#it’s like i’ve been exposed to radiation

[black-wolf066]

You Tease

This is a gift for @shes-an-odd-bird because we all seem to be in a feral mood this week and I’m hoping it’ll help tame our hormones.

((This is my first ever Character/reader piece… and it’s been a very long time since I’ve written any smut, now that I think about it… so keep that in mind as you read. 😅 Also note, this is an established relationship between Billy and Reader with both being mid-twenties)).

All smut/no plot (because I can’t brain enough to think of a plot right now) so, minors do not engage.

Warnings: Unprotected sex. Language

"Have I ever told you how hot you look in my clothes?" Billy practically purred in your ear; keeping you caged between himself and the bedroom wall.

The clothing in question was his old gym shorts. You had found them laying behind the dryer when you’d moved it to clean the vent earlier that day—must have fallen back there unbeknownst to either of you. You had cleaned them, but rather than storing them away for him to find as a surprise later, you wore them instead—knowing what wearing his clothes would do to him and being utterly ecstatic that he was proving your hopes correct for how this night was going to go.

“You’ve mentioned it, yes.” You quipped back, pressing your forehead hard against the drywall as shivers of anticipation shot down your spine.

You felt the fingers of his left-hand toying with the waistband, while his other glided purposefully up your side—taking the fabric of your tank with it until he had it bunched up under your chin. You had decidedly forgone wearing a bra that morning, which meant your breasts and stomach were exposed to the chilled surface and the AC in the room; though, it did very little to counteract the heated flush of your growing excitement.

“Was wondering where these disappeared too.” He muttered as he pulled against the band and released; the elastic snapping at your hip making you jump a little. “Thought maybe they’d been tossed.”

You weren’t paying much attention to what he was saying; squirming at the feeling of his hot breath against the shell of your ear. The pleasant Goosebumps rising where the pads of his fingers continued to toy and trail feather-light against your newly exposed skin.

“I—” whatever you were going to say was lost, voice breaking off on a lengthy whine as his hips suddenly bucked roughly against you.

“What was that babe? I don’t think I caught that.” he teased playfully, knowing exactly the effect he was having on you and your sudden inability to articulate.

You would have huffed something snarky at him if you weren’t so distracted. The stimulation of his light touch, the scratchy feel of the dry wall rubbing at your sensitive nipples, the heat radiating into your back from his naked torso, and the rough grinding of his clothed stirring erection against your ass; had you dazed and breathless.

And hungry for more.

“Billy.” You managed to moan out; wiggling backward—as best you could with the little space he was giving you—to meet his grinding with a thrust of your own.

“Yeah? You like that?”

“Billy.”

“What do you want?” he breathily chuckled as he finally moved away from your ear to bite and suckle at the pulse point thrumming wildly beneath it. “Use your words, babe.”

Shit, this man was going to be the death of you.

“F—” you swallowed thickly, writhing under his ministrations and the over-stimulation; feeling close to cumming then and there as you forced out, “Fuck me.”

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

He moved away just enough to unzip and drop his jeans, but not enough for you to lose your balance. Not like it stopped you from reaching up to grasp the wall for support anyways, breath hitching as you felt his fingers breach the waistband and slide the shorts down until they fell at your ankles. You kicked them away quickly before a surprised squeak escaped as you felt yourself being lifted and turned, your back now pressed against the wall as you automatically wrapped your legs around his hips.

Your tank top was the last to go before his mouth found your lips seconds later in a messy tangle of tongue and teeth; grinding his thick girth against your wet folds while your hands found their way up into his curls.

“You’re already soaked, bet I could just slide right in.” he taunted, nudging the head of his fat cock teasingly at your opening but not dipping beyond that.

If he didn’t move right now; you were going to lose your goddamn mind.

“Fuck me.” You repeated forcibly against his lips.

You tightened your ankles at his back and bounced yourself a little; impatiently hoping it would get you what you wanted faster; only for stars to dance across your vision when the head slipped and nudged up against your clit.

“And you say I’m the brat?”

“Billy.”

His huff of aroused amusement was your only warning before he shifted and thrusted shallowly into you; stretching you deliciously—and maddeningly slowly the absolute jerk.

“This what you wanted?” he questioned huskily, continuing the shallow rolling that had your toes curling. “Did you wear my shorts hoping I’d fuck you tonight?”

“Y--es!” you yelped as he nipped lightly at your earlobe.

“Oh, baby, you know all you gotta do is ask.” He chuckled. “Though, can’t say I’m opposed to the method. Did get us here—” he punctuated his point by finally—blissfully—sliding himself home inside you. “—a bit quicker.”

You buried your face into his shoulder, muffling the guttural whine that squeezed out of your lungs by biting down at the sinew there. The feeling of being speared open by Billy always dazed you, something you hoped you’d never get used too.

“Fuck,” Billy grunted out his own throaty moan at feeling your teeth.

His hips bucked involuntarily, causing your eyes to nearly roll to the back of your head as the movement pushed him just that little bit deeper. The pleasure-pain of him hitting your cervix and his pubic bone grinding just so on your clit, sent a violent spark of fireworks to burst cross your vision as you climaxed.

“Shit, shit.” He keened gruffly, probably not expecting you to orgasm as quickly as you had—for you certainly didn’t expect it either, not that you had any mind to care at the moment—as you felt your walls fluttering and squeezing all around him.

“Sh--shit.” You echoed him; feeling as though you were floating on cloud 9, body loosening and relaxing with Billy’s powerful biceps and the wall being the only thing keeping you from falling flat on your ass.

“You good?” he asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and pressed your heels into the small of his back to urge him to continue. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Billy didn’t need much more prompting, his teasing long forgotten as he began to roll and thrust his hips in earnest to chase his own climax.

All you could do was try and hold on for dear life, as he pounded into you; your muscles still not quite cooperating enough to help him along.

“Damn baby, you feel so good.” The obscene wet squelching of skin on skin and the heady scent of sex filled the air as he continued his bruising pace—though you could tell he was getting close. “Think you got another one in you?”

You could feel your pleasure climbing again, your limbs finally following your silent command as you clumsily met him thrust for thrust. You didn’t trust your voice though, so you nodded and sent the next breathy moan directly into his ear, causing him to curse as his hips stuttered.

“Shit.” He moaned. “That’s my girl.”

The praise paired with the intentional grinding of his pubic bone against your clit sent you over the edge again, very nearly screaming at the intensity of the second wave that crashed into you.

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s it. That’s a good girl.” He panted into your neck, snapping his hips several more times before your tight, fluttering, walls were milking him of his own orgasm.

Neither of you moved for a while, both of you fighting to catch your breath and come down from the high. The tingling sensation was beginning to subside as you buried your face in his neck; breathing in the sweaty musk of him as your limbs began to go boneless. Billy was muttering something into the skin of your own neck, but you couldn’t hear it, ears still ringing a little—though you had a feeling you knew exactly what was being muttered.

It was only when you felt Billy’s muscles beginning to strain, that you tried to get him to drop you back on your feet, but he didn’t budge. He only held on a bit tighter as he shifted your weight; your back leaving the support of the wall as he finally moved you both toward the bed.

He fell into the mattress with you still secured in his arms, but the movement caused him to finally slip out. You released an involuntary whimper at the loss of feeling full that had him chuckling at your expense.

“Hush,” you snarked and nuzzled your nose against his collarbone; feeling his fingers trail up and down your spine and relishing in the warmth and smell of the post coital bliss for as long as you could.

You were on the verge of sleep when his quiet voice pulled you back.

“Where did you find them anyway?”

“Hmm?”

“My shorts. Where did you find them?”

“Behind the dryer.” You muttered drowsily; grumbling when his chuckle jostled you.

“Did I wear you out that much?” he asked in amusement; fingers still gently following the path of your spine. You hummed in response, the call of sleep too much to ignore. “And here I thought we’d have time to go another round.”

“Hmm… wake me in an hour.”

His answering laugh followed you into your dreams.

[cryptidnextdoor]

i just finished mizumono. i need someone to shoot me like a horse with a broken leg.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

MADE HIS MARK

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Synopsis: a shivery trip to a liquor cellar turned into a steamy secret between friends and a not-so-subtle reveal between a small herd of colleagues. Word Count: 5k+ WARNING: SMUT. please, please, MDNI !!! penetration (piv). unprotected sex (but fr wrap it up!!!). fingering (a lil bit). obsessed!spencer (bc why not?). ex friends with benefits to lovers. a pinch of angst if you squint. cursing. troublemaker spencer reid and reader. not proofread!! A/N: heavily influenced by the song Dress by Taylor Swift. I love me a TS song. I'm obsessed, and I saw the opportunity. Also, this is my first Spencer Reid smut fic. Be nice, and tell me what you think!

  The sharp brush of spring and little kisses from the evening air prompt you to savor the shivery feeling on your skin.

  You take a deep breath before sliding your heels off, dangling them in your hand as you trail down the maze of a hallway in Rossi’s lavish home. Your dress is now a product of a shoddy decision. 

  All you knew was how presentable and wedding-appropriate it was, but you never realized why you would wear such a dress barely sewn for the crisp evening weather in May.

  “Hiding from everyone?”

  A smile instantly layers over your painted lips before you can even raise your gaze ahead. There’s this tickle of warmth that sparks inside of you the moment you hear his voice. Hands shaking in an intense subconscious buzz of excitement. Thrilling.

  No other than Dr. Spencer Reid is ten feet away from you, standing lazily against the wall. His hair is messy from all the magic tricks he tore out to Jack and Henry and, funnily enough, Penelope, too.

  Bright gleam shines on your face, flashing a saccharine smile you can only muster when the receiver is him. You shake your head.

  "Are you?"

  One hand in his pocket. Spencer shyly nods, “I ran out of magic tricks, and Jack figured out one of my tricks halfway through my little show.” He explains without persuasion, staring into space with playful horrid written all over his face.

  You steal the half-full glass from his other hand, cringing at the taste of sparkling cider. “One sip won’t kill you, you know…” You say, shoving the glass back into his hand.

  Spencer laughs, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” He quips, a sheepish smile growing with each syllable.

  “Very much so,” You nod, making a beeline to the kitchen to find some kind of beverage that’ll knock you out ‘til the next day.

  He follows you like a tail. Your senses feel his warmth, his breath fanning against your exposed back. The feeling of his tall presence behind leaves your breath hitching between inhales and exhales, and you’d love more than his figure on your trail. You ache for something more than the image of him in your wake. You need him merged with your soul, his body tightly pressed against yours. You crave something harsh.

  It’s wishful thinking.

  “What took you so long? Did you not notice I was gone?” He wonders.

  Or is it?

  “It’s cold out here, you know,” Spencer pouts in your peripheral. 

  You want your lips to wipe them off, then turn them into an O.

  “Aww, does pretty boy genius feel lonely?” You tease over your shoulder, tapping his chest with the back of your hand. Your brows jump, twisting on your heels to face him. “I’ll be damned,” You exclaim, pushing your palm against his pec with more pressure.

  It's been so long since you touched him with more than an accidental brush of your fingertips. His body stiffens under your light squeeze. And the thirst for more slowly dries the circumference of his throat.

  “Reid, when’d you get this fit? No wonder women are all over you.” Genuine curiosity takes over, looking up at him with fluttering lashes.

  Spencer scoffs, leaning down eye to eye with you, “I’ve always been hot.” He retorts with a straight face. The confidence radiates, and it does something in the pit of your stomach.

  A brief silence whooshes between your bodies, and the next thing you know, both of you are laughing ‘til your cores cramp.

  You gasp for air, head against his sternum, hand still placed over his pec. “Don’t ever say that in front of Morgan. He might get a stroke.” You begin walking once more, turning your back to him. 

  “I am! Don’t you agree?” You do. He banters a few feet away, keeping a safe distance—or so help the impulsive thoughts that are whirling around his mind. A playful grin works his facial muscles out, only hoping that you didn’t notice the way he takes in your scent like a bait set out for him.

  Spencer didn’t even need to run to catch up with you. His strides are five times longer than yours.

  You feel a soft fabric cover your shoulders, accompanied by a heavy arm that burns your skin in pure reflexive need. “I thought you were cold?” You ask, glancing to your left, where Spencer walks beside you.

  Spencer shrugs, “Rather feeling cold than you getting a cold tomorrow morning. The chances of me getting sick from being cold tonight versus you sneezing on me like a troll is 15 to 85 percent.” He replies calmly, earning a light smack from your hand.

  You roll your eyes, but your smile never travels far. It only happened once. And you both swore once was enough.

  The two of you became friends during your time in the Academy. You’ll never forget the first time you met him. The urge to shove a sock inside his yapping mouth over the repercussions of shaking someone’s hand. Most people say the two of you are best friends. Somehow, his intelligence didn’t set you apart. You tolerated his constant rambles, and he tolerated your random bursts of sass. 

  It's more than that though. The entanglement was more than two friends. More than innocent study sessions. More than a trip to the nearest shooting range.

  As two twenty-one-year-olds who's never felt the most sensual touch before, one minute of forced proximity and all hell broke loose. What seemed so platonic was sexually intimate behind closed doors.

  However, in lieu of staying attached to the hip, the two of you went your separate ways after graduation. You went to pursue each respective interest. You both said no hard feelings. And both believed things would never work anyway, because no one was willing to put in the work.

  The two of you reconnected when you joined the BAU team almost a year ago. Meeting him once again was nerve-wracking. With unresolved fallout and nonexistent communication, it scared you a bit. But you should’ve known Spencer Reid has always been different—good, different. The bond you had didn’t seem too damaged. If anything, it was merely locked in a vault and became stronger than ever before. You managed to be civil—become friends.

  And since then, you never ran out of ways to be in each other’s vicinity. Or he just always succeeded in keeping you interested in his antics. Or you’re just addicted to him more than you’d like to admit.

  But friends don't shake from mere self-control. Friends don't choke on breaths when the other touches them. Friends don't—

  “What percentage of alcohol will you get from Rossi’s cellar?” He curiously asks, his warmth keeping you from shivering.

  The damned dress.

  And his damned loose tie.

  You chuckle shakily, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” You mimic, throwing back the same antic he used not a few minutes ago. He rolls his eyes, and you open the door to the cellar. “I was tasked to choose the best whiskey ever made.” You announce, sinking deeper into confinement.

  “So you lost a bet.” Spencer laughs, following behind. He shakes his head when you nod yours. “You don’t even drink whiskey.” He smirks.

  “Go back out there, then,” You shoo him away, waving your hands. “I didn’t ask you to join me on my quest.” You add in a giggle, tying your hair up in a messy ponytail after setting your shoes on the table in the middle of the room.

  You don’t see the way he swallows at the sight of your nape. The same way you hadn't notice his self-restraint for the past year, for the entire evening, dipping his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. Because if he doesn't, they just might crave the feeling of your skin against the texture of his palm.

  “And what if you can’t reach the best whiskey?”

  “I’m a federal agent, too, Reid. I’m smart enough to figure that out.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re similar to a hobbit.”

  The brows on your face lift over your forehead. "Excuse me?" Your mouth fall agape in disbelief, scoffing.

  Spencer shrugs, "You're excused."

  Amusement twitch the ends of your lips. "You sure you're not drunk?" Your eyes narrow, scanning him from head to toe.

  "I'm not." He defends. Scarlet skin glows underneath the soft light. Spencer averts his eyes, stealing a mouthful of a sigh from the chilly air. Okay, maybe he stole one glass of scotch from the unit chief, took a sip, and felt his body on fire, so now he's settled down for ciders the entire evening.

  You smirk, "Then, why are you being so clingy?" Arms cross over your chest. You raise a brow in question.

  Spencer rolls his eyes, silently clearing his throat. "Why not? There's no harm in hanging out with you." His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek.

  "There is when said friend is acting like a clingy boyfriend." You say, skimming through the shelves of liquor adorning the walls from ceiling to floor.

  “Right,” Spencer states blandly, finding himself a seat. “I’m just a friend. I can’t act any other way. I can’t even give you any affection, huh?” He deadpans, tracing the wood patterns on the table.

  Your eyebrows crease in the middle of reaching for a bottle. You slowly go up behind him and smack the back of his head without warning.

  “Ow!” He hisses. “What was that for?” Spencer complains, face scrunching in temporary pain.

  “For being weirder than usual.” You say, hitting his shoulder. “Stop it.” You scold, finger-pointing over his chest.

  Spencer is not one to be petty. Never petty over the boys you mingle with for a short period. Never be petty over your tendencies to somehow land on the worst species of men. Since the two of you reconnected as colleagues, he's minded his business. Why now? And why the hell is your heart pounding obnoxiously?

  He theatrically rolls his eyes, “Am I wrong? Aren’t I just your friend?” There is something in his tone that you can't distinguish. His face is awkward and reserved, as always, but something is different.

  You know. You just love lying to yourself.

  “What else are you going to be?!” Even you are surprised at the volume of your voice.

  The creak of the small open window fills the room. None of you dares to say a word. No one dares to breathe within each other's personal bubble.

  You break eye contact first, stepping away, but Spencer has other plans. His hands land on your waist, gripping the flesh to keep you between his legs.

  “That’s a question I’ve been asking myself,” The luminescence of his eyes turns a shade darker. Chocolate hazel eyes gradients to deep earthy irises. Or it may have been the dim lighting in the room and the glass of wine in your system.

  You swallow—roughly like a ball of sandpaper rows down your throat. Fingers lace above his textured ones, wrapping over the long digits to get their bruises off your skin.

  “It’s a simple question. There’s no reason to dread it.” You almost stumble on your words, taking well-needed pauses to huff a small breath. You try to break his grip on you, but they don’t budge one bit. 

  The more you attempt to remove his hold, the more they tighten against the little fabric over your skin.

  Your brows knit. A sigh of defeat escapes your lips as your gaze travels back to him. “Spencer, stop—” Your spine shivers when he starts to lazily move his thumbs in slow, firm strokes.

  Spencer stands in silence, staring at you like you are a doe he preyed on. His eyes start to make your legs melt, and your heart races wildly.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  His gaze flickers over your lips, “Why don’t you answer the question for me? Since you’re so smart, it seems.” A tone of clear mockery spills from his lips. Spencer smirks under his signature smile—smug and utterly amused by the sound of your small, hitched breaths.

  “Can you stop kidding around?” You prattle. A peel of awkward laughter shoots straight down your bones. It was all you could do to relieve the growing tension between your thighs. Or else you’d jump on him like a desperate psychopath.

  "Who says I'm kidding around?" Spencer narrows his eyes. "I never kid around." He squeezes your sides once more and grins when a soft gasp rattles out of you. He hasn't done that in so long, and the nostalgia and buzz spark something in his chest.

  Thick, airy gulp forces itself down your throat. You know why he does it. The same pattern of movements you knew so well in your younger days. The days you spent with him.

  "We can't." It is almost inaudible, but he catches it. You lightly shake your head, backing away, "I-it's not— We can't."

  Spencer raises his brows. "What are you so afraid of?" He reads your features for a moment. The gentle touch of his gaze along your searing skin is electrifying.

  You nibble at the corner of your lip, "Let go of me, Reid." And it seems you love lying to him, too. Because you don't want him to let go. Desperate for his touch. The soft trail of his thumb. The primal clutch of his fingers, like they were claws. It was all too intoxicating to ever want him to let go.

  “Answer the question first.” He flashes the smirk he’s been trying to hide like a villain, exposing his true colors. “I dare you.” Spencer challenges.

  “You know the answer.” Your chest feels like exploding.

  “Say it out loud, then.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because we’re not leaving this position until you do.” His voice sparks fire in your core. Spencer doesn’t let his eyes stray from your moving lips. If anything, he makes a point that he is, in fact, staring at them like a starving lion, ready to pounce at any given moment.

  Oh.

  Well, isn't he such a sweetheart to feed you just what you crave? You don't know where it comes from, nor do you care, but there's at least four liquid cubic centimeters of boldness that flows through your veins.

  Your laughter echoes in the cellar. “Please, or what?” You relax in his hold, convinced that he's just the same lanky guy you've always known. “You going to fuck me like a slut? Not exactly your M.O., pretty boy.” You tease, playfully tapping on his shoulders.

  A low, hoarse chuckle vibrates across his chest. With lust-filled gaze and a thin, mischievous smile, Spencer shifts his eyes to look straight into yours. 

  “Exactly.”

  Your eyes grow the widest they have ever been your entire life. “What—” Before you can stop him, his lips are already clashing against yours.

  Spencer holds onto you as if he is falling off a cliff, and you are a branch about to snap any second. He kisses you aggressively, pulling you so tight, like he needs you glued to him.

  You try to push him, but it doesn't take long until you give in. Until you kissed back.

  You kissed him back.

  You fucking kissed Spencer back.

  The hands that recently danced on his shoulders begin to tug on the soft curls over his nape. The weight of his lips is starting to make your legs wobble.

  Every scrape of his teeth against your stinging lips feels new. It isn't what you're familiar with. Your mind recalls his gentle touches and gentle words as if you'd break if he held you too tight. But the one kissing you isn't. The slice of his tongue over your lips is primal. He's not the Spencer you once knew. He's the Spencer you've been craving, so much so that the mere thought of bruises caused by his grip has been contaminating your mind since you started in the BAU.

  His kisses deepened, warmth enveloping the two of you despite the chilly breeze inside the cellar. With breathless and plump lips, a new strike of desire courses throughout your body the longer you kiss.

  Spencer breathes you in like oxygen, starving for more, never satisfied with just one gentle breath. It's new. And you love it.

  Heaving, you and Spencer pull away, lips detaching and reattaching like magnets ’til distance is too far to push back. His lips are a darker shade of pink, swollen, and adorned with smeared lipstick. You don’t doubt the effect of making out with him gives you any more leverage, imagining your lipstick thickly outlines all over the rims of your mouth.

  Judging by how Spencer stares at you like a satisfied drunken man, you presume he's loving every second more than he's prepared to admit. Most will wonder if his eagerness is merely a product of lost inhibitions. But a simple educated guess tells you that none of his actions are driven by alcohol. He's as sober as an ice cold water splashed over one's face.

  Spencer lifts you on the table, standing between your thighs. The fabric of his pants scrapes against your skin, and your aching cunt throbs at the feeling. He cups your face into his large hands, reattaching your lips once more like it’s an unforgivable sin to keep them apart.

  He pulls away after air fails him, resting his forehead over yours. “I want to be the only one who gets to fuck you like a slut, or so God help me—” Spencer closes his eyes agonizingly slow, “—No man near you will ever see daylight again.”

  Your heart pounds against your chest, and you mentally beg Spencer to do so too—pound against your hips like you’re banned from ever walking again. The pressure of his voice and hot breath fanning against the land of your skin is ecstatically satisfying. 

  Spencer's hand drives up the slit of your dress, and at that moment, you know exactly why you chose to wear such an article of unfriendly clothing amidst your intolerance to the cold wind.

  You wanted him to take it off of you.

  You needed Spencer to take the dress off of you and fuck you hard.

  The tickle of his lips trailing from your jaw to the spot underneath your earlobe has your back arching almost a hundred and eighty degrees. Ever the opportunist, Spencer takes it as his chance to pull you closer, squeezing your thigh with his palm.

  You throw your head back, giving him access to more eager-to-be-touched skin. Legs wrap around his middle in utter pleasure, “Spencer…” You whine breathily, eyes fluttering close at the way he holds your flesh with both hunger and caress.

  His mouth falls agape. Your voice. His name. It’s addicting. His world stops in a millisecond, reveling in the joy of your mouth, uttering his name with the intense pleasure he provides.

  “We’re barely starting,” Spencer whispers against your clavicle, snaking his hand under your dress to the lining of your underwear. He swipes over your clothed clit.

  You twitch under his touch. A total puppet wrapped around his finger while his literal thumb begins to toy with your clit. The pace makes you painfully and deliciously squirm.

  Spencer loves the image before him, especially the rise of your chest as he plunges a finger, then two, inside your needy cunt. It’s the first time he’s ever heard your moans so... needy and begging and desperate and sweet and hot and something he knows you’ve never reached the volume before with other men, and he’s hooked—addicted.

  “You have no idea what your dress did to me the whole night.” He muffles on your neck. Wet kisses echo at the touch of his lips. Spencer buries himself in your scent, one hand unzipping your dress. “No idea how much I wanted to take it off of you.” He whispers next to your ear.

  A hum spills at the ring of his words. His kisses start to sting, and burning hues form on your skin. Spencer marks you with his tongue and teeth.

  It's euphoric. His hunger. His need. And you want nothing else but to give him whatever he wants, the same way he gives you everything you need.

  The sound of his fly distorting in the air makes your skin tingle, nipples perk, and cunt quiver. You whine when he pulls away, already missing his heat. 

  Spencer’s eyes soften, “Are you sure you want this to continue? When we were friends with benefits things didn't work—”

  “Shut up, take my dress off, and fuck me, Spencer.” You heave, or beg, or whichever fits the way you eagerly undo his tie and unbutton his shirt while kissing the soft spot on his neck, marking him yours.

  The vibration of his chuckles sent delicious throbs down to your cunt, drooling to be filled by him.

  “Aren't you needy—” Spencer lifts his arms in defense, “—alright, shutting up now.”

  The cold is nowhere else but the back of your mind. You feel wetness on the peak of his boxers. Spencer's hard erection suffocates him, and you're eager to relieve him in every possible way.

  He immediately sighs when your dress droops down your waist. Spencer takes you in as if you're the most prized art in a museum. He takes every line, scars, birthmarks, or as simple as the crease of your breast into memory. 

  “So, so beautiful…” Spencer murmurs in sheer adoration and awe. He looks up as if God has listened to his prayers as if he’s a passionate believer. Thankful to have you within his reach.

  Warmth coats you with every sweep of his hand on every curve and slope of your body. He’s memorizing each soft plush and perfect flaw. The sentiment alone heightens your arousal like you’ve been touch-starved for years.

  A yelp comes out of you when he unexpectedly spreads the wetness on your folds, touching where you need him most. “Spencer, please…” It’s a plea. A begging need.

  He circles on your clit with more pressure than the first. “You ready for me?” A vigorous nod responds to him while you bite your moans to keep them at bay.

  Spencer pulls you closer by the small of your back. Your ass is almost falling off the edge of the table. The lacey cloth stretched on the side of your entrance. He aligns his slobbering tip with your equally desperate cunt.

  Unsatisfied by your response, Spencer grabs your chin with so much force your bitten lips set free. “I need a verbal answer, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice say the words.” He’s begging, too, aching to slam just about all of him in one push.

  The anticipation is frustrating. "I wa—" With a mere echo jumping out of your throat, Spencer takes it enough confirmation and thrusts his hips to meet yours.

  Temporary pain and electrifying pleasure cause your body to shake, followed by a pornographic moan that Spencer muffles with his hand over half of your face.

  Your mind spins around in endless bliss as his cock throbs at the pressure of your hold. Spencer doesn't move an inch, waiting for your signal.

  “Please… move. Now.” Your voice is caught in the middle of your throat, dragging into a lovely gasp when he pulls back slowly.

  With the tip of his cock the sole filler inside your cunt, Spencer thrusts back so fast, so good. He keeps a steady pace that leaves both of you a moaning mess. 

  Spencer pins your hips on the table, making sure he satisfies you with every force. He sucks a breath in, dizzy at the sight of your breast bouncing on his beat.

  Can he surpass the knowledge that other guys have seen you undone like this? Never. Will he clash heaven and hell for the sake of pleasing you? The almighty and the merciless needn’t make yet another bet because they know Spencer will drag anything, anyone, to kneel before you.

  Because Spencer needs you undone like you have never been before. He craves to be the first to fuck you like it's the last thing you’ll ever do.

  You're addicting. An influence he freely lets himself get sucked in. Spencer wishes he could brand himself with your name, eager to be yours. He's desperate to be called yours.

  Spencer adorns your skin with red and purple hues, beaming at the sight of his marks with every echo of his lips popping yet another possessive tattoo.

  The pleasure he gives sends you beyond time and space. Euphoric daze fogs up your brain. Vision locked inside your skull, eyes permanently rolled into sensual darkness.

  “Spence…”

  Fuck. The nickname drips perfectly off your lips. You and only you can make his cock even harder just by saying his name. He doesn’t try to keep his head from spiraling into desires, desperately imagining all the ways he can own you.

  You gasp shakily, feeling the knot in your abdomen begin to tighten. One, two—five more strokes and you enter a void filled with sparkling stars and mind-numbing pleasure.

  Spencer doesn't stop, just as you wish, through broken moans and nails digging into the thin layer of his skin. Not a single pace slower or faster. And it is fucking blissful.

  Your moans drool off your lips, clenching around his cock. He rides your high like a limited experience that he will never get to try again. Though, you're sure there’ll be more clandestine rendezvous than you both are willing to admit. You both know this isn't the last you’ll ever get a taste of him. And it is not the last time he’ll crave you like oxygen.

  A hand reaches out for his nape, carding your nails at the tangles of his hair. You begin to comb between his curly strands, massaging the scalp beneath. Spencer spits out a tasteful curse dedicated to the pleasure the sensation of your touch has given him.

  “I keep up with my pill. I’m on a good window.” You assure him, breath hitching. “Fill me up, Spence.” You implore greedily, wanting nothing but all traces of him engraved inside and outside of you.

  His mouth slacks open, burying his cock in the deepest part of you. “Fuck, you’re too good to me,” He hisses in utter bliss. Spencer jolts at the ecstasy that vibrates out of him, emptying himself through the depths of your walls.

  Spencer rests his forehead against yours, whispering praises like you suddenly became his goddess. His senses tingle. And he doesn’t want time to continue.

  Your ragged breaths sync with his and soon turn even. Years of yearning are fulfilled in one evening. The prick of his bites floods your senses. 

  “What was the question again?” You giggle out, still, a bit out of breath, breaking the silence.

  Spencer playfully rolls his eyes, zipping up the back of your dress with a kiss on your shoulder. “I basically asked, ‘What are we’ like a typical chick in a movie.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” Your sweet laughter follows while Spencer covers you once more with his jacket despite the clear indication of sweat glistening over your forehead that you’re not nearly as cold anymore. "That many?"

  Pride surges across his chest, beaming. "Like a canvas drenched with paint." He softly bites his lower lip, satisfied by the work he has done.

  You glance down, gasping at the sheath of love bites. "More like a slab of beaten up flesh." Your head lifts up to look at him in disbelief. Spencer painted every inch of your skin, no space left untouched. You don't even recognize your skin anymore.

  "Maybe this will help," He reaches on the back of your head, tugging on the band. Your hair drapes over your neck.

  "No, Reid. It does not help at all." Blinking, you slap his arm lightly, earning a shrug and a peck on your lips. He simply fastens the buttons of his jacket on you, covering everything the fabric can.

  He hunches down to pick up the tie you discarded on the floor. When he stands back up, he says, “We can keep this between us for now while we figure things out if you’d like. But we have to agree on one thing.” He tucks in a wild strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m yours, and you don’t have a choice. Sounds good?”

  You giddily smile, nodding as you dangle your weak legs over the table. “What about me? Can’t I be yours?” You coax, fixing his tie.

  "Do you want to be? Because I'm content with just pleasing you every chance I get. I'm not in a rush."

  "Spencer," You take his face in your hands. "Do you really want to just be friends with benefits?"

  He swipes his tongue over his lower lip. "No..." Spencer squeaks under his breath.

  You nod, humming. "Good, because I don't want you like a best friend either." You flatten the crease on his shoulders.

  "So?" Spencer chases your eyes, hoping he can read your mind.

  "So, you're mine, and I'm yours. Sounds better, don't you think?"

  "Sounds great." He simpers, helping you get back on your feet.

  The two of you come back to the others with the worst whiskey in the cellar. Your hair is neat, and your lipstick is replenished. His tie sits presentably on his chest and hides the smallest purple mark on the base of his neck. Intricate measures for intricate people.

  Derek complains. Penelope agrees. Rossi objects. Hotch sips his drink with no care. Emily laughs hysterically. JJ shrugs. 

  No one knows. Or no one cares. But the secret remain as is.

  Perks of being seen as the most platonic friends. More so than the great Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia. What they know nothing about won’t hurt them, right? And it’s not like it’ll be any worse if they did.

 Yet the absence of suspicion brews boredom and discontent. How come the others are suspicious enough, but not you and him? What's so dull in the air between you and Spencer that no one dares to wonder if romance ever crossed your minds?

  Spencer drags his fingers on your thigh under the table. And no one suspects why you never take off his jacket despite dancing the night away. 

  And as the night deepens, like any other gathering, the group disperses into different areas and smaller groups.

  “So?” JJ starts, wiggling her eyebrows. 

  “What?” You chuckle into the wine in your glass.

  JJ rolls her eyes, “Did you give the photographer your number?”

  Oh, yeah. You’d forgotten about the entire thing, glancing at the photographer who happens to have his lens on you. He smiles shyly, but you swear in your life that your shy boy is a lot more charming.

  “Because if not, I think Will’s cousin has his eye on you, too,” JJ adds with a mischievous smile. The most supportive friend you’ll have. How will she react when she finds out?

  You smile, looking far ahead at the pair of brown eyes.

  Spencer returns the smile, Hotch’s voice muffling in the background.

  “Like I said, it’s quite a little paperwork, but if you want to try things out and date, I have no problem with helping you out,” Hotch advises between sips of warm whiskey, talking about that one agent who approached Spencer at the bullpen thrice. What will he think when he finds out two of his agents are participating in fraternization?

  They have no idea. Not an inkling of doubt whatsoever.

  The naivete. It bores you and Spencer. It’s prosaic. It’s unglamorous.

  From one end to another, the same words echo.

  “I’ll have another drink.”

  The two of you stand from each end, meeting over the table with vast choices of alcohol. You pick up a glass as Spencer stands next to you.

  “Take it off?”

  “Take it off.”

  And you went separate ways.

  JJ’s eyes widen at the small hint of marks on your chest, jacket slightly drooping over your shoulder.

  Hotch doesn’t say a word when he notices the hickey on Spencer’s neck when the younger agent loosens his tie and undoes one button—and Hotch quotes—because of the heat. His peripheral catches JJ, Emily, and Penelope hovering around you like a group of crows scavenging for some sort of fleshy information he thinks he knows what’s about.

  “A simple no would’ve suffice,” Hotch says evenly. “But you’re still filling out paperwork. Am I clear?”

  Spencer stifles a smug smirk, looking down on his drink. “Clear.”

reid masterlist | masterlist

[moonlightwritingf1]

Under the Stars | LN4

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ━━━━━━━ After months of pinning after Y/N, Lando finally brings her to Monaco. He takes her on a yacht, where things escalate.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 word count ━━━━━━━ 3.2k

ᯓᡣ𐭩warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

"You’re scared of me," Lando said, his voice low, a teasing smirk curling the corner of his lips as he leaned against the yacht’s railing. The moonlight shimmered on the water below, casting a soft glow on his face. His eyes never left hers.

"Scared? Of you?" Y/n scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to shield herself from the weight of his gaze. But she was lying. Her heart raced, her cheeks burning despite the cool Mediterranean breeze. She turned away, pretending to admire the horizon. "That’s ridiculous."

"Is it?" He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne—something musky and intoxicating. "Because every time I get close, you run. Every time I say something real, you deflect. You’re scared, Y/n. Scared of what this could be."

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the railing tighter. He wasn’t wrong. But admitting that felt like surrendering a part of herself she wasn’t ready to give up. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," she muttered, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Then tell me I’m wrong." His tone softened, but there was an edge to it—a challenge. He moved closer still, until his chest was almost brushing against her back. She could feel his breath on her neck, sending shivers down her spine. "Tell me you don’t feel it too."

---

It had started weeks ago, when Lando had casually mentioned his Monaco apartment during one of their late-night conversations. They’d been texting back and forth for months, ever since they met through a mutual friend at a gathering in London. Lando had been relentless in his pursuit of her, always finding excuses to see her, to talk to her, to make her laugh. And Y/n, despite her best efforts, found herself drawn to him in ways she couldn’t explain.

"I’ve got this place in Monaco," he’d said one night, his voice smooth and inviting over the phone. "You should come visit. I’ll show you around."

She’d laughed it off, thinking it was just another one of his jokes. But then he’d sent her a first-class ticket to Nice, along with a message that read: No excuses. Be there.

And now here she was, standing on a luxury yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean, with Lando Norris himself standing far too close for comfort.

---

The tension between them was palpable, crackling in the air like electricity. Y/n turned to face him, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "Why do you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why do you keep pushing?"

"Because I see you," he said simply, his eyes boring into hers. "I see all the walls you’ve built, all the armor you wear. And I want to break through it. I want you, Y/n. The real you."

Her breath hitched. God, why did he have to say things like that? It felt like he was peeling back layers of her soul, exposing parts of herself she didn’t even recognize. "You think you can just waltz in and fix me?" she shot back, though her voice wavered. "I’m not some broken thing that needs saving, Lando."

"I don’t want to fix you," he said firmly, taking another step closer until there was barely any space left between them. "I just want you. All of you. The good, the bad, the messy. Everything."

Her resolve wavered. She wanted to believe him, to let herself fall into the safety of his words. But fear held her back—fear of being vulnerable, of getting hurt. "You don’t know what you’re asking for," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

"Maybe not," he admitted, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. "But I’m willing to find out. Are you?"

She stared up at him, her mind racing. This was Lando Norris, the man who had somehow managed to weave his way into her life and under her skin. The man who looked at her like she was the only person in the room. The man who made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

Before she could stop herself, she reached up and kissed him.

It was tentative at first, a soft brush of her lips against his. But then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, and the kiss deepened. Heat surged through her, igniting every nerve in her body. His lips were warm, insistent, and she melted into him, losing herself in the sensation.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, Lando rested his forehead against hers. "Took you long enough," he murmured, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

"Shut up," she shot back, but there was no bite to her words. She could feel the smile spreading across her face, even as her heart continued to race.

Lando chuckled, his hands still resting on her hips. "Admit it," he teased. "You’ve been wanting to do that for a while."

"Maybe," she conceded, her cheeks flushing. "But don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late," he said, his grin widening. "Now let’s see if I can’t convince you to stay a little longer."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her feigned annoyance doing nothing to hide the sparkle of excitement in her eyes. "Oh, really? And how do you plan on doing that?"

Lando’s smile turned wicked, his hands sliding up her sides. "Let’s just say I have a few ideas..."

Lando’s hands lingered on her hips, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist as he leaned in closer. The moonlight bathed them both, casting a soft glow over the yacht’s deck. His lips brushed against her ear, his breath warm and teasing. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, sending shivers down her spine.

Y/n’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to protest, to push him away and retreat into the safety of her own walls, but something about the way he looked at her—like she was the only person in the world—made it impossible. “Lando…” she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

He didn’t wait for her to say more. His lips found hers in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to savor her. Y/n’s hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, her body pressing against his as the kiss deepened. Lando’s tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing them open, and she let him in with a soft moan.

His hands moved to the zipper of her dress, pulling it down with agonizing slowness. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, leaving her standing in nothing but a pair of black lace panties. Lando stepped back, his eyes raking over her body with an intensity that made her skin burn. “Fuck,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire. “You’re perfect.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself, but Lando caught her wrists, pinning them gently at her sides. “Don’t,” he said firmly, his gaze locking with hers. “Let me look at you.”

She swallowed hard, her body trembling under his scrutiny. Lando’s hands slid up her arms, his touch feather-light, before cupping her face. He kissed her again, this time with more urgency, his tongue tangling with hers as he backed her toward one of the plush couches on the deck. When the back of her knees hit the edge, he pushed her down gently until she was lying beneath him.

Lando’s lips left hers, trailing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and across her collarbone. His hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her flesh like he was committing it to memory. He nipped at her shoulder, eliciting a gasp from Y/n, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as he kissed his way lower. His lips closed around one nipple, sucking and teasing it until it hardened under his mouth. Y/n arched into him, a moan escaping her lips as he switched his attention to the other breast, lavishing it with the same treatment.

“Lando…” she whimpered, her voice heavy with need.

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with lust. “I want to taste all of you,” he said, his voice rough. Without waiting for a response, he hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled them off, leaving her completely exposed.

The cool night air brushed against her heated skin, making her shudder. Lando knelt between her legs, spreading them wider as he leaned down to press a kiss to her inner thigh. Y/n’s breath hitched, her hips lifting involuntarily as his lips moved higher, nibbling and kissing their way toward her core.

When his tongue finally touched her, she cried out, her hands gripping the cushions beneath her. Lando groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her sensitive flesh. He licked her slowly, savoring her taste as if she were the most exquisite thing he’d ever encountered.

“Jesus, Y/n,” he muttered, his voice muffled against her. “You taste incredible.”

She couldn’t respond, her mind too consumed by the sensation of his tongue swirling around her clit. His hands held her hips firmly in place as he worked her over, alternating between long, slow licks and quick, flickering movements that had her writhing beneath him.

“Lando,” she gasped, her back arching off the couch. “Please… don’t stop…”

He didn’t. Instead, he increased the pressure, his tongue delving deeper as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. One hand slipped away from her hip, sliding up her stomach to palm her breast, tweaking her nipple in time with the rhythm of his tongue.

Y/n’s thighs tightened around him, her body trembling as the pleasure built. She was so close, right on the brink, when Lando unexpectedly pulled away. She groaned in frustration, her hips lifting in search of his mouth again.

Lando chuckled darkly, his breath hot against her wet flesh. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his tone commanding yet playful.

“Lando!” she protested, her voice a mix of frustration and desperation. “Don’t be such a tease—”

But he interrupted her with another slow lick, his tongue dragging through her folds before circling her clit once more. “Then beg,” he repeated, his eyes meeting hers with a challenge.

Y/n bit her lip, her pride warring with her need. Finally, she relented, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please… I need you.”

That was all he needed to hear. Lando buried his face between her legs again, his tongue working her relentlessly until she came apart with a cry, her body convulsing with pleasure. He didn’t stop, drawing out her orgasm until she was trembling and oversensitive, her hands pushing weakly at his shoulders.

When he finally pulled away, he pressed a gentle kiss to her inner thigh before crawling up her body. His lips crashed onto hers, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice possessive.

Y/n’s breath was still ragged, her body humming with the aftershocks of her climax as Lando hovered above her. His lips were swollen from kissing her, his eyes dark and hungry. She could see the unspoken desire in them, raw and unmistakable. He wanted her—all of her. And she wanted him just as much.

“Let me,” she whispered, her voice trembling as her hands drifted down his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin. Her fingers grazed the waistband of his shorts, her intention clear. “Let me…” she started again, but he caught her wrist before she could go any further.

“No.” The word was firm, almost a growl, but his touch was gentle as he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I don’t want you to. Not yet.”

She blinked up at him, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves lapping against the yacht. “I want to make you feel good too.”

Lando shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he leaned down to brush his nose against hers. “You already do,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “Every time I look at you, every time I touch you, you make me feel more than anyone ever has. But right now, all I need is to be inside you. I can’t wait any longer.”

Her heart stuttered at his words, the intensity in his voice sending shivers down her spine. She opened her mouth to argue, to insist on giving him pleasure first, but he silenced her with a kiss—slow and deep, his tongue coaxing hers into submission. When he pulled away, she was breathless, her mind foggy with need.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I know what we both need.”

Y/n nodded, her resistance melting away as he reached for the hem of his shorts, tugging them down in one swift motion. Her breath hitched when she saw him—hard and throbbing, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him. He positioned himself between her legs, his hands gripping her hips as he guided himself to her entrance.

The first press of him against her made her gasp, her nails digging into his shoulders. He paused, his eyes locking onto hers, searching for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he pushed forward, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her.

“Oh God…” Y/n moaned, her head falling back against the cushions as she adjusted to the sensation of him filling her completely. It was overwhelming, the way he stretched her, the way he fit her so perfectly. She had never felt anything like it.

Lando groaned, a low, guttural sound that sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. “Fuck,” he hissed, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. “You feel… incredible.”

He didn’t move right away, letting her adjust as he kissed her softly, his lips trailing along her jawline and down her neck. His hands roamed her body, tracing every curve as if memorizing her. Every touch was deliberate, every kiss filled with adoration.

When he finally began to move, it was slow—agonizingly so. He pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in, each thrust measured and deliberate. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her hands clutching at his back as he set a pace that was maddeningly unhurried.

“Lando…” she whimpered, her hips lifting to meet his as desperation began to build inside her. She needed more—needed him—but he refused to give in, his movements remaining steady and controlled.

His lips found hers again, swallowing her moans as he deepened the kiss. “Patience, love,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice thick with restraint. Step by step, let your body fucking adapt to mine. “I want to savour this. I want to savour you.”

Y/n couldn’t help but whimper, her nails scraping lightly against his back as she tried to pull him closer. “But I need… more…” she pleaded, her voice breaking on the last word.

Lando chuckled darkly, the sound sending a thrill through her. “Do you now?” he teased, nipping at her lower lip. “What do you need, darling? Tell me.”

She hesitated for a moment, her cheeks flushing at the question. But the way he looked at her—so intense, so utterly focused on her—made it impossible to hold back. “I need… you,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “All of you.”

A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned down to kiss her again, this time with more urgency. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hips rolling against hers in a way that made her cry out. “Because you have me. You’ve always had me.”

His rhythm shifted slightly, still slow but deeper, each stroke hitting a spot inside her that had her seeing stars. Y/n’s legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him even closer as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within her.

Lando’s lips left hers, trailing down her neck to her collarbone. He sucked lightly at the sensitive skin, leaving a mark that would remind her of this moment long after it was over. His hands moved to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples until they hardened under his touch.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as he gazed down at her. “Absolutely perfect.”

Y/n blushed, her eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself in the sensations he was creating. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Never,” he promised, his voice firm as he continued to move inside her, slow and steady. His lips found hers again, their breaths mingling as he kissed her deeply. “I’ll never stop making you feel this good.”

Her orgasm built slowly, creeping up on her like the tide. With every thrust, every kiss, every whispered word, she felt herself slipping closer and closer to the edge. And when she finally fell, it was with his name on her lips, her body trembling with the force of it.

Lando held her through it, his own release following soon after. He buried his face in her neck, muffling his groan as he spilled inside her, his hips jerking uncontrollably.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined as they came down from their high. Y/n’s heart was pounding, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, but she had never felt more content.

Lando pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his arms tightening around her. The yacht rocked gently beneath them, the stars above casting a silvery glow over their tangled bodies. He tilted his head back, his gaze drifting upward to the vast expanse of sky. “Never had sex under the stars before,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion.

His fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine, sending shivers through her. Y/n turned her head slightly, following his gaze. The night was endless, the stars shimmering like scattered diamonds. She felt small, yet impossibly connected to him in that moment. “Neither have I,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves.

His lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile as he looked back at her. “Good.” His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Now it’s just ours.” She swallowed, her heart swelling at the tenderness in his eyes.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice thick with something deeper than desire. “Stay with me the whole weekend. Please.” Her breath caught, her chest tightening at the raw vulnerability in his words. She nodded, her fingers curling into the warmth of his chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

Lando exhaled, a quiet sound of relief, and pulled her closer, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. The stars watched silently as they clung to each other, the night wrapping them in its embrace.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Under the Gotham Moon

Bruce Wayne x reader

Smut/Fluff

Warnings: none

The night was thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the faint aroma of luxury lingering in the air. From the balcony of Wayne Manor, you had a perfect view of Gotham’s skyline, a jagged silhouette against the silvery light of the moon. Bruce Wayne, your husband, stood beside you, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that only added to his enigmatic charm. Though the world knew him as the billionaire playboy, to you, he was simply Bruce—the man who had captured your heart.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you asked, leaning on the cold marble railing, your eyes sparkling like the stars above.

He turned to you, his deep-set eyes softened by the glow of the moonlight. “It is,” he replied, his voice a low timbre that sent shivers down your spine. “But it’s nothing compared to you.”

A smile tugged at your lips, your heart racing at his words. You were accustomed to compliments, but when they came from Bruce, they carried a weight that made you feel cherished—desired.

“Flattery won’t get you out of trouble tonight,” you teased, glancing back at the elegant dining table set for two inside the sprawling estate. The remnants of dinner lay before you; an expertly prepared meal that had been overshadowed by the evening's growing tension. You felt it in the air, a magnetic pull between the two of you, palpable and electric.

Bruce’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a serious look that made your breath catch. He stepped closer, closing the space between you, his gaze intent. “I can’t help it,” he said softly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “You deserve every bit of admiration I can muster.”

Your heart raced as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was tender yet ignited a fire within you. It deepened almost instinctively, as if your bodies remembered the way they fit together. He tasted of rich whiskey and something uniquely Bruce—a hint of danger and courage wrapped in warmth.

When he finally pulled away, you felt breathless. His forehead rested against yours, and in the silence, you could hear the distant hum of the city below.

“I want you tonight,” you whispered, emboldened by the intimacy of the moment. Bruce’s eyes flickered with desire, igniting a spark of mischief.

“Good,” he replied, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Because I’ve been waiting for the right time.”

You wrinkled your brow in playful disbelief. “You mean all those romantic dinners were just a lead-up to this?”

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and soothing. “Not just any night—tonight feels… different. The world is quiet, and it’s just us.” His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. “I want to share everything with you.”

With a swift motion, he swept you into his arms, and you squealed in surprise. He carried you back inside, his strength comforting and intoxicating. The dimly lit room felt like your own private sanctuary, far removed from the chaos of Gotham.

He set you down gently, but the intensity in his gaze told you that this would not be a gentle night.

As you moved to the couch, he followed, his body a shadow over yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, warming the chilled air around you. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your neck. He pressed soft, teasing kisses along your collarbone, each one awakening a longing deep within.

“Bruce…” you breathed, feeling your body respond to his every touch. You craved more, wanted to lose yourself in him completely.

“Everything you feel, I feel it too,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment.”

With careful precision, he unfastened the buttons of your blouse, letting the fabric fall open to reveal the delicate lace of your bra. His breath hitched, and his gaze darkened as he took in the sight of you, exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

You reached for him, your fingers trailing down his chest, grazing over the hardened contours of his muscles. “Then make me yours, Bruce,” you urged, your voice barely a whisper.

A low growl escaped his throat, and with surprising gentleness, he pushed you back against the cushions, his lips never leaving your skin as he continued to explore. The evening unfolded like a dream; every caress ignited sensations you never knew existed.

Time slipped away as you lost yourselves in each other, the rest of the world fading into nothingness. There was only the rise and fall of your breaths, the heat of his body against yours, and the fervor of shared yearning.

With every kiss, every touch, he reminded you just how much you meant to him. You were no longer just Bruce Wayne’s wife; you were his confidante, his partner in crime, and his greatest passion.

Eventually, he pulled away momentarily, looking deep into your eyes, searching for your consent. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse with need and concern.

You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

With that reassurance, he reclaimed your lips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The world dissolved into a haze of pleasure and trust, your bodies entwined beneath the soft glow of the moon.

As the night wore on, you surrendered to the connection that bound you both. You felt cherished, adored, and completely enveloped in his love.

Finally, as dawn broke, painting the room in soft hues of pink and gold, you lay in Bruce's arms, exhaustion mingling with satisfaction. The adventures of Gotham, the shadows that stalked the streets, seemed distant and irrelevant. In this moment, you were safe, loved, and utterly fulfilled.

Bruce stirred beside you, his brow furrowing as he awoke to the new day. When his gaze landed on you, the corners of his lips lifted in a sleepy smile, a heartfelt expression that made your heart swell.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wayne,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Good morning, Mr. Wayne,” you replied, grinning. In that moment, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together—partners in every sense of the word.

And as you nestled deeper into his embrace, the city outside continued its ceaseless pulse, but inside these walls, you had found your solace, your joy, and your forever.

Masterlist

[littlelamy]

trying something new

a/n: mdni

the house is filled with a soft hum, the aftermath of the party settling into quiet as you finish picking up the last of the cups. everyone has cleared out by now, leaving you and rafe alone in the glow of the birthday lights you strung around the backyard, their gentle warmth spilling into the house. rafe leans against the doorframe, watching you with a lazy grin that deepens when you glance his way.

“you really didn’t have to go all out,” he murmurs, a look of genuine gratitude softening his usual cocky expression.

“it’s your first birthday without him,” you say softly, moving closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “you deserve this, rafe.”

for a moment, he looks down, a flicker of emotion crossing his face, and you know he’s thinking of his dad. he’s gotten good at hiding it, masking it with humor and bravado, but tonight is different. tonight, you wanted to give him something special, something real and intimate that shows him how deeply you care.

“i wanted to make tonight memorable,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he raises his eyes to meet yours, something unreadable in his gaze. “yeah?” he murmurs, his voice dropping, the playful edge giving way to something softer, more vulnerable.

"so, i was thinking… maybe we could try something different tonight?" you say softly, keeping your voice steady despite your racing heart. you lean in, watching his reaction, hoping he feels the same thrill.

you've both spoken briefly spoke about trying anal but you've been a bit nervous about it, at the same time rafe has always been interested in it so what better way to do then to give him his long-awaited desire.

his breath hitches, and for a second, you think he might be taken aback. then a grin spreads across his face, his eyes gleaming with both surprise and desire. “really? you’re serious?”

“yeah,” you reply, your pulse quickening. “i want to give you something special for your birthday. i know it’s something you’ve wanted.”

he takes a moment, processing your words, and then leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

you shiver at his breath against your skin, the heat of his words sending a thrill through you. “are you sure you’re ready?” you ask, needing to hear it from him.

“more than ready,” he assures you, his voice low and thick with need. “i want you to feel good, too. we’ll take it slow, right?”

“of course,” you promise, heart racing as you both shift to the bedroom. the intimacy of the moment wraps around you like a warm blanket as he guides you gently back onto the bed.

rafe hovers over you, a predatory glint in his eye. he kisses a path down your neck, lingering at your collarbone, eliciting soft gasps from your lips. the sound spurs him on, and he continues his exploration, trailing down your body with kisses that send waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“so sexy,” he murmurs against your skin, the compliment igniting a fire within you. you arch your back, feeling the heat of his body against yours, craving more of his touch.

as the kiss travels lower, rafe pauses, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “let’s get these off,” he says, his voice husky with desire. he reaches for your shirt, fingers deftly working the buttons free. with each button that pops open, anticipation builds, revealing more of your skin to his hungry eyes. when the last button gives way, he pushes the fabric aside, his breath hitching at the sight of you.

“you’re breathtaking,” he breathes, the admiration in his gaze making you blush. it sends a thrill through you, and you smile shyly, feeling both exposed and empowered.

“your turn,” you say, your voice playful yet sultry. you sit up slightly, hands moving to the hem of his shirt. your fingers slide beneath the fabric, feeling the heat radiating off his skin as you pull it over his head and toss it aside. his chest is sculpted and firm, and you can’t help but trail your fingers along his defined muscles, savoring the feel of him.

“so damn sexy,” you whisper, and the way his eyes darken with lust at your words makes your heart race. he leans back in, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, the taste of him intoxicating as you both explore the newfound intimacy.

with a sudden, electrifying shift, he aligns himself between your legs, teasingly pressing against you. your breath hitches in your throat as he looks at you, his eyes dark with lust. “tell me you want this,” he commands, voice low and dangerous.

“i want this, rafe. i want you,” you breathe, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

he moves with purpose, guiding you both through this new territory with a mix of gentleness and fervor. you feel every sensation heightened, every touch igniting sparks beneath your skin. his hands wander, exploring every curve and contour, and you feel your body responding to him, craving the depth of his connection.

“just like that,” you whisper, urging him on as he pushes against your hole, a delicious pressure building as he teases you. the world outside fades into nothingness. it’s just you and rafe, exploring the depths of your connection, bodies moving in sync, filled with laughter, whispers, and the soft sounds of pleasure that echo off the walls.

“you’re so tight,” he groans, the strain in his voice making you ache for him even more. “such a pretty hole,” he breathes, the words laced with desire, and you feel a fresh wave of arousal wash over you. with each thrust, he pulls you closer, the heat between you building until you can barely think straight.

as he thrusts into you, his fingers move to your pussy, rubbing your sensitive clit in slow, deliberate circles. the combination of his thrusts and the sensation of his fingers sends electric jolts through your body. “God, you feel incredible,” he gasps, his voice strained as he moves, pushing deeper into your hole while his fingers work their magic.

“more, rafe,” you plead, your body craving more stimulation as the heat builds within you. the pleasure intensifies, and you feel yourself spiraling closer to the edge with every thrust and every stroke of his fingers.

“just like that,” you moan, encouraging him as he continues to push you toward ecstasy. the rhythm between your bodies becomes a dizzying dance of trust and desire, and you find yourself losing track of everything except the man above you and the intoxicating connection you share.

the tension coils tighter, the pressure building as you feel the waves of pleasure crashing over you, threatening to consume you both. “tell me how good it feels,” he demands, his voice rough with need.

“it feels amazing, rafe. you’re so deep inside me,” you moan, the words spilling from your lips as your body responds to him, craving more. every thrust ignites a fire within you, and you feel your body begin to unravel, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

in that moment, everything falls away—the pain, the memories, the expectations. it’s just you two, existing in this bubble of intimacy and connection, and you both know this night will change everything.

as you come together, the world shifts, and you know this is a moment neither of you will ever forget. you fall into each other, breathless and euphoric, the reality of his birthday wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

as he moves faster, deeper, you can feel the heat building between you, a pressure that threatens to consume you both. “rafe,” you gasp, feeling your climax approaching, “i’m so close.”

“me too, baby,” he groans, his movements becoming frantic as he chases his release, pushing you both toward that blissful edge. your bodies entwined, you feel the waves of pleasure crashing over you, pulling you into a euphoric abyss.

and as you both lay there, intertwined and blissfully content, you can’t help but smile, knowing you’ve given him a gift far beyond anything material—a night of vulnerability, trust, and passion that solidifies the bond between you.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @dinakisser

[domm1etae]

in every shape

mingi x f!reader

oneshot | mdni

2.3k

Mingi’s gained some weight since the tour began, and he’s struggling with his body image. But to you, he’s never looked better, and you can’t resist showing him just how irresistible he really is

nsfw tags under

f/m, top mingi, pet names, i love yous, praises, body worship, oral sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, teasing, size kink, multiple orgasms, neck kissing

Mingi stood in front of the hotel room mirror, eyes roaming over his reflection, his shoulders slumping slightly. He was quiet, but you could sense the tension radiating off him. After a moment, he muttered under his breath, barely audible.

"I need to lose weight."

You perked up from where you were lounging on the bed, pretending you hadn’t heard his whispered confession. "Hmm? What did you say?" Your voice was gentle, curious, hoping he’d say it again, though the truth behind his words already tugged at your heart.

He hesitated, biting his lip as he turned to glance at you, his expression a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "I said…" He exhaled sharply. "I need to lose weight." His hand swept over his body as if emphasizing the problem, a soft growl of irritation escaping him. "I don’t know how I let myself get like this. I didn’t even realize…"

You sat up on the bed, your gaze soft as you crawled to the edge and reached for him, your fingers toying with the hem of his oversized shirt. "Get like what, Mingi? Like you don’t look absolutely delicious?" A teasing grin played on your lips, hoping to ease the tension building in his mind.

He scoffed, but it lacked conviction, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I’ve gained weight, babe. I mean, look at me." He waved a hand down his body in frustration. "I’m not in shape like I was before the tour. I just—" He sighed again, cutting himself off, clearly struggling to find the right words.

You shake your head at him, your heart aching a little at his self-doubt. Pulling at the fabric of his shirt, you expose a sliver of his skin. "Oh, I’m looking, trust me." You raise an eyebrow at him, slowly kissing the exposed skin. "And what I see is a man who looks damn good."

His body stiffened slightly at your touch, his breath catching. "Sexy?" he echoed, disbelief written all over his face. "I don't think that's the word you’re looking for. I’ve been eating too much, barely working out… I don’t feel like myself anymore."

You sit back a little, taking in the sight of him. He had filled out a bit, his broad frame looking a little softer, his thighs thicker, and his stomach no longer as flat as it once was. But he still looked amazing to you, more than amazing. "Mingi, you’re still so damn sexy. You look healthy. Honestly, I don’t even think you realize how much harder it is for me to keep my hands off you."

He snorted lightly, shaking his head. "Healthy? I feel heavy. I hate it."

You tug his shirt up a little higher, planting a few more kisses along his belly. "Heavy, maybe. But heavy can be hot, and you? You’re making it very hot." Your voice lowered into a sultry purr as your lips lingered on his skin.

He seemed to hesitate, torn between what he saw in the mirror and what you were saying. "You’re just saying that to make me feel better…" His fingers brushed through your hair, his tone soft but uncertain.

You hummed in response, your hands sliding up his thighs. "Oh no, I’m not. Trust me, I’m saying this because I can’t stop thinking about how good you look right now. I’ve been trying to keep my hands to myself, but…" You give his hips a gentle tug, pulling him closer. "Why should I when you look this damn good?"

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to argue, but when your lips trailed down to his waistband, the words seemed to slip from his mind. He watched you, his breathing growing heavier, but he couldn’t help one last protest. "I don’t… understand why you think this is attractive."

You pull back slightly and meet his gaze, your eyes filled with sincerity. "Because, Mingi, you're more than just some perfectly sculpted figure. You look strong, healthy, like you’re actually taking care of yourself. I love this… I love you, no matter what you think of yourself." You smiled up at him, pressing one more kiss to his stomach. "You’re sexy just as you are, but if you want to lose weight, that’s your choice. I’m just saying… I like you this way."

His face softened, though the doubt still lingered in his expression. "You really mean that?"

"Every word," you answer, pulling him towards you until he was close enough for you to wrap your arms around his waist. "Now come here. Let me show you how much I love this body of yours."

He let out a soft, surprised laugh as you began tugging at his waistband, a mix of uncertainty and curiosity in his eyes as you unbuttoned his jeans. "Y-you don’t have to do this…"

You shook your head, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, but I want to." Mingi’s breath hitched as you slid his jeans down his hips, revealing the hard lines of his thighs. He shifted awkwardly, unsure of how to react. His fingers twitched as he stared down at you, still hesitant despite the heat building between you.

"You know you drive me crazy, right?" you say softly, trailing your hands over the firm muscles of his thighs. "I’m not doing this to make you feel better. I’m doing this because I want to. You look so damn good, and I’ve missed you."

Mingi let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his muscles visibly relaxing as your words sank in. He still seemed unsure, but the desire in his eyes was undeniable as you ran your tongue teasingly along the edge of his waistband.

His voice was shaky when he spoke again, "I… don’t get why you like this version of me so much." He groaned softly as your hands slid higher, gently squeezing his hips. "I thought you’d prefer me the way I used to be—leaner, fitter."

You paused, looking up at him with a serious expression. "Mingi, I didn’t fall in love with just your body. I fell for you." You pressed a soft kiss against his skin, right where his waistband met his lower abdomen, your lips lingering as if to emphasize your words. "You’re sexy no matter what shape you’re in, but this?" You tugged lightly at his underwear, your breath ghosting over his skin. "This body is just as perfect as any other version of you."

Mingi shuddered at the contact, and finally, his hands found your shoulders, pulling you up gently so he could look you in the eyes. "I don’t think I deserve you," he muttered, his voice low and sincere. "You’re too good to me."

"You deserve everything," you whisper back, brushing your lips lightly against his. "And I’m going to keep proving that to you." With that, you deepen the kiss, your hands working to slide his underwear down and free his length.

His breath hitched again as your fingers ghosted over him, his body trembling in anticipation. But just before you could lower yourself again, he gently tugged you back up. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes dark with something more than just lust—something deeper, more vulnerable.

"Babe, wait." Mingi’s voice was soft, but his grip on your wrists was firm as he held you there, his gaze locking with yours. "I… I want to make you feel good too."

You blinked at him, surprised. "You don’t have to—"

"I want to," he cut you off, his expression serious as he gently pushed you down onto the bed, flipping the roles. His lips brushed your ear as he leaned over you, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. "You’ve been so focused on me… but I want to focus on you now."

You let out a small gasp as he pinned your wrists above your head, his body pressing against yours, the heat radiating off him in waves. "M-Mingi…" You tried to form a coherent sentence, but the feel of his lips trailing along your neck made it impossible to focus.

"I’m not done with you yet," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. He kissed his way down your throat, his free hand sliding under your shirt and gently squeezing your breast. "You thought I’d just let you do all the work?"

His lips found the sensitive skin at the base of your neck, sucking lightly and leaving a mark that made your breath hitch. "Y-you’re such a tease…" you manage to gasp, your back arching as his hand slid lower, teasing the waistband of your pants.

Mingi smirked against your skin, his kisses growing rougher as his free hand slipped inside your pants, his fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your underwear. "And you love it," he growled playfully, his voice dripping with confidence now, the self-doubt from earlier starting to fade away.

You let out a needy whimper as he ran his fingers teasingly along your slit, the friction making your hips buck against his hand. "Stop… teasing…" you pleaded, your voice breathless.

He chuckled softly, his lips finding your ear as he nipped lightly at your earlobe. "I like it when you beg." His fingers pressed more firmly against your core, making you cry out softly in response.

"Mingi, please…" you moaned, your body writhing beneath him as he finally slid your underwear to the side and ran his fingers over your soaked folds.

The deep groan that escaped his throat at the feel of you only made the heat in your belly grow. "God, you're so wet," he muttered, his voice low and rough as he slipped a finger inside you, earning a gasp from your lips.

Your hands, still pinned above your head, clenched into fists as you squirmed beneath him, desperately craving more. "Mingi, I—"

"You’re so sensitive," he murmured, slipping another finger inside you and curling them just right. His thumb rubbed slow, torturous circles over your clit, and your back arched, your body reacting to his every touch.

"I-I can’t…" you whimpered, your head falling back against the pillows as your body trembled.

"You can," Mingi whispered, his voice soothing but filled with desire. His lips found yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans as he sped up his fingers, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me."

That was all it took. His fingers thrust deeper, hitting that perfect spot, and your entire body convulsed as you came hard around him. A loud cry of his name tore from your throat as the pleasure washed over you, your body trembling beneath him.

Mingi watched you intently, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as you fell apart in his arms. "That’s my girl," he murmured softly, slowing his movements to let you ride out your orgasm.

You were still panting, your body twitching with aftershocks as he pulled his hand from you and brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low groan. "You taste so good," he muttered, his voice thick with lust as he looked down at you, still flushed and breathless.

Before you could even recover, he was back on you, his lips pressing hot kisses down your chest, leaving a trail of heat along your skin. "Mingi…" you breathed, your voice shaky as he hovered over you, his gaze intense.

"You didn’t think we were done, did you?" he teased, his breath hot against your skin. He positioned himself between your legs, his length pressing against your dripping entrance. "I’m just getting started."

Before you could respond, he slid into you with one hard, smooth thrust, both of you gasping at the overwhelming pleasure. His hips snapped forward, setting a relentless pace, and the only sounds in the room were the sound of your moans and the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin.

Mingi’s head tilted back, his lips parted as he let out a deep, guttural groan, the feeling of you wrapped around him driving him wild. "Fuck, babe…" he grunted, his hands gripping your hips as he pounded into you harder, deeper.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you struggled to keep up with the intensity. "Mingi… I-I’m close again," you whimpered, your body already on the verge of another orgasm.

"Come for me again," he growled, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub fast circles over your clit. "I want to feel you come around me."

The heat in your belly exploded, and with one final thrust, you screamed his name as you came hard around him, your walls fluttering and clenching down on his length.

Mingi groaned loudly, the sensation of you tightening around him sending him over the edge. With a few more rough thrusts, he followed you into release, his hips jerking as he filled you, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.

When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, Mingi collapsed beside you, both of you panting heavily. He pulled you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your skin still tingling from the intensity of it all.

"Maybe… I won’t worry so much about the weight," Mingi whispered, his breath still ragged. His fingers traced lazy circles on your arm as he cuddled you close.

You smiled, snuggling into his chest. "Good. Because you’re perfect just the way you are."

He let out a small chuckle, pressing another kiss to your temple. "If this is how you’re going to convince me, I might never work out again."

You laugh softly, playfully swatting his chest. "Oh no, I didn’t say all that."

Mingi grinned down at you, his eyes warm and filled with affection. "Either way… thank you. For everything."

You kissed his chest softly, nuzzling into him with a content sigh. "I love you, Mingi. Just remember that."

"I love you too, babe," he whispered, pulling you even closer as you both drifted off into a peaceful, satisfied sleep.

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black!Fem Reader

Rating/CW: explicit sexual content, cowgirl, vaginal sex, light bondage, power dynamics, teasing/edging, sweating Kento out because that's what I love most, established relationship, MDNI!

WC: ~5.9K

Summary: What happens when you playfully suggest a new dynamic in the bedroom? Utter torment for Nanami, of course. What else is new?

a/n: The writer's block has been absolutely atrocious, but I was able to break free of its clutches with this. Is it Sheriff Nanami? No. But it is smut that's been sitting in my mind so long that it gave me a fever. So...here ya go lol.

Ao3 | JJK Masterlist | Divider: @cafekitsune @strangergraphics | Part Two | network tag: @pixelcafe-network

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The silk of his favorite tie is familiar to him—the way it slides through his fingers each morning when he gets ready for work, the weight of it loose around his neck as he shaves, the pop of black against gold in his reflection when he secures it beneath his collar. But it’s never quite felt like this—wrapped snugly around his wrists, rumpled and stretching with every pull of his hands, growing damp with sweat from his wrists as he watches you ride him within an inch of his life.

Nanami hisses, dark blonde eyebrows pitched deep in concentration as he gazes up at you. His usually immaculate hair is a mess, flaxen strands plastered to his forehead with sweat that trails down his neck like a lover’s caress, slipping beneath his shoulder blades to soak into the sheets of your shared bed.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grits out. He means to sound indignant, frustrated in light of what he’s gotten himself into, but his body tells a different story. His hips itch to cant upward, fingers clench like a madman for purchase into your skin, jaw clicking as he grinds his teeth against mounting pleasure.

You snort as if the very thought of conceding is laughable. The consistent jump of your hips stops, the action shooting a flare of want up his stomach. Your fingers flex on his chest, pressing further as you lift your hips up and up, exposing more of his wet cock to the cool air until just the tip remains encased in your heat. He yanks at the restraints before he can stop himself, a silent plea that makes you smile.

“Are you sure?” you tease, rotating your hips, and the feel of it makes his eyes cross. “If you’re not comfortable, Ken, we can stop.”

The thought of stopping makes his cock throb traitorously, even as his body feels flayed open, every nerve ending exposed and singing. He did agree to this, after all. 

It was meant as a joke. Just a random comment you made three mornings ago while fixing his tie like any other day. Like always, Nanami used those precious moments before departing for work to drink you in—his own private ritual of worship. The gentle sweep of your eyelashes as you focused on his Windsor knot, the way the morning light caught the rich undertones of your melanin-kissed skin, that unconscious purse of your lips that made him want to be late every morning. 

“You ever thought about letting me tie you up?”

The question struck him like a match against kindling. Nanami is not really the adventurous one in the bedroom—that’s your domain, and he follows willingly where you lead. But the thought of being at your mercy, of letting go of his ingrained control to watch you take whatever you want from him, had his ears ringing. It was something about the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes, the subtle dip of one side of your cheek as you bit down on it, the want radiating from you like heat from a flame…

When it comes to you, he will try anything once. 

A joke that became an agreement. An agreement turned into tonight—you in that devastating dress over dinner, his fingers leveling enough strength not to shatter the wine glass he drank frivolously from as he watched you toy with your necklace, knowing what was to come. An agreement turned into a frantic mess of hands undoing zippers and buttons, of smoothing along the soft planes of your inner thighs before his mouth feasted on the pearl in the center, of you giggling like a wanton feign as you wrapped his wrists and notched them to the bed frame. 

Just a joke. Just an agreement. Now, here he rests, on his back, on fire, and subtly regretting his choices because he’s a selfish man who wants all of you all the time. And Nanami, like the fool he is when it comes to you, truly thought he could bear it. 

“Focus, Ken.”

An absolute fool.

“I’m not uncomfortable. But you’re hardly playing fair.”

You never do. How could you? You’re divinity made flesh, mischief molded from clay—a goddess who delights in reducing him to prayers and pleas. He loves you, desperately so, and has long since accepted that his soul will forever chase the wonderful chaos you bring to his carefully ordered world. 

“What could you possibly mean?” you’re coquettish in your question, biting the corner of your lip in that way that makes his spine straighten. His eyes linger on that lip, remembering how it feels beneath his thumb, against his tongue, between his teeth.

“Darling—”

He doesn’t get far. Before the rest of his words can leave his mouth, you’re dropping back down onto him, enveloping his cock in a blistering heat so intense it borders on religious experience. Every nerve ending ignites at once, pleasure searing through him like a brand.

“No talking.”

And isn’t that funny? Because any words Nanami has disintegrated into a powdery mist seconds ago. So, of course, Nanami has no choice but to bite the inside of his cheek until he can taste coppery tang, pulling at his restraints for the nth time of the night and wishing in this very moment to be oblivious to the sounds of your wanton moans that echo in the air.

Nanami’s groan starts deep in his chest, reverberating through him like a growing monsoon as you lean forward, trailing your nose along his throat. Your scent—Shea butter and feminine heat—fills his lungs like incense, a temptation he can’t answer, a shrine he cannot appreciate despite every cell in his body screaming to touch.

“You agreed.”

“To the restraints, not torture.” He can hear the hitch in your breath, that light choke as you try to hold back a laugh. Your hips give another sensual twirl, and Nanami can hear the clench of his teeth. “I want—I need to touch you.”

“Come now, Kento,” you coo in his ear, sliding your tongue along his lobe before you bite down into the cartilage. He grunts, flinching back even as his cock twitches inside of you. “You married me remember? Surely you know my ways.”

“My love—” You twirl your hips again and again and again. Each swivel is representative of a slow churn of his rapidly loosening arousal. 

Nanami has always been spellbound by your beauty. From the moment his eyes open in the morning to the moment they close at night, you are all he knows. The curve of your smile makes his heart beat faster, the music of your laugh fills his stomach with butterflies. Without intention, you undo him.

Even now, bouncing on his cock like the vixen you are, you are ethereal. Your box braids sway with each movement, catching the artificial light as they brush across your shoulders that gleam with exertion. Sweat has transformed your baby hairs into delicate curls against your temples and hairline, giving you an almost feral beauty that makes his mouth run dry. 

That’s what makes it all the more painful for him. The way sweat slides down your brown skin, the pebble of perspiration along the curve of your stomach, the hypnotic sway of your breasts as you take what you want, it all beckons to him. His mouth waters like a starving man at a feast he’s forbidden to partake in. The base of his spine coils with an inexplicable pressure that blooms along his back. The tips of his fingers tingle from the loss of blood from the restraints and with the desire to touch you.

It’s not fair. 

It’s frustrating. Agonizing to the very depth of his soul how badly he wants to reach for you. He’s strong enough to snap these damn restraints—he could easily do it. The image floods his mind unbidden—how easy it would be to snap these ties, to flip you on your back and fuck you so hard you’re crying his name. He can almost feel it—the sharp sting of your nails (freshly done, he notices even in his delirium) scraping down his back as he drives into you without mercy, the way you’d arch beneath him, how your defiance would melt into pleas. His muscles coil with the phantom sensation, his ears echoing the ghost of your cries he could draw from you.

But you wanted this. You’ve asked for a slither of control he freely gives, and he refuses to see a shred of disappointment on your face because he was impatient. 

So he waits. Even though his skin is burning from the inside out. Even though his heart is beating so fast, it feels like his chest might cave in. He waits. His cock feels so tight that he’s almost feverish with worry if he can hold on much longer. The feel of your essence coating his thighs and balls, the sound of your moans, the sight of the column of your throat when you throw your head back.

It’s truly not fair.

“My love, please,” he can’t help but beg. He’s never against begging. Not when it comes to you. Not when it comes to unraveling the knot you easily twist inside of him. Already, he’s backtracking. He reaches up just a little, hoping you’ll grant him some part of you—the smell of your skin along his nose, the taste of your sweat on his tongue, anything.

“No.”

You leave no room for argument, pressing against his chest to force him back into submission. Frustration flares like a demon in his chest, curdling and dying instantly against the want that oozes from him. 

“Come on, Kento,” you chide, moaning breathlessly as you double your efforts. “Don’t you want to give me what I want?”

Of course, he does. But in moments like this, Nanami wishes he were a weaker man because you’re too wet, too hot, too soft, and tight around him. The silk-soft clutch of your body is turning his mind to static.

Just the thought of how you feel around him threatens to shatter his composure. Pleasure pools molten in his lower abdomen, every muscle tight as a bowstring as he fights his body’s betrayal. He hisses through bared teeth, digs his fingers into the silk encased around his wrists, and yanks until the bed frame groans. His control is quickly failing him, your moans a siren’s song in his head urging surrender. His body responds without question—feet seeking purchase on the mattress, thighs tensing as instinct fights restraint. It will only take a second for him to plant his feet and drive up into you until you’re seeing stars.

But you’re faster. You lean forward to slide your hands behind his neck, delicate fingers weaving through the sweaty strands of his hair before you pull tight, angling his head back so his neck is bared to you in willful submission. The sharp difference between your soft touch and the display of dominance makes his eyes roll back, swimming in the viscera of his brain as a broken sound escapes him, his resistance melting away. His heels slide back onto the bed, forgotten.

Your soft lips press at the juncture of his neck, your braids falling around you both like a curtain, the ends tickling his chest. The scent of your coconut hair oil mingles with the Shea from your skin, making his head spin. The feel of your smirk on his neck—victorious—makes his cock throb, a tight rubber band behind his belly button fraying on the edges, warning him that his time is running out. 

You move agonizingly slow with each roll of your hips, sending electricity up his spine, searing his skin everywhere you touch and aching where you don’t. His skin feels too tight, like his bones don’t fit, and the discomfort is as satisfying as it is jarring. He yanks, sweat beading at his temples, sliding down his neck, making everything feel slick and hot and maddening.

When you sit up, you trail your hands down the rigid lines of his straining muscles, admiring the jutting veins and sinew. You hum in appreciation, pupils blown black as you take him in. The small of Nanami’s back arches in just so, preening under your rapturous gaze because he hopes he’s doing well. Even like this—bound and helpless beneath you—his desire to be good wars with his desperation to touch. The praise in your eyes soothes even as it burns.

Look how still he stays for you. Look how good he’s being. 

Nanami’s thighs tremble with the effort not to thrust, not to take, not to claim. Each second stretches like the most painful torture as his mind fractures into desperation—just one thrust, one press of his tongue to your skin, one moment of control. Please. Please. The word burns behind his teeth, unspoken and curdling but screaming like a banshee in his blood. 

“Getting frustrated, Ken?” Your voice is honey-sweet poison, made breathier by your movements. He won’t rise to your taunts; he lacks the strength for it. So he basks in the attention you lavish with your eyes, your silent praise like invisible hands along his skin. Just as quickly, he closes his eyes tight. If he looks a moment longer, this night will have an unfortunate end for you both.

“Look at me.”

Your demand cuts through the haze of his desire, sharp and unyielding. He’s too slow to respond to you, and all too quickly, he feels your fingers dig slightly into his jaw, forcing his surrender as his eyes flutter open. His restlessness must show because there’s that wicked glint in your eyes, and you thrive on his misery, rewarding him with a kiss so quick and gentle that he’s chasing after your lips for more. You press your hands firmly to his chest, a clear command to be still. With no friction, it’s just blistering heat, his cock pulsing, a whimper dying in the back of his throat.

You shift, and Nanami’s ears register a faint click that he catches with his eyes. Your heels, oh, those clear heels, glimmer up at him as you plant your feet on the soft sheets. Delicate clear straps wrap around your ankles like ribbons on a gift he’s held all night and still not allowed to unwrap, the nude leather making your brown skin glow in the dim lamplight. 

The moment you put them on earlier in the evening, they haunted him—from the restaurant to the ride home, the way they made your legs look endless in that dress when you crossed them in the passenger seat. Now, they dig into the sheets on either side of his hips as you use them for leverage, the crystal clear stilettos catching the light like ice. The sheer difference of something so elegant being used in such a primal way makes his breath catch—much like yourself, refined on the outside but capable of reducing him to nothing but baseless need.

“Watch me,” you command. As if Nanami could look away if he tried. Damn you. “Watch how well I ride you while you can’t touch.”

He loathes how the new angle makes his vision swim at the edges, hates even more how each movement strips away another layer of his composure. Every bounce drives him deeper into insanity, making him strain harder against the ties that keep him from you.

“You poor thing,” you coo, the false sympathy in your voice making his upper lip curl, a growl simmering in the back of his throat. “You want to touch so badly, don’t you?”

God. He wants, he wants. He wants with an intensity that frightens him.

You’re a taunting vision above him, and he eyes the champagne-colored dress that’s now bunched carelessly at your waist. It was the perfect compliment for you, silken and caressing your body during dinner while he swallowed his bubbling desire with every generous gulp of red wine. A halter top dress fastened behind your neck that was quickly undone when you pushed him on the bed, your breasts spilling from their lustrous confines.

The hem is rumpled, kissing the tops of your curvy thighs and falling open with your new position so he can see everything between your legs. Dimpled skin that rises up and down, beckoning that he grip your hips and trace your curves with his tongue. 

The wet sound of skin on skin drowns out even his thundering heartbeat, and he can’t decide which is worse—watching you take your pleasure or being forced to listen to how perfectly you use his body for your own needs. That controls splinters, cracks, disintegrates, and flutters like ash in the wind. 

He’s never wished more in this moment for you to tire out, for your stamina to be next to nothing. But no. You knew exactly what you were doing when you fastened his tie three days ago. 

“You ever thought about letting me tie you up?”

Nanami, in his stupidity and endless love for you, saw what he wanted in your eyes. What he mistook for aimless curiosity, was actually calculated, unadulterated mischief. 

Of course, he would agree.

That’s why you punctuated your victory with this dress. That’s why you got your hair done yesterday. That’s why you wore these new heels and lathered your body in the Shea butter lotion he loves so much.

A level of strategy so calculated that Gojo Satoru himself would be envious of its perfection.

God, he loves you. Even as he silently begs whatever entity will listen to him to be free of this prison you’ve created, he loves you beyond reason.

“Poor Kento,” you purr, your words cracking through his spiraling thoughts like a whip. You lean back on one hand, the arch of your back pushes your breasts forward, and his mouth waters at the sight. Every cell in his body strains toward you, pressing beneath the surface of his skin and coagulating into a congealed mass.

But it’s the sight of you spreading your legs wider, of giving him a view of all of you, of your other hand sliding down your stomach that truly threatens to break him. Your fingers find your clit, and the wet sound of you touching yourself while he’s buried deep inside makes his vision blur. Those should be his fingers bringing you pleasure, his touch pushing you toward release. Instead, he can only watch, desperate and aching, as you chase your own pleasure.

“Look how wet I am,” you breathe, and his hips buck involuntarily at your words. He doesn’t even bother to feel shame at the glare you shoot his way for disobeying. “Don’t you wish these were your fingers? Making me feel good?”

“Don’t be cruel.” The ties might actually snap from how hard he’s pulling now, watching your fingers work in tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves, your cunt squeezing him like a vice. You’re getting close—he can tell from the way your thighs start to tremble, the way your breath shakes.

Your laugh in response sends searing heat down his spine—musical and breathless and utterly wicked, even though it makes his blood boil. The sound mingles with the wet noises of your fingers working between your legs, the sight and sound of you nearly driving him mad.

“I need—” he chokes on the words as you clench around him in reprimand, his tongue thick in his mouth. “I need to cum. Please.”

“No.” Your voice is firm despite your breathlessness, your fingers never stopping their circles against your clit. “Not until I’m done with you. Can you hold on? Can you be good for me, Ken?”

Good.

A word so simple to a weaker man, but absolute devastation to him. His cock throbs to the increased tempo of his pulse, the festering heat of pleasure pulls behind his belly button, the base of his spine coiling like a snake backed into a corner. His wrists burn from the careful strain of being at your mercy and not breaking free. He’s fighting, but he’s trying—fuck help him, he’s trying to be good for you. 

You purposefully clench around him, tight and hot and perfect, watching his face contort in pain. “Stop,” he growls, the sound raw and anguished in his throat.

Your answering giggle is like a knife to his chest, delighted by his desperation. “Make me,” you challenge, knowing full well he can’t. You do it again, squeezing around him as your fingers work faster. “What’s wrong, Ken? Too much?”

His growl turns into something close to a whimper as you torment him with another deliberate clench. And another, and another, and another. The ties creak ominously, his whole body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“You’re cruel,” he pants, but the accusation only makes you smile wider, your movements growing more erratic as you get closer to your peak.

Every bounce of your breasts, every flutter of your lashes, every rapturous moan—it’s all burning into his memory like an iron on his skin. His hands ache for the soft crease where your thighs meet, where your thick curves swell so perfectly beneath his thirsty gaze. The sheen of sweat between your breasts calls to his tongue, taunting him with memories of your salty taste. Everything within reach, yet forbidden.

Nanami licks his lips, his tongue catching the subtle tang of your fading arousal from earlier in the evening when his face was buried between your thighs. Saliva pools in his mouth with the phantom taste of you. His breath catches in the dry crevices of his throat, gargling on a guttural whimper as he catalogs you in your utter devastation.

The crystal clear heels, purchased on that rainy Saturday when you’d lingered at the store window with wanting eyes. The champagne silk dress now bunched carelessly at your waist, chosen by him because he loved how the fabric made you shiver when you ran your fingers against it at the store last week. Those delicate black lace panties, pushed to one side of your pussy and soaked through, that he’d selected with trembling fingers weeks ago, imagining the many times you’d left them on while he fucked you into the mattress.

The gold chain at your throat catches the light with each bounce of your body, dancing across your collarbones like encapsulated sunshine. He remembers fastening it there for the first time on your anniversary, his lips following the metal’s path. Your body is decorated in diamonds like stars—the studs in your ears, the tennis bracelet on your wrist, the anklet that glints at him from his restraints. But it’s the wedding ring that truly breaks him—that symbol of his eternal devotion joining two other fingers that now press against your clit as you climb higher.

His marks cover you like a map of worship—the jewelry he chose, the silk he bought, the lingerie he selected. Every adornment screams his claim, but his hands remain tied, denied by the very exquisite canvas he’s painted with such adoration.

He sees the faint vestiges of the finish line, that light at the end of the tunnel when your hips stutter in movement and your breathless pants fall into a surprised moan that makes you stop. Your head falls back again, exposing the delicious column of your throat. His gums itch, inner cheeks sweating with saliva with the primal urge to dig his teeth into your soft skin. Your body is normally decorated with little marks from him—bruises from his fingers on your hips and thighs, hickeys on the curve of your breasts, cum dripping from your cunt. But tonight, you’re a blemish-free beauty in appearance, devilish in motivation. 

“Untie me,” Nanami whispers, not bothering to coat the begging lilt in his tone. “Untie me, and I’ll give you everything you want, love.”

Your head rolls to the side with serpentine grace until your dangerous gaze meets his. You’re glaring without any heat, narrowing your eyes in that playful manner that is always preceded by making Nanami’s life blissfully miserable.

You lift your hips slowly, slowly, slowly, and his eyes fall on the inches of his thick cock that become more exposed to the elements. He takes the abundance of your slick coating him, the thin gossamer bands that lengthen from your joined bodies and snap as the distance grows, the subtle flutter of your walls that suffocate him. Then, without warning—you drop. The sudden rush of wet heat around him shoots electricity up his spine and along his molars that he grinds into dust. He moans harshly, deep, and tortured, shaking from his mouth like a staccato as he tilts his head into the pillow beneath him.

“So good,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him, the words falling from your lips like a prayer. “So good for me, Ken. Always so good.”

The praise pierces something raw inside him. His cock throbs with each word, his fingers cramping white-knuckled around the ties as his body screams louder for release. Your movements grow erratic—hips stuttering and the careful teasing you brandished like a sword dissolving into pure need as your fingers frantically rub against your clit. He cranes his head forward just in time to watch you fall onto your knees, planting one hand on his shin while the other chases your orgasm with single-minded determination.

“Such a good boy,” you gasp, and the words feel like salvation against his skin and damnation all at once. “So good, so perfect, letting me take what I need—staying so still for me—such a good boy—”

He’s never heard those words from your lips before, never heard this particular praise, never heard you whisper in such a way that it sounds like you’re in disbelief by his submission. Something fundamental splinters inside him. The veneer that he’s precariously kept around himself all night fractures with each bounce of your hips. Every muscle in his body pulls taut as he watches you, your breathless chant of “good boy” pushing him dangerously close to his limit. 

Your pleasure crests like a tsunami. The bed protests beneath you both, a symphony of creaking wood and flesh on flesh as your hips slam down on him. Your voice rises, tight and pinched fuckfuckfuck's spilling from your lips like a mantra.

Even though he can practically taste his orgasm, his vision tunnels, focusing only on you. He takes in the violent brush of your box braids against your shoulders, the bunching of your stomach, the pebble of tears that gather at the corners of your eyes like the diamonds on your body. Your cunt grips him tighter, so impossibly tight, a velvet vice that threatens to rip his soul from his body.

And then you shatter. Your head snaps back; your jaw drops in shocked ecstasy as his name tears from your throat like a revelation. The sight of you coming undone above him, because of him, despite his restraints, worms itself into his memory. Your walls pulse around him, your fingers rapidly rubbing your clit to draw out your orgasm, milking his cock with an intensity that nearly destroys him. But he waits, trembling on the knife’s edge of his own release until you draw in one shaking breath. 

Then he snaps.

With a sharp crack, the ties give way, snapping from the bed posts but still dangling from his wrists. In one fluid motion, he sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, gathering you in his arms with barely concealed strength. One hand tangles into the braids at the nape of your neck while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.

“You’ve had your fun, love. Now let me have mine,” he growls against your ear, pulling your lobe into his mouth and using the leverage of your body and feet planted on the ground to drive up into your oversensitive and still fluttering heat. 

The feeling of finally, finally being able to touch you after being denied so long makes his head spin. The feel of you along his fingertips is enough to make him spill inside of you prematurely. Instead, he pistons his hips upwards, sliding his tongue along the skin of your neck as his pants dry his saliva on your skin. He’s earned this—earned every whimper, every clench of your pussy, every broken sound you make. Now it’s his to swallow and take as he chases the burning in his lower back.

You’re completely undone from your orgasm, arms draped loosely around his neck, and barely able to hold yourself up as the painful pleasure of over-sensitivity wracks your body. The sound of you in his ear, the press of your cheek on his skin, and the wet feel of what has to be drool on his shoulder, only drives him faster.

Every thrust up makes you whimper, all exposed nerves, and helpless to do anything but take what he gives. The hand on your hip guides you down to meet each drive of his cock, the movement desperate and precise. Control—something he’s prided himself on his entire life—is slipping through his fingers like water with each pulse of your walls around him.

“Perfect,” he pants against your ear, feeling you shudder at his voice, at how it breaks with need. “So perfect for me. Taking me so well even after—” Words fail him, dissolving into a heady groan as pleasure hot like ecstasy builds in his core, a tide rising higher and higher with each thrust. The sight of you so thoroughly claimed, slurred renditions of yes, yes, please, Ken, please sliding into his ear only drives him faster.

“Always teasing me,” he growls, digging his fingers into your hip and punctuating his words with a particularly deep thrust that makes you whine. “You love—you loved it, didn’t you? Making me wait—making me watch?”

Your only response is another broken moan, your body pliant and trembling in his arms, your cunt hot and thrashing around him. He groans softly, kissing your neck once before he digs his teeth into your skin. You yelp from the feeling, clenching around him so tightly that he feels his orgasm creep like a shadow at the edges of his consciousness.

“I’ll have to get you back for this.”

His threat is undermined by the pure devotion in his voice, the way his hand gentles in your hair even as his hips maintain their relentless pace. 

As quickly as his ferocity comes, it fades. He has no more strength to whisper grievances in your ear, no more energy to enjoy your body before he walks to the finish line.

No. Now, he sprints.

That rubber band behind his belly button begins to fray, a thin sliver being held together. The pressure at the base of his spine balloons, pressing against his nerves to make them pulse in time with his thundering heartbeat. His world narrows to only sensation—the wet heat of you, the silk of your skin, the wet smack of his balls against your throbbing pussy, the pounding of his heart against his ribs. He can feel it at the base of his cock, tingling and tight, begging to be let loose and fill you up.

Right there, right there, so close he can taste it on his tongue. His teeth dig deeper into your neck, anchoring himself to you as if he might float away in the thick fog of pleasure. The bed screams, and the broken ties—now a symbol of his freedom—dance along his forearms. But just as he teeters on the precipice, just as he’s about to topple over the edge, you find your strength again. His fierce, untamable love presses fingers into his back, and your lips brush his ear with deliberate wickedness.

“Be a good boy,” you whisper, voice hoarse but triumphant, “and cum for me. Fill me up, baby.”

He’s learned nothing from your devious ways. Those words—though repeated through the night—strike like lightning to his core. Gone is his rhythm. Gone is his control. Nanami’s jaw slackens, a desperate sound caught in his throat as his hips stutter and fail. 

His orgasm punches him in the gut, a moan belting from his throat and mixing with sounds he didn’t know he could make. He crushes you against him as he finally breaks, vision whiting out at the edges, hips snapping erratically as he chases every last spark of pleasure you offer him.

Your name falls like reverent worship from his lips, deep moans sliding along your skin like honey as you hold him through it. He’s lightheaded from you—your breathing on his shoulder, the press of your skin against him, the feel of his cum and your slick sliding between his ass. He relaxes his hold on your hip, smoothing his touch over the crescents in your skin and massaging the muscle, feral need giving way to worshiping love.

Seconds pass, then minutes. His mind slowly pieces itself together, orienting himself to reality as pleasure oozes over his skin like molten lava.

His breath is still evening out when he feels you shaking against him. You’re giggling freely, and he can smell the mischief that leaks from your pores. You’re proud of yourself; like all times when you can make him blush and trip over his words, this is no exception. He pulls back to level you with a look that’s meant to be stern, but your laughter only grows, bright and unrepentant as you card your hands through his loose and sweaty hair. 

He takes the time to admire you, his beautiful wife. Your skin glows in the aftermath of your lovemaking, the subtle sheen of sweat on your neck and breasts beckoning his gaze. The curling baby hairs kiss the tops of your ears, the glint in your eyes shining with endless love. You kiss him softly, giggling against his lips before pulling away to litter kisses down his neck.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask sweetly, a smile evident in your voice as you trail your love along his collarbone.

His hand strokes up your spine, humming softly. “Never. Though you will pay for this, love.” The threat holds no real heat— how could it, when you’re curled against him so perfectly, when your laughter makes his heart feel so full in his chest that he aches?

“Is that so?” you purr, disbelieving but fully prepared for the punishment if and whenever it arises. “I don’t think you have it in you.”

He won’t rise to your taunts. No, Nanami will get you back, and the next time those tears gather in your eyes, it will be because he’s dangled you over the precipice for so long that you won’t remember your name.

But that’s plans for another day.

For now, he’s content to pinch your side in playful reproach and relish in the harmonious giggle you give him. Before he can react, you’re pressing him back into the mattress, claiming his lips in a deep kiss that tastes of the wine that you both had at dinner. He melts into it despite himself, arousal stoking to life as his cock, still nestled in your warmth, twitches inside of you, his hands sliding up your back as he forgives you without words.

Thanks for reading!!

[yourownutopia]

Shadowborn [Jin Woo x !Shadow !Fem Reader]

When the Shadow Monarch adds you to his ranks, he has no idea what he's in for. Not only are you uncontrollable, but you also harbor a secret that even the System keeps hidden from him. As he searches for a way to bring you under control, it becomes clear that your existence exposes a flaw in the perfect structure of the shadows—one that no one could have foreseen. Why don’t you yield to his will, and more importantly, why doesn’t the System want you to remember?

Chapter: [Prologue], [1] Song: Shadowborn - Hiroyuki Sawano Calm before the storm It's me they all are coming for Be my shadowborn

We're back to take the pain My soul is indestructible I steal you from the grave So cursed to be a slave

»»———-»--•--«———-«« Information: The prologue is written in the third person. I’m honestly unsure whether I want to keep it that way or write the following chapters from different POVs. Feel free to let me know if you’d be interested in a second-person perspective as well. This idea has been stuck in my head ever since I saw a similar start to a roleplay on Character AI. I’ve had so many thoughts since then, and I hope I can integrate them meaningfully into the story! I’m known for starting ideas and never finishing them, but I really hope it’ll be different with this story. At the very least, I still have plenty of fuel in the tank and a lot of motivation to write! <3Ideas, story requests, and feedback are always welcome, so don’t hesitate to reach out 😊

Enjoy the prologue!

Note: I want to clarify that English is not my first language. I’m sorry if there are any mistakes or if I sometimes use incorrect words. Please feel free to send me corrections so I can continue improving my skills! 😊

[Prologue] “Arise.”

The Shadow Monarch’s voice reverberated through the room, deep and commanding, shattering the silence like fragile glass. Clear and resonant, his words echoed off the stone walls, lingering as though the air itself sought to hold onto them. The sound was low and powerful, vibrating faintly, giving the room a brief sense of life before the quiet crept back in.

A translucent window appeared in the air, the oppressive dark aura blanketing the ground retreating like mist. Once again, the extraction had failed. [Soul Extraction failed. 1/3 attempts remaining.]

Jin-Woo’s cold gaze flickered down to the lifeless figure lying on the ground. He exhaled deeply, raising his hand again.

“Is this truly where you wish to meet your end?” he asked, his eyes beginning to glow faintly. His voice was the only thing animating the desolate room. Vines crawled up the cracked stone walls, fractured beams of sunlight piercing through the shattered ceiling above. It looked like an abandoned boss chamber—ancient extinguished torches lined the walls, weapon gouges marred the hard stone—but there was no trace of life to be found. Not even the body before him radiated vitality.

So why couldn’t he extract her shadow?

Had it been too long since this monster’s death? Monsters decayed, yet her body showed no signs of rot. Only the deep lacerations across her skin, the missing heartbeat, and the faint, oppressive aura around her gave away the truth—she was dead.

“What a pitiful end,” he murmured. Jin-Woo didn’t expect a response, but something about her unnerved him enough to speak aloud, as though testing the air for answers.

“Arise,” he commanded once more, his hand tightening into a fist as though he could will her soul to obey.

The black smoke coiled around the lifeless body, intertwining with the tendrils rising from her chest. Slowly, the shadow took shape. Jin-Woo’s lips curled into a victorious smirk as the dark form solidified into the outline of a woman. Her glowing white eyes locked onto nothingness, the telltale mark of a newly risen shadow.

The system window popped up again, prompting for a name. Jin-Woo glanced at his latest recruit, who now knelt before him, one leg folded beneath her and the other bent upright. Her gaze remained forward, never meeting his.

“You belong to my Shadow Army now,” Jin-Woo declared, lowering his hand. “From this day on, you will serve me and obey my commands.”

He pondered briefly, then began typing a name into the prompt. Just as his finger hovered over the “Confirm” button, the window glitched, flickering erratically before closing. The chosen name replaced by another. [Y/N]

“No.”

The voice was so faint it barely registered. Jin-Woo paused, convinced he must have imagined it. Yet, before he could dismiss the notion, the shadows surrounding her physical body dissipated, retreating into the darkness along with the lifeless form on the ground.

“What?” His voice was sharp, his composure slipping for an instant as the word lingered in disbelief.

“No.” The second time was louder, firmer. The shadowy figure began to rise, her form shifting. The darkness coating her crumbled away, replaced by color. Her eyes, once glowing white, now gleamed a vibrant shade of [E/C], locked onto his in defiance. Her hair, [H/C], shimmered with an unnatural vitality, stark against the bleak surroundings.

Jin-Woo’s usually impassive expression flickered with subtle astonishment. A shadow capable of speech? Only Beru had ever displayed such an ability.

He cast his gaze toward the floating information above her:

Name: [Y/N] Level: ???

He couldn’t read her level. And she already had a name.

A tense silence filled the space, his dark aura intensifying until even Igris, his loyal Blood-Red Commander, shivered. Yet, [Y/N] stood unflinching, her jaw tight as she met Jin-Woo’s penetrating stare. Despite the icy dread running down her spine, an unyielding resolve kept her rooted. She refused to kneel.

“I refuse,” she ground out through clenched teeth, watching as the black-haired man’s glowing eyes narrowed into sharp slits. Her voice was thin but steady.

Before she could react, he had grabbed her chin and leaned down toward her; after all, he was a good head taller than she was. His grip was firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to convey his dominance. His hands were icy cold. Could shadows even feel such sensations? His face was mere inches from hers, and his piercing gaze sent a cold shiver crawling up her limbs.

[You are forbidden from harming your master.]

The window that briefly popped up caught her eye for a moment before her gaze returned to the Shadow Monarch’s icy stare.

“What was that?” he asked in a deep voice, as though his physical intimidation and the flicker in his glowing eyes could compel her to reconsider her defiance in light of what he was capable of.

“Say that again,” he growled, his tone icy and measured, daring her to reconsider. He was giving her one more chance to retract her initial refusal and do what—at least in his mind—was the only correct thing. [Y/N] stared at him for a moment. Her irritation over the situation gradually gave way to anger, which settled heavily in her chest. Who did he think he was? More importantly, who did he think she was? ... Who was she?

But there was no time to dwell on that thought, as the Shadow Monarch grew impatient. He made this clear with a brief but painful squeeze of his hand. But her defiance didn’t falter. “I. Refuse.” The words were deliberate, slow, and unwavering.

For the first time, Jin-Woo felt something beyond annoyance—curiosity laced with disbelief. Never had a shadow disobeyed him. His dominion was absolute. So why did she stand so boldly against him?

“You’re either very brave or very foolish,” he said, his voice low as his violet eyes flickered dangerously. “Do you even realize who I am?”

Her lips curled into a faint smirk. “When you’re dead, titles lose their meaning. Honestly, nothing really matters anymore.”

For a fraction of a second, Jin-Woo’s stoic mask slipped. Her words, blunt and logical, were disconcerting. Yet his pride demanded he reassert his authority.

“If you won’t obey me, I have no use for you,” he declared coldly. “I’ll kill you again a second time”

“Go ahead.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her expression challenging. “I have nothing to lose.” Something in her tone—half daring, half resigned—made Jin-Woo hesitate. The tension between them crackled like static, thick enough to choke. Shadows coiled at his feet, thick as ink, creeping toward her like serpents. Yet, as they reached her, they paused, lingering for a moment as though recognizing her as one of their own before retreating.

Even Jin-Woo couldn’t deny what he had just witnessed. Releasing her chin, he let out a heavy sigh, his energy dissipating as the oppressive weight in the room lifted.

This was no ordinary shadow.

The shadows retreated as quickly as they had appeared, his eyes returning to their cool gray, and the immense energy he exuded vanished entirely.

He couldn’t simply let the chance of having a powerful shadow slip away, even if her lack of respect infuriated him to no end. The fact that he couldn’t determine her rank and that she didn’t yield to his will suggested she must be strong.

[Y/N] exhaled in relief; the whole ordeal hadn’t left her unscathed, but she was incredibly fortunate that the black-haired man hadn’t killed her on the spot. Despite her earlier words, she really didn’t want to die again.

His cold expression remained unchanged, but his gaze lingered on the [H/C]-haired woman, who stared back at him blankly.

Her appearance was human—different from his other shadows. She had color, glowing eyes, and if not for the name and lack of rank floating above her head, he wouldn’t have even guessed she was part of his army.

“Let me put it another way: as the one who revived you, you don’t have a choice but to follow my commands. So stop being so stubborn and just obey,” he said, his voice slicing through the silence as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Stubborn? Me? Does he even listen to himself? [Y/N] thought.

“Clearly, we’re both stubborn,” she stated , rubbing her chin, which still bore faint pressure marks from his firm grip.

She didn’t notice the faint flicker of concern in his eyes. Did he hurt her?

“If you’d stop being stubborn and accept that you can’t just go around resurrecting people and making them your slaves,” she retorted, earning another angry glare from the black-haired man. He at least seemed to accept that physical intimidation wasn’t going to work on her.

Jin-Woo turned slightly away from her and opened the window displaying the current number of his shadows.

“I revived you for a reason. You are now part of my army and will serve me. End of discussion.”

[Y/N] laughed humorlessly—a cynical laugh. He still didn’t get it.

She rolled her eyes, though there was that peculiar feeling in her chest—a strange connection that had been there since her resurrection. It felt more like a tether pulling at her core, drawing her toward him.

But she didn’t feel compelled to obey him—so why should she?

“Nope, as long as you act like an asshole, I’m not even going to consider it.”

The Shadow Monarch froze mid-movement, shooting her a deadly side-eye.

Did she just insult him?

His frustration grew with every passing second. No one had ever defied him like this, especially not someone he had revived.

“And why should I be nice to you? You’re the one defying me here. You’re the one refusing to obey me. What have you done to deserve my kindness when all you’ve shown me is disrespect?” he said.

[Y/N] responded without thinking, “You reap what you sow.”

Yes, he was an asshole, and she couldn’t stand him, but her reaction wasn’t exactly the best icebreaker either. Besides, they were both in a pretty crappy situation, and it wouldn’t get any better if they kept clashing.

Plus—what choice did she have? She had no idea who or what she was, where she was, or where she was supposed to go.

A resigned sigh escaped her lips, and her tense posture relaxed a little.

“Maybe... just maybe, we got off on the wrong foot,” she said, her voice softening slightly, almost innocent—though theatrically so.

The Shadow Monarch was once again surprised by her words. She had personality—and plenty of it, apparently.

He could insist that she was his shadow and that he was therefore superior to her, but what would be the point in the end? Perhaps it was time to swallow his pride and admit he might have been wrong.

Maybe he had simply spent too much time alone, consumed by his role as the Shadow Monarch, losing whatever social skills he once had.

His expression remained cool for a moment longer before his features softened slightly, and he scratched the back of his head. “That’s an understatement,” he muttered, reflecting on how he was almost the cause of her second death. [Y/N]’s eyes lit up slightly. Had she just detected a hint of humor in his voice?

His tone had lost some of its anger, which gave her a bit of relief.

“Okay. What am I even supposed to do, and where the hell are we anyway?” she asked, glancing around the room and taking it in. She knew she had seen this place before—clearly, it was where she had died—but it didn’t feel familiar. Jin-Woo, still a bit taken aback by her sudden cooperation, followed her gaze.

“We’re in a dungeon,” he said matter-of-factly. He really didn’t share more than he absolutely had to, did he? As for what she was supposed to do? Well, his shadows usually fought for him, but what about her? She had no weapon and didn’t seem magically inclined—at least he couldn’t sense any significant mana coming from her.

“Follow me. That’s enough for now,” he finally said, turning on his heel. His cloak lifted slightly with the abrupt movement before settling back down.

Jin-Woo didn’t look back, his footsteps silent on the cold stone floor. The young woman hesitated for a moment, but the invisible force seemed to nudge her forward, almost pushing her to follow him. She let out another frustrated sigh. “Okay,” she said, taking a few quick steps to catch up with him, though she stayed a few meters behind. “I’ll follow you,” she said after a brief pause. “But I won’t follow your orders blindly. If a command seems pointless to me, I’ll refuse,” she added—a compromise she could live with. Jin-Woo stopped abruptly, nearly causing her to bump into him. He paused, processing her words. For a moment, he hesitated. With a sigh, his expression softened slightly. “Fine. I’ll accept your compromise,” he said, reluctantly agreeing to her terms. “But if your reason for refusing seems pointless to me, don’t expect my mercy,” he added without glancing at her and continued walking. Though he was satisfied with this for now, there were limits—even for her.

What had he gotten himself into? ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

[loki-cees-all]

Keeping Score {TVA!Loki x Female Reader One-Shot}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : You’re stressed, you’re exhausted, you’re sick and tired of absolutely everything right now. Loki decides that the best way to distract you from all of that is to make you count how many times he makes you come. 

W/c : 2.2k words

Content / Warnings : Soft Dom!Loki, established relationship, smut, fingering. 

Author's Note : Welp. Since I’ve been just a massive ball of stress and nerves lately, I thought I’d write something about Loki’s lap to help calm me down. (Spoilers: It just made me riled up in a very different way. Oops!) Enjoy! <3

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

“How many times is that now, darling?” 

Loki’s question sounded like it came from dozens of miles away even though he’d murmured it directly against the shell of your ear. His words sloshed in your head as it lolled back against his broad shoulder, and your shaky breath caught in your throat. Sweat coated your brow, your heart thundered in your chest. Your muscles clenched uncontrollably, and your toes felt like they’d been curled into a permanent and formally unnatural position. Your thighs, spread wide and dangling over each armrest of his tufted wingback chair, trembled and shook helplessly. 

Behind you, Loki’s presence was even, firm, solid. You could feel the steady thrum of his heart against your back, his restrained breath ghosting against your neck in a constant rhythm. Despite the cool aura he normally projected, you knew he was just as excited as you were - from the way his thighs tensed underneath yours, to how his rock-hard cock throbbed against your bare ass from underneath his trousers. His voice was low and hoarse, but still measured, still somewhat under his control - but he was absolutely loving this little game. 

“Well, pet? Are you going to answer me or not?” 

A soft little moan was all you could manage to respond with. You desperately wanted to answer, but right now, you simply lacked the brainpower to give a coherent one. Divine and relentless pleasure still radiated up and down your spine with each featherlight stroke of his fingers against your soaked cunt; he hadn’t stopped touching you since the last one, and you felt like you were liquefying in his lap; maintaining a solid form in the presence of all this ecstasy was just too much effort. 

And that was exactly what you had asked for tonight, wasn’t it? 

Specifically, what you had said was that you didn’t want to be capable of thinking for a while. You wanted to be so very drunk and dumb, from both lust and pleasure, to be so thoroughly touched and explored that the stress of TVA case files and incident reports and the perpetual lies over your very own existence were nothing more than a distant memory. 

Due dates, timelines, the anxieties of life itself, and the horrors of the massive problems the TVA currently faced - you wanted it all to mean nothing to you anymore. Just for a moment, you wanted a tiny flicker of peace inside this wretched little cosmos, and your lover was the only one who could give that to you. 

Loki, of course, had then turned that request into a delightful little game: how many times could he make you come before you simply lost count of them all? 

After your quick and enthusiastic agreement to this evening’s activity, you soon found yourself seated comfortably in the God of Mischief’s lap. His nimble fingers had removed your clothing in a flash, leaving you bare and exposed while he remained in his normal TVA uniform - just the way you liked it. You absolutely loved being naked while he remained clothed; for some strange reason, it reminded you that no matter the problem, that no matter how dire the circumstances seemed, Loki still had everything under control - and that made your lack of it so very comforting. 

Once you were ready, he’d started off by cupping your breasts while he kissed your neck. Both thumbs brushed delicately against your quickly stiffening nipples, and you’d squirmed in his lap while your cunt clenched around nothing. Instinctively, you’d moved to squeeze your thighs together and give yourself some kind of pressure to roll against, but Loki had instantaneously put a stop to that. His large hand had gripped the inside of your thigh and separated it from the other, and you could feel his hungry eyes devouring the sight of your rapidly dripping sex from over your shoulder. 

From there, his other hand snaked its way down, over your ribs and down past your belly to graze your clit. He’d moved slowly, taking his time to thoroughly tease and stimulate the area, caressing gently back and forth with just the barest hint of pressure. On the next pass through, he pressed a little bit harder, collecting your ever-growing arousal and spreading it around with his fingertips. He’d let out a groan of appreciation, so deep and so feral, that it had made you come for the first time tonight. 

It wasn’t a big orgasm, but it was enough to stretch and loosen the muscles of your body, leaving you relaxed, comfortably warm and somewhat limp in his lap; a nice little warm-up climax, Loki had always called it. With a devilish grin, he’d calmed and soothed your mind until it passed, whispering sweet nothings and reassurances while you’d trembled. And once it was over, he’d repeat the process again, upping the ante with each cycle, pressing a little bit harder and moving a little bit faster, cranking the intensity of each subsequent climax higher and higher. 

He’d alternate increasing the speed of his fingers, their angle, and then their depth. The filth he’d whisper as he drew each orgasm out would become even dirtier, and the praise he’d murmured afterwards would somehow be way more celestial and glorious than it had any right to be. The ambrosian tones in his voice rolled in waves, from rough to demulcent, shifting in sync with the euphoric fireworks all bursting simultaneously inside your spine, and then simmering patiently together before the next spark set them off again. 

“Come on, love. Don’t tell me the game is over already…” As his lips grazed the cartilage of you ear, you let out a dazed whimper. The hand gripping your thigh slid up to your throat, and his fingers extended to tilt your chin towards him. He knew full well that the game wasn’t over yet, because your safe word was still tucked securely in its bed - and there was no way you were going to utter it now. 

The blurred angles of your beautiful God danced within your heady vision. Your eyelids fluttered open and closed, trying to will his features to become fixed again so you could admire him fully. Eventually his lopsided brow slowly came into view, arched perfectly over his deep green and wandering eyes. A roguish glint had etched itself deep inside his irises, and his lips were curled in a esurient but disciplined manner. He was gorgeous and stoic, sensual and vivacious, and he could easily do this all night if you had wanted him to. 

A heavy breath tumbled from your parted lips, and your answer was both murmured and dreamy. “No…no, it’s not over yet…”

“That’s good. That’s very good…” Loki hummed his approval, softly dragging his knuckles along your cheek. “But I’m still going to need a number, darling…how many times have you come undone on my fingers tonight?” 

He punctuated his question with a slight increase of pressure against your clit, and you shuddered in response. The backs of your thighs pulled against the leathered armrests of his chair as you shifted in his lap, and your fingers clenched tighter around the straps of his sword holster. Your hips writhed uncontrollably with the circular motions of his fingers, and you moaned out something incoherent, hoping that would suffice for the time being. 

“Such a silly little girl…” Loki teased with a chuckle. His fingers shifted tempo, adding speed along with the increased pressure. “We both know that was nonsense…” 

“Jesus Christ, I - ” Your gasp was cut off by another moan, and your lower half arched itself off from his lap to roll harder against his touch. Another orgasm was building quickly, and you craved it like the sea needed the sky. 

“Close, but that’s not quite my name, nor what I asked for…” Loki tsked. His words oozed elegance and charm, in direct contrast to the image of you spread wide in his chair, your slickened and swollen cunt still begging for even more stimulation somehow. 

“Oh, fuck - Loki!” you moaned as he changed tactics and slipped two fingers inside you. This time your eyes shot open to watch as he buried them, and then slowly drew them out. Arousal coated the digits, sparkling in the dim candlelight of your private quarters, and then he was calmly pushing them back in again. You clenched hard around his fingers and felt yourself growing even more impossibly wet as they curled and effortlessly reached all the right places to make the next orgasm that much more powerful. 

“Answer me, girl,” he groaned, becoming more breathless himself as you became more excited. He pressed his lips against your ear and buried his nose against your scalp. “Give me the number…”

“Six! Five! Seventeen!” you cried out, not caring if any of them were the right answer. Your heartbeat was out of control, your lungs were heaving for oxygen as gasoline filled your veins. Every bit of you was tightened, clenched, stiff and sticky. His fingers were relentless, pushing you to your absolute limits, and you wanted to exist in this blissful state for the rest of your life. 

“Oh, you’re such a dirty, filthy girl. You love this, don’t you?” He slipped another finger inside you. Three of them now stroked you from the inside, over and over again, while his thumb continued massaging your clit on the outside. “You love coming, you love being a mess, you love being so lecherous, don’t you?” 

Your eyes rolled back into your head as his other hand curled around your throat again. The words TVA no longer had any meaning to you. You forgot your own name, you forgot his name. There was nothing left inside your brain, and the pleasure was so intense that you couldn’t even remember why you’d wanted this in the first place. “Once! Twice! 87 times!” 

Loki laughed, and suddenly withdrew his fingers to delicately caress your clit with them instead. “Come now, pet. We both know those aren’t the right answers…” 

The lack of pressure was jarring, and your eyes widened in shock. You let out the most pathetic of whimpers, slamming your hand on top of his in a desperate plea for his previous pace to resume, but it was pointless. He wouldn’t acquiesce. 

“What if I don’t let you come again until you answer correctly, hmm? Would you like that?”

You whimpered again, squirming and shifting to get the pressure back. You turned, nuzzling your face against his without caring about how pathetic you looked. “Please? Please let me come again?” 

Loki groaned, and pulled you back down to sitting. Your full weight was back on his legs and hips, and his cock was somehow even harder than it had even been before. “Fine. I’ll give you a hint, love…Not once, not twice, not three times…” 

His breath was heady and hot against your lips. He was dying to make you come again, just as much as you were ready to explode. That was what separated him from everyone else, and just one of the things that had made you forever devoted to this God of Chaos. 

“Four…” you whispered correctly. “Four times…” 

As soon as the last syllable was uttered, Loki was crushing his lips against yours. His fingers slipped back inside you, and he kissed and fucked you until your fifth orgasm reached its precipice. A bolt of lightning shot up your spine, burning and convulsing every muscle you had as you came again, harder than any other time before. 

In your mind, the seas parted and the clouds disappeared. An aurora unleashed itself between the tendrils of your nerves, and your entire body thrashed in sheer and utter pleasure. Loki held you firm as you spasmed in his lap, wrapping one arm around your waist as his fingers pumped for a few more moments, then slowly withdrew to caress you so very gently in a soothing motion. 

You shivered and melted, moaning and whimpering against his lips as they moved to your cheek and then down to your neck. His heart thundered against your back, and his breath was as shaky as yours while you tried to recover. Your thighs were still shaking uncontrollably when he gently guided them off the armrests and pushed them closed. 

“I love you…” you murmured dizzily as he turned you to nestle back against his chest. He was so strong and comfortable and protective like this, and he smelled like stardust and the deepest, greenest forest. 

Could you actually remember what forests smelled like, or were you just dreaming that you could? It didn’t matter; they were all the same thing, after all. 

“I love you too…” Loki answered softly. His lips brushed against your temple, and his secure arms wrapped tightly around you. 

Loki - that was his name. That was the only thing in your head now. Deadlines and existential dread were nothing more than faint nightmares, long since forgotten. A thing of the past, a thing you’d just made up one night when your imagination got away from you. 

Loki was now the only thing that mattered, the only thing worth focusing on. And that was basically what you had asked for, wasn’t it?

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Click here to be added to my Loki fic tag list! 💚

[vi-steponmeplease]

BILLIE BOSSA NOVA

REQUEST: hii i was wondering if u can do like a story with billie on how like billie and the reader are in the pool and start to make out (pls end in smut ☺️) also like dom billie and i love your stories SMM

a/n: love this request, and tysm ily!! also i changed the setting to a jacuzzi since that's steamier imo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pairings - flirtacious!billie x fem!reader

genre - smut

synopsis: a long-awaited romantic getaway to a hawaiian resort with your girlfriend leaves you craving her in more ways than one.

tw: softdom!billie, sub!reader, praise kink, billie's a bit of a tease, semi-public pool sex, light choking, reader & billie are in an established relationship

word count: 1.6K

a lot can change in twenty seconds a lot can happen in the dark

⟡

i'm not sentimental but there's somethin' 'bout the way you look tonight

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Vacations have never really been your thing, as the timing never seems convenient enough for you to be free. But when you and your girlfriend finally manage to carve out time for a well-deserved break from work, you waste no time whisking her away to a luxurious resort in Hawaii.

"Look, Bils, there are so many activities here!" you gush, waving a colorful pamphlet excitedly in Billie’s face.

She chuckles, gently swatting your hand away before resting hers back on the steering wheel. "Tell me all about them, babe. Jus' let me keep my eyes on the road so we actually make it there in one piece, okay?"

"I wanna go swimming first, and then we can—" You abruptly cut yourself off, gasping as your eyes catch something on the pamphlet. "Oh my God, no, we’re going horseback riding first!"

Billie laughs, her voice light and melodic as she takes in your excitement. She spares you a brief glance, her eyes brimming with affection, before turning her attention back to the road. Her hand finds its way to your thigh, a gentle squeeze accompanying the smile playing on her lips. “Almost there.”

When you arrive, Billie pulls into valet parking, smoothly handing over her keys before wrapping an arm around your waist. With the other, she effortlessly wheels your shared suitcase, her presence reassuring as you both check in at the resort.

Key in hand, the two of you make your way to your room. Once inside, you immediately flop onto the bed, letting out a contented sigh as the crisp, cool sheets embrace your body. The scent of vanilla and coconut wafts through the air, calming and intoxicating all at once.

Billie leans down, her lips meeting yours in a tender kiss that makes your heart flutter. She then takes your hands, gently pulling you up to sit. "Come on, pretty girl," she says with a soft smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "The horses are waiting."

In hues of amber and crimson, the day takes its final bow, painting the sky in the tender colors of twilight. A soft breeze brushes over your exposed shoulders, a soothing contrast to the lukewarm embrace of the jacuzzi water rippling around your figure.

The quiet patter of footsteps reaches your ears, followed by a gentle splash as someone joins you. You glance to the side and spot Billie, clad in a pink bikini, her calm smile radiating under the soft glow of the yellow string lights that frame the area. Your gaze instinctively trails over her figure, your throat tightening as the light dances across her skin, accentuating her beauty.

She slides into the water beside you, her entrance sending a cascade of bubbles around her. She lets out a blissful sigh, leaning back against the edge. Her eyes flutter shut, giving in to the soothing warmth of the water enveloping her.

Her arms coil around your waist, pulling you flush against her. You wrap your arms around her shoulders with a playful grin, leaning in to press your lips to hers in a kiss that quickly turns passionate. Her hands trail down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrap around her waist.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers, her breath warm against your lips. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had you all to myself.”

You chuckle softly, tilting your head and flipping your hair aside to take in the intense longing in her ocean-blue eyes. Before you can respond, Billie claims your lips again, this time with a raw urgency. Her hands slide to your ass, cupping and squeezing with a teasing firmness that draws a soft gasp from you.

“Missed this ass,” she murmurs, her lips now trailing down your neck. Her kisses deepen into marks of purple, each one a possessive reminder of her touch. A quiet moan slips from your lips as her damp hand slides up to your neck, gripping gently and pulling you closer. Your head tilts back, granting her full access, surrendering completely to the moment.

“Missed your obedience, baby,” she whispers, her lips brushing against the delicate skin above your bikini top. Her words send a shiver down your spine as her mouth grazes the curve of your breasts. “You’re always such a good girl for me.”

Heat pools between your legs at the sultry tone of her words, and your desperation grows as you subtly begin to grind against her, hoping she won’t notice. But Billie, ever attentive, quickly catches on, her firm grip halting your movements with ease.

“What do you need, pretty girl?” she rasps, her voice teasingly low, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Use your words.”

“Please, Bils,” you manage, your voice a trembling whisper as you squirm in her grasp. “Touch me.”

“You need my fingers?” she asks, her teasing tone making your breath hitch. You nod quickly, your desperation clear. Her hands move with deliberate slowness to your string bikini, untying the knots and draping the fabric over the rim of the jacuzzi. “How bad do you need ’em?”

“So bad… Need you, Billie." Your words slip out in an unintentional whimper as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Her calloused fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, taunting circles that draw a sigh of relief from you. The sensation is momentary, though, as she pulls back, leaving you aching for more.

Before you can protest, her plump lips capture yours in a heated kiss, her tongue exploring yours as her fingers slip inside you. The stretch is perfect, filling you as her kiss muffles the moans spilling from your lips. Every movement of her fingers sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, her dominance grounding you completely in the moment.

Ever so slightly, Billie curls her fingers, reaching deeper spots that send jolts of pleasure rippling through you. Louder moans spill from your lips as your grip on her shoulders tightens, your head falling back in surrender to the intense sensations.

She bites her lip, barely suppressing the satisfied smirk threatening to spread as she watches your face contort with unrestrained bliss.

“You like that, baby?” she purrs, her voice dripping with pride—both in herself for knowing exactly how to unravel you and in you for being so perfectly compliant, following her every command. “Want me to go faster?”

“Y-Yes, faster,” you stammer, your voice trembling as your eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the ecstasy coursing through you. Billie doesn’t hesitate, quickening the rhythm of her fingers, each thrust building a delicious pressure deep within you.

With practiced ease, she unties the knot of your bikini top, letting it fall away before her mouth claims your nipple. Her tongue flicks and swirls over the sensitive bud, her lips suckling just enough to make your back arch instinctively. Every motion of her hands and mouth leaves you inching closer to the edge, completely at her mercy.

"Look at you—such a pretty girl, begging to feel my fingers inside you," Billie murmurs, her voice muffled as her lips remain latched around your nipple.

You clench around her fingers, your body responding instinctively to the relentless pace of her thrusts. The sensation builds to an almost unbearable peak, drawing out louder moans. “Close…” you manage to gasp, your voice trembling. Billie takes your breathless admission as her cue, quickening her pace and adding a third finger, the stretch sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your core.

“Oh my—fuck,” you groan, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as her fingers reach deeper, hitting spots that make your body shudder. “I’m so close.”

“Yeah, baby?” Billie’s voice drips with praise, a mix of pride and adoration as her fingers work you over without mercy. “You want to come?”

“Billie, please,” you whimper, your voice thick with desperation. The sound of her name spilling from your lips like a prayer makes her groan, a low, primal sound that only adds to the intensity of the moment.

With her free hand, she grips the back of your neck, pulling you into a searing kiss. Her tongue delves into your mouth, her movements commanding and possessive. The overwhelming sensation of her lips, her fingers, and her presence pushes you over the edge, and you unravel around her with a loud, pleasured moan, your body trembling as waves of relief crash through you.

Your chest rises and falls with heavy pants as your body finally gives in, trembling from the intensity. Billie’s arms wrap around you instantly, steadying and holding you close. Her warmth and strength are a comforting anchor as you melt against her.

She grins softly, reaching up to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You did amazing, baby,” she murmurs, her voice tender and full of affection. Her fingers trail over your skin, rubbing soothing circles around the marks she left, a quiet gesture of care. With skilled ease, she ties your bikini top back in place, shielding your sensitive skin from the cool air.

Once you’re steady, the two of you make your way back to your room, the short walk punctuated by the easy intimacy you share. Billie can’t resist teasing you, her tone light. “So, you still up for that tango class?” she asks, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, reminding you of how excited you’d been earlier.

“Fuck no,” you reply with a chuckle, your voice warm despite your exhaustion. Dropping your head against her shoulder, you nuzzle into the crook of her neck, letting her warmth envelop you. “Sleep’s calling my name.”

[mommyownsmee]

TW: Mirror sex; Oral sex; Strap sucking & sex; (1) Ruined orgasm; Praise & Degrading; Overstimulation;

THIS IS PART ONE [~10k words]

The room is bathed in the golden glow of candlelight, the scent of wax and faint traces of my perfume lingering in the air. The bed beneath you is soft, sheets cool against your fevered skin, but the contrast does nothing to soothe you. Not when you’re like this—trembling, desperate, your body taut with anticipation as you kneel before me, legs spread, hands resting obediently in your lap.

I take my time watching you, letting the silence stretch between us, my presence alone heavy enough to make you squirm. The flickering light casts shadows along the curves of your body, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, your lips parted, pupils blown wide. I can feel your need radiating from you, see it in the way your thighs press together slightly, the way your fingers twitch, aching to reach for me, to ground yourself in my touch.

Pathetic.

"You’ve been needy all day, haven’t you?" My voice is soft, teasing, yet laced with something dangerous.

You swallow hard, your breath catching as you shake your head weakly—so desperate to deny it, so eager to convince me you haven’t been aching for this all day. But I see right through you.

I smirk, tilting your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet my gaze. "Lying to me?" I murmur, my grip tightening slightly, my thumb pressing against your lip, dragging it down. "That’s adorable. Like I can’t see how desperate you are."

You let out a small, broken sound, your thighs clenching involuntarily, and I chuckle darkly, reveling in your helplessness.

Leaning in close, my lips barely brushing the shell of your ear, I whisper, "Be honest, sweetheart. Do you want me?"

The shudder that rips through you is instantaneous, your body betraying you before you even manage to whisper, "Yes, Mommy."

I grin.

"Then let’s see how much you can take."

Your breath stutters as I straighten, my eyes sweeping over you, drinking in the way your body shivers under my gaze alone. I don’t move right away. I just watch. Watch you squirm, watch the way your thighs squeeze together, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths, your lips trembling as you try so hard to hold yourself still for me.

But I see it—the raw, aching need in you, the way your body betrays you with every tiny movement.

I take a step back, just enough to make you whimper softly in protest, your hands twitching at your sides like you want to reach for me.

I smirk.

"Strip," I command, my voice low, smooth, expectant.

Your breath hitches, hesitation flickering across your face for just a second, like the weight of my words takes a moment to truly settle in. And then you nod quickly, scrambling to obey, your fingers shaky as you reach for the hem of your shirt.

I watch as you pull it over your head, exposing soft, flushed skin, your nipples already hard, your body reacting to me before I’ve even touched you. I don’t say anything. I just watch. Make you feel seen.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking to mine as you slide your hands down to your waistband, tugging your bottoms down, kicking them off. You’re completely bare now, standing before me with nothing to shield you. Nothing to hide behind.

I step forward, my fingers reaching out to trace over your hip, slow and deliberate. "So obedient," I murmur, dragging my nails down the side of your thigh, making you shudder. "You want to be good for me, don’t you?"

You nod frantically, breathless. "Yes, Mommy." Your pupils are blown wide, your lips parted, your expression wrecked already, and I haven’t even started with you.

I lean in, my breath warm against your lips. "Then get on the bed."

Your body moves before your mind catches up, climbing onto the bed, shifting onto your back as I instructed. You’re so pliant, so eager to obey, and fuck, I love seeing you like this—laid out for me, waiting.

I move slowly, deliberately, reaching for the silk restraints at the edge of the bed. You whimper softly when you see them, your thighs clenching, your body tensing.

"Hands up," I command.

You obey instantly, your wrists pressing together above your head, and I take my time securing the silk around them, making sure it’s snug but not too tight. You test them automatically, tugging just slightly, and a soft, desperate little noise escapes you when you realize you can’t move.

I grin, running my fingers down the length of your arm, watching the way your breath stutters, your entire body reacting to me. "So pretty," I murmur, my voice dripping with satisfaction.

I trail my fingers down your side, nails scraping lightly, ghosting over your ribs, your waist, lower. Watching. Savoring.

Then, with no warning, I grip your thighs and spread them wide, pinning them open beneath me.

Your gasp is sharp, your cheeks flushing, your body tensing in surprise.

I smirk, dragging my nails lightly over your inner thighs. "You’re all mine now," I murmur, watching you squirm beneath me. "Completely at my mercy. You can‘t escape."

The dim light flickers across your flushed skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly, the cool air of the room doing nothing to soothe the fire burning inside you.

I take my time, trailing my fingers down your stomach, tracing lazy patterns along your skin. "Look at you," I murmur, my voice dripping with condescension. "Soaking through your pretty little panties, and I haven’t even touched you yet."

Your whimper turns into a choked sob, your body trembling beneath me as the denial settles deep in your bones. The need is unbearable, thrumming through you like a second heartbeat, making every nerve in your body scream for relief. But I won’t give it to you—not yet. Not until I’m satisfied.

I smirk, dragging my fingers down your stomach, watching the way your muscles twitch under my touch. You’re so fucking sensitive, every brush of my fingertips making you shiver, your body betraying you in the most delicious way.

"You poor thing," I murmur, my voice dripping with mock sympathy. "So desperate, so needy… and yet, you haven’t earned it."

Your breath hitches, your thighs clenching, a quiet sob escaping your lips. You want to protest, to plead, but you know better. You know I’ll only make it worse.

I tap the vibrator I’m holding in my hand against your swollen clit—just once, just enough to send a sharp jolt through you—before pulling it away again.

You cry out, your back arching, your wrists straining against the binds, and I laugh softly, watching you unravel.

"Look at you," I taunt, cupping your chin, forcing you to meet my gaze. "Dripping for me. Shaking for me. But you still don’t get it, do you?"

I slide two fingers through your soaked folds, teasing, barely pressing inside, just enough to make you whimper and try to grind down onto them. I grip your thigh, holding you still, denying you even the smallest bit of friction.

"You don’t get to take," I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You take what I give you. Nothing more."

Your sob is wrecked, broken, your body trembling violently. You’re a mess—tears streaking down your flushed cheeks, sweat clinging to your skin, your cunt pulsing with unmet need.

I fucking love it.

I press my fingers inside you—slow, deep, filling you just enough to make you cry out—but I don’t move. I stay still, letting you squirm, letting you ache.

"Oh, baby," I purr, my lips brushing against your ear. "You’re going to take everything I give you. And you’re going to thank me for ruining you."

Your breath stutters, your body shaking as I curl my fingers just right, pressing against that spot that makes you see stars. Your thighs jerk, a strangled moan spilling from your lips, your walls fluttering around my fingers.

And then—just when you’re on the verge of breaking—I pull away.

You scream.

I smirk, dragging my soaked fingers over your swollen, throbbing clit, spreading your own slick over you like a punishment.

"So fucking messy," I whisper, shaking my head. "So desperate. I could make you come right now, couldn't I? I could let you have it. Let you soak the sheets for me."

Your breath comes in broken, desperate sobs, your hands trembling where they're tied above your head, your hips bucking, searching for friction.

"But I won't," I murmur, licking my fingers clean, making sure you see the way my tongue drags over them, tasting you.

Your whimper is pathetic.

I reach for the vibrator again, pressing it against your oversensitive clit, switching it on to the lowest setting.

"Let's see how many times I can bring you to the edge before you break," I whisper, my voice smooth, intoxicating.

Then, I flick the setting higher.

Your body jerks violently the moment the vibrations return, your thighs quivering, your whimper turning into something broken, something desperate. I watch the way you react, how your hands clench into fists above you, how your back arches as if offering yourself up to me. As if you think I’ll be merciful.

But I won’t.

I press the vibrator harder against your swollen clit, dragging it in slow, torturous circles. The overstimulation makes you squirm, makes your moans turn high-pitched, frantic. You’re already right there again, your body trembling, your breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

I lean down, lips ghosting over your ear, my voice dripping with amusement. "Are you gonna come, baby? So soon? You’re such a fucking pathetic whore."

You nod frantically, a strangled sob caught in your throat, your legs shaking against the binds as you try to hold yourself together.

I smirk, pulling back just slightly so I can watch you—watch the way your face twists in desperation, the way your body fights to stay still for me.

"Too bad," I murmur.

And I turn it off.

You scream, wrecked, tears spilling freely down your face now, your entire body convulsing with need. You gasp for air, chest heaving, sweat clinging to your skin, and I just watch, drinking it in, reveling in your suffering.

"You’re so easy to break," I hum, dragging the toy lazily along your trembling inner thighs, teasing you with what you can’t have. "I don’t even have to try. You just fall apart for me, don’t you?"

You nod frantically, eyes glossy, lips trembling, so fucking needy.

I cup your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet my gaze. "Use your words."

"Yes, Mommy," you sob, voice hoarse, so wrecked already. "I— I can’t— I need—"

I slap your cheek lightly, just enough to shock you, just enough to make you still. "No," I correct sharply. "You don’t need anything. You want it. And wanting isn’t enough."

Your breath hitches, your throat bobbing as you swallow back another desperate plea.

"Good girl," I purr, my fingers trailing down your stomach, featherlight, barely touching, but enough to make you shiver. "You’re learning."

I press the vibrator against you again, flipping it on to the highest setting this time, holding it firm against your soaked, throbbing clit. The reaction is immediate—your body jerks, your back arching off the bed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream, but I don’t stop.

You thrash, helpless, lost in the overwhelming sensation, your thighs trembling violently, your walls fluttering desperately around nothing.

"Don’t you dare come," I whisper darkly, my free hand gripping your jaw, forcing your teary eyes to stay on me.

You can’t hold back this time. I know you can’t.

I watch the exact moment you break. Your body convulses, your thighs pulling against the binds, your breath shattering into a broken sob as the orgasm rips through you.

I still don’t stop. The vibrations don’t falter and my grip on your jaw tightens.

"Oh, baby," I murmur, my voice dripping with condescension. "Did you just come without permission?"

You let out a strangled sob, your whole body trembling violently, your hips jerking as the overstimulation hits you like a shockwave.

"I— I’m sorry," you gasp, eyes wide, panicked, knowing what’s coming.

I smirk, shaking my head slowly. "Sweetheart," I sigh, dragging my nails down your overstimulated, trembling thighs. "You just made this so much worse for yourself."

You shudder beneath me, your body already spent, already twitching. But I don’t care. You don’t get to just take from me. You earn your pleasure.

And now, you’re going to pay for your mistake.

I press the vibrator back against you, unrelenting, my grip on your thigh tightening, holding you down. "You’re not stopping until I say so," I growl, my eyes dark with amusement; so dark with possession. "Let’s see how many times I can ruin you before you’re begging me to stop."

You sob, a choked, desperate sound, and I just smirk; because we’re nowhere near done.

I slowly position myself over you, watching you from above, smirking as your lips part, your breath warm against my slick folds, your entire body waiting for me. The desperation radiates off you, thick and tangible, the need to please, to serve, woven into every quiver of your body beneath me. I can feel your hands trembling where they rest against my thighs, gripping tight, clinging like you need this, like the very act of worshiping me is the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

I drag my fingers through your hair, gripping hard enough to make you whimper, tilting your head back just a fraction. "You’re so fucking needy, aren’t you?" I murmur, watching the way your eyes flutter at the condescension in my voice. "So desperate to prove yourself. To make me happy."

You nod frantically, your tongue darting out just barely, like you’re testing the air, tasting my arousal before I even let you have me. My smirk deepens. You can smell me. I know you can. The evidence of how much I want this, how much I need this, is dripping onto your lips, coating your chin, making a mess of you before you’ve even gotten to work.

I rock my hips forward slightly, just enough to brush my slick folds over your waiting lips, teasing, taunting. You let out a strangled sound at the taste, at the smallest hint of what’s coming, and I laugh softly, running my nails along your scalp, making you shudder.

"What do you say, baby?" I murmur, my voice like silk, thick with amusement. "You think you can do a good job for me? Think you can finally be useful?"

You nod so fast, so desperate, so wrecked already. "Yes, Mommy," you whisper, voice wrecked, breathless. "Please—please let me taste you. I—I need to make you feel good. Please."

I hum in amusement, tilting your head back further, forcing you to look at me. "Then open your mouth."

You obey instantly, your lips parting, your tongue flicking out, waiting, eager.

And then—I give you what you need.

I grind down against you, my slick dragging across your tongue, coating your lips, your chin, your entire fucking face in me. You moan, the sound vibrating against my cunt, sending a shudder through my body, and fuck—you’re already so fucking good at this.

I keep my grip tight in your hair, using it to guide your movements, to hold you exactly where I want you. "You keep that tongue out," I command, voice sharp, firm. "And you make me come, baby. You understand?"

You whimper, nodding as best you can with my hand still tangled in your hair. You don’t hesitate. You dive in, your lips wrapping around my clit, your tongue pressing just right, and I gasp, my head tipping back at the sudden shock of pleasure.

"Oh, fuck," I breathe, grinding down harder, using your mouth like it belongs to me. "That’s it. That’s my good girl."

You whimper at the praise, and I feel it, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure straight through my core. You keep going, working me open, licking and sucking like it’s all you were ever meant to do.

I tighten my thighs around your head, pulling you deeper, forcing you to drown in me. You take it, your nails digging into my thighs, your tongue flicking over my clit just right, and my breath shatters, my body tensing as the pleasure builds.

I smirk down at you, watching your face, watching the way your lips glisten with my slick, the way you’re so fucking messy for me already. "God, you love this, don’t you?" I taunt, my voice breathless, wrecked. "You love making me fall apart."

You nod frantically, your whimper muffled against my cunt, and I laugh, rolling my hips, dragging my wetness over your mouth, your chin, making you wear me. "Messy little thing," I murmur, my voice dripping with amusement. "You’d fucking starve without me, wouldn’t you?"

You whine, and the sound is wrecked, pathetic, and so fucking good. I feel the heat coiling in my stomach, the pressure mounting, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I rock against your mouth faster, harder, my grip in your hair tightening, my nails dragging down your scalp, owning you completely.

"Make me come," I command, my voice sharp, desperate. "Now."

You obey.

You work harder, sucking my clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue over it in sharp, focused movements, chasing my pleasure like it’s the only thing that fucking matters.

And fuck—it hits me.

The orgasm crashes over me, ripping through my body, making me tremble above you. I let out a sharp, gasping moan, my thighs tightening, my back arching as I ride out the waves, using your mouth, your tongue, every single fucking inch of you to draw it out.

I can feel you moaning into me, the desperate, hungry noises you make as you drink me down, as you worship me through every second of my release.

I don’t move. I keep you there, keep my cunt pressed against your mouth, forcing you to take it until I’m completely spent, completely satisfied.

And when I finally come down, when my breath steadies and my body stops trembling, I tilt your face up again, forcing you to meet my gaze.

You’re a fucking mess.

Your lips are swollen, your chin slick with me, your pupils blown wide with need. You look wrecked, desperate, like you’d do anything for me, anything just to please me.

I hum, smirking as I drag my thumb over your wet lips, tracing the mess I made of you. "Good girl," I murmur, voice soft, dripping with approval.

You shudder at the words, your eyes fluttering shut, your body still trembling beneath me.

But I’m not done. I grip your chin, tilting your face up further, leaning in until my lips are right against your ear.

"You’re not coming yet," I whisper, my voice dark, intoxicating. "You haven’t earned it."

You let out a wrecked little sob, your body twitching, still desperate, still aching.

I chuckle, dragging my nails down your chest, making you shudder.

"Oh, baby," I murmur, smirking as I trail my fingers lower, ghosting them just above your soaked, throbbing cunt. "You’re gonna suffer for me first."

I tighten my grip around your waist, keeping you upright as your knees threaten to give out. You’re so weak, so spent from everything I’ve done to you already, but I can feel it—your body still craving more, still trembling with need.

I keep you pinned against the mattress for a moment longer, letting the weight of my body keep you trapped, my breath warm against your ear. You’re still shaking, still twitching, your thighs clenching as you fight the overwhelming need coursing through you.

Then, without warning, I pull away.

You let out a desperate little cry at the loss of my warmth, your hands grasping uselessly at the sheets, as if trying to pull me back. But I’m already standing, towering over you, my eyes dark with something dangerous, something possessive.

"Up," I command, my voice sharp, brooking no argument.

You hesitate for only a second, your muscles weak and trembling, but I don’t have the patience for hesitation. I grab your wrists and yank you up onto unsteady feet, making you stumble into me, your body pressing against mine for support.

You’re breathless, dazed, eyes wide with exhaustion and lust.

It makes me smirk.

"Poor baby," I murmur, running my fingers up your spine, feeling the way you shudder under my touch. "Can’t even stand after everything I’ve done to you, huh?"

You shake your head, your fingers gripping my arms like you need me to hold you together.

I chuckle, leaning down to press a mockingly sweet kiss to your forehead. "That’s too bad, sweetheart," I whisper, gripping your chin between my fingers, forcing you to meet my gaze. "Because I’m not done with you."

I tug you forward, guiding you toward the full-length mirror against the wall. You follow on shaky legs, stumbling slightly, but I catch you, holding you steady, making you feel every inch of my control.

When we reach the mirror, I spin you around so your back is flush against my chest, my arms wrapping around you, keeping you pinned in place. You’re gasping softly, staring at your own reflection, eyes blown wide, mouth parted.

I grin at the sight of you—wrecked, trembling, desperate.

Your reflection in the mirror is a masterpiece of submission. Your hair is a mess, wild from how much you’ve thrashed beneath me. Your lips are swollen from all your pleading, your thighs slick with the evidence of your ruin. Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, your skin flushed, covered in the marks of my hands, my mouth, my control. You look wrecked.

And yet, despite everything, I can see it in your eyes—that haze of pleasure, that desperate little plea hiding behind exhaustion. You want it. You need it.

"Such a pretty sight," I praise, my voice low, teasing, intoxicating. I grip your waist, pressing you forward, bending you slightly, just enough so that your palms land against the mirror, your breath fogging up the glass.

I smirk against your ear, dragging my nails down your stomach, feeling the way your muscles tense beneath my touch. "Look at you," I murmur, my voice thick with amusement. "You’re shaking, baby. You can barely stand. Do you feel how weak you are for me?"

You whimper, gripping my arms tighter, your head lolling back against my shoulder as I press my lips against the side of your neck. "Yes, Mommy," you whisper, your voice wrecked, barely more than a breath.

"You see that?" I murmur, dragging my fingers down your stomach, over your thighs, watching the way you shudder at my touch. "You look like a perfect little mess. Just for me."

You whimper, pressing your thighs together instinctively, but I don’t let you hide from me. My hands slide lower, parting your legs, making sure you can see every bit of your own dripping, ruined state in the reflection.

I chuckle, my fingers ghosting lower, tracing slow, torturous circles along your inner thighs. "Mmm, and yet, you’re still so wet for me. Look at the mess you’ve made, baby."

You force your heavy eyelids open, your gaze locking onto the mirror again, and I watch as your expression crumbles—seeing yourself like this, seeing me standing behind you, my hands gripping you, teasing you, owning you.

I dip my fingers lower, pressing them against the slick heat between your thighs, and your entire body jolts. Your breath stutters, a desperate little whimper slipping from your lips, your legs trembling so violently that I have to hold you tighter just to keep you upright.

"Shhh," I hum, my other hand coming up to grip your jaw, forcing your head straight. "Watch yourself, baby. Watch what I do to you."

You whimper again, your hands shaking as you cling to me, your hips instinctively pressing forward into my touch, so desperate, so pathetic in your need.

I press my fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles, and your entire body jerks. "Oh, fuck," you gasp, your head tilting back, but I catch your chin again, forcing your eyes back to the mirror.

"Eyes on yourself," I warn, my voice dropping into something lower, something more commanding. "I want you to see what a desperate little mess you are for me."

Tears gather at your lashes, your mouth parting as your breath comes in sharp, erratic gasps. "M-Mommy—"

I cut you off with a slow, deliberate stroke of my fingers, pressing just a little harder, just enough to send a shockwave of pleasure through you. "You feel that?" I whisper, watching your reflection, seeing the way you writhe against me, seeing the pure, raw pleasure written across your face. "That’s what it feels like to be mine."

You sob out a desperate little sound, your body twitching against me, your hips grinding helplessly into my touch. "Mommy, please," you gasp, voice cracking. "Please, I can’t—"

"You can," I growl, my grip tightening around you, my fingers never stopping. "And you will."

I increase the pressure, circling your clit with slow, devastating precision, dragging you closer, pulling you deeper into the pleasure. Your thighs clamp shut around my hand, your nails digging into my arms as you let out a sharp, strangled sob.

"That’s it," I murmur, my lips brushing against your ear, my voice dripping with command. "Be a good girl and come for me again. Now."

And with a wrecked, broken scream, you do. Your entire body convulses, your thighs shaking, your breath hitching in desperate, erratic gasps. Your head falls back against my shoulder, your mouth open in a silent cry as the orgasm tears through you, leaving you trembling, spent, completely and utterly ruined in my arms.

I hold you through it, my hands gripping you tight, grounding you as you fall apart in my grasp. "That’s it, baby," I purr, pressing soft, lazy kisses to your jaw. "Let go for me."

You sob, your body melting into me, completely boneless, completely mine.

And I grin, tightening my hold, pressing one last kiss to your temple before whispering against your skin, "Good girl."

I keep you upright, my grip firm on your waist, holding you in place as your body trembles against me. Your legs are weak, barely supporting you, but I won’t let you collapse—not yet.

I move with slow, deliberate precision, guiding you forward until your front meets the mirror. The glass is cool against your overheated skin, sending a shiver down your spine as I press you flush against it, my hand firm on the back of your neck, keeping you in place.

"Stay still," I murmur, my voice smooth, intoxicating, dripping with control. My other hand trails down your spine, following the ridges of your trembling back, tracing every inch of your wrecked body. My nails scratch lightly over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, making you shudder against the glass.

I step back just enough to reach for my harness, my movements slow, teasing, making sure you hear every rustle of leather, every metallic clink of the buckles as I secure it around my hips. You can’t see me, but you feel it—you feel the shift in energy, the weight of my presence behind you, the silent promise of what’s coming.

I adjust the straps, tightening them until they’re snug, making sure everything sits just right. My fingers brush over the length of my strap, testing, teasing myself with the thought of what I’m about to do to you. I know you’re waiting, barely holding yourself together, your forehead resting against the mirror, your body trembling with anticipation.

I step back into you, the firm length of my strap pressing between your thighs, dragging through your soaked folds, coating it in the evidence of how desperate you are for me. I don’t push in—I just let it sit there, nestled against your heat, teasing, denying, making you feel every inch of what’s about to claim you.

The mirror reflects everything—the wrecked look in your eyes, the way your lips part as you gasp, the way your body arches instinctively, seeking more. You’re so beautifully ruined, your skin glistening with sweat, your thighs still shaking from everything I’ve already put you through.

"You’re such a mess, baby," I murmur, my voice a low hum against your ear. My hands slide up your sides, gripping your waist, my fingers digging into your hips as I hold you steady. "Open your eyes."

You whimper, resisting for a moment, lost in your haze, but I tighten my grip, pressing my body flush against yours, the head of my strap teasing your entrance, not giving you a choice.

"Look at yourself," I command, my voice firm, possessive. "Look at how fucking desperate you are for me."

Your lashes flutter, your lips trembling as you force your heavy eyes open, meeting your own reflection. And fuck—you’re so wrecked, so ruined, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, your body completely pliant against mine.

I smirk, pressing my lips to your shoulder, nipping at your damp skin as I roll my hips just enough to make you feel it.

"You want this, don’t you?" I hum, pressing the thick tip of the strap against your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling back, teasing you, making you ache.

You nod frantically, your fingers clawing at my wrists, at anything you can grab onto. "Yes, Mommy," you gasp, voice high, wrecked, already teetering on the edge. "Please—please, I need you inside me—"

I smirk, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back so you have to look at yourself. "You think you deserve it?"

You whimper, your body pushing in my direction instinctively, trying to take it, to make me give it to you, but I hold you still, keeping you exactly where I want you.

"Ask properly," I demand, my tone dangerously sweet, my grip tightening. "You know better, baby."

Your breath hitches, and I watch you struggle, caught between the need to beg and the shame curling in your stomach. But you can’t fight it—not when I have you like this, not when your body is screaming for it.

"Please, Mommy," you whisper at first, then louder, your voice breaking, the words tumbling out in a desperate sob. "Please, I need you, I need to feel you, I am mommy‘s whore, I need mommy‘s cum, I am useless and dumb without mommy, all I am good for is being used and fucked and filled by mommy—"

I hum in approval, my thumb brushing over your lips. "Mmm, that’s better. Well done."

And then, finally, I give it to you.

I thrust in slowly, sinking the thick length inside you inch by inch, stretching you open, making you feel every single bit of it. Your sharp, broken gasp fills the room, your hands flying up to grab at my arms, clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

"That’s it," I murmur, my voice rich with control, my fingers pressing into your hips. "You really needed this, didn’t you?"

You nod frantically, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body clenching down around the strap. "Yes, Mommy," you sob, barely able to get the words out. "So bad, I needed you so bad—"

I smirk, rolling my hips, dragging the toy out just enough before thrusting back in, deep and hard.

"Then take it," I growl, snapping my hips, forcing you to take every single inch. "Take every fucking inch like the good little whore you are."

The mirror reflects everything—the way I fuck into you relentlessly, the way your body shakes with each thrust, the way your legs try to give out but I keep you upright, holding you steady, forcing you to take all of me. You’re dripping, your arousal slick and obscene as it coats the toy, the sound of it filling the room, mingling with your wrecked sobs.

I lean in, my lips brushing against your ear, my voice thick with satisfaction. "Look at yourself, baby."

You force your eyes open again, tears clinging to your lashes, and I feel the way your whole body reacts when you see it—see yourself, completely owned, completely lost.

"You’re fucking mine," I snarl, thrusting deeper, making you scream. "And I’m not stopping until you fucking break for me."

Your sob is broken, your body writhing, your muscles tensing as I drag you closer, closer, closer to the edge—And I don’t stop. Not until I’ve completely destroyed you.

I snap my hips forward again—hard, deep—forcing another shattered moan from your lips, a sound that barely resembles a word. You can’t even think anymore, can’t do anything but feel as I fuck you into oblivion, as I drag you deeper into the haze of submission where nothing exists but me.

My hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back onto my shoulder so you have no choice but to watch yourself in the mirror. And fuck, you’re wrecked. Gone. Your lips are parted, swollen, a string of drool slipping down your chin, your eyes glassy, unfocused. Your body trembles against mine, every muscle weak, unable to do anything but take what I give you.

I smirk, dragging my other hand down your stomach, teasing my fingers over your sweat-slicked skin, feeling the way your muscles twitch under my touch. "Look at you," I purr, rolling my hips in deep, slow strokes that make you whimper, that make your entire body tremble in my hold. "You’re not even really here anymore, are you?"

You try to answer, but your mouth barely forms a sound—just a wrecked, pathetic sob.

I chuckle darkly, my nails raking down your torso, making you jolt, making your walls clench around my cock so tight I groan. "So dumb for me," I murmur, snapping my hips forward, forcing another helpless moan from your lips. "So fucking brainless. Nothing left in that pretty little head of yours, is there? Just Mommy. Just this cock."

Your whole body shakes, your fingers weakly clawing at my arms, trying to hold onto something—anything—but there’s nothing. You’re weightless, floating, drowning in the overwhelming, relentless pleasure.

I hum, my fingers drifting lower, barely grazing over your swollen, aching clit. You scream, your back arching, your thighs twitching violently.

"Oh, fuck," I groan, my grip tightening as I slam into you harder, deeper, dragging you back down, keeping you pinned against me as I ruin you. "You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, baby. So desperate. So fucking needy."

You nod frantically, but your mouth won’t work anymore. The words don’t come. Just gasps, sobs, whimpers—nothing that makes sense, nothing but raw, mindless need.

I grin, rolling my hips, savoring the way your body twitches under my control. "There is no thought left in that dumbfucked brain of yours" I taunt, voice dripping with condescension. "Just a dumb little fucktoy, too cock-drunk to speak."

You let out a strangled sob, shaking in my arms, your body limp, weak, lost.

I drag my fingers up your throat, gripping your jaw, forcing your head up so you have to look into my eyes through the mirror. "Say my name," I command, my tone sharp, possessive, unrelenting.

You try, but it’s just a slurred, broken moan, a wrecked attempt at a sound. I chuckle, tightening my grip on your throat just enough to make you feel it. Perfect.

"Too fucked out to even talk properly," I murmur, biting down hard on your shoulder, making you jolt. "You’re completely gone, aren’t you, baby? Nothing left in that pretty little head except me fucking you dumb?"

You nod frantically, a wrecked sob spilling from your lips as I circle your clit again, your whole body convulsing.

"Mommy—" It’s barely a whisper, almost unrecognizable, but I hear it, and it only makes me hungrier.

"That’s it, baby," I coo, dragging my tongue along the bruises blooming on your neck, my grip tightening in your hair. "Let go for me. Be my perfect, dumb, fucked-out little toy."

You whine, your entire body tightening, trembling, your mouth open, drool slipping down your chin, your eyes unfocused, lost in the haze of pleasure.

"You’re so close, aren’t you?" I murmur, fucking into you harder, relentless, unforgiving. "So desperate. So fucking pathetic."

You sob, your walls fluttering around me, your muscles clenching, every nerve in your body ignited, teetering on the edge.

And then—

I stop.

You scream, a sob so broken, so wrecked it makes my blood throb with satisfaction.

"Oh, baby," I coo, shushing you mockingly, dragging my nails up your stomach. "You didn’t think I’d let you come that easily, did you?"

You shake your head frantically, sobbing, begging—but it’s all just garbled nonsense, all just desperate, mindless whimpers.

I smirk, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at me in the mirror. "You’ll come when I let you," I whisper, voice thick with authority, "and not a second sooner."

Then, I thrust into you again, harder, deeper—driving every inch of my strap into your soaked, ruined cunt, stretching you open all over again. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, filthy, relentless, echoing against the walls as I claim you completely.

Your head lolls back against my shoulder, your mouth slack, eyes glazed, body trembling violently under my control. You can’t form words anymore—not real ones—only breathless moans, broken whimpers, desperate little sobs of need. You’re gone, completely dumbed down for me, your mind too lost in the pleasure to do anything but take what I give you.

"My perfect whore," I growl, tightening my grip on your hips, slamming into you harder, watching the way your body jerks against the mirror with every deep, punishing thrust. "And just a stupid little fucktoy for me, aren’t you?"

You sob, nodding frantically, but it’s not enough. I grab your throat, pressing you tighter against the glass, forcing you to watch yourself in the reflection.

"Say it," I demand, my voice dripping with dominance. "Tell me what you are."

You struggle, your words coming out slurred, broken, barely coherent. "Mmm—Mommy’s whore—Mommy’s dumb little fucktoy—p-please—"

"Please what?" I mock, pressing my chest to your back, letting you feel the heat of my breath against your ear. "Use your words, sweetheart."

You whimper, struggling to think, to piece together a sentence, your entire body trembling, shaking with need. "P-please—Mommy—fill me up—ruin me—n-need your cock, need it so bad—please, please, Mommy—"

I groan, something dark and possessive curling inside me at your wrecked, desperate pleas. My grip tightens on your hips, my pace turning brutal, merciless, fucking you open until you’re nothing but a sobbing, incoherent mess.

"You want me to fill you up, baby?" I taunt, my tone dripping with condescension. "Want Mommy to fuck you so full you’ll be dripping with me for days?"

You nod frantically, your nails clawing at the mirror, leaving streaks across the glass as you struggle to hold yourself up. "Yes—yes, please—Mommy, please—need it—"

I smirk, watching your reflection, watching the way your eyes roll back, your lips parted, your entire body a masterpiece of submission.

"Then come for me," I growl, slamming into you one last time, holding you down, keeping you exactly where I want you as I fuck you straight into oblivion.

You shatter, a scream ripping from your throat as your body convulses, your walls pulsing around my strap, milking it like it’s real, like you’re so lost in the pleasure you don’t even know the difference anymore.

"Well done," I murmur, my voice low, dripping with satisfaction, dragging my lips along your shoulder as I slow my thrusts, drawing out every last wave of your release. "Such a good, broken little thing."

You sag against me, completely spent, your body twitching, overstimulated, wrecked beyond belief.

I pull out slowly, smirking as I watch the mess you’ve made, your cum dripping down your trembling thighs, soaking the floor beneath you.

I drag my fingers through your slick folds, collecting the evidence of your ruin, before pressing them into your mouth. "Clean up your mess, baby," I coo, watching as you obediently suck my fingers into your mouth, tongue swirling around them, tasting yourself like the good girl you are.

I chuckle, brushing my lips against your ear. "Look at you," I murmur, gripping your chin, forcing you to meet your own reflection in the mirror. "So fucked out, so desperate, so completely mine."

I press one last, lingering kiss to your shoulder before whispering, "And you’ll stay like this until I decide you’re done."

Join my Telegram group & broadcast for treats, pictures and early releases<3 More info in my pinned post!

[sophrosynesworld]

Caught Red Handed

Eijiro Kirishima x Best Friend! Reader

"Kiri," you giggle, giving him a playful smack on the back of the head before tilting it forward to apply the bright red dye. Your fingers part his thick hair with practiced ease. “Hold still or I’ll end up coloring your whole neck. I’d hate to expose your dirty little secret.”

“I can’t help it.” He pouts, frowning just enough to be endearing. “I like when you run your fingers through my hair… it feels nice.”

You can’t help but hum in amusement, threading your fingers through his crimson strands again, this time deliberately to tease him.

He leans slightly into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he catches himself, opening them again. "You don’t think that’s weird, do you?" His voice is softer as he catches your reflection in the mirror. His expression unusually serious.

You pause, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. Placing the dye brush back into the bowl. "No. I like doing it."

Kirishima’s eyes widen with genuine surprise as he turns in his seat to look at you directly. “You do?”

“Oh yeah,” you answer, rolling your eyes dramatically. “This is all for my pleasure.”

His face falls, and he slumps back into the chair, his posture suddenly defeated. "Now you’re just making fun of me." His voice is quieter, tinged with disappointment.

You frown, feeling a pang of guilt. “Hey… Eijiro,” you say gently, reaching out to nudge him, but he refuses to meet your eyes, staring down at his feet.

You sigh, pulling off the gloves with a snap. Squatting down beside him, putting yourself at eye level. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” You search his face for any sign of acknowledgment, but he stays silent, his expression unreadable.

“Kiri, I promise I wasn’t lying.” You lean forward slightly, hoping to get his attention. “I really do like it. I wasn’t joking about that part.”

Still, no response. His silence weighs on you. Kirishima has always been sensitive, especially when it comes to his insecurities, but this feels different.

Then it hits you. You stand, brushing the dirt from your knees, and mumble, “I thought it was kinda manly…”

At first, it feels like the words were lost to the air, but when you look back at him, his eyes are already locked on yours.

Kirishima rises slowly, his towering frame casting a shadow over you as he takes a deliberate step closer.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, uh, nothing,” you try to brush it off, laughing nervously, but the sound dies in your throat as he closes the distance between you. You step back instinctively, your back hitting the cold wall. His broad shoulders and chest block out everything behind him, forcing the space to feel much smaller.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice low. He’s so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him.

Your pulse quickens, your heart thudding in your chest so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Swallowing hard, your eyes look up into his. “I… I think admitting that was pretty manly of you,” you stammer, feeling your face flush.

His hand comes up, cupping your cheek with such gentleness it makes your breath hitch. His thumb brushes over your skin, slow and tender.

“Do you really think that?” he asks again, his voice hushed, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You nod, speechless as his fingers tighten just slightly, pulling you even closer. Without thinking, your hands rise, trembling, wrapping around his neck and pulling him close. The need to reassure him, to prove that this moment is real, overwhelms you.

You pinch yourself lightly behind his back, the small sting grounding you. This is happening.

“I’ve always wanted to be someone you’d see that way,” he confesses softly, his lips brushing your hair as he speaks. His voice thick with doubt. Kirishima lingers there, waiting, hoping for something from you.

You pull back slightly, your mind spinning, unable to form a coherent thought. “I…” You try to speak, but the words are lost.

Kirishima speaks for you, his voice soft. “Can I kiss you?”

The question catches you off guard. You stare at him, the world narrowing down to just this moment, just him. All you can manage is a small nod, your lips parting slightly.

He leans in slowly, his forehead pressing gently against yours as he whispers, “I need to hear you.”

His voice is so full of patience, that it nearly breaks you. He’s holding back, giving you the space to decide.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it’s all he needs.

Eijiro’s lips meet yours in a rush of pent-up emotion, the kiss hungry and desperate, like he’s been holding back for so long and now he’s finally letting it all out. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Everything else fades away, the world around you blurring until it’s just him, just this.

Your fingers weave through his hair instinctively, tugging lightly—only to freeze when you feel something slick.

You pull back with a sudden gasp, your eyes wide as you stare down at your hands. They’re stained bright red. “Oh my God!” you blurt, jumping in surprise as your hands fly into the air as if they’re burning.

Kirishima blinks at you, confused, before a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “I guess we’ll have to wash your hands,” he chuckles.

You stare at your hands, still in shock, your face burning with embarrassment. “I… I didn’t think about it,” you mumble, avoiding his eyes.

With a gentle smile, he reaches for your wrists, lowering your hands between the two of you. His thumb strokes soothing circles over your skin as he reassures you. “It’s okay. Really.”

You look up at him, still embarrassed. He chuckles softly. “I guess everyone’s gonna find out about my hair now, huh?”

“Kiri!” you groan, but you can’t help but smile as he laughs again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, still grinning. “It’ll be fine."

[watchmegetobsessed]

MY HUSBAND

A/N: some extra fluffiness bc this scene was stuck on my mind all day

WORD COUNT: 835

SUMMARY: It's been days since your wedding, but it is just now sinking in. Harry is your husband.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

It’s a miracle you’re up before noon. You haven’t really seen the sun before twelve these past days even though you are supposed to be on vacation.

Well, honeymoon, to be precise. 

That’s right. You married your best friend and love of your life exactly four days ago, but it still feels like a fever dream. You got the wedding of your dreams in the Italian countryside with all your loved ones, family and closest friends, you danced the night away celebrating the start of your marriage. Part of you expected an extraordinary feeling the moment you said ‘I do’ and it really was the best day of your life, but you haven’t quite processed the change it has brought to your life.

Now you’re lying in bed, the warm breeze is carrying the salty scent of the sea through the open windows and you’re watching Harry snoozing peacefully beside you in bed, the crispy, white sheets are tangled around his waist, but most of his upper body is fully naked to your sleepy eyes. He looks beautiful, delicious, like a dream and it finally hits you, like a switch has been flipped.

He is your husband. Harry is now your husband.

Lifting your head up above you, you stare at your wedding band with a full heart and giddy head. It’s such a simple, tiny object but it means so much, if not everything. Even after five years of dating, seven years of being friends, it’s still hard to believe Harry chose you the way you chose him to spend the rest of your life with. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you turn to your side and examine his side profile in the soft light. The slope of his nose, his puckered lips, his curly eyelashes fanned out perfectly… The way his chest slowly rises with each breath he draws and how his ribs are showing through his soft skin, since one of his arms is tucked under his head, the other one is somewhere under your pillow. He is radiating warmth and every inch of his perfect body is screaming to be kissed. 

At first you reach out and run your fingers down his sternum, across his tummy and over his little happy trail that disappears underneath the sheets and you know for a fact he is wearing nothing, because you were the one who freed him of his clothes last night when you got back from dinner. 

He doesn’t react to your touch, so you dare to draw the laurel tattoos on his hips with the pad of your finger before pulling your hand back and admiring his beauty in silence. But then the urge is just too hard to fight and you push yourself up, the sheets pooling around your naked waist and you lean over, bringing your lips to the delicious, exposed skin just above his navel.

You pepper tiny kisses down his stomach, over his belly button and down his happy trail, kissing each of the laurels as well and that’s when he takes a deep breath, his hands moving to his face to rub his eyes.

When he finally opens them you’re sitting up next to him, staring down at him with a beaming smile.

“What’s gotten you so smiley?” he asks in that irresistible, groggy morning voice that makes your insides turn in an instant.

“You’re my husband.”

You see the surprise on his face at first along with the confusion before he breaks out into a smile.

“I am, yeah,” he grins, his hand reaching out and settling on your waist. “And you’re my wife,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Doesn’t that sound… magical?” you sigh dreamily and he finally understands what this is all about.

“It does. I love the sound of it. I’ve been waiting for a long time to call you that.”

Heat crawls up your neck at his words, even after all this time he never fails to make you giddy.

“We’re not just girlfriend and boyfriend anymore.” Moving closer you lie back down as his arms lock around you, pulling you on top of him.

“Mm, not anymore,” he smirks.

“You’re not just my fiancé…” you keep musing and Harry nods. “You are… my husband.”

“That’s right,” he chuckles and you can feel his chest vibrating under you. 

“Thank you.”

“For being your husband?” he arches an eyebrow.

“For choosing me.”

“I didn’t choose you,” he says, squeezing your sides. “There was no choice to make, no decision. I knew you were it for me, I didn’t have to even think about it.”

“You always say you knew it the moment we met.”

“I did.”

“But we didn’t even talk that night, how would have you known?” Harry shrugs.

“I just did. In here,” he says, tapping his chest with one hand. When it returns to your waist you lean down and kiss his peck over his heart. 

“Alright then,” you smile at him. “I believe you, husband.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[concernedlogic]

It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but…

Wings of Fire Headcannons

Phyrria Edition

Mudwings

While Mudwing families aren’t nuclear, they are the most culturally protective of their dragonets. The center of most Mudwing will ages are “nurseries” large spans of protected land where eggs are lain. (Basically, Cattail was the outlier)

Mudwings produce some of the most skilled trades-dragons on the entire continent. Their education is less school-like, and more like apprenticeships. Each dragonet in a sib group is encouraged to pursue their interests and what they are good at by apprenticing with an adult in their village.

Mudwings have the richest food culture on Phyrria, because of their naturally larger, bulkier bodies, mudwings typically cook their food into filling dishes, such as stews, rice pots, and other such dishes.

Seawings

Seawing apearences adapt to their environment over time. The more sun that a seawing is exposed to, the lighter their scales. For most seawings, this tends to lead to fairly saturated scales. Extremes can be seen in completely surface dwelling seawings, who tend to have slightly bleached out scales along their spine and snout, and deep seawings that are almost black.

Queen Coral’s decree that all her texts being taught in schools has put a strain on seawing education. The first program to be cut was geography outside the sea kingdom and history, so much of the sea kingdom, especially around the capital, know little history beyond the Sandwing Succession War

Icewings

Icewing breath is supernatural in nature. It was the first animus gift

The blood of icewings is blue because of the “gift of superiority”

Common-born icewings are rarely allowed to leave the ice kingdom because they would be “poor representatives of the tribe”

Replicas of the Gift of Order in tradition can be found dotted around the Ice kingdom in lower class villages.

Skywings

Skywing royalty have historically been the most accessible to the common dragon.

The Skywing Stadium was originally built as a theatre, but fell into disuse because of the militaristic culture created by Scarlet and her mother.

Fire scales is passed down like Animus magic. Unlike animus magic, the entire Skywing tribe holds the recessive gene. A dragon that could have been a flamescales but did not have a twin in the egg are known as smokescales and are considered bad luck. Smokescales radiate heat from their scales after breathing fire, repeatedly burning their scales and darkening them.

Young Skywings who develop feathers are stigmatized but not outright executed. If they are not plucked in their youth, feathered Skywings are typically faster than their peers.

Rainwings

The colors that a Rainwing chooses to represent themselves is called a dragon’s “Common Color.” Not all Rainwings choose to do this. (Ex: Glory’s green and orange)

The Rainwing tribe gained their reputation as a useless, lazy tribe because they were among the first tribe to form after the scorching, and because they acted as assassins and mercenaries for the other forming tribes, they tried kept their malicious activities under wraps. After the ceasing of their business and the implementation of sun-time each new queen began to lean further into the stereotypes.

Sandwings

Sandwings have the most celebrations of any tribe.

Sandwing culture is hostile towards royalty, as most settlements are quite self sufficient.

Because of the spread out nature of the sand kingdom, news travels very slowly, if at all. As such, there have been quite a few animus dragons whose communities have kept them a secret.

I would love to see anyone else’s headcannons!

[jhuzen]

a what? [m.reader]

this… idk what this is. it’s very indulgent so excuse the very chill grammar. my head is hammered by all the hot men in hsr. so here. yes, they won me over (jfc how could they not my god, i’ve been waiting on them for months) ☠️ so here’s a self-indulgent cat-boy alignment from some tall men in hsr. i’ve been playing since the release and i’m already just a few exps away from level 40 send help.

𖦹 nsfw/suggestive contents, hcs ig, i use the speculative name for the trailblazer hehe, top reader :’D, this is basically a shitpost but also not LMAO.

GEPARD LANDAU — official dogboy, a lapdog too if you will

is this even a question at this point?

he’s your little pup (maybe not so little), and he radiates that golden retriever vibes. he’s a little more serious than that, sure, but rest assured, he’s always on you when you need him and he’s not particularly swamped with his guard duties as the captain.

he never fails to light up every time you pass by him when he’s out on patrol. he appreciates your little visits of course, sometimes even stopping by to bring him some food when you can. but there’s always something so magical whenever he sees you around the city, just minding your own business, not really aware that he can see you from his post.

and there’s just a spike of serotonin in gepard’s brain every time he ‘bumps’ into you in one of your personal excursions, romancing you with such subtlety (it’s really not much subtle, everyone and their mother in belobog knows you and him are together).

he thinks he’s so slick, trying to smooth talk you, when really, the tips of his ears are bright red, while you, completely unfazed only tried to hold in a laughter. what a trooper your boyfriend truly is!

serval thinks she should be getting second hand embarrassment from her brother’s actions towards you, but you both just looked so sweet that she just had to enjoy the view of you humoring her stiff as hell brother. he’s way too serious on the field (rightfully so), but it was all the more endearing to see a bit of that innocent glee that gepard somehow manages to manifest with you around.

he’s your good dogboy bro, always ready to serve you. though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate getting spoiled. your massages, especially your back rubs, are the highlight of his day after a grueling training — after his nice hot shower, with you guiding him all the way to your shared bedroom to give him a nice massage, it’s absolute bliss for him.

the cute sighs and the way his face becomes scrunched up as you worked the knots away from his muscles was adorable.

and if… the mood provides it, often times it leads to something a little bit more intimate than your wholesome little act of service.

gepard is a babygirl through and through man. he takes everything that you give him like a champ — extremely cooperative and will do anything as you say. maybe it’s because he likes being ordered around for once, maybe it’s because he finds it incredibly attractive to see you take charge… it could go either way and it drives him nuts.

he’s very loud, so you will be entertained at the plethora of ways gepard has to come up with just so he can’t be heard by the other neighbors while you completely wreck him.

handle with care after, please, he has to go to work the next day! we can’t have the famed captain of the silvermane guards limping around >:((

𐂂

SAMPO KOSKI — absolute mid with the way he’s a dog for seeking attention and a cat for being such a little bitch

congrats! you have a weird man for a boyfriend. the man that roams the streets of belobog be it in the underworld or overworld.

you vaguely recall the first time you and him met was when he was trying to persuade an overworld citizen in buying something, and you, as shameless as you are, moved towards him and squeezed the skin of his exposed waist, making the poor man yelp.

you gave him one questionable look before slut-shaming him with that getup, but not before buying your much needed supplies and leaving a sack of belobog currency.

admittedly, your relationship with sampo began as a transactional one. you buy stuff from him and he rewards you with a relatively risqué entertainment that your old folks would certainly faint from if they knew in the first place. but, as it turns out, even such a peculiar relationship can grow an oasis of genuine fondness for each other.

your dates before were just you and him meeting up in his place, hanging out, and then both of you just go on your separate ways. nowadays, it’s him that comes inside your house, incredibly woeful and in need of your attention and you oblige him regardless of how whiny he is.

oh, right, yes. sampo is whiny, have you seen him around his comrades? the man has the ‘woe is me’ attitude every now and then, and more often than not, you instigate that form of reaction whenever you tease him with a grin on your face.

there’s reasonable (or so i hope) amount of you calling out his outfit and why he feels the need to expose his waist only. sampo said it’s to attract customers like you, and you gotta hand the win on him on that one. though, it was becoming far more evident that you no longer see him as just an entertainment value and you as his source of income.

so. bloody. needy. it’s like he can’t live without your attention — thank the stars that the ban between the overworld and the underworld was lifted eventually so he can visit you more on the surface. one minute he skirts out of your home after some good fucking and then the next, he crawls back to you pathetically like a kicked puppy.

though, that is only to say that you got sampo absolutely hooked with your touches that he feels still lingering on his skin — you had an affinity for just harassing his poor waist while you call him names. he loves it anyway.

his clinginess comes with merit though, he appreciates the skin contact and you appreciate that chest of his to lay on. absolute king. if you tell him that his tits are the only selling point of why you finally fell for him, he will sulk and just sigh all day, looking at you with such disappointment.

“so i’m just a slab of meat to you, huh?” — sampo koski, xxxx

“pretty sure what’s in here are fats.” — you, nuzzling your face in his chest, xxxx

honestly, dating sampo feels like a one night stand, considering that he’s willing to limp away from your home in the crack of dawn, but it also feels just as endearing when he seeks you out or if you do the seeking, you could see how genuinely delighted sampo is to have you near him.

𐂂

JING YUAN — certified cat boy that’s just too good at fucking [with] you

mercilessly sly and an absolute mastermind, jing yuan has his fair share of mischief in the first place and you aren’t one he can spare despite having the honor of being the famed general’s partner.

you’re not so much of a fighter, you’re just a humble assistant to fu xuan (she disapproves of your poor taste in men though), but you learned to sleep with one eye open at the cost of you getting completely mauled to death by a general in need of his lover’s touch. he jumps at you with little to no warning, and you’re not certain if you should be proud of his stealth skills or just straight up be terrified lest you wake up to a succubus sucking you dry.

all that aside though, jing yuan is a passionate partner behind closed doors. he might look passive, but he’s sure to constantly be listening to your mumbling, even down to you just listing down what you need to buy for your home. he loves every part of you undoubtedly.

though, he likes to randomly charge you these fees wherein the currency is your warm hug. he could be a lot taller than you and still drape himself to your side while you hold him with one arm all the while cooking with the other.

a big, biiiiig cat, that’s for sure. and he accepts it, but on the account that you use it to tease lil ol’ him, get ready to be milked dry or at the very least, deprived of any form of affection from your cat.

he’s got a bit of an attitude too. he dreads the fact that you have a far more gentle disposition to his subordinates compared to him. you’re always so hard on him on work days, it makes him feel so lonely.

alas he has a remedy for that, particularly something you didn’t like at all.

mischief and a bored jing yuan on slow days are days you reminded yourself not to enter his office on, just to be safe and not get lured into his silly tricks. it always somehow fails, considering that he still is the general, and even though you are acting as fu xuan’s guide/assistant more than the general’s right hand man, you can’t refuse his calls because it’s still one of your responsibilities.

your cunning partner made sure to take advantage of that and cue… you writhing and breathless on his seat while he helped himself to your… offering from under the table. he promises he will be quick, but jing yuan is insatiable. for every time this happens, once or twice, a cloud knight would walk in to look for their general, and you had to talk to them without even giving away the embarrassing position you’re in.

hands down, a pillow princess if he’s not riding you to death. he’s the dozing general, but when the mood calls for it, he can take charge and just… leave you dry. so good luck with that.

cherishes the aftercare, he loves the slow intimate moments between you and him after. and if you’re a god at it, you can’t ever make him leave the bed, ever.

you once said, “oooh big stretch” when your beloved general did so one morning. that was the first and quite possibly the last time that you had him completely speechless for a good second. and that was saying a lot, considering that he always has the last word in your conversations. it became a core memory lmao.

𐂂

BLADE — another ultra catboy… except it’s the kind of cat that demands a lot from you after scratching your face

how in the many worlds did you ever pull this tormented man and his big sword? it’s concerning, really. kafka finds it amusing though that you even managed to make a space for yourself in blade’s little emo heart.

just laying it out there, you and blade babysit silver wolf and there’s no getting out of it apparently. kafka already placed you as the voice of reason when the one time she sent out only blade to look after silver wolf while you were off stalking the astral express gang, he dressed like a hobo, so much that he became extremely suspicious in sight more than he ever could dressed as just himself.

that aside, blade is probably one of the most demanding lovers you have dated (threateningly jealous at times too). no one can top him (but you ehe), he’s like a grumpy cat, literally swiping at you on the first few months before suddenly caving and asking you for almost everything.

really he just misses you, but he’s not into admitting such a fact. for the years that he’s gone through, whatever it may have been, you who did not care about who he was before was something that drew him in even more, you went at your own pace and it was no different when you became his. there was a sense of comfort that you brought to him.

so anyway, demanding partner that wants nothing but you. he’s extremely protective, which you found endearing, until you realized he will point a sword even to a little kid who so much as insults your face. not really good when you’re gathering intel when elio asks you both to do so.

dates with blade either includes the stellaron hunters because they are very fond of your relationship and are very nosy… or just you and him cooped up in your room, sleeping together, or ‘sleeping together’. not all too grand, but on missions that elio sends you both out on, you take the time to indulge your beloved and eat on different places, trying out delicacies of every particular world you visited in. blade doesn’t say much, but with the way his hand grips onto yours tightly already says a lot.

just throwing it out there, he is… quiet in bed. a grunter or a gasper, but if you really, really hit the right spot, he gives the deepest whine that leaves him shaking.

you either handle him with care or if he asks for it, go rough on him. like what was said, blade knows what he wants and will demand it from you all the same, no exceptions. and if you fail to live up to his expectations, he will move himself all the while glaring at you with so much disappointment.

he has… insane stamina, and if you can’t keep up, you better start working on that. the last thing that you want is to disappoint your vengeful boyfriend that has a lot of issues on his back. and while it’s not too bad of a sight to see your beloved imitate a sulking cat, it’s not so good when he ignores you. it’s not just about sex, if you so much as get that disappointing stare, best make it up to him and treat him like he’s your everything (as you should).

you once saw kafka and silver wolf planning out wedding destinations for you and blade at some point. you are unsure how to feel about your comrade’s deep involvement in your relationship — even more so when elio suggested the big wedding after you lot have accomplished your mission to the universe.

anyway, to say the least, your catboy is overly possessive and knows what he wants and can and will demand it from you. but even with such an overbearing personality and a terrifying look on his pretty face, you were already well versed in the blade language.

he thanks you on nights when you’re just out cold, probably tired from a mission, pressing a soft kiss on the side of your head. this man may have already considered elio’s proposal of the wedding date (jk).

𐂂

DAN HENG — third cat in a row. are all xianzhou men cats? but he’s the cat that’s quietly watching you, always listening

what do you mean he’s a [redacted for spoilers]? absolutely not. this man is a cat through and through.

the cat that silently watches you from afar while you do your own work. perhaps it’s because you always offer a sense of tranquility that dan heng found himself deeply enamored with you. you were just… so peaceful. it helped a lot, your presence soothed his deeply rooted anxieties born from his past. it’s as simple as you just shrugging and telling him, “why bother with anything else when i am alright where i am right now,” and dan heng fell hard.

you are as expressive as you can get, and can even get on the trailblazer and march’s antics. but the fact that you were mature enough to let yourself be resigned to the fate of time, that you were able to accept things as they are far better than anyone could, it was something your dearly beloved dan heng admired. in a sense, he also wanted to emulate whatever you’ve got going on.

bettering himself even more just because he loves you? goals. you changed this man and that was a sworn promise that he will never ever leave you from then on. always prowling around you, babysitting march 7th with you, reluctantly holding the trash the trailblazer rummages through with you, teaching old man welt how to use his beacon with you, etc.

that’s it, you can never pry dan heng out of your life anymore (unless you ask him to, in which case, please don’t, the man already has a lot to carry, how do you expect him to bear the weight of a broken heart from someone he thought he found happiness in?).

this catboy definitely lacks the expressiveness that you have, but just like any other stoic cat owner out there, you’ve basically read him well at that point. it’s almost as if you have the urge to make a guidebook about your boyfriend, and the aeons know that everyone in the astral express will eat it up.

he’s a little hard to coax at first to be more open in the beginning parts, but give him some time and he will be quicker to pry open than any other food that has an equally hard shell.

same thing in your more… intimate moments. give him some time to get used to things, especially if you’ve got far more experience at this sort of activity. go gentle, he loves the cradling embrace every time you ease yourself into him. he gets shy randomly out of nowhere in the middle of your little session, so do be patient.

though rest assured, he will grow bolder, eventually asking you to do all sorts of things that even you weren’t aware he knows about. he’s very eager to learn from you all the more, not just about the things that he prefers but what you also want! he’s extremely observant with your reactions, where you like to be touched.

let him take control every once in awhile, let him know that even in something as intimate as this, he can have a say. let him ride you until whenever, let him go at his own pace and he absolutely will lose his mind over that. the feeling of your arms around him, securing him in a tight hug while he drapes himself over you? dan heng will go nuts.

he’s also… very vocal. but he tries his best to keep it to a minimum lest you both let everyone in the express know what’s happening. usually though, you two only get frisky when everyone’s off the train and the only left are you, him, and dear ol’ pom-pom.

aftercares are everything to him, there’s something so touching at the fact that you are more than willing to still get up after being so spent just to make sure he’s comfortable after. you’re making this man cry, damnit! too good, too good.

never underestimate the tight grip he has on you — he’s usually the big spoon and he never hesitates to cling onto you. you’re like the safety that he finally found after running away from the things that trouble him. and every day with you is a day he always looked forward in waking up to.

𐂂

CAELUS — what the fuck is this? it’s not a dog or a cat. it’s a fucking trash panda.

ah yes, a raccoon with rabies (see: stellaron)

honestly, there’s no telling what is wrong with your boyfriend. it is… terrifying tbh. but you promised to be a supportive partner no matter how unnerving it is to see your beloved rummage through myriads of trash cans around belobog. more than once or twice, he has come up to you with a trash bag and even brought you a golden one.

you once asked what their use would be, and caelus just gave you a carefree smile while saying “we eat them to have better and stronger attacks against the enemy!” you quickly called dan heng and march to restrain him.

he texts you at the most ungodly hours. you don’t normally sleep at the same time as the other trailblazers since you took up the mantel in keeping watch of the express with pom-pom while the lot of you traversed through the heavenly galaxies of the universe. and because of that, your boyfriend just texts you until he falls asleep.

and when you are asleep in the day, before he heads out, he makes sure to tuck you in real good with a kiss for extra measure. seriously, he’s way too sweet for his own good. once or twice, you’ve caught him while you’re barely awake and he still manages to leave you flustered.

missions in different worlds means having to taste the myriad of delicacies a certain nation in a world has to offer. you both once ended up in a remote broken up island when the express made a quick stop in this one particular world that has… what do they call those again? archons? and you and caelus went ham on the dango milk (there was a distinct lack of trash cans around and everyone was safe from his addiction).

he loves you all too much, to the point where he’s attached to your hip, going wherever you go. getting all sulky when someone had your eye for a little bit longer. in that same nation in a world you stopped over, your eyes just happened to gaze a second longer at this young man with long braided blonde hair. though you were more interested in the tiny floating thing beside him, your raccoon was not able to inhale some copium and went all pouty at you.

either he ignores you, or he sends you a batch of sad pom-pom stickers in your beacon.

just wrap him in a blanket and fuck him silly, it can make him forget about the tiny things he was mad at you for. and just like dan heng, he can be very loud. so you kinda have to keep shushed up, a kiss usually does the trick however, so it shouldn’t be too hard to manage your little rowdy trailblazer.

he’s willing to take charge every now and then, he also still wants to make you feel good, after all! but he’s more of a pillow princess too, fuck him sideways and that gets him going, it makes him cry actual tears and alas, it was a blessing in your eyes to see him plead for you all the while trying to muffle his own sobs.

and after doing his head in, it is a must to spoon him after you clean him up. and maybe formulate a half-assed response when march comes knocking on your door, asking if you both fought or… let her come to an impending realization and just… make her not look at the both of you for a good week straight.

either way though, caelus is your pretty boy, always armed with witty teasing remarks and shitposts and a lot more stickers of pom-pom ready to flood your private messages with him.

10/10 -5 for the trash can obsession. ehe.