#one around his neck then two around his wrists + ankles

[gayeddieagenda]

❤️ 🎵 Number 9 if you’re still doing the prompts? thank you!! I hope you’re having a good day!

another scene prompt game! - 9: listening to the other’s heartbeat + ❤️ 🎵

--

“Huh,” Buck says.

Eddie knocks his ankle against Buck’s. “What?”

“I’m not trying to freak you out,” Buck says. He has his serious face on and that, more than anything, makes Eddie squint at him, suspicious. “When was the last time you went to the doctor?”

“Buck,” Eddie says. “I had a checkup a month ago, jackass.”

“Texas doctors?” Buck says skeptically. Eddie huffs at him. Buck adjusts his grip on Eddie’s arm, pressing his index and middle fingers more firmly into Eddie’s wrist. “It’s probably nothing. It’s just, I can’t find your pulse.”

Eddie rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, Buck!”

“I’m being serious!” Buck tries another spot on Eddie’s wrist, then another, shaking his head both times: nothing. “You should definitely have a pulse.”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, deadpan. “What if I’m already dead?”

Six months. Eddie waited six months to see Buck in person again. Buck had made a noise like a dying animal on the phone, when they realized that he was going to be in the first hour of a 48-hour shift when Eddie and Chris got in from Texas.

Then, when Bobby asked if Eddie wanted to be scheduled for the last 24 hours of the same shift or wait four more days until his first shift back, Eddie signed on for the earlier shift without thinking twice about it. It meant not waiting a second longer to be back where he belongs—at the 118, on the job. It also meant this: seeing Buck for the first time since…since Texas, since everything, surrounded by all their coworkers.

“Don’t worry,” Buck says. “I have something else I can try.”

Buck releases Eddie’s hand. Eddie draws his arm back to his body, unconsciously reaching his other hand up to grip his wrist where Buck’s hand had been holding him a second ago.

Buck gestures at Eddie’s neck. “Can I—”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t want to say it,” Buck said. His voice was low and frustrated through the phone. “Not like this.”

“Sorry,” Eddie said, feeling furious, feeling lightheaded. Feeling alone, in a silent Texas house three sizes too big for him. “This is it. I’m here. You’re there. If you’re pissed at me, I’d rather you just tell me.”

Buck reaches for the collar of Eddie’s turnouts. He peels back the velcro strip covering the neck, then undoes the top snaps—one, two, three. He hooks two fingers of one hand on Eddie’s chin, tilting his head back. Sets two fingers of his other hand on Eddie’s neck, just below his jaw, in the divot just behind his trachea, just in front of the muscle.

It’s stupid. Eddie’s fine. He fell down, that’s all. He was rounding a corner to get back to the engine when a kid came sprinting around the other side, running at full force. She ran headfirst into his stomach and they both went sprawling on the grass. Buck caught up to them first, checking over the kid and giving her a sticker after telling her she should consider a career in wrestling. Eddie pushed himself up from the ground, angling to sneak back to the engine and drop off his gear. Buck caught his arm, giving him a where do you think you’re going? look.

So, now they’re here. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, parked in South Pasadena at two in the morning, Chimney’s classic rock radio station still playing quietly from the front seats. The kitchen fire that called them out was put out half an hour ago, but when the upstairs neighbor cracked his door to figure out what had brought a fire truck to his driveway, his cat bolted. Chim spotted her up a tree in the backyard—literally, a cat stuck in a tree. It doesn’t get much more stereotypical than that.

Chimney’s got it handled, apparently, though it’s been twenty minutes and he and the cat are both still in the tree. Eventually, he’s going to get the cat down or some new emergency will materialize from nothing and someone will come looking for Buck and Eddie—but for now, for a minute, they’re alone.

The pads of Buck’s fingers are gentle on the side of Eddie’s neck. His hands are warm. Buck presses in, just enough pressure on Eddie’s throat for him to feel it.

He’s looking Eddie in the eye while he touches him. Eddie looks back. He takes in a slow breath, feeling his throat expand under Buck’s hand. Watches Buck blink back at him. They’re so close like this, Eddie can see where Buck missed a spot shaving just below his sideburns, where Buck’s hair dried flat to his head when he had to pull on his helmet straight out of the shower. He can see where his eyes are crinkling at the corners, like he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Nope,” Buck says. “Still nothing.”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says dryly. “Do you need to start CPR?”

“I’m sure I can think of something else before it comes to that.”

“I’m not taking off my pants for you to check my femoral.”

“I wasn’t going to do that, Eddie. We’re at work.”

Buck takes his hand off Eddie’s neck. Eddie misses it immediately.

He backs up a little, as far as he can get in the cramped quarters of the ambulance. He rests his hands on his hips, giving Eddie an assessing look.

“I’m not pissed at you,” Buck said, voice low. “That’s why I don’t want to have this conversation now.”

“When do you want to have it?” Eddie asked. He’s angry, and he’s picking a fight, and he can’t stop himself, when this is how he gets to talk to Buck now: in broken halves of conversations, eight hundred miles away. “When you visit in six months? When Chris graduates high school in four years?”

“Come on,” Buck said. “That’s not fair.”

“Then tell me why you’re mad at me.”

“Would you like my opinion?” Eddie asks.

“Pretty sure I’m the firefighter here, thanks.”

Eddie rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Didn’t realize.”

“Here,” Buck says.

His hands are back on Eddie’s jacket, undoing the rest of the snaps and opening his jacket. He hooks a hand in Eddie’s suspenders, pulling lightly at them, adjusting Eddie until he’s sitting on the edge of the gurney, knees between Buck’s legs. Eddie goes easily.

Buck places a hand on Eddie’s chest, above his heart.

They’re at work, Eddie reminds himself. It’s two in the morning and it’s Pasadena, it’s the distant sound of Chimney going here, kitty-kitty, and the low hum of the radio.

Buck glances at the ambulance doors. They left them open a crack, but all they can see through the gap is the empty street, cast in yellow and red from the streetlamps and the fire engine lights. No one’s looking for them.

Buck turns back to Eddie. He leans in in one movement, replacing his hand with his ear to Eddie’s chest.

It’s awkward, kind of. The ambulance isn’t exactly roomy and Buck is folded in at a weird angle to get his face to Eddie’s chest. Eddie knows he still smells like the kitchen fire, like smoke and burnt fish and sweat. Any second, someone’s going to realize they disappeared and come barging through the ambulance doors and into this, into the tableau that is Buck leaning on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie breathes, chest rising and falling. Buck moves with it.

He was scared to see Buck again. He can admit that now, with Buck in front of him, the way he couldn’t when he was still in El Paso.

There’s a conversation they’ve been waiting to have. They started it a month ago, on the phone, Buck in his loft and Eddie in the kitchen of his rented house in El Paso. By now, Eddie’s pretty sure he’s figured out where this conversation is going to end. He knows he’s not going to find out here, in the back of an ambulance in Pasadena.

They decided, by mutual agreement, that they wouldn’t touch it until after the shift. They kept their word. Instead, Buck’s been doing…this. Messing with Eddie. Sticking close to him. Touching him, under the barest pretense of medical necessity.

It—this, them—has been an idea in Eddie’s head for so long that he started to lose track of what it was, exactly, that he was waiting for. It doesn’t feel real, that Buck could say something on the phone and a month later Eddie could be in Los Angeles again, cashing checks they wrote when they were eight hundred miles apart.

“I’m not angry with you, Eddie,” Buck said, low, into a phone speaker in Los Angeles. Into Eddie’s ear, in an empty room in El Paso. “I’m in love with you.”

Buck’s head resting on Eddie’s chest is real.

It’s right here. It’s the easiest thing in the world, for Eddie to put his hand on the back of Buck’s neck, where the soft ends of his hair curl. For him to breathe in, slow, and feel the weight of Buck leaning on him.

“Yeah,” Buck says finally. His voice is quiet in the back of his throat. Eddie can feel it in his chest. “Found it.”

[novashelby]

John's Final Visitor-Evie and John

Summary: Evie visits John before his hanging to talk about her biological father, but ends up learning something quite dark about her daddy, Tommy Shelby. Warnings: Use of slurs(Italian), talk of whores, language

Word Count: 755 This was something fast I whipped up. I will probably revisit/rewrite this at some point. Please let me know. (Btw, it isn't confirmed in the main Evie verse if you 'know who' is her bio father. It is something I am experimenting with).

“Do you feel off?” Martha asked as her and Evie stood by the entrance of the institution. Evie hadn’t said much over the last few weeks. Feeling off was quite an understatement. She felt hollow. When she didn’t answer, Martha sighed. “Well, Teddy said that his uncle will meet us-well, you out here.” 

Evie forced herself to smile. “Thank you, Martha.”

Neither could speak another word until the double iron doors opened and a man of short, but heavy stature led Evie in. She looked back to Martha to ask why she wasn’t following. Martha could only offer a sheepish grin. “He’s already breaking the rules for you.”

“Follow me, Miss. Shelby,” he said, allowing the doors to shut behind her. The hallway was narrow and thin, dark and solemn. Evie cautiously followed, feeling herself get closer to death. “I’ve put him in a holding cell.”

“And how long can I have?” she asked as they stopped before a door. 

“Um.” The warden looked around and scratched the back on his neck. “Five minutes. Possibly seven.”

The single door opened and John instantly looked up, “Es-.” John’s grin grew and he let out a scoff. He threw himself back down in the chair, the chains hooking his ankles and wrists clanking. The room was so small that any source of noise echoed. 

She looked behind her and asked, “can you undo his hands?”

Teddy’s uncle gave her a look, but agreed, allowing John to have free movement of his hands. When the door shut behind them and they were alone, John grinned. “So, the wops come to let me lose, huh?” Evie couldn’t look at him, feeling that lump in her throat reappear. It hadn’t been for you, she thought to herself. “Can’t look at me?” She didn’t budge, considering leaving. “Look at me.” Sixteen years old, he thought to himself for no particular reason. She seemed older, more defined. Not like the little girl that used to hang at his coat tails. “Evelyn, look at me, huh?”

Her eyes slowly shifted to meet his. “I’m done here-”

“Did you mourn him?” John asked, jaw tight. 

With a quiver, she said, “I’m allowed to mourn-”

“Mourning for a fuckin’ daddy that never did notin’ for you. Hm?” John could be slightly impulsive, wearing every emotion on his sleeve. His soft eyes turned dark. “Mourning a man who fucking knew where you fuckin’ were for sixteen Goddamn years and never fucking reached out!” With each word, his fist hovered more and more over the table until he finally slammed it down. “Tell me Evie, are you gonna fuckin’ mourn me when they finally hang that fuckin’ rope around me neck, huh!? Are you going to mourn me?!”

Evie jumped each time his voice raised until she finally closed her eyes. “John, stop!” she cried out. “Do you not understand how I feel? Does no one in this family understand how conflicting everything is for me!? Every fucking day of my life. You may be a Gypsy, but I’m a fucking bastard and in our society, there is nothing goddamn lower than a whore’s offspring.” The room went cold for a moment before Evie sat in the chair. “So yes, I will mourn. I will mourn five times fucking over….I will mourn you, I will mourn Uncle Arthur, Michael, Aunty Polly, and yes, my fucking wop father-”

“He wasn’t-”

“Half of him runs through my fucking veins, John. I’m a wop. I’ve always been a wop. Born a wop and will die a wop. You sit there, justified in yourself, but out of everyone, your hands are the bloodiest-”

John reached over and grabbed Evie’s jaw, pulling her in, “your daddy-the daddy that fucking spared more than two seconds to fuckin’ love you order his final hit….And he knew, Evie. Tommy Shelby knew that Angel Changretta was your father when he ordered the hit. Isn’t that funny? Hm? No, no, you fucking look at me!” Evie tried to pull away, her body feeling faint. “Look at me, pretty girl because I’m going to tell you something-”

“John, stop-” “Arthur tried to stop him, saying that despite everything, that wop was your blood father-Evie, listen to me.” John slapped her cheek lightly, noting how much she quivered. The girl would have surely collapsed if not for gripping the table. “You know what your daddy said? Hm? All the more reason to kill the dirty wop. While you stand there, mad at me, you still worship the fucking Devil….”

[s-talking]

what scares you the most? && if it ever happened, how would you react?

⌘ 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑. || ( not accepting. )

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐍, sprouting back to life at the most cruel of thoughts. he doesn't wish to answer such question, subconsciously tagging at own turtleneck sleeves in order to cover up a pair of slipknot-like bruisings. they are dark & heavy around his wrists, painting a rather grim tale of torture & captivity that must have lasted many years. perhaps far too many, judging how even a monster in making doesn't wish to disclose even a single word. ❝ . . . . . ❞

[nocentis]

x

[izvmimi]

Katsuki handles you extremely gently for the most part, which is why when you find yourself at the tail end of play-wrestling in the midday on Saturday, wrists bound together in a firm, one-handed grasp and a leg locked against him at the hip, you’re a bit surprised. Your lips form into a soft ‘o’ as you let out a pant; conversely, his breathing is still, having not exerted very much effort, but you can practically feel his heart pound in his chest.

Or possibly it’s wishful thinking, given the way your own heart races.

Katsuki pauses for a moment, then dips in close, kissing your forehead.

“Had enough?” he asks.

“What if I said no?” you quip. In reply, his face buries in the crook of your neck and he snorts softly.

“Why don’t we make love, not war?” 

You’d admonish him on the cheesiness of the statement, but you don’t have the energy to. By now, Katsuki has relaxed his hold on your wrists and your leg, but you let your thighs and calves find new positioning wrapped around his waist as he lowers his weight onto you. He’s heavy, but it’s a familiar, comfortable heaviness that keeps you warm.

“Don’t like roughhousing with you,” he murmurs softly, still unmoving. Your bodies breathe in and out together, and you let yourself hold him even closer, hooking your left arm around his neck gently and running your right through his hair. 

Perhaps somewhere this is another form of a wrestling lock, but you’re decidedly loving, letting fingers trace between the blonde spikes to scratch his scalp.

Katsuki appreciates your softness just as much as your feistiness at times, and perhaps the former he needs a little more at this time.

You lay together for a moment, remembering when you sparred for real once years ago while at UA, and how quickly he folded.

Perhaps you cheated, you think as you conjure up the memory.

…

Paired together for sparring despite your friends’ apprehensive looks, you take up the challenge gladly. Light on your feet, the two of you move in concert towards and away from each other quickly as you trade blows - a narrow dodge of a punch with a sidestep. You grab his hand, and Katsuki’s surprise emboldens you as you plant your foot firmly on the ground and use your momentum to throw him over your shoulder.

Collective gasps abound from your watching classmates as Katsuki hits the ground, hard. You smile once he’s quick to jump back to his feet, wider still as he grumbles out loud.

“You’re so goddamn sneaky.”

He resumes a fighting stance. The ring is relatively small, a chalky circle about 8 bodies in diameter, but he still hasn’t fallen out of bounds. Red-faced, he’s lunged at you again (Izuku in the crowd comments that he must be more upset that he can’t use his quirk than the fight itself) and you sidestep him once more before tripping him. He loses his balance just for a moment, but jumps back into a back handstand then rights himself. 

He does look like he’s getting his ass kicked, but your friend heckles him first with the truth.

“He’s blinded by love, go easy on him!”

Aizawa shoots her a disapproving look, and your cheeks warm, but you don’t let yourself get distracted. You won’t know how right she is until later, anyway.

Time elapses - you block another heavy roundhouse kick that causes you to skid but you stay standing as you brace for impact, your heels digging into soft ground.

“I told you I won’t ever go easy on you,” Katsuki hisses. 

He follows this up with a leg sweep that has you tumble over him, and you somersault to regain control, but Katsuki has your leg by the ankle, pulling until you dangle for a moment, but you land a punch straight into his gut despite your upside down position.

Your friend screams again to ‘get his ass!’ amongst your classmates and gets another look from Aizawa. 

But Katsuki has let go with the force of the shock and you shoot backwards and prepare for an axe kick. He blocks, but for a split second he loses his resolve - the look on your face is fierce, and he remembers exactly why he has a crush on you.

The two of you jump back and separate to the opposite sides of the ring.

“If you don’t get serious, you’ll lose,” you tease.

“I’m going easy on you,” he finally claims, gruffly.

“You literally said otherwise 15 seconds ago.”

An ooooooo runs through the crowd that makes him scowl, and he takes off again with another lunge. You block, a move that makes Shoto shake his head at the bad choice, and you skid backwards from the sheer power behind the punch, making it almost closer to the borders of the ring. The subsequent onslaught is hard and you’re about to make it out of bounds.

Until you try a desperate move.

Leaning forward suddenly as if you were to kiss him, red blooms on his face, and he immediately backs off.

Izuku cups his face in his palms.

A leapfrog jump over him and a slight push, and he’s out of the ring, having fallen flat on his ass.

Denki, Sero and Kirishima don’t let him live it down for hours.

…

You definitely did cheat.

And perhaps in a way you are now, because he’s putty in your hands as he melts into you. 

But you’re no longer fighting, whether playful or not - teeth, tongue, lips don’t clash but rather dance and glide together; fingers and palms caress and worship each other in your joint embrace.

No power struggle between you two to be found anywhere - if anything perhaps in a way, you’ve always had the upper hand, being fully adored by him.

Regardless of how much stronger he is than you, whether it is in physical ability or will or resolve, he’d still very easily and consistently succumb to your love.

[friendoftashi]

friday night in | spencer reid x reader (nsfw)

summary: spencer gets his way with you--three times.

warnings: fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv, vaguely dom spencer?, one use of "girl"

a/n: this one’s long and i wrote it in the app and lost a really great draft that didn’t get saved!

work had been quiet recently, almost eerily so. when weeks pass on end without an active case, a restlessness settles over the bullpen. you’re all so conditioned to being on the move, it’s difficult to feel truly settled, to relax. it’s one of the reasons you’re so grateful to have spencer. the evenings are easier with someone else around, especially when that someone has his mind set on taking your thoughts as far from work as possible.

spencer doesn’t do quickies. you’ve tried, more than once, but his lust for you isn’t something that can be satisfied by a hasty fuck in the storage closet, not according to spencer. if he had it his way, he would be able to stop time on a whim to be in that space with you. tonight, he was getting his way.

6:43 pm

after arriving home, the two of you had settled into your usual places, reading quietly in the makeshift reading nook spencer had been so excited to craft with you when you moved in together. an hour passed, and the rate at which spencer was flipping pages had slowed as his attention shifted to you, just out of reach. you catch him in your periphery, setting his book on the small table to his left, sinking deeper into the plush on the chair, thighs spreading slightly. your stomach flips with the gentle, gravelly rumble of your name. you’re already unfurling your legs to make your way to him.

draping yourself across his lap, your fingers comb through this hair as he twists an arm around your waist, the other gripping your upper thigh.

“yeah, baby?”

you both hear and feel him inhale deeply against your neck, nose brushing at your pulse point. it’s unclear whether he was taking in your scent or caught off guard by the sultry tone of your voice paired the feeling of your nails grazing his scalp.

that's how you ended up splayed across spencer’s thighs in his reading chair with one leg propped up on the arm rest, back to his chest, head falling onto his shoulder as he fingers you. just barely moving, his fingers curl inside you as you try to catch your breath. with the slightest flick of his wrist and press of his fingers, he can render you useless in under three minutes if he really wants to. tonight, he’s taking his time relishing in your soft mewls, maintaining an easy pace.

10:51 pm

your socked feet rest in his lap as you discuss the movie that had just ended. it took your eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the credits rolling on the screen, but you can feel his eyes on you. his fingers have begun sliding from their place on your ankle up the length of your shin and back down again.

“you tired?”

“nope,” he replies from his side of the couch. he’s looking at you with half-lidded eyes, his mouth pursed in an attempt at suppressing the smirk he knows gives him away. but you can always see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch.

“wanna go to bed?” you ask cautiously, knowing he’s already decided what he wants.

his grip on your ankles tighten suddenly and he’s yanking your body down the length of the couch playfully. you squeal and try to sit up, but he’s too quick for you, slotting himself between your legs and dropping his weight onto your torso. his chin rests against your chest as he studies your features.

“i think right here is fine,” he murmurs as his hands slip beneath the fabric at your hips, just barely kneading the plush skin, sliding lower to grip your ass.

he pauses before continuing, checking in with you, “this alright, angel?”

“yeah, spence” your reply is breathy as you dip your head down for a kiss. his mouth is soft and gentle against yours and it’s annoying. you need more, need him as worked up as you are, and push your hands into the hair at the back of his head, holding him to you and wrapping your legs around him. you whine when he pulls back from your lips slightly and feel, rather than hear, the laugh under his breath. you nip at his bottom lip in response and drape an arm across his shoulders, tightening your grip on his curls. his lips meets yours again, hard, and he slips his tongue in your mouth. then he’s gone as quickly as he came, kissing at your jaw and down your neck.

one hand has begun pulling your panties down your legs as the other pushes your shirt up to expose your chest. he kisses down the length of your body, holding your gaze. you can feel his hands on the insides of your thighs, easing your legs open. one dangles off the side of the couch, foot resting on the floor to give him enough room. he slides his hands under your ass once more before they come to grip your hips.

he takes a moment to admire you, still glistening from your first orgasm. a hand moves from your hip to your mound, spreading you apart. you brace yourself, anticipating the flat drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. when your eyes meet, he spits on it.

"jesus christ," your head falls back onto the cushions. you can't bare the sight of him.

his mouth latches onto you as he swipes his tongue between your folds. the discipline spencer has to take him time fingering you does not extend to oral sex. with each lick to your clit, he increases the pressure applied with his tongue. he listens for your sounds, allowing your body's to guide him. as your moans begin to increase in pitch and frequency, his mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard.

your hands are in his hair, following when he shifts his attention lower and breaches your entrance with his tongue. he brings his fingers to your clit, feather-light circles just barely brushing against the swollen bundle of nerves. you can feel his tongue swirling around your walls, only able to cry out in the blinding pleasure of his worship. spencer uses his whole body to eat you out, his mouth always ready to follow the twist of your hips, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pulls you against him, pressing his tongue impossibly deeper inside.

you're already close, still buzzing from your first orgasm of the night, before spencer, you could be sated by a single orgasm. he trained that out of you quickly. his tongue replaces the fingers at your clit and you can hear him mumbling something about how good you taste around kitten licks. your hips buck slightly, either running from or chasing the vibrations of his words hummed against you.

he's loud and messy with it, slurping and lapping at your clit. his hands are all over you. a forearm pinning your hips down, a hand caressing the valley between your breasts, fingers ghosting along the sides of your neck, his palm pressing into the skin of your inner thigh as he spreads you open. when he's between your legs, he's devout.

"gonna come for me, doll?" he pants against you, his pupils blown wide. if you didn't know him better, you might be worried.

your orgasm begins slowly before crashing over you all at once. with your back arching off the couch, hands in his hair, you're sobbing in pleasure, crying his name as he suckles lightly at your clit. on more than one occasion, spencer has considered taking up painting, driven by the need to memorialize your beauty in its rawest form on canvas.

11:17 pm

as your orgasm subsided, spencer had pulled you into him on the couch. he held you, stroking your hair, listening to your breathing evening out.

"ready for bed?" he hummed quietly after a few minutes had passed.

your legs still felt like jelly, the bedroom seemed a thousand miles away.

"gimme a minute," you'd mumbled against his chest.

he moved a hand to your cheek, guiding your eyes to meet his, "okay, love?"

you smiled at the softness in his voice, "yeah, spence. m'alright... thank you"

his head was resting on yours and you felt his smile as he chuckled.

eventually, you made your way to the bathroom, breezing through your nighttime routine with spencer. you were spent, but the warmth that radiated from his body as he hovered around you stoked the fire of your arousal.

as soon as he settled into bed beside you, you were pulling at his arm, urging him to roll on top of you as you leaning in to kiss him. he obliged easily, hovering over you with his forearms planted on either side of your head. you'd watched him brushed his teeth, but could swear you still tasted yourself on his lips. you reached in between your bodies to cup him through his loose boxers. his groan into your mouth is low and throaty and you're immediately wrapping your legs around his waist, ankles locked and heels nudging at the small of his back. he's already half hard when you slip your hand under his waistband. he's practically whimpering with each stroke of your hand. he moves to push the fabric down his legs, his warning that he's not going to last whispered against your lips.

"i know, i know. just need to feel you, baby," you soothe.

his cock is a deep red, the tip sticky with precum. you're sure it's less than comfortable, but when you brought it up once--the orgasm disparity in your relationship--he assured you it was intentional. every once in a while, he enjoyed the ritual of making you cum in as many ways as he can imagine as well as the challenge of edging himself. when you pushed for more details, his cheeks turned red as he sheepishly admitted that you feel different, impossibly softer, wetter, spongier, warmer, after he's been working you up for hours.

he ruts the length of his cock along your slit, the head bumping your clit just how he knows you like it. he'd intended to tease you like this, drawing you to the edge before sinking in, but you're so slick and his hands are trembling with desire. your breath catches in your throat when the tip of his cock nudges past your hole. you can tell by the way his body tenses that he hadn't meant to do it. he needs a moment before he continues. you moan in tandem when his hips met the back of your thighs, bottoming out immediately.

it drives him crazy to think about how well your bodies fit together, how your body opens up for him. he quickly works his way into a steady rhythm, one hand gripping your waist, another twisting in your hair. you're crying out with the pace he sets, the headboard snapping against the wall with the rocking of his hips.

"oh my god, you're fucking me so good, baby. right there," you urge him on.

he's been staring at the places where your bodies meet, mesmerized by the sight of his cock wet from your slick, plunging into you over and over. when he meets your gaze, you can't help the broken moan that slips past your lips. he's absolutely wrecked, pupils blown wide, curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, his swollen bottom lip trapped between his teeth. you cup both sides of his face with your hands and pull him into a kiss. his pace has grown somewhat sloppier as he draws closer to his finish. slipping his arms beneath you, he cradles your body, enveloping you with his own. one hand is pressed between your shoulder blades, the other on the back of your hip, then your ass, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

"need you to come with me, sweet girl. can feel it, so tight," he grunts.

you're arching your back, nails digging into his bicep, so close it almost hurts, "please, touch me, spencer!"

he releases his vice grip on your ass and maneuvers his hand to press circles onto your clit. one, two swipes of his index and middle finger and you're there. your third orgasm happens all at once. legs trembling around his waist, teeth sinking into his shoulder to quiet the scream you can't hold back. lost in the fire coursing through your body, you only register that he's coming with the sharp slam of his hips and moan of your name. his fingers haven't left your clit, his hurried movements drawing out your orgasm. he only pulls away when you shove at his hips, thighs still twitching as they threaten to snap shut.

he's watches you carefully from his seat at the end of the bed. he's given you countless orgasms in your time together, yet spencer still can't seem to shake the momentary twinge of fear that comes with watching you come down from a particularly powerful orgasm, regardless of how many times you've reassured him that you're enjoying yourself. by the time your breathing had slowed and you could open your eyes, he's fetched you a glass of water and settled onto the edge of the bed. you're grinning when your head lolls to the side to meet his gaze.

"welcome back," he teases, hand on your shoulder as he helps you sit up and brings the water to your lips.

from your spot across the bed, he's leaning into you. you look up at him through your lashes as you take slow sips, daring him to slink back over to your side of the bed.

he rolls his eyes, shaking his head with fondness. you finish half of the water and he places it on the nightstand.

"enough," he chastises you playfully, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his eyes. holding your face between his hands gently, he presses a kiss to your hairline before slotting his lips against yours in a slow kiss. you follow his lips as he pulls away, looking into your eyes and whispering a quiet,

"i love you."

[thoughtssvt]

gojo satoru never put his infinity up when he was with you. he liked to feel you close.

the first time he'd touched you— actually touched you— was an accident. one he'd never made before. all that happened was that your arms had brushed together. it was just for a short moment, but electricity ran under his skin and straight to his heart. he'd just felt so comfortable with you. so close. the moment was perfect, he was positive that all the stars had aligned when he was with you. he could be himself. you'd seen him through his barrier.

he became addicted.

he wanted to feel you that close every time.

even knowing his arm would fall asleep he would snake it under your waist, pull you in tight. he loved the way your hair would tickle his nose as he kissed the nape of your neck.

sometimes he'd get carried away. it was a euphoric feeling so foreign to the pads of his fingers. the thud of your heart against his palm, your calves tangling with his. you'd giggle saying that he was practically choking you.

"one more minute, i promise," he'd say, voice rumbling through his chest and against your back.

one minute became two and after two, well, you guessed you could get used to him melding your bodies together.

he found himself touching you every chance he got. his fingers massaging your scalp, elbows nudging as you walked side by side. sometimes when your legs were strewn over his he couldn't help running a hand up and down from ankle to knee, waxing his palm against your skin as he reached the bend.

he absolutely loved when you were the one to initiate touch. you could practically see a tail wagging when your fingers danced against his wrist just before sliding down to trace circles into his palms, his hand eager to intertwine with yours.

even on those sticky summer afternoons when all the fan was doing was blowing the hot air around he couldn't get enough of you. two clips swiping his hair out of his face (matching yours, of course), a cold patch on his forehead, he'd wrap his arms around you as you chopped away at refreshing fruit. his body encompassing yours, chin hooking onto your shoulder as he reminded you to be careful.

winter was his favorite as if he needed an excuse to cuddle close to you. the breaths of your giggles fanning his skin, your socked feet brushing together where you both hid under a soft, cozy blanket.

every night as he listened to your deep, steady breaths he thought about how grateful he was to have met you. he'd been so focused on being the strongest that he'd never given a fleeting thought to being weak. and god, when it came to you he got so weak. he wondered how it was ever a bad thing in the first place.

before sleep took him he pulled you in closer, felt your breath hit the back of his hand, your chest rise under his palm.

gojo satoru was almost certain that you and him and the love you shared together was the true meaning of infinity, so when he was with you he never had to put it up. one look in your eyes was all the forever he needed.

A/N : ngl i melted while writing this. let's be fr he'd be this clingy (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

j‹𝟹

jjk men x reader masterlist | needy morning w/ gojo

bubble divider by pfparchive

[bunnys-kisses]

mean, mean man

capt. john price

cw: smut/pwp, dom!price, mean!price, degrading, dumb!reader, sub!reader, tattooed!price, size difference/kink, fat cock!price, fingering, safe words/signs, dirty talk, pussy slapping, breast play, mating press, hot stuff inside (!!!)

bunny says: reblogs and comments are always appreciated, i love feedback!

price never considered himself a mean man, he didn't act with malice. and by god, he'd never hurt his woman. at least not in the aisles of a tesco or while you were at the art gallery together.

he'd hold doors open for you, hold your belongings while you went to the bathroom. he was your go-to when you had your period. he wasn't a mean man.

until he wasn't. price was far from abusive however, the idea of hurting his girl in such a horrible way made him sick. he worshiped his baby.

but john price was a mean dom.

he had come back from a week on base, and the first thing he needed was the sweet little thing he called a wife. you were so much smaller than him, one time you softly pressed your palm against his to compare sizes and he almost came in his pants.

he more often than not had your sticky lip gloss in his beard on around his cock, a ring of bubblegum flavouring.

he had been home for a few days and still he had not had his fill of you. in all fairness, in was an unquenchable thirst. the more he indulged in his sweet wife, the more he wanted.

you had brought him some dinner to eat in front of the television before the football game started. he noticed that you were in the cute little sundress he had bought you prior to his departure to base. he almost had to bite his fist at the sight of you.

"c'mere, love." he said in this thick accent of his, he spread his legs a little further. you could see the imprint of his heavy cock in his grey sweatpants. he gave his thigh a pat, "why don't cha sit down with your husband."

"i have to clean up." you said. it was a fruitless attempt to not have your husband bully his fingers or cock into you during dinner. but, in all fairness most of the dishes were already done. either soaking in the sink or in the dishwasher.

he gave his strong thigh another pat, "that's fine, love. i'll clean it after. you've done enough for me." then watched you with hungry eyes as you sat down in his lap. he could feel your ass up against his erect cock.

his dinner plate was on the side table next to the couch and price got a strong arm around your middle and pressed you to him as he started to eat at a weird angle.

his arms were covered in tattoos, since your marriage he had gone over what every one of them meant. from the small lock on his wrist to symbolize his time in his home town, to the 141 on the back of his neck as his team keeps his head on his shoulders, to the tiny tattoo on his ankle that had the numeral date of your wedding on it.

but the man was hairy and covered in ink, looked in such a stark contrast to you. he didn't think his girl needed tattoos, you were already perfect with your beauty marks and other lines on the skin. even the scar on your chin for an accident as a child was more beautiful than an inch of ink on his skin.

as he ate the beautiful meal you made him (meatloaf and mashed potatoes, a personal favourite), his hand dropped from your waist and got better your legs. he pushed the skirt of the sundress up and rubbed your puffy clit over your thin cotton panties.

he kept his eyes on the television as he felt you squirm against him. he chuckled to himself, but covered it with a small cough. he said idly, "easy there, beautiful. i'm eatin'."

he kept you pinned to him and you held onto his strong arm as he pulled your panties to the side and got two fingers in with ease. you feeling of them made you moan and you dug your sweet little nails into his forearm.

"what did i say?" he asked, "i told you be good." he pumped his fingers into you.

"john, please." you whimpered.

he continued to eat, even going as far as to feed you some of his dinner (as if you didn't have your own plate on the coffee table). patronizingly feeding you, as if he was the big strong provider for his tiny, fragile wife.

"eat up, girl." he said as he started to move his fingers faster, "gotta keep your strength. gotta keep that body healthy to give me babies." he chuckled, "make sure a good mum for my little brats." he could feel you getting wetter. he pressed the fork to your mouth and you slowly ate it.

your attention was split between the pleasure between your legs and trying to chew on meatloaf. your core throbbed. suddenly he pulled his fingers out and you whined like a whore.

he slapped your pussy and said in a stern tone, "i want a woman. not a dumb, cock hungry whore." price was rarely mean outside of your little 'playtime'. you knew after this he would be apologizing frantically.

"john." you whimpered.

he gave you pussy another hand slap and then grabbed your face. the smell of your pussy lingered on his fingers and your fresh wetness smeared across your cheek. he held you face close to him.

"you're a dumb little thing, love. a squirmy little worm that i gotta keep under my boot. but don't worry. i like 'em small, i like when its a struggle to get this fat cock into your little, sweet cunt." his words were like fire in your bloodstream. his lips were up against your cheek, nose pressed into your skin, "yeah, yeah. pretty fat tits, pouty lips, a cunt i can just slide into. i could probably turn a good profit on you, film me rearranging your insides and cum all over that pretty face. make you suck my cock after it fucked your sweet pussy."

you felt heat searing across your face and neck.

before you could get too lost in it, he asked, "who is the captain of the liverpool football club?"

"virgil van dijk."

"how many museums are in liverpool?"

"nine." then you tapped the back of his hand nine times. two safe guards before you played, one verbal, one physical.

price kissed you on the cheek with tenderness before his hand went away from your face and back between your legs. his voice was low once more as he said, "i love a girl who knows her rules. pretty things like you thrive off of 'em. havin' a big strong man make all the choices." he plunged both fingers back into your slick hole and kept you against him as he fingered you.

you held onto your husband's thick forearm and let him make a mess of your cunt with his thick, calloused fingers. his facial hair rubbed against your skin as he left hot kisses on the flesh.

"see, you know where your place is. so you found the biggest captain to sit your pretty little pussy on and flash those pretty tits to me. because you knew that i'd keep ya safe." his other hand grabbed your left breast and his grip made you whimper.

you held onto him and let him play with your pretty pussy. you whimpered and moaned into his neck as your breathing got heavier. you felt so wet between your legs.

"dumb little thing. i did the smart thing and put a rock on your finger and a nice little place to call home. you're a better housewife than anythin'. makin' sure your man is fed and taken care of. i have a feelin' if i didn't come in at the right time, you'd be a 141 cum dump. but i'm just too greedy for this pretty little pussy.' his panted against your skin, his own dirty talk was getting him riled up too, "they don't have the discipline to handle a thing like you." his other hand then pinched your nipples through your dress. he now noticed that you weren't wearing a bra underneath.

a hard tug on your nipple made you gasp.

he chuckled, "pathetic little thing." he took his fingers out and got a hold of you to bring to the bedroom. he wanted his cock and your sweet pussy was like the temptation of christ.

if he didn't like the dress so much on you, it would've torn it off your body at the seams. he did tap his foot as he watched you hastily take off the garment, leaving you in those cute (yet soaked) panties.

those price ripped off, but they came in a value pack at the store. nothing he couldn't replace. the garment tore away with a bit of form, but eventually they were a scrap of fabric on the floor.

that's what he liked, his naked little wife.

he was already leaking through his sweats when he got them off, followed by the british military t-shirt. he was soon naked as well, his cock stood at full attention. it was imposing and fat, with a leaky tip and heavy balls.

he man-handled you into a breeding press. you were at the edge of the bed with your ankles at your ears, glistening, shiny pretty pussy on display. he stood at the edge of the bed and made his cock known inside of you.

this was a personal favourite for him. knowing that his pink tip was nudged up against the beginning of your cervix, most likely bruising the hell out of it.

it was the closest a man could be with his wife. keeping her bent at angles to bully his fat cock into her.

"i've trained ya well, love.' he said, his accent thicker as lust swamped his brain, "remember when we met and i had to spend hours fingering you until you were able to take half of me. now i can be balls deep all i want. fittin' me like a glove. that's why i can't have ya runnin' around base. they'd catch the scent of your sweet pussy, so i had to cover it up with the scent of my cum. so they know who has staked claim." he held you by the thighs and thrusted into you.

it didn't take long for your head to become heavy with lust. you panted and moaned like a good little whore while your strong, hairy husband rammed his cock into you.

he watched those pretty tits bounce with each hard thrust, next time he was gonna slap them around until they got nice and bruised. bite your nipples until they were puffy, maybe he'd make you cum so hard you cried.

your tongue stuck out of your mouth a little as you gasped for air. your knees were in your lungs as he fucked the air out of you. you were bent in a way for his pleasure, but by god did it stir something in you.

big meanie john price. the one who pulled out the chair for you at the restaurant you both went to. the one who cooed at you when he went to get you a band-aid because you tripped in the garden and got a small scrape. now, his cock was spearing you in two while filth poured from his lips.

he thrusted into you and panted heavily cut between harsh groans, "fuckin' pretty thing. with your cute cunt and fat tits. soft in all the right places for a hard man like me. you take me so well, come such a long way. you knew if you couldn't fit my cock in you, i'd throw ya to the wolves. if i wanted that pussy stretched out, i'd give ya to my loyal dog. i think simon would do a number on ya, then you'd take me quite well." he was panting heavily, your pussy was a vice around him.

something flipped in your stomach as price went in for a searing kiss. you were both losing steam, the pleasure was climbing to heights that left you dizzy. you clutched onto his shoulders for some kind of leverage.

the slick sounds of sex were prominent in the bedroom, you came with ease. already overstimulated. you tried to kick out your legs as a response, but he had you so pinned down that you were trapped under him.

he panted harsh nothings to you, but they barely stuck in your brain. his cock continued to bully you until he shove it all the way to the root to spit out cum against your more intimate areas.

"jesus fuck." he groaned as he stopped. his mind flashed blank for a moment before he wiped the sweat off his forehead. he pulled out and grabbed you by the shoulder. he waited for any type of safe word or signal, but nothing came. so he forcefully dragged you up to where the pillows were and got you under the sheet.

"john."

"got ya."

you laid there next to him, price's cum stuck to your inner thigh as your breathing started to level out. you looked up at your husband and smiled. you felt the heat in your belly linger.

you knew your pussy was bruised, you knew tomorrow would be a bit of pain in the morning. but, by god did price know how to make you feel good.

he held you close to him, tattooed arm across your untouched back. he was satisfied in knowing that his woman was feeling good. he was also proud that his cum was being kept safe in your sweet, slick pussy.

"how ya feelin'?" he asked, but his eyes went wide as you shifted away from him. he watched you swing your leg onto the other side of him and straddle his waist. his blue eyes looked at your closely, "give me a number, love."

"seven." seven meant needy.

price smirked and grabbed you by the ass to rubbed his softening cock against your stomach and pussy. he nodded as his erection grew. his face was still hot as he said, "alright, slut. better make it worth my while. next time i'll take a few photos when i fucked ya out to send to the boys." then gave you round ass cheek and a good slap.

price was a good man, a good husband. but a mean, mean dom.

[iluvangel]

⌌┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

┊ .˚ 🍥 ༘┊͙ Naruto guys kinks ; ‘🥛 „ ↴

⌎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ Canon/non ? NSFW

A-Z order

୨⎯ 🍥 ⎯୧

ASUMA

Strip go ! : like strip poker but go, because that’s the game he’s always playing, every time one of you lose, the loser has to strip

Burning : he would enjoy marking you with the tip of his hot cigarette and pouring hot wax on ur soft exposed skin

Blowing the smoke from his mouth into his partners

DEIDARA

Creampie : “it’s like an explosion into your body!” He wouldn’t enjoy hurting you so his normal explosions wouldn’t be a bedroom thing; so this would be the next best thing in his eyes

Loud sex : he himself is a very loud person so whether it’s you loudly moaning and screaming or him it would get him off everytime

GAARA

Graphiocrotica : you drawing on him would be the biggest turn on for him every time whether it’s you just running ur fingers on his skin making random shapes, or using a pen, marker, or even paint. Full on leaving each shape and word on his body

Praising : not extreme praising like complimenting him on how his body moves in you that would embarrass him but calling him a good boy or even your good boy would be a need for him

HIDAN

Blood play : blood is literally his thing it’s obvious it would be a kind of his

Knife play : another thing to draw blood from you, or even the fear in his eyes and wonder if he will cut you or if he’s just dragging the blade along your exposed skin

ITACHI

Praising : as the respectful person he is praising you and letting you know your doing a good job would be his favorite thing to do “don’t stop your making me feel so good” “your doing amazing” “good girl”

Being blindfolded : the thrill of feeling you touch his body not knowing where he’s going to feel you next

KAKASHI

Exhibitonism : having sex or playing with you in public places, not public to the point where he’s fucking you in the middle of the road but public like in alleys or in the forest during/after missions. Places that people could walk in on the two of you

Marking : he would love leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your body, small ones on your neck for people to see when their talking to you, and bigger ones where only the two of you can see “these are our little secrets”

KIBA

Acarophilia : scratching, him scratching you is his biggest turn on, but when it’s you scratching him it makes his soul leave his body

Marking : unlike Kakashi Kiba would be more open about where he leaves hickeys and bites on you, your neck would always have two big hickeys on each side of your neck accompanied by little ones that lead down to your collar bone, and bite marks everywhere and anywhere, he thinks would look pretty

NARUTO

Praising : he would love any and every praise you give him weather it’s telling how good he’s doing, complimenting how he moves or even simply telling him how amazing he is

Sleeping with it inside you : need I say more?

NEJI

Sexual arousal from intellectual conversations : you debating with him whether you win or lose the fact your smart enough to hold your own would turn him on or even just you talking about something you know a lot about

Bondage : having control over whether your body can move or not

OBITO

Being tied up : if he’s in his playful tobi mood it would bring him such thrill being tied and bound, whether it’s his arms and ankles or just cuffs on his wrists it would turn him on

Discipline : if he’s in his more serious mode he would get off on punishing you, spanking you or simply degrading you would be his favorite thing

SASORI

Toys : he loves to make things that’s just his thing, but seeing the way you move and wiggle when they’re inside you would be his favorite sight

Double penetration : him in one hole and his puppets or toys in the other with you sandwiched in the middle

SHIKAMARU

You telling him what to do and bossing him around

Degrading : he would love to tell you how pathetic you are and what a little slut you are for him (knowing damn well you have full control over him and his body)

YAHIKO (PAIN)

Edging/orgasm control : he wants to tell you when you can and can’t cum, he wants to hear your cry’s and whimpers as you beg him to not stop

Degrading : just like Shikimaru he would love to tell you what a pathetic little slut you are, and how you’re such a whore for him

୨⎯ 🍥 ⎯୧

[seresinhangmanjake]

Don't Touch What’s His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: Feyd's harpies attack you while you're both asleep in his bed and he gets real mad.

Notes/Warnings: mention of blood and mutilation, inflicted wounds, and possessiveness. Related to the fic titled His, but this can be read alone. Typos (just being real)

Words: 1100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You’re screaming for him before you’re even fully awake, shrieking his name before you can begin to grasp what’s happening to you. All you know is that you’re no longer warm, no longer safe as you’re yanked from his arms and dragged to the bottom edge of the bed. Claws are digging into your calf as primal grumbles and growls and the distinct sound of lips smacking in anticipation reach your ears. Your body is being pulled further and further away, and no pawing at the sheets helps to keep you on the mattress.

Another plea for him is on the tip of your tongue, but then a hand wraps around your arm, engaging in a tug-of-war with whatever monster has a hold on you. Scrapes make lines down your leg as you dig your heels into the bed and back yourself away from the clawed being. You take a few deep breaths and blink, your eyes adjusting to the darkness.

“I told you she’s off limits!” Feyd shouts in a terrifying tone. A tone most commonly reserved for those who inconvenience him: servants and prisoners and his brother. It’s not his low timbre; it’s much more powerful. So powerful that you half-expect a crack to split open the floor.

You blink again and crane your neck to peer over the foot of the bed at who he scolds. Feyd’s harpies are on their hands and knees, staring a hole into your head. It’s a daring choice. When Feyd speaks, those around must be attentive with eyes and ears, but the harpies don’t so much as glance in his direction. They’re here for you, they want you, and clearly nothing else.

“But she looks so yummy,” one of them says, a pout forming on her lips.

“And she smells even better,” the second adds. Her tongue swipes over a sharpened fang.

All three of them begin to crawl across the floor until they’re at your side of the bed. Feyd’s fingers tighten around your arm, his eyes narrowing, and you lean back against his chest just in case they get the idea to lunge at you.

“We won’t eat very much of her,” the third purrs as her hand slithers over the silky sheets, inching toward your body. “Just a few little bites. Plenty left over for our lord na-baron to enjoy.”

When her pointed nails graze your ankle, Feyd leans around you, grabs her wrist, and sharply twists until there's a snap. She yelps. Your body jolts. Tears build in the corners of her eyes. Your jaw drops.

Immediately, they appear to sober up. Their hunger, if still there, doesn’t lust for you so intensely now that fear has taken over.

“You will not sink your filthy fangs into her,” Feyd spits, baring his teeth. “She’s mine. Her flesh, her blood, all of her—mine.” The other two harpies shrink and skitter away from their injured sister. “If I wanted to share, I would have.”

Feyd releases his harpy. She cradles her broken wrist, whimpers emitting from her throat as she scoots back to join the others. They feel safer in a pack. Though you don’t think that will aid them in this case.

“W-We just thought she wouldn’t matter to you,” one of them mutters, her chin tucked to her chest. “We thought you could find another plaything.”

Feyd’s face darkens. The icy blue of his glare wavers under the force of a burning red. As he moves to stand, he jerks you to his side of the bed, separating you from the beastly women by a few more feet.

“What did you just say to me?” he grits out, rounding the mattress and stopping in front of them.

The harpies glance at each other in panic before looking back at their master. “W-We didn't mean–”

“It appears I’ve treated you too well,” he says decisively. “If you’re bold enough to defy my orders, then perhaps you need to be reminded of your place.”

You gulp. You’ve heard that tone. You’ve heard those words. But you have a feeling Feyd’s threats toward his harpies are not as empty as the ones he throws at you, and it makes your stomach squeeze.

Your presence in Giedi Prime’s fortress being the indirect cause of their harm is nothing less than unjust. It’s not their fault their master brought fresh meat home. They cannot control what they are, and Feyd routinely encourages their behavior, excluding only you from the list of bodies they are allowed to feast upon. If anything, this is his fault.

“Get up!” he shouts, and they scramble to their feet.

You rise up on your knees as he turns and yanks open the bedroom door. “Feyd, wait, you don’t have to–”

“Stay!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you.

Your mouth snaps shut and you sit, watching as his harpies obediently follow him out the door. Within the minute, you hear the screams and squeals of pain, and you wince, pressing your hands over your ears.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position. It’s Feyd’s touch that jolts you back into the present.

You look up.

Red is speckled across his torso. You feel a slickness on your face from where he is cupping your cheek, and when he pulls his hand away, you notice the rivers of blood running through the spaces between his fingers.

Without a word, Feyd pushes you down onto the bed, rearranges the covers so they drape appropriately across your body, and crawls under the sheets to settle in beside you.

“What did you do to them?” you ask.

His eyes are already closed by the time the question fully leaves your lips. He blows out a heavy breath through his nose and turns on his side to wrap his arm around your waist. “Removed a few fingers,” he says. “Now go back to sleep.”

“But–”

“Go. To. Sleep,” he grumbles in demand. “Unless you’d rather I change my mind and toss you into their feeding pit…”

It's one of those empty threats, but you don’t press him further. Not for tonight. Tonight he is tired and grumpy and nothing about you pushing him will do you any good. So instead, you allow him to do as he wants. And what he wants is to tuck your head under his chin, eliminate all space between you, and hold you in a grip that is just short of suffocating.

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 1 — 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐞

minors/ageless blogs please DNI.

REBLOGS are important. please reblog to share.

| 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟒 |

You'd both sworn. You'd sworn that you wouldn't subject yourselves to sex in the Jeep ever again. Not after the last time ended with so many unnecessary injuries between the two of you. Following one rolled ankle, a noticeable egg on the back of your head, and a bruise to Stiles' elbow that had been so worryingly dark that the purple had been mottled with spots nearly black in color, it was decided that handjobs were fine, blowjobs were great, fingering was.. sufficient. But full-out sex — You had sworn, never again. And, yet..

You can't find it in yourself to care when the dizzying warmth of Stiles' breath falls against your spit slick, kiss swollen lips. Your mouths have separated only as a result of the way he's trying to maneuver you into a better position, a closer position, large hands encasing your waist as he drags you over to straddle his lap. The moment you've settled against his thighs, his hands are already pushing their way up underneath your skirt, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties as his mouth finds its way to your cheek, your jaw, your neck.

And fuck if your own hands aren't already scrambling to undo the button on his jeans, tearing them open and pushing up on your knees just enough that you two of you can work his pants and boxers down his thighs just a few inches.

His cock springs free, already almost fully hard with the anticipation of what's to come, and your mouth nearly waters at the sight. You will never tire of the sight of Stiles' cock, you're sure of it. When your hand wraps around him, your fingers don't meet, and when you give the fat length of him a gentle tug, he groans deliciously into the skin of your throat, hips jerking up as he chases the feeling.

“Hey, slow down, why don'tcha?” Stiles teases softly, “Why're you in such a hurry, huh? Got somewhere else to be or-” He cuts off with another quiet groan as you twist your wrist the way he likes, “Or something?”

“Shush, you.” You reply with a smacking kiss to his mouth.

His fingers are moving in a teasing touch beneath your skirt, skimming the sensitive skin of your belly before finding home on your thighs. He gives the softness a pinch just hard enough to have you gasping before he's slipping beneath the fabric to drag long fingers between your folds.

“Shit, babe,” Stiles groans, his lips finding your cheek again before he drops a light kiss to your chin, “You're this wet already?” He asks, as if you haven't been working each other up for the last twenty minutes with heated touches and even hotter kisses.

He punctuates his question by slipping two fingers inside you in a ridiculously easy glide, the stretch making your eyebrows pull together as your jaw falls slack. He's giving you shallow thrusts, trying to open you up a little and get you ready for what will come next, and your free hand falls to his arm, tethering yourself with fingers circling his wrist in a firm grip. The way the muscles in his arm work with each drag out and then back in has your fingernails digging little crescent moons beneath the dark hairs on his forearm.

Your head is thrown back in pleasure, and it feels like it might weigh a million pounds when you drag it forward again to drop your forehead to his, your hips rocking down onto his fingers and your hand still working him to full hardness, closing over the head of his cock and collecting his precome just to slip back down his length again and again.

It had been days of longing glances across crowded rooms, and lingering touches that were a little unnecessary but desperately craved, and pushing maybe a little too far into each other's space when one of you needed to grab something just to feel the sparks along your skin. Each tiny moment shared had built upon one another slowly, day after day, and now that you're together, skin on skin and teeth and tongues on lips — that fire between you finally burns bright again.

You're both panting a little breathlessly already, worked up beyond belief after not finding moment alone like this in what feels like ages. Hot breaths mingle between your parted lips, the sound of it broken up by the quiet little noises clawing their way up your throats.

You've missed him desperately amidst the chaos that the week has brought. You find yourself wanting him to wreck you beyond repair, to turn your brain inside out until he is all that remains — no stresses about infuriating assholes in the form of college professors, or pack disputes, or the supernatural threat of the week — and the way Stiles continues to work his fingers inside you, pushing in deep until he's caressing that spot that makes your vision white out a bit at the edges, you think he's well on his way toward that wreckage.

“Condom?” You question desperately, tugging at his wrist in signal for him to extract himself from you.

He's muttering to himself while he fumbles to get access to where his back pocket is scrunched up beneath his thighs and you push up onto your knees all the while, maneuvering your underwear down one leg and then the other until you're free of them. When he produces the little foil packet, you take it from him without prompt, tearing it open and rolling it down over him in a quick, practiced motion that has him biting his lips together to hold back a curse.

Stiles slides his hips down the seat a bit further and grips the backs of your thighs to support you as you guide his tip to your entrance. The moment you start to sink down, his fingers dig into the doughy flesh of your thighs, fingertips curling below the curve of your ass to help spread you wider as he fills you up nice and slow.

“You got it, baby,” Stiles praises quietly, lips catching against your cheekbone to leave a small peck to your flushed skin, “There y'go.”

You're shuddering through your breaths as you accommodate to the stretch, knowing that every inch just a precursor to where he's thickest at the base. It's slow going, painful and delicious all at once, but when your hips finally meet his, clit nestling right up against the thatch of hair that trails from his belly button down to where you're connected, you let out a breathy sigh of relief.

Now that you're seated, his hands leave your backside to skate higher, rough fingertips dragging up to the back of your skirt to massage at your spine. You feel him fiddle with the zip at the back, his eyes meeting yours in silent question before you're nodding and he's giving it a tug and freeing you from the thick fabric.

You can't help but look down, and that first glimpse of where you've sucked him in, where he's filling you to the brim, has you eagerly rocking your hips a little to test the stretch. There's still a bit of an ache, a sharp little sting where you're stretched the widest, but it's lessening already and you can feel that pleasurable fullness behind your navel settling in.

“Almost,” You update him quietly, combing your fingers through the strands of his hair and grinning softly when he cranes into your touch, “Jus' need another minute.”

“Take as much time as you need,” He returns earnestly, “You know I'm just enjoying gettin' you like this. Missed you. This week was the worst.”

And it truly has been. Nearly every minute of every day, start to finish, has been an onslaught of lectures and assignments due and pack bullshit that you're both inevitably dragged into every goddamn time — the presence of the token pack humans always necessary if only to give another perspective to a mundane issue that, really, probably could've been solved by your brother and his co-alpha alone. Scott and Derek really shouldn't need to drag the two of you into every little problem — which in turn would leave the two of you with ample time to sneak off somewhere to do this, perhaps in a bed, without the risk of bonked heads or twisted ankles or the bruises that came with ravishing each other in such close confines. And yet, and yet.

You nod in agreement, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape to give it a soft tug, “Been so busy with classes. N' there've been way, way too many pack meetings,” You complain in a quiet huff, “Not enough time for this..” He grumbles his own agreement as your thumb finds the large beauty mark beneath his ear, “I missed you too.” You return softly.

Stiles is patient as ever, his fingers taking the time to explore every bit of exposed skin on your body with a gentle touch. His arms circle your waist only to release you a second later to run his warm palms up your spine and give your shoulders a squeeze. His movements slow for a moment when he finds the band of your bra, pinching and unclasping it in a practiced motion, and then his big hands are making their way back to the front of your ribs, thumbs dragging against the soft underside of your breasts as he dips his head to press kisses to the newly exposed skin.

You lean back a bit to give him more space to work, savoring in the feeling of his mouth peppering soft kisses over your breasts as your own hands fall from his neck to rest on his pecs. Your fingers trail over dark freckles that dot his skin, nails scraping ever so gently into the patch of hair at the center of his chest.

Even with the windows cracked to let in a bit of the crisp autumnal air, the temperature in the Jeep creeps higher, the windows already fogged over with a thin sheen of condensation that smears lightly when you brace your right hand against the window. Five little streaks through the microscopic drops of water covering the cool glass, one to mark where each of your fingers scrape across the surface as you finally rise up onto your knees.

A pitiful little grunt falls from your lips as you drop back down, the sound pushed out with the sheer depth that his cock manages to reach in this position, so full that you can nearly taste him at the back of your throat.

You settle into a slow rhythm and Stiles grabs a hold of your hips as you do, but he's not guiding you, no. He's not aiming for control, not pushing you to go harder or faster, but rather simply holding on and following your movements, his thumbs tracing little concentric circles against the sides of you belly as you go at your own pace.

“Fuck,” You groan when your knees slip a little against the leather seat. It pushes him impossibly deeper than before, driving his tip against your cervix in a way that erupts goosebumps along your skin even in the warm car. “You’re so deep. 'S so big, baby. You're so big-”

You're not even sure what's coming out of your mouth, already a little drunk on the feeling of being filled so completely, on the slick drag every time you rise up and then the sharp jolt to every one of your nerve endings with each thrust back down. Despite the ramblings falling from your lips, or perhaps because of them, Stiles begins to make little noises of his own — guttural moans against the curve of your throat, quiet grunts each time he hits deep.

He tips his head back and the warm brown in his eyes is almost completely taken over by black with how his pupils have blown wide. You catch sight of a small bead of sweat as it works its way out of his hair and begins a slow trail down his temple but you're kissing it away before it can reach his cheekbone. The salt of it lingers on your lips when your tongue runs over them just a moment later.

Dark eyes watch you move with rapt attention, his lips parted to let out low groans of encouragement. It takes a few minutes for him to find his voice, but when he does, his words send heat flooding through you.

“So good,” He tells you, hand tucking a lock of sweat-dampened hair behind your ear before his wide palm settles against the side of your neck, his voice thick with arousal, “Always so good. You're- Shit, y're so tight. So warm. So perfect.”

The thumb resting at the bottom of your cheek creeps up higher, rubbing the plush of your bottom lip until your jaw falls slack in acceptance and then he's cupping your chin and pushing the pad of his finger down against the softness of your tongue. You bite down softly with a moan and your bottom teeth dig into the meat of his palm with just how deep he's got his thumb before you're pulling off just a little and closing your lips around it, sucking and swirling your tongue and reeling at the way his eyes flutter shut with a groan, like he can't quite handle the sight in combination with the way you're riding him slow and deep.

When he removes his thumb, you suck harder to combat the spit that threatens to cling to the digit, but it doesn't make much of a difference because he's already sliding his hand around the back of your neck and bringing your mouth down against his.

You brace one hand on his stomach to aid your moments as your tongues meet in a hungry kiss. A whimper finds its way up your throat when he rubs his free hand achingly slow up and down the front of your thigh, around to grope your ass and then back, smoothing and squeezing along your skin like he wants to be touching you more — Harder, tighter, everywhere all at once.

He's so, so deep like this and you can tell it's affecting him too. His kisses are hungry as he licks into your mouth, a little messy while his nose presses into your cheek and his fingers graze your waist on their journey toward your chest. He's thumbing over the peaks of your nipples, swallowing up your moans with his own, breathing a little like he's the one getting the air punched out of his lungs every time you seat yourself, burying him deep enough that the head of his cock is driving into that spot that makes you see stars.

Your brain goes a little hazy with your budding orgasm, tiny noises becoming more frequent, falling against his mouth a bit like a plea. You don't need to explain, Stiles is already dragging his hand up to push between your thighs, thumb circling your clit the way he knows you like. Your eyebrows furrow as you slip from the kiss, far too focussed on chasing your high now. You bounce a little faster, shallower, fingers scraping at the pale skin of his chest, eyes pinched shut as your thighs tremble with exertion and your knees ache.

Heat licks across your body, a bead of sweat trickling down your spine as your movements start to become a little more difficult. You're so close — so close-

“C'mon, you're doing so good, baby.” Stiles says with far too much tenderness, far too much amazement.

“Fuck,” You whimper, shaky breaths tearing from your chest as you teeter closer and closer, “Fuckfuckfuck-”

“You got it. You can do it. C'mon-”

His gentle praises send you careening over the edge and your whole body shakes as you try to work through it. You're struggling, but then Stiles' hands are under your ass again, guiding you this time, gripping the backs of your thighs tight as he supports some of your weight and helps you ride out your high. Every nudge of his cock against the deepest parts of you has you moaning louder, brain going a little fuzzy as your orgasm peaks but never quite dies off.

Your arms curl around his shoulders, digging your face into his neck as you gasp against his skin, thighs shaking as he keeps guiding you back and forth, not pulling out nearly as far now before he's dragging you against him and filling you back up. Your breasts are pushed tight against his chest. The smell of his aftershave is in your nose and your forehead is pressed into his sweat slicked neck. You're panting, nearly drooling on his shoulder as you try to lock your knees to hold yourself in place, thighs feeling exhausted and like jelly all at once.

“Sti. Fuck, baby, I can't-” A moan cuts you off as it rolls off your tongue, “My legs can't-”

“Aw, your legs too tired, baby girl?” He asks, and it comes out a little condescending. You can practically see the satisfied little smirk on his face, even from where your own is buried in his neck as you nod. He lifts you up a little higher, hands still grasping at the crease where your thighs meet your ass as he adjusts his hips beneath you, “Need me to do the work now?”

The teasing in his voice has your body going traitorously pliant, your voice weak when it finally comes, “Please.”

“I got you,” Stiles promises, taking a little pity. He drags one hand toward the center of your spine while the other falls to the outside of your knee to hold you steady, “I got you..”

The first thrust up into you has you crying out. Not hitting nearly as deep as before, but he's driving in so much harder, so much faster. It pulls whiny little gasps from your lips with each thrust and your jaw's gone slack where it's buried in his neck as his skin slaps against yours with every snap of his hips. The sound of it is loud, and the combination of noises both lewd and salacious only proves to turn you on that much more.

“Shit.” Stiles grunts, voice a little hoarse and yet somehow high as it catches in his throat, “You make the prettiest noises, baby. Fuck. Just listen t' you.”

You don't entirely mean for it, but your next moan is just a little louder in response, unabashed and desperate even as you attempt to muffle the sound of it in the curve of his shoulder. The pitch his voice has taken is one that you only get to hear when he's getting unbearably close to his own peak. The sound of it is so, so sweet to your ears, mingling with the obscenely wet glide of his cock sliding in and out of you.

“'M gonna come,” He warns, his hips jerking just a bit rougher, a bit less coordinated as he fucks up into you, “Shit. Shit, sweetheart, 'm.. gonna.. come-”

His arms curl and lock around your waist as he does, dragging you down against him and burying himself so deep that it has you crying out again, fingers digging into his shoulders where your arms have curled under his to hold tight. He comes with a moan and a grunt that both get muffled with the way his face is now hidden in your hair, his cock kicking up inside you as he releases into the condom.

The increased stimulation against your sensitive walls has you going a little teary in the best way, overwhelmed but loving every moment of it, and you roll your hips over him despite the soreness in your thighs just to hear the way he groans in response.

You pull back just enough to lock your fingers in the hair at his nape and tug him into a sweet kiss, it's warm and a little sweaty as your lips slide together but it's also so full of unspoken thanks and emotion and undeclared love.

When you lean back again to collectively catch your breath, his thumb finds your wet eyelashes and swipes at them gently.

“Oh- hey, you good?” He checks with concern, his free hand already at your waist and drawing soft patterns along your skin, “You okay?”

You turn your head into the hand on your cheek and press a kiss to the center of his palm, scraping at his scalp beneath sweat-dampened locks, “I'm good,” You promise, “Gonna be sore as fuck tomorrow though, God.”

A smirk finds its way onto his face, “Fucked you so good you're gonna have trouble walkin', huh?”

“Shut up,” You huff, a laugh slipping out in contradiction to your weak display of annoyance, “But with the way my thighs feel right now? Yeah.”

You wince as you push up onto your knees, both from the ache left behind as he slips out and from the soreness in your legs. When you rise up a little higher, your head hits the roof with a painful thump and you can't bite back a curse.

Stiles is quick to bring a hand up to the back of your head with a sympathetic wince, cradling the tender spot on your skull softly, “Oh, shit, y'alright?”

“Ow,” You respond with a pout, your own hand reaching back to cover his over your hair, “Stupid Jeep n' stupid metal roof..”

“Hey,” Stiles frowns, “Don't blame the Jeep, alright? It's not Roscoe's fault you bumped your head.”

“Is too.”

It comes out in a huff and Stiles chuckles in amusement at your disgruntled expression as he slips his hands under your thighs to help you dismount from his lap completely. You fall into the seat beside him and drop your calves over his knees, bumping your forehead against his shoulder in a silent gesture of gratitude.

After a few long minutes wrapped up in each other as you collect yourselves, you both gather your haphazardly discarded clothing and redress. Stiles digs out a new air freshener from the glove compartment and adds it to the hoard of them already hanging from the rearview mirror. Another little tree to the collection, this one a pretty shade of purple and smelling of berries, dropping to sit right atop number of similarly shaped scented hangers in a wide array of colors.

And later, when you're forced to part ways, you push up onto your toes as you lean back in through the driver's side window of the Jeep for one final kiss. The breeze is cool against your thighs as it catches beneath your skirt, goosebumps causing you to tighten your fingers around the window frame as you prepare to lean back. Stiles has a hand coming up to the back of your neck to hold you in place at the first sign that you're about to pull away, stretching the kiss out for as long as he can get away with. It's a sickly sweet press of lips. One that will hopefully be enough to hold you over until you get the chance to have him like this again.

A glance over your shoulder as you walk away has your gaze meeting Stiles one last time, elation and melancholy both pulling at the edges of your lips until you're left with a saccarine smile to pair with your tiny wave goodbye. Your fingers come up to brush your lips as you begin to turn away, and when you extend your hand in his direction Stiles nearly throws himself out the open window to catch the invisible kiss that you've sent his way. His unnecessary enthusiasm has you stifling a giggle as you finally turn your back to him and make your way down the street.

You're forced to jog around the block from where Stiles has dropped you a safe distance from your house, hopping into the shower the moment you get home to wash away any and all evidence of the afternoon from your skin.

It's with skin scrubbed clean and a heavy heart that you head to the washing machine and dump your clothes inside to extinguish the lingering smell of Stiles that you know clings to the fabric, of you and Stiles, together.

And when Scott pauses the load mid-wash with the intention of throwing a shirt in, your brother is sure to complain about the way you've pointedly used the scented detergent — the overpowering artificial smell of lavender much too strong an irritant to his overly-sensitive, supernatural, wolfy nose — But, you remind yourself, if you want to keep up this thing with Stiles, which you desperately do, then that's just how this has to go, because, well.

𝐒 𝐜 𝐨 𝐭 𝐭 𝐲 𝐃 𝐨 𝐞 𝐬 𝐧 ' 𝐭 𝐊 𝐧 𝐨 𝐰 .

𝐚/���; 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝!𝐌𝐜𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠!! 𝐢 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬. 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐦 — 𝐬𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐬.

again, REBLOGS are important.

please have the curtesy to reblog to share/save your ur fave fics.

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 05 - rough sex

price x f!reader | 1.3k words cw: pussy slapping, tit slapping, biting, manhandling, mean!Price, dacryphilia, choking, piv sex summary: you ask john for a favor. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

John could kill you with his bare hands. Do it in ways you could never imagine. Drag it out.

“You broken?” He asks, looking down his nose, hands tucked into his armpits.

No, but you need to be. You don’t want to be shattered glass, you want to be dust. For who you were to be scraped into a dustpan and tossed. But you don’t say that. You simply ask him to take you home. His place.

A dry forest asking for a match. A sandcastle asking for a wave.

Scorched or smothered, it doesn’t matter. Whatever gets you out of your head.

~~

John laughs, the sound rasping like a woodcarver’s knife. “Where are you running off to?”

He hauls you down the bed, uncaring that the corner of the mattress cover comes with you. He lets go of your ankle to curl his hand around your thigh, and slots a knee into the hinge of yours, pressing onto your calf. It’s a fleeting pain, only lasting long enough for him to sink his cock back inside. He swears up a storm, violently bucking further in at the halfway point. He rocks into you, fingerprints pressing with a bruising force on your hips before taking greedy handfuls of your ass.

You were afraid after a couple of rounds that fucking you would lose its novelty. It’s clear now that it’s the opposite. It’s as if he’s hellbent on making new discoveries, finding new ways to make you scream or come, and behaves like he’s the first and only man to explore your body. Possessive and unapologetic.

His cock glances over your sweet spot after a few thrusts, and your head dips toward the bed with a whimper. 

“Oh, god, fuck–”

“Therrre we go.” He chuckles low in his throat, withdrawing just enough to stroke against that sensitive spot again and again. He sets a relentless pace, thighs smacking into your own. His fingers pinch and clutch your skin, nails embedding into your hips. The sting travels to your clit, still throbbing from his palm two orgasms ago.

A hand travels up your side to the nape of your neck, pulling until you lift voluntarily. Through a glassy set of eyes, you meet his gaze, a bright blue zeroing in.

“This what you wanted? To your liking, princess?” Princess. He spits the word like he’s spoiling you. Giving you the white glove treatment.

You nod dumbly, or he guides your head for you—it’s fuzzy. But it is honest. This is what you wanted.

He releases your neck to fondle your swinging tits, grabbing and pulling them like oversized stress balls. He twists your nipples and grazes his teeth over your shoulder blades, murmuring something into the skin there. Your cheek presses into the ruined sheets, eyes squeezing shut as he slows to a grind, but flying open when he pulls out. He flips you to your back, grinning at the wild expression on your face as he hitches your legs around his waist. 

He jackhammers into you, smirking at your hands clawing at his chest and tangling in the hair. Your lip quivers, mouth falling open. Words live and die in quick bursts of breath, colliding with one another. One second, you’re babbling, and the next, you’re screaming.

He slaps your bouncing tits, then your hands when they try to interfere. He pins them over your head and leans his weight on the hold. It gives his cock a new angle to work with and a new path to carve. He drills you into the mattress with enough force that the bed creaks.

“Just what you needed, yeah? Needed to be knocked down a peg or two. Mopey brat,” he growls, his free hand cupping your chin. His fingers and thumb pinch, jerking your face forward when you try to hide. Sweat drips from his mussed hair. “No one else can do it f’ya, can they?”

He squeezes your face after a beat of silence.

“Can they?”

“N-No! Just you!”

“Just me.” John echoes. He lets go of your face with a firm tap, then your wrists, sitting back on his haunches to push your legs up again. “Hold ‘em up, yeah, good.” He mutters as you comply and tuck your fingers into the sweaty crevasses under your knees. You squeak when he momentarily diverts to nip your ankle.

You jump at the sensation of his finger running over where your cunt grips him. The corner of his lip lifts in a toothy smile.

“Squeezin’ me nice ‘n’ tight. That’s a good girl.”

He shifts again. He plants his hands on the backs of your thighs and lifts himself up, putting weight on you once more. Gravity does part of the work for him, with his thighs flexing on the upswing. His cock slips deeper, its head glancing off your cervix on the more forceful thrusts. You feel it in your ribs, and tears spring to your eyes like he’s found the only open pathway to your heart.

John coos, leaning forward, barrel chest crushing you to swipe your tears. Elbows bent and bracketing you. Voice all tender when his movements are anything but. 

“That’s it, let it out.” He urges, mouth falling open when you do. Big, fat tears roll over his fingers. He wets his lips, and his nostrils flare. He pulls back with a groan, hips stuttering, and he slows to regain his bearings. Beneath him, you reach to wipe your face, but he tuts, batting your hands away. “No, no. Leave ’em. Want you to come cryin’ on my cock, sweet girl.”

It’s different after that. Still hard and fast, every inch of him intent on leaving his mark, but a veil’s pulled back. You want to be ground into a pulp—he wants to mold you. It’s an understanding.

Harshly kneading the backs of your thighs, filth grinding from between his teeth, John’s tireless. One hand finds your clit. He taps it hard and fast until you see stars.

“Eager little cunt,” He grumbles, eyes fixed to where his cock disappears, voice low and husky. “So desperate to be fucked.”

Your hips jolt at that, pussy clenching tight around him. His thumb starts to rub incessantly, dragging you closer to the edge with every pass. Blinking through a fresh wave of tears and sniffling, you find his focus boring into you. 

“And I wouldn't have it any other way.”

You come, blubbering. Under other circumstances, with another man—you’d feel embarrassed, but with John, it feels good. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t show you an ounce of mercy when he ramps up his pace, back to that punishing rhythm. He groans as he rides the waves of your orgasm and beyond, teeth gnashing around alternating derisions and thin adulations. A single word stands out.

“Mine.”

His thumb and forefinger slot around your throat and push the underside of your jaw up, sending your overloaded brain into hysterics. Your breath turns fragile, something to work for. You hiccup and thrash, tearing at the back of his hand with your nails, and—

He floods you in a torrent, hips snapping so hard you’d shove up the bed if his weight wasn’t grounding you. His eyes roll back and close, face tilting with a groan. His thrusts turn halting into short rocks as he pumps the last of his cum in your sore, aching cunt. The wet, obscene suctioning noise echoes off the walls when he withdraws, leaving you fluttering and twitching like a crumpled bird beneath a windowsill.

John pats your thigh, then drops onto his side. He drags your quivering body close, turning it over to drape you over his sweat-slicked chest. Pushes your head until your cheek rests over his heart, drool and tears matting the hair. The combination of your spend dribbles onto his thigh. You feel satisfyingly wrung out. Exhausted, yet renewed.

A hand smooths over an ass cheek and squeezes. His rumbling voice reverberates through your body.

The words slur in your ears. In your last moments of consciousness, you’re fairly certain of what he asks. You broken?

You’ll need another go to be sure. Just need a nap first.

[littlest-w01f]

Demonic

"Monster Fucking" with:

Sylus x Reader

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Summary: After hearing what the common folk of the N109 zone think Sylus truly looks like, you didn't believe them, then, you took him up on his offer to take his brooch the easier way.

Cw: Size difference, Demon!Sylus, MxF, Smut 18+ MDNI

You knew taking the crimson brooch from Sylus' clutches would be hard. But you hadn't realised how hard as you sat on the floor, restrained by his red-black energy Evol tendrils for the third time in 5 hours.

The tendrils tightened around your wrists and ankles, holding you firmly against the cold stone floor. You struggled, but the energy only seemed to grow stronger, pinning you down like an insect caught in a spider's web.

Sylus loomed over you, his chiselled face twisted in a cruel smirk. "Did you really think you could outsmart me, kitten?" He hummed as he sat, reading from his newspaper, careless of your presence, your fully loaded guns sat completely useless on his coffee table.

As you squirmed helplessly beneath Sylus' unyielding grasp, a shiver ran down your spine at the predatory glint in his eyes. The tendrils coiled tighter, biting into your flesh through the thin fabric of your clothes. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as panic threatened to overwhelm you.

But even in your vulnerable state, you couldn't ignore the heat pooling low in your belly. Being at this man's mercy, completely powerless before him, ignited something primal within you. A forbidden desire you'd never dared acknowledge until now.

Sylus set aside his paper, rising languidly to his feet. He approached slowly, each measured step sending your pulse skyrocketing. When he reached you, he knelt down, one hand reaching out to trail along your jawline. "Shall I show you out? Or..."

Your jaw clenched, he had offered you two options, to either steal the brooch off him, or let him fuck you for it. You blushed at the thought, you had denied it instantly, but after the hours of him manhandling you so easily, throwing you about, demanding you to get out. You didn't mind the thought much, in fact, it was quite appealing.

His fingers traced down your neck, feeling the rapid beat of your pulse under his touch. With a sly smile, he leaned closer, his hot breath ghosting across your skin as he whispered, "Or perhaps we should skip straight to option B."

Your body betrayed you then, responding eagerly to his proximity. His musky and masculine scent filled your senses, making your head spin. Your chest heaved with each shallow breath you took, straining against the confines of your top. And lower still, between your thighs, warm arousal seeped through your cotton lingerie, betraying the height of your arousal.

A wicked smile played upon Sylus' lips as he watched you struggle between pride and surrender. With a swift movement, he snapped his fingers, and the tendrils binding you shifted slightly. They loosened enough for you to move, if only minimally. It was clear who held the power here.

His hands roamed across your curves with bold intent. His touch was firm yet gentle, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins. He leaned closer, whispering huskily into your ear. "I bet you've never been fucked so thoroughly as I will."

You looked up, you could give him a false sense of compliance and steal the brooch off him before he could register it. Slowly, deliberately, you nodded your consent. "Okay," you breathed, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "Fuck me. Take what you want."

A triumphant gleam lit up Sylus' eyes at your surrender. With a low chuckle, he released the last of the restraints, allowing you to sit up. He pulled you flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around you possessively.

"You're playing with fire, kitten," He murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. Sylus' strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you roughly onto his lap. You gasped as you felt his hard cock pressing insistently against your cunt through his pants. He ground his thick cock against you, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your sensitive skin.

One hand slid up to cup your breast, kneading the soft skin through your shirt. His thumb brushed over your nipples, teasing them to stiff peaks. Leaning in, he captured your mouth in a dominant kiss, his tongue delving past your lips to claim yours.

As he ravaged your mouth, his hand slipped beneath your skirt, seeking the warmth between your thighs. His fingers found your drenched cotton piece and ripped them away with a harsh tug, exposing your slick folds to his touch.

Breaking the kiss, he gazed at you with lust-filled eyes. You froze as he pulled back and you took him in, the horns that grew from his head, dark contrasting against his silver hair, the furrow of large crow wings on his back. You had thought the people in that shop were lying about how they thought Sylus looked, but he sat under you like that. Skin as pale as flour, eyes as red as blood.

Sylus grinned wickedly, revealing sharp fangs. "Like what you see, kitten?"He stood abruptly, lifting you effortlessly in his strong arms. In a few strides, he had you pinned against the wall, his hard body caging you in. One hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt out of the way. His fingers teased along your dripping slit, gathering your juices.

"Mmm, so wet for me already," he purred, bringing his coated fingers to his lips to taste you. "Delicious."

His large wings caged you in, and you hoped he had the brooch you were looking for on him, trying to distract yourself from how different he looked and from all the pleasure his hands made you feel.

Sylus' hands trailed up your stomach, pausing to palm your breast roughly, rip your shirt open, before continuing their journey upwards. He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his burning gaze, his hand covering your entire neck. "Keep your eyes on me while I ruin you," he commanded gruffly.

His hand reached down your bare body again as you tried to keep looking into his sharp bloody eyes and he plunged two fingers deep inside your tight cunt without warning. A loud moan spilt from your lips as he began pumping them in and out, stretching you open. His thumb circled your clit, applying delicious pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Leaning in, he nipped sharply at your bottom lip, drawing a bead of blood. "You're mine now," he growled possessively. "And I'm going to enjoy every moment of claiming my prize." Withdrawing his fingers, he quickly undid his belt and freed his enormous cock.

You tried to focus away from his fingers, and the dark horns at your eye level. You supported yourself on his broad chest, feeling it up for the brooch as his fingers stretched you for his girth that you only caught a glimpse of. Your legs twitched around his waist from his fingers alone.

As your hands explored his chest, you felt a slight bulge where the brooch should have been. With a triumphant grin, you pinched it and tugged, freeing it from his clothing. Holding it up for both of you to see, you saw that it was indeed the crimson brooch you sought.

The momentary distraction was all Sylus needed. With a smirk, he thrust his pulsing cock against your entrance, not bothering with any further foreplay. With a single powerful push, he sheathed himself fully inside you, stretching your walls impossibly wide.

You cried and shook from the sudden stretch, the brooch falling to the floor, only to be caught by his Evol, the brooch floating in red-black hue. Eyes screwing shut as you clenched around him, pushing him out and pulling him in with rythemic pulses.

A guttural groan rumbled from his throat as he felt the clenching heat of your cunt envelop him completely. "Fuck, kitten, you're so tight," He panted, a smirk playing on his lips. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to his size before beginning to move.

Slowly, he started to pull out, only to plunge back in deeper than before. Each stroke was relentless, designed to stretch and fill you to your limits. His hands gripped your hips tightly, leaving marks that would serve as reminders of your first time being taken by him, a little bulge in the shape of his cock already forming on your lower abdomen.

"Sy-" You gasped, pressed against the wall as he took you, pain mixing with pleasure, head thrown back, his horns scratching at your cheeks a little as you tried to grip onto his hair.

Sylus gripped your hair tighter, tilting your head to expose the tender column of your neck. His teeth grazed over your skin, marking you as his own. "Say my name," He demanded, punctuating each word with another deep thrust. "Say it when I make you cum on my cock."

With renewed vigor, he picked up the pace, fucking you mercilessly against the wall. His wings spread wide, creating an intimate cocoon around you both. Each thrust hit deeper, triggering waves of pleasure that radiated throughout your entire body.

"Sy- Syl- Mmm-" You could do nothing but brace yourself against the wall, taking all he gave you. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room, accompanied by your muffled cries and his lewd grunts, leaning down to bite softly at your exposed neck. His wings covered you both, letting you bask in his darkness.

Sylus continued to pound into you relentlessly, his cock driving in and out of your clenching cunt with brutal force. The sound of your mixed moans and grunts filled the air, mingling with the slap of flesh against flesh.

Reaching down, he grasped your thigh, hoisting your leg up higher to wrap around him. The new angle allowed him to sink even deeper, hitting a spot within you that sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, nudging against your cervix with each thrust.

"Look at me," He commanded, his red eyes blazing with primal hunger. As you met his gaze, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, mirroring the intense rhythm of his thrusts.

Breaking the kiss, he growled against your lips, "I can feel you tightening around me, kitten."

"I'm so close..." You gasped almost inaudible. The coil of tension in your lower abdomen wound tighter and tighter until finally, it snapped. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner muscles clamping down around his thick cock rhythmically.

"That's it, let go for me," Sylus coaxed, his voice a low, seductive purr. He angled his hips, grinding against your clit with each powerful thrust. His fingers dug into your ass, holding you steady as he pistoned into you faster and harder.

"SYLUS!" You screamed, seeing stars behind your eyelids from the intensity of your release. Sylus snarled in satisfaction, feeling your silky walls flutter and squeeze his aching cock. He didn't slow his pace, instead using the extra lubrication to rut into you with wild abandon.

Sylus' thrusts became erratic as he chased his own climax, driven mad by the exquisite sensation of your cunt milking his cock. With a final, savage plunge, he buried himself to the hilt and groaned his release, spilling his hot seed deep inside you.

His hips jerked and twitched, pumping load after load of his potent cum into your willing body. The sheer volume threatened to overflow, trickling down your thighs as he emptied himself completely.

Panting heavily, Sylus slowly withdrew, his softening cock slipping free with a wet pop. He steadied you, your eyes closed, keeping you upright as the aftershocks of your combined orgasms rocked through your bodies.

"You took my cock so well, kitten," He praised, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your face. "I think we'll get along just fine." When you opened your eyes, there was no sigh of his horns, wings or fangs, his eyes a little less sharp and his skin regaining colour.

Sylus smiled almost warmly at you, his sharp features softening into something a little more approachable. "Let's clean up and talk business, shall we?" He offered you his hand, helping you straighten your clothes and gather your wits.

"There, much better," Sylus straightened his own attire, tucking his spent cock back into his trousers. He retrieved the fallen brooch, examining it briefly before pinning it securely to your blouse. "Mmm, guess you did manage to steal it off me on a technicality. I must say, I'm impressed. The sex was just for fun though right?"

You were still a little out of it from the fucking and the overwhelming sensations that followed, but you did manage a little nod as your cheeks filled with colour, because you had deep down, fucked him simply because you wanted to, even if you hadn't expected the leader of onychinus to turn into the pure demon that he did, it act like that didn't just happen. And as you stood there, shirt buttoned up once more and seemingly composed, despite the hammering in your heart matching his own ungodly rate, Sylus couldn't help but admire the way his brooch looked on you.

"Come here, I think I fucked you dumb, sweetie." He wrapped his thick arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulders, "Let's talk further later." You let him carry you, nodding along still.

{LaDs Kinktober Taglist: @m00nchildwrites}

[erwinsvow]

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲���𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

summary: hiding your relationship with rafe from your friends is fun... at first.

word count: 2k

now spinning: freak by lana del rey

author's note: this one put me in a silly mood <3 i love this man <3 so cute it'll rot your teeth! enjoy!

He’s a bad habit. Your worst habit, in fact, one that you hide from everyone like a dirty secret.

At first you’re just embarrassed. You’re supposed to be a Pogue, you try to remind yourself every now and then, you’re supposed to hate him and everything he stands for.

You’re supposed to hate the pretty jewelry he buys for you on a whim, hate the stupid—or something like that— look in his eyes when he puts it on you and presses a kiss to the soft skin of your neck or wrist or ankle, and you’re especially supposed to hate the way he spends money on you. 

You’re supposed to hate all of it, but you don’t. In fact, you think you’re falling in love with Rafe Cameron.

Which is bad, so so bad, you don’t even have words to describe how terrible it is. Rafe—who your closest friends despise, and for good reason. He becomes an ass outside of the sheltered, private walls of your tiny bedroom, getting into fights and egging everyone into violence.

He’s completely different, like an entirely new person, and you should hate him for what he does to your friends and goads them into doing. 

Hate is the furthest thing from what you actually feel. You’re not even embarrassed anymore. You’re protective, because you know your friends won’t understand, that they’ll try to talk you out of your feelings, and you’ll have to show them the thing that you’re dreading the most of all, that you would defend Rafe to them. That you would take his side.

That you would become that girl you used to make fun of, screaming at your friends because you don’t know him like I do, and then running home, running to him, to feel better.

It’s gotten bad, and to avoid all of this, you don’t bring up your relationship to them at all. What started off as chance encounters and graduated into quiet, peaceful hours spent in each company without another care in the world, has now turned into a real relationship. A secret relationship, at that. 

Rafe wants to tell the world, and he especially wants to tell your friends. You convince him that it’s romantic to sneak around, with plenty of hidden kisses and longing gazes and making a fool out of everyone right in front of their eyes.

He buys the act for now, but you know he won’t for long. You think that he wants to rub it into your friends’ faces, that he got you despite how much they hate him. He doesn’t tell you it’s because he has to know, has to be sure that you aren’t ashamed of being with him.

𝜗𝜚

The first time you almost get caught is in Rafe’s truck—parked along the beach, in what was meant to be a cute little date. You pack sandwiches and fruit, freshly squeezed lemonade in a mason jar that you and him pass back and forth.

The two of you watch the sunset from the safety of his car, specifically because you’re worried your friends will catch you if they spot you on the beach with someone.

“This is good,” Rafe says, taking another sip out of the jar, his lips shining with the sugary juice. You want to lick it clean, but you hold off for now. “Where’d you get it from, again?” 

“I made it, Rafe,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “We have a lemon tree in the backyard. My parents like to grow their own stuff.” 

“Well,” he says, licking his lips. Damn it, there goes your chance to sneak a kiss in and act like it was for some other reason. “You should make more. Shit’s good.”

“Then take me on another date. I’ll make you a whole pitcher.” 

“Our next date is gonna be way better than this,” is his response, looking down at his half-eaten, heart-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

He notices your eyes get big, like you’re upset, and immediately follows up his own sentence.

“Not that this isn’t perfect,” he says, resting the mason jar in the cupholder. “It is. Perfect. Couldn’t ask for more. I just meant, next time, you won’t have to pack anything or juice any lemons, like a restaurant. All you have to do is wear something pretty and show up.”

You smile, giddily. 

“You have some lemonade, right there,” you say, pointing to the side of his lip, leaning in for a kiss, just about to close your eyes, when you hear the unmistakable hoot that is your boys, as in your other boys. “Shit-” and you duck, head resting on Rafe’s thigh as you try to get out of their eye-sight. You don’t sit back up until you make Rafe triple-check the coast is clear.

“Y’know, if you wanted to get freaky in my car, all you had to do was ask-”

𝜗𝜚

The next time is a month later, a month of bliss and joy that you still haven’t told your friends about. Rafe came over to help you finish baking lemon squares, but really just creating a mess and kissing you with sugary, citrusy lips and flour-coated hands. 

You take turns showering to clean off, because as much as you would love to rinse off together, your shower is not like the one Rafe has in his Tannyhill bedroom, and sadly, barely big enough for one. You go first, washing your hair and complaining about icing remnants, and send Rafe in after you while you dry your hair. 

On his way in, he tells you not to get dressed just yet. You sit in anticipation, wrapped just in your towel, brushing your hair absentmindedly. You drop the brush on your foot when you hear three sharp knocks on your bedroom window.

Crap. 

When you turn to look, it’s just Kie, and you sigh a breath of obvious relief. You wouldn’t be able to manage lying to everyone, but if it’s just Kiara, you might be able to get away with it.

She climbs in through the window, lying flat on your bed and starting to explain what’s going on—her feelings for Pope and some old feelings for Jayj that are coming to the surface. You half-listen, feeling like a terrible friend, but your heart is currently showering in your tiny bathroom, probably complaining about the luke-warm water and thinking about all the things he’s going to do to you when he gets out.

“Is your shower running?” Kie asks, ever-observant. “Dude, that’s like, so bad for the environment.”

“Oh, I-” your brain turns to mush. “I just stepped out to brush my hair, I’m going right back in. I’m so sorry Kie, I’m so distracted today. You know, I-I hate wasting water.” You stare at her for a second, wondering if she bought it.

“I’m just glad you care. JJ and John B don’t even recycle their beer cans. I’ll come back later, then?” and you nod, maybe a little too excited. “Are you gonna finish showering now?” she questions, watching you linger by the door. 

“Yes! Yes, I am. Bye, Kie,” you say, opening the door and closing it quickly, hoping Rafe doesn’t speak up. You drop the towel and climb into the shower, clasping your hand over his mouth quickly. You wait to hear your window close, and then the noise of her car driving away.

“Y’know, kid, if you were feeling that impatient, all y’had to do was tell me,” Rafe says, leaning in for a hot, wet kiss.

𝜗𝜚

It all breaks down because JJ is like a walking metal detector, eyes flitting to anything shiny and new and the questions never-ending, even when you’re glaring at him. 

Rafe bought it for you. A gleaming, pretty silver bracelet with a little pink heart hanging off, complete with the letter R engraved on the back of the charm. You try to sneak it in with your other bracelets, the beaded ones Kie makes, the thread friendship bracelets all of you share in matching colors, and you even throw on a watch just so no one notices something new on your wrist. It doesn’t work.

“Wow,” JJ starts, letting out a whistle. You freeze instantly. “What’d you do, rob a Kook and not invite us?” He comes up closer, taking your wrist in his hand and raising it above and below, inspecting it. 

“No, no…” you trail off, mind going completely blank on how to explain this to your friends. All you can think about is the soft way Rafe kissed your wrist while helping you put it on, and the not-so-soft two hours you spent at Tannyhill after. “I, uh-”

“What, you found it?” Pope throws in, and you start to nod, even though your friends know you better than that. “Because you should really turn it in, I mean, they’ll get you for that-”

“Trust me, I would know,” John B says, coming around to look at it closer. “I feel I’ve seen that before.”

“Yeah, I bet all the Kook princesses have ‘em and compare with each other.” JJ puts on a goofy, high pitched voice that would normally make you laugh. “Mine’s silver. Mine’s gold. Actually, guys, mine’s encrusted with diamonds.” 

“You know how much child labor funds the entire jewelry industry? They have kids mining in caves-”

“But that would actually make sense, Kie, because, like, they’re so tiny they’re the only ones who can just like, sneak on in there with their little tools, and just like-” JJ imitates, what you can only assume, is a child mining for gold with his hands. 

“They can grow diamonds in labs now. It’s so unnecessary and dangerous,” Kie says, looking back at you. “We should burn it, so it goes back into the soil.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” JJ says, getting up and putting himself between you and Kie, like a barrier. “Why would we do that? We could probably go get a couple hundos for that thing. Y’know how much beer we can buy with that?”

“He’s got a point there,” John agrees. You’re speechless.

“Well, does it have any markings? Because if we just return it, the owner might give us a reward for finding it.” JJ scoffs.

“Yeah, right, they’d probably think we stole it.”

“Well, we did, that’s like the definition of-” you cut Pope off before you can stop yourself.

“I didn’t steal it!” It comes out like a yell, even though you don’t mean it, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I didn’t steal it, okay, it’s mine, so can we please just drop it?”

You notice the boys lock eyes with each other, eyes wide, probably wondering what just happened. You turn away from them to look at Kie, about to apologize because you know she’s totally right about the whole child mining thing, when you see her eyes are fixed on your wrist.

“R?” she questions. “What’s the R stand for?” 

You drop your hand to your side, eyes shutting on their own as you release a tight breath. You really have no idea how to get yourself out of this one, until a voice pipes up from behind you.

“Why don’t you idiots take a wild guess?” The voice belongs to your boyfriend, your secret boyfriend. You guess it’s not such a secret anymore.

JJ is the first to react, exactly like you thought he would, too.

“No, no, gross, gross!”

John B stares at you like you’ve just run over his puppy. Kie has her eyebrows raised like she’s questioning everything she ever knew about you. Pope’s eyes are wide like coins, fist clenched like he’s about to start swinging.

You let out another breath.

“Was that really necessary?” you ask, turning your head to question Rafe, standing right behind you, his arm hanging around your shoulder now. 

“Had to tell ‘em eventually, kid. Guess today’s the day,” and then he uses his hand to squeeze your cheeks together, giving you a sloppy kiss and waltzing off in the direction he came from.All you hear is JJ—gross, gross, gross!

[lacroixwh0r3]

Blow My Load

DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: For the last two year, you and Joel have been secretly hooking up behind your fathers back. One night when your dad goes out on a date, you and Joel spend the night together and Joel gets carried away.

Warnings: SMUT!! DUB CON, petnames (pretty tame ones), doggystyle, oral sex (f recieving), PiV, creampie, crying, pregnancy mention, abortion mentioned at the end, overstimulation, Joel is a little bit of an asshole in this (I am so sorry), age gap (Joel is 40 and reader is around 25), (aged up) Sarah mentioned, no outbreak

Song inspo (Feel free to listen if you want): Blow my load by Tyler, The Creator

A/N: Enjoy! Please reblog, share, like, and comment if you want. <333

"Oh, baby," Joel moans as he breaks the kiss between you two. You look down at his lips, which are now bright red and slightly plumped. His tongue quickly licks off the mix of both of your spits from his bottom lip. His hands were still holding your head in place as he looked at you. "I wanna cum in that tight little pussy so bad, darlin."

Normally, the two of you would have to be quiet, but because your dad had decided last minute to go on a date, it was just you and Joel in the house. Or you might even go over to Joel's house, which was five minutes away, if Sarah wasn't home, but tonight the young girl was at the house with three of her friends having a sleepover doing, lord knows, what. Joel was adamant about staying over to watch the four girls, but you quickly reminded him that they're 18 years old and could easily take care of themselves. You were also going to be home alone, and you wanted him all to yourself.

As soon as your dad pulled out of the driveway, you and Joel ran to your bedroom and stripped out of your clothing.

You couldn't help but let out a whimper. "Joel, you know you can't do that." You tell him as you bring your hands up to grip his wrist. You weren't on birth control, and Joel wasn't a big fan of condoms. When the two of you did have sex together, Joel would usually pull out at the very last second, which would lead to you giving him a lecture as you both came down from the intense orgasm you both had.

Sure, it was hot when Joel did it, but you would rather not have to tell your dad that you were pregnant with his best friend's baby, and you didn't want Joel to tell Sarah that he had gotten the girl she looked up to the most pregnant.

"I know, darlin', I know, but imagine how fuckin' good it must feel." Joel whispered to you as he groans out. He brings his head close to yours again. You could feel his lips ghosting over yours.

"I'm fucking you until you can't think straight, begging me to dump my warm load deep into your pussy." Joel says before he sticks his tongue out again, only this time his tongue strokes against my top lip. You felt a strong pull in your stomach as your pussy clenched around nothing, causing you to push your hips into Joel's. "Maybe even put a baby in there." He says it lightly. It was almost as if he was saying it to himself, but somehow you still heard it but didn't comment on it.

You couldn't help but think about earlier, when Joel had lifted your dress up and ate you out on your family's couch in the living room while your dad ran to the store to restock on beer and some food for dinner. The way he sat down on the floor as he wrapped his large hands around your ankles to keep your legs from closing or falling off the couch Or the way he slurped, licked, and sucked on your clit to the point you almost wanted to scream at the top of your lungs.

You parted your lips to allow Joel's tongue to invade your mouth. Joel cocks his head to the side a bit and sucks on your tongue before letting it go and French kissing you. You can feel it as the drool slides down your chin, getting onto his beard. You feel Joel's hands release your face and move down your neck, stopping at your breast. He fondles them and thumbs your nipples. They were painfully hard now.

You wanted nothing more than for Joel to fuck you senselessly until you couldn't think of anything but him. Joel always turned you on when he talked to you like this, but you were ovulating right now, and his words weren't helping.

You pull away from the kiss. "Fuck me, Joel," You mutter against his lips. "I want you to fuck me hard, daddy."

"Yeah, you want me to fuck you nice and hard? Get on the bed so Daddy can fuck you," He says sternly. "I want you face down, ass up, darlin'." You immediately get to the edge of the bed, just as Joel told you to, with your feet hanging off.

You can feel Joel close behind you in between your legs as he reaches over your naked body and grabs the pillow near your head. "Get on your hands for me real quick," He tells you. Again, you do what he says, and he stuffs the pillow underneath your stomach. "Good girl, now lay back down on your chest." He tells you once more. You lay back down and realized that your hips were now elevated, allowing Joel to easily access your pussy.

"Oh, look at you, so fuckin' sexy with your ass in the air, just ready for me to fuck you," He teases you. "You want me to fuck that pretty pussy, doll?" Joel asked. You felt your pussy clenching around nothing. Begging for your hole to be fucked

"Mmmhm." You whimper at Joel as you nuzzle your face into the soft sheets beneath you. However, your response did not satisfy him because he spanked your ass with his large hand. Your head pops off the bed, causing you to look back at him over your shoulder.

"Say it." Joel demanded it from you. "Tell me how much you want me to fuck you."

"I've wanted you since you got here, baby. I've been so fucking wet for that big cock." You whimpered as you wiggled your ass in the air, causing him to strike your ass again.

"Oh, I know you want my cock, honey. You want me to fuck my cum into you? Hmm?" He spanked you multiple times. You let out soft whines as you shook my head.

"Hmm? What's that, baby? You want me to cum in you?" He not-so-jokingly asked:

"I mean it, Joel. You can't cum inside of me or I'm gonna kill you, old man." You give him a pointed look over your shoulder, causing him to raise his hand in defense with his eyebrows raised. You meant it jokingly, but also not jokingly.

"I promise I won't, baby." He tells you.

"Mmhm, now I want you to fuck me, Joel." You demand him. His left hand grips your waist as the other wraps around his cock as he strokes it, getting ready to slide it into you. You feel him rub his cock against your clit as he gathers the arousal that seeps out of your hole. You moan out his name as he hisses.

Joel then points the head of his cock at your pussy and slowly slides inside. Letting out a deep groan as he does so. "Oh f-fuck, baby," He shudders. Your toes had curled up in pleasure as you dropped your head onto the sheets. "Pussy so fucking tight and warm... I might just have to cum in this pussy and make you a momma, huh?" He questions you as he slowly begins to push in and out of you. Joel felt the flutter after he said that.

"Oh, you liked that, baby?" Joel teases you. His slow strokes began to form a hard, fast pounding. "Tell me."

"I am going to fu-Oh fuck me-I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Joel!" You moan out to him as he continues his furious strokes. His balls slapped against your clit as he pushed your waist into the pillow beneath you. "Y-you have to fucking pull out," You plead with Joel. You knew that he wasn't listening as he continued to pound his cock in and out of you.

"You promised me!" You squeal out. Joel only grunted in reply and spanked your ass with full force as his left hand gripped your hips.

Somehow, Joel's thrust had only gotten faster. You could hear your headboard hitting against your wall and the sound of my ass slapping against Joel's hips. It was all too much. Your knees began to burn from the friction, your hips began to grow sore as he tightened his grip on them, and with each hit to your ass, there was a sharp sting that lingered. That's when you knew that both you and Joel were close to orgasming.

"Oh, J-Joel, baby, please!" Suddenly, it hit you. You were cumming so hard that you didn't know what to do with yourself. The combined feeling of Joel's heavy balls slapping against your clit and his cock rubbing the spot deep within you was overpowering, causing tears to form.

You grabbed the pillow that sat near your head and brought it close to your face. You bite down on the pillow as your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out loud moans into it.

"Oh my fucking god, baby..." Joel strains out his sexy, deep voice. He spanks you again as you cum around his cock and rub your ass cheek to soothe the pain. "Come on, sweet girl, tell me who's making you feel good." His strokes had begun to slow down now.

You release the pillow from between your teeth. You were so far gone from your ongoing orgasm that you couldn't even form words. Goosebumps had formed around your whole body as you shaked and quivered.

You feel him bring his hand up and smack your ass hard again, causing your body to jerk in response. "Tell me, girl! Who's makin' you cum this hard?" Joel grits his teeth as he slowly thrusts into you.

"It's you, Daddy!" You moan out to him as you reach your arm around you to grab onto his fingers on your waist. Joel moans and slowly picks up the pace of his thrust. You could feel his balls tighten against your clit, letting you know that he was nearly cumming. You look over your shoulder at him.

"That's fuckin' right, daddy is fucking you." He fucks himself into you. "O-Oh fuck, I'm gonna fuckin' cum soon, my sweet girl." Joel continues to hold onto your hand while his other hand lazily spanks your ass some more. You watch as his head falls back and his eyes close. You feel yourself close to another orgasm as well, but you can't help but worry that Joel isn't going to pull out on time.

"J-Joel," You moan to him as you grip the sheets on the bed. "You have to pull out; I'm ovulating, and you're gonna get me pregnant if you don't." You tried to tell him so that he could pull out. However, this only seemed to turn him on more. His cock strained in you all while he continued to stroke against the spot inside of you. You released his hand, slipped it between the pillow, and onto your clit. You rubbed your clit fast as he fucked you.

Joel looked like he had been transported to heaven. He looked down at you with both hands on your hips, gripping them hard. It hurt, but you didn't care.

"Oh, baby, I love you so fuckin' much," he whimpered as he looked into your eyes. "I'm so sorry," He says, looking down at his cock going in and out of your pussy. The sight of your juices covering his cock made his body go stiff. That's when you knew he wasn't going to pull out.

"I can't stop; I need to fuckin' cum in this tight pussy right now."

"Joel! No, pull out now." You told him as you tried to move your body away from his, but his grip was too tight around you. "You promised me, Joel!" You moaned loudly.

You weren't sure how many times you had orgasmed today, but you knew that you were cumming again. Joel moans as he feels you tighten around him. His cock begins to spurt his warm cum into your womb. You were so overstimulated that your eyes leaked tears and your ears rang loudly as your cunt welcomed Joel's cum and fluttered around his cock. Over the ringing in your ears, you can hear Joel whimpering out soft appologies as he continued to cum.

With his cock still inside you as you leaked out cum from your pussy, he laid his warm body on top of your back. His chest was damp with sweat from pounding into you. You could feel his warm breath by your ear as he took a minute to gather himself together. He still felt your walls fluttering around him. "It's okay, babydoll. I got you," He whispered gently as he stroked your bare side. You couldn't speak or think; all you could do was shiver underneath his body, even though you were far from cold.

Moments later, Joel pushes up from the bed and slowly pulls his cock from you with a slight hiss and groan. Joel bends down to get a look at your cum-filled pussy with his hands resting on your ass. "Oh doll, look at that pretty pussy," He whispers as he strokes his thumb against your sore ass. "I'll be back, okay, baby?" You let out a soft hum, letting him know he heard you.

When he went to the bathroom to clean you off and get something to clean you off, he didn't hear you burst into tears. When he came back, you were now sitting in the middle of the bed, crying with your head in your hands.

He rushes into the room, places the water bottle and towel on the bed, and embraces you. You couldn't help but cry harder as you cried into his neck. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry." He apologized as he kissed and rubbed your head. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, I don't even know what I was thinking."

You continued to cry for a few more moments before speaking up. "Joel, what if you did get me pregnant? What are we going to tell my dad and Sarah?" You look up at him with worry. He could tell you were stressed over this and couldn't help but feel his heart pull in his chest. Joel honestly didn't know what came over him during sex.

"Doll," He grabs your hand from your lap and gives it a quick kiss. "If you do get pregnant and you decide that you want to get rid of it, I will be there along the way, but if you want to keep it, then I will be sure to take care of you and the baby no matter what." Joel says it truthfully.

You stroked his hand with your thumb. "Joel, I'm not getting rid of it, but we're gonna be so fucked when my dad finds out his best friend of four years has been boning his daughter for the last two years and got her pregnant..." You say this to him as you look down at his hand in yours. "He'll fucking probably end up kicking me out and then kicking your ass."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head 'bout that darlin'; you're always welcomed at my house." With his other hand, he holds your head and kisses the crown of your head. "As for him kicking my ass, that ain't happening, sweetheart," He says sternly, as if he is sure. You let out a snort as you laughed.

"Oh really?" You back away from him to get a look at the cocky look on his face. He just looks down at your face with admiration.

"I'm certain, darlin'," He tells you, causing you to let out a loud giggle. That beautiful giggle overwhelmed Joel with love. He knew he loved you before, and he always made sure that you knew he loved you, but he knew right there that there would be another compared to you. You were it for him.

After your giggles had died down, you noticed that he was looking at you with a sparkling look in his eyes. "What?" You asked him softly as you played with his fingers.

"You know I love you, right?" He asked you. You felt yourself beginning to get shy. The both of you always told each other how much you loved each other, but something about this was different.

"Of course I know, Joel. Do you know I love you more, though?" You lean over and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. You then pull back to take a look at his face. The way his hard eyes softened when he looked at you made you weak in the knees. "So fuckin' handsome!" Joel's cheeks turned a soft pink color.

"And you're the most beautiful thing on earth," He whispers to you. "You're mine forever; don't ever forget it, darlin'." You wish this moment could last forever.

You released his hands from yours and brought them to your stomach. "I can't believe we might be having a baby, Joel," You whispered as you stroked your stomach. You could see you and Joel sharing a child together and even getting married whenever the time is right. He puts his hand over yours as well and rubs his thumb against your hand.

"You want me to cum in you again so we know we're successful, baby?" He suggested it with a smug tone. The soft look on your face immediately dropped and was replaced with a blank one instead.

"You're such a dirty old man," You tell him. "But yes, I do." You give him a quick peck on the lips before laying back down on the bed.

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A/N: I kinda hate this, but its been on my mind and I wanted to write.

[hiraethwrote]

flufftober: matching jewelry

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader summary: playfully putting one of his rings on your own finger, suguru instantly falls in love with the sight — the idea of you carrying a piece of him with you wherever you go cw: fluff, banter, established relationship, just overall wholesome, reader is rather feminine w longer hair, no use of y/n word count: 1.3k

Suguru found it cute, how your fingers so mindlessly played with any piece of jewelry he was wearing.

Laying with your back rested against his chest, eyes locked on the movie, he suspected you weren’t even aware of how you were slowly twisting the metal around his fingers.

Fingertips moving from one to the next, back and forth, before you swiftly slipped one off his index to flip it diligently between your own digits — then slipping it on your own index, eyes still glued on the screen.

Though way too big for you, it was nice to see something so characteristic about him worn on you — almost as if you were labelled his.

Your subconscious continued to steer your fingers, moving onto the next jewelry on his hand, slipping that off as well. “You need your own rings?”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” you giggled, tilting your head up to look at him. “Just like ‘em, you know.” You didn’t remove his ring, though. No, instead you let your naked hand move up his chest to fidget with his necklace, delicately twirling it between the pillows of your fingers.

“Suits you,” he hummed.

“Yeah?” You lifted your hand up in front of you, spreading all your fingers to take in the sight of his ring, crookedly resting on your hand due to the size of it. “Not entirely my style.”

That’s when you finally took it off, Suguru letting out a small sigh of disappointment when you placed it back on his hand. “Well, I liked it on you.”

“Thanks,” you hummed, turning over to wrap your arms around his torso and nuzzle your cheek against his firm chest, attention turning back to the movie. “I like them on you. Really sexy.”

Two strong fingers grabbed your plush cheeks to angle your head back up to look at him. “Sexy, huh?” His alluring smirk instantly causing your skin to grow hot, still so easily turned speechless by him.

“Mhmm, you got nice hands. The rings just add to that,” you said with a shy smile. “This too,” your hand finding his necklace again to tap carefully at it.

“Thanks,” his voice rumbles comfortably, the conversation eventually dying down and your attention back on the movie — until you quietly drifted off into a light slumber, your breathing settling into a steady and soft pace, arms still clinging around his body.

Suguru, however, couldn’t quite shake the sweet little image of your hand hovering in the air, wearing his ring.

It was a simple scenery, but the idea of you carrying a token that belonged to him set strong root in his brain — and he really liked it. Without it being in-your-face, it was such an easy way of proving who you belonged to.

That’s when the wheels started to churn, hooked on the idea of a part of him being with you wherever you went.

“Suguru, you listening?”

He wasn’t — he had, unintentionally, zoned out of the conversation long ago, eyeing any part of you that would look good with a piece of precious metal — your ears, your neck, your fingers, your wrists, damn even your ankles. Anywhere one could imagine silver, gold or any other metal, he did.

“Sorry, lost in thought.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your cute little smile dancing on your lips, leaning forward on your elbow, chin resting in the palm of your hand.

“You’ll know soon enough,” he said, also leaning forward to mirror your position, flashing a sly smirk.

You quirked an eyebrow. “How ominous of you.”

“I’m an ominous guy.” You couldn’t help bur react with a huff, rolling your eyes as you fell back in your seat. “I beg your pardon?” He asked, slight offence seeping through his amusement.

“You’re not half as ominous as you think you are, baby,” he watched closely as your dainty fingers tucked a stray hair behind your ear, once again bringing focus to the lack of jewelry decorating it. Maybe earrings? “You’re a brooding guy.”

Now it was Suguru’s turn to huff, a little too smitten by you to be genuinely offended — especially when you had that oh-so-beautiful glint in your eyes that was always present. He thought a piece of jewelry would only amplify the feature.

“I’m not brooding,” he nearly whined, earning him an amused glare from you, the faintest smile showing.

“I rest my case,” your voice sweet as sugar, to which he only rolled his eyes.

Eying the black squared box, the logo of some expensive jeweler sprayed across the glossy exterior — rummaging your mind if you were somehow the one who had forgot a special date.

Anniversary? No, that was four months ago.

Birthday? Of course not.

Holiday? Not the last time you checked.

“What did you do?” There was a hint of sarcasm to your lilt, narrowing your eyes at him, unable to think of any reason for the sudden gift. You were only given a familiar eye roll.

“Need a reason to give my girlfriend a gift?” He pinched his eyebrows together, tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek.

“Hmm, suspicious.”

“If you don’t want it-“

“No, no, no, I’m kidding,” you rushed out, grabbing his wrists as he had started to pull away, with the box in hand.

“Thought so,” he chuckled quietly as he slid the box over in your hand.

You let out a deep breath, glancing at his face one last time to see if there was anything to reveal in his expression — nothing. With the tips of your fingers, you carefully opened the box with a light click, exposing a beautiful, chain bracelet — but the middle section was a delicate, square plaque, leaning in closer to reveal two small letters engraved; S. G.

With mouth slightly agape, you lifted it out of the box to get a better look at the handiwork, clearly a high quality jewelry made by a skilled individual. “Suguru, it’s beautiful,” you breathed, tilting your head up to look at him again, “thank you.”

“So you like it?” His voice was so warm, low and calm, filled with compassion — same compassion you so clearly saw swim in his eyes when he looked at you.

“Yes, thank you,” you shifted in your seat to come closer, your knees placed between his as his big hands rested on your thighs. “So what’s the occasion?”

He shrugged casually, “there’s no occasion. Just thought you’d look nice with some jewelry. Besides-“ he cut himself off, hands leaving you to reach down under his seat, pulling out yet another box, identical to the one he'd already gifted you.

Confusion graced your expression, narrowing your eyebrows at him as you hesitated to grab the next box. You wanted to ask, but the look he gave told you to ‘get on with it’. Thumbs clicking open the lid, revealing an identical bracelet, only bigger.

“I don’t understand,” you sighed.

“Take a closer look.” You did as you were told, picking up the second bracelet to observe it closer, yet again revealing engraved letters — but these were your initials.

Once reality set in, happy tears started to form in your eyes, fingers brushing lightly over the familiar letters before meeting his gaze again.

“You got us matching bracelets?” You chuckled lightly, as he nodded along to every word.

“This means-“ he started, carefully pulling his bracelet out of your fingers to fasten it effortlessly around his left wrist. “We’re with each other, wherever we go.“ Moving on to grab your bracelet, tenderly lacing it around your left wrist. Once locked in place, his finger found itself under your chin, slowly guiding your face closer to his.

“Thank you,” you sniffled quietly.

“You like it?” Feeling his hot breath fan against your lips.

“I love it,” tilting your head forward to let your nose brush against his.

tags @madaqueue @sad-darksoul

a/n aaah second and final flufftober fic... words be wording in this one. now give suguru some love, he deserves it <3

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited