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venus-haze · 2 years ago

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She's Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Soldier Boy’s been pulled from the European Theater to sell war bonds to the American people, the goodwill tour dotted by big cities and small towns alike. In the meantime, he gets familiar with the variety of women in dazzling costumes that accompany his speeches with carefully choreographed dances. You’re, without a doubt, his favorite of them all.

Note: Female (blink and you’ll miss it implied plus size) reader, but no other descriptors are used. This fic is so short because it’s pretty much PWP. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Dressing room sex, mirrors, breeding kink, daddy kink, power imbalance, overstimulation, implied baby trapping. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Chattering from the packed high school auditorium somehow seeped through the walls. The rural town that was the latest stop in Soldier Boy’s war bond drive had shown up en masse out of patriotism or sheer curiosity. Usually both. Electricity was always in the air before the show in small towns. Some of them didn’t even have movie theaters.

You and the other dancers on the tour had set up camp in one of the bigger classrooms, using it to get ready in since it was near one of the bathrooms. Dresses, sequins, and makeup scattered about the room, making the place of learning look like a department store had exploded inside. You’d been helping another girl with the curlers in her hair until a masculine voice called out your name from the doorway.

“Soldier Boy wants to see you in his dressing room.”

You nodded, giving an apologetic look to your colleague, who waved you off. It wasn’t unusual for Soldier Boy to call on one of you to help him “warm up” before the shows. Lately, however, he’d almost exclusively been asking for you, to the detriment of your jaw.

Grabbing a nearby tube of red lipstick, you hastily applied it in the illuminated mirror in front of you. The lipstick residue soon adorned a tissue that you discarded, and you used your fingertips to gently massage the muscles in your face in preparation for taking him again. You hoped you’d at least get to come this time.

A flyer had gotten you to this point, stark white with patriotic motifs, pinned to a board in the nightclub you had been working in prior to getting the gig. Uncle Sam declared, “Ladies, you can serve your country too!” You figured why not, there was a war on, and if you could do something to help, you might as well.

Your qualifications led you to your local USO office, where you were handed a star-spangled outfit and joined a gaggle of other girls to be the supporting act on Soldier Boy’s war bonds tour across the country. At times, you felt silly, kicking and shimmying to audiences who were clearly only putting up with the opener just to catch a glimpse at the world’s first superhero. A man larger than life in every sense of the word, as you and your fellow dancers on the tour would learn.

Wandering the hallway, you checked each door for an indication of which commandeered classroom was his. Not one for subtlety, his dressing rooms always had ‘SOLDIER BOY’ printed in large letters, declaring his presence. You found the sign toward the end of the hall, giving a smile to the usual group of people who congregated around him, assistants and handlers to keep him on schedule.

You knocked on the door, announcing your arrival.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked when he opened the door.

He smiled, putting his hand on your lower back as he ushered you inside. “Sure did, sweetheart.”

His dressing room always betrayed his vices—alcohol, drugs, porno mags. It didn’t faze you anymore, not like the first time he asked for you, a stuttering mess in his presence. Back then, you had to take a shot with him to settle your nerves enough to blow him without feeling too self-conscious. Now, it was routine. You moved to get on your knees, but he stopped you, to your confusion.

Instead, he disarmed you with a passionate kiss that nearly knocked you over. You steadied yourself on his strong arms that had made their home near your hips. He squeezed them, pulling you closer so your body was flush against his as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

You let him take the lead, he always did—strong, masculine, hard-working. Wasn’t America lucky its hero was easy on the eyes too? Except he had a temper, a mean streak that could go for miles. Not that you’d ever been on the receiving end of it. No, for all his faults, you seemed to get the best of Soldier Boy.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You have?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re—“ he paused, searching for the word he wanted to use, “special to me.”

You weren’t sure why he was laying it on so thick. It wasn’t your first rodeo with him. “Special?”

“‘Course you are. You wouldn't be here if you weren’t,” he said. “I wanna try something different today, alright, doll?”

“Alright,” you agreed softly.

He smiled. “That’s my girl.”

Your body came alive at his praise, and you pressed your lips to his for another kiss. He guided your body backward until you bumped into the vanity. Parting his lips from yours, he turned you around, bending you over it so you were face to face with yourself in the mirror.

You looked at him from the reflection, brows furrowed as you wondered what he was doing.

He leaned down, voice husky in your ear as he growled, “I want you to see how pretty you look when you come.”

Your eyes widened, and you grabbed either side of the vanity in preparation, to his amusement. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck as he pushed up your shimmery skirt, exposing your red, satin panties, specially made to be on display. Soon, your panties were around your heeled feet, one of his hands reaching to play with your clit while the other squeezed one of your breasts through your top.

“We look good together, don’t you think, sweetheart?” he asked, intense gaze studying your reactions.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned, trying to keep your eyes open.

He always wanted you to look at him. From your knees when you were sucking him off, when he’d be standing on the side of the stage during your act, in his hotel rooms when he couldn’t find local girls to fuck around with. This instance was different, though, able to really see him, and yourself. You didn’t find your glassy gaze or parted lips particularly flattering, but he couldn’t seem to get enough.

His fingers had already brought you close to climax, and you whined when he pulled them away from you for a moment to free his hard cock from his pants. You shuddered, feeling it on your skin before he guided it in your pussy. Your hands curled around the vanity you were bracing yourself on. You weren’t sure if you’d get used to how his cock seemed to split you apart every time.

One of his arms wrapped just below your chest to hold you up, as you struggled to support yourself when he started pounding into you. Your pussy was already wet and pliant for him, and you'd be embarrassed by the obscene squelching sounds if you weren't so focused on getting off when he had brought you so close to the edge already.

You were your own voyeur, your brain feeling like it was going to melt, watching yourself getting fucked by him. His superhuman strength always caught you off guard, from the first time he shocked you by lifting you above his head on stage for a roaring crowd to the way he could make your body feel—and look—like you were little more than a ragdoll.

“Gonna put a baby in you,” he grunted as he thrust into you, items falling from the vanity and onto the floor at the force he used to fuck you. “Want you up on that stage with my cum leaking out every time you kick up those legs—fuck—you’re mine.”

Your pussy clenched around him at the vulgar image he conjured up. “Yours daddy.”

His voice was strained, words slurring together. He was close. “‘S right, baby. Keep fuckin’ you ‘till you make me one. You like takin’ daddy’s dick, don’t you?”

You had to force the short affirmation out of your mouth, pleasure’s chokehold creeping up on you. That wasn’t enough for him or his ego.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“I love taking—oh fuck—taking your dick, daddy.”

He came, hard and sloppy as your pussy milked his cock. You cried out, feeling so full it almost started to hurt. Something in you finally snapped, releasing the pain and pressure as you rode out your orgasm on his softening cock. Your arms gave out from under you so that it was just his strength holding you up. You weren’t sure how you’d be able to go back to having sex with men who weren’t well-endowed superheroes. Go back to faking it, you supposed.

Your throat was sore. You hadn’t paid attention to how loud you were being. Everyone outside the room must’ve known what was happening if they didn’t have an idea when you first showed up looking for him.

Soldier Boy pulled himself out of you, and you could hear fabric rustling and the sound of his zipper again. You didn’t bother trying to stand up, still needing time to catch your breath.

He used his fingers to swipe up some of his cum that had begun dripping out of you, causing you to gasp at the slight sensation of them brushing against your pussy. You whimpered when he pushed his index and middle fingers inside you, already aching from the orgasm he’d just pulled from you.

“I—I can’t—“

‘I can’t get pregnant and ruin my career,’ you wanted to say, but all that came from your lips was a desperate, animalistic moan.

“I got you, baby,” Soldier Boy whispered, voice low and husky in your ear. “Give me one more so it sticks.”

You choked on air as his thumb brushed your clit, rubbing circles in the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers pushed deeper, and your hips bucked at the overstimulation, your spent pussy reactively pulsing around his cum-slicked fingers that curled inside you.

The woman staring back at you in the mirror was a mess with her mascara stained cheeks and smeared lipstick. You were utterly unrecognizable as you came again, harder on his fingers this time, crying out as you gripped the edge of the vanity, threatening to break one of your manicured nails.

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing kisses to your cheek, as you came down from your second orgasm, pulling his hand from between your legs. “You alright?”

“I think so,” you breathed. “Jesus Christ.”

Your legs felt like jelly beneath you, and you wondered how the hell you were going to be able to dance in less than half an hour. You’d have to reapply all of your makeup too.

He turned you around, looking at you with a brief fondness before kissing your lips, soft and quick.

“I need to fix my face,” you breathed.

He smiled. “Why? You look great.”

You laughed softly as he gave you space. You pulled up your panties from around your ankles, knowing his cum would stain them by the time you made it back to the dancers’ makeshift dressing room. Taking some of the tissues from the box on top of the vanity, you began wiping your ruined makeup from your face. He stared at you in silence from the spot he’d taken on the loveseat that’d been brought in for him.

“I think I’d be a good father. Better than my old man,” he said finally.

You paused, looking at him from the mirror, giving him a sardonic smile. “I don’t see you as the settling down type.”

“Maybe I just need a woman worth coming home to.”

“Maybe,” you echoed.

“C’mere.”

You obliged, joining him on the loveseat. He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. You let yourself bask in the intimacy.

“Things aren’t always gonna be like this,” he said. “Once the war’s over, what’re you gonna do? Go back to dancing in nightclubs?”

“Why not?”

His jaw clenched, cheek twitching as he pulled his gaze from you. “I don’t want you doing this for anyone but me.”

This could have been any number of things, dancing, fucking, being at his beck and call. Knowing him, he meant all of it.

“Ben,” you said, grabbing his attention, “then you have to tell me what you do want.”

“I want you. I want the white picket fence, kids running around the yard with the dog,” he said, the intensity in his voice wrapping tendrils around your mind, pulling you into the world he was describing. “I want dinner to burn ‘cause I was busy putting another baby in you when I got home.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

A voice through the door startled you. “Soldier Boy, the mayor’s here to see you!”

“Think about it,” Soldier Boy said, getting up from the loveseat to grab his helmet and shield.

The door shut behind him, leaving you to agonize over the future he presented to you. Part of you wondered if you’d really have a choice.

#soldier boy x reader #the boys x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys amazon #the boys tv

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formulawolff · 5 months ago

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i. girls like u - t.w.

pairing: reserve female!driver x toto wolff

word count: 2.1k

warnings: morally gray individuals, slow burn, sexual content (intercourse), allusions to sexual content, cursing, marijuana use, references to alcohol use, lots of power imbalance, questionable boss x employee dynamics, light toxicity

a/n: ok this is my semi-return to tumblr after a writing hiatus. this fic is loosely based off of you by the 1975 and several blackbear songs. sorry if this shit is ass. i promise there is more world-building to come in the next chapters (it's been a while since i've wrote somethin' longer than 500 words) lemme know if y'all like it! i missed y'all! <3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆:

“aren’t you tired?”

fingertips brush along your back, light and gentle. stirring, you blink, stifling a yawn and you nuzzle into the warmth.

it’s inviting, your lids drooping the moment the tip of your nose brushes along heated skin. a plush comforter shrouds your body, limbs entwined. watery rays of light peek in through drawn blinds, promising of dawn.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆:

“you wore me out. of course i’m tired.”

there’s a rumble in his chest, adam’s apple bobbing as he chuckles, “no, that’s not what i meant.”

“then what did you mean?” bringing your chin upward, your gaze locks with his.

he flinches slightly at the harshness of your inquiry, a crimson hue tinging his cheeks, “i-i don’t really know. i-i guess i meant to ask if you were tired of watching everyone compete from the paddock. don’t you want to race as well?”

don’t you want to race as well?

of course i do. every single fucking grand prix i pray that i’ll finally get a chance to be behind the wheel.

to prove to everyone that i’m just as worthy of a competitor as lewis or george. that i am capable of finishing a race.

i pray that i finally get a chance to prove that i’m a champion.

inhaling sharply, your head falls, avoiding any sort of eye contact, “i mean, yeah. of course i want to race. i want to compete just as much as you do, max.”

“i’m sorry if–”

“it’s fine,” you murmur, finding your body clinging to him, head nestling into his chest underneath the covers, “can we just go back to sleep or–”

he exhales, lips connecting with your temple. they trail along your brow bone, placing gentle kisses all the way down to your cheeks, “you know we can’t. it’s qualifying today.”

“right.” your jaw clenches, “there’s nothing more important than qualifying.”

“hey,” fingers grasp your chin, “are you okay?”

“yup,” you nod, “i’m great.”

concern lingers, swimming in his icy blue depths. his tongue darts out, swiping along his lower lip, “you and i both know that’s a lie.”

shrugging, your lips pucker, “maybe i’m just not looking forward to watching everyone chase their dreams while i’m forced to sit on the sidelines.”

in that moment, you sense his demeanor shift. max softens, his muscles relaxing as a hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone, “you know, we could change that.”

your heart thuds, pounding as blood roars in your ears, “how?”

he leans in, his mouth nearly millimeters from yours, “i could pull some strings.”

“and how would you accomplish that?”

max’s voice is low as he continues, his tone laced with a dominance that you rarely heard beyond radios, interviews, or press conferences. it was quite the contrast than the max you were used to. it had you absolutely reeling, scrambling to maintain your composure as a shiver ran down your spine.

“i could speak with christian, put in a good word for you. there’s a lot of change that’s going to come within these next few months. checo hasn’t resigned quite yet. the contract isn’t finalized there’s still time to get you in at red bull.”

“y-you would do that for me?”

the dutch driver nods, a little too fervently.

“i would do anything for you.”

there was a sincerity in his words, almost as if it was a promise. a sure one, at that. a promise brimmed with a passion that you could only describe as one emotion.

love.

you had him right where you wanted him.

max verstappen, three-time world champion of formula one, was right at your fingertips. the dutch assassin was poised and eager, ready to fire as soon as he was given the word.

all you had to do was say yes.

that’s all you had to do. utter those nine words.

i want to be with you at red bull. i want to be in that second seat.

yet, there was one thing holding you back.

well, more so a culmination of things.

one, there was that ever-present gnawing, nagging feeling. the guilt was slowly eating you alive, threatening to spill your precious secret at any given moment. two, there was that fear of the unknown. what would happen if you managed to pull this off? would you truly be happy at red bull or were you just trying to worm your way to the top? would that shiny trophy really be worth it if you weren’t fulfilled?

and well most importantly, the third aspect of it all. would you be able to keep up the facade that you were just friends with max verstappen? it was only a matter of time before your relationship with the dutch driver would come from the shadows and into the light.

it was so much easier to keep things under wraps when no one paid attention to you.

“max,” you begin, “maybe we should–”

the shrill ring of his phone pierces through the air. leaning over, he plucks the device off the nightstand, grimacing as his eyes scan the contact.

“it’s christian.”

“what time is it?” you press, “surely it’s not that la–”

“baby, it’s well past eight.”

“shit.” you shoot up, peeling the comforter off, “why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

max follows in suit, shoving a leg through his pants, “cause we were in the middle of an important conversation. i wasn’t going to just interrupt you to tell you i had to leave. that wouldn’t have been fair to you!”

“right,” you scoff, throwing on a hoodie, “you don’t have to act like i’m more important than racing. you live, breathe, eat, and sleep formula one. and i understand tha–”

lips collide with yours, the kiss nearly sucking the breath out of your lungs. it’s fiery, blazing with hunger as your knees buckle. max pulls away, panting ever so slightly.

“don’t you ever fucking say that. you hear me?”

“yes.”

shaking his head, he makes his way across the room, smoothing out a wrinkle in his jersey before slipping on a shoe, “you mean the world to me. we can talk more about this later, but i really have to go. christian is blowing up my phone asking where i am. fuck. i really hope that no one sees me. do you have a hoodie or something i can borrow?”

crossing over to your makeshift closet, you file through the hangers, pulling a garment off. tossing the sweatshirt to max, you can’t help but giggle at his haphazard state.

his blonde locks are all over, clearly ruffled from a long night. his clothes are wrinkly, bunched up from being thrown to the floor. the only saving grace is his red bull cap, along with the hoodie you just provided.

however, the moment he sees the embroidered logo, he rolls his eyes.

“really?”

“just make sure you take it off before you see christian. and put on some deodorant when you get the chance. you stink,” wrinkling your nose, you blow the dutch driver a kiss as he waves you off.

yet, he catches the airborne smooch, returning the gesture, “i’ll text you later baby. i lo– i have to really go now. have a good day, all right?”

“i’ll try my best,” you reply, buttoning a pair of jeans, “you know i won’t be doing much.”

“goodbye love!” his voice carries down the hall as he exits your motorhome, the sound of the door echoing throughout the space.

well, so much for making progress.

there’s a buzz in your pocket, stealing your focus for just a second.

fishing your phone out, your brow furrows. no one really contacted you in the mornings. well, unless it was an emergency or an urgent matter.

it was a text message, from a sender you were well acquainted with.

it was none other than sir lewis hamilton. eight-time world champion. one of the greatest athletes of all time.

who just happened to be your fellow teammate. well, fellow teammate and best friend.

who knew that formula one contracts came with a package deal like that?

where art thou, sweet girl? i fear that our team principal is going absolutely mad because you are running very behind. pls hurry before he starts going in on me for being on my phone during a team briefing.

your thumbs glide across the screen, crafting a careful response.

sorryyyyyy. running late per usual. perks of being in the reserve, right? i’ll be there in like five minutes.

the reply was instant, phone vibrating once more.

hurry up. toto is pissed.

gritting your teeth, you shove your phone back into your pocket. luckily, you had packed your go-bag for race weekends the night before. well, before you got preoccupied with max. slipping on a heavier coat, you push through your bedroom door, making your way down the hall.

exiting your motorhome, you spin on your heel, throwing up the hood as you navigate through the endless maze of the paddock.

you would think after six months you would know your way around by now.

members of the crew and hospitality chirp greetings and good mornings, earning a mumble here and there in response. graciously, you accept a wellness shot from one of the hosting staff, in hopes that it would perk you up just a tad.

eventually, you nudge open the door of the briefing room, keeping your head ducked as you settle into your designated seat, lewis spotting you. from across the space, he shoots you a thumbs up, paired with a precious grin, dimples and all.

the second you slide on your headphones, a voice floods your ears.

it’s brassy and gruff, thick with annoyance, brimmed with that accent you were all too familiar with.

“good morning, hase. i’m so glad that you could take the time out of your busy schedule and join us this morning.”

it was none other than toto wolff, team principal of mercedes amg petronas.

your boss.

looking up, you notice him to your far right, perched in his seat. his gaze is lasered in on you, almost piercing. with his brows furrowed and lips wound tightly shut, you couldn’t quite distinguish the emotion plastered across his features.

was it anger? disappointment? sheer and utter regret?

“good morning, toto,” you grumble, heat flooding your cheeks as snickers bubble up from all around.

“as i was saying,” toto clears his throat, “i think that we need a new approach for the remainder of the weekend. clearly george isn’t feeling up to par, so we need to explore our options.”

“i could drive,” george russell, your other teammate coughs, “i want to ra–”

“i don’t think pushing you to your limit is an intelligent idea,” toto cuts in. the words are firm, the team principal continuing, “let’s face it, with ferrari and mclaren in the mix this season, we are desperate for points. we need to make a strong move this weekend or else we are going to fall behind. even more so than we already are.”

the voices trail off as your mind wanders, your focus dissipating by the second. typically, you never paid too much attention to the briefings anyway. after all, they did not pertain to you. they usually were directed at the engineers, strategists, george, and lewis.

not like you needed to really pay attention too closely. you were just kind of there. a body in the room.

the backup plan.

fuck, did that absolutely torture you. so much potential wasted. all of your blood, sweat, and tears poured into nearly two decades of racing just to end up fiddling with a loose thread of your hoodie as a room full of men bickered about who would fill a fucking seat.

some fall from grace this was. the 2023 formula two champion reduced to a reserve driver simply because no other team would take her.

after all, you couldn’t really complain too much. this was the life you chose. you were the one who ultimately made the choice to sign to mercedes for a two-year contract.

after all, it was your dream to drive for mercedes.

“here’s what we should do,” toto’s voice seeps into your headphones once more, snapping you out of your dazed state, “we should utilize our reserve driver. what is the point of having a reserve driver and not utilizing her?”

“toto,” bono’s voice chimes in, “i’m not sure if–”

“bono,” the fierceness in lewis’ tone takes you aback, “this is what’s best for the team. as a whole. we cannot give it our all if we don't have healthy drivers.”

“george,” toto turns to the british driver, “what do you think? do you have any input?”

“i don’t disagree,” george shrugs, the words hoarse, “i want to be healthy for saudi arabia.”

“then it’s settled,” the team principal shifts towards you, his lips curling into a smug smirk as his arms fold across his chest.

“i think that it’s time for our little hase here to really show us what she is capable of.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆:

taglist: @sweetjellyfishland @ts1m1kas @bxuzi @racecardilfs

lemme know if you would like to be tagged for future chapters! <3

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff x y/n #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #mercedes amg petronas #lewis hamilton #oracle red bull racing #toto wolff fanfiction

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tinypandacakes · 3 months ago

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Trapper, Keeper — Ch. 16: Always

Tags: dubious consent, dark romance, power imbalance, gaslighting, manipulation, yandere, Stockholm syndrome, injury recovery, fluff and smut, slice of life, implied non-consensual drug use, size difference, gratuitous use of pet names, metaphors, and descriptions of König's eyes

Wc: 16k [172k total]

When it was time for König to prepare dinner, you hovered at his elbow like a nosy housecat, tail wrapped around his calf as you signaled a need for attention. You were close enough that your hand brushed against the side of his sweatpants, and your clammy fingers instinctively gripped at the material. Eventually, he glanced over his shoulder at you, head tilting in question.

“Do you need something, Hase?”

You blinked, chastised, even though his tone was gentle. “No,” you replied, unsure. “I dunno.”

König let out a soft sigh. It was an affectionate sound, airy and light, not annoyed — otherwise, you might have burst into tears on the spot, as fragile as you felt — but like the kind of noise he might have uttered to a lamb, bleating sadly with its tiny hoof caught in a fence.

He lifted you onto the counter beside him, and you settled in, hands retreating into your too-long sleeves. Sitting there might have been awkward, but he pressed a cookbook into your lap, offering you something to do. You kept a thumb between the pages he needed and flipped through while your sock-covered feet dangled over the cabinets, lightly tapping the wood. Some of the age-yellowed pages were moisture-damaged from spills or speckled with spattered sauces. The corners were discolored from spice-dusted fingers, evidence of recipes well-loved, cooked again and again until they were committed to memory.

König tucked up his hood and brought a spoonful of sauce up to his pursed lips, blowing gently over the steaming surface. He tasted thoughtfully then licked away a stray droplet at the corner of his mouth, swiping his lips clean, leaving them soft and damp.

You realized you were staring and looked away quickly, busying yourself by flicking through to the dessert section of the cookbook. But your eyes soon drifted from the cakes and pastries back to König, hunched over the stove. His forearms flexed as he slid a pan back and forth across the flame, skin and scar shifting enticingly over muscle and bone. The swell of his pecs and softness of his belly were faintly outlined by his shirt, soft cotton clinging, offering a preview of what lay below. Something deep inside of you heated up just like the pad of butter he added to the skillet, melting and sizzling across the surface.

This was dangerous.

His hood fell back over his mouth and beard, excess fabric pooling around his shoulders. You squeezed your thighs together, subtly chasing relief. He didn’t get fully undressed before you often — or ever, had he? No, only bits and pieces here and there, other than the time you'd spied on him as he got dressed after his shower. You felt just as lecherous now as you did then, eyes drifting lower, below the waistband of his sweatpants where the curve of his ass was unmistakable through the fleece.

“See anything you like?” König asked, eyes darting to you in a sideways glance.

“Oh, I—” You jolted at his words, eyes snapping up. Your mouth dried in an instant, coherent thought evaporating just as quickly. “Sorry?”

He nodded toward the book in your hands. “The recipes,” he offered. “Did you find one you like?”

“Um, yeah,” you replied absently, realizing you were at the index now, not even on a recipe anymore. You swiped back a few pages before he noticed, landing on a carefully decorated cake. “Well. They…all sound good.” You cringed inside, sure you looked as foolish as you sounded.

“I should have known you would go right to dessert.” His eyes flicked from the page to your face. “Craving something sweet, little one?” His eyes narrowed with an unseen smile, but you could hear the mirth in his voice, a gentle tease that brought heat to life across your cheeks like stoked coals.

You stared numbly down at the cake recipe you’d landed on, then back up at him. He leaned forward, just barely invading your space. Your chin was already tilting of its own accord, eager to agree with him — yes, yes — pleasant and tame under his gaze.

“Mm,” he hummed knowingly, his eyes fixed on yours instead of the dips and swirls of chocolate icing and glossy red cherries printed on the page. He leaned closer yet, voice dropping as if he was letting you in on a secret. “That’s alright. I am too.”

You can the entire chapter on AO3 ☺️ please consider leaving a kudos and comment if you enjoyed it. If you’d like to support my writing and fuel my caffeine habit, here’s my kofi >:3 https://ko-fi.com/tinypandacakes

#könig x you #trapper keeper #könig x y/n #könig x reader #könig #call of duty #könig smut #könig mw2 #könig fanfiction #konig x you #konig x reader #konig x y/n #könig cod #könig call of duty #dark romance #yandere

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diejager · 11 months ago

Note

can u pretty pls write some kidnapper! konig.. where he lives streams himself non-conning fem! reader ? while perverted men and other weirdos online watch and comment about us 😛

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, porn, non-con filming, size kink, kidnapping, power imbalance, degradation, tell me if I missed any.

Pleasure, whether consensual or not, was still pleasure, it burned through your nerves with a painful throb, a loud thrum that dazed you. You writhed, your feet kicking towards the camera he placed before you, pointing it towards your debauched figure, showing the audience - all sick and twisted men and women who were as sick as your captor was - how your slick cunt took him. König - your captor, your owner, your lover, or whatever fit him in the moment - was a giant of a man, his shoulders broader and thighs thicker than any man you’ve met, his whole body so big that he couldn’t even fit in the frame of the video he was directing.

His form swallowed you, holding you still without much trouble, the muscles of his arms tensing and his abdomen rippling when a wave of pleasure ripped through him, his loud groans and shameless growls muffled by the balaclava he wore. His scarred hands bruised your supple thighs, spreading your legs open and slung over his lap, giving him full view of your. Your tight cunt stretched around his girth with a thick base and even thicker shaft, veins pulsing and pumping blood to feed his hard-on. He never groomed, he never saw the purpose for it, leaving it knotted and stinky, the musk of sweat and something that stank of him, a wild bush wet with your slick and his cum, glistening with how much he stuffed you with and a cloudy ring growing ever darker with the amount of orgasms he pulled from you.

“Stupid whore, ”he spat, his grip growing stronger as he bucked his hips upwards, thrusting up as he dropped you on his cock, spearing you in front of a spectators, spitting degrading words and cruel insults, “Too dumb to listen. Too dumb to understand.”

He growled out his words, grinding them through his gritted teeth as he lifting you up and dropping you down on his lap like he would with the fleshlight he used to own, pumping it with a gross amount of cum when he was forced to watch you from afar. Imagining you squealing and choking on his cock worked wonders until it didn’t, he grew hungrier and hungrier for you, leaving him starving for you until he acted out his on his urges. He took things into his hands and brought you home, to lock a pretty collar around your throat and cut his name into your flesh to show his community who you belonged to.

“You fight, but you always come on my cock,” he rasped, lowering his head to stare at your fluttering lashes, tears falling from them and rolling down your cheeks, a temptation for his tongue to come out and lap it all up. You were always so pretty when you cried, crying and mewling over him when he fucked you, ramming his round tip into your gummy cervix and pushing his cum deeper into your womb, “Schwanz fixierte Hua.”[Cock hungry whore]

Somehow, for whatever reason, your cunt clenched around him whenever he spat an insult, demeaning you to nothing but a cocksleeve or cum-dumping hole he would use forever after this one public show made you careen over the edge. Your back arched, pushing your swollen and perky nipples out as your walls closed around his cock, feeling every curve and groove of it and milking him for a second —or was it a third load? You couldn’t remember, all that your could remember was the shape of him, his rough handling and how sickening it was when he confessed that he broke into your appartement over the month and shared his plans he decided to enact.

“Kan Stress Mausi. I werd mi guad um di kümman, und don zag i earna, dass’d mia g’heast. Klingt doch guad, oda?, “He whispered sweet promises as he pumped you full, his cock twitching as his body shook with the strength of it. He pressed a long and soft kiss to your cheek, a cruel smile curling the corners of his lips. [Don’t worry, mouse. I’ll take good care of you, then show them you’re mine. Good, yes?]

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

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tteotlma · 4 months ago

Text

Midnight Mischief

deepthroating - cum eating - wet dream

Bucky Barnes/Reader (2.8wc)

a/n: i can't believe i posted this a minute late. also im straying away from xmen rn bc.. let's face it -- im an og sucker for avengers

tw: : 18+ MDNI, non-consensual sexual acts, explicit sexual content, somnophilia, voyeurism, power imbalance, boundary violation, potential emotional manipulation, intimate partner sexual activity.

---

The room is quiet, save for the soft rustling of sheets as you stir, caught in the haze between sleep and wakefulness. You try to settle back into slumber, but something keeps pulling you from the edge—soft, almost broken sounds, like the faintest of whimpers. At first, you think it’s the creak of the bed, but when it happens again, clearer, you realize it’s coming from behind you.

Bucky.

His body is pressed close to yours, his arm draped over your waist, holding you against his chest. You can feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath, but something’s different. His breathing is heavier now, more ragged. You try to ignore it, brushing it off as a dream, but when he tightens his hold on you, pulling you even closer, the sound of his neediness slips into the air again, low and guttural.

Your heart quickens. Is he having a nightmare? You reach back instinctively, your fingers tracing the muscular curve of his arm in an attempt to soothe him. But just as your touch connects, so does his—his hand glides slowly over your side, his fingertips barely grazing your skin but leaving a trail of heat in their wake. It’s a lazy, sensual movement, almost like he’s caressing you without realizing it.

He’s still asleep, you realize, lost in a dream, but the way he touches you—slow, deliberate, unhurried—feels different. His hand slides lower, fingers pressing into your waist, his breath growing deeper, more ragged. His lips brush against your neck, soft and warm, and you feel the weight of his hips subtly shifting, pressing into you from behind, rolling in time with the rhythm of his breath.

The sound of him—soft groans, needy whimpers—sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten and relax with each movement, the way his grip on you tightens as if holding on to something even in his sleep. You gasp when his fingers curl into the curve of your hip, pulling you back against him, the heat between you growing.

It’s then that it hits you, the realization settling in your chest: Bucky isn’t having a nightmare.

You turn slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but the darkness of the room shrouds his features. His breathing is heavier now, his chest rising and falling against your back. You feel the hard press of him, his hips rolling in slow, unconscious movements. You bite your lip as the realization hits. He’s having a wet dream.

Heat floods your body at the thought. Bucky’s breath is coming in shallow gasps, and you can feel his hardness growing against you, the tension in his muscles evident even in sleep. His hand tightens its grip on your waist, pulling you closer as his hips move in slow, rhythmic thrusts. It’s like his body is seeking you out, even in his dreams.

A soft moan escapes him, and the sound sends a thrill through you, making your pulse race. You should probably wake him up—but part of you doesn’t want to. Part of you wonders what would happen if you didn’t. The thought makes a heat pool between your legs, a thrill of excitement winding its way through you. You shift beneath him, carefully extricating yourself from his hold as you slide down the bed.

Your heart pounds wildly as you settle between his legs, the anticipation crackling in the air around you. Every instinct tells you to stop, to pull away worried if you’re crossing a line, but the magnetic pull of Bucky’s body is too intoxicating to resist. Your fingers graze the waistband of his boxers, the soft fabric brushing against your fingertips, and you can feel the heat radiating from him.

You glance up at his face, wanting to see if he’s awake, but his eyes remain closed, framed by dark lashes that cast shadows against his cheek. He looks so serene, so lost in the world of dreams, and the sight sends a rush of desire through you. You swallow hard, the anticipation thickening in your throat, your pulse quickening as you draw closer.

With trembling fingers, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to free his length. The fabric slides away, revealing him, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight. He’s beautiful—hard and heavy, the smooth skin glistening slightly in the low light, with a tantalizing hint of pre-cum pooling at the tip.

The way he lays before you, vulnerable yet powerful, sends heat pooling low in your belly. You can’t help but admire him, the way his length twitches slightly in response to your gaze, as if he senses your hunger. The sheer size of him fills you with a rush of excitement and a tingle of nervousness, a wicked thrill coursing through your veins. Your hand instinctively moves closer, hovering just above him, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin. You bite your lip, excitement and arousal flooding your senses as you contemplate the heat and power resting so tantalizingly close.

What am I doing? The question flickers in your mind, but it fades just as quickly, replaced by the sound of Bucky’s soft, needy moans. You can’t resist. Slowly, you lean forward, your tongue darting out to flick against the tip of him. Bucky shudders in his sleep, a groan slipping from his lips, but he doesn’t wake.

Your heart races as you take him fully into your mouth, the warmth of him enveloping you in an intoxicating rush. The sensation is overwhelming, every inch of him filling your senses as your lips slide down his length in one smooth, practiced motion. You can taste him—salt and musk melding together, stirring a deep hunger within you. The warmth radiating from him fills you, igniting a fire deep in your belly as you hollow your cheeks and suck gently, savoring every moment.

Bucky’s hips jerk in response, a deep, primal moan escaping him, and the sound vibrates through you, sending a delicious shiver up your spine. His hand twitches where it rests against the bed, fingers curling into the sheets as if he’s trying to anchor himself to reality. You pause for a brief moment, your gaze flickering up to his face, checking to see if he’s waking. But his eyes remain closed, his brow furrowed in pleasure, lost in the dream world where you’ve drawn him.

With renewed determination, you take him deeper, feeling the weight of him pressing against your throat. Your tongue swirls around him, tracing every contour, teasing and exploring as you bob your head in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation of him sliding against your tongue sends a thrill through your body, igniting every nerve ending. Bucky groans again, a sound so raw and needy it sends heat pooling in your core. His hips rock upward into your mouth, instinctively chasing the sensation, even in his dreams.

The sound of his voice—thick with desire and completely at your mercy—makes your thighs clench together, an ache building within you. You can’t help but revel in the power you have over him in this moment, the intimacy of it all wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Each movement you make, each flick of your tongue, elicits another groan, another desperate thrust of his hips. You find yourself lost in the rhythm, a heady mix of pleasure and urgency coursing through you as you give in to the primal connection sparking between you.

Fuck, he is so hot.

Your hand wraps around the base of him, fingers curling tightly as you stroke in time with the rhythm of your mouth. The sensation sends waves of pleasure through you, and you can feel him twitch in response to your every movement. His breathing is ragged now, punctuated by the deep, guttural moans that escape him, each sound vibrating through you and urging you on. Bucky’s body trembles beneath you, the muscles in his thighs flexing and relaxing as he succumbs to the waves of pleasure crashing over him.

You suck harder, taking him deeper, feeling the heat of him fill you completely until you hit the back of your throat. The moment he does, Bucky gasps sharply, a primal sound that echoes in the stillness of the room, his hips jerking upward instinctively as if trying to push himself further into your mouth. The rush of power and desire surges through you, igniting an intoxicating thrill that makes your heart race.

You pull back slightly, savoring the moment as your tongue flicks against the underside of him, teasing and tantalizing. The way he groans loudly sends a thrill down your spine, a deep rumble of pleasure that resonates within you. His hand reaches out, gripping the sheets tightly as his body tenses, muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. “Fuck…” he mutters in his sleep, a desperate plea that ignites something primal within you.

His hips roll into your mouth again, seeking the heat and comfort that you’re giving him, and you feel a rush of satisfaction flood through you. Each thrust he makes is instinctual, a need to chase the pleasure coursing through him. You can taste the salt of his skin, feel the warmth radiating from him, and it only intensifies your desire to make him lose himself completely.

You’re caught in a delicious tug-of-war between the urge to wake him and the overpowering desire to keep going. The thrill of his unawareness fuels a fire within you; there’s something intoxicating about the fact that he remains blissfully lost in the pleasure you’re giving him. Every moan that escapes his lips feels like a triumph, a testament to the connection you share in this intimate moment.

Your hand tightens around him, the smooth skin warming beneath your fingers as you stroke in time with the soft bob of your head. The rhythm becomes a dance of pleasure, and with each movement, you feel him twitch again, his body responding eagerly to your touch. His breathing grows more erratic, the sounds coming from him rising in pitch and urgency, each desperate moan sending shivers of delight through you.

You can sense the tension building within him, an unmistakable sign that he’s teetering on the edge. The thrill of knowing he’s close sends a rush of exhilaration coursing through you. Every flick of your tongue, every pull of your mouth, draws him nearer to the precipice of ecstasy, and you can feel it—the electric charge in the air, the delicious anticipation of what’s to come.

The intimacy of this moment deepens your resolve, and the need to hear him cry out for you, to see him lose himself completely, consumes you. You know he’s close, and the thought ignites a fresh wave of hunger, your body responding to the urgency pulsing between you.

Just as you’re about to take him deeper, Bucky stirs beneath you, his body shifting with the first whispers of waking. His eyes flutter open, confusion briefly flickering across his features as reality begins to settle in. For a heartbeat, he’s disoriented, lost in the haze of sleep, but that quickly fades as his gaze drops to where your mouth is wrapped around him.

His lips part in a slow, deliberate movement, and a low groan escapes him, reverberating through the air like a drawn-out plea. The moment realization dawns, his expression shifts from confusion to pure, raw desire, a hunger that ignites a spark deep within you. Instinctively, his hand tangles in your hair, fingers curling possessively as if to anchor himself in this unexpected bliss. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and thick with the remnants of sleep, sending shivers down your spine. “You… you were doing this while I was asleep?”

You nod slightly, the motion sending gentle vibrations through him, and your eyes lock with his, holding the intensity of the moment. The way he’s looking at you—eyes dark with lust, filled with disbelief and desire—sends a wave of arousal coursing through you, igniting every nerve ending. It’s exhilarating, knowing you’ve drawn him into this intimate act without his conscious consent.

He growls softly, the sound low and primal, and you feel his grip on your hair tighten, urging you closer. His hips buck upward instinctively, seeking that connection, that warmth that only you can provide. “You’re so fucking bad,” he murmurs, a wicked grin spreading across his face, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The playful challenge in his voice sends a thrill through you, your heart racing at the delicious thrill of being caught in the act. “I can’t believe you’d do this.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, a mix of incredulity and admiration, and it only serves to heighten the heat between you. You can see the conflict in his eyes—part of him revels in the pleasure you’re giving, while another part still grapples with the wildness of the moment. It’s intoxicating, and you can’t help but savor every second.

His voice is gravelly, still laced with the remnants of sleep, but now there’s an undeniable edge to it—a raw hunger that ignites something primal within you. He watches you intently, his gaze dark and intense, filled with a mix of desire and disbelief as he begins to move his hips in slow, deliberate thrusts, using your mouth to chase his pleasure. “God, that feels so good,” he groans, the sound low and throaty, his head falling back against the pillow, exposing the strong line of his neck.

With each thrust, the rhythm builds between you, a tantalizing dance of dominance and submission. “You’re gonna make me cum,” he gasps, his voice thick with need, and the weight of his words sends a thrill straight through you, igniting the fire of your own desire. Your thighs press together, aching with need, as you take him deeper, your hand working to stroke what your mouth can’t reach, the slickness of him making your skin tingle.

Bucky’s breath hitches, each sound escalating in pitch as his body trembles, caught in the delicious tension of being so close. You can feel him starting to lose control, his hips jerking erratically as he chases that elusive release. The sight of him unraveling for you is intoxicating, and it only drives you to take him deeper, to draw out the pleasure that hangs heavy in the air.

With one final thrust, Bucky groans loudly, a sound that echoes in the quiet room, and his hand tightens in your hair, pulling you closer as he spills into your mouth. The warmth of his release floods you, a heady rush that fills every inch of your senses. You swallow greedily, savoring the taste of him, the salty essence lingering on your tongue, and the satisfaction of having brought him to this moment.

As he trembles beneath you, his chest heaves, the sound of his breaths ragged and desperate as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm. You watch in awe as his body relaxes against the bed, the tension leaving him in soft, shuddering breaths. The intimacy of it all, the connection you’ve forged in this heated moment, leaves you both exhilarated and utterly satisfied.

But before you can pull away, Bucky's hands grasp you firmly, pulling you up toward him with a force that makes your heart race. In an instant, his lips crash into yours, igniting a fire that consumes you both. The kiss is hard and urgent, a fierce collision of mouths that sends waves of electricity coursing through your body. You can taste him on your tongue—warm, salty, and intoxicating—and the sheer intensity of it takes your breath away, leaving you momentarily dazed.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls against your lips, his voice low and thick with desire, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hand tangles in your hair, fingers gripping tightly as he deepens the kiss, pulling you even closer. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the strength of his body enveloping you, and it only heightens your longing for more.

The world around you fades, leaving only the two of you entwined in this heated moment, and you find yourself melting against him. The kiss feels like a promise—raw and hungry, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. “But I’m not done with you yet,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, a wicked glint dancing in his gaze.

The determination in his voice sends a thrill through you, igniting a hunger of your own. You want to respond, to show him just how much you crave him, but the heat of his presence leaves you breathless, consumed by the desire that crackles between you. His grip on your hair tightens slightly, a silent command that sends a surge of excitement racing through your veins. You realize that this is only the beginning, and the anticipation of what’s to come leaves you eager and wanting, ready to surrender to the intensity of the moment.

---

a/n: two days down, someone tell me ur thots pls.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

Text

All In 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: it's a new week

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your phone buzzes against your leg, ripping you back to reality. Your eyes widen and drift away from the stream of font. You sit up and mark the page with your finger as you reach for the jittering cell.

You scramble to grab onto it and hesitate to hit the big green button. The screen doesn't look like usual, not that you get many calls. You tap the button and the image changes at once, Bucky startling you as he appears.

"Hey, doll," he grins and winks at you, moving the camera to lean against something. "How's it going?"

"Uhhhh," you drone, surprised. He can see you too. You know by the little reflection of yourself in the corner. "Hi. Fine." You put the book down with no mind to losing the page, "um, you?"

"You busy, doll?"

"Reading but... no."

"Mm," he hums, "glad to see you enjoying your treats but... no pajamas?"

He steps back and you get a view of him from waist up, the edge of a counter in the lower edge. You pout then give a sheepish smile, "sorry, I haven't... had a chance."

"That's okay, doll, I just wanted a peek before I went to work," he undoes his shirt button by button and pulls it off, revealing his muscular torso. You gulp at the lines of his muscle along his stomach, "why don't you put them on now and give me a look."

"Oh, uh..." you glance at the wall. It's late. You're pretty sure Roxie already left for work and your mom will probably be settling down. "Right, uh..."

"Just want something to think of when I walk the floor," he purrs.

"Sure, er," you nearly choke, "I'll just-- one sec."

"I can wait, doll. I've been waiting, haven't I?" He purrs.

You feel a pang of guilt. You place the phone down so the lens faces the ceiling and climb off the bed. He's given you a lot, too much honestly, and now you feel like you owe him. It isn't fair to take his kindness without anything in return. And he isn't asking much, is he?

You dig in the bag, the crinkle loud as the only other noise is the subtle movement from his end. You fish out the soft pajamas and peer over, making certain the phone is still flat. You change far away from it, paranoid.

You look down at yourself in the tank and shorts. Oh gosh. It's a lot less than you usually wear. Your legs are showing, your shoulders, and a bit of your tummy.

"Doll?" He says and you flinch.

"I don't know... I don't think it fits."

"I'm sure it fits just nice," he insists, "show me."

"Oh, uh..."

"I'm just looking, doll, I'll only think of what I really wanna do," he snickers.

You cross back to the bed and pick up the phone, careful to stay out of view. You turn back and prop it up on the dresser, overly aware of the unflattering angle as you do. You give a wide-eyed look and back up so you're all in frame.

You hug yourself shyly and sway.

"Let me see ya," he orders.

You put your arms straight and notice how he leans in to look at the screen, smoothing his hair back. He keeps his hands over his dark strands and growls. A flutter starts in your stomach.

"What do you mean too small? That fits your perfect," he says.

"I... really?"

"Sure, doll," he turns and you realise he's getting ready.

He combs his hair stands straight. He grabs a new shirt and buttons it as he peeks again. You near the camera and move it so he can only see your face.

"Damn, doll, I'm gonna be all over the place," he says, "you're so sweet and sexy."

"Bucky," you squeak.

"I don't lie. That's the one thing you should know about me. I will always let you know exactly what I want."

You blush hotly and a tap on the door nearly makes you drop the phone. You hide it behind you and shuffle closer. You clear your throat.

"Uh, yeah?" You call through.

"Hey, honey, everything okay in there?" She asks. Shoot, she must have heard you.

"I'm watching something," your heart hammers, "sorry, I'll turn it down."

"It's alright, honey. Just thought I heard you..."

"No, just a show," you wisp out.

You quickly back away and go as far from the door as you can. You look down at the phone as Bucky tucks in his shirt. Ugh, that was embarrassing. He heard all that; surely he must realise how lame you are.

"Mom sounds real sweet," he says, "must be where you get it."

"She's working tomorrow. Don't wanna keep her up," you explain quietly.

"That's too bad, doll. I'll just have to keep waiting... wanting," he shrugs and pulls on a dark jacket, "what do ya think? Look good?"

He poses for the camera. He looks great, as always. You feel smaller than ever.

"Yes," you answer softly.

"Yes? That's it?" He sounds disappointed.

"Very handsome," you eke out.

"Handsome?" He squints as he picks up the phone.

"Er," you search your repertoire and borrow from his, "sexy?"

"Are you asking or telling me?" He chuckles.

You giggle. You don't think you've ever told anyone they are sexy. You've never been that bold.

"Yes."

"Yes?" He laughs.

"You're, er, oh, sexy," you touch your hot cheek and look away.

"You are adorable, doll," he growls, "that's exactly what I need to hear." He grazes his fingertips over his beard, "unfortunately I gotta get on it so... tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," you confirm.

"Don't worry about a thing, doll, just bring your gorgeous self."

🃏

The next day is restless. It's worse having hours to wait around for... what? You don't know.

You spend your time reading, or trying to. Breakfast is small, what your roiling stomach can handle, and you put on an outfit that you think is acceptable, not that you have much to choose from. It might be strange if your mom or Roxie notice the lack of uniform. You could say you change at work?

Ugh, lie after lie. It's all so much.

You don't get very far in the book and your phone buzzes, a reminder from Bucky that your fate is coming. You grab your purse and sit out on the stoop, the sunlight beaming down. It would be a nice say if you were so damn uptight.

Merv pulls up in the sleek luxury car and you get up, checking over your shoulder to see if there's any curious tug on the curtain. Your mom's already at work but Roxie is puttering around somewhere. She could be sleeping or not.

Merv gets out to greet you. He opens the door and you thank him. He sits in the driver's seat and Springsteen drones from the radio. You smile as he shifts into gear.

"I know this one," you say.

"Of course, a classic," he praises. "And how are you today, miss?"

"Good, you, sir?"

He laughs as he steers, "very good, miss. And how could I not be." He peeks at you in the rear view, "with sunshine in my backseat."

You smile bashfully and cross your legs. You can't help the shake in your foot. You're more and more nervous with each second and turn of the wheel.

As if noticing your unease, he turns up the music, "I like this one too."

You sigh and ease into the drumbeat. The tempo keeps your heartbeat in check. You're thankful for his subtle comfort.

You turn to watch through the tinted windows. You never noticed how scenic this city is. You never went many places to have the chance.

He keeps the volume up and you let it carry you through the long journey across the city. He pulls up to the casino and steers around to the hotel entrance. You peer through then back at him in confusion. He turns the knob down.

"Mr. Barnes says to give your name at the desk," Merv instructs, "have a good day."

"Thanks, you too," you unbuckle the seat belt and sidle across to the door.

You get out with reticence. Staring up at the grand facade, you're more unsure than you've ever been. You've come this far, you have to keep going. You really have no choice as Merv slowly rolls away.

You step forward. It doesn't get easier the further you get. Your pulse hammers behind your ear as you enter the lobby and a flash of deja vu overcomes you. That night with Roxie, the morning after, and everything since. How does it all feel as if it happened so fast and yet so long ago?

You go to the desk, feeling entirely out of place. What if Merv is wrong and you shouldn't be there? What if they just look at you and laugh? No choice, keep going.

You stop on the other side of the desk and give a stiff smile.

"Hello, welcome, checking in?" The modelesque concierge asks. She's stunning and you're all the more self-aware.

"Uh, I think? My name is..."

She keeps her pristine smile in place and her eyes lights up. She doesn't even bother typing into her computer. She flits away and returns with one of little folders with the room keys inside. Oh, this is really happening.

You thank her and slowly back away. You make a slow advance towards the elevator and wait beside a couple with their suitcases. You step on with them, avoiding a glimpse through the transparent walls.

You unfold the folio and read the number, pushing the floor number, then stand back on your heels. You keep your eyes on the door, the motion alone making you dizzy.

The couple gets off before you. When it's your floor, you thankfully scramble off and take a deep breath. You once more check the number and follow the hallways to your assigned suite.

You swipe the card several times, you still don't have the hang of it. The door opens and you enter meekly. You focus on every move. Shut the door, slip the card back in the folder, put it down on the corner table.

You look up at last and let yourself marvel at the suite as you delve further in. The smell of pollen greets you with a large bouquet of roses. The suite is huge, even bigger than last time. Two rooms just the same and a full kitchenette and spacious bathroom. You don't go onto the balcony, not wanting to test your stomach.

You go back inside and glance over the table draped in a red tablecloth beneath the crystal vase of flowers. There's also a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries and various colours of macarons. You've never had the delicate cookies before but you'd watch countless recipe videos, wishing on day to try them yourself.

There's an envelope too. You take it and run your nail along the sealed flap. You open it carefully and slip out the card within.

'Enjoy yourself, doll. I'll join you shortly. B.'

As if on cue, there's a knock on the door. Oh gosh, you're not ready. What does he mean? Join you? You hoped for a little long before... before...

You stand frozen but when the door doesn't open itself, you go to answer it. You slowly twist the long handle and open it just a crack. You peer around the edge and blink in confusion.

"Hello, dahling," the woman's affectation drags out her syllables, "well look at you, how precious."

She presses on the door and you let her force her way in. You're dumbfounded. Who the heck is she? Another long-legged beauty you can't compare too.

"Lovely hair," she remarks as she closes the door without a care, "oh, and your skin, yes, perfect canvas..."

"Sorry, er, I think you have the wrong room--"

"Mr. Barnes sent me, dahling," she trills in her way, "and I see you are very much in need of my visit so let's begin. Mm, yes, I have a vision," she struts forward, a rose gold chest in her hand, "not very much, you have a natural lustre I adore."

You retreat as she advances on you. She lifts her chest onto the chaise and flips back the lid, revealing an assortment of precisely organized palettes and tubes. You're horrified and humiliated as you realise why she's there. Maybe you aren't as pretty as Bucky keeps telling you.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #fic #bucky barnes x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #casino au #avengers #winter soldier #captain america #marvel #mcu #all in

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

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pairing: darth vader x reader

summary: vader's prosthetic limbs are strong

cw: power imbalance, smut, toxic relationship (it's literally darth vader), manhandling, mentions of bruising, everything is consensual but it probably shouldn't be, don't like don't read.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Vader's prosthetic limbs are strong. They're, by design, inhuman, and their fixture uses them to their fullest potential. You have permanent sore spots on your biceps from being hauled around by the dark lord, he puts you wherever he pleases.

"Stay here." He orders, his hand clamped tightly around your arm as he muscles you into one of the in-progress death star's many confinement cells, cold and gray, "It is not safe to roam while my master is here."

And when he retrieves you upon Palpatine's departure, he wakes you with that same rough hand on your arm, hauling you up off of the sleeping shelf and hustling you down the hall, carrying all of your weight with that one singular hand while your tired limbs frenzy to catch up.

there have been several times where you thought he was going to crush your jaw. simply shatter the bone, disfigure your face as he pinches it between unforgiving metal digits.

"Where have you been?" He asks, holding your chin in his prosthetic hand, "You were meant to be inside your quarters by 1800 hours."

When you don't answer right away his fingers tighten around your face and you squirm, wondering if you'll have a bruise there tomorrow; a stinging pool of blood just beneath the skin that your lover managed to coax out.

He crushes your face the way he uses the Force to crush others' throats; you get the honor of physical contact.

He tightens and tightens and tightens until you think your teeth might crumble where they're smashed together, then you let out a muffled whimper to let him know you're ready to speak. Only then are you permitted to open your mouth, and you admit, "I went down to the lower levels."

Much like his once-home planet of Coruscant, the lower levels on the Death Star are nowhere Vader wants you.

"I have told you to stay away from there," He chides, sealing your mouth with his bruising grip once more, nearly chopping your tongue apart where it gets momentarily caught between your teeth, "There are things down there beyond your comprehension; Sith artefacts that could melt your feeble mind from the inside out - far less forgiving than I am. The next time you venture down to the lower levels will be your last, no matter if the artefacts kill you, or I do."

though his torso is still flesh and blood, his arms are all prosthetic. it means that while his hips are stationary beneath yours, his inhumanly strong arms are lifting you effortlessly off of his thighs and slamming you back down over his cock. He takes you on his throne, spread out like the lord he is; but only your body moves. He is stationed firmly in his seat, and you are the one that must writhe above him in hopes of your own pleasure. But you tire easily, and he's such a generous man. When the time comes for him to intervene he cements his metal hands on your sides, lifting and lowering in a steady rhythm that has you seeing stars for the force he uses.

He will deposit you in your quarters after you're fucked out and too tired to be useful anymore. You need sleep, so he hoists your body into his arms and you happily go limp in his grasp. He carts you down the sterile, desolate halls of his battle station and uses the Force to open the door to your sleeping chambers, bending at the waist to lay you down on the bed. Dark Lords do not tuck their subjects into bed, but he stands and looms over you until you tug the blanket over yourself.

"I will return at 1800 hours." He reports, cape billowing around his ankles as he strides towards the door, "I would like you to stay here until then. Do not disobey me."

#darth vader x reader #darth vader imagine #darth vader smut #darth vader fanfiction #darth vader oneshot #darth vader x you #darth vader blurb #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker imagine

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 1 year ago

Note

NO BUT I NEED SATORU AND SUKUNA INSIDE OF ME RIGHT NEEOOOWWWWW I CAN TAKE THEM.BOTH!!!!!

❝ Darling, won't you just plead, or should I begin to bleed? ❞

Heian Era!Sukuna Ryomen x ftm!reader x Heian Era!Gojo Satoru | alternate universe, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5.4

warnings: mentions of murder, dub. con (Gojo Satoru), power imbalance, size difference, threesome, fingering, handjobs, blowjobs, anal sex, spit roasting, triple penetration, tummy bulging, improper use of RCT , marking, possessive sex, degradation, one of Sukuna's cock gets bigger out of spite, unrealistic amounts of cum, AFAB terminology (reader's genitals are referred to with cock, dick, hole, boycunt, boypussy, clit)

“Call off your dog, Sukuna,” he snarls. Sukuna’s grin stretches obscenely and he throws his head back to laugh. Satoru hopes to have hurt your ego — from the tall tales he’s heard of (Y/N), you were known to have a haughty air about you. Satoru is sorely disappointed as he hears you chuckling along with Sukuna. In any other situation, the sweet sounds of your laughter would’ve made his heart flutter. But it’s mixed with Sukuna’s cackling so intricately he shudders at the very thought.

“Come, dog.”

authors note: heed the warnings!!! * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned)!

When the sun sets over the horizon and tucks itself past the peaks of those great mountains, it isn’t unusual for the sounds of burning to follow. Little slivers of suns swaying on top of wax or dancing across oil. Naturally, the burning comes with smoke. Casual tantalizing curls emitting from the evershifting flame; make you wonder if the sun steams and smokes.

Does it stay in the darkness, its company being the dancers of its creation swirling with it to the crackling of its flames? Afterall, if the sun is the king of flames, it would make sense that he has his own concubines.

Your eyes pull away from the sprouts of candles at the edge of the throne. Leaning your head back, you now gaze up at the king of curses as he breathes in the flavourful, addictive, smoke from the burning tobacco and exhales it into the air. He swallows the ghostly concubines. Stealing another king’s treasure. It was like him; he was the true king, after all.

Sukuna pays you no mind. He had called you to lounge with him, had Uruame prepare you for a night of passion despite not yet touching you. He had simply tapped his lap and you filled out the space by cushioning your head on his big thigh.

He’s dressed in auspiciously white garments, the expensive material has you wondering what’s in store for the both of you. The King of Curses does not need primping. Even so, he is dressed loosely. The mouth on his stomach is visible and one of his sleeves threatens to fall from his shoulder. The hand holding the smoke pipe allows itself to be pushed while the lower pair holds onto your hips. He stares down at you, his four eyes glinting silently in question. You’re practically kneeling on his lap and you barely reach the bottom half of his lips.

“Do you recall how many people I’ve killed for their insolence?” his tone is drawled out, a tinge of amusement hidden behind the baritones. “Yes, my King. I’ve always enjoyed watching you destroy them,” your hands curl around the bulging muscles of his chest and you trace up the tattoos he has to reach his shoulders.

Sukuna takes you in. Uruame had outdone themselves. You’re dressed in his favourite colours. Nothing too restrictive, the layers were enough to entice but not to invoke annoyance. Japanese politeness and grace are interwoven into every stitch despite your less-than-innocent gaze. You’ve always had the prettiest eyes; he remembers jesting that he’d pluck them out to put into a jar just so he could see them every day. They trial the shape of your lips, painted with the shades of flower petals that bloom in the light of the heavens; he thinks the irony is all the more poetic.

Your mouth and heaven do not go hand-in-hand. It’s pure sin. From that wicked, silver, tongue to your saccharine-sweet smile to that spine-shivering laugh.

You were hell-born. Just like he was.

Gently, you slip your digits under the fabric of his shoulder and he watches you and your actions impassively. Four eyes give him more room to admire you with, whatever part of you. He imagines you mean to smooth out the — imaginary — wrinkles as your palm slips up and down his broad shoulders. Your touching earns a firm squeeze to your hips, his hands are so large they cover the entirety of your back. And when they squeeze it makes your eyes flutter. He could snap you in half with just one hand. Barely use any of his strength — Sukuna could kill you as an afterthought, toss your beautiful body aside, and never think of you again.

But he doesn’t.

“You are getting impatient, boy.” The hand on his chest could feel that rumbling. Your throne — his lap — moves and you let yourself be placed according to his will. Sukuna sets you back on his lap and splays you out with a look. You stretch out on him — if you were a cat your tail would’ve curled coyly into the air just under his chin.

“It is late, Your Grace.”

The only lights left were from the candles and pools of oil ignited.

“You are passion and flame and I’ve been prepared for you to alight.”

He thinks your flowery words are adorable but unneeded. Sukuna props his face on his knuckles as he gazes down at your exposed legs. They’re practically glowing and the scent of oil entices his cocks. The mouth on his stomach splits and his tongue curls over the teeth there - you giggle at the sight.

“You want me to fuck you,” he smirks sharply, “and I am telling you to wait, brat.”

“For what?” You prop yourself on your elbows, brows pinched. “The servant that prepared me has his head tossed into a hole and yet I can still feel his little prick inside of me.”

Taking Ryomen Sukuna’s cocks was not an easy feat. For the common man, a few fingers and oil would do. For a beast that is your king, a generous pour of oil and a man pumped with herb aphrodisiacs was needed. None of the men would ever reach completion and neither did you — Sukuna would not allow it.

They would fuck you but once Uruame felt that you were stretched enough to gape, they’d pull the man away and bring him to the courtyard. A hole would be dug and the naked man would be beheaded. His penis was tossed in there to be buried and forgotten. No one should live to tell the tale of preparing Sukuna’s precious concubine. They should be honoured they were chosen but they’ll never be seen again. Those poor bastards. At least they were useful before they died.

Mirth sparks in his eyes.

“I spoil you,” and at that, you bashfully turn away. “I deserve to be spoiled.”

A greeting comes from across the long hall. The servants next to the doors rise from their bowed positions and it slides open to reveal Uruame and a man touched by frost behind them. Uruame is kneeling, and the man is not.

“Your Grace,” Uruame bows deeper.

“The head of the Gojo clan, Gojo Satoru. As you requested.”

His skin was pale and his hair paler. You’re certain if the sun rose he’d turn all but translucent. The flicker from the candles attempts to cast shadows across his small face but they cannot darken those sky-blue eyes. Uruame had announced he was from the Gojo clan but, you’ve only ever seen such blue eyes from white men — he doesn’t appear to have been sired by one. You doubt they’d even let the head of their clan be of a mixed race.

Gojo Satoru is a freak of nature. He is a curse in the shape of a man.

“Does he not know how to bow?” Your purring tone is gone. It’s cold as Uruame’s technique. Sukuna eases it back with a deliberate squint of his eye.

“Bring him in. Then leave, Uruame.” They bow deeper (if that was even possible) and after Satoru steps through, Uruame is hidden by the sliding doors once again.

“Have you reconsidered my offer, sorcerer?” Satoru’s brows are furrowed, and his long sleeves hide his hands but from the flex of his shoulders you know they are clenched.

Rising from your throne you make your down the platform. Every step exposes your delicious thighs and legs and it is so indecent it makes Satoru’s ire falter. The sleeves of your outfit drag onto the floor and it weighs down the fabric around your shoulder; your neck and your clavicle down to the whisper of your chest has Satoru’s ears blush.

You walk in a half-circle to his right, your eyes set into a glare that disappears as slips from his eyesight. Satoru knows he should not let you get behind him but turning his head away from Sukuna seems more damning. Sukuna says nothing of your less-than-inviting nature, his silence prompting Satoru to speak. “To serve you or die?” he scowls. “The Gojo clan will not serve you, Ryomen Sukuna.” Sukuna sighs, placing his smoke pipe down as he frowns. “So you have come all the way here to waste my time and to die. So typical of you sorcerers.”

“If you wish for my clan to serve you, we require more than empty promises.” Satoru’s tone was akin to the sound of the first arrow whistling through the wind, the growl he let out being the twang of the released drawstring. Regret beads down the back of his neck as he feels the sharp edge of a curved dagger pressed against the hill of his throat.

“You ask my king to fulfill wishes? Do you think him a genie?” the shape of his teeth familiarizes themselves as his jaw clenches. The blade is a cursed object, it mewls and groans faintly; the opal colour breathing as it soaks in his blood.

“Come, dog.”

With a curl of a finger, Satoru is able to breathe. You make your way to Sukuna, kneeling as you reach the top of the platform and crawl right onto his lap. The dagger slipped under the fabric around your waist.

“You are certainly an arrogant man, sorcerer. Your haughty clans fail to have taught you any diplomatic manners.”

“Diplomatic?” Satoru barks out a laugh. You narrow your eyes, bemused. “You’re a tyrant, King of Curses! The villages you’ve burned to the ground, the clans you’ve wiped out! Diplomacy? You’re taking the piss!”

Sukuna spots the curls of your lips and when glance up at him, he concurs that you do deserve to be spoiled because the two of you share the same thoughts.

This Satoru, this stubborn man; he would make a fine collection for both of you if he could survive a night.

“You require more than my word to serve me? Very well.” The nudging from your side earns him a purr and with your back turned to Satoru, you shed the fabrics. Blue eyes watch in confusion as they watch you kneel and push away the clothes from Sukuna’s shoulder.

“My darling dog has been hungry. He’s insatiable, every part of him.” One of his hands holds your chin and turns it so Satoru has a clear view of your side profile with your lips pushed forward.

“From his painted lips.”

Another hand slips down the waist of your outfit and it gives way to show the small of your back. Nearly the entirety of your back is marked from Sukuna’s lips, teeth, nails, and hands like a canvas of artwork.

“To his tight holes. You cannot see it, sorcerer, but he is clenching around the tip of my finger. Hungry.”

The hilt of your dagger is askew but neither paid it any mind. There’s more rustling and you’re almost completely naked as you obediently let yourself be displayed.

“Ah!” The wet squelch of a tongue makes your back straighten and your fingers spasm as they tighten their hold on Sukuna’s robes.

“His useless cock is already leaking.”

“What are you asking of me, Sukuna?” Satoru speaks through gritted teeth. But his skin is so pale it betrays his weak resolve. Those reddened cheeks and ears, the racing heartbeat; Sukuna doesn’t need four eyes to know that Satoru’s dick was interested in whatever is being offered.

“Fuck my darling boy and your family will not be cursed by me while they serve me, Satoru.”

“W — What?” he sputters. Meanwhile, you’re all but melting as the sounds continue. He sees your ass trembling as your expression melts in pleasure.

Sukuna arches a pointed brow as his hand tugs the clothes of your body and it flutters onto the ground in a fancy display. There you are. Naked as the day you were born. Satoru should look away; but how does one pull their sights away from a body carved by the devil? Angelic in all the wrong ways, temptation sticks to your skin like perfume and Satoru is not a saint but he feels as though a single touch would damn him. In fact, just looking at you is dangerous.

“Are you a virgin? Or is my concubine not to your taste?”

Your nail digs through Sukuna’s shoulder. So his large tongue sweeps below your drenched cunt to soothe your irritation.

“I warn you to answer that question with caution, Gojo Satoru,” you hiss out.

“Perhaps he’s not a fan of men,” Sukuna reasons. “Common men perhaps. Are you calling me common, My King?” the squelching sound of your nails digging in makes streams of crimson slip down Sukuna’s skin and the sight of it has Satoru gasping (again).

“Put your claws away, boy. As if I would sink my cock into a common man. No, I take you like a proper bitch. This body may be different, but this tight hole?”

Satoru watches a tongue appear from Sukuna’s palm. The pink muscle pushes in and the rim of your asshole easily gives in, back arching further to assist. "And this?" Satoru sees the dexterous muscle from his stomach curl. A tongue larger than any he's ever seen, squirming its way inside of you from the front, and it makes you gasp airily in pleasure as it eagerly wriggles deeper.

“A body made to be fucked, to be left leaking with cum for days. And it is rare, Satoru, for it to leak with cum that isn’t mine.”

Satoru takes a tentative step back, shame coursing through him as he tears his eyes down.

“This is — This is dishonorable — “

“If you walk through that door, Satoru, you’ve sealed the fate of your clan to be erased forever.”

You moan as his tongue grows longer and those bloody fingers wrap around Sukuna’s thick neck. The mask on Sukuna’s face, the eyes on it, narrow the tiniest bit.

“And you’d offend my concubine greatly. He’ll enjoy murdering each and every one of your clan members for the disrespect.”

The candles shudder as the wind blows through the slits of the wood. It causes the flames to dance and the shame Satoru is experiencing to be swallowed down. He is frozen there for a moment, your sighs of pleasure like a siren call to hell. Sukuna’s great tongue hides behind a row of teeth, the grin most likely identical to the one he wears on his face, as Satoru approaches the steps of the platform.

“Come, Gojo Satoru.”

Climbing up the stairs was akin to walking to the gates of hell. Satoru can see the sheen of sweat on the back of your neck. He wonders if every part of tastes like heaven. Your tears, your slick, your sweat, your cum, your blood. Without even laying your hand on him once and you've already destroyed him, (Y/N).

"Kneel." Sukuna's words are a vow. An agreement. If Satoru's knees had settled onto the wooden floor, he'd have sealed the fate of his entire clan to serve under Ryomen Sukuna. His pupils quake, taking a sharp intake of breath as he tries to steady his heart.

Your hands invade his vision. The palms of Sukuna's concubine are soaked in crimson — was that why they were so soft? Your nails still have Sukuna's blood and the feeling makes spiders crawl up his spine.

"Gooseflesh rippling?" You whisper as your naked body finally earns his focus. You're in a puddle of your clothes, kneeling before him. Tilting your head, you surge upwards and press your forehead with his. His eyes may be haunting but yours are unforgettable.

It reminds him of the first time he'd ever peered into the darkness of the woods behind his clan's estate. How the light never reaches past the woodline. The silence. The way his brain made up shapes and faces and beings and curses and you.

In that memory, there you are. Between the mighty trees, what little light did reach you making your eyes reflect it back; as if you didn't have a soul yourself and all you can do is pretend.

"Kneel, boy." You say and Satoru's knees buckle.

The thud that resounds was final. Your grin is terrifying. Sukuna looms over your shoulder and his eyes are glowing with excitement.

Gojo Satoru had made a deal with two devils.

"Good sorcerer," your face comes closer and your lips acquaintances themselves with his. They're pillowy and soft. Blood rushes south despite Satoru's conflicted feelings. If he pretends you're not who you are, perhaps he can delude himself into thinking you're someone he loved; a man he wishes to devour; Violet eyes, black hair, upturned eyes with a voice that'd make angels sigh.

That image disappears as he feels your fingers wrap around his throat. You say nothing. But the second Satoru's eyes shoot open, he sees the unamused expression on your face.

"Now, don't get yourself killed so early on in the night, Satoru," Sukuna muses out. His lower hand reaches to grasp the nape of your neck and it squeezes hard enough for Satoru to hear your bones wheeze under pressure.

"Come here, darling." You turn away with a huff.

Satoru doesn't know what to do with himself so he is content to watch as you undress Sukuna. The King of Curses watches, enraptured by your movement as his torso is now bare of anything. The mouth on his stomach, that monstrous tongue, wets your chest and you simply shudder but continue your task.

"My concubine can be rather pouty when he isn't paid attention to. Best to not let your mind wander, Satoru."

You scowl, bending over to mouth at Sukuna's crotch as he holds the back of your head. The sight of your dripping cunt and ass has Satoru's cock rising to attention.

"How dare he even do so. I'll slice his cock off," Sukuna thinks the sight would be amusing but he simply guides your head lower.

There were rumours of Ryomen Sukuna's endowment.

If he had another pair of everything, did that mean his cock was the same?

Satoru wonders how you aren't split in half as he sees Sukuna's cocks twitching in your grasp. They're thick and heavy, bumping into each other as they perk up from your attention. The tip of it is nearly bright red, angry, and demanding a hole to sink into. The veins on it must make you keen often because you tongue at them with a pleased grin.

"Satoru." He tears his eyes away from the sight. Sukuna smiles at him, ignoring your pleased groans as you take the tip of his cock in your mouth while your hand strokes over the other.

"Feast, Satoru."

The command is so simple yet so vague. Satoru can't quite comprehend it. So he stares at Sukuna then at you, kneeling before your King with the most obscene noises coming from your mouth. There was no way the phallus could even comfortably rest on your tongue, each the length of your face and as thick as your wrist.

It must be uncomfortable. He must have other concubines for this exact reason. There was simply no way you alone could please him.

Your head rises from between your shoulders, and a long stroke from the base to the tip of his cock has Sukuna exhaling through his nose; he sees you bob up and then down. A minute gagging noise slips through but then you widen your knees and somehow you dip your head low.

"That's it, darling. Take your fill."

He wasn't lying when he said you were greedy. Satoru pushes himself to stand and Sukuna would usually kill men for not bowing their heads to the floor but he wants to see what the white-haired man intends to do.

Cheeks sucked in, eyebrows sloped delicately as your jaw strains to keep itself intact. Sukuna is well-endowed, big, humongous, huge — whatever other synonym you'd use to describe big cock(s). You feel someone move your bangs out of the way.

"He's halfway down..." Satoru had seen a lot in his life. From the fantastical curse techniques of other sorcerers to the nightmare-inducing curses, the wealth from his clan members also assists the opulence he's known since birth. The whores his uncles had given to him as a gift for his birthday — the array of positions they knew, of how willing they were to do whatever he asked with a grin even if it involved humiliating themselves or him.

But he'd never seen a man as handsome as you take such a monstrous dick in his mouth with no effort. The stretch of your lips, the smear of the red pigment around it, and on Sukuna's cock.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" Sukuna boasts. "Usually, the other concubines look like fishes speared on a pike when they take me into their mouths." Your eyes open in a glare and Satoru placates it by stroking your temple with his thumb.

"Not even a mention?" Satoru's inquiry earns a chuckle from Sukuna. "No. He will not allow it, if I wasn't so far down his mouth I'm sure he would've pulled away to complain." The hand on your head is not Sukuna's but it holds you firmly in place.

"How do you even fuck the other concubines?" Satoru wonders.

"(Y/N) usually slaughters them a week after I've brought them in." Satoru's shock weakens his hold, so you pull away with a cough and frown deeply up at the two men.

"I do not slaughter them! They just so happened to have ill-fated ends." You squeeze his cock one more time before turning your attention to his lower half, kissing it sweetly on its head before smearing his precum all over your lips, the smell of it making your cheeks warmer than it already was.

Truly, (Y/N). You didn't need to play this part of a proper highborn so astutely. Even if you beheaded the last concubine he had in front of him instead of summoning a curse to slam into it, resulting in the palanquin and the concubine within it along with her attending ladies being thrown off a cliff and mangled beyond words; he wouldn't have punished you.

It was your right to exorcise whoever you needed to so long as it didn't interfere with Sukuna's will. It pleased him to make you bridled with rage to result in murder, why wouldn't it? The blood that painted you from your head to your toes. It cannot all be his doing.

His dearest concubine, you mustn't get queasy so quickly. Show him the lines you'll cross to ensure he remains yours. Kill whoever you please, maim the sorcerers who take him away from you, burn down villages, and bask in their cries and their pain with him.

Hide your giggles behind your silk sleeves if you must but don't you dare hide your amusement of carnage from him; command curses to tear men apart and slice women to shreds. Everything is yours, (Y/N). Everything you wish for, everything you ask for, everything you need, and everything you didn't even think you required.

The world is yours.

"Of course," he grins and the tongue from his stomach reaches out to lick your cheek.

"Astonishing," Satoru mutters. Concubines killing each other aren't anything new though he sincerely doubts the others truly understood what they were getting into when they became Sukuna's. "Thank you," you reply after combing your hair back to take his other cock in your mouth.

Satoru feels overdressed and Sukuna was not in the business of doing that task for him. So he sheds his layers, the symbols of crane wings embroidered in the sleeves shimmer gloriously up at him. Satoru folds them over to hide it.

He will need to forget about everything else tonight. If he wishes to remain sane or tolerate the both of you — he will use his other head to guide him.

"Milky skin." You purr from Sukuna's lap. "Pale as the moon. Eyes as blue as the sky. I would kill you if you lived in this palace."

Satoru scoffs, standing with his cock twitching in the cool breeze.

"How fortunate for the both of us that I don't live here then." He hisses as your grasp onto his semi-hard dick.

"Even the hairs here are white. What a pretty cock." The feeling of your velvet tongue on his tip makes his breath shudder. It's nowhere close to Sukuna's length —or girth —but that doesn't cause him disappointment. He's longer than average, his cockhead poking the back of your throat, and veiny, mainly on his sides.

"Good weight," he moans as your lips trace the prominent veins, painting his blushing cock with your marks. Satoru doesn't understand what you want to him to say to the comment, a thank you seemed unbecoming and anything else would be odd. So he says nothing and just caresses your jaw to guide your mouth forward.

"Take your fill, (Y/N)."

The position you're in is not entirely new. You've taken Uraume and Sukuna together before. Witt their sex is in your mouth while your King takes you from behind. Ah, what fond memories. You really should invite the ever-so-loyal servant into your bed once again.

What a talented mouth they had. Such vigor to please you, adoration pouring from them with every flick of their tongue.

Sukuna is still a possessive lover. That did not change. But he does find amusement in the way you ache for Uraume's body and something about the way Uraume strokes themselves to completion as they watch the two of you fuels him with pride.

But enough about your lovely Uraume.

Satoru had placed his robes beneath your knees and so you suck in your cheeks as thanks as you suck on his length. Your hands were on his knee and his fingers held a fistful of your hair. The silken cloth beneath you makes you inch forward with each thrust from Sukuna.

"The way he's stretched around me. Satoru, I'll save his other hole for you to fuck, this one is all mine," his hips are flushed against your ass. He can feel your cunt attempting to push him out, resisting the stretch that would've killed others, as cursed energy flows through your body. It would ebb away, the need to heal yourself, as your body gets used to his size but fuck does it make Sukuna grin absolutely monstrous at the very fact you even need to do so.

You can't blame him. It's not like he'd never hurt you in any way you didn't like.

Your thighs are clenched tightly around his other cock. Luscious thighs slicked with oil that had been conveniently placed nearby and making sounds almost as obscenely as your filled cunt.

Satoru's jaw is loose. Throaty groans and appreciative moans rewarding your efforts as your nose presses against the patch of pubic hair he has. Diamonds line your waterline as you breathe through your nose, the back of your throat squeezing around Satoru's cock.

"Fuck!" He pulls you away, stroking himself furiously with one hand and holding your head in the other. The expression on your face should be preserved forever, Satoru thinks. So that future men will wish to be born in the same era as you.

His brows furrow in annoyance at how ethereal you look.

You should look whorish — which you do! But there's something unreal about it. Picture perfect, an embodiment of lust, depravity that beckons with that wet tongue and wetter eyes.

"S'kuna! Oh, yes, yes — Darling, you fill me so well!" Your voice is hoarse as you're jostled back and forth, nails leaving claw marks on the wooden floors. Satoru lets go of your head and you stretch out like a cat, the top half melting as your back arches into a perfect position.

Sukuna kneads at the mounds of your ass, splitting it apart to watch your asshole winking back at him while he holds your waist. It's brutal how he fucks you. Satoru stands and backs away to watch, his breath coming out in barely there white puffs and his heartbeat drumming through his ears.

"Fuh - fuck! Mpfh! Ngh — Your cocks are beautiful, they fill me so well," He tightens his hold on you and the moan you let out as he moves your body makes Satoru's cum bead on his tip.

Sukuna chuckles as he sees Satoru cursing and wiping away his shame. "You've never been in a room where people aren't salivating over you have you, sorcerer?" Satoru frowns pointedly at his condescending tone.

"Hah! I feel you in my stomach — You're — !"

"Must you belittle me any chance you get? Are you trying to compensate for something?" Satoru retorts. It makes Sukuna bark out a laugh. Strong biceps curl and flex as he rights your upper half so that it's pressed to his front.

On display for Satoru with Sukuna's greediest mouth curling around your chest to tease your chest.

"Compensate, is that the word you used?"

Between your slicked thighs, his cock spears through them in tandem with the one inside you. Satoru's eyes widen at the sight of the prominent bump poking from your stomach. The fact that you aren't dead is a clear testament to your skills — both in bed and in battle.

"I've heard no one has ever cut his skin," Satoru kneels again in front of you, nose curling at the dexterous muscle that flicks at his chin. "I know Reverse Curse Technique is a useful skill to have...but I never thought you'd be so perverse to use it so shamelessly."

"Get off your high horse, S — Mfh! That feel s'good — Satoru!"

"Wrong name," Sukuna growls near your ear. It manages to split Satoru's lips into a smirk as he cups your chest in each hand. It's slicked with saliva and he ignores the disgust he feels as he locks his lips with yours. Sweet as ever, despite the saltiness that lingers on your tongue.

"If his cunt is yours," Satoru pants out between kissing you. His thumb tweaking your nipples between his index, his cock hanging heavily as it fills up once again.

"Then he'll have to face away. I'll take his ass," he bites down on your lower lip. The sensation of his teeth and Sukuna's rough palms tightening their grip on you have you squealing in pleasure. His hips pause, it gives you enough time to form words while the men stare each other down for a second.

Sukuna was beginning to miss Uraume's presence. They never glared at him with open animosity, unadulterated wanting and greedily claiming your chest with a grip that'd leave bruises.

The shadows of a scowl crossed his face. Insolent little brat. But so fucking gorgeous. Strong too, from what he's heard.

He wasn't anywhere near as beautiful or strong as you but Sukuna has always had a penchant for these types. No one walks all over him. But he does find it amusing when pretty faces are so defiant — or when their heads are staked on a pike with crows plucking their eyes out.

You're breath shudders as Sukuna pulls you off his cock, leaning onto Satoru. He wraps his arms around you, eyelids fluttering at the feeling of your wet lips tracing his jaw while your body is all but boneless.

He inhales sharply as you grab his cock. "Thankfully, you're not — hah — completely incompetent in the sack. Impressive stamina, sorcerer." That, he could say thank you too. So he does.

Satoru is kind as he maneuvers you to face your beloved. Was that irritation in his chest at how excitedly you allowed Sukuna to claim your lips? Gods, no.

"Get closer," you said as you glanced at him over your shoulder. "If the both of you are going to fuck me, get closer."

What was it that Sukuna told him to do again?

Feast?

You can't tell where your pleasure begins or ends. Every nerve was set aflame and you weren't even sure if your body could've survived this if it weren't for your cursed energy.

Because from behind you, Satoru's thick member is spearing you again and again with Sukuna's. The idea of Satoru's cock inside of you seemed to have upset him enough to want to...accompany it in its endeavors. The sorcerer is hypnotized by the way your rim furls and unfurls on his blushing dick, how it greedily squeezes down every time he hits home and bumps his cockhead with Sukuna's. Even though their cum was creating a frothy ring of white at his base — he seems intent on pumping you with more and more and more. Marking your insides as white as his hair. He spreads your cheeks apart, groaning each time he does, and fuck, he's filthy as he whispers into your ear.

"You take us so fucking well. Like a proper whore, huh?"

"I'm not — I'm not a whore, you —"

Then, at the front, Sukuna's displeasure at Satoru's brazen attitude was taken out on your cunt. Still, you take all of him in because what concubine would you be if you couldn't? Your pride was on the line and you'd rather claw your own eyes out than let it be broken down.

His cock was inside of your cunt. You were more than pleased.

Sukuna's face floats above yours, his hands gripping everywhere while Satoru was chased off to just handle your ass. Though even then, he'd grab a handful of each cheek just to leave bitemarks on it — and annoy Satoru.

"Look at you," he groans out. His vermillion eyes are hooded with lust as he cradles your face.

You were perfection. A filthy little demon made to accompany him until the end of time. Your brows sloped so prettily, eyes hazy and lashes clumped together with tear streaks down your face. Lips red and bruised, neck littered with angry and dark marks.

"My King, my beloved, I — Oh, fuck, I'm close, I'm close," you whimper for what felt like the 5th time that night alone.

Why you were cumming? You weren't even sure.

The aching stretch of both holes as your brain is wrecked with too much pleasure is causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. Your hands spasm from within one of Sukuna's hands and your whole body shakes as you feel yourself cum again.

"Ah, shit!" Satoru groans as he pulls out, frowning as cum follows his departure and drops onto the floor. "You're just as awful as he is," he hisses out to Sukuna as he glares at the way the cock he'd been sharing your ass with stopped growing. Snug as a bug as it plugged you up. Satoru had already been close, with a few more thrusts he'd be filling you up once again. Then, what he thought was you tightening up turned out to be Sukuna making his cock so big it made the fit painful.

Fucking asshole.

"If I was as awful as he was, I would've cleaved the top of your head off, Gojo." Sukuna grabs your ass and your wanton mewl makes both men twitch.

His thrusting picks up its speed and you fight back his hold to wrap your arms around his neck. Sukuna allows it. He's close. You can tell. He's close and like a child, he decides he's the only one allowed to flood your insides with his cum, overflow your body until it forgets the taste of Gojo Satoru's.

"Sukuna, Sukuna — My lover, my beloved," you manage a dopey grin as you messily mould your lips together.

"Cum with me, Sukuna."

He's wonderfully loud when he does. Violent too. His nails digging into your waist and ass while he thrusts himself balls deep inside of you. Satoru's amazed your body hadn't given out — amazed at your endurance and how your cursed energy levels hadn't once seemed to deflate once in the time the three of you had been naked.

He shouldn't hope for it — but Satoru wonders how you would fare in a fight with himself. In fact, he cums into his own fist and onto the floor at the very thought.

Sukuna groans as you squeeze around him, another orgasm washing over you in pathetic spurts of wetness from your cunt.

Soft panting fills the air. The two servants by the door rise from their knees to slide the door open and Uraume walks in with three women behind them.

"Fuck," Satoru should scramble to get off his kneeled position but his body is too pumped with pleasure to even process the command. "Oh, don't feel shame, sorcerer," Sukuna muses out.

The King of Curses leans back, settling on his throne with you in his lap and still snuggly inside of your holes. Uraume comes to your back, and two girls tend to Sukuna, gracefully wiping him down while Uraume does the same to you.

The other girl does the same to Satoru and he simply tosses his head back as he falls back onto his calves, groaning at the cool water.

"They've heard everything already. Your sacrifice for your clan. How noble."

A weak giggle comes from the mess of limbs on Sukuna's torso. It's still one of the most heart-fluttering sounds Satoru had ever listened to and he hates how his cheeks reddens once again as you lift your head to smile at him.

"So very noble, Gojo Satoru."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #transmale reader #gay reader #male!reader #jjk x male reader #ryomen sukuna x male reader #gojo satoru x male reader #gojo satoru x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader

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ccuunnttbbooyyss · 1 year ago

Text

The Resort (Part 1)

THIS IS AN URGENT ANNOUNCEMENT TO ALL THOSE IN THE [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] AREAS

Hello,

It has come to our attention that an unfortunate accident at one of our chemical treatment plans has occurred on the [REDACTED]st of [REDACTED] 2023, resulting in the contamination of the water supply in the above mentioned areas for a period of approximately 3 hours and 10 minutes.

A statement has been issued to water providers by The Company��️ and a number of anti-transformative chemicals have been released to counteract the imbalance.

However, the damage has been done and we wish to report on it as such.

As you may know, some of the affected water infiltrated the [REDACTED] Beach Resort where it unwittingly transformed multiple male patrons into what is colloquially referred to as "Cuntboys". IE- Men with a fully functional vagina, uterus, ovaries, etc. Others not as diligently exposed to the chemicals did not experience full "Cuntboy-ification" as it has been deemed.

This transformation is reported to have first occurred with a sudden and dramatic increase in the size of the lower extremities, glutes, lower back muscles and an initial reduction in penis and testicle size.

This reportedly occurred throughout the premises, including the pool's filtration system, the resort's water system (showers, baths, commercial water taps), and available on-tap drinking water.

The following changes consisted of what we are dubbing a "hyper-fertile cycle" where the excess chemical exposure was processed into a mixture of testosterone, dopamine and oxytocin. This resulted in a dramatically increased libido.

Fortunately the spread of the affected was contained within the resort and secondary exposure (either through sexual fluids or otherwise) was rendered ineffectual as the transformative chemicals were able to penetrate the skin barrier in less than 0.2 microseconds). This resulted in numerous impregnations or otherwise sexual encounters in and around the location, of which have been documented.

We encourage all those affected either through direct exposure or through coupling and secondary exposure to report to one of our branches to undergo a full physical exam and analysis.

We also encourage all currently, or presumed to be, pregnant to not terminate the pregnancy as we wish to ascertain valuable research data on the growth of the foetus within this timeframe.

We hope to reveal more information to the public as it becomes known.

Regards,

The Company.

~~~

You smirk as the commercial comes to an end, the broadcaster for the local news station thanking The Company for their transparency regarding the situation and continuing with more news on the recent baby boom caused through the accident.

You couldn't pay attention for long though, not as the hot little cuntboy you picked up from the resort was busy swallowing every inch of your enhanced cock down his throat.

You fisted his hair, shoving him down to push his nose in your pubes, loving how his throat spasmed around your dick and the gurgling sound that came out of his tight throat.

"You hear that baby, they wanna give you a checkup."

A soft whimper comes out as the only response. He looks up at you, tear-filled baby blues staring into yours. He's been working your cock for hours, thoroughly content with kneeling between your spread thighs and swallowing every enhanced load you can give.

"Yeah I know you're pregnant. They just wanna make sure you can give me a while lot more."

A more pleased sound comes out as he resumes his enthusiastic sucking. You're sure that's his fifth load in as many hours.

You sigh as the hot cum shoots up your rock hard dick. You might as well put off that appointment till tomorrow...

Story in collaboration with @maleagetransformation , Part 2 over on his account!

#mpreg #mpreg story #mpreg kink #gay tf #gay mpreg #gay transformation #gay story #collab

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sunlightmurdock · 10 months ago

Text

The Odyssey | 1.5 | Bradley Bradshaw

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Bradley learns that maybe the two of you weren’t on the same page after all.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, nudity, mentions of erections, making out. Semi-oral (f receiving), touching, mentions of sex. Ohhh boy you thought it was all okay. Wc: 5.8k

It didn’t feel like seven days at the Gabris estate. It felt like so much longer. A whole summer, even. The sunny day down at the lake, and then two whole days of rainstorms, and the day that Teodora showed you how to know which apricots are the sweetest to pick, the day that Zoe twisted her ankle on the crumbling back steps. The night by the piano.

This morning.

Luke must know where Bradley is, after he didn’t go to their room last night. Maybe he would think Bradley fell asleep in the study, but he isn’t that stupid.

Of course, Bradley is here with you. He fell asleep here last night, shortly after you had. He’s still asleep now, breathing deeply against the crook of your neck, his thigh slotted between yours and his palm on your stomach.

You haven’t been awake long.

It’s a warm, sunny morning and you can hear Sandro’s wife singing in the kitchen downstairs. Bradley smells like summer. You twist in his arms and turn your face toward his neck, breathing in the citrus and faint sweat and remainders of his cologne.

Bradley wakes to the feeling of your lips soft against his neck, and your fingers stroking at the hair at his nape.

Instantly, he realises that he didn’t make it back to his own bed last night, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. His arms snake around your middle and he squeezes you closer. He’s in your room. Not only that, but he’s in your bed. You’re laying on your side, the textbook half squished under you. The two of you fell asleep studying. He’s still fully clothed, and that’s what matters.

He lifts his arm and squints to check his watch. It’s still early. The two of you slept almost all night. Lowering his wrist, he startles once more to find that your eyes are now open. You blink tiredly at him.

“We fell asleep.” You mumble, barely awake. Your legs stretch out from under you as you push yourself onto your back and inch away from him. You’re close enough that all you can smell is his cologne. Each inhale tempts you towards letting your heavy eyelids just fall shut, letting your cheek rest against the muscle of his shoulder.

“Morning,” You murmur against his neck.

He kisses lazily at your temple. “Good morning, honey.”

Last night, Bradley had touched you again. The two of you had been sitting on your bed, and you were teaching him the Wall Street way of playing poker — as skilfully learned from your time watching your father — and Bradley had, so crudely, wagered your underwear.

They are laying, discarded, on the floor of your room now.

It feels good, pretending that none of this matters. That he is allowed to touch you, and lay with you, and kiss you.

“Did you sleep okay?” One of his palms pressed firmer into the middle of your back, flattening you against his chest as he turns his face toward your neck.

“Like the dead.” You mumble against his warm skin, resting your cheek against his clavicle. He hums amusedly.

For a moment, you let it be quiet. He’s still on the cusp of sleep, barely awake and groggy. Your fingers skim up the swell of his bicep and across the scarred skin on his shoulder, onto the muscled plains of his back.

He hums at the feeling, letting you know that he’s enjoying the soft touch. Maybe you’re enjoying it just as much. His skin there is soft, and always warm. You reach for freckles that you can’t see, guided by the ridges of his shoulder blades.

“I could stay like this forever.” You whisper. He makes a tired sound of agreement as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

Sighing as he pulls his hands from his face, he pulls back and lets himself look at you. Settled down against the pillow, just watching him. Studying him.

Eyes heavy and blinking at him. Lips parted just slightly, like you’ve got something to say. The warmth of your skin. The look in your eye. The fact that he knows your underwear are still on the floor.

Bradley moves before he really weighs up what he’s doing. Eclipsing your jaw with his palm, you hold your breath as he leans in and kisses your top lip.

It’s slow, but the feelings it sends through you aren’t. The soft weight of his chest pressing into yours, just a taste of what the real thing could feel like.

Another slow kiss, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. You comply eagerly, pressing into his touch. His knee slides between yours, finding leverage on the mattress between your thighs.

Your mind skips ahead of you, flooding the darkness behind your eyelids with images of him that night with Natasha. His hands inching along the backs of her bare thighs. The need coursing through them, pressing close to each other with each kiss.

His warmth is inviting, intoxicating. His palm sits heavy on your cheek as you shuffle impossibly closer to him. He welcomes you against him, covering you with a fraction of his weight. Bradley likes strong women. Experienced women.

You rush forwards, chasing his mouth, grabbing at his shoulder, tugging him closer. He follows your lead wordlessly, carding his open palm over your hair, teasing his tongue along your lip.

It occurs to you that this could be the first time that you ever have sex. Everything you’ve been so afraid of. Ashamed of. Enveloped, hidden away by the strong feeling of his hands on your body.

It could happen. All that’s stopping you is his underwear, and the fact that he told you he wouldn’t. But he wants to. He told you he wants to.

A greedy hum passes your lips, caught against his. Your fingers slide from his shoulder into his hair before you can remind yourself that this isn’t right.

At first, Bradley thinks that he’s imagining things. There’s no way. But then, it happens again just as it had the first time. Your hips shift at just the right angle — the third time is just too much for it to be a coincidence, you’re grinding against his thigh.

A low grumble fights its way from his chest and into his throat, his hands sprinting for you like the snap of a rubber band, grabbing you tightly by your hips. It crosses his mind that he’s moving too fast and considers pulling back to check. Before his mind can land on an answer, your hand tousles into his curls and grabs firmly.

Even all of those too-big shirts he wears, nothing could really hide the fact that Bradley just remains to be a big guy. Tall, wide shoulders, long legs and a strong middle. He reminds you of his strength, dragging you against him by your hips. The brown hair that dusts his thigh brushes the inside of your thighs, the apex of your legs.

“How’s that?” Bradley asks as his thumb brushes a strand of hair back off of your temple.

Heat flushes instantly across your face. Bradley sees it in the calculated way that your eyes widen just slightly. The way he feels your fingers flex at the nape of his neck.

“It’s fine.” You bite back. Bradley should have known that even in a time like this, you would still be fighting him for the upper hand. Not tonight, honey. His words cross your mind, this time tinged with the resentment and shame your mind has coated them in.

You’re certain that he hasn’t ever told Natasha no in her entire life.

He trails his tongue along the seam of your lips, slow and soft, then brushes forwards and captures your mouth into a bruising kiss. He barely even pulls back to speak, his lips brushing yours. “Tell me what you want.”

You whimper. His massive hands and their hold on your hips, rocking you against the denim of his jeans. It’s impossible to think straight. “I don’t know.”

“I know what I want.” Bradley tells you, tucking his thumb under your chin and angling your jaw so that he can bite at your throat. The action has you keening against him, eagerly following the direction of his thumb so that his mouth can reach more of your throat.

It’s cruel honestly, everything he’s doing to you. He’s the first man to tell you that he wants you. Not because you’ve been together a while and it’ll happen eventually. Because he thinks you’re sexy. He’s attracted to you. He wants you. And fuck, his voice is so deep. “Tell me what you want.”

“I — Bradley, I don’t —“ You sigh, huffing a deep and frustrated noise as he sucks warmly at your skin. “I want you to touch me… I think.”

“You think?” Bradley’s hand sits against the backside of your thigh, warm, his long fingers splayed out along your skin. His lips barely have to move before he’s sucking at your neck. His warm mouth, languid against your skin. Swiftly, he curls his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips and tugs you against him, working you against his thigh.

The friction ignites something. Something you’ve felt before. The kindling is hot but it’s all white smoke for now. Blinking, you stare up at him with a decision to make. He squeezes your hips.

“I do. I do want you to touch me.”

The expectation is that he’ll pull back and tear your nightdress up out of his way and have his way with you. Bradley nips at your throat compliantly, kissing his way down your jaw and your throat.

He tips you onto your back and follows suit, settling between your thighs. The morning sun covers him in gold, from the flecks in his irises and the strands in his curls to the tanned swell of his shoulders. He mouths at your collarbones, following the sweetheart neckline of your nightie, palming at your thighs.

A moan tangles from your lips as he flattens himself against your body, his bulge between your legs and his hot chest against your skin.

Bradley dips his hand between your bodies and feels you finally. He sighs against your chest, smiling. “Oh, honey.”

Your heartbeat thuds. His fingers graze your swollen clit and you jolt a bit, otherwise stuck to the spot by his weight.

“No wonder you want me right here,” He murmurs, gathering your excitement on the tips of his fingers. “All worked up. Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you.”

You drop your head back onto the pillows, feeling electricity rush through your middle as Bradley circles your clit with a featherlight touch. A whimper slips your mouth despite your best efforts, despite your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“I want to do it.”

And then you have his attention. He looks up at you, his face stark and the smugness that had settled there all gone.

“Yeah?” He swallows, so hard already that he’s aching. Far from in the mind space to really disagree with you. His brows draw together. “It?”

This time yesterday, you probably would have said no. Maybe even last night, you would have.

This morning, it’s a breathless and desperate, “Yes.”

“I don’t —“ Bradley squeezes at your thigh and shakes his head. “Baby, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“It’s just one step further than this,” You tell him, convincing yourself as much as you’re convincing him. “Doesn’t make it any different. It doesn’t change what we’ve already done, right?”

In these past seven days, Malcolm has never felt as far away. After what he did, what he must have done, you’ve never felt as far from him as you do now. He’s probably been looking for a phone number to contact you, and you’re glad that he hasn’t found one.

You don’t want to speak to him. In this moment, all that you want is right in front of you.

“But…” He swallows thickly, trying not to be driven by how badly he wants this. He taps his thumb against your chin. “You’re — You’re sure, this is what you want?”

“Uh-huh.”

He hesitates, planting a hand into the pillow beside your head. His face is knotted up and unsure. A week ago you had been crying in his arms after the biggest betrayal of your life. This can’t be the right thing to do.

He glances down, feeling your fingers brushing along the ridges of his abdomen.

Your lip throbs with the weight of your teeth pressing into it as your fingers dip into the waistband of his white boxer shorts. Bradley’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around his hardened length.

“Please?”

A deep sound passes his lips. How’s a guy supposed to say no to that? He leans in slowly, capturing your lip between his, his tense body melting against yours.

He groans as he pulls away from your mouth and moves downward. Your hand slips from his underwear and finds purchase against his shoulder.

He kisses down your cheek and your jaw, spilling dirty kisses along the naked span of your chest as far as the nightgown will let him as his hands bunch at the bottom hem of it.

Your mouth hangs as he hunches over and pins your thighs back.

Glistening in the warm glow of the room, you writhe and wriggle beneath Bradley as his strong hands pin you down, lazily swirling his tongue along your puffy, swollen clit.

“I said — I want—“ You stumble, your brows knitting together.

“I know what you want,” Bradley interrupts, turning his head and kissing at your thigh, silencing you all together as he looks up at you with those big brown eyes. “There’s no rush. Right?”

You guess not. You don’t have time to guess at much before his broad shoulders force apart your thighs and his hot mouth blanks your mind.

A whine spills from somewhere deeper in your throat, coming right from the pit of your stomach. Bradley’s messy with his work, lapping eagerly between your legs as his middle finger teases at your dripping pussy. He hasn’t ever done it like this.

It’s more desperate now, but like it’s easy for him, like he knows you. His chin drips with your excitement, leaving your thighs sticky and dampened with slick and saliva.

His hand slips between his hips and the mattress, wrapping loosely around his cock over his boxers, grinding his hips into his hand.

And then, three knocks rattle the heavy, old door to your right.

Bradley stops, and sits back on his knees at once. Your face is colorless, eyes wide and round. He runs a hand over his wet mouth, and turns his head towards the sound.

“Fuck.” He exhales, his lips hinting at a smile. As much as he should look just as scared shitless as you do, something in him finds this a little bit funny.

He’s expecting it to be your new best buddies, wanting you to come down to breakfast with them. Already deciding that he can handle hiding behind the door while you get rid of them, Bradley couldn’t be cooler.

Three more knocks rattle the old door on its hinges, and Sandro calls out from the other side. “Bradley?”

Instantly, the smile is wiped from Bradley’s face.

You scramble to cover yourself and close your legs and move, not quite as aware of your surroundings as you could be. As Bradley goes to move at the same time, your knee lifts and catches him squarely in the balls.

Sandro pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he hears a loud, strained grunt come from inside.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I didn’t—“

Bradley lifts his face out of the pillow and swallows as he adjusts himself, exhaling heavily. “It’s fine. Fuck— what the hell is the matter with him?”

Matter with him in the sense that he is impolite enough to know exactly where Bradley is, and what that must mean, and to be knocking on the door anyway.

You watch as Bradley stumbles to his feet, clearly wounded, still clutching at his manhood as he picks up his jeans.

“You can’t — you’re going to answer the door?” You panic.

“What else do you want me to do? Hide?” He huffs, struggling to pull his jeans up his legs and button them.

“You could go out the window.”

He shoots you a look, entirely unimpressed. You open your mouth to protest, left with no time to do anything but squeak softly in defeat as he pulls open the door an inch, blocking it with his body.

“What?”

Sandro presses his lips together. He looks Bradley up and down. Disheveled, his curls a mess and still naked from the navel upward.

“There’s someone on the phone for you.” Sandro explains quietly. Bradley’s brows knit together as he starts to wonder who could possibly be trying to reach him this early in the morning. “Her father. I believe.”

A quiet gasp comes from behind the door. Bradley closes it a little more, slotting himself into the gap.

“Cool. I’ll be right there.”

“Sure. He sounds upset.” Sandro lifts his palms and shrugs as he takes a step back from the door, his mouth twitching. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Ha. Ha.” Bradley answers, unimpressed.

He swings the door shut, and flattens himself back against the wood as he pinches at the bridge of his nose. You remain in the middle of the bed, your knees tucked up to your chest, your hand covering your mouth.

“Fuck me.” Bradley sighs, leaning his head back against the door. He stretches his hand into the pocket of his jeans and plucks his cigarettes from the pocket, shaking his head. “Does he have a monitor on you that I don’t know about?”

He almost makes you smile, but you’re wincing as you slip out of bed and stand up.

“Let me speak with him,” You offer, walking nervously toward him. “He’s just going to be rude if he’s asking for you. I’ll handle it.”

“And miss out on telling him what an incredible morning we had?” Bradley jokes, unlit cigarette wobbling between his lips as he steps around you and reaches for his shirt. You stumble mid-step, practically pouncing on him as you grab at his arm.

“No! You can’t tell him anything.” You plead.

Bradley turns and looks at you over his shoulder, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“Believe it or not, honey — I’m not itching to have that talk with your dad. I was kidding.” He scoffs, pulling his t-shirt over his head and running his fingers messily through his hair. “You should pack your stuff. I’ll… see you later.”

“Wait!” You frown at him. “But we were…”

Bradley seems to remember his moment of insanity then — of how close he was to actually doing it just a moment ago, and blinks at you. He plucks the cigarette from his lips and leans forward to leave a passive kiss to your temple.

“Another time,” He sets it between his lips again and digs his left hand into his pocket for a lighter. “Gotta go.”

Another time. Gotta go. The door swings shut behind him and the smell of burning tobacco fills your nose as he light’s the cigarette out in the hallway. You hate that smell. You hate how casually he just moved on from that. And oh, you could kill Alessandro.

“Hello?” Bradley pins the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he pulls the ashtray from the window ledge and flicks the tip of his cigarette toward it.

“That’s how you answer the phone? — You don’t introduce yourself, or ask who you’re speaking with? Mumbling over there—“

Bradley perches against the window and sets his cigarette back between his lips. “I know who I’m speaking with. Sir. How can I help you?”

“I want to know what kind of operation you’re running over there. There’s no contact number for this place anywhere on the itinerary, and then when I do finally track down a number, I spend two days calling and get nothing but a dead line!”

“We had some bad weather, unfortunately it knocked out the power. Just got it back on last night, actually.” Bradley explains calmly.

“And you think that’s acceptable? — What if it was an emergency?”

“Was it?” Bradley prompts. Maybe he has a little bit of an attitude, but he doesn’t like the way your father talks to people.

“You think you’re funny, son?”

No, generally Bradley doesn’t think that he’s too funny. He’s a lot of things, and he’s got a good sense of humour but he’s not funny like Robin Williams or Chevy Chase. But, Bradley’s got a special knack for always being able to get the last word.

“I think the house is five hundred years old and has some pretty questionable wiring. Was there something you needed me for?”

“You know that I can have you fired?”

Bradley leans his head back and thunks it against the window frame. He can’t blame you for the attitude you catch when this is the guy you learned it from.

“In the interest of preserving my good friend’s phone bill, I’m just trying to be… concise, here.” Bradley answers, flicking more ash into the tray. If this phone call keeps going the way that it is, Bradley figures he’ll be chain smoking through until the afternoon.

“My son-in-law has been trying to get through to my daughter. He’s… worried about her. Has she said anything to you?”

Said something pretty interesting to me earlier, Bradley thinks. Right around the time she stuck her hand in my shorts.

“No, sir. Maybe her friends, but not me,” Bradley gives the answer you would want him to give. “We’re headed to Siena this afternoon and the city’s a lot more reliable for communication and stuff. I can have her call you once we’re there?”

“No. Don’t tell her that I called.” Your father decides. Bradley doesn’t mention that you already know, because he was in your room when he was informed. “What’s the number for this place?”

“I don’t have it on me. I can take down your number and I’ll call you from the hotel when we get there.”

“Not very organised for a college professor, are you, champ?”

Bradley wets his lips with his tongue and presses them together. He spends as little time on the phone as he possibly can, resenting your father’s every word. He likes the thought of Malcolm sitting at home and tearing his hair out, worrying.

He likes the thought of that little dirtbag being kept awake at night, terrified that you know what he did and that you’ll leave him. It’s what he deserves.

Bradley likes that you fell asleep in his arms last night, peacefully, and that you woke up this morning and found yourself comfortable enough to ask for what you had. Your fiancé probably didn’t cross your mind.

He goes for his morning run a little later than normal, after his phone call, and thinks about what you had said.

He shouldn’t have agreed to it as quickly as he had, maybe. It should have required more thought, and discussion — better place or time, perhaps.

He had been so adamantly against it, but this is starting to feel different. It’s more than a few kisses here and there. It’s Bradley enjoying feeling your weight in his arms when he sleeps, and looking forward to your smile when he wakes up.

It’s better, with him. Your first time would be better with him — and he doesn’t even mean that in an overconfident way. He just knows that he and Malcolm are far from the same, and that Malcolm could never treat you the way that Bradley does so naturally.

Bradley decides that he won’t initiate anything other than a discussion on the topic of sex. As much as he does want it, he could go for months without it. And this has to be your call. But, he doesn’t want to know what sparked the idea into your head this morning.

If you ask him again, he already knows that he would do it.

By the time he has finished with your father and with his run, it’s almost time to go. The group of eight of you are spread around the mini-can, bags loaded and waiting for Bradley while Pasquale sits in the front. It’s a really short drive today. Just over an hour to the other side of the city.

“Did anyone else get their assignments back late all the time?” Abigail muses as she lays across the three backseats of the van. You’re sitting a row in front of her, fiddling with your Walkman.

“Even when I was TA’ing, and I’d get my grading in on time, Bradley still gave everyone their results back like a week later.” Robin agrees.

“Yeah, ‘cause he was too busy slipping it to Miss Penny all year.” Luke scoffs without looking up from his chapter on bathhouses, his arms stretched around Robin’s middle as she sits on his lap.

Instinct almost has you whipping around to look at him. Common sense has you gripped to the spot, staring at the little plastic contraption . You blink furiously at the cassette tape in front of you.

Miss Penny. Who the hell is Miss Penny? Granted, you hadn’t spent too much time wandering the humanities building, but you’re affronted to not be able to picture this mystery woman nonetheless.

“No— Miss Penny? No. Please, like Bradley would ever tell you who he’s screwing.” August — Gus —, the only other guy in your little group of eight, scoffs towards Luke. He’s standing outside of the van, leaning up against the doorframe.

“And if he was making it with anyone, it was for sure Doctor Hayes. Have you seen the two of them talking? — Man, even I felt the tension.” Zoe decides.

Screwing. Slipping it to. Making it.

And now the introduction of Doctor Hayes.

At least this woman you have heard of; she’s an anthropology professor, and she certainly wasn’t making it with Bradley — she’s happily involved with a woman.

It was a big point of conversation in your household. The news came to light just before your father was going to make a donation, she visited him personally to ensure that her romantic indiscretions wouldn’t affect his generosity.

If Bradley wasn’t screwing Doctor Hayes, then he probably wasn’t—

“You’re right, they were probably just friends,” Luke shrugs, again without looking up from the book. It should soothe you, but it doesn’t. It’s an arrogant thing, the way he knows everyone’s waiting on his every word, so he doesn’t have to lift his gaze to engage. “Doesn’t change the fact I saw them going at it in his office.”

When you look up you’re startled by Robin already looking at you, like she just stole the crayon you’ve been waiting for and she’s waiting for your tantrum to begin.

You glance across at Luke instead, who is still staring smugly at his chapter.

They already think that Bradley is screwing you, maybe they’re making it up to get a reaction.

You muster the calmest look that you can, and flip back a page in your notes, pretending that you’re reviewing the material.

You haven’t ever been to Bradley’s office. There’s a vague understanding of approximately where it is that comes with having spent four years wandering those halls, but in a pinch you would be guessing at exactly where.

You don’t know what his desk looks like, or if he’s got one of those frosted glass window panes in the door, or maybe it’s just a heavy wood door without a window.

Some of the old rooms still have those. They’re heavy and creaky and your daddy’s donations are eradicating them one by one.

Those big, heavy, creaky doors would do wonders for someone in need of privacy. As your eyes fall shut to blink, you’re met with a split-second snapshot of Luke nudging it open.

After hours, after a day of tough lessons. Bradley all stressed with that red flush across his chest that he gets when stuff is really starting to get to him. Miss Penny, in her mysterious shroud of fog… perched against his desk— or worse— bent over it.

You swallow.

“No you did not.” Abigail declares with a wrinkled face, not believing the dirty little story for a moment.

You would like to not believe it either.

“Uh-huh. It was when I was TA’ing, I came by to drop off some papers. She was sat on his desk with her back to the door and he was just—“

“Gross, I don’t want to hear about Bradley getting his rocks off with the librarian.” Zoe complains.

The librarian. Miss Penny is the fucking librarian. She has permed hair and cat-eye glasses, a skirt shorter than faculty standard allows too. She made you pay eight dollars in late fees one time. She’s like a decade older than Bradley, maybe fifteen years.

Your nose wrinkles as you turn your head to peer in the direction of the kitchen. Why her? Why—

“Alright, everybody ready to go?” Bradley has said his long goodbyes to the Gabris family, always wishing he got longer with them, even if Sandro did cockblock him this morning.

He climbs into the passenger seat as an awkward silence fills the van. Everyone takes their seats and stares ahead at him. He turns his head to peer back over his shoulder, frowning in confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing, man,” Luke answers coolly as Robin slides into the seat next to him. “You’re paranoid.”

Another time. Gotta go. You bet he was that casual with Miss Penny, too. With however many other women he might have been with. You set your headphones over your ears and turn toward the window.

It’s ridiculous, maybe, to be jealous of women that knew Bradley far before you could ever stand to be in the same room as him. But this isn’t jealousy, per se. It’s something else. You don’t doubt that Miss Penny didn’t mean much to him, you just… were hoping that you meant more, maybe.

The drive is short, and you’re piling into another old, crumbling hotel on the outskirts of Siena as the sun is just starting to set. You follow the crowd into the lobby and Bradley starts his normal routine of collecting the keys.

At first, you’re chatting with Zoe, and nothing feels different. Then, you catch something in your peripheral. Glancing down, your eyes widen and your train of thought ventures away.

“My ring.” You realise, setting your suitcase down on the faded carpet of the lobby. Bradley turns around, and finds you staring at your bare hand.

“I don’t have my ring.” You haven’t worn that thing since the first day you got there. Bradley has noticed every single day that you haven’t had it.

“What?” Pasquale frowns, looking between you and your hand.

“My engagement ring!” You snap at him. Everyone, at once, stops to look. Bradley stares at you. “I don’t— I must have left it! We have to go back.”

“Jesus Christ.” Luke scoffs, rolling his eyes as he drops down onto the couch. He figures he could be here a while, while you’re descending into hysterics.

After speaking to your father, Bradley figured he knows why you’re so upset. If you come home without that thing, he would give you the worst lecture known to man, or worse than that, even.

“I’ll call Sandro, and see—“ He takes two steps towards you, his face soft.

“No, I need to get it back. Now. We have to go back.”

“Mr. Bradshaw has a meeting here tomorrow, very early.” Pasquale chips in from beside you.

“I don’t care! I can’t believe I left it— Malcolm’s going to kill me if I tell him I don’t have it. What am I supposed to tell him? — That I took it off?”

You’re not thinking about your father, or getting into trouble with him. Bradley stops moving. You’re thinking about your fiancé.

Bradley has been comforting you, and singing to you, and kissing you for a week straight — not once thinking that you might one day want to wear that ring again.

This morning, he had been fooling himself on his run, thinking that this was anything more than fooling around. That he meant anything to you at all. That you understood him.

He stares at you, finding none of those feelings he had thought you felt this morning. Or last night, or this whole past week.

Nothing but blind panic, because you weren’t smart enough to double check you had everything.

“Didn’t you?” Robin asks.

“Just for a second! I— I — didn’t mean to.” You struggle, eyes wide and fleeting between Bradley and Pasquale.

That’s not true. You took it off because he hurt you. You haven’t worn it in seven days. You didn’t even think about it this morning when you had packed your things, or before that when Bradley had been in your bed.

You’re growing agitated, and so is Bradley. A muscle in his jaw ticks. You meant to take off that ring, and maybe you can’t admit to yourself that you meant to leave it behind.

“Maybe they could mail it—“ Pasquale tries.

“Do you seriously expect me to go home without it?” You’re looking at Bradley still, like this is his fault somehow. Like he’s the one who took it off of your finger. Your expression turns cold. “That ring is worth more than you make in a year!”

Bradley’s expression flattens. No hurt, no anger. Just pure detachment. He holds his hand out towards Pasquale.

“Give me the keys.”

“But, Bradley, you have—“

“Give me the fucking keys,” Bradley snaps. Zoe flinches at your side, and you feel her looking at you. Pasquale awkwardly drops the keys into Bradley’s open palm. “I’m going to get the ring, if it’ll shut her up.”

Your mouth closes, lips pressing firmly together.

“I’ll—“

“You stay right there.” Bradley bites. He can’t think of anything worse than being stuck in a van with you for the next two and a half hours. Without looking, he squeezes the keys into his palm and heads for the door.

With him gone, you’re the only thing for them all to look at.

None of them knew exactly what was going on between you and Bradley this whole time, but they’re all certain of the same thing now: whatever it was, they all just witnessed the end of it.

tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame @mshistorylover

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw au #professor bradley x honey #professor bradley

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egrets-not-regrets · 2 months ago

Text

Paperweight

Inspired by a discord conversation about businessman Guilliman being mean and stepping on his little secretary who is picking up papers on the ground.

Author’s Note: TW: Dubcon, humiliation, power imbalance, slight smut. Modern AU CEO Roboute Guilliman. Honestly this could apply to a few other primarchs.

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog , @bispecsual , @c-u-c-koo-4-40k , @ms--lobotomy , @whorety-k

@gra93fruit-blog , @i-am-a-dragon34 , @felinisnoctis, @thevoidscreams, @yurihasurunbara

“I’m sorry, Mr. Guilliman, sir.” You whimpered looking at his icy blue eyes, licking your dry lips nervously. Then looked down at the scatter of paper and folders on the ground.

The imposing businessman tsk-ed with annoyance, “You clumsy slut. Go fetch.” his deep commanding voice ordered. You blushed, embarrassed, being humiliated like this was not part of your job description, but this was not the first time he did this. Besides, who would believe you should you complain? Which other job would pay this much for the work you do? You just graduated and still have to pay back your student loans. You suppose you should count your lucky stars that the ceo of McCragge Financial Co. did not decide to humiliate you in public instead.

“Yes, Mr…” his brow rose. You paused, then correcting yourself, “Yes, sir…” you whispered. Tugging down the hem of your short skirt (too short) uneasily as you bent down in front of him to gather the fallen documents.

You shuddered feeling heat rushing down your chest. You could feel Mr. Guilliman’s eyes on you, roving over every inch of your figure, finally settling on the curves of your as confined in the tight little skirt you wore. It wasn’t your choice of clothes, but it was one of the many outfits that Mr. Guilliman bought, and insisted that you wear to work. “Work uniform” he said, “You need to look professional and neat.”

A sudden boot to your ass knocked you out of your thoughts and down onto your hands and knees. Trembling, you looked up at him, your glasses askew.

The cloth of his dress shirt stretched tightly across his muscled chest as he let out an impatient growl. You couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine, “Hurry up. What did I hire you for? To be a glorified paperweight?”

Rubbing your thighs together unconsciously, you replied meekly, “No, sir. Sorry, sir.” Your gaze dropped back to the floor, face flushed, doing your best to gather the paper on the ground. Your short skirt slowly rode up your ass as you crawled around to gather the documents. It was impossible to ignore the heat welling between your legs as Guilliman’s leer intensified.

You were about to get up once you organized the papers again when you felt the heavy pressure of the ceo’s foot on hands pinning you to the floor. You winced, “Mr. Guilliman?”

You whined feeling the pressure of his leather shoe creak against your hands. Afraid of having your hands broken, you quickly addressed him properly, “Sir?”

You sighed in relief as Guilliman moved his foot to your lower back, keeping you down on your hands and knees.

“Stay down.” he ordered. You obediently did as he asked.

He hummed thoughtfully as his foot teased your skirt up, exposing your silk-covered cunt. You had worn that pair of blue silk panties wanting to feel a little fancy. You whimpered, feeling the leather tip of his shoe teasingly rubbing up and down your slit, despairing when you feel your arousal spreading between your inner thighs. The silk panties couldn’t hide that now. You trembled and stuttered, “S… S… Sir…?”

Guilliman chuckled, pressing the tip of his foot harder, seeing the darkening damp patch on the blue silk “Maybe I should add ‘glorified paperweight’ to your resume. Seems like you like it enough.”

#warhammer 40k #roboute guilliman #roboute guilliman x reader #primarch x reader #tw smut #tw dubcon #tw power imbalance #tw humiliation #modern au

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vulpisnocturna · 1 year ago

Note

Could you please do number 11 or 21 for Kakashi PLEASEEE THAT WOULD BE AMAZING 😭🙏🙏

Of course!

Link to NSFW prompt list

11) Someone/(Character) spilled some aphrodisiac into reader's drink. It's up to Character to deal with horny reader now.

NSFW - MDNI

Warning: dubcon (aphrodisiac high reader), fingering, overstimulation, squirting, vaginal sex, creampie, Kakashi puts his shinobi stamina to good use, praise kink, degradation kink, power imbalance (Kakashi is y/n's captain)

As your captain during the mission, Kakashi was the one who had insisted you camp for the night. It was already dark and after having travelled for more than seven hours, your muscles were sore and burning from exertion. You stopped in a small village and had supper at a tavern frequented by a myriad of people you would not have liked to meet ever again. Some of them looked as though they were involved in the black market, and though you had kept an eye on your surroundings, none of them resembled the targets of your mission, a group of mercenaries who sold shinobi to people such as Orochimaru so that he would have a constant flow of live subjects for his experiments.

You were staying at an inn on the other side of the village from the tavern you'd had dinner at, and the middle-aged man who ran the inn had told you he only had one room available. Kakashi had said he would sleep on the floor with his sleeping bag, and you had agreed, though you had to admit that the idea of sleeping with your silver-haired captain had been very tempting. You would have never admitted to it, but you had a crush on your captain. He was three years older than you, and you had been assigned to half a dozen missions with him, and since the very first one, you'd been unable to get him out of your mind. You settled on the bed, your muscles aching, your stomach in a knot. You felt quite dizzy after what you'd eaten, and you hoped you didn't have food poisoning. You would arrive at the location of the mercenary hideout the next day, and you could not risk jeopardising the mission because you were ill. And yet, as you looked at Kakashi, who was checking the room and looking out of the drawn curtains to see that no one had followed you and you were safe, you felt oddly warm. You pressed your thighs together, breathing a little raggedly, your eyes scrunched up as you suppressed a groan. What was happening? It did not feel like food poisoning. It felt like hot shivers running down your spine, warmth between your legs, and an unbearable tightness in your lower stomach. Had you been poisoned? Through your dizziness, you noticed that Kakashi seemed completely normal.

He turned to look at you, but you couldn't see him clearly through your blurry vision and the tears that had pooled in your eyes. It hurt. Every second that passed, it hurt more and more. It hurt everywhere, but the ache between your legs was the strongest. You realised with a grimace that your panties were soaked through, clinging to your skin. Was it... aphrodisiac? You couldn't think. As Kakashi bent over the bed and peered at you with his uncovered eye, you felt the need to press your thighs together again, and a breathy moan escaped you.

'Where does it hurt?' he asked, his voice muffled as your ears started ringing and you tried to keep your hand from slipping under your pants. You needed to relieve the pressure so badly. Even with your ninja training, you could hardly keep from convulsing on the sheets.

Kakashi swallowed, looking at you as you started to thrash on the bed, your hair clinging to the sides of your face as you started moaning, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your back arched.

'Captain-' you breathed, and Kakashi hated the way his cock stirred in his trousers at the sound of your voice, at the needy whine you let out.

He bent over near your face, his nose catching a whiff of your breath: it was cloyingly sweet, heady. Even though he hadn't eaten nor drank any of whatever you had had, his head spun for a second, and his cock stiffened in his trousers.

Aphrodisiac. He could fucking smell your arousal, and it was going to his head. The way your body arched and your thighs rubbed against each other in a desperate attempt to relieve yourself of what he could only imagine was an unbearable torture made him shamefully hard. He did not want to force himself on you. But he did not have any kind of antidote or solution that wasn't physical.

'It hurts- Captain, I need you' you keened, tears spilling from your eyes as you reached a hand between your legs. Kakashi averted his eyes.

'You have been poisoned. It likely happened at the tavern, and perhaps our targets are guilty of it. I will wait outside if you have to... resolve this situation' he swallowed heavily again as he heard you moan and caught a glimpse of your fingers moving and your hips desperately rutting against your hand.

'No- it's not working- need you... please. Please' you begged, sobbing and shaking. Kakashi hated seeing you like this. he had wanted you for a while now, but not like this. Of course not like this.

'You're not in the right mindset-' he started, but crumbled when your hand reached to his crotch, palming him, giving him friction.

'I can't- it hurts too much. I want it- want it so badly. Please help me, Captain' you moaned, and Kakashi couldn't take it anymore.

'Alright. Alright' he murmured, taking off his jounin vest and making quick work of your shirt and trousers. He pried your hand away from between your legs, looking at you briefly before he took off his undershirt, his mask and his headband, too.

You looked at him, moaning loudly when he started to kiss your throat, licking and nipping at it as his hands massaged your breasts, rolled your nipples between his fingers and pinched them. You were so loud as you rutted against him. Kakashi knew you would cum straightaway if he were to touch you where you needed it most. And you did. Just as his fingers started circling your clit, you let out a loud whine, your nails raking his back as you came with a breathy moan. You calmed down a little after your aftershocks quelled down, but you kept rutting against his hand and moaning sinfully as his fingers dipped inside you. You clamped around them, a whorish whine leaving your lips as he curled his fingers.

'That's it- good girl, relax, just let me handle it' he said, flicking your nipple with his tongue, sucking it in his mouth. Despite how much he hated the fact that you had been poisoned, he couldn't help but be harder than he'd ever been in his life. You were so fucking tight and wet, so hot as you clung to him and cried and sobbed as he fucked you with his fingers, giving you just what you needed until you came again with a loud keen.

'Captain... so good- want you inside me' you moaned, and Kakashi sped up his ministrations, grazing your nipple with his teeth, straying away from the temptation to kiss your mouth because he was not sure if he would get poisoned too. And because he wanted to keep it for when you were in your right mind.

'Shh. Just another one, pretty girl. I know you can do it for me' he murmured, rubbing his palm against your clit as he added a third finger, pumping them inside you until you started moaning loudly and pulling at his hair, your legs tensing up and trembling, your cunt spasming around his fingers and your hips twitching as clear liquid gushed around his hand. Kakashi groaned against the soft, smooth skin of your chest, impossibly aroused to know he'd made you squirt.

You panted, your eyes scrunched up, your hips tiredly rolling against him. Kakashi removed his hand, surprised when you seemed to regain energy straight away and pulled at his trousers, which he took off along with his boxers, letting out a soft groan as you pushed him on his back and straddled him, grinding against him. His hands settled on your hips, palmed your ass and smacked it, wondering if you would find more satisfaction in a rougher kind of sex. And oh you did. You moaned, lifting your hips and feverishly guiding his cock into that tight, wet heaven that enveloped him and made him moan breathily.

'Captain- talk to me... need you to call me names- need you to be rough' you moaned in his ear. Kakashi's mouth opened in a soft sigh, his eyebrows furrowing in pleasure, his sharingan recording every single twitch and every inch of your gorgeous body.

'Are you sure? I wouldn't want to hurt you. Perhaps not the right time to-' he was interrupted as you sucked on his throat, which led him to smack your ass again and crumble under your eager antics.

'Fuck- you're so fucking wet for me. You like acting like a desperate slut? Begging to be fucked. Have you no shame?' he groaned, watching as you moaned filthily, bouncing up and down on his cock, your tits swaying in front of his face. He latched his mouth on one of your stiff nipples, revelling in the loud moans you let out.

'Wanted you so bad- need you to fuck me hard, Captain' you whined, and he groaned, forcing you to go at his own pace by gripping your hips and bouncing you on his cock.

Kakashi knew you had no fault for behaving like this, and you might have acted that way with anyone who happened to be in your proximity, but he wanted it to be just for him so so badly. Wanted you to tell him he was the only one, wanted you to give yourself to him fully.

'Were you going to act like a little slut with other men? Were you going to beg them to touch you too?' he grunted, looking at your face as it contorted in pleasure, as tears streamed down your face.

'No- want to be your slut. Want you all the time- so good' you keened, bracing yourself with your hands on his thighs, giving him a gorgeous view of your whole body.

'Good girl. Cum again for me, since you need it so fucking badly' he groaned, pressing against your g-spot, his hips snapping into yours as he continued to roughly manhandle you on his cock. Ever so compliant, your cunt clamped around him, making his hips stutter as he came along with you.

You slumped on top of him, moaning and panting, and Kakashi rubbed your back, stroking your hair, holding you as you regained your breathing.

But as it turned out, the aphrodisiac must have been incredibly strong, because it hadn't even been two minutes before you started to grind against him again, and Kakashi started to get harder with your motions and the sweet little whimpers that came out of you.

He pulled you off of him and on your back, hooking his elbows under your knees and spreading your legs as he pushed his cock back into you, almost surprised at the speed at which he'd gotten hard again.

And he knew it might not even be the last time. He was in for a long night, and so were you.

#naruto #kakashi smut #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi hatake smut #kakashi imagines #naruto smut

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marthawrites · 1 year ago

Text

The Night's Conquest

Daemon Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 2.1k+

About: It's Daemon's last night in King's Landing and he seeks one final comfort at the Blue Pearl.

Includes: Smut featuring themes of power imbalance (reader is a whore), roughness, minor slapping, blowjob, degrading language, makeshift bondage, and unprotected vaginal sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! Story takes place after the confrontation scene between Viserys and Daemon in episode 1. Story is based on THIS request and HERE is the prompt list used. If the anon who requested this fic is here, I apologize for making you wait so long! I hope this story makes up for it! Reader is nondescript. As always, please enjoy!

The Street of Silk was no stranger to Daemon Targaryen’s presence. Despite the night’s late hour revelries persisted inside buildings donned with red curtains. The Blue Pearl, one of his favorite brothels among the district, welcomed him warmly as ever.

No one could deny a dragon prince.

The Rogue Prince.

“Back again so soon?” The Madame asked with an amused arch of brow, blatantly raking her kohl-lined eyes along his black and red clad form. “Did your lickspittles get all the fun earlier?”

He was here earlier, it’s true, and they did get most of the fun. He had his own reason to celebrate. To mourn. To grace his men of the City Watch with indulgences.

“You are to return to Runestone with your lady wife at once. And you are to do so at once without quarrel. By order of your King.” Viserys’ words echoed in Daemon’s head, rage simmering to a boiling point again and again on his ride from the Red Keep to where he stood now.

“Where is she?” Daemon asked sharply, scattered candle and torch light making his violet eyes blaze.

She knew who he was talking about, of course. You. His favorite whore since first meeting beneath this very same roof. He had little interest in other women aside from his other favorite, Mysaria. Sometimes, when desire burned his belly like the mightiest of forges, he’d have both of you at the same time. Once, when you were already entertaining another man, he had all three of you. Hot-headed and equally hot-blooded, Daemon reveled in pleasure of all sorts. His charm and looks made the salacity all the more thrilling.

“Here, my dragon prince,” you said as you appeared from behind a silken wall. The outer showy layer, a fine decorative myrish lace, whispered between your fingertips as you moved into view. Your dual layered gown was of fine craft thanks to Daemon and his lustful appetites. The polished silver of your belt shone as you strode to him. You looked up at him demurely, already sensing his ire.

The prince produced payment from one of his pockets before guiding you along at his pace. No other interaction was needed between him and your Madame. Only you. “I’m going to absolutely wreck you,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. He meant it; a deep, ancient part of your brain knew it.

Gooseflesh prickled where his warm breath washed along your neck. Heat radiated out from him and you wanted nothing more than to feel his fire against your naked skin. He pushed you into your private room. Just as the door clicked shut you turned on your toes to face him, breast to breast, peering up at him with adoring eyes; darkened eyes. “I can take more than you can think,” you said, voice playful despite the heaviness of your tone. Your hands splayed over his wide chest. He was all warm and solid, even when you pressed lower along his abdomen. His muscles were warmed by a layer of fat that had your core clenching each time you saw him bare; and even now with him fully clothed. You loved his warrior’s body.

Daemon, usually one to entertain the art of teasing, wasn’t in the mood tonight. “On your knees, girl. I will have your mouth first and none of your honeyed words,” he said fiercely, squeezing your face so he had your full attention. “If you can moan ‘my King’ or ‘Your Grace’ from around my cock, that is all I will hear. Do you understand?”

The intensity of his regard frightened you. His grip was hard, and it squished your cheeks in a humiliating manner. Yet, you couldn’t stop the rush of heat that burned from the tips of ears, to your cunt, and everywhere between. You nodded; it was all you could do.

“That’s what I thought,” he all but spat as he gave your cheek a praising slap. His free hand was already unbuckling and undoing the front of his pants. Spreading his feet a bit further apart, he rooted into the ground as he pushed you down. “Knees.”

Partially dazed, you did as you were told. You helped open his pants and helped push them down, too. With his cock free you saw it was only half hard, but it did little to hinder your gnawing desire. You stroked down his muscled thighs, then up, and again, and delighted in the rasp of his hair beneath your smooth palms. On one upward press, your hands snaked behind him and squeezed his muscled backside. That's when you took him into your mouth. Looking up at him, you basked in the way his lids fluttered closed. A satisfied sigh exhaled from his chest when you swallowed more of his length and it spurred you on like nothing else could.

Daemon Targaryen, the Lord of Fea Bottom, groaning at the warmth and sensation of your mouth. He could have any whore he wanted – and probably any person he wanted – but he chose you. Your cunt ached with pride.

Both of the prince’s hands slid through your hair completely uncaring of its neat style. Rough fingers slid against your delicate scalp and those same fingers squeezed at the roots. His hips rocked into you as he pulled your head deeper against his pelvis. Back, and forth, up, and down, he fucked your mouth for his own pleasure. His breath grew ragged. Heavier.

Saliva built in your mouth and saliva dribbled from your mouth. You tried to keep looking up at Daemon all the while, but he appeared too lost in his own head to pay attention. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes as his pace increased. He pushed and pulled, harder and harder, guiding your slobbery mouth all along each rigid inch of his aching cock. The space between your thighs clenched with need. Arousal slicked your thighs. You desperately wanted to touch yourself but knew he wouldn’t approve. He began to throb inside the wrap of your mouth and you braced yourself for the shoot of his spend down your throat. He stopped just before, however, finally looking at you with savage eyes. With darkened features he edged himself to let you catch your heaving breath. “Don’t stop,” you said up to him. “Harder,” you breathed. “Make it hurt, my King.”

“What a fucking greedy little slut,” he crooned, giving you no chance to take your words back before his hand knotted in your hair once again. “Cum hungry whore. Will you cry before I fill your belly with seed?” He asked with a tilt of his head, pushing your face harshly into his groin so your throat constricted around the entirety of his cock; gagging.

You were helpless to him. You looked up at him with tear streaked cheeks and the dragon in his blood roared. His pace became brutal, then; wild, even. You were naught but a plaything for him, an eager, needy little thing for his pleasure. It didn’t take much longer for his head to tip back and his hold to still so your hot, gagging, tight throat squeezed around him. A long series of groans rumbled from his chest as he unloaded directly down your wanton mouth. You barely had the chance to taste him before he was pulling you onto your wobbly legs.

Daemon visited the brothel in an array of moods, yet this was mayhaps the most aggressive you'd seen him. You hadn't a clue as to why. You weren't sure if you should ask, or if you even wanted to know why. Politicking of royals was something you couldn’t truly imagine.

Steering you towards the bed, he began to tug your dress off your shoulders. Even though he just spent himself you could already feel him swelling back to life behind you. Whatever happened before he came to you affected him deeply. “I am yours to use, my prince. How can I help you relax?” You asked as he pushed you onto the mattress.

“The only thing I need is your pretty, filthy, whore mouth screaming as I fuck you,” he answered sharply.

Anticipation and excitement filled your belly. “You spoil me, my prince,” you said, smiling wide, as you looked at him with yearning. Your thighs spilled open when you said, “I am more than ready, my King. Can you see how wet you’ve made me?”

The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he climbed atop it with you. He grinned. It reached his eyes in a way that sent his pupils dancing. You wondered if he smiled like this on the battlefield with blood splattering his face. You could see it in your mind’s eye; your cunny throbbed untouched. He wrapped a big hand around your throat as he lined up with your desperate entrance.

“W-wait!” You breathed. “Tie me up and fuck me hard. Please, my prince. Let the binds and my body sate your anger. Render me as helpless as you wish to see those who speak against you." Were you proposing something greater than you could handle? Perhaps. Daemon had never been cruel to you, however, and you had faith he'd pull back if you were pushed too far.

A laugh followed his smile, and following that came the sound of tearing cloth. Your pretty silken gown wasn’t a match for Daemon. “You can buy another,” he said down to you as he ripped off a second strip. The first he used around your ankles. He kissed the inside of each before tying them together with the makeshift bind. The second he used around your wrists. He offered those the same treatment. “If you wish to only be a hole then so be it,” he said lowly, a near growl, as he held your bound ankles in his hands, sinking his cock into the depths of your body in a single powerful thrust.

The prince’s weight pushed against your ass when he sheathed fully into you. You desperately wanted to scratch his back. Squeeze his shoulders. Biceps. Drag your fingernails down the front of his chest. Anything. But, bound as your wrists were, you were denied the pleasure. Instead you arched beneath him, gasping a choked moan while he speared into you. Your body, soaked and ready, yielded with some restraint; the Rogue Prince sizeable in girth and length.

He pulled back only to slam forward again. Soon your arousal slicked his groin, his stones, and wet slaps of skin on skin accented the vulgarity of his night’s conquest.

You would happily be his conquest at any hour of the sun or moon.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asked, voice strained from the effort of rutting into you.

“Yes!” You squealed. “More, please, my prince!”

He squeezed the backside of your knees for support as he leaned and bent your body in half. Your knees were as close to your shoulders as they could be, thighs squished against your breasts. He dragged his cock out only to fuck it back into you. Over and over. Your sounds of pleasure and cries of his name were music to his ears. His ego. Seeing you so helpless and submissive beneath him, hearing you so eagerly accept him, licked flames all along his spine. He wouldn’t last much longer.

“R-i-ght there, my King!” You stammered. He pounded right there with enough force to have your eyes rolling closed. The fullness of your legs tightened before trembling. All the tension in your belly snapped. Climax washed over you in a blinding wave of bliss. The walls of your cunt convulsed around him wildly and Daemon didn’t stand a chance against that. His peak followed. Instead of unloading against the deepest part of your body, however, he pulled out just in time to splatter his seed along your belly and tits. He groaned as his cock twitched on its own, its final drop of spend landing on your pubic bone. You both smiled at each other breathlessly.

The prince rolled onto his back to catch his breath and allowed you to do the same. After a few moments of satisfied laughter and contented silence, he began to unbind your ankles and wrists. “I leave for Dragonstone in the morning,” he said as he carefully wiped his mess from you. “I’m unsure if or when I’ll be back. You’ll stay here and be a good little girl for me, won’t you? Alert me of anything you hear?”

Despite your satiated desires, you were saddened by the news. “Of course, my prince. Will you stay a little longer tonight?”

“I will.” And he did until dawn started to lighten the sky.

That morning, when you heard Mysaria was gone, too, you could only wonder what she and Daemon were doing at his ancestral seat.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon fic #daemon smut #daemon imagine #request

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soapyblubbles · 2 years ago

Text

⋆｡˙ 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 ˙｡⋆

pairings: prongsfoot x pureblood!reader

summary: sirius and james take it upon themselves to show you how to play a fun muggle game.

warnings: dubcon, drugging (aphrodisiac), power imbalance, threesome, degradation, praising, petting, dumbification, naive/gullible reader (reader doesn’t know much about muggle world which makes her naive in that sense.)

a/n: the way i never post what I say i will… this came to me as i was watching something where a group played truth or dare. anyways sorry for the abrupt ending..

“Are you sure this is how you play the game?”

James tuts, pushing you back into his chest and sloppily pecking your cheek. About three rounds ago, Sirius had dared you to sit on James lap and the curly haired boy has refused to let you up ever since.

“Of course princess, we’d know best wouldn't we?”

“I guess… It’s just- you guys keep making me go.” You frown when the both of them laugh.

“Hush now, puppy. It’s my turn.” Sirius, who’s sitting in nothing but his boxers (courtesy of James), gives you a menacing grin as he spins the empty bottle.

You wait with bated breath watching as the bottle lands in the empty spot to the right of him. Already you know what Sirius is going to say before he opens his mouth, his dark eyes locked onto you. “Truth or Dare?”

“No fair!” You whine slightly, fighting the urge to cross your arms. “That’s the third time in a row!” Every time the bottle landed in an empty space they’d claim it was your turn. Saying things like `well you could be sitting there if you weren’t in James lap’ and then, when you attempt to move off of his lap you are promptly stopped.

At this point, you’re just following along with whatever they say because you know they have more experience in muggle affairs than you do. But if you were being completely honest with yourself, this was starting to get a bit ridiculous.

Muggles are so weird.

“How many times do we have to explain this to you?” Sirius grumbles distractedly, rummaging through the pockets pulling out an unlit cigarette from the pocket of the discarded jeans next to him.

“Princess. We’ve already told you twice.” James scolds lightly. You frown. The weight of both their eyes boring into you makes you fiddle with the hem of your shorts unsurely, before ultimately, you decide to go with the safe route. “Truth.”

Instantly, Sirius' face twitches into a devilish smirk. “Is it true you’ve got nothing under your shorts?”

Your mouth falls open and instinctively, you try to cross your legs. James hands stop you before you can, squeezing your thighs gently. He rests his chin on your shoulder to peer at you expectantly, Sirius doing the same as he lets out a puff of thick smoke. “Well? You have to answer the question princess.”

“I- um..” You can’t answer. Can’t even think as James starts to knead your skin gently, traveling higher and higher the longer you take to answer.

James chuckles softly at the flustered look on your face. “I think the poor thing needs us to help her.” Before you can utter a single protest, Sirius is getting up, hovering over you while James uses his grip to place your legs around his thighs.

Sirius rests his muscled arm above you, trapping you between James and him while his other hand starts to play with the bow on the band of your shorts. “I guess I’ll just have to check for you.” You let out a slow breath, your eyes becoming lidded as his fingers trail lower and lower.

Without breaking eye contact, he hooks his fingers behind the flimsy material separating the two of you and lets the back of his knuckle drag lightly over your cunt. “None.” He whispers softly.

Your mouth opens in a slight pant.

Sirius revels in your attention, briefly flicking his eyes down to hum appreciatively. “Just as expected.”

As quickly as it happened it’s over, Sirius goes back to his spot across from you and James lets your legs close with a simple movement of his hands. The only sign that anything happened at all is the uncomfortable feeling between your legs.

“My turn.” James grabs your chin and turns it towards him. He whispers your name gently. “Truth or dare.”

You blink, not even noticing that he didn’t even spin the bottle this time. “T-Truth.”

They both shake their heads in exasperation.

“You can’t pick truth twice in a row, puppy. Everyone knows that.” Sirius rolls his eyes, looking bored.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Sirius mocks. He huffs when he sees the way you pull your lip between your teeth. “Don’t start crying on us now puppy, aren’t you supposed to be a big girl?”

James tisks. “Pads, don't be mean to the little thing. She doesn’t know any better.” He rubs your hip reassuringly and you relax in his embrace, basking in the comfort he supplies.

“Fine, just hurry it up then.” Sirius mutters, rolling his eyes.

“I dare you to…” James trails off, humming in contemplation. From behind you, he shares a sly smirk with Sirius as a sudden thought comes to both of them. “I dare you to drink a glass of whatever we choose.”

In an instant, your questioning voice meets their ears. “Why-“

“Ah-ah. Them's the rules pup.” Sirius quickly interrupts. “You either do it or get punished.”

James bows his head down until he’s close to your ear, “Which will it be, honey?”

“I think I’ll just drink.” You whisper.

“Good girl.” He kisses the side of your mouth, lingering a second too long before he sits back, smiling smugly at the bashful smile you give in return.

Sirius reaches for one of the bottles by the end of his bed, hiding the label from you before you can read it. “No cheating.” He raises a brow and nearly empties all of the contents as he fills your cup to the brim.

He saunters over to you and James, and suddenly you’re aware of his bare chest. His toned abs that're still on full display. You look away as he stands in front of you, heat rising to your cheeks at his brazeness.

“Drink up.” Sirius lifts the glass for you, swatting away your hands when you try to take it from him.

The drink is thick, and sickeningly sweet. It coats your tongue in honeyed goodness as it slides down your throat to settle in your gut. Beads of the addicting ambrosia dribble down the side of your mouth and before you can move to wipe it away, James is there. Licking up your neck in a tantalizingly slow manner, savoring every bit of the sugary droplets he can.

You’re not even halfway through the glass before you start to feel it. Your whole body starts to get warmer and you try to push it away, head falling back on James shoulder. “What’s happenin’ to me?” The words are slurred as they tumble out of your mouth and a sudden burst of heat, then pain shoots straight to your core.

You moan, hips bucking up of their own volition. “Hurts so bad.”

“What hurts, puppy?” It’s Sirius who speaks up first. Staring at you in a way that makes your stomach twist violently.

“My-My..” Tears spring to your eyes as words seem to fail you.

James hushes you softly, pushing away a stray piece of hair that falls into your face, and tucking it behind your ear.

“What do you need, baby?” He asks kindly.

“Need you to touch me.” Your skin burns and somehow you know that the two of them touching you will make it go away. When neither immediately moves to do so you whine, crawling out of James’ lap so you can face him.

“Please, please, please…” You’re practically in tears, clutching at James’ sleeve and desperately trying to get him to touch you.

James coos, lips forming a soft pout. “I would, but you haven’t finished your dare yet.”

You quickly straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your foreheads together. “Please Jamie. Please? I’ll be so good. So good for you…” You trail off, muttering to yourself as you start peppering kisses along the side of his neck in attempt to persuade him.

James lets out a quick breath, eyes darting to Sirius. You barely notice, continuing to mumble sweet nothings in his ear.

“Suppose, we can make an exception, huh Prongs?”

James lets out a breath of relief, tapping your sides. “Have’to take your shirt off first, okay honey?” He lets out a strained groan, hands coming to your waist to stop you from where you unknowingly started grinding on his already hard bulge.

Frantically, you rip off the offending material, grabbing James palms and placing them on your bare chest.

“Fuck.” He lets out a broken whisper, leaning forward to catch your nipple in his mouth. He sucks harshly and you mewl, hips starting back up again now that James’ firm grip can’t stop you.

Sirius’ voice pierces through the haze that seems to have been placed over the two of you. “No bra either? You really are desperate.”

He threads his hands in your hair and tugs on it harshly. A moan tears its way out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

His dark eyes narrow. “Just me?”

You shake your head as much as you can, pulling James closer to your chest. “Jamie too.”

#hunnie writes ☀︎#dark hunnie ☾#sirius black #james potter #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #fratboy james potter #fratboy sirius black #pureblood!reader #gullible!reader #sirius black smut #sirius black blurb #sirius black fic #sirius black one shot #james potter smut #james potter blurb #james potter fic #james potter one shot

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late-to-the-party-81 · 9 months ago

Text

The sweetest dessert

AN: I’m back on my subby Bucky bs, so have this little appetiser to meet one of the squares on my June-iverse card.

Not beta’d, so there’s no-one to blame except me.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden.

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Master list | Into an Alternate June-iverse Master List | BaBB Masterlist

Summary: There is more than one perk to having a personal chef, especially one as sweet and eager to please as James.

Relationship: CEO Reader x Private Chef Bucky

Word Count: 1.5k

CW: Chef AU, Soft Dark (ish) Reader, Power Imbalance, Employer/Employee relationship, Subby Bucky, Soft Dom Reader, Sub Space, Praise Kink, Oral sex (F receiving), Coming untouched, Lack of aftercare, Implied future sexy times.

You smiled to yourself as the door closed behind your last guest. Your dinner party had been a roaring success and you were thrilled. As the CEO for a large tech firm, one of the ways of wooing clients and securing new investment was still the good old ‘schmooze’ - inviting select people to dine with you in your home. And it wasn’t as though it was that much stress for you - preparing these sorts of things was what you paid people to do.

Making your way towards the kitchens, you took your time to pass on your thanks and praise to your housekeeper and butler. As you reached the swinging door that separated the kitchens from the rest of your house you paused, stretching out your neck and rolling your shoulders back, before pushing it open. Striding into the room you very rarely used yourself, you let your eyes rove over the form of your private chef, James, as he wiped down the work tops.

James was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. His chestnut hair, which had a tendency to curl when it got too warm, was tied up in a loose bun at the nape of his neck, although a few tendrils had sprung free and floated around his face. They drew attention to his high cheekbones and defined jaw, and you pulled your lower lip between your teeth. He hadn’t realised you were there yet, so you hadn’t caught a glimpse of his icy blue eyes, but you already had the exact shade of them seared into your memory. As he threw the wet cleaning cloth into the sink and grabbed a towel to dry the counter top off, you watched the muscles of his arms bunch under his black tee-shirt. He was so fucking beautiful it almost hurt to look at him.

As you took a step forward, the heels of your stilettos clicked against the tiled floor and James looked up at you. As you smiled at him, you saw the telltale blush making its way up his neck and onto his cheeks, sending a rush of power through you. No-one would think on first glance that this prime specimen of manhood was a sweet, shy bean with a praise kink the size of Manhattan, but you knew better. Boy, did you know better.

James stepped back from the counter, body turned toward you, towel still in hand, but with his head and eyes downcast. “Ma’am,” he said with a small nod. You slid between him and the counter, elegantly hoisting yourself up onto it, so you could look him without craning your neck.

“I’ve come to congratulate you, James. That meal was absolutely wonderful. I think you outdid yourself this time.” That did the trick. At your kind words, he lifted his head and properly looked at you, his lips turned up in a sweet smile.

“You really liked it?” he asked. “The lemon syllabub was a new recipe I’ve been working on. I wanted it to be perfect.”

You reached out your hand and tucked one of the loose locks of hair behind his ear, before cupping his cheek. There was a dusting of stubble over his face and the anticipation of the friction it would provide had you pressing your thighs together.

“It was perfect,” you confirmed. “Like always. You’re always perfect, James.” You could see his eyes starting to lose focus as you spoke and you lowered your voice. “Always doing your best to please me.” His eyelids fluttered, his lashes kissing his cheeks and a soft moan escaped his lips. It was time to up the ante. “Do you think you deserve something special from me for all your hard work? What would you like?”

“I… I…” His cheeks turned an even brighter pink as he stuttered.

You leaned forward, your lips a hair’s breadth from his. “You can tell me, James. You’ve been so good. You deserve a treat. What about your own desert? Would you like that, maybe?”

Instead of a response he let out another moan, a noise that went straight to your cunt, and then dropped to his knees on the hard tiled floor. However, as thrilling as his submission was, you needed consent from him. You placed your heeled foot on his shoulder, stopping him from leaning forward. “Words, James. Do you want this?”

He looked up at you pleadingly. “Yes. Please. I need you.”

You smirked affectionately at him and removed your foot. “Then dig in, baby, and don’t waste a single morsel.”

With your confirmation, he let himself go. Dropping the towel, James’ hand landed on your legs, running up them, over the silkiness of your stockings. He dropped soft kisses on the side of each of your knees as he pushed your skirt higher and higher up your body. You wriggled on the counter top to aid him, until the fabric was bunched up above your hips. His kisses continued up your legs until they met the tops of your stockings, where your garter belt framed your barely covered pussy. He drew back slightly, gazing at your core and what you were certain was a damp stain evidencing your own desire for him. His tongue peeked out from between his lips.

“C-can I?” He seemed so innocent and naive in moments like this.

“Of course you can, James,” you cooed as you spread your legs even wider.

James shuffled his broad body closer, manoeuvring your calves over his shoulders and taking hold of the underside of your thighs in a gentle grip. Then, without any further warning, his face pressed against you, his lips and tongue sucking and licking at you through your panties.

You let your body lean back and your hands gripped the edge of the counter as a deep, salacious noise left your throat - a noise that seemed to spur your sweet and submissive lover on. His tongue swirled around your covered clit and your panties were soaked with a mix of your own arousal and his saliva.

“James…” His name left your lips on a moan and with a deft movement he lifted one of his hands to pull your lacy thong to the side, his tongue immediately pushing inside of you. Another guttural moan left you and one of your hands flew from the edge of the counter to thread into his hair, pulling strands loose from its bun. His mouth carried out its sweet torture on your cunt and you couldn’t control the roll of your hips, fucking yourself up against his face.

Your mouth spilled more praise for him, and he hummed his pleasure into you, the sounds vibrating through you, making you even more frenzied. “Right there,” you cried, feeling your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach. “Just like that, James. You’re gonna make me come!” The pleasure washed through you, your cunt gushing as it spasmed and you could hear the lewd slurping as James lapped up every drop of your spend.

As the trembles in your body lessened, your perfect lover retreated from your cunt, kissing his way back down your legs, smoothing your clothes back into place. He sat back on his heels, looking up at you pink-cheeked and glossy-eyed, his face damp and his hair a mess. You sucked air into your lungs, the sight of him so erotic you almost thought you were going to come again just by looking at him. Speaking of which…

“Lift your apron, James.” When he let out a whimper you had to tamp down your smile, knowing what you were going to see. “None of that,” you chastised. “Be the good boy I know you can be. Show me.”

He turned his head to the side, his shy embarrassment sending another thrill through you, but he did what you’d asked, slowly lifting up the white cotton fabric that covered his torso. There, at the apex of his thighs, the outline of his cock was visible against the black fabric of his chef’s trousers. However, in the bright overhead lights, you could see a glisten of moisture. Hopping down from the counter, you crouched in front of him, your breath hot on his cheek as he continued to look away from you. Your fingers gently caressed the tented fabric, feeling the sticky wetness of it. As you drew them away, you turned James’ head with your other hand, making him look at you, as you sucked your damp fingers into your mouth.

“Delicious. Perfect as normal, sweetheart. You’ve made me very happy.”

You stood swiftly and took a few steps towards the kitchen door before stopping and looking over your shoulder. James was still kneeling on the floor, looking totally fucked out.

“You ought to go home soon. You’ve got an early start in the morning. I’ve got a lot of plans for tomorrow and they start with breakfast in bed.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he slurred with a small nod. “Breakfast in bed. Got it.”

“Good boy,” you purred, already looking forward to the morning.

Bingo and Challenge fills: Juniverse - Chef AU | May Babb - Praise Kink @buckybarnesevents

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz, @nicoline1998enilocin, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #build a bucky bingo 2023 #Connect 4 #into an alternate june-iverse

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