#race to the edge roleplay | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollgxtz · 1 month ago

Note

I gotta know when you’re posting the Zayne CNC fic??? I’ve been checking your blog multiple times a day for it!

But realistically, no pressure 😂 I know writing is hard, and I can wait, lol. It’s worth the wait. I just want to show support for you and your craft. ❤️

Also, I love your yandere!Sylus fic! I’m only on chapter four and I see so many asks about it and I have to physically stop myself from spoiling it for myself, lmao. I’m so excited to read more! Your writing and your tics are a highlight of my day. 😊🥰

Edge Of Control

Word Count: 6.2k

Tags: zayne x fem!reader, cnc, cutting, tw slight blood, scalpel play, choking, biting, degradation, blowjob, degrading names, pet names like darling, pain play, home invasion roleplay, primal play, aftercare in the end

AN: Hi everyone! I know this was a LONG awaited fic but I wanted it to be absolutely perfect for my second husband ^0^. Also ty anon for the very sweet words! I hope this fic makes up for the amount of time you had to wait!!!

It was well past midnight, and the house felt eerily quiet without him. You lay on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of Zayne’s boxers, the soft fabric a small comfort in his absence. A half-empty bottle of wine sat forgotten on the floor beside you, each sip doing little to calm the restless energy humming beneath your skin. The TV flickered, casting shadows across the room as you absentmindedly flicked through the channels, though nothing could hold your attention.

Your mind kept wandering back to Zayne, a dull ache settling in your chest. He was on another one of those grueling shifts—long hours with no word, no way to reach out to him. The pit of anxiety in your stomach tightened. You didn’t know exactly what his job as a surgeon demanded of him, but you could see it weighing on him more and more. His face had grown tired, the usual sparkle in his eyes dulled by exhaustion. You noticed the way his shoulders remained stiff, tension knotting in his body like a rope pulled too tight, barely holding it together.

Every time he came home like this, you saw it—the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His body brimming with pent-up energy, adrenaline coursing through his veins with no way to let go. He was so tightly wound, like he was carrying the weight of a world you couldn’t fully understand. And every time you saw him like that, it broke something inside you. You wanted to help him. You wanted to be the one to take that edge off, to give him the release he so desperately needed but would never ask for.

You remembered the last time he came home with that storm in his eyes. Desperation had driven you to plead with him, to offer yourself as an outlet for all that tension, that frustration. You had begged him, your voice trembling, to let go, to take what he needed from you. But he refused. The worry in his eyes had cut deep, his voice firm but laced with guilt as he told you he didn’t want to hurt you.

That memory lingered now, thick in your chest. He was always so controlled, so careful. You knew he loved you, but there was a part of him that he kept locked away, too afraid to unleash it. But you wanted it—you craved it. You wanted him to feel safe enough to lose that control with you, to trust that you could handle it. That you wanted to handle it. But no matter how much you tried to reach him, he kept that wall up, afraid of what might happen if he let himself go.

You took another slow sip of wine, feeling the warmth of it spread through your chest, slightly loosening the anxious knot that had taken residence in your stomach. You always drank more when he was away—needed it, really. It dulled the sharp edges of worry that kept you up at night, made sleep feel a little less impossible. Without him beside you, the house felt too empty, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t control.

Your eyes drifted shut, and the thought crossed your mind again—he could hurt you, if he wanted to. God, he was strong enough. His hands, so skilled and sure in the operating room, could easily push you beyond your limits if he ever let himself go. He knew the human body better than anyone; he understood exactly where and how to apply pressure, how to control every reaction. And then there was the scalpel—his precision tool of choice. He was so adept with it, using it in ways you’d never imagined.

You remembered the first time he’d worked it into one of your nights together, after you had begged him to try something more daring, something that would leave you breathless. He had been hesitant at first, but the results... God, the results. The thrill of that sharp edge glinting in the dim light, the cold metal kissing your skin before it pressed just enough to break the surface. You shivered as the memory washed over you, your body tingling with the vivid recollection.

The pain had been brief, but it was the anticipation, the unspoken threat, that had driven you wild. You could still feel it—the delicate line of fire it had traced across your shoulder, a stinging reminder of his control. And then the blade had hovered at your throat, a silent promise lingering in the air between you, making your pulse race and your breath catch in your throat. In that moment, you had never felt more alive, more his.

Your hand had barely slipped down to your heat when the sharp trill of your phone cut through the quiet. Heart pounding, you snatched it up, the suddenness of it snapping you out of your haze.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice a little breathless, still tangled in the memory of him.

“Is that offer still on the table?” Zayne’s voice poured through the speaker, low and worn, with that familiar undercurrent of exhaustion. But there was something else this time—something darker. His words dripped with a kind of danger, smooth and sweet like black honey, making your stomach flip.

You swallowed hard, a spark igniting low in your belly. “Uh, depends which one,” you managed, trying to play it cool as you sat up, bringing the wine bottle to your lips for another sip. Your heart was racing, anticipation thrumming under your skin.

“The one where I use you.”

The words hit you like a jolt of electricity, sending a thrill straight to your core. The raw need in his voice was unmistakable, and it struck every nerve you had. You faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of your own reaction. You tried to cover the sudden loss of words with another drink, the wine sliding down your throat as you let the tension stretch between you.

One more sip—just one more for courage. Then, finally, you answered, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Yes.”

“Is the wine good, darling?”

The question hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. “What?” you murmured, glancing around the dark living room. The flicker of the TV had left your eyes hazy, still not fully adjusted to the shadows creeping through the room. How did he know you’d been drinking wine?

Your breath caught as an icy chill swept through the house, raising goosebumps on your skin. Instinctively, your gaze darted to the front door, and your stomach dropped. It was wide open, swaying slightly as a gust of wind pushed against it.

You hadn’t heard a thing. Not the lock turning, not the door creaking. Nothing.

How had he gotten in without you noticing?

You stared at the door, frozen in place, watching as it swung shut on its own, the soft click of the latch echoing through the quiet. A chill ran down your spine as the realization hit—you hadn’t heard him enter on purpose. He wanted you to know he’d slipped in unnoticed, that he’d been watching you this whole time. Your mind spun with the thought: How long had he been there?

The phone slipped from your grasp, and you barely registered the sharp whine of the line going dead, drowned out by the thundering pulse of your heartbeat in your ears.

The soft but deliberate sound of shoes against the ceramic floor snapped you back into focus. Your senses sharpened, instincts kicking in. He was coming closer—fast.

In the low, flickering light of the TV, you saw him emerge from the shadows. Long strides brought him swiftly across the room, his form cutting through the dim light with an air of purpose. His form caught the harsh glow—the broad shoulders of his body, the sharp angles of his face—only partially revealed, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Then, without warning, the TV blinked out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The sudden silence was deafening. The sound of his footsteps, which had been closing in on you, vanished as if he’d disappeared into the night itself.

But you knew better.

He was there, somewhere in the blackness, waiting for you to realize it. The tension in the air was thick, every hair on your body standing on end as you strained to hear the slightest movement, feel the faintest brush of his presence.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Suddenly, the TV blared a sharp noise from the movie, flooding the room with light for just a second. And there he was, Zayne, only a few feet away—moving like a shadow, so silently it made your skin crawl. His face was bathed in the cold glow, and the way the light played off his sharp features made him look almost predatory. His expression was intense, dark, and unreadable, as if he was walking a line between control and something much more dangerous.

Your brain screamed danger. Fight or flight surged through your veins, heart hammering against your ribcage as self-preservation took over. Without thinking, your hand tightened around the neck of the wine bottle, the glass cool and smooth in your grip. Before you could second-guess it, you raised it high above your head and hurled it straight at him, instinct driving your every move.

But then—he catches it. Effortlessly. The bottle freezes mid-air, his hand snapping up to grab it as if it were nothing more than a tossed pillow. He doesn’t flinch. His stride doesn’t break. His hazel green eyes, burning with that same dangerous intensity, never leave yours for even a second. The best defense you could muster didn’t even make him blink.

Calmly, as though the act hadn’t fazed him at all, he places the bottle on the side table, his gaze still locked on you. The silence between you feels deafening as he closes the distance, his steps slow but deliberate.

Panic shot through you like a wild animal, adrenaline making your limbs tremble. But something else flared right alongside it—something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. It was fear, raw and visceral, but it was tangled up with desire, twisted into something you couldn’t quite understand but craved all the same.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Like prey trapped in the gaze of a predator, you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t look away.

And you almost didn’t want to.

You whip around, adrenaline taking over, and try to run—but you barely make it a few steps before it’s too late. You don’t even hear him behind you. The silence is terrifying, disorienting. Then, out of nowhere, his hand clamps around your elbow, and a startled shriek escapes your lips, cut off as he uses your momentum against you, spinning you sharply into the wall.

Your back collides with it hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A whimper slips out, unbidden, from the shock of the impact. Before you can recover, Zayne’s voice, low and commanding, hisses in your ear.

“Don’t fight it,” he growls, the words sharp like a promise. “You asked for this.”

Panic surges through your body, instinct screaming at you to get away. “Let go!” you cry out, fear pulsing hot and fast through your veins. But your voice is weak, barely masking the excitement that’s battling for control inside you.

He doesn’t. Instead, he’s on you again, his mouth descending on your neck with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. One of his hands grips your jaw with rough precision, calloused fingers pressing into your skin, holding you in place. You try to twist away, but he holds you firm, his touch demanding, possessive.

His lips travel down your neck, finding your pulse point first, then moving lower, grazing the soft curve beneath your ear. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and despite the panic swirling in your chest, a desperate whimper escapes. Your body betrays you, your hips instinctively rocking toward him, already aching for his touch. The heat between your legs flares, want burning through the fear.

His tongue traces a line down your neck, the warmth of it lingering only for a moment before the cool air chills the wet skin. Then his teeth sink into the muscle above your collarbone, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make you gasp in pain. You wince, your body tensing as the sharp sensation rolls through you.

Your hand flies up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to push him off, your grip weak and trembling. But Zayne doesn't budge. His strength overwhelms you, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for escape. His breath is hot against your skin as he continues, relentless, leaving you caught between fear and an overpowering need that consumes you both.

"Zayne," you whimper. He releases his teeth from your neck with a chuckle that curls fear inside you…

His hands take your wrists, leading them above your head. You try to squirm out of his grasp. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of pinning you. Partly out of the fear of what he could do if you can’t push him away, his entire aura shifted to something more angry and dangerous than usual.

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he says into the angle of your jaw. He leaves soft kisses there while he effortlessly pins your arms above your head. He holds them there with one hand.

The other gropes and squeezes it’s way down your body. Your chest, your side, your waist. He grabs a hold of your hips, thumb perfectly lining up with the dune of your hipbone. He pulls your hips towards him harshly enough to draw a noise from your lips. He works his knee between your thighs, then pushes them open. He swallows any attempted protests with a kiss. His knee presses against your sensitive cunt and you whimper against his lips in response.

“Oh, what happened to all the struggling?” Zayne mocks you, punctuating his words by squeezing your wrists hard enough to bruise. His hand comes up under your t-shirt and you shiver against the sensation of his fingers on your bare skin. You melt. Fucking putty in his hands.

You open your mouth to protest, to say anything that might break the tension or reclaim some of your control, but before the words can form, Zayne grinds his knee into your core. The pressure sends a jolt of raw pleasure through your body, and the only sound that escapes is a desperate, breathy whine. His reaction is immediate—he hums with satisfaction, his lips curving into a smug smile. He does it again, harder this time, and you can feel him reveling in the control, in the power he has over you.

Your mind scrambles to catch up with your body, which is already responding in ways you can’t hide. You try to meet his gaze, desperately wanting to say something sharp, something biting, anything to regain your footing. But the moment your eyes lock with his, whatever witty retort you had dies on your tongue.

His face is half-hidden in the darkness, but his eyes... there’s something in them that makes your heart stutter. Not just the hunger, not just the dominance—it’s deeper. There’s a flash of genuine anger simmering beneath the surface, something darker that you hadn’t expected, and it sends a ripple of unease through you. The intensity of it levels you, catching you off guard.

Suddenly, this feels like more than just a game. Warmth floods your chest, your body still responding to him in ways you can’t control, but a new sense of apprehension takes root. You’re playing with something dangerous, something unpredictable. The heat between you is no longer just desire—it’s the burn of real fire, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for the flames.

Your breath comes faster as you take in the sight of him. His chest rising and falling, his lips parted slightly, the way his muscles tense beneath his skin. You’re mesmerized, caught between the fear of what he might do next and the undeniable pull he has over you.

You take him in, eyes sweeping over the familiar lines of his body now that he’s standing in front of you. His white lab coat is gone, discarded somewhere behind him, leaving him in his crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as if he couldn’t be bothered to fully undress. His shirt is buttoned neatly up to the collar, accentuating his thick, muscular frame in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. The tie around his neck is still knotted, slightly loosened from a long day’s work, but there’s something disheveled about him now—something raw and untamed lurking beneath the polished exterior.

His dark slacks cling to his legs, perfectly tailored to his build, emphasizing his long leg now settled between your core. The soft fabric sways with his movements, while his polished shoes make almost no sound against the floor, their silence unsettling given the tension simmering between you.

His arms cage you in, closing off this small corner of the world to just the two of you. It feels like there’s nothing outside this moment, no one else but him—towering over you, his strength radiating off him in waves. The air between you feels thick, charged with tension and unspoken desire. Your gaze travels back to his face, meeting his intense eyes, and despite the weight of the moment, you can’t help but smile mischievously.

Without a second thought, you turn your head and sink your teeth into his arm, biting down just enough to feel the resistance of his skin, tasting the salty warmth of him. At the same time, you grind your hips down against him, pressing into the hardness beneath his slacks.

You expect him to react instantly, to snarl an insult or degrade you for your boldness. To throw out one of his usual threats—punishment, discipline—his voice dripping with disdain for your insolence, for the way you always push his boundaries. You brace yourself for it, for the sting of his words, the sharp crack of his tone that would send heat rushing through your body.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he goes completely still. The tension in his muscles shifts, tightening under your bite, but his silence unnerves you more than anything. You can feel it—the raw power coursing just beneath his skin, his body vibrating with restraint. His muscles flex under your teeth, taut with the effort of holding something back. You release your grip slightly, confused, nervous. But Zayne says nothing. He’s a coiled spring, quiet, calculating, like a predator biding its time.

Methodically, he moves, his hands sliding down your arms, his touch precise, controlled, like he’s performing surgery. Each motion deliberate, calculated. His fingers glide over your skin, and with each inch he covers, the nervousness inside you builds. His control feels absolute, every movement designed to unsettle, to leave you wondering what’s coming next.

Then his hands reach your head, enveloping it completely. His fingers curl around your skull, not rough but firm enough to make you feel small, trapped in his grip. His thumbs rest near your temples, steady, as if he’s taking his time to savor the way your breath catches. The weight of his touch presses down on you, making it impossible to move.

With one harsh movement, he’s pushed you down onto your knees. He undoes his belt and pulls himself free, his beautiful cock glistening with pre-cum. One hand presses hard into your jaw. Harder. His thumb pressing against the muscles there until you open your mouth for him. The head of his cock comes to rest against your lips.

The taste of salt and Zayne’s soap is too tempting to resist. He was usually such a giver, and when you went down on him, he always liked it slow. You lick up the length of his cock and he shivers in response. He drops his hands to your shoulders and you watch his forearms flex in pleasure. Your tongue swirls around his soft tip, and then you take him into your mouth soft and sweet.

Except... this time he doesn’t respond with shaking breaths and high pitched whimpers. Not even an utterance of your name. Insecurity flashes through you - you were sure this is how he usually liked it. Were you not doing well enough for him? You cast your eyes upwards for guidance, barely able to see him in the dark.

“You really think that’s going to cut it?” His voice is cold and hard. Then his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down onto his cock so fast and deep you almost gag. You pull away to drag a sharp breath into your lungs, abdomen muscles flexing.

“You want to be fucked like a slut, you’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls you back down onto him.

Suppressing the urge to gag brings tears to your eyes, and it isn’t long until they’re falling down your cheek, mingling with the saliva making a mess of your mouth and chin. Wet, choking noises echo into the empty hall. When you start to slow, whimpering from the effort, he’s quick to pick up the slack. He thrusts his hips forward, pinning your head between him and the wall. You choke and gag around him, struggling to adjust around the brutal pace he sets, fucking your throat like you're nothing to him but a toy. Your hands come up to his hips, but he wrenches them away with a furious grunt.

He pulls out suddenly, thick strands of saliva dripping off his cock. His breathing is hard and sweat rolls down the lines of his ab muscles. Your shoulders slump and you try to catch your breath. You’re absolutely spent. How humiliating that he didn’t even have to touch you to keep you wet for him, a vague sense of disgust emanating through your core.

“Was that good enough?” you weakly ask, but you might as well be begging him to fuck you for the look in your eyes. You don’t even bother to wipe the spit from your chin or the tears from your cheeks. You hope the sight gets under his skin so he can fuck you just as rough as he did your throat.

“I don’t buy it,” he says. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and frustration.

“What?”

“I just don’t buy that you want me to fuck you.”

You’re about to ask what you can possibly do more to prove it when something hard presses against your warmth, pushing your soaked boxers against you. You look down do see Zayne presenting his shoe. Polished and tightly tied, the mere sight of them gave obvious impression of what he wanted from you. But why?

You look up at him, but all he does is look back at you, expectantly. Your can feel the heat creeping up your neck as you adjust to straddle his shoe. You keep hoping he’ll just end your suffering by mocking you for even considering it, but it never comes. The cold, hard leather against you sends a wave of electricity through your body. Your hips are moving on their own. Your body desperate for anything it can get, chasing it’s high no matter how humiliating. You turn your face away from him, unable to stand him looking at you like this. Grinding against his shoe...

“There they are. My desperate little darling,” his voice has the first touch of warmth it’s had all night. It’s enough to spurn you on, the heat coiling in your abdomen. You pick up the pace against your will, your body chasing ecstasy like an uncaged animal. And Zayne just watches you, expression never changing, never reaching down to touch you. God, were you really going to cum on his shoe while he looked at you like that?

He kneeled down to one knee, doing his best not to disturb your work. His strong hands take hold of your hips and push you harder against his shoe, dragging your hips up and down. You moan, tears collecting in your eyes again. You can’t believe you’re enjoying this. Even - no, especially because it hurt. You were getting closer, your moans coming faster.

“Beg for it,” Zayne orders.

“Please let me cum, Zayne, please!”

“Tsk. Not that,” he pulls his shoe away like he's disgusted and you whimper in protest. Then, as if you were light as a feather, he’s tossing you to the side. You catch yourself on your elbows and feel them scrape against the ceramic floor. Your hips grind against the air as they searched for any friction at all that would send you over the edge. They found nothing.

“Silly girl.” He sounds bored as he stands to his full height above you.

You watch as his hand pulls a scalpel from his pocket. It captures his full attention, glinting in the light of the TV behind him. When he speaks, it's almost to the room.

“Isn’t this your favorite part? Where you try and fail to escape?”

You don’t move. He flips the scalpel in the air, catching it by the tip of the blade, and then again to catch it by the handle. He admires it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Start crawling,” he suggests.

You push yourself onto tired, shaking limbs and try to get up. They give out on you. You pull yourself forward on your elbows instead. You hear the nearly silent creak of his shoes. The another. Then another. You feel small crawling beneath him, listening to the gentle whirl of the scalpel as he tosses it in the air. His shoes creak again, then again.

You turned to look at him. You were almost overwhelmed at how he towered above you. His broad shoulders blocking out the light in the hallway. One hand busy toying with the scalpel, the other pulling his pants further down his hips. He was clearly taking his time.

“You ever wonder why you like to fight so much?” You watch shoe follow shoe in lazy strides until they were at either side of your ribcage, standing above you.

“Should I let you get away again?” he asks, but then he’s dropping to his knees, pinning you beneath him. Fear takes hold of your vocal chords and you make a desperate noise, pushing at his legs. “Will you just give in already?”

With a calculated shift, Zayne turns your body to face him, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from your chest. The tension between you crackles in the air, and before you can fully process what’s happening, his hand finds your neck, fingers wrapping around it with unyielding force. His palm presses against your throat, squeezing just enough to send a jolt of pain through you, sharp and undeniable.

"It takes about 10 seconds for pressure to the jugular to result in unconsciousness," Zayne says calmly, his voice low, almost clinical, as if reciting a fact from one of his textbooks. His grip tightens again, harder this time, and the sensation of control he wields is overwhelming.

The edges of your vision blur almost immediately, the world around you starting to fade. You feel lightheaded, like the ground is slipping away beneath your feet, your body caught in the thin space between pain and pleasure. But beneath the intoxicating sensations, panic begins to swell. The lightness in your head grows, and then you feel weightless, disconnected from reality as the darkness creeps in around your sight.

Your body starts to respond, instinct driving you toward the rising sense of panic. The pleasure and thrill that had mixed with the danger of it all suddenly feel too real, too much, as Zayne relentlessly pushes you to your limits.

You bring your hand up weakly, your fingers trembling, and tap his arm three times. The motion is small but deliberate, your safe signal.

For a brief, terrifying second, you wonder if he’s noticed.

He releases and you gasp for air. He lets you catch your breath, and for a minute you’re almost angry. But the growing wet between your legs betrays you to yourself, forcing you to admit you liked being pushed to the edge. An exhilarated smile picks up the corners of your mouth and Zayne, intently waiting for you to lead, just watches.

“More,” is all you need to say, and he’s on you again. Hand lighter on your throat, he brandishes the scalpel to catch your eye. It makes contact with your skin and you fight to control a shiver.

It glides around your shoulder, then down your collar bone. The razor sharp point leaving a thin, red cut beneath the bone. You gasp, back arching into the sting. He withdraws.

“If you keep squirming, I’m going to hurt you for real.” It’s as much a warning as it is a threat, and the dark rasp of his voice sends a chill down your spine.

Then you go still again, he continues. The scalpel crosses your chest, taking it’s time tracing each and every one of your ribs. He draws a bead of blood there, before lifting the blade again. You moan, squeezing your thighs together to keep from moving your hips. The anticipation almost too much for you. But the movement catches his eye. He pockets the scalpel, and then he’s prying your thighs apart so hard you feel the ache in your hips. You try to shimmy away, but his hands hold your thighs fast against him.

“I said hold still,” he grunts, squeezing his hands around the squish of your thighs hard enough that you make a noise. "What part of stop squirming do you not get?"

Your hand comes up to his hips, trying to hold them at a distance, but it doesn’t help. He pulls you closer to him and you feel his cock hard and leaking over your boxers. Fuck, you almost come undone all over again. Feeling him pressed against you like this... his cock easily reaching your belly button, reminding you how deep inside you he could be.

“Zayne, please,” you whimper.

“Please what?” He asks. You feel the cold blade against the tender, exposed part of your thigh.

“Please fuck me.”

He grunts, a noise that commits to nothing. He pulls the fabric of your boxers off your body and slips the scalpel beneath it. He cuts the thin fabric off of you in a show of strength and skill that intimidates you.

He leans over you slowly, his hips pressed flush against yours, his cock pressed against where you want it most. A hand comes up to your face then, holding your jaw hard as he turns your face away from his. The scalpels beautiful surface approaches your cheek. Your breath picks up, fear coursing through you. He says nothing, and it makes it all the more terrifying. Your instincts freeze every muscle in your body.

“You asked for this,” he reminds you, tracing the curve of your cheek. You bite your lip.

He pockets the scalpel once more, and you realize then that he's still entirely dressed, his pants only pulled down enough to fuck you. He shifts his hips, lining up with your needy hole. You’re already moaning for him.

“Begging me to use you like this, begging me to hurt you like this.” He pushes into you, your cunt struggling to adjust to his size. He only makes it a couple inches. He pulls out of you, then thrusts again, moaning as he does. This time when he pushes into you, he completely fills you. You both release an almost victorious sigh.

“Always fucking struggling. Can never just make it easy,” he growls, that angry look in his eye. His jaw flexes. Your cunt tenses around him.

He thrusts into you again, and again, so hard it feels like he could fuck you in half. He dips his face into your neck, moaning.

"You want me to force you onto my cock." His voice tightened with effort, but never lost that black-honey edge. "Can't say no to you. Do this because I love you."

You reach up and cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric. His words shouldn't thrill you, but they did. Your eyes flutter closed. Your body shook beneath him.

“This is messed up,” Zayne’s hips start to pick up their pace. You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him, pulling him deeper into you. You find yourself moaning his own words back at him; so messed up, so messed up.

Fuck, he felt so good. The two of you dissolved into senseless babbling, saying whatever it took to push each other closer to the edge. A meaningless cloud of fuck and just like that and you begged for this until neither of you could form words at all. Your pace became erratic, moaning into each other’s necks, limbs tightening around each other as you both approached your highs.

“Fuck, fuck, m’so-” you barely manage, panting and moaning through your words. Your thighs tighten around him and he groans in response.

And then you’re coming undone together. His hips driving his cock as deep as they can with the primal need to fuck his cum deeper inside you. You take it, greedily, breathlessly as your own climax rocks through your body like an earthquake.

He rests his forehead against your chest while he pulls out of you, then collapses onto the cool ceramic floor of the hallway beside you. He turns you onto your side and buries his head against your back, forearms tight against your chest while he hugs you close to him.

“I didn’t think,” you take a deep breath, trying not to pant through your sentence, “that when I asked you to use me after your work shifts, that it’d be like that.”

“Bad?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically small.

“No, no,” you rush to recover the situation. You lace your fingers with his, “Of course not.”

He says nothing. You turn to look at him, and there’s that distant, tired look on his face.

“Are you okay...?”

“I will tell you about it soon, darling” he says. You hum as acknowledgement, wishing you could say anything, but feeling like nothing was the right thing to say. Instead you just let him hold you for awhile.

Zayne held you close, his body a solid, comforting weight against yours, his bodily warmth gradually soothing the whirlwind of sensation still buzzing under your skin. But then, you felt him shift. His fingers, cold and precise, began to ghost over the cuts he had made, tracing the delicate lines he’d etched into your skin with surgical precision. You shivered at his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

His eyes softened, and in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, “I need to tend to these.” His words were gentle, but firm, a quiet reminder of the care he always took with you, even now.

He pressed a tender kiss to your temple, the warmth of it contrasting with the coolness of his fingers, and then he pulled away. You watched him button his pants, his movements deliberate but unhurried, before disappearing down the hall. Even through the exhaustion weighing you down, you heard the faint sound of him rummaging in the bathroom, retrieving what he needed.

When he returned, Zayne knelt beside you, his medical kit in hand. His usual calm, professional demeanor was still there, but this time it was softened with a tenderness only reserved for you. Gently, he began to disinfect the cuts, his touch as light as it was thorough. The sting of the antiseptic bit into your skin, making you wince, but his hand found yours, his thumb brushing reassuringly over your knuckles. It was a silent promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.

With every stroke of the gauze, every carefully placed bandaid, Zayne’s focus never wavered. His gaze remained trained on you, on the cuts he was tending to, but there was something deeper in his expression—something protective, almost reverent, as though he was caring for a part of himself.

When he finally finished, he sat back slightly, his hand resting on your arm, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you were truly okay. You could see the tension from earlier still lingering in the set of his jaw, the concern etched faintly into the lines of his face.

“I’m okay, I promise,” you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion, your body finally giving in to the weight of the night. Your limbs felt like lead, but your heart fluttered at the care he was taking with you, the gentleness of his hands now so different from the intensity you’d felt earlier.

“I’m just…so exhausted now” you sigh, briefly closing your eyes as another wave of tiredness washed through you.

Zayne’s expression softened into a small smile, one so full of adoration it made your chest tighten with affection. He stood, helping you up with careful hands, supporting your weight as he guided you to the couch. His arm stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close, steadying you as he laid you down gently, as though you were something fragile.

He settled in beside you, his body curling protectively around yours, pulling you against his chest. “We’ll clean up later,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft kiss. The warmth of his breath and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you, the scent of him comforting, grounding you.

You nestled deeper into him, the tension of the night melting away in his embrace. Wrapped in his arms, in the safety of his presence, your exhaustion finally caught up with you. Your eyelids fluttered closed, the world around you fading into the soft haze of sleep. And there, in the quiet of the night, you both drifted off together, tangled in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

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ghoulbrain · 6 months ago

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Happiness is a Warm Gun

18+ 4.5k ghoul x f!reader. predator/prey roleplay, lite bondage lite cnc into enthusiastic consent, heavy gun kink/play, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie, aftercare. ends tender bc i can't help myself. gif credit. written for my darling @luckytiggertalia, who asked for excessive gun kink and captor/captive. thank you! 🖤 written as a successor to Saddle Up, Sweetheart, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Being in a relationship with the world’s most notorious bounty hunter lands you in some strange situations, but none stranger than those you concoct for yourselves. You run, and the Ghoul hunts you.

The Ghoul is one of the fiercest bounty hunters in New California, yet regardless of how terrifyingly efficient he is, everyone knows he only takes on payouts worthy of his time. With his long shadow stretching out across the west, most hunters are reluctant to take on bounties over a certain threshold, lest they accidentally come between him and his quarry.

Which, at this moment, just so happens to be you.

You’ve made it to a Red Rocket truck stop just half a mile west of Junktown. What was once a glorified gas station in a world long-gone now serves as little more than a hollowed out shell providing shade for all manner of miscreants and creatures wandering the dusty wastes, still decorated in tiny reminders of life before the war.

Crouched down behind a counter, your back pressed to the grime painted wall beneath a window, you spot a heavily aged cardboard carton labeled Grey Tortious Famous Cigarettes wedged at the very back of the second shelf behind the counter. Clicking your tongue softly, you reach for it, using the barrel of your pistol to catch the corner of the box. Carefully–and quietly–you drag it close enough to grab.

Your hopes aren’t high, but–

Jackpot.

Smiling faintly, you extract a crumpled but still half-full pack of cigarettes from the carton. You glance around, eyes wandering until you spot the decrepit remains of some poor bastard collapsed against the far wall, still garbed in their threadbare signature Red Rocket uniform. With a slight nod, you fish a single cap out of a small pouch on your belt and slide it onto the shelf.

“Pleasure doing business,” you murmur to the corpse, tucking the cigarettes carefully into the pack strapped to your thigh.

A shrill whistle, the kind you’d call a dog with, snaps your attention back to the moment. You press your back tight against the wall, sucking in a sharp breath to hold.

“Alright, darlin’, y’little goose-chase is over,” the Ghoul calls into the lot. Your heart begins to race. He sounds close. “I’m man enough to admit y’outfoxed me back at the yard, that was clever. But’cha got nowhere to slip to now,” he says, voice gradually growing louder. It’s not long before you can hear the crunch of his boots in the gravel.

You screw your eyes shut, steeling yourself with a silent breath before opening them again. He’ll have to circle the building to get where you are. The crunch of his boots is louder with each step. If he keeps yapping, it’ll be even easier to track the moment he moves out of eyesight of the window you’re hiding under, and you’ll be able to creep out to get behind him. Your grip on your pistol flexes, finger poised off the trigger.

The footsteps outside grow quiet enough that you can no longer hear them over the thundering of your heart. He hasn’t said anything, but you give it an extra few seconds to be safe, holding your breath as you gingerly lift out of your crouch, careful to keep your head beneath the window frame, eyes on the door across from you. Even if he sees you, you’ll have time enough to–

You’re jerked backwards suddenly by your jacket, a scream yanked out of you as you’re pulled against the window, knocking into it.

“There y’are,” he says through his teeth, hauling you up to your feet. Fuck, he faked you out with his steps. He holds you against the window, the edge of it biting into your back, his fist curled tightly in the collar of your jacket. “Give it up, darlin’. Y’all mine now,” he coos, his voice a sinister rasp at your ear.

Out of desperation, you drop your pistol and throw your arms up, slipping out of your jacket and stumbling forward onto your hands and knees. Your boots skid on the floor as you scramble to your feet, launching into a run. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him vaulting in through the window, scaring you into running faster.

Where you intend to run is a problem to be solved as you go.

Unfortunately for you, the Ghoul is a step ahead. Gunfire startles you halfway out of your skin, but it’s the sign that falls in your path that stops you in your tracks. You look up and see a woven cable swaying, frayed from where the crazy son of a bitch managed to shoot it clean apart. You gear up to bolt to the left, but it’s already too late. The tell-tale hiss of a rope whipping through the air is your only warning before the lasso tightens around your arms and sternum, one sharp yank pulling you off your feet and down onto your back.

The world spins. You let out a soft groan, moving to roll onto your side, but he keeps you from it with a hardy pull, gathering the rope in his hands as he walks to you.

The Ghoul lets out a low whistle, his shadow falling over you. “Close, but no cigar, sweetheart,” he drawls, crouching over you.

Disoriented, you stare at his upside down face. He’s got his head tilted, lips parted in a crooked sneer of a smile. His eyes are dark enough that you can see yourself in them, glinting with predatory glee. You can’t hide the trill of excitement that runs through you over being looked at like that. He clicks his tongue.

“N’aw, don’t you look plumb tuckered,” he says, voice laced with condescending sweetness. “No rest for the wicked, m’afraid,” he says, slipping his hands under your arms and hauling you up to your feet.

“You could’ve killed me,” you rasp, throat scorched by the dry desert air.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he deflects, amused. “Y’all in one piece, ‘ain’t’cha?” His breath is a warm tickle on your neck. With the rope tight across your sternum, arms pinned to your sides, he slides his gloved hand up your thigh, over your hip. His fingers tap along as he does, tickling your ribs, cupping your breast before sliding all the way up to your throat.

The barest hint of his lips brushes the spot just behind your ear, the feeling so faint you could have made it up entirely. You shiver, pulling sharply away, but he pulls you right back in, the worn leather of his glove soft around your neck, his grip firm.

“Mmhm, seem perfectly intact t’me,” he says, giving your throat a steadying squeeze. “No need t’put up a fight, angel. Y’comin’ with me either way.”

This time he presses his scarred lips properly to your skin, the feel of them warm and wet. Wanting. You swallow the lump in your throat, clench your thighs against the heat building between them.

“Let go of me,” you say, fighting to put conviction in it.

“No can do,” he says, his breath prickling goosebumps from your scalp to your thighs. “I’ve struck the motherlode with you.”

The rope is tied low and tight enough that you can’t elbow him or shoulder your way free. Impulsively, you move to kick at his leg, but he outmaneuvers you, catching your kick with his boot and spinning you around so suddenly you gasp.

“Oohh, y’ve got fire,” he says, lips pulled thin in a devilish smile. “I’m gonna enjoy breakin’ you.” Something hard presses into your rib, and you don’t need to look down to know it’s the muzzle of his revolver. He draws the hammer back into place with a distinctive click.

“Why don’t you be a good li’l captive and mosey on ahead?” He says, turning you until the gun is pressed into your lower back. You suppress a shudder. That’s when the world suddenly goes black, the press of the gun briefly vanishing while fabric is pulled tight over your eyes.

Wherever he’s taking you, he wants it to be a surprise.

The Ghoul walks you at gunpoint. He keeps the rope between you taut, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly to your back. The venture there is quiet, your gait tense with anticipation. A sick little thrill runs through you every time he yanks the rope or gives you a deep jab with his gun. There’s pleasure in his voice when he tells you, “Mind your step, sweetness.”

He knows precisely the effect he has on you, even if it took him time and a half to believe it.

His knuckles dig into your back as his fingers hook over the rope, holding it like a harness as you descend a flight of stairs. He catches you when you stumble on the last step, but it still startles you.

“A warning would have been nice,” you say, turning your head blindly, angling to try and get any glimpse of your surroundings from beneath the blindfold.

“Apologies,” he drawls, not sounding very sorry at all. He nudges you forward with his gun. “I like watchin’ you struggle.”

“Yeah, you make that very–” A hard tug on the rope cuts you off and stops you in your tracks. The rope comes loose after that, full circulation returning to your hands in a rush that makes them tingle. The Ghoul’s steps resonate in the room–it sounds large, mostly empty–as he walks away from you. You stay still for a hesitant moment, head jerking at the sound of something scraping across the floor towards you.

“Awwh, ain’t you sweet, waitin’ for permission,” he says, making you flush. You quickly reach up and pull the blindfold from your eyes, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room.

It looks like a cleared out storage facility of some kind, with cement support beams lined up in a row down the center of the room, the walls lined with ransacked steel shelving. There’s a wire frame bed braced against one of the beams, heaped haphazardly with some pillows and blankets.

The Ghoul sits on a rusty wrought iron chair in front of you, staring up from beneath the wide brim of his hat. From his thigh, he has his revolver fixed on you.

“Atta girl,” he says as the blindfold hits the ground. “Now take off the rest.”

The low resonance of his voice easily commands the room. You swallow the lump in your throat, glancing down the dark barrel of his gun. Biting your tongue to keep yourself from showing too much excitement, you hurriedly reach for your–

The gunshot is deafening in the echoing expanse of the room, drowning out your scream. Already high on your own anticipation, the shot of adrenaline that goes through you with the startle nearly knocks you off your feet.

His gun smokes in the wake of the shot that narrowly missed your reaching hand.

“Slow,” he tells you, cocking the hammer once again with his thumb.

The pound of your heart is rivaled only by the aching throb between your thighs. Breathing shallowly, you keep your eyes trained on him as you–slowly, this time–reach for your belt, pouches shifting as you unbuckle it. You lay it carefully on the ground, mindful of the treasures you acquired at the gas station, before you kick off each boot.

His gaze is heavy on you all the while, eyes dark and attentive to your every move. Your focus is on the tip of his gun, how it subtly follows along with your hands. You peel each layer off without taking your eyes from him, a shiver moving through you once your hands touch bare skin, purposefully sliding them down your hips, your legs, and then moving them slowly back up as you stand back up, stepping out of the garments pooled on the floor.

He tilts his gun sideways and beckons you forward with it, tipping his head back, dark eyes tracking your every move as you approach him. One at a time, he spreads his legs. “On y’knees, darlin’.” You obey, sinking down–slowly, he told you slow–onto your knees between his legs, bringing yourself to eye level with his gun. The cement floor feels harsh against your bare skin.

“Y’got my gun dirty runnin’ me out into the wastes like that,” he chides, leaning forward, pressing his gun to your sternum. With agonizing slowness, he drags the muzzle up through the valley between your breasts, to the notch beneath your throat, pressing into it briefly. He continues up, the metal cool against your burning skin, though not by much. He hooks the barrel under your chin and tips your head back.

“Clean it for me,” he says, pushing it between your lips.

While you open your mouth too readily for the game at hand, he doesn’t protest. The taste of the gun is bitter and metallic, but what strikes you most is the black powder residue. It’s charred with a sharp tang. A moan escapes you for the way he pushes it deeper, forcing your lips wider apart.

“Don’t be shy. Give ‘er a good spit shine, sweetheart,” he encourages, pulling the gun back only to push it deeper yet. You comply, welcoming the slide of it deeper, pressing your tongue into the grooves on the underside, your eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. “Good,” he says, voice rough with the effect you’re having on him.

Hands braced on your own bare thighs, your nails bite dull little crescents into your skin. The rock of your body is entirely subconscious, your eyelids fluttering. It’s easy to lose yourself to the work at hand, to luxuriate in the weight of his gaze on you while he uses you, fucking your mouth with the full barrel of his gun. He’s so committed to the fantasy, you can’t help but buy into it wholly.

By the time he pulls the gun away your chin is spit slick and your tongue is tingling where you’d been pressing it to the barrel. He gives an appreciative whistle while inspecting the wet shine of his gun. “That’s better,” he says, gaze sliding to you. He stands, grabbing a thick handful of your hair to haul you up to your feet with him. The noise you make is humiliating. Needy. His answering grin is wicked.

“Time t’oil it,” he says, voice frayed at the edges. He doesn’t let that trace of impatience impact his movements any. He walks you to the bed with that same loose devil-may-care swagger, assured that he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece.

The mattress’ metal coils groan with your weight as he tosses you onto the bed, standing at the edge of it. The bed stands taller than most, bringing your pelvis parallel to his when you’re on your knees. He grabs your thigh and yanks your ass up into the air, smoothing his hand over the swell of it. He gives a sharp little slap to your rear that wrings a gasp out of you. The way he smooths his leather clad hand over the smarting spot afterwards almost feels like an apology, even if he’s really just admiring his handiwork.

“Spread,” he orders simply. You do so eagerly, widening the splay of your knees, folding your arms to rest your head on. “Look at you,” he breathes with genuine wonder, gripping your ass cheek and holding it firm while he inspects you. You can already feel what he’s looking at, how wet you are from his teasing. “Y’fuckin’ drippin’ for me.”

A shiver rolls through your whole body at the feel of his gun against your inner thigh sliding slowly upwards. Your hips give a reflexive little buck at the first touch of that warm barrel against your soaked cunt, your clit throbbing so hard it aches. “Don’t move,” he tells you. He sounds wrecked. He moves it back and forth, teasing your clit with just the muzzle of it before drawing back, and your thighs tremble with the effort to keep yourself still when all you want is to chase that precious relief.

The hiss of his zipper is the most thrilling noise you’ve ever heard. The gun disappears from between your thighs.

“Up,” he tells you, taking a rough hold of your shoulder and yanking you upright before you have the chance to comply. He holds you still while he lines himself up, the familiar thick head of his cock grinding through the wet slide of you, the length of him rubbing from taint to clit. “Y’made this big mess just from suckin’ down my gun? Christ alive, darlin’. You’re somethin’ else,” he says through his teeth. The ruin in his voice makes it feel like praise, and that feels good.

Almost as good as the slow burn of his cock pushing into you, the sound of it obscenely loud and wet. You tip your head back against his shoulder and reach back over your own, grabbing at his coat, holding onto him for dear life while he sinks deeper and deeper, pulling you back until your bare ass falls flush against him. Feeling his clothing against your bare body intensifies that intoxicating feeling of vulnerability. Never in your life has the thrill of danger been safe to explore.

Not until him.

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting almost as soon as he’s bottomed out.

“Fffuck,” you exhale, eyes screwed tightly shut. You start to lean forward, but he catches you by the throat, pinning you back against his chest at the same time he fires his gun, shocking your eyes wide open. Your body goes rigid, cunt seizing up so tightly around him he hisses out a breath.

“C’mon, little bunny,” he whispers in a vicious grit, pressing the still-warm muzzle firmly against your temple. “Bounce for me.” He cocks the hammer back, the smell of black powder filling your senses.

You nod fervently, lifting up on your knees and using the mattress to bounce yourself on his cock, gravity bringing you down into every one of his hard thrusts. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sighing his pleasure in strained little sounds. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, cupping your breast and squeezing, thumbing your nipple until you shudder.

“Close,” you moan, fist twisting in the fabric of his coat, your other hand clutching the wrist of the hand he’s fondling you with. “Please.”

His only response is to slide his hand down further, fingers slipping between your thighs. His middle finger finds your clit first, the friction making your hips jerk out of rhythm. He persists, fingering your clit in smooth circles while he fucks you hard.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot and wet on your neck. “All that fight’s gone now, ain’t it? Just a needy li’l thing beggin’ t’cum.” You’re so close you’re starting to shake, breath caught in your throat. “Go on, angel. Lemme hear how pretty you can beg.”

His fingers slow enough that your ascension falters. “Please!” You rasp immediately, squeezing his wrist, begging in every way you know how to. “Please, m’so close, please make me cum, please,” you plead, voice pitchy, your thoughts empty of everything but pleasure. He’s fucking you hard, chasing his own release just as fervently.

Just like that his touch returns to full force, deftly working your clit until your pleasure crests and your pleas turn to cries. Your orgasm hits like an earthquake, a sudden eruption that renders you silent, your lips falling open on a noiseless scream. Your body locks up like a vice, euphoria turning your vision white and emptying your mind of all thought while pleasure cascades through you in hot liquid waves.

He doesn’t stop, though his thrusts slow. He fucks you deeply through your orgasm, savoring every quiver around his cock while he uses you. You don’t hear him come, but you feel it, the deep rush of heat that he empties into the core of you, his body going still against yours. Your whole body shudders and you exhale a broken little noise, dizzy from the magnitude of it all. Everything around you feels bleary, your vision fading in and out. For a moment, you feel as though you might float away from your body entirely, your consciousness barely holding on, but the feeling of him pressed against your back, holding you to him, grounds you.

He moves the gun from your temple and holsters it, adjusting his grip so that he can ease you down onto your stomach, slipping from between your legs. You pant hot puffs of air into the bedding, your vision blurry at the edges.

“Coop,” you call, signifying the end of your little game of pretend.

“M’right here,” he soothes, his bare hands upon you not a moment later. There’s a marked difference in the way he touches you now, a subtle tenderness that he’d forced out of his touch for the sake of play. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it until now, feeling it as if for the first time.

He slides into bed next to you, having shed his gloves, coat and bandolier. You find the strength to slip an arm around him, clinging despite the tremble in your limbs. The next several seconds–moments, maybe hours, you can’t be sure–pass by in a haze of touch.

He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. He makes you aware of your entire body, grounding you with sweeping touches to every part of your body. It’s an intoxicating intimacy that leaves you feeling warm and drunk, still hungry for more.

At some point Cooper gets the blanket over you, skirting his scarred fingers up and down your arm beneath it. The adrenaline crash that follows your orgasm is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, leaving you exhausted on a level beyond physical.

“Still with me?” Cooper asks after a time, fingertips tapping idle patterns on your skin as if to call you back to your body. “Mhm… Intense,” you say, the lone word slurred by your lazy tongue.

“Warned you,” he gives back, sounding nearly as ruined. His voice is deeper than usual, thoroughly frayed at the edges. It’s true, he had warned you that you were playing with fire. It’s unclear how much of that had been play, and how much was just him. Still, it had been… thrilling. Amazing. Everything you’d hoped it would be.

“How ‘bout it, darlin’, do I scare you yet?” He asks, making it sound like an inevitability. He must believe it is.

You sigh a low hum, pretending to give the matter great thought. “Mmm… Mm-mm. Not one little bit,” you say, the words hardly legible.

“Shucks,” he says simply, feigning something like disappointment.

“Why’re you so determined to scare me off?” You ask, adjusting where your head lay on his shoulder so that you can look up at him. You’ve grown accustomed to his unique silhouette, but more than that, you’ve started to figure out what it is that makes him handsome. He’s got a wide chin and a fine jawline, and on the rare occasions you see it, a charming smile.

Much of it is in his eyes. They never fail to make your heart stutter.

“A saner question would be why you’re so determined t’stay,” he counters, those very eyes dropping to meet yours. You can’t help but smile, which–as per usual–catches him just a touch off guard.

“I got a thing for pretty men,” you say, caught up in your own musings.

His expression flattens. “Very funny,” he says, and you realize he thinks you’re mocking him.

“Hey, I mean it. I was just thinking about how handsome you are,” you say, reaching up to touch his jaw.

“There’s a specific kind’a philia for finding corpses handsome, y’know,” he says, though in his afterglow the words lack their usual sharp cynicism. They come to him more like habit than anything else.

“You’re not a corpse, Cooper,” you tell him firmly, cupping his cheek in your palm. “You don’t need to keep living like one.”

He considers you in silence for a long moment. With the back of his knuckles, he brushes your cheek. There it is again; that deep sadness that sometimes appears in his eyes when he looks at you. As if he’s mourning something.

“What?” You whisper. “Why do you–”

He kisses you, swallowing the words clean off your lips. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you, kisses you, kisses you through your meager protests until your lips move with his and you sink back down into the warmth of it. He grows progressively more relentless with it, stealing your breath until you’re forced to break away, turning your head for air.

“You can’t kiss your way out of every–”

“I know,” he interrupts you, lifting his head to level you with a hard stare. “I know, alright? But it’ll come on my terms, in my time, yeah?”

You stare, pinned by the weight in his expression. After a beat, you nod, feeling dazed by both the onslaught and his words. It’s the only time he’s acknowledged that there is something, which you suppose is progress. “Okay,” you say softly, and then again more firmly, “Okay.”

His expression softens, taking in the look of you before he kisses you again. You reciprocate, pressing into his lips with the weight of your conviction, willing him to feel how much you really do mean it.

“Thank you for today,” you murmur, settling back down against him. “I never thought that I’d be able to… do something like that. And live,” you say, adding the last bit with a rueful smile. “I feel safe with you.”

You wait for some kind of dismissive or self-deprecating remark from him, or even a sly jab at you and your sanity, but neither come. You glance up and find him staring at you, thoughtful and–if your eyes don’t deceive you–a little sentimental.

“I don’t make promises,” he tells you, sounding resigned. “But for what it’s worth, I’d never want t’do somethin’ I thought might hurt you.”

“You’re sweet,” you say, that same sentimentality slipping into your own voice. If not a bit ominous.

“Not really,” he replies, adjusting against the bedding, his eyes falling shut. “Y’standards are just too low.”

You sigh, closing your eyes with an incredulous little smile. “Shut up.”

The two of you drift into comfortable silence, his fingers idly traipsing the contours of your body. It’s like he’s memorizing the feel of you, hyper-aware that these intimate moments together are stolen. You reciprocate, seeking out what bare skin you can with gentle brushes of your fingers. He’s never admitted as much, but you’ve long suspected he struggles with pain. He’s rarely ever unclothed, and sometimes you see him wince when he goes too long between hits of those vials.

Cooper started living on borrowed time long before he met you, but it doesn’t stop you from hoping that he might someday see something more permanent in you. With you.

In the meantime, you’ll make the most of every second.

#the ghoul #cooper howard #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout fanfic #x reader #x reader smut #fem reader #my writing #smut

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shiproleplayer · 1 year ago

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Yeah this is most definitely true. I have been looking for people on my other account for quite some time now tbh. I know that this has been posted in 2019 but it's 2023 and this still hasn't really changed. It's hard to find people to rp with sometime.

How many httyd roleplay blogs even are there anymore would I even have partners

I don’t even know how to really FIND any httyd roleplay blogs other than posting in the dragon tags and hoping for the best

All my old rp partners are long gone too as far as I know

Ugh finding people is always the hardest part

I guess if any httyd roleplay blogs see this give it a reblog

#httyd #how to train your dragon #httyd roleplay #dragons #toothless #hiccup how to train your dragon #hiccup and toothless #hiccup haddock #httyd fandom #roleplay #race to the edge #riders of berk #httyd 1 #httyd 2 #httyd 3 #dagcup #httyd dagur

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girlkisser88 · 3 months ago

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────────୨ৎ────────

˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡

HII!! my names 𝓐n͟g͟e͟l͟i͟n͟e͟

⋆𝐴𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑒

eighteen ♡ single ♡ white ♡ femme lesbian ♡ she/her ♡ sub ♡

⋆𝐷𝑁𝐼

minors, men, racists, homophobes/transphobes (obviously), etc...and DNI if you're not capable of being respectful and a kind human being

⋆𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠

✿ praise ✿ overstimulation ✿ teasing ✿ edging ✿ mommy kink ✿ impact play ✿ breeding kink ✿ Masochist ✿ Experimentalist ✿ Voyeur ✿ bondage ✿ Exhibitionist ✿ degradation ✿ roleplay ✿ blood/knife ✿

➜ there's more but I need to think about it

⋆𝐿𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑠

hard cnc, sounding, age play, feet, scat n piss, heavy degradation, slave play, rape, incest, race play (didn't even know those were kinks ...)

I DONT SEND NUDES

˗ˏˋ i am a virgin in desperate need of being touched...(by a girl of course)

˗ˏˋ Come with me and help me with getting to know my body and my fantasies

˗ˏˋ MINORS ARE NOT ALLOWED ONCE. AGAIN.

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˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡

#sapphic nsft #lesbian ns/fw #wlw sub #lesbian sub #nsft lesbian #nsft wlw #lesbian #wlw nsft #wlw #wlw ns/fw #sapphic #sapphic ns/fw #wlw concepts #wlw blog #wlw smut #wlw yearning #femme lesbian #lesbian yearning

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reallyprofoundkryptonite · 7 months ago

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Alright so it is, in fact, fishy month. However, I have been, as of recent, CRAVING some mer!Krogan roleplay so like uhhh. Dm me or whatever if you wanna do that ig? I will only rp with Krogan as my main but I am okay with both ocs or canon characters. Mer aus are great too! Since that is the theme of this post kutdkutdkytckytc perhaps planning to use a new siren!Krogan au I have been plotting over for a while but we shall see.

I am alright with ships. (Even romantic ones) though NSFW is not… exactly my cup of tea so uh. Yeah. Shipping probably won’t be the forefront of the roleplay but I’m good with it becoming a thing as Krogan interacts with the character(s) you are playing later down the line

Also I would like for my partner to be able to smack in at least one or two paragraphs.

If you want more info about my roleplay and stuff here’s a link to my boundaries: https://www.tumblr.com/reallyprofoundkryptonite/738359399605747712/reblogging-this-um-like-thisreblog-it-if-you?source=share

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cowboywithacunt · 6 months ago

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CONTENT WARNING ;

This blog is an 18+ only kink/nsfw blog. I'm going to be posting explicit text and images. Please be aware that some of my kinks may be triggering to others! A full list of my kinks and limits are under the cut.

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RULES BYF ;

🐄 DNI: Men DNI blogs, detrans/misgendering/trans fetishization blogs run by cis people, cishet men, weight loss/thinspo blogs, feederism blogs, MAPs, minors and ageless blogs

🐎 My asks and dms are open to anyone! Please respect my boundaries, and don't send me stuff that involves kinks I list as a limit. Also be aware that I might not always respond! Sometimes I just ain't got the energy, don't know what to say, am offline, or just aren't interested at the moment. I'm fine with sexting, pics, and roleplaying. Do not message me several more times if I don't respond to your first message.

🐄 I block liberally! It's nothing personal, just how I curate my experience. Please don't circumvent blocks for any reason.

🐎 Feel free to claim an emoji, but I will remove you from the claimed emojis list if you don't send anything for a long while. It's nothing personal, just a way of keeping organized! If you start sending asks again I'll put you right back on.

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INFO ABOUT ME ;

🐎 I'm Harvey! 22, transgender (FtM), he/him, bisexual, country boy who's learned to embrace it as a thing people are into lol. Currently living on the west coast, originally from Georgia. I'm fat and hairy and masc, take it or leave it. 5'5". Deer boy tbh 🦌

🐄 I'm strictly masc, have been on T for about 4 years, and I got top surgery done last summer. I don't have bottom surgery, and probably never will.

🐎 I'm happy to be a dom or sub for any and all genders! I enjoy both roles equally. Same goes for topping and bottoming. I'm about as versatile as a guy can get!

🐄 Asks and dms are open to anyone who's interested!

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KINKS, FETISHES, ETC ;

🐎 CNC; includes rape play, dubcon, somnophilia, intoxication, primal play, and kidnapping.

🐄 Fauxcest; may include some ageplay elements, such as MILFs/DILFs, cougars, etc.

🐎 Humiliation and degradation; includes exhibitionism, voyeurism, pet play, free use, force fem/masc, misgendering, and detrans.

🐄 Monster fucking; werewolves, vampires, tentacles, you get the picture. May include non-human genitalia references.

🐎 BDSM; mostly pertains to bondage, but some light impact play might also be present. Nothing beyond spanking or slapping!

🐄 Overstimulation and understimulation; too many orgasms and not enough orgasms. Edging included in this.

🐎 Breeding; including impregnation of others, not of myself.

🐄 Misc; wilderness sex, cowboys/rednecks, putting city assholes in their place, T4T, bears, butches, sex toys, fighting for dominance, light gun/knife play, medical settings, older men/women, trans supremacy, furries, leather. Open to trying new things!

🐎 I do not tag any of these on reblogs! If you genuinely cannot stomach one or more of these things, just do your mental health a favor and don't follow me. Keep yourself safe!

🐄 Please keep in mind that all fantasies I post about are in the context of consensual roleplay between adults.

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LIMITS ;

🐎 Heavy blood, gore, death, necrophilia.

🐄 Scat, watersports, emetophilia. Very light omorashi stuff is fine.

🐄 Choking, beating.

🐎 Detrans/misgendering directed at me.

🐎 DDLG and similar kinks that focus on infantalization.

🐄 Race play; if someone wants to call me a stupid little white boy or something, that's fine, but anything even edging towards white supremacy isn't cool with me

🐎 It's okay if you're into the above things! I won't yuck somebody's yum. You can follow and interact. Just please don't send me asks or dms involving those kinks, and be aware that I may not follow back if you post a lot of one of these.

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TERMINOLOGY FOR ME I'M OKAY WITH ;

🐎 Sir, mister, bitch, faggot, whore, slut, masc terms, sweetheart, darling, buck

🐄 Dick, cock, t-dick, clit, cunt, pussy, chest, hole(s)

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TERMINOLOGY FOR ME I'M NOT OKAY WITH ;

🐎 Daddy, puppy, fem terms

🐄 Tits, boobs, vagina, front hole

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If you're not sure about something, just ask! I don't bite!

#pin

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thismaneatsdrywall · 4 months ago

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okay uhh. Post thingy.

- feel free to send in starters, please don’t be shy. Asks preferred.

- i may at some point put starters for my own aus.

that should be it ig. Have fun.

#pinned #mod maea #httyd ask blog #httyd rtte #httyd au #race to the edge #viggo/krogan #krogan #ooc #roleplay #httyd rp

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circusclownsam · 2 years ago

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S1E8

The house gothi n Stoick are infront of?

Pretty sure that’s Mildews house from the DOB and ROB series.

Dunno tho.

#roleplay #oc tag #httyd series #how to train a dragon 2 #httyd 2 #httyd #httyd rtte #httyd race to the edge

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scaredyspooks · 2 months ago

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BG3 Kinktober 2024

Because I'm a perverted conduit that the void speaks through, I'm doing a Baldur's Gate 3 themed kinktober this year on here and AO3. As I publish the fics I'll be updating this list with links to them, and so y'all can gauge your interest here's the list!

Astarion (spawn) - roleplay - what's an innocent magistrate to do when his assistant propositions him when they're staying late at work?

Gale - pegging - growing bored of the wizard's endless accounts of how he and his goddess' bodies once intertwined, you notice there's one pleasure she never showed him.

Shadowheart - sensory depravation - life's greatest pleasures can be found in loss and darkness.

Lae'Zel - leather - peeling the leathers from your lover's body are one of the greatest rewards of battle.

Wyll - chastity - just because he wants to take things slow, doesn't mean you can't torment him a little.

Karlach - temperature play - attempts to cool her down end up having an interesting result.

Minthara - bondage - an interrogation goes south as you try to get to the bottom of the Absolute's cult.

Halsin - olfactophilia - after almost a tenday of not having time to bathe you head to the river, only be blocked off by a large elf.

Mizora - public - shrouded in the cloak of the hells atop a secluded pedestal, only to find it is in fact a stage.

Rolan - electro - someone's ego boost at getting a new tower has him coming out of his shell.

Zevlor - glory hole - the commander and the cleric need a release, things get interesting when the stranger behind the wall ends up being far too familiar.

Ikaron - semi-public - tensions are high in The Hollow, but you think you can help.

Raphael - naked platter - the devil has made a patisserie of you for his guests, though they seem to fade from existence as he grows distracted by the meal he's making of you.

Haarlep - size difference - the succubus is shocked that you want to see their true form, turns out they're a lot bigger than their master.

Rugan - impact play - the Zhentarim seeks to punish you for trying to skip out on your deal, he doesn't get very far.

Gortash - power play - your relationship has always been somewhat of a dance, one that you're determined to lead.

Dammon - edging - the forge's flames illuminate more than the smith realises, but you're happy to "help" once things quieten down.

The Emperor - hypnosis - the ilithid believes he can still get through to you, with one last attempt.

Aradin - hate fuck - your competitor, the thorn in your side, but damn if he doesn't have good stamina.

Abdirak - sado-masochism - two priests of Loviatar aid in each other's prayer.

He Who Was - free use - his ability to travel the shadowcursed lands unhindered has him popping up everywhere, making you pay for his insatiable desires.

Lia - wax play - after the first few drops, it's hard to tell what's blush and what's burn among the giggles in the Elfsong.

Cal - play fighting - a little extra training won't do any harm, though the proximity may prove... challenging.

Gale - findom - what starts as a simple shopping trip to Sorcerous Sundries takes a turn as you drag the wizard to more and more shops.

Astarion (ascended) - biting/marking - your last night as a mortal will be one to remember.

Shadowheart - human furniture - god's favourite princess needs a throne.

Wyll - roleplay - the son of a duke has a duty to mingle at these important events, though it usually shouldn't lead him to a cupboard with a handsome stranger.

Lae'Zel - predator/prey - your heart races, your breathing to quick to catch, and you know the more you sweat the easier it'll be for her to catch you.

Karlach - human ashtray - she's been making fun of you all evening for your drunken confession about her cigars, but once the other's go to bed she's happy to indulge you on the Elfsong's roof garden.

Halsin - breeding - ever the beast of nature, with your perils finally at an end he lets himself run loose with you and you realise it’s going to be a long night until he’s done filling you.

Minthara - body worship - the drow isn't keen onbeing nursed after but with injuries so severe you need to make sure she's alright.

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linos-luna · 10 months ago

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Odd Fantasy ❣️

Yeonjun x Reader

Warnings: roleplay? CNC, rough sex, spanking, hair pulling, HARD KINK ?

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It’s a slow boring Sunday and you found yourself doing laundry. While waiting, you sat in the living room with your boyfriend. He was supposed to be watching tv but was more interested in what you were inquiring about. Something you read about online.

“It’s really not that weird.” Yeonjun said with a chuckle.

“It just seems like a weird thing to get pleasure from.”

“Well it’s roleplay, baby.” He said with a shrug. “It’s in a controlled environment and admittedly… kinda sexy.”

“Sexy?” You said, quite baffled as you got up to get the laundry. “Not sure about that.”

“What, you don’t find it sexy?” Yeonjun smirked while grabbing your waist from behind and getting close to your ear. “Just a helpless girl… home alone… when a man swoops in and shows you who’s boss…”

“N-no…” you chuckled nervously. “Not sure I like pretending to be robbed.”

“Yeah? But it’d be agreed upon beforehand. It’d be safe.” Yeonjun said while rubbing his hand up your thigh. “Just imagine…”

You blushed at the feeling, whimpering a bit as he got closer to the crotch of your pants.

“…Just a helpless girl… minding her business when someone comes in… bends her over… and fucks her good…” he smirked while rubbing your sensitive area. “… but she loves it… because she’s never felt so good…”

“M-mhm…” you stuttered before he suddenly let go, making you whine a little.

“But of course, it’s not for everyone.” He teased. “Not everyone is kinky like that. Now go get the laundry, sweetheart.”

You paused and blinked momentarily, completely forgetting about the laundry. “Y-yeah… let me go get that…” you said awkwardly before stepping out.

You thought about what he said while going to the laundry room of your apartment complex. After getting the clothes and returning to the apartment, you put them on the bed. As you were about to fold them, you realized you hadn't seen your boyfriend since you got back.

“Yeonjun…?” You called out while walking back to the living room to look for him. After a bit of searching you went back to the bedroom.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you and before you could react, you were grabbed. Pressed against a chest and a hand on your mouth. In a panic, you struggled but it was useless as he was strong.

“Hi darling, I’ve been waiting for you.” The voice said. It was Yeonjun. “Hold still.”

You groaned a bit, trying to say something but his grip was tight. You then tried moving, only for him to sternly jerk you.

“I said hold still!” He said sternly.

You whined and tried moving again, only for him to pull your hair.

“When I say hold still, you hold still!”

Your heart was racing from his stern tone, he’s never spoken to you like that before. It made you freeze but also… excited?

“Good girl…” he smirked while pushing you to the bed, bending you over the edge and yanking your pants down.

“J-Junnie??!”

“Shut up!” A suddenly spank to your ass shut you up really quick, only making you whimper.

“Jun—!”

“Shut up!” He repeated, now pulling down your underwear and lowering his pants and boxers while pinning your hands against your back with one hand.

“You’re gonna take my cock like a good girl, yeah?” He grunted while entering your cunt, surprised that it was already very wet.

“M-mmhm—”

He spanks you harshly and you cry out.

“Yes!”

Yeonjun was pretty satisfied and harshly thrusted, giving no time for adjustment.

“F-fuck! Yeonjun!” You moaned loudly as he mercilessly railed you into the bed. “F-fuck fuck fuck!”

“Taking me well…” he grunts. “You like it, huh?”

It was hard to respond as your mind went to mush. His hips thrusted so hard that the bed would move and sound of skin slapping echoed off the walls. He hit that bundle of nerves over and over, making you lose it. But he wasn’t lying; you loved it.

“Agh—! Fuck—! Jun—!” You moaned louder as he continued pounding you.

The feeling was so exhilarating. You were aroused by his words and enjoyed how rough he was. It opened a new feeling you never thought you could feel from a moment like this.

“Dirty girl… you love this shit!” He laughed deviously as he felt you squeeze around him, getting closer to your high.

Your eyes rolled back as you finally released. Before you could relax, Yeonjun pulled out and flipped you over.

He pumped his length a few times before releasing on your stomach, then putting his hands to your neck, choking you lightly.

“You like that, baby?” He panted, getting close to your face as his cock rubbed against your sensitive cunt. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“J-junnie—!” You whined as his cock was overstimulating you. The lightheadedness from his grip also felt euphoric. “F-fuck…” you panted, sounding almost as if you were giggling a bit from the high.

“Mmhm?” He smirked while giving sloppy, open mouth kisses to your parted lips. “More? You want more, right dirty girl?”

You couldn’t respond, only holding his wrist and gasping to catch your breath as he continued choking you. He only let go when it seemed you were on the verge of passing out.

You gasped when he let go, trying to get your vision to focus on him.

A complete 180 from his rough demeanor just a minute ago, Yeonjun leaned over you and gently rubbed your cheek.

“Did you like that, babygirl?” He asked while kissing your forehead. “Did I please you~?”

“Mmhm.” You responded, still sounding high.

“Would you like it again sometime?” He asked softly.”

You only nodded, still lost in pleasure. Yeonjun thought you were adorable and kissed at your neck, hoping to leave some marks behind. You closed your eyes while feeling his soft plump lips against your neck. It felt heavenly…

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m4rv3l-girl · 7 days ago

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“You made a List?” - Part 3 (Roleplay)

Bucky x Y/N

Y/N made an interesting to-do list, Bucky wants to tick them all off..

Warnings: Roleplay (Dad’s best friend). Fingering. Unprotected p in v sex. Age gap.

In the quiet sanctuary of their shared apartment, Bucky Barnes studied the scribbled list that Y/N had written.

The room was suffused with the soft glow of candlelight, casting shadows that danced across the walls and illuminating the corners of his eyes with a gentle warmth. His gaze lingered on the word "roleplay", and a swirl of emotions churned within him.

Despite his past as the Winter Soldier, Bucky had always found refuge in the delicate dance of trust and vulnerability that came with exploring new intimate experiences with Y/N. He set the paper down, his metallic hand clenching and unclenching reflexively. "So, what do you have in mind?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to resonate through the very air.

Y/N looked up from where she sat on the bed, her cheeks flushed with a hint of excitement. "Well," she began, her voice a little shaky, "I thought we could try something a bit… different. Nothing too extreme, but something that might be fun for us both." She took a deep breath, her eyes searching Bucky's for any signs of hesitation or discomfort.

He nodded slowly, his expression a mask of determination. "Whatever you want, I'll try it," he murmured, crossing the room to stand in front of her. "What's the scenario?"

Y/N's pulse quickened at his willingness. She had always felt safe with Bucky, even when they ventured into the realms of her darker fantasies. “You choose.” She stated.

Bucky paused for a moment, his eyes searched hers, reading her like an open book. His mind raced through various scenarios, trying to pick one that would resonate with her without triggering any negative memories from her past. Then he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “How about I’m your dad’s best friend?”

The words hung in the air, thick with potential and a hint of the forbidden. Y/N’s eyes widened, and she felt a thrill, an exciting drop in her stomach.

She had never admitted it outright, but the idea of Bucky in that role had crossed her mind before, especially given their significant age gap. She knew it was a sensitive subject for her, but with him, she felt like she could explore even her deepest, most hidden desires.

Taking a moment to absorb the gravity of what they were about to do, she nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Bucky's eyes searched hers, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. His thumb brushed against her skin in a tender gesture that sent a shiver down her spine. "If you're sure," he murmured, his gaze intense and protective. "We can stop at any time, remember that."

Y/N nodded firmly, her heart racing as she stood up. She took a deep breath and slipped into the role, her voice taking on a younger, more innocent tone. "Yes, you can be Daddy's friend," she said, looking up at him with a mix of shyness and curiosity.

Bucky felt his own heart stumble at her words, the reality of the roleplay setting in. He had to remind himself that this was Y/N, his partner, the woman he loved beyond measure. He stepped closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Now, we’ll say you're home alone, and I've come to check on you," he began, “let me know if you get uncomfortable.”

Y/N nodded, her breath hitching slightly as she took a step back, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of nervousness and excitement. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture that of a young girl trying to appear mature beyond her years. "Alright." she murmured.

Bucky took on the persona of the concerned, yet slightly flirtatious older man, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her. He sat down beside her, his posture relaxed yet attentive. “Where’s your dad?” he asked, his voice gruff with a hint of a smile.

Y/N’s voice was a soft whisper, a stark contrast to her usually confident tone. “He had to go out of town on business,” she replied, her eyes downcast, playing the part of the obedient daughter.

Bucky’s eyes searched her face for any signs of distress, his thumb still caressing her cheek. He could feel the weight of his own past pushing against the walls of the room, threatening to invade this sacred space they’d created. But he remained steadfast in his commitment to her, to their love, and to the boundaries they’d set for themselves.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. “And your mom?”

Y/N bit her lower lip, her eyes flicking up to meet his before looking away again. “She’s not here either,” she replied, the room suddenly feeling much hotter than it had a moment before.

Bucky's heart was racing, the thrill of the roleplay setting his nerves alight. He knew he had to tread carefully, ensuring that she was as comfortable as possible. He leaned back slightly, giving her space while maintaining the illusion of their new dynamic. "Well then," he said, his voice a low drawl, "it seems like I'm all you've got for the night."

Y/N felt the tension coil in her stomach, a heady mix of anticipation and apprehension. She had never been one for such a taboo scenario, but with Bucky, she felt safe to explore even the darkest corners of her imagination. She played along, her voice a soft sigh. "What are we going to do?" she asked, a playful tremble in her voice.

Bucky's gaze remained on her, his hand still resting on her cheek. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Well," he began, his tone a teasing whisper, "since it's just the two of us, we can do whatever we want." He paused, his thumb tracing a line along her jaw. "But first, I need to make sure you're okay with this." His eyes searched hers for any sign of doubt, his expression a careful blend of the role and his genuine concern for her well-being.

Y/N nodded, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before opening them again, her voice stronger now. "I'm okay," she assured him, "I trust you."

With a gentle smile, Bucky leaned back, his hand dropping away. "Good," he said, his voice dropping back into the persona of the roleplay. "Because I'm going to show you what it's like to be taken care of by your Daddy's friend."

He stood up, his movements fluid and deliberate, and took a few steps away from the bed. He turned back to her, his eyes smoldering with the new character he had adopted. "Come here," he ordered, his voice firm but not unkind.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she rose from the bed, her legs feeling wobbly. She took the few steps that separated them, her eyes locked on his. As she reached him, he placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to stand in front of him. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her body, and she felt a thrill of excitement mixed with a hint of fear.

Bucky took her chin in his hand, tilting her head up to look at him. His eyes searched hers for any signs of distress, but all he saw was a spark of curiosity and desire. He leaned down, his breath hot on her face, and whispered, "You're so beautiful."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, her cheeks flushing. The intimacy of his words, spoken in such a setting, sent a shiver down her spine. She felt herself melt into the role, her body responding to his touch, his voice. She leaned into him, her eyes closed, as his hand traveled down her arm to interlock their fingers.

Guiding her to the bed, Bucky sat down, pulling her onto his lap. She straddled him, her legs on either side of his muscular thighs. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting on her waist, and whispered, "Tell me what you want."

Her eyes opened, meeting his, and she could see the concern in them, the love that was always there, even as they played out this fantasy. She took a deep breath and leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want you to take care of me," she said, her eyes never leaving his.

Bucky's arms tightened around her, his eyes darkening with passion. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before moving to her cheek, then her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

Y/N let out a soft moan, her body responding to his touch. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his grip tightened on her waist, and she knew that he was fighting his instincts, keeping the roleplay within the lines they had drawn together.

His kisses grew bolder, moving to her jawline and then capturing her mouth. The kiss was deep and all-consuming, filled with the tension of their roles and the fiery passion that burned beneath it all. Y/N's hands tangled in his hair, her body moving against his in a silent plea for more. Bucky could feel the heat building between them, the energy that came from the delicate balance of power and submission that they had agreed upon.

Breaking the kiss, he looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of hunger and care. "Is this okay?" he whispered, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip.

Y/N nodded, her breathing ragged. "More than okay," she replied, her voice a soft purr that sent a thrill through his body. She leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, and kissed him again, her tongue darting out to taste him.

Encouraged, Bucky's hands slid up her body, cupping her breasts through the fabric of her shirt. He could feel her nipples harden against his palms, and he knew she was just as lost in the moment as he was. He broke the kiss again, his eyes searching hers, making sure she was still with him.

Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed with desire. She reached for the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head to expose her bare chest. The sight of her skin, pale and flawless in the dim light, was almost too much for Bucky to bear. He leaned in, his mouth closing over one nipple, his tongue flicking and teasing it into a tight peak.

Her back arched, and she gasped, her hands moving to grip the back of his neck. "Bucky," she murmured, her voice a breathy plea that sent a jolt of desire through him. He switched to the other nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before sucking it into his mouth.

Y/N's hips began to move in a slow, sensual rhythm against Bucky's, the fabric of her shorts brushing against his growing arousal. He could feel the wetness seeping through the fabric as she ground against him, and he knew she was just as eager as he was. He released her nipple with a soft pop, his gaze never leaving hers as he reached down to unbutton her shorts.

With trembling hands, she helped him, pushing the material down her legs to expose her damp panties. Bucky's eyes darkened even further, his desire for her a palpable force in the room. He slid his hand down the front of her underwear, his fingers finding the sodden fabric. He groaned against her neck, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh as he began to stroke her.

Y/N's breath hitched, and she threw her head back, her eyes rolling back in her head. The feeling of his hand on her, the gentle yet firm pressure of his fingers, was almost too much. She could feel herself getting wetter, her body begging for more.

"If your daddy knew about this," Bucky murmured against her skin, his voice a seductive purr, "he'd be worried sick about his little girl."

Y/N's eyes snapped open at his words, the thrill of the forbidden washing over her. She knew it was just a game, but the thought of it being so wrong, so taboo, only served to make it feel so much more right. "But it's just us," she managed to say, her voice a desperate whisper.

Bucky chuckled darkly, his hand still working its magic. "But imagine," he said, his voice a tease, "his best friend, his trusted comrade, doing all these dirty things to you." His fingers still circled the damp patch of her panties teasingly.

The mental image was too much for Y/N, and moaned, her walls clenching around nothing.

Bucky felt a surge of power, knowing he was the one causing her such exquisite torment. He slipped his hand inside her panties, his calloused fingertips brushing against her wet folds. She was so wet, so ready for him, and the thought of her being this aroused for him was intoxicating.

He slid his fingers through her slickness, finding her clit and beginning to rub it in slow, deliberate circles. Y/N's hips bucked, and she let out a keening cry. "Bucky," she whimpered, her eyes pleading.

"What do you want, baby girl?" he asked, his voice a low growl, his teeth nipping at her earlobe.

"I want you," she breathed, her voice shaking. "I need you."

With a groan, Bucky stood, lifting her with him, and carried her to the bed. He laid her down, his body covering hers, his weight pressing her into the mattress. He kissed her again, deep and possessive, his tongue delving into her mouth as his fingers continued to work their magic between her legs.

Y/N’s hips moved in time with his touch, her body begging for more. She could feel the fabric of his pants, the hardness of his cock pressing against her, and she reached down to free him. Her hand closed around his length, and she stroked him in time with his movements, her thumb smearing the pre-cum that beaded at the tip.

Bucky’s hips jerked, and he broke the kiss with a gasp. "Careful, little one," he warned, his voice strained. "You're playing with fire."

But Y/N was beyond caring. She was lost in the moment, the roleplay consuming her. She wanted him, needed him to fill her, to take her over the edge. "Please," she begged, her voice needy.

Bucky couldn't resist her plea. He pulled away from her just long enough to remove her panties, tossing them aside before positioning himself at her entrance. He looked into her eyes, searching for any signs of doubt, but all he saw was desire, pure and unbridled.

“You want it, Kitten? You want Daddy’s friend to fuck you, Baby?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she nodded fervently, her cheeks flushing with arousal at the harshness of his words. She had never heard him speak to her this way before, and it was an aphrodisiac that she craved more of.

Bucky’s grip tightened on her hips as he pushed into her in one slow, powerful stroke.

She cried out, her nails digging into his back, her body stretching to accommodate his thickness. He stilled for a moment, giving her time to adjust, before he began to move. His thrusts were deliberate, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

Their roles had shifted into place, and she truly was now the eager young girl, desperate to please the older, more experienced man she had secretly desired for so long. The taboo nature of the scene only heightened her arousal, making every touch, every kiss, feel more forbidden and delicious.

With each thrust, Bucky felt the weight of his past recede, the chains of his guilt loosening as he became lost in the feeling of her tight, wet heat surrounding him. His movements grew more urgent, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he claimed her over and over again.

Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles locking at the small of his back as she met him thrust for thrust, her moans growing louder with each pass. She felt a thrill run down her spine as Bucky’s usually gentle and caring demeanor transformed into something more primal and dominant.

“You’re so wet for me, baby girl,” Bucky murmured into her ear, his voice thick with desire. “You like being a bad little girl for Daddy’s friend, don’t you?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide, and she couldn’t hold back a gasp of pleasure at his words. She had never heard him speak like this before, and it sent a delicious shiver down her spine. The way he talked to her, the way he touched her, it was like he had unlocked a part of her that she hadn’t even known existed. She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “God…yes.” she confessed, her body arching up to meet his every thrust.

Bucky’s eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction as he watched her unravel beneath him. He had always been the one to take care of her, to protect her from the shadows of their past. But now, in this moment, he was the one guiding her through a new kind of darkness—a darkness of desire and submission that she seemed to crave just as much as he did.

With a low growl, he rolled them over, placing Y/N on top of him, her legs straddling his waist. He palmed her ass, urging her to ride him with a newfound sense of power and urgency.

The sight of her on his cock, her breasts bouncing with each downward motion, was almost more than he could handle.

His hands roamed her body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he explored every curve and valley.

Her hips rolled and circled, grinding down onto him as she took charge of their rhythm. The sensation of her wetness, the way she tightened around him, was driving Bucky wild. He could feel her inner walls fluttering, and he knew she was close. "That's it," he encouraged, his voice guttural, "make your Daddy's friend feel good."

Y/N’s movements grew more erratic as she approached her peak, her eyes locked on his, her breaths coming in pants. She felt the tension build, the pressure in her core spiraling out of control. She leaned forward, her hands on his chest, her nails digging into his skin. "Bucky," she whimpered, her voice breaking on his name.

He watched her, his own control slipping away with each of her passionate movements. His hips bucked up to meet hers, his body straining to give her all she needed. "God, doll…" he encouraged, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within her very soul.

"Take it all, baby."

Y/N threw her head back, her hair cascading down her back as she rode him faster, harder. The room was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking—the slap of their skin, her desperate gasps, and the low growl that rumbled from his chest.

Bucky watched her with hooded eyes, his own pleasure rising with each thrust. His thumb found her clit again, and he began to rub it in slow circles, matching the rhythm of their hips.

With a sudden surge of strength, Bucky flipped them over again, placing Y/N on her back. He hovered above her, his muscles tense with desire, his eyes never leaving hers as he pushed her legs apart, holding them spread crudely, and settled himself between them. The new position was deeper, more intimate, and she gasped as he slammed into her, the force of his movements making her eyes roll back in her head.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a dark caress. “You like when I take what I want?”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan escaping her lips. She nodded, the feel of him so deep inside her making it difficult to speak. Bucky’s hand slid from her ankle to her calf, tracing a path up to her thigh. He leaned in, his teeth grazing her neck as he whispered, “Say it. Tell me you want me to fuck you like a bad little girl should be fucked.”

The words were a spark to the dry tinder of Y/N’s desire, and she responded without thought. “Yes, Bucky. Yes, please,” she begged, her voice breathy and needy. His grip tightened on her thigh, and he thrust into her with renewed vigor, his movements punctuating every word.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders, her nails digging in as she held on for dear life, her hips matching his rhythm as best she could. The pleasure was building inside her, a pressure that grew with each stroke, each caress of his thumb against her clit. She felt like she was falling, like she was soaring, all at once.

Their bodies moved together in a dance of passion and power, the line between love and lust blurring with each passing moment. Y/N could feel the tension in Bucky's arms as he held himself above her, his muscles flexing with each thrust. Beads of sweat pooling between them, neither sure of whose it was. His eyes never left hers, the intensity of his gaze making her feel more exposed than the lack of clothing between them.

Bucky's hand slid up her body, his thumb brushing against her nipple before moving to her face, tracing the contours of her cheekbone. "You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice a stark contrast to the roughness of his actions. "So vulnerable, so willing."

Y/N's eyes snapped open, meeting his. The intimacy of his gaze, the way he was looking at her as if she were the only person in the world, was almost too much to handle.

But she didn't look away, instead leaning into his touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Bucky," she breathed, her voice shaking. "I'm so close."

The pressure within her was reaching a crescendo, and she could feel the beginnings of her orgasm coiling in her stomach.

Bucky's strokes grew faster, his breathing harsh and uneven as he pushed her closer to the edge. His thumb circled her clit with unrelenting pressure, and she could feel her body tightening around him. "Come for me," he urged, his voice a low snarl. "Come on my cock."

Y/N's eyes squeezed shut, and she let out a scream as the wave of pleasure crashed over her.

Her body convulsed.

her muscles clenching around his length as she shuddered through her climax. Bucky watched her with a mix of awe and possessiveness, his own orgasm building rapidly. He could feel the tension in his balls, the heat rising in his shaft.

With a final, desperate thrust, he reached his peak, his body shuddering as he came hard, his seed rushing across her heaving chest. It was a release like none he had ever felt before, the taboo nature of their roleplay adding an intensity that made his vision swim.

He had never marked her like this before, and the primal satisfaction it brought him was both shocking and exhilarating.

Y/N felt the hot drip of his cum hit her chest, and she couldn’t hold back a whine of pleasure. She had never been so thoroughly claimed, so completely owned. It was a heady feeling, and she reveled in it, her body still shaking from the aftershocks of her own climax.

Bucky watched as her chest heaved with each breath, the evidence of his release painting her pale skin. He felt a primal sense of satisfaction at the sight, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned down to kiss her, his tongue slipping into her mouth to muffle her soft whimpers.

Their kiss grew in intensity, each movement of their lips a silent declaration of the power they shared. Y/N's hands slid up to tangle in his hair, her nails scraping his scalp as she pulled him closer, her body still trembling from the force of her orgasm.

As they broke apart, panting for breath, Bucky's gaze searched hers, looking for any signs of distress or discomfort. Her eyes were glazed with pleasure, but there was a hint of something deeper, something that made his heart clench. He knew the aftermath of such an intense scene could be overwhelming, and he was determined to care for her in every way she needed.

Gently, he rolled them over so she was nestled in his arms, her back pressed against his chest. He held her close, his hand stroking her hair as he kissed her neck. "Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice thick with concern.

Y/N nodded, her body still trembling slightly. "Yes," she murmured, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "That was… intense."

Bucky tightened his hold on her, his chest heaving with the exertion of their encounter. He knew that aftercare was just as important as the roleplay itself, especially when it came to scenes that pushed boundaries. He reached for the bedside table, grabbing a bottle of water and a soft cloth. He gently cleaned her up, his movements tender and soothing, before handing her the water and a blanket to cover herself.

Y/N took a sip, her eyes never leaving his as he took care of her. The intimacy of the moment was palpable, a stark contrast to the raw power that had just flowed between them. She could feel the warmth of the blanket enveloping her, the softness of the fabric a balm to her over-sensitized skin. Her breathing evened out as she leaned back against him, her heart rate slowly returning to normal.

Bucky's hand continued to stroke her hair, the movement soothing and grounding. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his voice a gentle caress that sent shivers down her spine. "You did so good, doll," he murmured, his voice filled with a warmth that seemed to seep into her very soul. "That was incredible…"

Y/N took a deep breath, letting the weight of his words fill her. The aftermath of their roleplay was always a delicate balancing act, the descent from the heights of their shared passion to the quiet tenderness of their reality. She leaned into him, her eyes closed, as he kissed her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. Each kiss was a promise, a reassurance that no matter what they did together, she was safe with him.

Bucky’s arms tightened around her, holding her like he never wanted to let go. He knew that after such an intense scene, Y/N needed to feel his love and protection more than ever. His hand slid down to her waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles as he felt her body relax against him.

He whispered sweet words into her ear, telling her how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, and how much she meant to him.

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