#but his softness is not without rough edges | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oopsiedaisydeer · 3 days ago

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ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴘᴜᴘᴘʏ, ɴᴏᴡ ᴅʀᴏᴘ ɪᴛ

…𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵

smut, puppy play, roughdom!chris, slight degradation, softdom!matt, oral sex (m!receiving and f!receiving), rough sex, slight daddy/sir kink, bdsm, roleplay, minor choking, use of belt as collar, consent is given but with power dynamics, humiliation, tension, multiple partners

PLEASE read at your own discretion and PLEASE do research if u want to get this kind of freaky !! consent is sexy !! stay safe everyone:>

inspired by @theyluvivi bunny!matt and puppy!chris <3

word count - 2k

She’s curled up between them, knees pressed together, hands twitching against her thighs. Eager. Waiting.

Matt hums beside her, dragging a slow, lazy hand over her shoulder, his touch light enough to make her shiver. “Good puppy,” he murmurs, voice smooth, measured, like he’s rewarding her for simply sitting still. “So good for us.”

Chris scoffs from the other side, sprawled out like he has all the time in the world. “For now,” he mutters, tipping his head, watching her with something sharp in his eyes. His fingers brush over her knee, then press down, spreading her legs apart just enough to make her react.

“Chris,” Matt warns, but it’s barely a reprimand. Like he’s amused. Like he expected this.

Chris only smirks. “What? Puppy likes it.” His fingers trail higher, featherlight. Teasing. He stops just before it gets to be too much, pulling away like it’s nothing. Like she’s not already on edge.

She exhales, letting out a soft whine, shifting the tiniest bit closer to Matt without meaning to. And Matt notices. Of course, he notices. His lips quirk like he’s trying not to smile.

“Needy little thing,” he muses, fingers tilting her chin, making her look at him. “We don’t have to rush, sweet puppy.”

Chris laughs, low and lazy. “Oh, but she wants to.”

Her breath catches. Matt’s thumb strokes over her jaw, slow.

“Come here,” Matt murmurs, tugging her forward, guiding her easily like he knows she’ll listen. She barely has time to react before Chris grips her waist from behind, pulling her into his lap with a rough little chuckle.

She nuzzles into his touch, her body arching instinctively, a soft groan escaping her.

“Good puppies wait their turn,” Chris says, voice full of something dark and amused. His hands grip her hips, holding her still even as she squirms.

Matt watches with something warm in his gaze, but there’s a challenge there, too. “You gonna listen, pup?”

Chris’s fingers tighten just enough to make her whine. “Or do we need to train you a little more?”

Her whole body tenses at that, heat creeping up her neck, because the way they say it… like it’s not even a question, like they already know the answer… makes her stomach flip. She presses her lips together, trying to stay still, trying to be good. But Chris notices the hesitation, the way she twitches slightly, barely resisting the urge to move.

“Tsk tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “Already disobeying?” His grip shifts, his fingers pressing into the softness of her thighs as he leans in closer, voice dipping lower, rougher. “Bad puppy.”

Matt sighs, but it’s not disappointment. It’s expectation. Like he knew she wouldn’t last long. His hand comes up to smooth over her cheek, fingers grazing the corner of her lips. “Is that true, sweetheart?” he asks, voice deceptively soft. “Are you being bad?”

“Nuh uh”, she shakes her head, wide-eyed, but Matt only hums, unconvinced.

Chris, on the other hand, scoffs. “Lying, too? Definitely bad.” He shifts beneath her, his thigh pressing up just enough to make her gasp. “Maybe we should put you on all fours, see if you behave better that way.”

Matt’s fingers tighten under her chin, keeping her still as he considers. “Hmm.” His thumb ghosts over her bottom lip, pressing just enough to make her part her mouth. “Or maybe she just needs something to keep her mouth busy.”

Chris grins, slow and sharp. “Such a naughty puppy,” he murmurs, tilting her head toward him. He adjusts her on his lap before reaching underneath his t-shirt to his waist, undoing his belt and pulling it out of his belt loops.

She gets visibly excited, smiling and opening her mouth, panting slightly. Chris just smirks.

Matt chuckles from the other side, while Chris’ eyes are sharp, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re so excited, puppy,” Matt comments, voice low, almost teasing. His fingers brush along her arm, making her tense. “She’s already lost, huh Chris?” he adds with a quiet laugh, leaning in, voice dangerously sweet.

“She’s such a bad puppy. Never listens. Never learns.” Chris taunts.

Her whole body freezes at the sound of his voice, but Matt’s hand on her shoulder is grounding. “Wait,” Matt says softly, his tone reassuring, firm but kind. “Stay calm, girl.”

But Chris doesn’t share the same patience. His fingers trail down her side, pressing just enough to make her flinch. “Sit,” he orders, voice rougher, commanding. “I said sit, puppy. And stay.”

Her eyes glisten as she obeys, her body almost vibrating with excitement. As she lowers herself, her cheeks flush, she feels the heat of both their gazes on her. Chris takes the belt and twists it into a loose open sem-circle, reaching it around her neck in one movement. Her body stiffens for just a moment, but the next moment, she’s all soft, letting herself melt into his touch.

“You’re so obedient when you want to be,” he murmurs and then he smirks, proud of himself. “We gotta get you a real collar, puppy.”

“That’s right,” Matt coos, stroking her hair. “Can’t have you running off. But you’re loyal aren’t you?” She tilts her head into his hand, seeking more affection.

Chris tightens the belt around her neck, just tight enough for her to feel a light pressure, but in no way restricting her breathing. “Such a pathetic puppy. You’d do anything for a treat, wouldn’t you?”

She nods eagerly, her breath catching as she looks up at him, eyes full of need.

Slowly, teasingly, Chris undoes his jeans, pulling them down. The stiff outline of his cock through his boxers makes her mouth water, and she hungrily looks between his lap and face, desperate for any kind of permission.

“Go on, pup.” He says the name mockingly, pulling her slightly forward by the belt. “Play with your toy.”

Chris grins wickedly as he puts his fingers around the belt around her neck, the leather digging into her skin just enough to send a thrill through her. He pulls her closer, until her face is inches from his hardening cock, straining against his boxers.

She tilts her head, a soft, submissive “yes, please” slipping from her lips. Matt and Chris observe the way her hands tremble slightly, reaching out. It’s all the permission they need for the rest of the night.

“Open wide, puppy,” Chris growls, his voice dripping with lust and dominance. “Show me how eager you are.”

Matt watches intently, his own erection visible through his jeans as he reaches out to stroke her hair soothingly. “Easy now, girl,” he murmurs, but there’s a hint of excitement in his tone.

“You want this, don’t you?” Chris taunts, his fingers pulling his boxers down. A soft whimper escapes her before she can stop it. “Want to taste daddy’s cock?”

She nods eagerly, offering Chris her best puppy dog eyes. She reaches out tentatively, barely containing her enthusiasm, before wrapping both her hand around his dick, thumb moving ever so lightly.

Chris yanks her away by the makeshift collar. “Uh uh, be a good puppy. Drop it.” She whines, reaching out, but Chris swipes away her hands.

A warm smile spread across Matt’s face, enjoying the sight of her desperation. “That’s our good girl. So hungry for it.” His hand slides down to massage her breast through her shirt. “Go on then, puppy. Show us what that pretty mouth can do.”

Matt’s other hand tangles in her hair, gripping tightly as he guides her face closer to Chris's exposed cock. “What do you say? Think our pet deserves a taste?”

Chris smirks cruelly, fisting his hand in her hair and forcing her to look up at him. “Only if you get it nice and wet for me, okay? Then maybe I’ll let Matt give you a treat too.”

She nods once more, feeling heat flood to her core. With a mischievous smile, she tilted her head, lightly nuzzling against each of their hands. “Please. I want to be your good girl. Please master. Please sir,” she teased softly, as she met their gazes with a playful twinkle in her eye.

Matt and Chris waste no more time, together pushing her head onto the latter’s exposed cock, immediately forcing her to deepthroat it. She sputters and gags, spit immediately drooling all over the thick member.

Chris groans in pleasure as her hot mouth envelops his throbbing cock, her gagging only serving to heighten his arousal. He thrusts gently, not yet fully sheathing himself in her tight throat. As she begins to adjust, she licks furiously all over it, lapping up the precum leaking from the tip.

“That's it, take it,” Chris praises, his grip on her hair tightening. “Fuck, puppy, your mouth feels so good. Look at how eager you are, little one.”

Matt watches, transfixed, as she struggles to breathe around Chris's girth. A shiver runs down his spine at the sight of his brother’s cock disappearing into her willing mouth. He releases her breast to trail his fingers down her back, giving her ass a firm squeeze.

“So obedient, so eager to please,” Matt murmurs, his own erection straining painfully against his zipper. “I think our pet deserves a reward.”

Without warning, Matt drops to his knees behind her, yanking her hips back and pulling her shorts down to present herself to him. He buries his face between her thighs, kissing along the backs of them before his tongue delves into her soaked pussy. No hesitation.

“Mmm, so fucking wet. Attagirl pup,” Matt moans against her slick folds, his nose pressing into her clit as he licks and sucks greedily. “Can never get enough of your sweet pussy.”

Matt laps at her dripping slit, savouring her taste as he brings her closer and closer to the edge. His fingers dig into her soft flesh, holding her in place as he devours her pussy like a starving man.

Her legs already start to tremble, her knees nearly buckling as Chris continues to relentlessly facefuck her, his cock slamming into the back of her throat over and over. The dual assault has her seeing stars, her mind foggy with pleasure. With renewed vigor, Matt suckles on her throbbing clit, his fingers probing her slick entrance. He curls them just right, finding the spot that makes her whole body seize up, a whine escaping her.

Matt lavishes attention on her quivering hole, his skilled tongue driving her wild with ecstasy. He hums in approval as she squirms and mewls beneath him, her sweet cum coating his chin. “You going to come for us, puppy?” Matt coaxes, his fingers finding her sensitive clit and rubbing in time with his devouring mouth. “C’mon, puppy. Let go, we’ve got you.”

With a dog-like whine, her body seizes, her orgasm rapidly crashing over her in waves of intense bliss. Matt drinks down every drop of her release, his tongue working overtime to prolong her pleasure, his own cock throbbing in time with her spasms.

As she floats down from her high, Chris finally pulls out of her mouth, leaving her gasping for air. His release coats her chin, and her own release drips down her thighs. He gives her hair a rough tug, forcing her to look up at him even though she’s wrecked from being on all fours for so long.

“You were such a loud puppy. Woke the whole neighbourhood up.” He undos the belt on her neck, but still holds it there. “Bad puppies don’t get anymore.”

She whimpers desperately, but Chris is already standing up, walking away, belt in hand, leaving her with her other master.

Matt helps her into his lap, and lets her lick and kiss at his neck as he pets her.

“It’s okay puppy. You were such a good girl for us today. Always such a good girl, aren’t you?”

creds to rose for the dividers!! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: um. chat. listen.

taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @hazedsturns @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @sturniolo101 @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova

till next time !

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moongirlcleo · 3 days ago

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Fallen

❤︎ tags and content: fallen angel, rough sex, slight?virginity(bc he's an angel ya know) ❤︎ author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo

You weren’t supposed to see him. He wasn’t supposed to want you.

Yet, night after night, Caleb watched from the shadows—an angel bound by duty, tethered to a divinity that no longer felt like salvation. You were a temptation he swore he would resist, a fleeting mortal he was never meant to touch. But some choices are made long before they ever reach the tongue, and the moment you met his gaze, he knew. His fall was inevitable.

Now, stripped of his grace, wings sullied by the weight of his own desire, he is no longer bound to the heavens—only to you. And when he touches you for the first time, he is not gentle. He is starving.

The dream unfolds in silence, vast and unbroken, cradling you in a space that feels neither real nor false, but something suspended between the two. The world around you is vast yet formless, a place without sky, without ground, without anything but the sensation of being. There is no cold, no warmth, only a quiet, weightless stillness that presses against your skin like the memory of an embrace.

Golden light spills across the horizon—or what you assume to be a horizon—rolling over the distance like a tide, shifting and restless, unbound by direction or form. The glow isn’t harsh, nor is it the blinding brilliance of midday sun, but something softer, richer, as though the entire world has been wrapped in the last aching moments of twilight. It paints everything it touches in gold and fire, in something otherworldly, something beyond human understanding.

That’s when you see him.

Not as an approaching figure, not as a sudden presence disrupting the quiet, but as though he has always been there, waiting beyond the edges of your perception, unnoticed until your eyes settle on him. He stands amidst the golden glow, his body half-draped in it, his presence so seamless that for a moment, he seems carved from the light itself.

The first thing you notice is his face—sharp, striking, cut from a kind of beauty that feels almost painful to look at, as though the world itself had shaped him with too much precision, too much care. His skin is pale, a shade caught between marble and moonlight, untouched by imperfection, yet far from delicate. His expression, unreadable yet impossibly calm, carries a weight that you cannot name, something ancient and solemn resting beneath the surface.

His eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, are a deep shade of amethyst—rich and endless, shifting between dusk and violet flame. They are steady, unblinking, watching you with a focus so absolute that it feels like a tangible thing, wrapping around you, holding you in place even when nothing else does. They glow faintly in the golden haze, an unnatural, breathtaking contrast against the warm light surrounding him.

His hair, dark as tempered mahogany, falls around him in soft waves, longer than you expect, tousled as though touched by hands that never should have touched him. Strands catch the glow, kissed at the edges by something almost auburn, though the depth of its darkness remains untouched by the radiance around him.

And his wings—

They are massive, stretching far beyond what should be possible, a brilliant cascade of white and gold feathers that shimmer where the light touches them. Each one is flawless, arranged with a precision that makes them seem sculpted rather than real, yet there is no doubt that they are his, that they belong to him as much as breath belongs to lungs. They move in slow, deliberate shifts, subtle twitches that send ripples through the sea of feathers, as though even in stillness, they carry the weight of something immense.

Despite the sheer enormity of him, the way his presence seems to fill the entire space, you do not feel fear. There is no instinct screaming at you to run, no shadow of doubt curling at the edges of your thoughts, only the overwhelming certainty that you are safe here.

And yet, even as safety settles over your skin, something else lingers beneath it—something deeper, something just beyond your reach, curling at the edges of your awareness like the first stirrings of a storm. It is not danger, not exactly, but an intensity you cannot define, a pull that tugs at the center of your chest, quiet yet insistent, as if your very soul is responding to something unseen.

He does not move, not at first, only watches, gaze steady, expression unreadable. The silence between you stretches, thick and unbroken, but it is not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels purposeful, as though something unspoken is being exchanged, something vast and quiet passing between you without the need for words.

Finally, as if the weight of the moment has shifted just enough, his lips part, and his voice reaches you—not loud, not sharp, but something low and steady, woven with a softness that contradicts the sheer power of the being before you.

“You should not be here.”

The words are not spoken as a warning, nor do they carry the sharp edge of command, yet something in them settles deep in your chest, a statement of truth rather than a demand.

You should not be here.

And yet, you are.

Your lips part, a question forming on the tip of your tongue, but before you can speak, something shifts. The golden light flickers, just slightly, the glow trembling as though something unseen has disturbed it. It is the smallest change, barely perceptible, but you feel it.

His amethyst gaze flickers—just a breath, just the briefest moment of something almost uncertain—before his wings shift, folding in ever so slightly, as if shielding something unseen.

The pull at your chest deepens, sharpens, turning from a whisper into something demanding.

You take a step forward.

His eyes widen—only slightly, only just enough for you to catch it—but before you can take another breath, the dream begins to dissolve. The golden light trembles, curling at the edges of your vision, and the weightlessness around you turns unsteady, slipping away like sand between your fingers.

You try to hold onto it, to hold onto him, but the dream is already pulling apart, unraveling into nothingness—

And then you wake.

The world of the waking rushes in too fast, too sudden, the cool air of your room a stark contrast to the warmth you had just been wrapped in. Your pulse is uneven, your breath unsteady, and even as your eyes adjust to the dim glow of reality, one thing remains crystal clear—

You remember everything.

Not a hazy dream, not a fleeting image, but him. His face, his voice, the impossible weight of his presence—

And the way it felt like he had been waiting for you.

<hr>

Sleep had been deep, heavy, wrapping around you like a second skin, but something stirred at the edges of it—an awareness, quiet at first, like a whisper against the grain of your mind. A presence. It wasn’t a noise that woke you, nor a sudden jolt, but the distinct and unshakable feeling that you were being watched.

Your breath came slow as your senses adjusted, the darkness of your room still thick with the remnants of sleep. The weight of your blankets was familiar, the air still touched with the lingering warmth of your own body, and yet—

Something was wrong.

The air was heavier, thicker, as if space itself had been altered, the atmosphere laced with something unseen, something felt rather than noticed. A slow, creeping awareness prickled along your skin, a pull at the center of your chest like a silent demand to look.

So you did.

Your eyes opened, adjusting to the dim glow of the night, and for a moment, nothing seemed out of place. The room was the same—your bed, the faint sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains, the outline of your dresser against the far wall. But there, at the edge of shadow and light, standing near the foot of your bed—

He was there.

A figure, tall and unmoving, half-shrouded in darkness but unmistakably real. He was watching you, his presence filling the space in a way that made the walls feel smaller, the air thicker, a presence too vast to be contained within something as simple as a room.

Even before your eyes adjusted fully, you knew it was him.

Not a figment of a dream. Not a lingering memory slipping between the cracks of consciousness. He was here, standing in the waking world, no longer confined to the golden haze of sleep.

Your pulse jumped, breath catching in your throat, but not in fear—not entirely. The reaction wasn’t one of panic, not the kind that sent limbs thrashing and instincts screaming. It was something else, something deeper, an understanding that hadn’t fully formed but already took root inside you.

He had been waiting.

The moonlight caught on his features as your vision sharpened, illuminating the sharp lines of his face, the way his dark waves framed his striking features. His expression was unreadable, those deep amethyst eyes steady, locked onto yours with an intensity that didn’t waver.

He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken.

But he was watching.

A slow exhale left your lips, barely audible against the stillness, as you forced your voice to steady.

“…Caleb.”

His name came like a breath, slipping between parted lips before you could think to question how you knew it so certainly, how it felt like it had always belonged to you, like it was something your soul had known long before your mind could catch up.

His eyes flickered—just barely, just enough for something unreadable to shift behind them. But he did not speak, did not react beyond the slight tension in his shoulders, the barely-there flex of his fingers at his sides.

Your heart pounded harder. The weight of his presence pressed against you like a force just outside of understanding, but you weren’t drowning in it—you were drawn to it, inexplicably, dangerously.

Your voice was quieter this time, softer, threaded with something you weren’t sure you wanted to name.

“…Why are you here?”

A pause, thick and weighted, stretching long between you, as though the very air had to decide whether or not it would allow him to answer.

When he did, his voice was low, steady, impossibly soft but filled with something vast beneath the surface.

“…You saw me.”

His words sent something curling in your stomach, an unspoken truth lingering between them.

You had seen him.

Not just now, not just standing at the foot of your bed like an impossibility made real, but before. In the dreams, in the golden light, in the places where reality blurred and something deeper called out from beyond the veil of knowing.

Your breath shuddered.

“Was that real?”

The question left you before you could stop it, before you could weigh the logic of it, but Caleb didn’t look surprised. If anything, there was something else in his expression now, something carefully contained, unreadable but heavy.

His gaze held yours for a moment longer, long enough for the silence to stretch until it became something alive, something breathing between you.

Then—

A single step. Not rushed, not hesitant, just deliberate. The space between you lessened, and in the dim light, you caught the way his wings moved—just slightly, just enough for the faintest shimmer of white and gold to shift behind him, confirming what you already knew. Not a dream. Not a phantom of your subconscious.

Caleb was here. Real.

And as he stood before you, as his presence filled the air in a way that made it impossible to breathe without feeling him—

The silence between you pressed down, thick and aching, the kind that didn’t just settle over the room but wound itself around your ribs, squeezing with the weight of something unspoken. Caleb stood before you, his body still, his expression unreadable, but his presence—his presence—was a storm barely held at bay.

You could feel it.

Something vast, something breaking apart beneath the surface, something he wasn’t saying but couldn’t quite contain. His amethyst eyes, impossibly deep, remained locked onto yours, but there was something different now, something frayed at the edges, as if he were only just realizing that this moment—this collision between you—had already shifted the world beneath his feet.

You swallowed, breath unsteady but refusing to look away.

“Caleb,” you murmured again, his name slipping from your lips like a tether, like if you said it enough, he would stay.

His expression flickered—just for a second, just enough for something almost pained to slip through the cracks before his gaze dropped, his shoulders shifting under an invisible weight. His wings moved behind him, feathers rustling ever so slightly, restless, unsure.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before, low and strained, as if saying the words alone was an act of defiance against something greater than either of you.

“…I should not be here.”

The statement was soft, but it landed with the force of something final, something meant to sever the moment before it could take root. But there was no conviction in his voice, no certainty—only a quiet, bitter resignation, as though the words themselves were nothing more than a lie he had told himself one too many times.

You sat up further, pulse thrumming against your skin, searching his face for something—anything—that might explain what this was, what he was.

But Caleb was already taking a step back.

The movement was slow, measured, like it took effort, like something unseen was trying to hold him in place even as he forced himself to retreat. His eyes lifted to yours once more, and this time, they were unmistakably sad—a sorrow so deep, so worn, that it didn’t feel like it belonged to this moment alone, but to something far older, something that had been unraveling long before this night.

The distance between you stretched.

He turned. Your breath caught. He was leaving.

And yet—

At the threshold of your room, just as the shadows curled at the edges of his presence, he stopped. His head tilted slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear, and his fingers flexed at his sides, tension running through him like a barely restrained tremor. Then, in a voice softer than the sigh of wind through dying leaves, he spoke.

“…I’ll be back.”

The words came quiet but heavy, filled with something that didn’t belong to choice, something that had already been decided long before he had ever stepped into your world. His gaze flickered to yours, and for the first time, he let the truth bleed into his expression—let you see it, let it settle between you like a weight that could never be lifted.

“I have no choice anymore.”

His wings shifted, golden light flickering at the edges where they met shadow, and his voice dropped lower, something final curling at the edges of it.

“…I’ve fallen.”

The next breath he took—slow, unsteady—felt like a confession, like an acceptance of something he had been fighting against for far too long. His gaze softened, and for a single, fragile moment, it looked as though he might say something else, something that could have changed everything. Caleb stepped back, and the space where he had been was empty.

No sound, no flicker of movement. Just the quiet aftermath of something vast and terrible that had just slipped away.

You were alone.

And yet, the last thing he had said clung to the air like a ghost, curling around you, pressing into your chest like something that refused to be forgotten.

He had fallen. What did that mean? Was that why he kept appearing in your dreams night after night?

<hr>

For seven days, the room had felt empty.

No shadows stretching where they shouldn’t, no flickers of light bending against something unseen, no silent weight pressing against your skin like a presence just outside of reach. You told yourself it had only been a dream, that you had woken to nothing but the remnants of sleep clinging to your thoughts, that the warmth lingering in the air that night had been imagined—

But the truth curled at the edges of your consciousness like an echo that refused to fade. You had not imagined him. You had not imagined the way his amethyst eyes had locked onto yours, the way sorrow had laced through his voice, nor the quiet, devastating certainty in his parting words.

I’ll be back.

And so, you waited. You told yourself you weren’t, that life moved forward as it always had, that you weren’t lingering by your window late into the night, weren’t straining your senses for something just beyond the veil of knowing, weren’t reaching for a presence that should not exist.

You felt it before you saw him.

The shift in the air, the way the space around you seemed to tighten, how the night pressed in closer, thick and electric with something unseen. The hairs on the back of your neck rose, anticipation curling into something deep, something primal, something that sent heat trickling down your spine in a slow, curling ache.

Then—he was there.

Not a flicker, not a gradual materialization, but a sudden, jarring presence—a figure standing at the threshold of your room, shadowed against the dim glow of the city lights bleeding through the window, tall and unmoving, shoulders stiff, wings half-spread as though caught in the throes of hesitation.

But his eyes.

Dark lashes framed them, but they burned in the low light, deep violet streaked with something feverish, something that sent a slow pulse of heat curling low in your stomach. The moment you met his gaze, the breath in your chest stilled, the world narrowing down to nothing but the space between you, and the way the air itself shuddered under the weight of his presence.

You swallowed, fingers curling into the sheets as you pushed yourself up, words forming on your tongue but catching before they could take shape—because he looked different.

Pale skin stretched taut over sharp features, shadows lingering beneath his eyes, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths, as though every movement was something deliberate, something painful. His hair, dark waves curling messily around his face, looked unkempt, as though fingers had raked through it over and over, restless, desperate.

And then there was the way he stared at you. Like he was starving. Like he had been dying without you. Like he had spent every waking moment since he left aching for something he could not name, could not reach, could not have—until now.

"Caleb," you murmured, barely a whisper, barely a breath, but the sound of his name seemed to wreck him.

A sharp inhale, his fingers twitching at his sides, his wings giving a single, shuddering tremor before, suddenly—

He moved.

Fast. Fluid. A blur of motion that sent the air curling around you, and then his hands were on you—gripping, trembling—as he crashed into you, his mouth devouring yours in something frantic, something shattered.

Heat exploded through your body the moment his lips met yours, desperate and hungry, nothing careful about the way he kissed you, as though restraint had long since crumbled, as though seven days had left him nothing but hunger and he was breaking apart beneath it.

His hands cupped your face, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorize the shape of you, like he was afraid you would slip through his grasp if he did not hold tight enough. His breath came ragged between kisses, deep, uneven, like he had spent an eternity without air and you were the only thing that could bring him back.

Your fingers twisted into the fabric of his toga, pulling him closer, because it wasn’t enough—it would never be enough. The press of his body, the sharp line of his jaw grazing against your skin, the way he groaned into your mouth when your hands moved over his chest, gripping at him, clawing at him, wanting him just as much as he wanted you.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, but his forehead remained pressed to yours, his breath hot and shaking against your lips.

"I choose this," he whispered, voice thick, raw, as though the words were tearing through him, desperate to be spoken. "I choose Earth. I choose—"

His lips brushed against yours again, barely a kiss, barely a breath, before he exhaled, voice breaking around the words that left him ruined.

"I choose you."

A sound left you—something quiet, something wrecked—because there was nothing left between you now, no veil, no barrier, no whispered uncertainty.

Caleb’s breath was ragged, uneven, the weight of his body pressing into you like he could sink into you, like he could lose himself in the warmth of your skin and finally, finally forget the eternity of restraint that had left him hollow.

His lips ghosted over yours, a whisper of heat, not quite a kiss but something worse, something unbearable, something pleading.

“Say it,” he rasped, his voice nothing but velvet and ruin, his fingers tightening at your waist, sinking into the fabric of your clothes as though he was already memorizing how you felt beneath him. “Say that you want this.”

As if you hadn’t already answered him in the way you clung to him, the way your fingers had tangled in the mess of his dark waves, the way your body arched into his as though it had been waiting for him longer than time itself.

“I want this,” you whispered, breathless, no hesitation, no doubt, no second thoughts—only the truth that had burned between you since the moment he first touched you.

Caleb exhaled sharply, a sound that was almost a groan, half pained, half something darker, something that sent fire curling low in your stomach before his mouth finally crashed against yours.

The kiss was deep, consuming, desperate, as though he had been starving for you, as though this was something he had been denying himself for far too long, and now there was no restraint left—no divinity, no rules, no god above to command him to stop.

His hands roamed your body, reverent yet claiming, his touch burning into you as though he was trying to carve himself into your very bones. His fingers curled into your hips, dragging you against him, letting you feel exactly what you had done to him, how wrecked he was from just a week away from you.

His teeth caught at your bottom lip, a low, guttural sound slipping from his throat when you gasped against his mouth, and something in him snapped.

The world tilted.

You barely had time to gasp before you were beneath him, his wings unfurled in a sudden movement, blocking out the dim light, making the entire world feel smaller, like there was nothing beyond this—beyond him.

“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, the word barely a breath, barely spoken, but thick with something dangerous, something that had no return. His mouth trailed lower, the sharp edge of his jaw grazing against your throat, the heat of his breath sending shivers racing down your spine before—

A kiss.

There. Right at the pulse point, right where your heartbeat was the strongest, where he could feel the life pulsing beneath your skin.And then another. Softer. Lingering. His teeth, scraping, testing, marking, as though the last fragments of his restraint were slipping away with every inch of you he devoured.

“Caleb,” you gasped, nails digging into his back, catching on the smooth, impossibly soft feathers of his wings, and that single, accidental touch was his undoing.

He shuddered, his entire body tensing, his breath shaking against your skin before he groaned, low and wrecked, pressing himself harder against you like he could merge you together, like the separation between your bodies was something intolerable.

“I should have stayed away,” he muttered, a confession that meant nothing when his hands were already tugging at your clothes, already sliding against bare skin with a reverence that felt nothing like regret. “I should have—”

You cut him off with a kiss, dragging him back to you, deepening it until he whimpered against your mouth. And that was it. That was the moment restraint became nothing. Caleb took. His lips, his hands, his body, all of it pressing, claiming, his mouth worshipping your skin like he had prayed to touch you and had finally been granted permission. His hands were rough, shaking slightly, fingertips pressing bruises into your hips, dragging you against him, chasing the friction, needing you the way he needed air. He kissed you like you were the first thing he had ever wanted—like this was the reason he had fallen, like this was what he had chosen.

And when his lips met your throat again, when he moaned against your skin, when his teeth grazed in warning before he sucked.

Caleb’s breath burned against your skin, each exhale ragged, uneven, pressing heat into your throat as if he could brand himself into you without even touching. His body was tense, muscles coiled with restraint that frayed at the edges, his hands gripping you with a desperation that barely masked the way he trembled, the way his control unraveled the longer he stayed pressed against you. His mouth traced along your jaw, slow but aching, as though he wanted to memorize every inch, as though this was the last prayer left to him.

Fingers twisted in his hair, dark waves curling between your knuckles, and when you tugged, he shuddered against you, a quiet groan slipping past his lips, something low and wrecked, something that made heat coil deep in your stomach. His wings trembled behind him, those impossibly soft feathers brushing against your arms, grazing your skin like a whisper of divinity still clinging to him despite his fall.

But there was nothing divine in the way his thigh pressed between yours, nothing celestial about the slow, deliberate way he rocked against you, his breath stuttering as he felt what he had done to you, what he had become for you. Every shift of his body was careful, every movement reverent but possessive, as if he had spent an eternity starving for this moment and was only just realizing he could have it.

The bed loomed behind you, close enough to reach, a silent promise wrapped in darkness, but Caleb made no move toward it. He was still here, still tracing his lips over your skin, still devouring you in slow, unhurried strokes of his hands, like he wanted to savor the suffering of restraint a little longer.

He wasn’t rushing.

He was surrendering.

His lips hovered over yours, breath warm, unsteady, the smallest space separating you as he murmured your name, voice fractured at the edges, thick with something you weren’t sure he had the strength to hold back any longer.

“The bed,” you whispered, the words barely spoken, barely a breath, but they shattered something between you, breaking the last fragile thread of distance still holding him together.

Caleb went still, his chest pressing against yours, fingers curling tighter at your waist, nails digging into fabric, knuckles taut with the unbearable need to move, to take, to claim. A slow inhale dragged through his lungs, his forehead resting against yours, his body caging you in as if trying to resist, but you knew—

He had no restraint left.

His arms tightened around you in a single, fluid motion, one curling beneath your legs, the other pressing against the small of your back, the movement effortless, strength barely contained as he lifted you from the ground. It should have felt sudden, should have caught you off guard, but the moment you felt yourself being carried, the moment your body was pressed against his, the moment his grip tightened—

It felt inevitable.

The world tilted, warmth surrounding you, the soft sheets of your bed pressing against your back as Caleb followed, never letting you go, never releasing his hold. His wings unfurled in a sweeping arc, stretching wide before folding inward, curling around the two of you as if to shield this moment, as if to keep it untouched, sacred, belonging to only you and him.

He hovered above you, breath labored, eyes dark with something unrelenting, something that made your stomach tighten as his gaze raked over you, as if he were seeing you for the first time, as if this was the moment he truly understood what he had given up, what he had chosen. His hands framed your face, reverent, shaking slightly as his thumb traced over your cheek, his weight pressing into you, every part of him demanding something he hadn’t yet put to words.

“I choose this,” he whispered, voice quiet but sure, breaking around the words like they carried too much weight for his mortal tongue to bear. His fingers slid down the length of your arm, warm, grounding, lacing between your own as he pinned your hands to the bed, his grip firm, possessive, desperate. “I choose you.”

His lips met yours again, but this time, there was no hesitation.

There was no lingering restraint, no careful exploration, only hunger—only a week of distance crashing into him all at once, the pent-up ache of denial finally breaking free. He kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, like this was what he had fallen for, like he had no regrets, no doubts, only the certainty that he had given up everything for this moment, and he would do it again.

His body pressed against yours, the heat of him sinking into your skin, the weight of his presence consuming every sense, and when his mouth moved lower, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, lingering where your pulse pounded, his breath trembled with something wrecked.

This wasn’t just desire. This was devotion.

This was the moment he stopped being something fallen and started being something yours.

The moment restraint snapped, Caleb’s hands were on you, tearing at the fabric between you with an urgency that felt centuries old, as though he had spent lifetimes denying himself and could not bear another second of distance. The heat of his body pressed into yours, a brand, a claim, his fingers rough in their haste but reverent in the way they traced over bare skin, like each inch of you was something sacred.

His mouth was everywhere. Lips bruising against yours, breath ragged as he swallowed every sound you made, as though devouring your surrender. The drag of his teeth against your throat sent a shudder racing through you, a low sound escaping him when your fingers tangled into his hair, gripping, pulling, making him groan into your skin. His wings flexed, stretching wide, then folding around you, blocking out the world, caging you beneath him in a way that felt like both protection and possession.

The clothes between you were gone too fast, discarded with a desperation that spoke of need, of something too long denied, his hands skating over every newly exposed inch of skin as if memorizing, mapping, worshiping with each touch. When his palms slid down the curves of your waist, down your hips, fingers digging in as he pulled you flush against him, you felt him—felt the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained shaking of his body as he tried to pace himself, to savor, to breathe.

But patience was a fragile thing, and Caleb had none left.

His lips crashed against yours once more, tongue teasing, demanding, his body pressing you deeper into the sheets as his hips aligned with yours, a sharp gasp slipping free when he rolled against you, slow but intentional, letting you feel every inch of what he had been holding back. His forehead pressed to yours, breath hot, uneven, his voice nothing more than a whisper laced with devotion and something darker, something possessive.

“You have no idea,” he rasped, words broken between heavy exhales, his fingers tightening on your hips, holding you steady as he ground against you again, eliciting a quiet, breathless sound from your lips that made his restraint fray even further. “How long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”

The desperation in his voice sent fire curling in your stomach, every nerve alight, the heat between you unbearable as he finally, finally moved in the way you both needed.

The first thrust stole your breath, sent a shudder through every inch of your body, his head dipping to the crook of your neck as he groaned, low and wrecked, his grip bruising as he held himself there, deep, still, feeling you, as if even a second without movement was agony. His wings trembled, his body tense, but the moment you tightened around him, gasping his name, something in him snapped.

He pulled back, then drove into you again, rougher this time, deeper, a shuddering exhale leaving him at the way you responded, the way your body welcomed him. His pace became relentless, his hands gripping at you like he was afraid to let go, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, up your throat, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he groaned your name like a prayer.

“This is why I fell,” he whispered between ragged breaths, his body moving against yours in a rhythm too perfect to be unholy, his voice shaking from the sheer need of it, from the realization that there was no going back. “For this. For you.”

The world unraveled between thrusts, between the sounds escaping both of you, between the unbearable friction and the way your nails raked down his back, his own fingers leaving marks on your hips as he buried himself in you again and again, no hesitation, no restraint, only the raw, earth-shattering truth of what he had become for you.

He wasn’t falling anymore.

He had already fallen, already lost himself to this, to you, to the way you whispered his name like you needed him just as much as he needed you. His movements grew erratic, breath hitching as he neared the edge, his grip unrelenting, his lips searching for yours, desperate, starved. And when you finally broke beneath him, when pleasure crashed through you with his name on your lips, his own release followed in a shuddering, wrecked exhale, a groan pressed against your mouth, his body trembling as he buried himself in you one last time.

Silence stretched between you in the aftermath, nothing but the sound of breathless gasps and the slow, steady flutter of his wings as they loosened, no longer caging, no longer trapping, but cradling.

He didn’t pull away.

Didn’t move.

Instead, he stayed there, his forehead resting against yours, fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns into your skin, his lips brushing against yours in something too soft to be hunger, too gentle to be anything but worship.

The room was silent but for the slowing cadence of breath, the steady rise and fall of Caleb’s chest against yours, the faint rustle of sheets as his wings, once so vast and powerful, stilled. The warmth of him was all-encompassing, his body tangled with yours, limbs heavy with exhaustion, muscles no longer held taut with restraint. His weight pressed against you, grounding, human in a way that felt so different from the impossible being who had once stood at the foot of your bed, too perfect, too untouchable, too divine.

But he was not divine anymore.

Your fingers trembled slightly as they traced the length of his back, over the ridges of his spine, down the curve of muscle still damp with heat, memorizing the feel of him—not light, not celestial radiance, but flesh and warmth, breath and heartbeat. Human. His skin bore no impossible glow now, only the soft golden hue left by candlelight, his wings no longer stretching with an overwhelming presence, only half-spread in something fragile, something uncertain, as though even he had yet to understand what he had become.

You swallowed, the realization curling deep in your chest, heavy, bittersweet.

This was it.

There was no grace left to return to, no god waiting to call him home. He had severed himself from the heavens, fallen, and for what? For you. For something fragile, something fleeting, something that could end. He had given up eternity for a life that would age, decay, slip through time’s grasp like grains of sand—and he had known. He had understood that before he ever touched you, before he ever kissed you, before he ever whispered your name like it was something sacred.

And yet, he had still chosen you.

A sharp inhale left you, unsteady, your fingers threading through his dark waves, still slightly damp with sweat, still tangled from where your hands had raked through them in desperation. The realization ached, curled in your ribs like something unbearably tender.

He had done this for you.

He had been waiting for you.

Long before you ever knew him.

Caleb shifted slightly at the sound of your breath catching, lifting his head just enough to look at you, his amethyst eyes softer now, the feverish hunger replaced with something deeper, something certain. His lips parted as though he meant to speak, to say something to pull you from the depth of your thoughts, but the words never came. Instead, his fingers brushed along your cheek, light, careful, reverent.

You turned into his touch, exhaling shakily, pressing a kiss to his palm, and he melted, his breath leaving him in something close to a sigh, relief and sorrow intertwined in the space between heartbeats.

“You’re human now,” you whispered, barely audible, as if saying it too loudly would shatter something between you.

A pause.

Caleb’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers still cradling your face as he nodded, slow, final. “…I know.”

It was quiet, simple, but the weight behind it was enormous.

You searched his face, studying the details that had once seemed untouchable—his sharp features, once ethereal, now softened by exhaustion; the lips that had spoken words of divinity now parted with nothing but the weight of feeling. He had been more than this once. He had been infinite. Now, he was yours. Just a man, bound to the earth, bound to time, bound to the same fragility as you.

And yet, despite everything he had lost, despite the eternity he had left behind, he smiled. Just barely. Just enough for something warm to settle in the cracks of your sorrow.

“I knew what I was doing,” he murmured, his voice like silk, like something certain, as though there had never been a moment of doubt, as though even now, with mortality pressing against his ribs, he had no regrets. “I chose this. I chose you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, but Caleb caught it with his thumb, brushing it away with infinite care, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, as if the mere thought of you grieving for him was unbearable. His lips stayed there for a long moment, warm against your skin, silent reassurance passing between you in the soft hum of candlelight and cooling sheets.

“I would fall again,” he whispered against your temple, a quiet, steady vow, his arms pulling you closer, holding you as though he could bind himself to you with touch alone. “A thousand times over. If it led me to you, I would fall every time.”

The words shattered something inside you.

Your fingers dug into his back, clutching him, holding on, because for all that he had lost, for all that he had given up—he was still here. He was still yours.

And as Caleb buried his face into the crook of your neck, as his breath warmed your skin, as his heart beat in sync with yours, you knew—

No god, no heaven, no eternity could ever take him from you again.

#love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb smut #xia yizhou #moongirlcleo

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 2 days ago

Text

working late

feat Steve Rogers x fem!reader cw: MDNI 18+, established relationship, cockwarming masterlist | requests are open

You leaned against the doorway to Steve's office, where he'd been cooped up for the last four hours since his shift ended. He was pouring over a report, resting his chin on his hand while scanning the security footage on the screen on front of him.

“Are you going to say hello or just loiter in the hall?” He asked without looking away from the footage. His tone wasn't unfriendly, but not exactly welcoming either. You knew how stressed he'd been, work piling high on his mighty shoulders, and it was starting to wear on his seemingly endless patience.

“It's nearly 11,” you said. “You haven't eaten, honey.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Don't have much of an appetite,” he replied. Then, sensing your frown, finally tore his eyes from the screen, beckoning you over.

You tried not to appear too eager as you bound towards him, folding yourself into his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, one of his brawny hands slipping under the hem of your sleep shirt, squeezing the softness of your haunch. “I'm sure dinner was delicious, baby. Sorry I missed it.”

“S’okay.” You nestled further into him, resting your head on his broad chest, the heavy thump thump thump of his heart soothing some of your concern. He was Captain America, he would be fine missing a meal.

But you missed him. Like, really missed him.

“It'll get better soon,” he murmured, placing a mollifying kiss to your forehead. “Maybe we’ll take a vacation.”

You huffed a laugh. “A vacation? SHIELD would fall apart without you.”

“Yeah,” he heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Sure seems that way lately.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it seemed he was more stressed than you realized. So you lapsed into silence, savoring his presence and hoping your company could offer him a bit of comfort too.

His hand continued to knead your haunch and thigh, moving absently along the curves of your body, unaware of the heat his touch, his proximity, was stirring in your belly.

You pressed your lips to his neck, trailing your fingers along his chest, feeling the muscles flex and soften with his breath. He smelled divine, masculine and clean from his post-work shower, his skin deliciously warm under your lips.

You couldn't help yourself, kissing him again and again, each press more sugared than the last, working your way up to that sensitive spot by his ear. One you knew made him melt every time.

“Baby,” he said, sensing your intention before you actually made contact. “I need to concentrate.”

“So concentrate,” you replied, laving your tongue where his pulse thrummed under his jaw.

His grip tightened on your thigh, azure eyes fluttering closed. “If I don't get this done, Fury is going to make me work a triple.”

“Better get it done then,” you hummed, nipping at his earlobe.

He chuckled, shaking his head, but didn't tell you to stop—not explicitly, at least. So you persisted, kissing downward until you reached his collarbones, nursing a mark just under his neckline. It would be healed in an hour or two, but the desired effect was all the same, if the throbbing hardness pressing against your hip was any indication.

“Y/n,” he warned, voice rough around the edges. Frustrated. “Have a little mercy.”

“M’not doing anything,” you mumbled, tracing a heart on his chest with your finger.

“Of course not,” he cooed, resting his forehead against yours, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “You’re a perfect angel.”

“I just think maybe you could use a break,” you said, dragging your fingertips lower to toy with the waistband of his sweats.

“That's very considerate of you, doll.” He leaned back in his seat, hips thrusting up to center you on his lap. “But I really need to get this done.”

“Are you telling me Captain America can't multitask?” You teased, sliding your hand beneath his waistband to palm his pulsing length.

A hiss broke through his teeth, head knocking back against his chair. “You’re insatiable.”

You stroked him lightly, long, languid pulls that had his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, velveteen skin feverish to the touch.

“I've been neglecting you, haven't I?” He asked, rolling his head to look at you.

In lieu of an answer, you guided his paw from your hip to the crux of your thighs, pressing his fingers against your sodden, bare pussy.

His eyes darkened, black pupils eclipsing the cornflower blue. “What a grave oversight on my part,” he purred. In a blink, you were straddling his lap, the thick ridge of his cock pressing against your heat.

“Shit, Steve,” you gasped, clutching his shoulders, hips rocking against his on instinct.

He tightened his hold on your thighs, just enough to still you. “Ah, ah,” he clicked his tongue. “You think I'm rewarding this kind of behavior?”

Your heart skipped a beat, pussy fluttering at the dominant edge to his voice. It wasn't often Steve went full dom, but when he did…phew.

“Here's what we're going to do.” He grasped your jaw, forcing you to hold his gaze. “I'm going to finish this report, and you are going to sit on this cock until I'm done.”

“But—”

“And you will not move a goddamn muscle,” he finished.

Holy shit. You were practically a puddle in his lap, helpless under the weight of his authority. Submitting like a rabbit in the maw of a wolf. “Yes, Captain,” you breathed.

He smirked, pulling you in for a brief, but lush kiss. “Lift your hips, baby.”

You obeyed while he freed himself from his sweats. His cock was an angry pink, precum beading from the slit as it throbbed in his hand.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, the fist of his cockhead feeling extra huge after a few days without it, the stretch bright and burning.

“So goddamn tight, doll. Droolin’ all over me,” he panted, gripping your hips to take some of your weight off your trembling thighs.

“Did you get an extra dose of serum? Fuck,” you whined. Felt like you could feel him in your fucking throat, so full you could choke on it.

When your weight fully settled into him, a pleased sort of rumble resounded from his chest. “Bite off a little more than you can chew?” He chuckled, massaging your clenched thighs to help you relax. “What happened to my cock-hungry girl?”

“She's full,” you moaned, already struggling to not grind your hips against him, loving the fullness, but craving the glide.

He laughed again, the movement of his chest giving you momentary relief. “She certainly is. Always take me so well, sweetheart,” he praised, guiding your head to his shoulder and placing a few tender kisses to your temple. “Now be good f’me, and I promise you'll get what you want,” he said, smoothing a hand down your spine.

You nodded, trying to take more regular breaths as you melted into his chest, walls slowly softening around his cock.

“Just like that, doll. Good girl,” he praised. You heard the file slide across his desk, his writing arm starting to move, and just like that, he was working again. Balls deep in your sopping pussy.

You felt yourself flutter around him at the thought of him turning the report in to Fury, knowing what had been happening while he completed it. His cock kicked in response to your internal movements, and you muffled a moan into his neck.

“Shh,” he soothed, free hand coming up to pet your hair.

Minutes ticked by, five, ten, twenty, your mind struggling to think of anything but Steve's length digging into your guts, the steady thump of his heart, the balmy warmth of his skin. Steve seemed entirely unaffected, despite his cock not flagging even an ounce, scribbling away on his stupid little report.

Damn serum.

Your clit was mashed against his pelvic bone, the tiniest movement from either of you would send you reeling, growing more sensitive as time ticked by.

Trying to be sneaky, you took an extra deep breath, hips moving the tiniest bit. But it felt like a bolt of lightening through your lower belly, and your stifled gasp of pleasure gave you away.

Steve jerked his hips up, hitting so deep it bordered on painful, and you yelped, thighs clenching around him. “I know. I know it's hard, baby,” he cooed, the saccharine edge of his voice bordering on mocking. “But you can take it.”

“How much longer?” you whimpered, fists curling in his shirt.

He shuffled some papers. “Five pages.”

You groaned, and he surged inside of you again.

“Can feel that, you know,” he chided. “When you speak, breathe. Every time your heart beats. Every little twitch and flutter—” His words caused your walls to clench around him, and he made a strangled grunt in his throat.

Perhaps he wasn't as unaffected as he let on.

“I knew you liked when I talked to you, but fuck—feeling just how much is driving me crazy,” he huffed. Buried his face in your shoulder to nip at your pulse. “You drive me crazy.”

“Steve, I can't—” you whimpered, shaking with the effort of keeping still.

His thighs flexed beneath you, muscles coiling tight like he was battling the same urges. “God, you sound so pretty,” he groaned, big hands gripping your ass. Report abandoned.

Just another little nudge—”Stevie, please.”

Oh, you sounded so pitiful. All broken and shrill, fucked out before he'd even started.

And he folded.

“Fuck it—I’ll skip my run in the morning.” He dragged your body forward, grinding you on his cock like a toy, and you keened, the relief exhilarating, bone-meltingly sweet. “Always get your goddamn way, huh? Spoiled brat—” He tossed you up onto the desk like you weighed nothing at all, caging you under his Herculean body as he pounded into you. “Got me wrapped around your little finger.”

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes!” You chanted, clinging to him as your orgasm hit you like a train, blasting through you without warning and sending you into orbit. Stars bursting like fireworks behind your eyes as you soared.

“That's it, sweetheart. So good f’me—feels so—fuck!” He tipped over the edge with you, pumping you so full it ached. “Satisfied now, doll?” He huffed when he came down, head dropping into the crook of your neck.

You could only hum, entirely unrepentant.

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22ayla21 · 3 days ago

Note

mydei’s wife get hurt without telling him and when he discovering she said it wasn’t a big deal but he gets mad anyways (not in a mean way)

The Price of Silence

She didn't tell him that she was injured, and when he found out, she convinced him that everything was fine, but he had a different opinion.

She sat by the window, the light from the lanterns softly outlining her silhouette, making it almost ghostly. Her face was calm, but Mydei saw more than she wanted to show. His gaze involuntarily slid over the thin fingers tightly clutching the edge of her clothes, and lingered on her wrist - a barely noticeable strip of bruise.

Anger flared up in him instantly. She had suffered. And she said nothing.

Slowly, like a tamed predator, he came closer. She did not pull away, did not look away. She only exhaled tiredly, as if she knew that this conversation was inevitable.

He dropped to one knee in front of her, carefully taking her hand in his. In contrast to his rough palms, accustomed to weapons, her skin seemed almost weightless.

- It doesn’t matter, - her voice was soft, but he could feel the tension in her shoulders, in every gesture, in every blink that took too long.

He didn’t answer, only gently pulled back the sleeve of her robe, revealing the thin line of a wound that had barely managed to heal.

His fingers tightened.

How could she hide this? Why did she think it didn’t matter?

Everything inside him was seething, but he didn’t let himself break down. Instead, he ran his fingertips over her skin, as if trying to erase the very possibility of pain.

She knew he was angry. She knew that for him this was more than just a wound. It was a reminder that he had failed to protect her. She wanted to tell him it was okay, but she didn’t. Because she knew that wouldn’t convince him.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #mydei x reader #hsr mydei #mydei #mydeimos

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killishin · 2 days ago

Text

— ♡ right person at the right time.

PART 02.

pairing: jason todd x reader

category: lots of fluff, angst, he fell first she fell harder kinda trope, sfw, thinking of making this a slow burn but we'll see.

content warning: afab, mention of death (reader's mother), violence here and there, blood.

summary: reader's just a normal citizen of Gotham, scrambling to making ends meet. after a fateful encounter, when he saw the reader kick ass and save a life- he can't get them off his mind. and fate just keeps pulling them together forcing him to do something about it.

a/n: right now i wanna make this as sweet and lighthearted as possible, but i have a soft side for angst :) updates can become slow since my exams are coming up.

wc: 4.8k

masterlist. fic masterlist. previous. next.

dividers by @cafekitsune

"you've gotta be kidding me.." jason muttered under his breath as he looked at you, infront of the counter, desperately finding your purse because your card just declined.

normally he didn't really come to cafés, he'd much rather either sleep in or anything but places that involved people. jason wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but he hates the way he towers over people. being red hood, its advantageous, helps get shit done without even lifting a finger— thats where intimidation helps. there he's proud to be built like this. but as just jason, he sees the apprehensive looks, the judgy middle aged aunties suspicious looks all because he's a big guy who looks rough around the edges. it irks him truly, his body subconsciously tries to shrink as if that would do much.

unfortunately, dick was in a mood for brotherly bonding, as he worded it, and somehow getting a coffee together is bonding. and to make matters worse (or better?) he sees you, someone he has just spent weeks scrubbing off his mind. he succeeded too! (barely), yet now its down the drain as his eyes stayed glued to you while his hand twitched— to do something. save you this time, not from danger but he has a feeling embarrassment is somehow worse for you than almost getting shot.

dick comes back from the washroom, his brows furrowed as he looks at you at the counter, "i can just sense the embarrassment—" and then he pauses because what the hell is his brother doing?

jason steps forward, passing the annoyed people glaring daggers at you and gave the staff a nod, "I'll pay for her." he said politely, handing her the card. he was really trying his goddamn best not to look at you.

you stopped and raised your head to look at your saviour but realised that maybe the kind man was actually irritated enough that he'd rather pay for you than wait. horror and embarrassment seeped in as you took back your card from the staff.

"i am so so sorry for the hold up i caused— i- i honestly don't know why this was—" you begin to hurriedly apologise and he waves a hand, giving a smile that he hopes is at least polite.

"its alright. you don't need to apologise."

"no its not. do you come here often?" you requested and his eyes widened, tip of the ears going red as his brain practically shut down.

"oh wait no—" your eyes widened in horror as you shook your head, "no i meant– to pay you back. i would like to buy you a coffee someday as a payback." you explained, your hands becoming more animated.

upon realisation, his heart slowed down and he huffed out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "no that's not necessary." but then he paused as he observed you with a small amused smile, "but i don't think you're going to back down so okay."

that pulls out a sheepish smile from you, " so uh when are you free? next weekend uh..?" you asked politely, taking your coffee and immediately step out of the line, trying your best to ignore the loud sighs.

he doesn't what he's feeling. this wasn't how it was supposed to be. he was set on forgetting you— and he almost did, yet now here he is, planning a date.

no its not a date wtf—

"jason." he replied, "and im sorry but i really don't know if I'd be free on the weekend." he can't say why of course, he could have just lied and then ghosted you. that would have been for the best... yet he's aiming for something else.

"oh." your smile fell a bit before you looked up at him again, "is it alright to exchange numbers then? you could text me when you're free." you suggested and hoped he doesn't see you as a creep.

...that's exactly what he was aiming for.

"you really don't need to pay me back but.." he huffs out a smile as he scratches the back of his head, "i guess you won't take that as an answer so gimme your phone."

you take that time to really look at the stranger, he's really tall and built like a truck. you supposed most men in that size were intimidating as fuck but this man is anything but. you would swoon over him, you are, but its practically overshadowed by the persistent embarrassment.

he looked back up at you as he handed you your phone back and you quickly averted your eyes down at your phone. "jason." you murmured before looking up at him, smiling warmly, "thanks a lot jason, i'll hope to pay you back for the coffee soon, i promise."

"no rush, its okay. I'll text you when im free for that coffee." he nodded back at you and stared at your back as you found the literal corner of the cafe. you were going to stay but you were also too tired to leave just yet— so you shrunk yourself as much as you could, opening your laptop while sipping on your coffee. you could feel the stares— even his for that matter, but it wasn't as heavy and uncomfortable as others. like the show's over guys mind your own buisness?

you pushed the feel of discomfort out of you and focused on something better— good. bluish green. his eyes were kinda green, kinda blue you couldn't really see well, not only was he very tall but you were far too embarrassed to look at that handsome gentleman's eyes. but even the slightest glimpse of it stuck to the very nerves of your brain.

and so when you steeled yourself, taking a deep breath and encouraging yourself through yet another potential embarrassment, you stole a glance at him. right as you did, he quickly averted his gaze— his whole head actually as he started walking back to his spot.

you quickly looked back too, missing the way his jaw clenched— hands twitched, clenching and unclenching.

when he came back in line to stand beside dick he rolled his eyes, biting back a groan, "don't even—"

"its alright. you don't need to apologise." dick immediately mimicked with a cheshire smile, poking Jason's side while the other glared back at him. "i was just helping. thats all."

"yeah right." he scoffed, rolling his eyes, "sure you were. cus you're such a gentleman."

"no she was holding the line. and i need to get this stupid bonding time over with— thats why i helped." jason retorted defensively causing dick to gasp, feigning offense.

"did you just call our time stupid?!"

"i am never hanging out with you."

"heartbreak!"

"i am gonna strangle you—"

"hey pa." you said softly, the dim light of your monitor illuminating the paper cup that is in your hand, the one you're staring at. it wasn't the same from that day of course, but now whenever you buy coffee from a cafe your mind can't help but go back to him.

you were doing a personal project currently, amp up your skills but mostly to have fun. animating has been something your dad introduced you to when you were just a teen, and you turned into your livelihood.

"how's everything going? are you doing okay at work?" your dad asked, your lips twitching in amusement as you could sense the concern raging in his mind.

"its good dad. im doing fine." your thumb rubs at the seam of the cup, your mind partially elsewhere, the stranger— jason, to be specific.

"you're lying aren't you?" your dad sighed, "are you struggling with expenses? i can help you know— if you're forcing yourself in that job all because of the expenses—"

"calm down dad." you laugh quietly as you gently throw the cup in the bin beside your table, and then looking at your monitor, eyeing your current project. "its honestly not that bad. anyways, how's alyssa?"

"since when do you care about her?" your father snorted, his voice suddenly quiet and hushed, didn't want the missus hearing any of that.

"i was just being nice!" you scoffed out, but he is right, you were just making small talk. "she's alright. less moody and smiles more, so definitely better." he paused, as if debating, "we went on a date yesterday."

your father was an introvert like you, or well you got it from him maybe. he's always preferred to stay indoors, your mother was the wild one. she respected dad's boundaries but with her, your dad didn't mind going out of his comfort zone.

so you're glad he's becoming the old him again, even if its with alyssa.

your eyes lit up a bit, even though alyssa's the cause, you like that little giddiness in his voice. "that's wonderful! where'd you go?"

"nothing just exploring the town. oh yes! we went into a bar and danced a bit—"

"you danced?!"

"yeah why don't you shout and tell your neighbours too while you're at it?" your dad scolded you sarcastically and you grinned while you did your work.

"..yeah we did." he sighed and you could hear the smile on his face, "i wish you were here, to see that side of her. you would like her i know."

"hm its okay. you like her, that's enough." you doubt you'd ever like her as much your dad wanted you to but he doesn't need to know that.

after talking for a while you hung up and yawned as you leaned back in your squeaking chair, causing you to grimace.

your stared mindlessly at the screen before flashes of his face came to your mind. you smiled to yourself as you thought back to that encounter, you still don't go to that cafe. it was your favourite one and it kills you that you can't go– but you still feel self conscious whenever you go there or at least try to.

you had tried finding that man on socials, thinking he'd have a hell ton of following if he does indeed post. but came up with nothing, and you just assumed he didn't use much social. you had thought about texting him but it felt rather awkward to, since its been almost a week he hasn't responded to your 'hi', assuming he forgot about it or well, ignored it.

but really, what would you even say? your confidence isn't that high either that you could maybe 'rizz' him through texts, so to your dismay, you left it at that. just a memory that shows humanity ain't dead yet.

you got up while scratching your stomach, you should be sleeping but its a weekend and unfortunately for your body, you're yet to care about your messed up sleep schedule.

entering your kitchen you open your fridge, not bothering to switch on the lights. you rummage through a bit, fridge, cabinets— before simply settling on some noodles.

you took out a saucepan, about to switch on the light—

THUMP!

your body froze, blood running cold. that definitely came from your balcony. you know it did. sweat immediately formed on your forehead as you gripped the handle of the saucepan. there's no mistaking it— you're not gonna be one of the dumb ones from those horror movies. you keep your body absolutely steady and still as you take out a kitchen knife slowly, slowly—

"ugh— CLANK!"

that is definitely someone in your balcony. you almost let out a whimper, biting your lips hard. you start praying internally as you hold back tears. with a silent, deep breath you slowly turn around and flinch when you see the silhouette of someone. you still can't make it out accurately, you don't quite have a proper line of sight of your balcony but its closer to you than your room is, un-fucking-fortunately.

you slowly inch out of your kitchen, knife in one hand and saucepan in another. you almost felt like rapunzel and you would have laughed at yourself had it not been a really dire situation. because chances are, whoever that is, definitely isn't your flynn rider.

your hands were clammy, sweating furiously as you start to slowly inch to your room. you just need to get in, get your phone and call the police and hope for once the GCPD is on time.

but then you pause—

"fuck... she.. not hear me."

you know that modulated voice. your memory isn't exactly the best, which is concerning because you aren't old and senile yet, but you know that voice. it hasn't exactly been that long since you saved that girl and met red hood— you could never forget that voice.

and curiosity gets the better of you as your legs change trajectory, inching to the balcony instead of your room. the sliding door to your balcony was partially ajar and you cursed at your lack of self preservation.

his voice was coming out in huffs and sighs, little grunts and broken words— he sounded almost pained.

as you finally reached the edge, you risked a peak but flinched back when you heard shuffling, eyeing the shadow of him trying to get up. you were half sure— but you could never be too cautious, if its not him, you could be in a shit load of trouble.

it was getting increasingly hard to hold your breath, the shaky breath you took that sounded like wild winds to your ears.

finally, you gripped the knife and pan hard, preparing yourself for the now or never moment. you swung your pan and lifted your knife as your battle cry (which really just sounded like a dying cry) tore through the silence. you squeezed your eyes shut as you got but a glimpse of the huge man and just, attacked. swung like your life depended on it.

"wha— HEY! WOAH— fuck you almost stabbed me in the eye!" he gasped out, his hands wrapping around your wrists staring at the pan and the knife.

"huh—" you peaked your eyes opened, and there under the moonlight that illuminated him barely enough, you recognised that red helmet. your body immediately relaxed as you let out a heavy sigh. "thank god its not some thief." the pan and knife in your hands went lax and he almost flinched.

a mere citizen with a pan and a knife scared the crap outta red hood. the things that would do to his reputation if it got out.

but what really confused him is how you...relaxed. it was understandable when you weren't affected by his intimidating presence back in the alley, since you were clearly in a state of panic. but even now, it almost feels like you know him, the way your body relaxes like it trusts the vigilante.

he doesn't know what it is but it heals something in his scarred heart.

"what— what are you even doing in my balcony?" she questioned as her brows furrowed again, "so much for not stalking huh?"

and as if on cue his body snapped out of the trance you pulled him in, he winced when he felt that sharp ache on his sides. things always go sideways, but sometimes it goes a little too sideways. his body cowered a bit and your eyes followed down, brows furrowed in confusion as you try to discern anything in the darkness, and why he's pressing his hand on his side.

"sorry about this— I'll leave—"

"wait is that blood?" you whispered quietly, gulping down a gasp as your fingers brushed against the dark red liquid that was partially dried up on his side. "oh god you are bleeding."

"easy." he hissed as your fingers pressed a little too firm on the wound, his hand shooting out to grab yours, slowly pulling it away.

"oops." you muttered awkwardly as you took your hand out of his grip and took a step back to properly assess the wound, "you're really bleeding. that's a lot of blood."

"oh is that right?" he scoffed as he leaned against the railing, supporting his weight on the arm, "thanks i didn't even know." he exclaimed sarcastically and looked around. he really needed to leave, he was sure you were beginning to see him as a creep.

you sighed and stopped yourself from giving him a deadpanned stare before stepping back inside your apartment, sliding the door away for him to enter. he paused and you saw his head tilting down before looking back at you, as if he cannot comprehend what you're suggesting.

"what?"

"what 'what'? you're bleeding on my balcony!" you waved him in, holding both the knife and pan in your hand, "I'll at least fix that up. im no nurse but i do know the basic."

"oh no no i can manage just fine." he waved you off and turned around making you click your tongue in exasperation. you beat the knife against the back of the pan, making a loud CLANG! sound, and he flinched before turning around.

"you look less like red hood and more like a senile man with a spine problem and a red tin bucket stuck on his head. come in." you said, or rather scolded, pointing towards your couch with the knife.

he is red hood. he has seen enough bloodshed, a shit ton of guns and their types, knives, daggers— you name it. and yet the sight of you holding a kitchen knife, yes, for some reason that straightened him up.

"look you really don't need to—"

"i am not pitying you okay? i am just—" you paused as you exhaled in frustration, pushing your hair back with the back of your hand, "just think of it as returning a favour okay? you helped me back then. saved me from a shit ton of panic and wrong decisions— and from the gcpd. so let me help you back."

he stood there for a moment, staring at you in contemplation. he clenched his jaw and cursed his past self for even entertaining you that time, for staying long enough to get 'intrigued'. he knows he shouldn't step in, shouldn't let you help. you are a normal person, with a normal life and nothing ever good comes out from associating with a vigilante— especially the red hood. he wants to berate you for not being rational enough but he cannot, for he is quite the same at the moment. he knows the right decision but the devil on his shoulder murmurs, weakening his resolve.

besides, he really is hurt.

"and I'll also forget that you practically stalked me." you added, your lips twitching in slight amusement.

finally, releasing a heavy sigh he stepped in, dragged his feet inside and plopped down of the couch. "i did not stalk you. don't flatter yourself." he immediately felt bad though in case he got blood on the couch.

you smiled to yourself before hurrying to the cabinet in your bathroom.

he looked out of place in your apartment, it was cozy and though it looked worn down in a lot of places. it looked homely. a certain warmth in it that eased him slightly. he looked to your direction before down at his wound.

seriously why did he even come here? he was on the run and automatically his legs carried him in this direction before remembering you lived close. and he took shelter. he's never this idiotic and he could practically hear bruce berating him for yet another wrong decision. dragging a normal person in his life.

"okay— shit that is really a lot of blood." you murmured as you switched on the light, kit in your hands while the pan and knife rested on the coffee table.

you sat beside him, damp cloth in hand to clean the blood off him first. you held the cloth and turned to him, for a moment just stared at him, unsure of how to tell him to lift up his clothes which was pretty layered you could tell.

"what?" he grunted as his eyes narrowed at your awkward staring and you pointed down at abdomen, "uh— lift that up. please?"

now that things are a bit calm, you're starting to really process things. gauge the situation, which is ridiculous. you literally have the red hood bleeding on your couch, and under the warmth of your light, your rather normal yet homey apartment did nothing to ward off the intimidating aura that surrounded him. your apartment feels small because of him. you don't even know how you noticed none of that when you first met him. it doesn't deter you, no its too late for that, but it certainly adds that need to be cautious around him— it makes you suddenly conscious about your actions.

he notices the slight change in demeanor, the stiffening of limbs, stolen glances that really looked like they were trying to analyse how much of a threat he is. he is used to this kind of looks, the apprehension and a part of him is glad that you finally have some sense of preservation to be wary of a literal stranger/ vigilante in your home.... but another part maybe had hoped that you wouldn't be.

he had hoped that you wouldn't see him as the 'thug of a vigilante' like everyone does, he doesn't know why. he just met you, and yet he had developed expectations of you.

he bit the inside of his cheek, glad his helmet could conceal the irritated scowl on his face before he slowly peeled off his shirt and vest to reveal the cut. it was deep— would need stitches.

but besides the cut, and you feel very guilty for thinking this when he's hurt, but he is chiseled like a greek god. toned muscles and abs, a sliver of skin and it already has you wanting to trace them. out of appreciation, of course.

"that would need stitches I think." you remarked quietly, looking a bit green and he lets out a snort. "told you you shouldn't."

you sighed before you began slowly dabbing at the area around the wound, cleaning the blood and small debris off. "i can at least just— bandage it. you can get it stitched later. im sure you have someone to do it."

the sight of blood does nauseate you a bit, your brows and lips a bit furrowed as you focused on getting it cleaned as fast as possible.

"i knew how to do them once." you began, biting your lips often while concentrating, "my mother taught me that. but now im so out of practice i dont wanna make it worse." you murmured and he stared down at you in thought.

"you do know you don't actually owe me shit? i mean you did the heavy work in that alley." he said quietly and for a moment it felt as if that modulated voice carried more emotion than it should, "you didn't need to do this."

he sounded guarded, grumpy even. you chuckled under your breath before shaking your head, "i do actually. if you didn't come there i don't know what i would have done. if i simply ran from there the paranoia would have eaten me alive. but knowing i left it with you, a vigilante who knows what to do, i was at ease. less shaken."

you look up and smirk, "and if that still sounds bullshit to you then consider this an act of goodwill from a friend." you moved away to dip the cloth again in water.

"oh we're friends now?" he scoffed out, actually surprised you'd say that. you scrunched your nose as you pretended to be confused, "i mean we had a pretty good conversation. that has to count." you retorted amusingly, totally not serious.

"a conversation where you were panicking about the guy you knocked out." he pointed out and the mirth in his voice amplified enough to annoy you, "not to mention hurling blames on innocent me."

you paused and scoffed, looking up at him a defensively, "i was not in the right mind alright? and you were late." you scowled and began dabbing away a little too quickly. "i was nice later on."

he resisted the urge to laugh, you were still stuck on that. "oh and by the way—" he paused to adjust himself on the couch, leaning back, "i am not stalking you."

your eyes lit up for a moment, as if glad he reminded you that, "oh so you just happened to stumble on my humble abode hm?" you narrowed your eyes at him, "red, if you found me hot you coulda just said that." you murmured smugly, lips pulled into a cheeky smile as you moved away, fetching the ointments to apply.

he scoffed at that, scoffing way too loud to maybe drown out the way his heart drummed when you smiled like that. "trust me, if i found you hot you'd know." he said sarcastically and you gave him a mock stink eye before applying the ointment.

if only you knew that he did find you hot. very hot.

"your apartment happened to lie on my way." he added with a shrug, his muscles tensing and contracting when the ointment stings the open wound. you do your best to not stare at anywhere else but the wound, really you are trying your best.

"of course and your legs just happened to fall on my balcony hm?" you murmured teasingly as you covered it up with a bandage.

"...yes it did." he replied quietly and curtly, and you just hummed a smile before standing up. "so that's done. let me clean up I'll get you a glass of water." you said as you began picking up the bowl and cloth. "you want to eat something? the blood loss might have made you a bit woozy."

you pause. he paused. you just know he's giving you the most blank deadpanned stare under that mask.

"you do know i have a—"

"yeah i know i know— i just forgot about the helmet." you grumbled quietly in embarrassment before walking away.

he watches you walk back and forth between the bathroom, washing your hands and rearranging the things back. he notices you're meticulate. he sweeps his gaze around the apartment, nothing is amiss, everything in its place as it should be except a few strays lying around. another observation down his mental diary about you, you're organised. mostly.

and then he remembers the interesting set of weapons you had and he lets out a snort which gets your attention as you were walking to the kitchen. "what?"

he's peeling his clothes back down when he shakes his head in response. "nothing."

"tch— what, red?"

"....a pan."

you groaned quietly as you rushed into the kitchen, "were you seriously gonna pull a rapunzel on me?" he called out sarcastically making you let out a involuntary laugh.

"no i just—" you pause as you laugh, drinking from the glass while you stayed standing, "i was about to make some noodles. and then i heard that loud thump sound so i just— i had it in hand!" you explained haphazardly as you rolled your eyes.

"still. a pan?"

"its better than nothing— oh quit it." you rolled your eyes as you put the glass down before you crossed your arms, raising a brow at him.

"how the hell are you gonna leave though? the front door?" he got up with a slight wince as he head back to the balcony.

"wait you're seriously gonna parkour back to your house? the bandage might open up!" you gawked at him as you followed behind, "so much effort and all down the drain."

"so that's what you're worried bout huh?" he scoffed sarcastically as he turned to looked down at you and you shrugged, "i mean im proud of my work. i don't wanna see it get ruined."

"you're heartless."

"i'll take that as a compliment."

you heard a muffled laugh coming from him, your eyes lingering on him for a few moments as your hands fidgeted with each other behind your back.

"uh take care!" you called out suddenly, worried about the vigilante maybe, while he fought to keep his heart from getting ahead of itself.

"don't worry this will be the last time i bother you."

"just don't get hurt, red."

"....."

"last time, huh?"

two weeks later, and you found red in your balcony again, this time with another wound in the opposite side, just as deep as last time. it makes you wonder if the vigilante has really come to trust you, even just a shred, to come to you when he's hurt. it warms your heart.

"i was gonna sing rapunzel let down your hair—"

"i will push you off my balcony."

reblogs are appreciated! :D

#jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood fluff #red hood angst #red hood x reader #red hood fic #red hood fanfiction #red hood x you #red hood x y/n

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wooyokitty · 1 day ago

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Ateez's roles during intimacy headcannons (top/bottom/switch, dom/sub)

!!warnings will be located above each members headcannon, but these are the warnings altogether!!: dacryphilia, falling asleep during sex (hj), hwa is turned heavily on by kisses/sucking tongues, praising (reader receives - yh, jh, wy), yunho loves hearing you moan, cumming untouched (yh receiving), vanilla (ys, jh) san is vocal and sensitive, preferred rough sex (mg receiving), praise kink (mg receiving), edging, overstimulation, post orgasm torture, wooyoung is into bdsm and being tied up, jongho values intimacy to a high extent a/n: ok so funny story, i view like all of them as switches but i tried not to just label them all like that bcz then it would be boring!! also plz lmk if i missed any tags, i am very blind sometimes </33. i hope yall enjoy. (ALSO THIS IS MY FIRST POST ON TUMBLR.. give me feedback PLZ! also i didnt proofread this well.. sorry if theres spelling mistakes.)

hongjoong- switch/dom

MENTIONS OF: dacryphilia, joong falling asleep during sex

he would def be one of those guys that are dominant no matter the position, if youre on top or not, like i imagine him guiding you while youre topping him, telling you everything you should do as youre grinding on him ughimgonnalosemymind AND if youre bottoming, he would be so HOTBROOO... im telling you, he would be so stressed and pent up after overworking himself at the studio, that once he got home and saw you, he would just take it out on you and fuck you into the next morning... or, he'd be so tired that he would just have lazy sex with you n fall asleep with him inside of you <33

HONORABLE MENTION - sub joong: there WOULLDD be times where hes submissive but its very rare. hes def the type you would need to fight dominance for, and when you won, it would be SO worth it. once he lets go, he LETS GO. im talking loud whines, gasps, moans, all of the sorts. he would start crying if you continued to ride/fuck him because it became too much for him to handle </33 UGHH im going crazy.

seonghwa- switch/sub

MENTIONS OF: hwa being turned heavily on by kisses/sucking tongues

ok, like do i even have to explain him being a sub? I KNOWWW YALL SAW THE CLIP OF HIM PUTTING HIS FINGERS INTO HIS MOUTH AT THE CONCERT.

for seonghwa, i feel like he would be quiet, but still make noise.. ywkim? like soft moans, but still audible. he def gets louder as he gets closer, gasping and begging for you to help him bring him to his orgasm quicker. he would also be the type to get really sleepy after sex, leaving you to clean him up (and yourself) to your best extent and then wait for you both to take a shower when he wakes up. i feel like he would be REALLY into kisses too, idk if thats random </3. like he would get so worked up during kisses, and god forbid you kiss him during sex.. he would start whimpering so pathetically HJDHDFS. ESPECIALLY sucking tongues, he would get so hard at the thought of sucking your tongue, or you sucking his tongue..

yunho- service top/softdom

MENTIONS OF: praising (reader receives), yunho loves hearing you moan, yunho cumming untouched

yall see it too, right? surely..

yunho just SCREAMSSS service top, like AGHGHG. he would be the type of boyfriend that just focuses mainly on YOU. your pleasure is his pleasure, and he would do anything without question, just to make you happy. i feel like he'd also be the type to whisper praises into your ear, complimenting everything about you. he would tell you how well youre doing, how perfect you look, and more. he would also like any positions where he could clearly see your face. he wants to see for himself how well he's doing for you, and how much you like it. yunho also enjoys hearing you, especially if youre shy with being vocal during sex. he would heavily encourage you to just let go of the embarrassment, and when you do, he would melt at the beautiful sounds coming out of you. it would turn him on so badly. he just in general gets off to pleasing you, even if its by oral, and he doesnt physically pleasure himself, and only you. just watching your expressions would make him cum untouched <33

yeosang- bottom/sub

MENTIONS OF: yeosang being vanilla, idk

ok, i know yall are gonna fight me for this, but i can HARDLY see yeosang as a dom, and ill lyk why; he just seems so shy and just oblivious. of course, he understands sex - hes a grown man - but UGHH. idont knowww.

he would be one of those guys with a very low sex drive, living for all the cute moments that couples have. when yall are intimate, its basically still the same. he would be so embarrassed and shy during sex, and you would live off it. when you teased him, he would barely be able to tell you what he wanted (you obviously knew, just wanted him to tell you verbally), his face would flush and he would whine softly, quietly telling you what he wanted in a somehow non-explicit way. yeosang is one of those guys that would be into passionate sex more than rough sex. he wants to face you, just like yunho. he wants you to lather him with love, show him how much you love him in every way possible. hes vanilla, but if you wanted to try something less soft with him, then he would agree, just to see if he may have a liking for it (which he sometimes does like, but not more than just vanilla sex).

san- service top/switch/sub

MENTIONS OF: san being vocal and sensitive

DUDE. I FEEL LIKE SOOO MANY WILL DISAGREE WITH THIS BUT, THE LIVES HE HAS WHEN HES JUST SO SOFT AND BEING POUTY.. hes such sub dont even ttm.

he would also do just about anything to satisfy you, whether it be him pleasing you or you pleasing him. just seeing you happy is enough for him. you want him to fuck you? he'll be right here ready. you want him to give you head? of course, anything for you. you wanna fuck him? well, shit, he loves that too. you wanna give HIM head? of course, ask and he will agree with no hesitation. he likes both rough and soft sex equally, so hes okay with giving or receiving it either way, it doesnt matter to him. when hes serving you, he would be so vocal, fucking you or not. he just gets so worked up at how you react, that he can almost imagine how it feels for you, too. and GOD, when hes receiving? dont even think about having guests over, unless you want them to have a clear idea of whats going on. he would be so sensitive without any touch prior, that when you did anything to him, he would be squirming, gasping, and murmuring incoherent words. when you actually begin to do anything to him, you would need to kiss him to keep him just a little quieter, but trying to actively silence him just makes him turned on for some reason, so its almost to no avail. his moans would be long and low dsjfskdfjks.. and when he cums he would be thrashing from the pleasure.

(sorry can u tell im better at writing when theyre subs)

mingi- service top/switch/sub

MENTIONS OF: preferred rough sex (mg receiving), praise kink (mg receiving), edging, overstimulation, post orgasm torture

another one yall might beat me up for </3 its NOT my fault.. he likes being called princess, i cant imagine him being 100% dominant AND a top..

mingi is the type of guy that acts dominant outside of intimacy, but then that mask would melt as soon as things got intimate. mingi would think he has to be a top, especially if hes in a relationship with someone whos a bottom. he has no problem with topping, especially if he sees that you enjoy it. seeing you be fulfilled with how mingi pleasures you is all he needs. he would be a very obvious sub, though. i feel like, while fucking you, mingi would def be the one making more sounds, and although hitting all the right spots in you, his body language would still give anybody the idea that somethings up. he lives to hear you praise him as hes pleasuring you, it gives him more stamina and confidence. if you told him you were dominant, he would immediately feel relieved. although wanting to make sure you feel good, he knew that anything you wanted would obviously make you feel good if you offered it, so he didnt need to worry about that part. when receiving, mingi would prefer rough sex. he wants you to to just absolutely ruin him whether it be edging him for hours, overstimming him, post orgasm torture, or any of the sorts. he would die for his partner to break him in any way possible.

wooyoung- switch leaning bottom/softdom

MENTIONS OF: praising (reader receiving), wooyoung is into bdsm and being tied up

OKAY, bottom and softdom might not make sense for wooyo, but stay with me. youll understand it...

wooyoung can top, and hes pretty good at it, but nothing compares to the ecstasy he feels when hes bottoming. he loves letting you take control, but at the same time not. the most control youd get is topping him, but wooyoung would lead just about everything else. he would let out nice, high-pitched moans as he praises you for how good you feel when hes inside you.

HONORABLE MENTION - sub wooyoung: if he were submissive, i can guarantee he would be such a kinky little fuck. he would be into heavy bdsm and things under that topic. he wants nothing more than to be tied up at your mercy, unable to control the power you have over him - it makes him so turned on.

jongho- top/softdom?

MENTIONS OF: jongho preferring vanilla sex, praising (reader receiving), jongho values intimacy to a high extent

jongho was the hardest one for me to decide, i feel like hes very obviously a top&&dom, but i just feel like somethings missing..

jonghos sex drive would also be very low, like yeosang. the first time that sex was initiated was after a few months after the two of you got together, and it wasnt even him, but you. jongho would be one that takes sex and just straight up intimacy seriously. he wouldnt see it as something to just do whenever, he wants to make sure the time is right for the both of you. jongho would like vanilla sex for a lot of the time, unless you were to suggest something, but even then, he'd hesitate before agreeing and just seeing if he liked it or not. jongho would def be mostly quiet during sex, if not, just letting out small groans here and there. you would just be getting praised and cherished by jongho the entire time, showing how much he values the intimate time between the two of you.

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sturnsblogs · 12 hours ago

Text

DEMANDED ATTENTION

WARNINGS- SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT CHOKING

—

You were frustrated, irritated by the way Chris was paying more attention to his game than to you. The silence between you two had stretched far too long, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. You walked into the room, where Chris was fully absorbed in Fortnite, his headset on as he stared at the screen. Without a second thought, you climbed onto his lap, reaching over to mute his mic, making sure he couldn’t focus on the game.

“Baby… please, can you get off?” His voice was strained, clearly not thrilled about the interruption. He glanced at you briefly, shifting his camera. “Mama, just give me a little more… hm?”

You whined, feeling the frustration building up inside. “Chriiisss!! Please, baby… you’re ignoring me.” You began planting soft, teasing kisses along his neck, your lips brushing against his skin, and his eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, clearly affected. He took a deep breath, cupping your cheeks gently. “Angel, just give me a little more time,” he muttered, but his tone was softer now, filled with an undercurrent of affection, despite his annoyance.

You sighed dramatically, knowing he was still focused on the game. The hours dragged on, and you stayed on the bed, crossing your arms and pouting. You couldn’t help but feel neglected, your need for his attention ignored. Finally, when he finished, Chris walked out of Matt’s room and toward his own. He froze as soon as he saw you, still pouting, clearly upset.

“Baby… you wanna cuddle now?” He asked, his voice full of gentle concern.

You shook your head, not even bothering to face him. You were done. The lack of attention had worn you thin. You turned your back to him, a clear signal that you weren’t in the mood for his usual attempts to fix things.

Chris sighed heavily, walking toward you and sitting down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He reached for your shoulder, trying to get you to face him. “C’mon, princess. Don’t piss me off,” he muttered, trying to mask the frustration growing in his chest.

You turned slowly, your gaze avoiding his. “You don’t even care about me,” you whispered, voice tinged with hurt and vulnerability. The words stung, and it was clear they hit harder than you intended.

Chris’ eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched. “You want me to fucking prove I love you?” He growled, his patience finally snapping.

The air between you thickened, charged with tension that had been simmering all night. Your heart raced at his tone, the raw edge in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his hand sliding up your arm with a firm but careful grip. He tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his, and the intensity there made your breath hitch.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, but laced with something deeper—something desperate. “Tell me I don’t care.”

You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. The way he was looking at you, the heat radiating off him, made your defiance falter. Instead, a soft whimper escaped, and that seemed to be all the answer he needed.

In one swift motion, he pulled you closer, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that silenced every doubt swirling in your mind. The kiss was messy, urgent, his hands roaming your body like he was staking a claim. You melted into him, the frustration you’d felt earlier dissolving under the weight of his touch. He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your jaw, your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake.

“Chris…” you breathed, your voice trembling as his hands slid under your shirt, tugging it up and off with a roughness that made your pulse quicken. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, his fingers deftly working at the rest of your clothes until you were bare beneath him, vulnerable and exposed.

“You think I don’t care?” he muttered against your skin, his breath hot as he pressed himself closer, the mattress shifting under his weight. “I’ll show you how much I fucking care.”

Before you could process his words, he was on you, his body pinning yours to the bed. The world narrowed to the heat of him, the way he moved with a purpose that left no room for doubt. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, and then he was inside you, deep and unrelenting. A gasp tore from your throat, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he set a rhythm that was both punishing and pleading.

“Still think I’m ignoring you?” he growled, his voice rough in your ear as he thrust harder, each movement driving him deeper, filling you completely. Your head tipped back, overwhelmed by the intensity, the way he claimed you like he needed to prove something—to you, to himself.

All you could do was cling to him, your earlier frustration replaced by a desperate need for him, for this. The tension that had built up over the hours unraveled in waves, each one crashing over you as he pushed you closer to the edge. His name fell from your lips in broken whispers, and he groaned in response, his grip tightening as he buried himself even deeper, like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his voice raw, ragged, as he drove into you with a force that made your whole body tremble. You tried to answer, your lips parting to form the words, but all that came out were babbled moans, incoherent and needy. “Mmm—y-yours—ahh—” The sounds spilled from you uncontrollably, your mind too scrambled to string together anything coherent as he pushed you past the point of thought.

His hand slid up your body, fingers wrapping around your throat—not too tight, but enough to make your pulse race beneath his grip. “Say sorry,” he growled, his voice dark and commanding, his hips slamming into yours with a relentless rhythm. “Say sorry for interrupting my game, princess.”

“S-sorry—ohh—Chris, I—” Your words dissolved into a mess of whimpers and moans, your body arching beneath him as the pressure built. He shifted then, one hand hooking under your thigh, lifting and adjusting your leg over his shoulder. The new angle made you cry out, his thrusts now hitting that perfect spot inside you with devastating precision, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

“There it is,” he muttered, his voice rough with satisfaction as he watched your reaction, driving into you harder, deeper, each stroke igniting a fire that spread through every nerve. His hand tightened slightly on your throat, guiding your gaze back to his, and the look in his eyes—wild, possessive—pushed you closer to the brink.

“Come for me,” he ordered, his voice a rough whisper as he pounded into that spot relentlessly. The pressure coiled tight, too much to hold back—his grip, the angle, the way he filled you completely.

Your body tensed, a sharp, shuddering cry ripping from your throat as you came, the orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. It started deep in your core, a white-hot burst that radiated outward, your walls clenching around him as your legs shook uncontrollably.

Your vision blurred, stars dancing behind your eyelids, and your babbled moans turned into a desperate, keening sound—half his name, half pure release—as the pleasure consumed you, leaving you boneless and gasping beneath him.

He didn’t stop, chasing his own release with a few more punishing thrusts, his grip on your throat loosening as he groaned your name, spilling inside you with a shudder. The weight of him collapsed against you for a moment, both of you breathing hard, the room heavy with the scent of sweat and sex.

After a beat, Chris rolled off you, pulling you gently into his arms. His demeanor shifted, the roughness giving way to something softer as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Hey… you okay, angel?” he asked, his voice quiet now, laced with concern. “Was I too rough?”

You nestled into his chest, still catching your breath, your body buzzing from the intensity. “No… I’m okay,” you murmured, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “Just… wow.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Didn’t mean to lose it like that.” His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, soothing the marks he’d left behind. “You want some water? Anything?”

You shook your head, content to stay wrapped in his warmth. “Just stay here,” you whispered, and he tightened his hold on you, his breathing steadying as he held you close, the storm between you finally settled.

—

A/N- STRICTLY FOR @freshlyinlovewchris

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @jimmasterflashh @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturdyyolo @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @sturniolosrtewsexy

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eepwriting · 3 days ago

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Hellooo! I just love your fics. I'm dying for some mean/soft Dom II! Thanks 💜

Dom! II Thoughts

Warnings: nsfw, smut, uhhh idk I think it’s self explanatory

Why not both anon

!! mdni !!

✧༝┉˚ MASTERLIST ˚┉༝✧

✦ taglist: @ghostlygothicgay @skellyflowers @evisnotok @jeriiicho @adenobabe @rain-down-on-me @blvckmvgicwoman @kenjipepsi1 @lynzeequitlollygagging @roseyourelinquished

Join my 🏷️ taglist here ♡

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚

Mean!

✶ Okayyy SO, you get mean!dom ii more than soft dare I say?

✶ Maybe not mean all the time, perhaps more…impatient, which may come off as mean.

✶ He just (to me) comes off as someone who gets what he wants and only asks once.

✶ But he’s very calm-all the time.

✶ To a point that it’s almost scary.

✶ He’ll say the filthiest shit to you with a straight face.

✶ “On your knees so I can get a nice view of you gagging on my cock.”

✶ At first, you might think he’s joking.

✶ Until you don’t move fast enough for him and he’s manhandling you however he pleases.

✶ He’s patronizing too.

✶ “Did you hear me, or are you too stupid?”

✶ “You’re playing dumb. You can and you will.”

✶ One of his favorite games is to text you an hour before he gets home with specific instructions on how he wants you presented.

✶ He knows you’ll listen.

✶ But if you don’t…welp. ORGASM DENIAL.

✶ You can’t convince he’s not big on that.

✶ He’s rough the whole time. Getting you righttt to the edge- then completely removes all contact.

✶ Most times he’s doing this until you eventually just cum without him even touching you.

✶ It’s always weak and disappointing though.

✶ I’ve already delved into this with him but mans LOVES impact play.

✶ Will use it as leverage.

✶ When your ass is pink and purple from his incessant spanks, you’ll do just about anything.

Soft!

✶ Ekkkk soft!dom ii is a treat.

✶ A lot more patient with you and goes out of his way to ensure you’re good with whatever’s happening.

✶ He’s demanding but in the nicest way possible.

✶ “You always look so good on your knees, why don’t you get down there so I can see.”

✶ Layers compliments into whatever he’s asking you to do.

✶ “On the bed so I can mark up that pretty skin of yours.”

✶ BIG fan of forehead kisses when he’s in this mood.

✶ Also…overstim.

✶ Takes his time getting you off, which is what you want, but then he wants you cumming over and over again.

✶ Or, until you’re just a crying, shaking mess.

✶ Very supportive during the whole thing.

✶ “I know, sweetheart, but give me one more. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

✶ “So sensitive, huh? You’re okay, just a little longer and I’ll let you get up.”

✶ Likes his hand loosely around your throat while he kisses you.

✶ He never applies a lot of pressure, but it gets the point across that he’s the one in control.

✶ Opts for heavy petting and massaging rather than spanks and swats.

✶ His favorite position is doggy with you in a loose headlock RAHH.

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Save me soft dom ii.

I had lots of fun writing this.

K. Bye bye.

#sleep token #sleep token worship #sleep token fic #sleep token x reader #sleep token smut #sleep token ii #ii sleep token #ii x reader

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revelboo · 20 hours ago

Note

Some wheeljack smut, your majesty? 🙏🏻

I’ve been summoned by the mention of Wheeljack smut. I love Jackie so much, he was and still is my favorite, though Soundwave gives him a run for his money- why they’re both in Needs and Wants

18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Wheeljack Scenarios- Intimacy

G1 Wheeljack x Reader

• Mouth sliding against yours, the tips of his servos ghost down your spine, over your thigh. Afraid of being too rough with you without meaning to. Those soft hands of yours are on his vocal indicators as you shift where you’re sitting in his lap straddling him. Moving restlessly against him as he vents raggedly. Letting you set the pace and your fingers slide down his chassis to trace around the edge of his modesty plating as rock yourself against him, lips parting on a moan to let his glossa steal inside. Wants to bend you backwards, cover you and claim you, but knows he can’t dare. Hates when his hands leave bruises on you, feeling like he’s failed you. Hurting you even though you never complain about it.

• Wish he’d let loose and seize control, instead of being so gentle like you’re going to break under his touch. And you wish you were brave enough to just tell him what you want instead of doing it his way. Mouth brushing from the corner of yours down along your jaw, you keep moving against him, fingers teasing his plating. Wanting his spike. Feel his mouth open against your neck, the scrape of his denta electric through you, and he finally frees his spike for you, groaning when you grip him and begin rocking more insistently against him. Watching those vocal indicators get pinker for you.

• Head falling back, he watches you shift over him, reaching to grip his spike and slide it against your slick heat. Palms brushing over your hips as you look down at him, eyes dark with arousal, you’re beautiful. Alien. His. And then you’re taking his spike deep, whimpering as his hips lift at the feel of you wrapped so tightly around him. Wanting to roll you under him, lose control thrusting against you. “I love you,” he murmurs, watching you ride him, finding a rhythm. Satisfying himself with stroking his servos over your belly, up along your ribs. Watching your lips part as you bounce on his spike. Wanting more, but afraid to risk hurting you. Afraid to take what he needs.

ES Wheeljack x Reader

• Looking up when the door slides open, your smile wavers when Wheeljack wanders over to you and the berth and just sprawls across the end of it face down. Biting back a laugh, you move closer and reach out to run your palm over one of the fins on his helm and he groans, mass displacing and reaching to hook an arm around you, dragging you down onto your knees. “Rough day?” You ask as he buries his face against your lap and curls his arms around you. Being so dramatic that you’re sure something went wrong with one of his inventions.

• Tries so hard to be upbeat and positive. Optimistic, but sometimes it seems like everything he does goes wrong. That all of his inventions are flawed and behind his closed door with you is the only place he can stop smiling. Stop pretending nothing bothers him. Hates burdening you with this, but he can’t seem to stop himself either. Soft hands stroke over his helm, soothing him with your touch, your scent. And he reaches up to touch your wrist, pulling it to him to press a kiss against your palm. “Better now,” he murmurs.

• Smiling down at him when his head tilts enough you can see one blue optic looking up at you, you run the pad of your thumb against his cheek. Looks so tired, always busy, never stopping like he’s afraid to. Like if he does he thinks he’s failed everyone else. They’re always asking him for things, to make things and it makes you feel guilty to ask him for anything more. Even his time. But he’s sliding a palm up your spine as he presses his face against your belly. And you start stripping for him and he shifts over you, mouth brushing skin as it’s revealed. Always worrying about everyone else and never himself. “Jack,” you whisper when he brushes a kiss against your inner thigh and he looks up your body at you. Smiling tiredly before his mouth is on you, glossa stroking over you, inside you as you arch. Taking care of you.

TFP Wheeljack x Reader

• Head sleepily lifting when his palm thumps down on the berth near your hip, his other hand is gripping your thigh to nudge you open to him. “Jackie,” you groan in protest. “I’m not even awake.” Hear him laugh at that, servos running over your inner thigh and then he’s stroking you, coaxing your body until it’s on board with the plan sleepy or not. There’s really no stopping him when he’s in a mood and he always seems to be. Hugging a pillow to yourself, you squint over your shoulder at him when he steals a couple of your extra pillows, and manhandles you so your hips are propped up and open.

• “You miss me?” He growls, servos playing with you as he kneels behind you, freeing his spike. And you can protest all you want, but you’re already slick for him. That compulsion to be inside you, breed you, bond you surges every time he leaves you. Fragging you, filling you calms it down for a while, but he wants to bond you so badly it hurts. Every time it’s a little harder to resist laying that claim to you. Making you his. Gripping his spike, he slides himself against you, optics shuttering as he strokes himself lazily, slicking the head of his spike with you and you make a low noise, pressing your face against your pillow. Denying him those needy sounds. “Don’t you fragging dare try to keep quiet.”

• Fingers digging into the pillow as he shifts against you, the head of his spike stretches you in a slow drive. And then his big frame is caging yours as he vents to stir your hair. Spike sliding almost free of you in another slow stroke. And then he’s moving, hips snapping against you. Hear him snarl in your ear as his hips pump and you give him what he wants, don’t try to hold back. Crying out as he ruts against you in urgent thrusts. Not letting you ignore him as he surrounds you, fills you. And one of his hands finds yours, grips it in an uncharacteristically tender gesture at odds with his rough pace. Like he cares about more than just the sex and you don’t know what to do with that. How to respond when you want to keep him at a distance, don’t want to understand him. Trying your best to ignore the glimpses you’ve caught that convince you that under that cocky attitude, he’s actually lonely. It’s just sex. If that’s all, he can’t hurt you when he gets bored of you.

I don’t think I ever explained it, but a few folks have asked why TFP Wheeljack is yandere in Crooked Ways. It’s because it’s an older TF fanfic of mine- it was meant to be a soulmates AU like the TF One, but Jackie isn’t that happy to be so obsessed with a human and hasn’t figured out why he’s fixated on the reader yet. He will mellow out some when he’s not in a state of constant sexual frustration/denial about being interested in a human.

#transformers x reader #wheeljack x reader #tfp wheeljack #wheeljack #earthspark wheeljack

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rafayelgod · 2 days ago

Text

🔞 WARNING 21+ ADULTS CONTENT! 🔞

Sylus: Magnum Opus

Oh, the game of hide-and-seek with Sylus, after face mask session. Sylus, the notorious mafia boss, has taken a thrilling turn! As you, the cunning and charming MC, step into his lavish mansion, the air buzzes with anticipation. The rules are simple: hide, and let the boss find you. But little do you know, this game will ignite a passion that neither of you could have imagined.

You sneakily make your way through the grand halls, your heart pounding with excitement. The mansion, with its intricate architecture and opulent decor, provides the perfect playground for your mischievous mind. You giggle softly as you imagine the look on Sylus' face when he realizes you've outsmarted him once again.

"I'll find you, kitten," his deep voice echoes through the marble corridors, sending shivers down your spine. The nickname, 'kitten', rolls off his tongue with a mix of affection and dominance, leaving you intrigued and slightly aroused.

You decide to take a risk and hide in the grand library, a room brimming with ancient tomes and hidden nooks. You climb onto a tall bookshelf, your heart racing as you hear Sylus' footsteps drawing closer. The sound of his heavy boots echoes in the quiet room, and you hold your breath, hoping he won't spot your hiding spot.

"Where could you be, my elusive kitten?" he purrs, his voice low and sensual. His presence fills the room, and you can almost feel his intense gaze searching for you.

Just as you're about to give yourself away with a nervous giggle, Sylus' sharp eyes land on you, and a smirk plays on his lips. "Ah, there you are, my dear. A clever hiding spot, but not clever enough."

He approaches the bookshelf with a slow, deliberate stride, his eyes never leaving yours. You feel a rush of adrenaline as he reaches for you, his strong hands grasping the edge of the shelf. With a gentle tug, he pulls you down, your body landing softly in his arms.

"You're mine to find, kitten," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. His embrace is tight, and you can feel his heart pounding against yours. The intensity of the moment is palpable, and you can't help but feel a thrill of desire coursing through your veins.

"Sylus, you caught me," you purr, your voice laced with a playful tone. "But I must admit, I'm enjoying the chase."

His eyes darken with desire, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your neck. "I intend to make this chase unforgettable, my kitten. You'll learn that hiding from me is a game you can't win."

As he speaks, his hands roam your body, caressing your curves with a possessive touch. You let out a soft moan, your body responding to his every touch. The heat between you is undeniable, and the game of hide-and-seek has taken a sensual turn.

"Sylus, you're making it hard to resist," you tease, your voice laced with a hint of challenge. "But I thought you wanted to find me."

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through his chest and sends shivers down your spine. "Oh, I intend to find every inch of you, kitten. And when I do, you'll know just how sweet the reward can be."

With that, he pins you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. His lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, and you melt into him, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders. The kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue teasing yours, inviting you to explore the depths of his desire.

"Mmm, Sylus," you moan, encouraging him to take more. Your legs weaken, and you're grateful for his strong arms holding you up. He breaks the kiss, his breath coming in short gasps, and looks into your eyes with an intense gaze.

"You drive me wild, kitten. I want to taste every inch of your skin, to feel you under me." His voice is rough, filled with a raw desire that sends a shockwave of excitement through your body.

Without warning, he lifts you off the ground, cradling you in his strong arms. You let out a startled squeal, your heart racing as he carries you towards his private chambers. The journey is short, but your anticipation grows with every step.

As he enters the lavish bedroom, the soft glow of candlelight sets the mood. He gently places you on the silk-covered bed, his eyes never leaving yours. The room is filled with the scent of luxury and desire, and you feel a rush of excitement as you realize what's about to unfold.

"Sylus, what are you—?" you begin, but he silences you with a finger pressed gently against your lips.

"Shh. Let me show you how this game truly ends Kitten"

He moves closer, his body aligning perfectly with yours. His hands roam your body with a familiar yet eager touch, as if he's exploring you for the first time. You arch into his touch, your body craving more of his attention.

"Ah.. Sylus.."

"You're so soft, so perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. His lips trail a path down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You let out soft moans, your eyes closing as you surrender to the pleasure.

His kisses travel lower, his tongue tracing the delicate curve of your collarbone. You feel his hands unfastening your blouse, revealing your skin to his eager gaze. He takes his time, savoring every inch of you, and you revel in the sensation of his touch.

"Sylus..." you whisper, your voice hoarse with desire. "Show me how this game is truly played."

He smiles, a devilish glint in his eye, and his hands move to the button of his pants. With a swift motion, he frees himself, his erection hard and ready. He positions himself above you, his eyes locked with yours, and you feel a rush of power as you realize the control he's giving you.

"Take me, kitten. Show me how much you want this."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. His entry is slow and deliberate, stretching you with each careful thrust. You moan loudly, your eyes closing in bliss as he fills you completely.

"A-ahh!" your voice filled with pure pleasure.

He begins to move, his rhythm steady and powerful. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, and you can't help but arch into him, seeking more. The bed creaks softly with each movement, adding to the sensual symphony of the moment.

"You're mine, kitten. All mine," he growls, his eyes dark with desire. "I'll show you just how sweet the reward of this game can be."

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more intense. You feel the pleasure building, a fire burning within you. Your moans turn into cries of ecstasy, your body trembling with the sheer intensity of the experience.

"Sylus! I'm—I'm gonna—!" you gasp, your body tensing as you reach your climax.

He doesn't stop, his own desire driving him to continue. He kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as you ride the wave of pleasure together. The room is filled with the sound of your passionate cries and the soft slapping of flesh against flesh.

As your orgasm washes over you, you feel Sylus' own release, his body shuddering against yours. He collapses on top of you, his breath heavy and his heart pounding. You can feel his warmth, his satisfaction, and a sense of contentment washes over you.

"Kitten.." he murmurs, his voice hoarse with post-coital bliss. "You've won this round, but remember, the game is never truly over."

You smile, a contented smile, and run your fingers through his hair. "I'll remember that, Sylus. And I'll be ready for the next round whenever you are."

He chuckles, a soft, satisfied sound, and kisses your forehead. "Good. Because I intend to play this game with you for a long, long time."

And so, the game of hide-and-seek takes on a whole new meaning. It's not just about finding a hidden place, but about the passion, the desire, and the intense connection that blooms between you and Sylus. The mansion, once a playground for your mischief, becomes a sanctuary of love and sensuality.

As you lie in each other's arms, the aftermath of passion lingering in the air, you know that this game has brought you closer. The boundaries between boss and kitten, between player and prize, have blurred, and a new chapter in your relationship has begun.

The end of this game marks the beginning of a beautiful, sensual journey, where the rules are yours to write and the rewards are sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

- The End -

#love and deepspace smut #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads sylus #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #magnum opus #smut #rafayel #lads xavier #zayne #caleb

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bigmacari · 2 days ago

Text

╭──────────────────.★..─╮

UT! Bros, UF! Bros, and US! Bros x Reader

☆ Cuddling Headcannons

☆Warning(s) Weed

☆Author Note(s) This took so long but its worth it.

╰─..★.──────────────────╯

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

UT! Sans ☆

Perfect person if you don't like being touch too much but still need that comfort. Platonic or not, he will sit there for a while just relaxing with you. With your head on his shoulder, the warmth shared, both of you start drifting off. If you concentrate, you can hear the vibration of his magic and feel the soft rise and fall of his thorax.

When he has to move, he'll gently shift from underneath you, shortcutting if he has too. Its odd because it never wakes you up, even in the lightest of sleep. Sans usually stays resting with you though, and he finds that he actually sleeps deeper.

One time, Papyrus walked in on ya'll cuddling on the couch. He was about to wake his lazy brother, (very loudly may I add), but instead snapped his mandible shut with an audible clack. Decided to let it slide, (found it too cute), and put a blanket over you both.

UT! Papyrus ☆

Personally, I think he wouldn't like staying still for more than 10-20 minutes at a time. But when he's watching his MTT special, he'll gladly pull you to his lap and let you rest against his chest. He'll also do this thing were he wraps his arms around your waist and rest his chin on top of your head.

Gets nervous if you fall asleep and he needs to get up and do something. Really doesn't want to wake you up, but always does. Feels bad about it if you mention it.

Cuddles in the racecar bed. He's quite big, so most of the time he ends up being the big spoon. Which is so comforting?? He's surprisingly warm for a skeleton, and you always have to kick off the blanket. Sometimes before bed, he'll have you lay on his chest while you both (try too) whisper about random topics.

UF! Sans (Red) ☆

Red's a little awkward at first, not use to getting this close to someone that doesn't want to kill him, (Besides his brother.) Makes some puns and dirty jokes to mask his nervousness, but you can see the sweat building on his frontal bone. When he gets more comfortable, he's definitely one to run his hands all over your figure. Just likes the feeling of your body, no matter what body type you have. Says the "squishness feels nice."

Falls asleep really fast when cuddling, and will stay there until you or his brother begrudgingly wakes him up, in which he'll just grumble about "five more minutes." Also basically holds you hostage without realizing it, good luck trying to pee at night.

Big spoon since it makes him feel like he's protecting you, always has a firm hand on your waist. Runs his phalanges through your hair and scratches your scalp. If you have a protective hair style, like braids, twists, or locs, he'll twirl his figures around those.

UF! Papyrus (Edge) ☆

Most reluctant out of everybody, but also the most touched starved. In public, if he feels threatened, Edge will pull you onto his lap. A precautionary measure to make sure nobody tries anything to 'his' human, (not that anybody would, he's terrifying.)

When it comes to being alone, he kinda gets shy?? You thought he was uncomfortable at first but then realized he would've shoved you off by now if so. Takes him a couple of cuddle sessions for him to relax, but eventually grows to enjoy it.

Likes when you lay on his shoulder or sit in his lap when doing a puzzle or watching reruns of MTT. It's giving rich couple next to fireplace drinking wine tbh. Edge never sits for long though, so if you fall asleep... well that sucks.

Though, before he annoying moves, he always looks down at your sleeping form. Taking in the sight, he notes how softly your chest raises and falls, or how your eyelashes lay against your skin, curling a bit. His usually rough features soften and for that moment he feels at ease.

US! Sans (Blue) ☆

Always up for some cuddling, but specializes in comfort cuddles for sure. When your feeling down, he'll make you some tea and let you rest against him for a while. Always makes time to do this and clears his schedule. Also another one who would play with your hair if your comfortable with it.

Has you often lay on his chest, perfect for massages, which oh my god he's good at. You have no idea where he got that talent from but its great so you don't care.

The most you guys cuddle is usually at night. Blue's just too busy and on the move to slow down enough for a good day cuddle sesh. He definitely has glow in the dark stars on his ceiling, which sets the mood for a good talk about dreams and the future. Between that and him being pretty warm, you fall asleep almost instantly.

US! Papyrus (Stretch) ☆

Perfect for cuddling. His hoodie is very big and thick, which makes it so comfortable. Stretch is also very lengthy so it just feels like cuddling a giant teddy bear. Doesn't mind staying there as long you want, but he will be nodding on and off.

Actually prefers sleeping on the couch, but sleeps in a bed for your sake. You'll have to be the one waking him up since he's such a deep sleeper. Sometimes he'll pretend he's asleep and hold you tighter so you can't move just to fuck with you.

Stretch definitely smokes weed, cuddling hits extra hard if your up for smoking with him. This usually just ends up as a deep talk session with snacks, and eventually you both crashing on the couch.

Plays with your hair, (they just like it because they don't have any 🙄) and draws on your back with his finger. Sometimes he'll trail his hand up and under your shirt very slowly just to fluster you. This ends in you smacking his shoulder playfully and him chuckling.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

☆REQUESTS OPEN☆

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

#underswap #undertale #underfell #underfell sans x reader #underfell papyrus #underfell papyrus x reader #underfell sans #underswap sans #underswap papyrus #underswap papyrus x reader #underswap sans x reader #papyrus x reader #sans x reader #x reader #undertale fandom

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purinbunnii · 2 days ago

Text

Bound by Blood, Ignited by Desire

The Edge of Control

The room was thick with heat.

Your body still throbbed where Toji had touched you, his words still lingering in the air like an unshakable curse.

“Next time? I’m gonna make you say my name when you cum.”

You should have been furious. Should have slapped him, should have walked away.

But you were still lying there—breathless, wanting, aching.

And Toji was still watching you.

The bastard had tasted you on his fingers and then left you trembling, just to prove a point.

He thought he had won.

He thought you were just another challenge, another woman waiting to be conquered.

But if he wanted to play games?

You’d make sure he lost.

————

The next night, you made your move.

Toji had returned late, shirtless, muscles taut with exhaustion, his body covered in light scratches from whatever job he’d taken.

You barely looked up as he entered the room, reclining on your side of the futon, your yukata loose, hanging off one shoulder, your thighs just barely covered.

You felt his eyes on you instantly.

“You’re still awake?” he muttered, rolling his neck as he sat on the edge of the futon.

You hummed in response, shifting just enough for your yukata to slip further down your shoulder, exposing the soft curve of your collarbone.

Toji noticed.

You felt his stare, the way his jaw tensed slightly.

Good.

He thought he had control of this game.

It was time to remind him who he married.

Without a word, you stretched—slow, deliberate—letting the fabric of your robe slide just enough to reveal the bare skin beneath.

Toji let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair.

“You playin’ at somethin’, sweetheart?”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “You seem tense,” you murmured, shifting onto your knees. “Maybe you should let me… help.”

His gaze darkened.

Toji was a man of instinct. His body reacted before his mind even processed, his pupils dilating at the implication of your words, the invitation beneath them.

You crawled toward him, the futon shifting beneath you, the tension a livewire between you both.

Then—

You reached for him.

Your fingers ghosted over the ridges of his abdomen, feeling the taut muscle flex beneath your touch. His skin was warm, his body hard, carved from years of violence and precision.

You dragged your nails lightly over his stomach, tracing every scar, every dip and ridge, until you reached the low waistband of his pants.

Toji exhaled, his voice low, gravelly.

“You really wanna do this, huh?”

You smirked. “I want to see if you can handle it.”

Toji’s breath hitched, just for a second—so fast, so subtle, that you almost missed it.

But you didn’t.

And then—

His hand was in your hair.

Not rough. Not painful. Just there. Just possessive.

Your mouth went dry as he tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“You wanna put that mouth to good use, sweetheart?” His voice was dark, dripping with amusement and something dangerous.

Your stomach tightened.

But you refused to back down.

Without another word, you leaned in—pressing your lips to his stomach first, tasting the salt and sweat on his skin.

Toji hissed, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“Shit…”

You smirked against his skin, nipping lightly at his abs before trailing lower, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his pants.

Toji let out a low, guttural sound, his self-control snapping as he yanked the fabric down himself.

And fuck.

You knew Toji was well-endowed—you had felt it before, pressed against you through layers of fabric.

But seeing it?

Your throat went dry.

He was big.

Thick, veined, heavy against his thigh, already twitching at the sight of you on your knees.

Toji chuckled, voice taunting. “Bit off more than you can chew, princess?”

You narrowed your eyes.

And then—

You licked a slow, teasing stripe up his length, just to shut him up.

Toji’s breath shuddered.

His grip in your hair tightened.

“Fuck…” he rasped, his entire body going taut.

You smirked, dragging your tongue along the underside, savoring the way he twitched beneath your touch, the way his muscles flexed as he fought to stay still.

“You talk a lot,” you murmured against his skin, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. “But I think I like you better like this.”

Toji let out a low growl.

And then—

He pushed your head down.

Not forceful. Not enough to hurt.

Just enough to remind you—

He was still in control.

“Open wider, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dark with amusement. “Lemme see just how much you can take.”

Your stomach flipped.

But you obeyed.

Because this time?

You weren’t fighting him at all.

————

The room smelled like sex.

Like sweat, heat, and him.

Your legs shook, your thighs aching from where they had been pinned apart for what felt like hours.

Toji hovered over you, his grin feral, fingers gliding between your soaked folds, spreading you open as he watched.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through your slick, circling your clit without touching it.

Your hips jerked, frustration clawing at your insides.

“Toji—”

He raised a brow. “What was that?”

You clenched your jaw. “I said—”

His fingers pressed down, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“You know what I wanna hear, sweetheart,” he mused, lips brushing over your ear. “So say it.”

Your breath came in ragged pants.

He was drawing this out, keeping you at the edge, refusing to let you fall.

And it was torture.

But your pride—

Your pride was hanging by a thread.

“Toji,” you finally gasped, hands curling into the sheets.

His fingers finally slid inside, filling you with a slow, deliberate stroke.

“That’s more like it.”

Your body arched, pleasure flooding through you in a way you had never felt before.

Because this wasn’t just lust.

This wasn’t just hate.

This was submission.

And Toji?

Toji was going to ruin you for it.

————

Your body was a wreck beneath him.

Your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, thighs trembling where they were pinned open by his powerful grip. Every nerve in your body was on fire, burning from the heat of him—his touch, his mouth, his fingers.

And Toji?

Toji was watching you.

His dark green eyes were devouring the sight of you spread beneath him—your legs open, your body slick and swollen from his relentless teasing.

His fingers were buried inside you, slow and deliberate, dragging out every ounce of frustration that had been building for weeks.

“Shit,” Toji murmured, dragging his thumb over your clit, his lips curling into a smirk when your body jerked. “So sensitive, huh? Guess that happens when you spend all this time pretendin’ you don’t want it.”

Your stomach clenched, a moan tearing from your throat as he pushed his fingers deeper, curling them just right.

“Toji—”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, feigning innocence, his pace slowing just to torture you. “Somethin’ you wanna ask me, sweetheart?”

Your fingers curled into the futon beneath you.

The bastard.

He knew exactly what you needed.

And he was making you say it.

You swallowed hard, pride hanging by a thread as your hips rocked against his hand, chasing that feeling, chasing that edge.

Toji let out a low chuckle. “C’mon now, I know you can be louder than that.”

His fingers curled again, pressing right against that spot that made your vision blur, and a broken moan tore from your lips.

You hated him.

You hated that he had this much power over your body.

But right now?

You needed him more.

“Please—”

Toji’s grin widened.

“There it is,” he murmured, his thumb pressing down, circling your clit in slow, teasing strokes that sent pleasure shooting through your veins.

Your back arched, pleasure twisting tight in your core, heat building fast, too fast.

And then—

He pulled his hand away.

Your entire body trembled, your orgasm ripping away from you so suddenly that you let out a frustrated, desperate whine.

Toji just grinned.

“You were about to cum, weren’t you?” he mused, licking his fingers clean, tasting you, savoring every ounce of your desperation.

You glared at him, chest heaving. “You absolute bastard.”

Toji laughed.

A deep, dark, satisfied sound.

“You say that, but you’re still spread open for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs, pulling you closer, dragging your body right beneath him.

Your stomach flipped.

Because Toji was done teasing.

He leaned down, pressing his mouth against your inner thigh, his teeth scraping your skin as he dragged his tongue up—

Your breath caught.

You knew what was coming.

And then—

His mouth was on you.

Your hips jerked, a strangled cry escaping your lips as his tongue slid between your folds, slow and deliberate.

“Fuck,” Toji groaned against you, his arms locking around your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

His tongue was hot, wet, demanding, lapping up every bit of slick he had pulled from you, devouring you like he had been starving.

And fuck, he was good at this.

The way he sucked, the way his tongue flicked just right—it had your body writhing, your thighs shaking as he held you still, forcing you to take every single stroke, every flick, every relentless, merciless lick.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the messy black strands, tugging—

Toji groaned, the vibration shaking through your core, sending a shockwave of pleasure right up your spine.

“Fuck, Toji—”

He grinned against you, his tongue dipping deeper, his teeth grazing the edge of your clit just enough to make your entire body jerk.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his voice wrecked with hunger, his grip tightening when you tried to move away.

“Don’t fuckin’ run from me now, sweetheart,” he muttered, pulling you back, forcing you against his mouth again.

Your head dropped back, pleasure overwhelming you, the heat in your core coiling tight, so fucking tight—

Your thighs clenched around his head, and Toji groaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

And then—

He sucked.

Hard.

White hot pleasure exploded through you, your body locking up as your orgasm ripped through you, wave after devastating wave, your back arching so hard it almost hurt.

You gasped, shaking, panting, body wrecked from the intensity.

But Toji?

Toji didn’t stop.

Your eyes flew open, your body twitching as he kept licking, sucking, dragging you straight into another orgasm, another peak.

“Toji—wait—I can’t—”

His grip tightened.

“You can,” he murmured, voice thick with pure, sadistic amusement.

And then—

His fingers were inside you again, curling, stroking, pulling another orgasm straight from your already wrecked body.

Your vision blurred, your entire body trembling, your fingers clawing at the sheets as you cried out.

Toji finally pulled back, his mouth glistening, his smirk filthy as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“Goddamn,” he exhaled, his voice rough with satisfaction. “You look real good when you cum for me, sweetheart.”

Your entire body twitched, your breath still coming in heavy gasps, every nerve oversensitive and raw.

Toji leaned down, pressing his lips to your throat, his voice a low murmur.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered.

And the worst part?

You wanted it to be true.

#jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #jjk #jjk fanfic #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #toji smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x y/n #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader smut #smut #jjk smut

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idkyetxoxo · 2 days ago

Text

Criston Cole - Lost in Desire

Summary - She defies danger to find the man she loves on the battlefield, where passion and duty collide. Their bond is tested as war rages around them.

Pairing - Criston Cole x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (hand stuff?)

Word count - 2058

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Must you go fight?" I asked, my fingers tracing delicate patterns along the expanse of his bare chest.

Beneath me, he lay still, one hand gently stroking my hair while his gaze remained fixed on the ceiling as if the weight of the world pressed upon him.

"To protect your brother's claim, I must," Criston replied, the gravity of his words sending a wave of irritation through me, a storm brewing in my chest that I could not ignore.

"Yes, yes, because everything always comes back to Aegon," I muttered, lifting my head so that my eyes met his.

A flicker of something—sympathy? Frustration?—passed over his face, but it was fleeting, replaced by a small, knowing smile.

He cupped my face with surprising tenderness, the pad of his thumb gliding across my cheek, leaving warmth in its wake.

"Do not be upset," he murmured softly, his voice a balm against the raw edges of my discontent.

My eyes fluttered shut at the tenderness of his touch, and I dipped my head to press a gentle kiss to his palm before allowing myself to sink back into the plushness of the pillows.

"Perhaps I can help," Criston offered, a teasing lilt colouring his tone.

His hand began a slow descent, skimming over the curves of my body with a deliberate softness that sent anticipation racing beneath my skin.

I turned my head to find his eyes, alight with mischief as he propped himself on one elbow.

"And what else could you possibly do that we haven't already done three times tonight?" I teased, the words slipping out with a touch of shyness that I could not quite suppress.

His hand moved with purpose, slipping between my thighs and cupping the heat that had already grown in response to his touch.

Criston arched an eyebrow, a challenge sparking in his eyes as he gauged my reaction.

"A great deal more, Princess," he murmured the words a promise that sent a shiver down my spine.

He leaned down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along my neck. The gentle suction of his lips against my skin left a trail of fire, and I knew without looking that he was leaving marks—tokens of this stolen night.

His fingers caressed me, stroking slowly across my folds, and when he pressed one inside me, I gasped, clutching at the sheets with trembling hands.

He worked with a practised precision, the addition of a second finger making my back arch and my breath catch. His movements were unhurried yet purposeful, each curl of his fingers coaxing a wave of pleasure that left me feeling blissfully undone.

My moans grew louder, the sound raw and unrestrained, until he paused, a wicked smile playing at his lips.

His other hand moved swiftly, covering my mouth as his eyes met mine, full of amusement and something darker muffling the sound of my pleasure but doing nothing to contain the sensation coursing through me.

"Not too loud," he whispered, his voice a rough caress that ignited me further.

He dipped his head once more, attacking the sensitive skin of my neck with renewed fervour, leaving me lost to the exquisite torment he so expertly delivered.

My breath came in ragged gasps, and I could feel every inch of his body pressed against mine as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.

His fingers moved inside me with precision, curling in just the right way, finding spots that made stars burst behind my eyelids. He drew out every shiver and moan with a mastery that made my whole body tighten with anticipation.

When he finally uncovered my mouth, he replaced his hand with his lips, capturing my gasp as if to savour it. His tongue traced my bottom lip before slipping inside, deepening the kiss.

My head swam, every nerve on fire as his fingers picked up speed. He moved with an intoxicating blend of tenderness and purpose, each stroke pushing me closer to the edge of oblivion.

"Let go," he murmured against my lips, his breath hot and ragged, an almost desperate plea.

His words, soft and commanding, were the final push I needed. My body arched beneath him, tension coiling and then shattering as pleasure erupted within me, rolling in powerful waves that left me gasping.

My fingers dug into his shoulders, desperate for an anchor as I trembled, feeling like I might come apart entirely.

Criston's movements slowed, his touch gentle as he eased me through the aftershocks. He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, each touch a silent act of care.

Finally, he withdrew his hand and gathered me against him, pressing his forehead to mine as I caught my breath.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was thick with unspoken words, each of us reluctant to break the fragile peace of this stolen moment.

I opened my eyes and found him watching me, his gaze soft but shadowed by something deeper—a weariness that no amount of passion could erase.

"You make it so hard to leave," he whispered, his voice raw, each word heavy with the burden of duty that loomed over him.

"Then stay," I whispered back, my own voice trembling. I knew the answer before he even spoke. His duty to protect, to fight, would always come first.

He kissed me once more, a slow, lingering kiss that spoke of longing, regret, and promises unspoken.

When he pulled away, he ran his thumb over my bottom lip, as if committing me to memory.

"I will return to you," he said, his tone fierce and unwavering.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and watched as he rose from the bed. He began to dress, the armour of duty slipping back into place with every piece of clothing he donned.

When he turned to leave, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, a small, bittersweet smile on his lips.

"Be safe," I whispered.

"You too, Princess," he replied, before disappearing through the door, leaving the room cold and empty without him.

The ghost of his touch lingered on my skin, a reminder of the brief, burning moments we had stolen together.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The weight of his last words clung to me with a grip that felt almost cruel.

"Be safe," he had said, and I had whispered the same back, clinging to a promise neither of us could truly keep. He left with the weight of duty etched into every line of his body, and I had vowed to wait, to trust that he would return.

But trust was no match for dread.

It began as a small, gnawing feeling—a whisper that grew louder with every breath I took. The morning light barely pierced the gloom of my chambers before the first whispers reached me: Aegon had taken Sunfyre to Rook's Rest.

My heart seized. I had hoped, desperately, that this would not be the battle to call Criston to arms, but hope was a fickle, brittle thing.

The moment I knew, I moved. Logic and reason tried to slow my steps; they whispered of danger and recklessness, of my lack of training and the brutal chaos awaiting me. I ignored them.

My fingers trembled as I saddled Silverwing, feeling each strap and buckle beneath my hands like a brand. There was no hesitation.

I soared into the sky, the wind tearing at my hair and the cold air biting into my skin.

Below, the world spread out like a living nightmare—warriors clashed, steel rang against steel, and fire painted streaks of orange and red across the ground.

The scent of blood and ash reached even the heights of my flight, stinging my senses until they felt raw.

Silverwing descended with a fierce shriek, and I felt the ground tremor as her talons met earth.

My eyes darted across the chaos, desperate, searching for one figure amidst the madness. The ground was a living tapestry of death and fury—bodies strewn in grotesque mockery of life, men fighting with the desperation of those who know they might never see another dawn.

I was acutely aware of how vulnerable I was, of the folly of it all. But I couldn't stop. Not now.

I leapt from Silverwing before she had even fully landed, my knees nearly buckling as I hit the ground.

The world spun for a moment, a blur of heat and noise. I forced myself to focus, my breath ragged and shallow.

I was out of my depth—woefully unprepared, with no weapon save for a desperate heart that refused to surrender.

"Criston!" I called, my voice raw, swallowed by the cacophony around me. My gaze swept over the battlefield, frantic and searching.

I pushed forward, weaving through the bodies and the chaos, the heat of flames licking at my skin. Fear clawed at my throat, but I pressed on. I had come too far to stop.

Then, I saw him.

For a breathless, gut-wrenching moment, the world seemed to stop. He was kneeling on the blood-soaked ground, motionless, his head bowed as if in defeat—or worse.

Time stretched painfully, each heartbeat a hammering echo in my chest. I stumbled toward him, my vision narrowing until he was the only thing I saw.

"Criston!" I choked out, my voice trembling. He didn't move. I reached him, my hands trembling as I touched his shoulder, half-expecting to find only cold, unyielding flesh beneath my fingers.

His body tensed. In one swift motion, he turned, and I found myself staring into his eyes—wide, alive, burning with shock and fury.

Relief crashed over me like a wave, so intense that it nearly brought me to my knees. But there was no time to savour it.

"What in the seven hells are you doing here?" Criston roared, his voice harsh and desperate.

His grip on my arm was bruising, his gaze blazing with equal parts anger and something else—something dangerously close to relief.

"I—I couldn't just—" I stammered, the words tripping over themselves as I tried to make sense of my own recklessness. "I couldn't stay behind. I had to—"

My voice cracked, and tears burned at the corners of my eyes. "I had to make sure you were alive."

His face softened, just for a moment—a flicker of emotion that cut through the fury. But then it was gone, replaced by a hard, unyielding mask.

"You shouldn't be here. You have no idea what you've done." He pulled me closer, his grip desperate. "Do you know how dangerous—"

"I know!" I snapped, the fear giving way to a surge of raw emotion. "I know it's dangerous. I know it's reckless. But I couldn't stay behind, waiting, wondering if—"

My voice broke, and I shook my head, unable to finish.

His eyes searched mine, the anger fading into something deeper, something that mirrored my own anguish. He exhaled, a shuddering breath that seemed to drain him.

"You're impossible," he whispered, and despite everything—the blood, the chaos, the death all around us—a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Maybe," I said, my own voice trembling, "but you're stuck with me."

He stared at me for a moment, his gaze fierce and unyielding, before his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close.

The world fell away—just for an instant. His touch was rough, his armour cold against my skin, but I clung to him as if he were the only thing tethering me to this broken, burning world.

"You shouldn't have come," he whispered into my hair, his voice raw with emotion. "But I'm glad you did."

I pulled back just enough to look at him, a small, incredulous laugh escaping me. "Is that your idea of a thank you?"

His lips twitched, a hint of that familiar, maddening smirk. "Maybe," he said, his eyes softening, just for me. "But I'm not letting you get killed out here."

Before I could respond, the battle surged around us again, a harsh reminder of where we were.

Criston's hand found mine, his grip strong and unyielding. "Stay close," he said, the command tempered by a hint of something softer. "We're getting out of this. Together."

For the first time since I had taken to the skies, hope bloomed in my chest. I nodded, my grip tightening in silent agreement.

And as we turned to face the chaos, side by side, I felt the strength of our bond—fragile, reckless, and fierce—carrying us forward.

Together, no matter what came next.

A/n - Not my fav but at least it's done!

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #team green #criston cole #criston cole x reader #criston x reader #hotd criston #ser criston cole #criston cole imagine #criston cole x you

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