

Y/N's eyes fluttered shut and Jesper moved his bloody hands to either side of her pale face, shaking her as gently as he could.

"Hey, hey, stay with me, love," Jesper said, not so gently, as he tried to keep her conscious.

Y/N blinked her eyes open and looked up at Jesper, the world spinning around her, the buildings around them looking even drunker than usual. "Hey."

"Hey, beautiful," Jesper replied, stroking her cheek with his thumb, both of them choosing to ignore the fact that Y/N's blood was all over Jesper's hands and was now on her face.

Kaz felt a pang of jealously rush through him. Jesper could comfort her and carry her to safety. Inej could hold her hand and hug her. Nina could heal her and touch her without feeling like she was about to pass out.

Kaz wanted to run to Y/N. He wanted to kneel down next to her and hold her hand. But he couldn't. He physically could not force himself to.

As he stared at her, at the woman he'd taken for granted for so long, he just saw her dead, lying on the street like Jordie had. The nightmare spiralled from there as he remembered the Reaper's Barge, the cold, bloated body of his brother. The hands. Drowning in a sea of rotten bodies.

No.

Y/N wasn't dead. She was still alive. She was still awake and wasn't dead.

A small voice inside him added the word yet to the end of his sentence but he refused to listen to it.

"Jesper," Kaz said, his voice rougher and croakier then usual. "We need to move her to the Slat."

Jesper recognised the pain and unfiltered emotion on Kaz's face. It wasn't normal to see his boss so openly show emotion but when Y/N was involved, Kaz was an unknown entity.

The man would never admit to himself that he had feelings for her. Kaz was in denial. He refused to acknowledge the emotions inside him. But he'd taken Y/N for granted. He just assumed she would always be on his left side, walking just behind him.

"Ready?"

Jesper's voice snapped Kaz back to the street and he looked at Y/N, her skin pale and sweaty, her hands shaking. Kaz nodded, gripping his cane tightly.

"Right, love, your knight in shining armour has arrived," Jesper said, a teasing tone to his words that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Y/N chuckled softly as Jesper moved to her side, his arms going under her legs and then around her back. Y/N let out a groan of pain and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as he lifted her up. She dropped her head onto his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the soft material of his coat rubbing against her face.

Kaz's cane clicking against the cobbles was the sound Y/N focused on as Jesper carried her towards the Slat. She wanted to fall asleep, to just close her eyes and burrow into Jesper's jacket for warmth. But Kaz's cane kept clicking and Y/N focused on it, the sound alone reassuring her of his presence.

"Hey, don't doze off on me," Jesper said, glancing down at Y/N as her eyes shut.

"I"m not," Y/N said softly, her eyes opening sluggishly and looking up at Jesper as she re-wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm not."

Jesper squeezed her leg as he noticed her eyes droop slightly, her head dropping back against his shoulder. "No sleeping on the job, Y/N, Kaz will have your head."

Y/N's laugh was weaker and Kaz felt a pang of pain in his chest as he looked over at her. She was dying. She couldn't be dying. But she was dying.

Kaz forced himself to reply, playing along in an attempt to keep Y/N awake. "You fell asleep on a job once, Jesper, and yet you're still here. Unfortunately."

Jesper let out a bark of laughter and Kaz caught Y/N smiling, albeit small. Good.

"We're nearly there, love," Jesper said quietly, spotting the towering, drunkenly slumped shack that was the Slat.

Y/N hummed a response but the blood loss was beginning to hit her. Her sight was speckled by black dots and her ears were filled with a high pitched ringing.

Jesper glanced down at her, noticing her silence ."Y/N, hey, stay with me, darling, we're almost there."

Y/N wanted to reply. She wanted to reassure Jesper, because she could hear the thinly disguised panic in his voice, that she was still with him but she was so tired and her eyes weren't letting her stay awake.

The urge to sleep won over her need to reassure Jesper and her eyes rolled backwards. Jesper felt Y/N's arms slip from around his neck, limply hanging to the sides, as she lost consciousness and felt panic grip his entire being.

Kaz slammed open the door to the Slat and the Dregs loitering around looked up, hands flying to weapons.

"Nina!" Kaz yelled, his voice doing a fairly good job at hiding his fear, his worry, the panic that Y/N was dying.

Nina rushed out the side room and met them halfway across the room, eyes running over Y/N, the blood seeping through Inej's scarf, the blood on Jesper's hands, on Y/N's hands.

"Quickly," she said, ushering Jesper into the room.

There was a table set in the middle of the room and dozens of candles had been lit to provide enough light in the dark room. A large, heavy oak chest of drawers was shoved up against the window and Inej was hovering against the far wall, her eyes locking onto Y/N's body as soon as Jesper carried her into the room.

"On the table, Jesper," Nina ordered, opening a drawer, numerous bottles clinking as she rummaged around.

Jesper gently set Y/N down on the table, carefully laying her down and moving her arms to rest on the wood. He took his jacket off and bundled it up, lifting Y/N's head up and setting the material underneath her head.

Kaz stood in the doorway, hands tightly wrapped around his cane, the metal beginning to cut through his gloves and into his hands. In any of building, in any other city in the world, he would've looked like an omen of death.

He forced himself to stare at Y/N as Jesper helped Nina unwrap Inej's scarf from around Y/N's side.

Kaz shuddered as his mind shoved Jordie to the front, the feeling of his brother's cold, bloated skin against his, drowning him. He was drowning in Jordie; in Y/N dying on the table in front of him.

Nina was muttering to herself as she worked, one hand around Y/N's wrist, the other holding a pile of gauze to her side. Kaz watched her intently and could see her counting Y/N's heartbeat as she tried to stop the bleeding.

Which is why, because Kaz was watching Nina with such intensity, that when Nina paused her muttering and looked down at Y/N, her eyes slowly widening, did Kaz feel his own heart shudder and almost stop.

Nina let go of Y/N's wrist, dropping her hand onto the table. She brought her hands together, her first two fingers overlapping each other, and then brought them down onto Y/N's chest.

It was as if Kaz could hear Y/N's heart slowing down and not speeding up. He watched as Nina repeated her movements, determination and panic and fear written on her face as her eyes welled up.

Kaz swallowed and felt the ocean overwhelming him again. He saw Y/N staring back at him, lifeless and dead just like Jordie. Her beautiful eyes staring emptily back at him, void of life. He'd failed her like he'd failed Jordie. The most important thing in his life was dead.

Inej was frantically praying, clutching her knife, Sankt Alina, tightly. Jesper was still for the first time since he'd carried Y/N in, his eyes red with tears as he stared at Y/N's limp, bloody body.

Kaz took one look at Nina and saw the dwindling hope in her eyes, the tears streaming down her face and turned around, walking out the room, his cane clacking loudly against the floor.

Nina sobbed and repeated her movements one more time, desperately trying to get Y/N's heart to start beating again. She'd saved Matthias in the middle of the ocean, during a hurricane, she could save Y/N.

Nina brought her hands down on to Y/N's chest once more with, perhaps, more force than needed. She kept them there and willed the organ inside her friend to not give up.

To keep going.

Second by second, Nina felt it slowly begin to beat again. Nina kept her hands on Y/N's chest, scared that if she moved even an inch it might stop beating again. Second by second, the colour began to slowly come back into Y/N's skin and Nina sighed, dropping her head in relief.

Inej let out a happy sob and closed her eyes, praying to her Saints once again and thanking them.

"Jesper, come here and wrap her wound, stop making that face, it's a bullet wound, you'll be fine," Nina snapped, glaring at Jesper when he balked at the thought, all thoughts of death and misery gone, their usual banter slowly returning.

Jesper walked around to stand next to Nina and took a clean wad of gauze and drenched it in alcohol. He pulled Y/N's bloody shirt up and gently pressed it to her side. His other hand reached up to Y/N's face and with a clean, damp cloth, he began wiping the dried blood off her skin.

"Oh, Saints, Kaz!" Inej exclaimed suddenly, making Jesper and Nina jump. She flew out the room like a breeze and dashed up the stairs to Kaz's office where he'd inevitably retreated.

Kaz was stood hunched in front of his mirror, his gloves off, his head hung. Inej walked in slowly, making sure to announce her presence by stepping on the creaky floorboard by the door.

"Don't," Kaz said, his voice croaking and Inej realised that he was crying. "Don't say it."

"Kaz," Inej said softly, slowly approaching him.

"No, Inej!" Kaz snapped, whirling around to stare at her. His eyes were red and his hair was a mess and his hands were shaking. "I took her for granted. I never," Kaz took a deep, shaky breath in, "I never told her or even showed her just how much..."

Even now, even when she was dead, he couldn't bring life to the words. They sat dead on his tongue, poisoning him. He hated his brother for making him this way. Hated Ketterdam for being the way it was. He even hated Y/N for being so fucking perfect that he had to fall in love with her. He was a fool so desperately in love that it scared him endlessly.

"Kaz," Inej repeated, slowly, gently, laying a hand on his arm.

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up but Inej made sure to place her hand on the part that was still covered. Kaz flinched but didn't tell her to remove her hand or move back.

"Kaz," Inej said again. "Y/N isn't dead. She's alive. Nina brought her back."

Kaz turned his head and locked eyes with Inej. He didn't say anything but Inej understood. She nodded, reassuring him that she was being honest.

Perhaps, if Y/N hadn't been around, they would have fallen in love. Maybe it would be Inej he was crying over. Maybe it would have been Inej lying there, injured. Maybe Kaz would have torn the city apart to find the man who had injured her.

But he had Y/N. She was alive, three flights of stairs below, with Nina and Jesper at her side.

"I'll find him," Inej promised, dropping her hand from Kaz's arm and pulling her hood up.

"Leave some for me," Kaz said lowly, his eyes following Inej to the window. "I feel like ripping an eyeball or two out."

Kaz slowly limped down the stairs to Y/N's bedroom. He could hear numerous voices from inside and hesitated outside the door. Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, heistated.

"Kaz, just come in already!" Nina yelled from within.

Kaz rolled his eyes and opened the door. "Stop spying on me, Zenik."

"It's difficult not to when your heartbeat is so loud," Nina replied, raising her eyebrows knowingly.

Y/N snorted and Kaz looked at her. She was sat on her bed with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Jesper sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Y/N was half leaning on Jesper and half on the wall and looked so alive.

Inej had found the man who'd shot her and, together, they'd ripped the man's eyes out, slit his throat and thrown his body onto the Reaper's Barge. It had helped quell the ghosts threatening to haunt him once again but they hadn't truly abated until Kaz had gotten to look at Y/N and see her talk.

Y/N gave him a smile and Kaz nodded back at her, trying to hide his relief at how alive she looked.

She was alive. She wasn't dead. She wasn't Jordie. She wasn't going anywhere. She was still here, with him, in Ketterdam. And he wasn't going to let her go.

"There's blood on your shoes, Kaz," Y/N said, gesturing to his black shoes with her head, her voice almost startling him.

Kaz looked down and eyed the single drop with distaste. So there was. A single drop. All that was left of the man who'd shot her.

Y/N laughed at the look on Kaz's face. "He looks like he just sucked a lemon," she said to Jesper, albeit loud enough for Kaz to hear too.

"No, that's his normal face," Jesper replied, smirking as he winked at Kaz.

Y/N laughed, throwing her head back. Her hair fell over her shoulder and her eyes sparkled in the dim, orange light of her room. Her laugh was like music to him.

And Kaz Brekker realised with a sudden, painful thud that he was completely and utterly besotted with her.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker angst #angst #six of crows imagine #six of crows #six of crows x reader

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jcwriting · 4 years ago

Text

There’s A First Time For Everything

summary ↬ namjoon has never had a blowjob before. you’re about to change that.

pairing ↬ idol!namjoon x reader

genre ↬ smut, pwp (im not kidding there is zero plot to this), fluff, (new) established relationship

word count ↬ 2.8k

warnings ↬ swearing, oral (m receiving), face fucking, choking, reader has a painful thigh kink (don’t we all), overuse of the word thigh

authors note ↬ listen,,,,i saw that picture of namjoon in shorts (you know the one) and i just,,,lost it. also, this is my first time posting fic for bts and im shitting bricks about it so pls be nice to me!!!!! i hope you enjoy this quick (thirsty) little ode to namjoon’s thighs. pls let me know what you think!

also, the gif above haunts me. everyday. okay, enjoy.

“I want to give you a blowjob.”

Namjoon choked on the swig of water he had just taken. The two of you were watching TV. Actually, Namjoon was watching TV. You were sitting on the floor at the coffee table with your laptop out to answer some work emails. But, you were distracted. Specifically by Namjoon’s shorts. More specifically, Namjoon’s thighs in said shorts. The smooth golden skin was begging for your lips and your fingers itched to scratch your nails down to his knees. Then, your eyes naturally glided further up to the apex of his thighs. Where you knew his cock was resting. Again, just begging to be in your mouth. The thought of your jaw and throat aching while he lost it above you consumed your mind. All hope was lost then.

“You…um. Sorry. You want to do that?”

You cocked your head to the side. “Uh, yeah. Wait, did you want me to ask? I’ll ask. Can I give you a blowjob? Please?”

Namjoon chuckled. “No, no. You don’t have to ask. It’s just, y’know, are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said slowly. What was he not getting? “Do you not want one?”

“No! No, oh my god. I want that. I definitely want that. That’s not the issue.”

“Then, what is?”

Namjoon blew out a breath that fluttered the hair that rested on his forehead. He cupped the back of his neck and rubbed awkwardly. “I’ve never had someone do that to me before. So-”

“What?” You would have been less shocked if he had told you that he was a closeted furry. The two of you had only been dating for about a month so the in-depth what things did your ex do in bed conversation hadn’t been fully fleshed out yet. You knew he had lost his virginity to his previous girlfriend and they had had a healthy sex life, so you had just assumed that him receiving oral was part of that. Yet…this man, this absolute Adonis of a man had never gotten his cock sucked? It was the most absurd thing you had ever heard in your life. “Hold on. You had a girlfriend before me, right? She didn’t go down on you? Ever?”

Namjoon looked like he wanted the couch to swallow him whole but you barely noticed. You were too busy experiencing the shock of your fucking life. “I did. But she - uh, no. She didn’t want to and I didn’t want to pressure her.”

Your heart melted a little before you shut your laptop. Healthy sex life your ass. You were sucking this mans dick and that was final. “I’m going to give you a blowjob, Namjoon. Right now.” You turned to him and began crawling forward. His eyes flew to your ass that swayed in the air and he audibly swallowed. “If you don’t want me to then you need to tell me within the next thirty seconds.”

“Oh God,” he whimpered and spread his legs a little wider. You were salivating. “Yes. As long as you’re sure-” Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a heavy groan as your hands slid up his thighs. Finally, you smiled to yourself as you bent your fingers and allowed your nails to dig into the meat of his inner thigh.

“I have a thing for your thighs,” you murmured. “Never realized I had a thigh kink until I met you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want to ride your thighs. Will you let me?”

“God, yes.” Namjoon went to reach for your arms but you batted his hands away. This wasn’t about you right now. This was about him. You reached for your hair and quickly pulled it into a sloppy bun. His eyes followed your movements and you didn’t miss how the bulge in his shorts twitched.

“I need you to tell me if I do something that you don’t like, okay? I want to make you feel good. Don’t be afraid to talk to me. If you like something, let me know. If not, then definitely let me know.” Namjoon nodded feverishly. His eyes were almost black and his chest was straining against his white top. You smirked to yourself. This was going to be fun.

Bending down, you pressed a kiss to the top of his thigh. Your mouth dragged along his skin and you relished in the way he quivered beneath you. Following the seam of his leg before doing the same on the other. Nails pressed little crescent moons into his flesh before your thumbs smoothed over the marks. Your nose lifted the loose material of his shorts up to his hips and skimmed the exposed areas as your tongue reached out to flick the little freckle that found a home on his hip before you set your sights on his dick that was straining for you. Lips that had previously kissed his skin now moved to the fabric that jailed his heavy cock. Sitting back, your thumb traced the underside of his dick softly before you barely brushed over the head. The cotton dragged against your finger and Namjoon huffed loudly before lifting his hips further into your touch.

“Don’t tease.” Namjoon’s voice had lowered a few octaves and the deep tone had you clenching your thighs. His hands fisted the pillows next to him and you could feel the restraint he was exacting on himself through the trembling of his muscles.

“I’m not,” you promised. “I’m just making sure you’re ready.”

“I am. Swear to God.”

Unable to keep the smile off your face, you nodded and reached for the waistband of his shorts. He lifted his hips and helped you shove the material to his ankles. That was when you realized two things.

One, he was right. His cock laid thick and proud on his stomach and was weeping for you. He was of average length but his girth let you know that were going to struggle to fit him in your mouth. The thought only made you shiver in delight. A phantom pain panged in your gut when you took in the slight curve of the head, knowing it was going to hit everything you needed.

Second, he had the prettiest cock you had ever seen. You never thought dicks were pretty. In fact, you were pretty resolute on that thought. Most likely due to the disgusting amount of unsolicited dick pics you had received in your life. But, Namjoon’s? You wanted to take a picture, frame it and admire it whenever you wanted to. The skin that stretched around his width was a shade darker than the rest of him and his cock head, a pretty red color, made you want to see how far down you could get the flush to go.

You wrapped your hand around his length and twisted up. Namjoon’s back arched off the couch and a string of curses fell off of his lips. Your thumb collected the glistening pre-cum on his tip and used it to smooth your palm over him.

“I normally don’t say this,” you said as you became infatuated with the vein that ran along the underside of his cock, “but if you want to send me a dick pic, I definitely won’t complain. Like, ever.”

“B-baby, I’ll give you whatever you want. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Namjoon moaned, throwing his head back when your thumb pressed against the delicate skin that resided under the his mushroom tip.

You giggled lightly. “So sensitive. I’ve barely even started.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to say something but you didn’t give him a chance. You licked the vein that had caught your eye earlier and followed it to the top before enveloping the head of him into the heat of your mouth. You relished the broken groan that he let out. Several kitten licks were placed on his weeping slit before taking him deeper. You worked slowly, gauging his reaction as you took him further. He responded well, panting and moaning in encouragement, head still thrown back against the couch.

“You can look at me, you know,” you reminded him as he popped out of your mouth. Kisses were mouthed over the soft skin that was wrapped around the steel of his erection. Your hand used your spit as lube to tug him harder.

“Can’t,” Namjoon gasped. “Gonna blow my load if I watch you.”

“That’s kind of the whole point.”

“Not yet,” he whined. “I don’t want this to be over.”

You pinched his hip until he met your gaze, offering him a sweet smile. “This isn’t going to be the last time I get on my knees for you, baby.” You held his wide-eyed stare as you took him back into your mouth. Ignoring how his hands seemed to flutter around you, unsure of what to touch, you focused on sliding him further into your mouth. Then, you sucked hard, using your tongue to lave at the warm skin.

Namjoon lost it above you. He released a strangled moan that caused your core to absolutely gush. One hand finally tangled into your hair and the other gripped your shoulder with warning, which you ignored. You merely sucked and pulled harder. Namjoon’s hips flexed, causing the tip of him to slam into the back of your throat. Not expecting it, you couldn’t help but cough around him as your eyes watered.

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry.” Namjoon used the hand on your shoulder to yank you off. His thumbs wiped at the tears that trickled down your cheeks, the concern etched across his face made you feel warm inside. “Shit, are you okay?”

“I am, promise,” you assured him. “Just give me a second, okay?”

He nodded while pushing back some of your hair that had escaped your sloppy up-do. You gently removed his hands before looking down at his length that was still clutched in yours. As much as he had shocked you, the thought of him fucking your face was not something you shied away from. Really, it was exactly what you wanted. But you needed to prep a bit first.

When you took him back in your mouth, you focused on relaxing the muscles in your throat. Breathing deeply through your nose, you slowly worked yourself further down until your nose was pressed into the base of him. Spit trickled out of your mouth and over his balls as you pulled back. You did this a few more times, working past your gag reflex and allowing your throat to get used to the intrusion.

Namjoon was anything but quiet as you deep throated him. It was honestly the sexiest thing you had ever heard. While your past lovers hadn’t necessarily been quiet, the praises Namjoon kept raining on you and the beautiful noises he made were music to your ears. Your body certainly agreed. Your cunt ached to be filled and the fabric of your panties was soaked through. But, you ignored your needs and focused on the panting man before you.

“Okay,” you nodded as you popped him out of your mouth. “I’m ready.”

It took Namjoon’s brain a few seconds to process what you said. He shifted restlessly on the couch cushions as you ran your hands over his thighs. “Huh? W-what did you say?”

“I’m ready for you to fuck my face.”

His pupils were blown wide as he stared at you with an open mouth. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What if I want it to hurt?” You stared at him while purring the words that was his undoing. Namjoon’s eyes got impossibly darker as his chest expanded with a sharp intake of breath. He spread his legs wider and gently held the back of your head as he guided you down his shaft. You held eye contact with him as he cautiously raised his hips to meet your lips. Once he saw no signs of distress from you, he began thrusting more consistently as you bobbed your head to match his rhythm.

His steady movements didn’t last long but it didn’t bother you. You were more than happy to take over for him. Like you said, this wasn’t going to be the last time you worshipped his cock. The two of you had plenty of time to figure things out. Plus, knowing how much you clearly affected him gave you all the motivation you needed.

Your throat began to tense up again so you focused your attentions on his sensitive head and let your hands twist up to your mouth and back down. The sounds of your palm gliding along his slick skin and your lips sucking tightly filled the spacious living room. They were nearly drowned out by Namjoon, though.

“Baby, oh f-fuck…shit,” he keened loud and hard when your other hand moved to brush over his swollen balls. You cupped them gently and rolled them between your fingers. Even as he was practically thrashing against you, hips thrusting in an aimless rhythm, the hand he had originally placed on the back of your head remained there. He applied no pressure, allowing you to set the pace, but it also seemed to ground him. To remind him that this wasn’t a dream.

“M’gonna cum. Baby…baby, I’m gonna cum. Soon, oh God,” he babbled. You appreciated the warning but you didn’t need it. He was twitching wildly in your mouth and your tongue was coated with the salty essence of his pre-cum. In response, you ran your index finger on that sensitive spot behind his balls and that’s when Namjoon exploded.

Thick ropes of white shot down your throat, causing you to almost gag. Instead, you swallowed past the reflex and took as much as you could. By the fourth stream, a bit had managed to slip past the suction of your mouth and dribble down his cock. You were quick to clean up, licking at the mess the both of you had made before returning to his tip. You suckled the sensitive head until Namjoon practically shoved you away from him.

When you looked up you were met with a glorious sight. Namjoon was completely fucked out, twitching against the couch and his broad chest heaving for air. Sweat beaded his sharp jaw line and trickled down the column of his throat. His face was tilted towards the ceiling and his hair was haphazardly pushed off of his forehead. He looked completely ruined and entirely yours.

“Was that good?” You asked softly as you rose to your feet, ignoring the sharp ache in your knees. Namjoon made an unintelligible sound in the back of his throat that you took as a resounding yes. He cracked his eyes open and looked at you with such adoration you couldn’t help but blush.

“Really?” He murmured. “Don’t get shy on me now. You can’t just suck the life out of me one second and then start blushing like a school girl immediately after.”

“It’s called duality,” you muttered as your cheeks flushed darker. Namjoon snorted and reached for you, pulling you onto his lap. His spent cock nestled between your thighs and his eyes rolled back into his head when he felt the simmering heat through the fabric of your shorts.

“I need five minutes. Then, I swear to God, I’m going to eat you out like you deserve.”

Giggling, you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the strands of hair at the base of his neck. “You don’t have to. This wasn’t a quid pro quo situation. I gave you a blowjob because I wanted to. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“It’s either you give me five minutes so that I can eat you out or ten minutes so I can fuck you into next week. You decide.”

His determination brought a smile to your face until you took in the purple bags under his eyes and how his eyelids kept drooping lower and lower. “How about a nap first, hm? I’ll decide after you get some sleep.”

Namjoon looked like he wanted to protest but you kissed him instead. His argument clearly wasn’t that strong because when you pulled away he was nodding in resignation. You helped him pull up his shorts and squealed when he lifted you up into his arms. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you let him carry you into the bedroom and wrap the both of you up in the comforter. You hadn’t planned on sleeping with him, wanting to get more work done while he slept. But the faint scent of his aftershave and the soft way he caressed your spine could lull an insomniac to sleep. Who were you to refuse?

“Wake me up when you decide,” Namjoon whispered into your hair. You nodded against his chest, and within minutes the two of you slipped into a deep slumber. Happy and content.

LINKS:

masterlist

ao3

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spikesbimbo · 3 years ago

Note

HELP!!! virgin aone being so scared to touch you because he's been told he's so big, rough and tough his whole life 🥺🥺

-.._.-''-.εїз cute shy baby virgin!aone, titty grabbing, fingering

shy virgin! aone who turns red at anything more than a peck on the cheek. Taking it slow with him, insisting that he takes care of you first after you asked to give him a handy, almost saying yes to your pleading puppy dogs eyes. But with his little sheer remaining will power he said no, instilled in him since day one, ladies first.

Having to guide his hands all around your body, starting with your sides. Trailing up the sweater you had on as your hands rested on top of his, completely drawfing them. Using all your mental strength to control yourself from the feeling of his rough calloused fingertips inching further and further up your waist, remembering that you were the one taking the lead and instructing him on what to do.

His body freezing when his fingertips hit your bra, nervously turning his gaze to the floor as your body grew hotter as his adorable reaction. Hesitating for a second to let him catch his breath before grabbing the base of his palm as you lead it up to your chest, squeezing your hand around his, fully encompassing you tit.

Hearing his voice crack as he let in a breath, seeing his gaze was still beneath him, as you took it into your own hands to relax him. Your free hand coming up to his jaw, turning it easily upward as he didnt resist and stroking it lightly, knowing that, that was the way you would always put him to sleep.

A silent gaze as your eyes meet his, his intense stare was nothing as you had him completely lost in your own little world. Neither of you breaking eye contact as your thumb traced his bottom lip. His eyes fluttering, doing there best to stay open as his blush grew to his ears. Pride growing deep in your chest that you were the only one to see him this vulnerable, to see him looking like a lost puppy waiting for a treat, to have him at your complete will.

His pupils wide with unsure lust as your hand started closing around his, seeing every movement asn his face ever so slightly contort as you made him grope your tit again. His warm hand was getting hotter and hotter as he grew more confident, staying put even when you let your hand drop. Repeatedly peering down to your breasts before quickly going back up to you again.

“You can take it off.” Your voice soothed out, a hint of mischief lingering in your tone. Eyes batting up at his as you could see the gears turning in his head.

“I- , uh.”

Letting out a little laugh that you couldn't constrain while he couldn't form a sentence, seeing that he never would if you didn't help your poor baby boy out.

“...s’fine. I can do it this time, and you can next time.”

Chuckling as you let out a wink, seeing his eyes widening and quickly scrunching up. His cheeks turning redder, almost cooing at how cute he was, always making your heartbeat a little too fast.

“You gotta take your hand off sweetheart.” Your sheepish, sly grin breaking free as he almost instantly removed his hand, placing them both in his lap looking like a child getting scolded. Your fingers working their way behind your back as you leaned into his shoulder, lips touching his neck while his arms instinctively supported you, letting out a giggle into his ear.

Remembering what you said last time he got this far,“...Or I can't take it off.”

the words playing in his head ever since that day.

Letting your bra drop to the floor as seductively as you could. Seeing his eyes ogle you, you suddenly feeling shy too.

“T-, they're pretty.”

“Pretty?”

His head quickly nodded as he never wanted you to think he was joking about how much you loved you and your body.

Taking your chance to sit down on his big thighs, straddling his lap as you still gave him a full view, lips meeting his ears once again. “You know what else is pretty.”

Not even getting the chance to respond before your legs spread, shirt hiked up enough, middle and ring finger covering your clothed cunt. Turning his vision slowly down, not wanting to have a heart attack as he knew what laid before him.

But that still wasn't enough, mouth hanging slack as he saw how wet you were. White panties blending in with your skin as he could see the slick leaking through them. Did he get you like this? Fuck, he knew you could tell how hard he was, knowing you were playing dumb trying to be a good girl a listen to him.

But he couldn't even fist his cock without the thought of you running though his mind, you really had him daydreaming about you like you were the only thing to ever exist. Just wanting a taste of you but he knew he couldn't control himself just yet, scared that he'd break your body if you let him.

“Wanna touch there too?” Your voice breaking him out of his trance. A hint of anticipation echoing through your voice.

“I-, if you'd let me.”

“Of course.” Locking eyes with him as your lips pouted out, squishing your tits against his while you wrapped your arms around his neck. “You know I'd let you do whatever with me.”

Him almost knocking off his lap as he hastily adjusted himself, his arm catching you before you could even stumble. Reminding you of when you two first met, walking down the sidewalk looking down at your phone while he was walking home, sleepy eyes barely open as he ran into you. Quickly apologizing as you just stared at him, instantly falling for him, saying he could make it up by buying you some tea.

Knocking you off your feet just to save you, what a man.

“How about this is the ‘next time’, you gotta take them off now.”

Looking head first into your cunt as you stood before him. Accepting his fate as he marveled at it a few moments before deciding on how to drag your paintes down. His rough fingers playing with the hem of your waistband as he hesitated.

“Baby, I-. Fuck…. Love, I don't think I can't control myself if I even catch a glimpse of it.”

Trying your best not to laugh as his hands rested on your thighs for now, “Well, you don't gotta take them off, do you?”

“Yeah, fuck. I can do that.”

His hand moving back up to your disgustingly soaked panties, inching there was up your thigh until he felt your slick running down them. Hearing a soft little whimper escape your soft lips, that giving him enough courage to actually, finally take care of you.

Sliding his hand down your painties, feeling your body shake the moment his middle finger hit your clit, the movement coming innate to him as he circled you nub as gently as he could. Vision locked on you, wanting to ingrain the most pretty sight he's ever seen in his mind.

Your wetness almost oozing out of you at this and you knew he could tell, his finger catching it each time. Hearing your pretty little moans and whines for him to keep going made the pain in his wrist disappear, feeling gutsy enough to take it further.

Sliding his middle finger down enough until it reached your hole, curling the tip in. Your hips rocking into it as he took the hint, sliding it in slowly enough, feeling your tight walls contract around him. Barely even fitting his finger in there, deep down wondering how you were gonna even take him.

Starting a pace as you looked blissfully fuckd out, proud that he got you like this. Feeling so overwhelmed as your body collapsed onto his, laying limp in his hold as he paused for a second, worried that he took it too far.

“You alright?”

It was your turn to be the mess, nodding quickly, embarrassed that if you even tried to talk it would come out in a pathetic moan. Wondering how you got a man like him, so perfect, always doting on you like you were a piece of glass, like you were a ‘princess’ in his words.

“M-, ah!, m’gonna cum, don't stop.”

Feeling his cock grow harder at your pleas, thankful he wasn't inside you right now or he would've cum embarrassingly fast. “Shh, s’okay. Got it, i got it.” Trying to calm himself down also.

“Nobu!, cant, i-, ngh. Please.”

Fate had it that all you had to do was ask like a good girl and he'd give you wanted, immediately cumming, making a mess all over the place as you egged you on cooing in your ear, getting your wetness all over his thighs as your thighs were shaking, thankful for his grip on you.

“That feel good? He asked, staching the back of his neck, his awkwardness shining though once again.

“Yes it felt good!” Almost in awe that he would question himself after getting you so worked up. But before you rested you could tell that he was in need of some help too, hand tracing up his thigh while his head snapped up at your touch.

“So… When are you gonna let me take care of you?”

#well good thing i like my men big rough and tough #FUDBGKJS I LVOE HTIS #👹;ᴀᴏɴᴇ #👹;ʜᴀɪᴋʏᴜᴜ #aone smut #haikyuu smut #virginity tw #aone x reader

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

best laid plans, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: It’s the middle of the night. You’re asleep next to your model boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook, who is jacking off while touching your tits. Wait. Hold on a second. What? (He is still your model boyfriend though, even after all that.)

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship; playful banter and shitty jokes; actually low-key crack and fluff; smut (fem reader, m-masturbation, handjob (while sucking on JK’s balls, lucky guy), tiny bit of nipple play and pussy slapping, edging, cowgirl, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS; the parenthesis are the reader’s inner thoughts and i did make a Dynamite lyric reference with JK’s dick and you can’t stop me

yes, the title is a pun, channeling my inner seokjinnie it’s what you think it is and it’s also not

–

Your dreams were always vivid and intense.

Was it normal to have movie-level, hyperdetailed, sometimes not even involving you or anyone you knew (at least consciously), insane storyline dreams on a constant basis (without medication causing them)? You know, maybe not. You should get that checked out. But not today, because this is not the story about that (you really should get that checked out).

This is the story about you dreaming about your boyfriend jacking off next to asleep you and then realizing it was not a dream.

At first you were like, man, that sure sounds like Jeon Jungkook breathing hard. Was he working out? Why are you having dreams about Jungkook working out? That's literally the most pointless, mundane dream you could ever have. Also, you weren't seeing anything, just blackness. What was the damn point of this dream you couldn't even look at him?

(To be honest, that’s very rude of you, brain.)

Jungkook always asked you to work out at home with him but, one, he was annoying as fuck to work out with because all he did was stare at you ("oh yeah, my bad for thinking you're sexy, holy shit, what a crime to think my girlfriend and future wife is hot!"); two, you literally had zero motivation to work out (not lazy, just, you know, didn't give a shit and Jungkook called that your great flaw of being his perfect girlfriend – but he loved all your soft bits so he was sending you mixed messages, tsk tsk); and finally, three, it always led up to fucking, so why go through all that trouble hyping yourself up in your leggings and sports bra, only to spend five minutes in them and forty-five doing a whole different kind of workout that didn't require clothes?

Exactly.

Just skip that shit and get to the naked part.

Oh, right, back to the whole deep-breathing Jungkook and you seeing darkness thing.

Sometimes you had dreams with only sound and very little visual. It was disorienting, giving you the feeling of being trapped in a maze with no way out (dream analysts would be all over that shit) and once the images returned, you were usually naked (psychologists would have a field day with that). But this time, you were unmoving. Listening to tense inhale, drawn-out exhale, over and over, and you only recognized it as Jungkook because he did that thing where he sucked on his teeth a little, making that almost inaudible hiss noise.

You felt heavy, tired, sluggish, as if you were dragging yourself through mud, in between the brink of conscious and subconscious, in that brief moment where you could control the dream but not your body, that little pocket of utopia. You searched for Jungkook in the darkness, curious to find him, and you couldn't, but he seemed to be beside you, to your right, where he usually was when you slept. Next to you, sometimes snoring so you'd have to smack him in the chest and he'd snort and stop (for a hot second, then you'd roll him to his side so at least he wouldn't be snoring in your ear). His pectoral muscles were bigger lately (you hated working out but you sure as hell didn't hate Jungkook working out) and the slapping sound was pretty satisfying now, palm to hard muscle.

Kind of like the sound right now.

Wait.

You weren't slapping Jungkook's pecs.

You furrowed your brows. Huh? Why were you hearing that soft smacking sound over and over, Jungkook's low hiss and then your name in a deep hazy whisper and why was your front cold? You usually slept with only panties, no bra, but you weren't usually cold up top – that's what the linen duvet was for (you paid way too much for that, but you saw it on Instagram and, hey, it's your money, go off) and, to be honest, you used to be a cute pajamas person but, ever since you started living with Jungkook, he wanted you to wear as much as he did when he slept (read: literally only his boxer briefs). Lots of begging (and him being on his knees for you) later, and now it was your habit to strip before sleeping.

Anyway, back to being cold.

You scrunched up your face and listened to the labored breathing in your right, a hand drifting on your stomach, tracing your bellybutton, moving up, light, delicate touches, the sound of skin on skin. A gentle fingertip brushed your nipple.

You cracked your eyes open.

There was a tiny bit of light from your computer, the RGB keyboard casting a faint rainbow. You shifted your eyes to your right.

Jungkook's left arm was in an awkward position, softly caressing your nipple as he violently pumped his dick.

On the bed.

Underwear gone.

On the floor? Probably.

He looked pretty damn hard. (Nice.)

Your eyes floated to his face and his eyes were closed, mouth open, trying not to make any noise, gasping your name. Shapely jaw, soft cheeks, dark lashes, ash blond hair framing his handsome features, so beautiful it was unreal. His head turned towards you and his dark brown eyes slowly opened, purring your name lovingly.

"Yeah, Jungkook?"

You saw the single blissful second it took for Jungkook's brain to catch up.

Then he choked.

On air and his dick by squeezing it far too hard in complete and utter shock.

"HOLY FUCK!"

He yanked his hand back, off your chest (feels bad man) and released his cock, causing it to bounce a little in the air (kind of sexy, not gonna lie), both of them shooting up to cover his rapidly reddening cheeks, one tattooed, one not, his inked right arm tense and his hand glistening with points of pre-cum.

You blinked innocently at him.

"Oh, shit, fuck, I'm so sorry, um, l–listen," he sputtered, dick still sticking straight up, completely oblivious to Jungkook's embarrassment (ignorance is bliss). "I... I have a good reason, I s-swear."

You rolled onto your side and squished your tits together. Jungkook's brain seemed to implode a little, staring at your squashed breasts and hard nipples like it was the first time (even though you knew he literally sees them at least once a day).

"You're horny?"

Your voice cracked a little from sleep and you coughed to clear your throat (not sexy, but such is life).

Jungkook's shaking pupils were too busy staring at your titties. "Y-Yeah, I just woke up randomly horny as fuck, but I know how much you hate having your sleep disturbed so I was just going to edge myself a little... well, maybe finish…"

"You masturbating while touching my tits is not going to disturb me?"

"I... I've done it before..."

???????

"Uh..."

"I don't touch you very much!" Jungkook blurted, grabbing your hands. "P-Please don't be mad! I only touch you a little and always very carefully! I never try to take advantage, I'm just horny, please, please, please don't be mad!"

He grabbed you by the shoulders and hugged you tightly. You grimaced, not because of the hug (Jungkook’s hugs were top tier), but because his hard dick jammed right into your thigh and smeared a giant line of pre-cum onto your skin (a little cold and not nearly as sexy as internet smut stories make it out to be, but maybe that was because you literally woke up to Jungkook jacking off without giving you so much as an invitation, rude). You gasped and retreated a little, but that made Jungkook try to grab you tighter and his cock bent upwards and jabbed you in the lower belly.

Still leaking everywhere, by the way.

"Oh shit–"

"Look here Excalibur, I'm not the stone waiting for the king," you winced, swiping your hand across your skin and wiping it on the side of his ass (hey, it's free real estate). Jungkook yelped, letting go of you.

"Hey!"

"If you're horny, let's fuck, not joust. I don't have the proper equipment for that and I'm not an undercover Lancelot, as dope as that would be."

"I should be turned off by now," Jungkook muttered under his breath (probably cursing your poorly timed King Arthur jokes – you did have a tendency to wear your mind on your sleeve). "But I'm not because, fuck, look at this body..."

His hands were already running all over your skin and, if there was one thing Jungkook had an extra zest for, it was fucking you – all the time, twenty-four seven, rest in peace responsibilities if you ever decided to become a nudist, but thankfully you had self-control (not when it came to terrible jokes at inappropriate times though, that was your vice). However, sleepy you had less self-control and let him do whatever he wanted, running his fingers all over your chest, making you shiver and slide closer to him, rubbing your thigh against his length and he sucked in a breath, whispering your name hotly against your cheek.

"S-Stop, I'm going to get horny..."

"You're already horny," you hummed into his chin, running your fingers through his blond hair, closing your eyes again, listening to his soft moan against your cheek (he always sounded so good, so fucking sexy, it was sinful), your left hand sliding down between you both. his palms pressed into your breasts, squeezing them roughly as you cupped your hand around his length and balls (Jungkook was really warm and your hands were kind of cold, this turned out to be a win-win situation, sweet). You wound your fingers around his length with two fingers hooked around his balls, bouncing them lightly as you rubbed his velvety skin, sighing against his neck.

"Pog."

"Do not Twitch chat talk to my dick," Jungkook muttered. "Also, what kind of weak-ass handjob is this, are you just warming your cold-as-fuck fingers–" (well, shit) "–oh, fuck!"

You gripped his cock with your left hand and buried your fingers in his hair, tongue between your lips as you roughly stroked his length, making Jungkook squirm and gasp above you, jerking back. You kept your hold on him, tighter, feeling him swell and get harder, grinning, your eyes still closed, working him fast and firm.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jungkook swore repeatedly, pinching your nipples and rolling them between his fingers (damn, he was making you work to keep this smirk on your face, but it was worth), tendrils of pleasure snaking through you. You bit the side of your lip, increasing your pace, squeezing just under the head the way he liked, pre-cum pooling around the pocket of your index finger and thumb, adding lubrication.

"Stop, s-stop, I'm gonna e-explode," Jungkook moaned, planting his hands onto your tits and sinking his fingers in the softness once more (hello? where's the titty love, this ain't all about you, Jungkook).

"I like dynamite," was you answer, cracking one eye open. "Light it up."

Jungkook growled in his throat, glaring at you. "I swear to God, if you weren't so fucking hot, I'd be so fucking limp right no–aah, d-don't, oh fuuuck, please..."

You slid down the bed, switching hands, attaching your mouth to his balls (he was probably grateful for that, can't talk with a mouthful of nuts, sad) and put your breasts on his thigh, rubbing your nipples all over his hard muscle as you sucked, starting off slow, then faster and faster, one to the other, tongue all over, Jungkook loudly rambling nonsense above you (you weren't paying attention, you had a dick to jack off and some balls to rearrange with your masterful tongue) until Jungkook squealed at your firm grip on the head, cutting off his orgasm once again.

"Stop edging me," he hissed angrily above you.

You blew a raspberry on his nuts.

"A-ah, fuuuuuuuuck!"

Oh, that turned out to be more pleasurable than either you or Jungkook imagined, because his eyes were gigantic and his hips were furiously humping your hand, but you weren't holding him tight enough for him to cum. You raised your eyebrows at him and Jungkook gave you the most displeased expression he could muster (he looked cute as fuck, a complete fail), ash blond strands clinging to his forehead, nose scrunched up.

"That was for jacking off without me," you tutted.

"You would have gotten pissed if I woke you up to fuck," he pouted.

"I need beauty sleep to be beautiful."

"I hear facials actually help quite a lot."

You burst out laughing and Jungkook followed suit, his rich, full, almost wheezing laugh, until he realized you had swiped a condom from the nightstand (yup, they were casually in a little moon-shaped dish by the bed next to the chap stick and phone charger, says a lot about you two), fitted it on him, and then you sat on his dick.

"W-Wait – oooooooh, fuck!"

You waited a second for your body to adjust, forcefully stretched out by his thick girth, but it wasn't that bad when you were controlling your muscles and expecting it, so you started rocking your hips after the second, sighing in satisfaction. Jungkook's eyes rolled back into his head, his long fingers bunching up on his chest, raising his ass to get deeper with every slap of hips to hips, your body talking to his, heat rising through you, branching out your spine and to your limbs, the best kind of workout (your only workout, be honest here), clenching your core, making Jungkook snap his head back in panic, shaking his head furiously.

"I'm g-gonna cum if you keep going l-like that..."

You leaned down, brushing his hands away and spreading your fingers over his pecs, running your nails over his hard nipples. Jungkook whimpered, chewing on his lip, you turning the tempo from a fast one to a longer, slower, more complete stroke from head to base, soft ass smacking his soft balls. He looked up at you, moaning softly, pupils blown wide, rainbow shadows over his face (damn, he's pretty, eleven out of ten, for sure), gasping your name, his hands finding your forearms and caressing them, eyelashes fluttering.

"O-oh, fuck, p-please... faster... wanna cum... you're so fucking sexy... ah, fuck, wanna cum for you..."

No one could say no to that, especially not you.

You slid your arms down to the bed, right beside his head, and increased the force, intensifying it all, Jungkook's fingers flying up and holding onto your nipples, the sheer wildness of your own pace tugging and pulling on them, your breathing deepening, panting hard, wispy and hot, his name on your lips, pleasure all over, passionately fucking him into the bed, and him jutting his hips back into your soaked walls, throbbing against the tightness, so hot, fire coursing through you, your juices soaking his crotch and balls.

“Jungkook, oh, fuck, yes...”

You squeezed him hard and Jungkook thrust into you with a groan, all hardness and thickness violently burying itself into your overwhelming heat and you moaned lustfully, pussy shuddering around his wonderful cock, feeling it shiver repeatedly, his orgasm filling up the condom so much that you felt the latex stretch inside you, jarring jerks with each of Jungkook's soft cries, his head shoved into the pillows, blond hair fanning out like a halo and practically wearing out your name with how many times he was chanting it.

You reached and held down the condom as you unsheathed (the beast), collapsing against the bed and laying down, wheezing a little, greatly satisfied at your work.

"Boom."

You weakly reached up and mimed a firework with one hand.

"Like dynamite."

"Oh, my fucking God," Jungkook muttered, peeling off the condom and immediately snatching the towel next to the bed (also says a lot about you two) and another condom, yanking off the other one (trash can next to the bed already, again says – never mind, you get it) and cleaning himself off before putting on the new one. "On your back."

You rolled on your back, snickering. "Three parts dynamite, with a nitroglycerin cap–"

Jungkook clapped a hand on your mouth and it smelled a whole lot like his cum. "This is not the time to be quoting the Addams Family, you animal."

You nuzzled out of it, grinning. "I'm just saying I want an orgasm equivalent to blowing up a small house."

"Oh, you'll get it," Jungkook growled, yanking your hips to the center of the bed, pushing your legs up to your chest, almost bending you in half. "You ready?"

You bit your lip, still grinning. "Of course."

One hand left your leg and you were confused for a split second.

The next you were gasping, Jungkook rapidly smacking his hand into your clit and pussy, not hard, but constant, swift smacks that got you wetter and wetter, quivering and struggling for breath.

"J-Jungkook, oh f-fuck, Jungkook..." you whined, fingers digging into the sheets, twisting them, bouncing your hips towards him. He inhaled sharply, fitting his finger onto your clit and raising himself.

"W-wait – oh fuck!"

Jungkook chuckled and thrust into your wet warmth, rubbing your clit at the same time. Your body squirmed, trying to alleviate the sudden high rush of pleasure, but Jungkook was stronger (was this the reason he worked out? no complaints here), his free hand pressing your leg down into your chest, your other leg crammed against his shoulder, his hand snaking in between and stimulating your clit, not having to move because you were moaning helplessly, rutting against him repeatedly, pulsating all around him, so good, so good, throbs of desire against his callused fingertip, eyes rolling back. Hard cock, engorged clit worked into a frenzy, your own hips fucking him back so hard that Jungkook was moaning with you, your name tumbling out from those pink lips.

"Cum for me, fuck, you sound and look so sexy, come on, come on..."

You would have praise for him too if you could breathe, but you couldn't, pleasure so overwhelming that your eyes closed, getting there, getting so close, and Jungkook he kept going until you wailed his name, back arcing, your tits hitting your thighs, forearms taut and straining, lower body lurching towards him and leaking out slick juices all over his crotch and yours, so much so that his finger slipped and his nail nicked your clit, turning your moan into a howl of ecstasy.

"Oh, shit, are you ok–"

You grabbed his hips, ignoring whatever the fuck he was saying, and slammed him down into your pussy, making Jungkook lose his balance and put his hands on the bed, yelping, and you hissing in his face, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please, Jungkook, give me your cock, and Jungkook was saying something but your body gave no fucks, ears mysteriously broken at that specific moment, raising your hips to meet his as he sank down, Jungkook's face scrunching up and his pleas finally reaching your ears.

"H-Hold on, I want to last, stop, stop, stop..."

"Who cares about that, I need dick," was your very impatient response, but Jungkook grabbed your thighs and pinned you down, stopping you and him from moving, you whining and clenching around him.

"This is not p–"

Jungkook immediately fitted his hand over your mouth, narrowing his eyes at you. "No. Bad. Shush."

(How did he know you were going to say 'this is not poggers'?)

You wiggled your ass and Jungkook growled, pulling out and slamming back in, not fast, but powerful, cock getting harder and harder with your whines and cries behind his palm.

"This is what you need," he panted, deep and gravelly, one hand on the bed and one on your mouth, fucking you so hard that your ass was bouncing on the bed, creating a wet spot on the sheets with how drenched you were for Jungkook's lust-filled, husky voice. "Need me to fuck you silent, fuck, you're so tight and wet, come on, cum for me, cum for me, you sexy, sexy woman..."

Your body was already complying, pleasure wrapping all around, body so hot from the fire within, tongue pressed against his palm, moaning lewdly around his fingers as you came again, and he was so hard, fuck, Jungkook was so fucking hard right after he woke up, always, (a fucking mystery and eighth wonder of the world and your pussy was thoroughly investigating), so deep and so thick, your muscles clutching him tight, sucking him back in. His fingers separated a little, loosening his grip, and you heard your needy whimper mildly muffled by his digits.

"You're so good Jungkook, I love you, fuck, I love your cock, Jungkook..."

You looked up into his eyes, at his long hair hanging around his face, jaw clenched, smirking as he saw your gaze, biting the side of his lips in concentration.

"I love you too," he breathed. "You're the sexiest, most beautiful woman in the world."

You clamped around him and Jungkook groaned, eyelids fluttering, grunting as he forcefully thrust into you, your name mixed with a moan as he came again, fully sheathing himself in your quivering, abused heat, warm pulses soothing him and you all over. The sheets stuck to your ass, covered in your sweet-smelling cum.

(Good thing that was on his side of the bed.)

His hand glided up your face, pushing back your hair, shuddering as he rutted into your core a few more times, savoring your tightness.

"You alright, my dude?" you whispered nonchalantly, gasping slightly.

Jungkook cracked one eye open. "Yeah, I'm fucking fantastic, bro."

"Pog-"

Jungkook shoved two fingers into your mouth and you choked a little, pouting around his fingers (you weren't surprised though, you knew it was coming).

"I will whip this dick out and slap you in the face with it."

"That's kinda nasty, but also sounds kinda hot," you gargled around his fingers.

"... You're right. Damn, he's asleep. Shit."

Jungkook pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the towel, frowning as he glanced down.

"Only him and not us, something seems a little inverted here."

Jungkook chuckled and leaned down to kiss you (another reason why he was the perfect partner, still being affectionate, regardless of your loony antics).

"I love you."

in which you anger jjk by being annoying - wait, that’s every day well, he still wants to bang you counter point

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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