#send help the world is darkening around the edges
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
wait bc im sitting here reading dostoevsky and thinking about how spence would love having a partner that loves reading as much as him.. but im also thinking ab how he’d want to eat them out while forcing them to still focus on reading… i need an ice bath.
i hope this is what you were wanting <3 i had a lot of fun writing this for you
cw; +18 minors dni, munch!spencer, fingering, dom!spencer, fade to black smut, praise
The soft hum of the world outside fades into the background as you lounge on your bed, face up, knees pulled up to your chest. A pillow is nestled between your thighs and chest, propping up the latest romance novel you've become utterly lost in. The pages blur slightly as your eyes dart over the words, the story pulling you in deeper with each sentence. You’re so engrossed, you don’t even hear the faint creak of the door opening or the soft shuffle of footsteps.
The bed dips slightly, jolting you out of your reverie.
“Spence?” you mumble absentmindedly, your gaze still fixed on the page. The weight on the bed barely registers as you flip to the next chapter, too caught up in the plot to pay attention.
“What are you reading?”
The voice, smooth and familiar, startles you. You glance up, meeting Spencer's curious gaze. He’s standing at the edge of the bed, his shoes already kicked off, clad in jeans and a snug t-shirt that clings to his lean frame.
“Just a new romance novel,” you reply with a small smile, lowering the book slightly. There’s always something about the way Spencer’s eyes darken with intrigue whenever you mention one of your romance reads.
Without a word, Spencer moves around the bed and perches on the opposite side. He unbuttons his jeans with practiced ease, slipping them off before settling against the headboard. His hands reach out to gently tug your feet into his lap, his touch warm and grounding.
“Tell me about it,” he says, his tone soft yet insistent.
Smiling, you let yourself sink back into your comfortable position, your feet resting against the firm warmth of his thighs. “It’s a historical romance,” you begin, “set in the 1600s. There’s forbidden love, political intrigue…”
As you delve into the story, Spencer’s hand idly traces the curve of your calf, his fingertips brushing the bare skin beneath your pajama shorts. His touch is subtle, yet it sends tingles up your leg, making it harder to concentrate. You glance at him briefly, but he looks relaxed, his lips curling in a faint smile as he listens to you.
“Are you almost done with that chapter?” he asks, his hand sliding higher.
“Yeah, just a few more pages,” you murmur, not fully processing how high his hand has wandered. Your focus wavers as his fingers linger on the inside of your thigh, the gentle pressure impossible to ignore.
You’re jolted fully into the present when he hooks a finger into the waistband of your panties and slides them down to your knees.
“Spence!” you squeak, clutching your book tightly as your head snaps toward him. His expression is maddeningly calm, though his eyes gleam with mischief.
“What are you doing?”
“I figured you liked that position so much for reading, I’d help you multitask,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. His fingers dip between your thighs, brushing against your already slick center.
A gasp escapes your lips as his thumb begins circling your clit with deliberate precision. Your hips twitch instinctively, opening to him even as your book tumbles to the side.
“Spencer,” you moan, your voice breathy with need.
“Keep reading,” he commands, his voice firm but gentle as his fingers plunge into you, curling perfectly against your walls.
You try to obey, picking up your book and skimming the next few lines, but the words blur as his movements intensify. The pressure of his fingers combined with the steady rhythm of his thumb has your breath hitching, your chest heaving with the effort to concentrate.
“Spence, I can’t—” you start, but he cuts you off by stilling his hand.
“You need to keep reading,” he says, his tone laced with amusement.
“Spencer!” you whine, glaring at him through half-lidded eyes.
“Read a page, and I’ll give you more,” he bargains, withdrawing his fingers.
Frustrated but desperate for his touch, you scan the next page as quickly as your trembling hands allow. The moment you finish, you glance up, and he rewards you by slipping two fingers back inside, stretching you deliciously as his thumb resumes its torturous circles.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.
This pattern continues, the cycle of teasing and reward driving you closer to the edge with every page. By the time you finish another, Spencer leans down, his tongue replacing his fingers.
You cry out, the book forgotten as his mouth works you over with unrelenting skill. His tongue licks and swirls, his lips closing around your clit to suck gently, and you’re utterly undone. Your hips buck against him, your hands gripping the sheets as he pushes you higher and higher.
Finally, your release crashes over you, your body trembling as he coaxes every last wave of pleasure from you. When you’re spent and boneless, Spencer pulls away, his lips glistening as he crawls up beside you.
“How was that chapter?” he asks with a cheeky grin, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.
“Best one yet,” you reply, your voice hoarse but content.
“Glad I could help with the multitasking,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your temple as you drift off, thoroughly sated and utterly his.
#missarchive#mj answers#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#bau x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x fem!reader
197 notes
·
View notes
Text
what do you MEAN one of the two main writers of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies wrote a film that came out THIS YEAR with ANDREW WAKEFIELD, the disgraced doctor who made up that vaccines cause autism and basically tortured a bunch of children to prove something he knew was a lie so he could make more money............ what do you MEAN Andrew Wakefield has directed and written MULTIPLE propaganda films to spread more of his bullshit.....
#james talks#send help the world is darkening around the edges#like what.........#i genuinely blacked out for a second when i was going through Terry Rossio's filmography.#like i saw he had a new movie from this year. and i clicked to see what it was about and then i saw who directed it.#i almost convinced myself it must be some other poor unfortunate soul to share the same name as that child abuser and genuine monster#but nope. someone apparently fucking gave Wakefield money to make up bullshit. he wrote and directed it.#and Terry also has a writing credit on it.#genuinely cannot comprehend and digest this information rn.#Andrew Wakefield#potc#pirates of the caribbean
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tinted desires
aaron hotchner x fem!reader
warnings: smut!, minors dni!
p in v (wrap it up), creampie, fingering, powerdynamics (boss-employee), secret relationship, dirty language and lmk if i forgot something
Summary: After catching the unsub, you and Hotch linger in the SUV, unable to wait until you get home. The tension between you is undeniable, and seeing him look so irresistible in his FBI gear pushes you over the edge.
masterlist
The night had settled in, casting a calm darkness over the nearly empty street. The black SUV idled in its space, the faint hum of the engine the only sound as you sat beside Hotchner. The mission was over, the unsub caught and the team safe, but the tension still hummed between you and Hotch, not the adrenaline-fueled kind from the chase, but the kind that had been growing quietly between you two for months now.
You shifted in your seat, glancing over at him. His hands were still wrapped around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the pressure, and his gaze was fixed out the front windshield. There was always this quiet storm in him after a case. The weight of leadership bore down on him, and the lines on his face deepened, his thoughts somewhere far away.
But tonight, the air between you felt different, thicker. The silence, which was usually companionable, now felt charged. You swallowed, your heart thudding in your chest, knowing exactly why.
He was always so good at keeping the mask on, at hiding what he truly felt behind those dark, unreadable eyes. But you had learned to see through it, to catch the brief flickers of vulnerability he allowed himself only around you. There were fleeting moments when he would let his guard down, glances that lasted too long, touches that lingered too intimately. You had become experts at hiding your relationship from the team, from the world. But sometimes, in the quiet, the secrecy grew too heavy to bear.
You shifted slightly in the passenger seat, leaning toward him. You couldn’t help it, you were drawn to him. The way his hand rested on the center console, so close to yours but never quite touching, was almost unbearable
“Aaron,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the silence between you.
He turned to you, his dark eyes locking with yours,. “We can’t,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, but his eyes betrayed him. There was heat there, a hunger he was trying so hard to suppress, but you could see it in the way his gaze lingered on your lips.
You glanced out the window, noticing the darkness and the heavily tinted glass. No one could see in. You turned back to him, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the weight of the moment, the unspoken desire hanging in the air between you.
“No one will see us,” you whispered, your hand brushing lightly against his on the console.
His eyes darkened, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers curled around his hand. His resolve was cracking, you could feel it, and it only fueled your desire. You could feel the heat of his body, the tension in the way he was holding himself, so tightly wound, like he was trying to stop himself from losing control.
His hand hesitated for a moment, then slowly moved, turning over to grasp yours. The contact was electric, sending a jolt of heat through you. His touch was firm, but tentative, as if he were still fighting with himself.
“We shouldn’t,” he repeated, but his voice was shakier now, his control slipping. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, the soft motion at odds with the tension in his body.
You shifted closer, your breath catching as his fingers traced along the edge of your thigh, so close to where you wanted him. The air felt too thick to breathe, your skin too sensitive, the anticipation building with every second.
“Aaron, please,” you whispered, your voice breathless, need edging into your words.
You saw it then, the moment he broke. His hand slid higher, his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh now, the heat of his touch almost unbearable. His eyes stayed on yours, dark and intense, as he moved his hand closer, his fingers grazing the edge of your underwear through your pants. You let out a soft gasp, your hips shifting toward him instinctively.
His jaw clenched, and his hand paused, as if he were giving himself one last moment to stop, to pull away. But when your hand moved to his, guiding him, his resolve shattered completely.
His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, sliding over the soft fabric of your underwear, and you could feel him hesitate for just a second. His breath was shallow, his eyes locked on yours, watching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none.
“Aaron…” you breathed out, barely able to keep your voice steady.
His hand moved lower, pressing lightly between your legs, feeling the heat and wetness that had already begun pooling there. He let out a low, guttural sound, his breathing growing ragged as he realized how much you wanted this, how much you needed him.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, as if the words themselves were almost too much for him to say.
You whimpered softly, your hips pressing into his hand as he applied more pressure, his fingers exploring the slick heat between your thighs. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second of this moment, despite how much he was clearly struggling to maintain control.
His fingers slid beneath the fabric of your underwear, finally touching you where you ached for him. You gasped at the contact, your body trembling under his touch as his fingers slowly slid through your wetness, exploring every inch of you.
“Aaron, please…” you whimpered again, your hands gripping the edge of the seat as he continued to tease you, his fingers moving with excruciating slowness.
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck, his fingers sliding deeper now, fingering you with deliberate precision. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, trying to maintain control even as his own arousal grew. You could see it too, the hardness of him pressing against his pants, and it only made you want him more.
His thumb found your clit, pressing against it in slow, firm circles that had you gasping and squirming beneath his touch. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as he expertly worked you over, his fingers sliding in and out of you, his thumb never leaving that sensitive spot.
Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the need for release, but still, he took his time, drawing it out, making you beg for it.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “But we have to be quiet. Can you do that?”
You nodded frantically, biting your lip to keep from crying out as his fingers pressed deeper, harder, the pleasure building to a breaking point.
And then, with one final stroke, your body clenched around his fingers, the wave of release crashing over you. You bit down on your lip, your breath hitching as you came undone beneath his hand, your body trembling in the aftermath.
He didn’t stop, his fingers still moving gently inside you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were left trembling, breathless, your body slumping back against the seat.
He finally withdrew his hand, his fingers glistening with your arousal as he pulled back slightly, his breathing just as unsteady as yours.
The tension between you and Aaron was now a living, breathing thing in the confined space of the SUV. After he pulled his hand away from your throbbing core, the heat between you still burned, almost unbearable in its intensity. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and clouded with desire, and you could see he was still trying to hold onto the last remnants of his control.
But you were done with waiting.
“You’re such a naughty girl,” Aaron whispered, his voice low, gravelly, and full of the heat that had been simmering beneath the surface. His hand rested on your thigh, fingers brushing over your skin like a promise, as his dark eyes flickered with that familiar intensity.
You smirked at him, leaning in closer, your lips just a breath away from his. “I can be even naughtier,” you teased, your voice dripping with challenge.
“Oh yes?” His mouth curled into a small, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse race even faster.
Without breaking eye contact, you shifted in your seat, a slow, deliberate movement, and climbed over the console. You straddled his lap, your legs wrapping around his, and the feel of his hard body beneath yours sent a shiver through you. His hands immediately gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, as if he were still trying to maintain some semblance of control. But the bulge pressing against your core told a different story.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice a low growl as you leaned in, your lips grazing his ear.
“Making you feel so good,” you whispered, your breath hot against his skin. You felt him tense beneath you, his hands tightening their grip on your waist as a low groan escaped his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.
With your fingers deftly working, you began unbuckling his belt, your movements slow and deliberate, teasing him, making sure he felt every second of it. His breathing grew heavier, his eyes never leaving yours, watching as you took control.
His hands slid down to your hips, and with a firm press, he pushed the seat back, giving you more room. His hands remained on your waist, gripping you tightly as if he needed to anchor himself to something. His eyes darkened as you moved against him, the friction sending sparks through your body.
You had already shed your pants in the heat of the moment, and now, with a single motion, you pulled his belt free, tossing it aside. His hips shifted beneath you as you reached for the zipper of his pants, your fingers brushing against the hard length of him through the fabric. His breath hitched at the contact, a low groan escaping his throat.
He was still wearing his FBI vest, the dark material straining against his broad chest, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on it. Something about seeing him like this, so in control yet completely unraveling under your touch, made your desire for him burn even hotter.
“Do you want me to take it off?” he asked, his voice a little rougher now, his hands sliding up your sides, brushing over the hem of your shirt.
You shook your head slowly, your lips curling into a smile as you met his gaze. “No. It does something to me.”
His laughter was low, a deep rumble in his chest that you felt beneath your palms. “You like this, huh?” he teased, his smirk widening as his hands found your hips again, guiding you over him.
“You have no idea,” you breathed, your body moving against him, feeling the heat and hardness of him beneath you, barely contained by the fabric separating you.
His control was slipping, you could feel it in the way his hands roamed your body, the way his breathing grew more ragged. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your neck, and his voice, low and thick with desire, made you shiver. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I like danger,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved your hips against him, grinding against the hard length of him through his pants.
His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you harder against him, and his head fell back against the seat as he let out another low groan, the sound sending a rush of heat straight through you.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice rough as his hands slid down. His touch sent a jolt through you, your body trembling as his fingers brushed over your slick heat again.
“Maybe,” you teased, your hands working on unbuttoning his pants now, sliding the zipper down slowly. “But what a way to go.”
Aaron groaned again, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you finally freed him from his pants, your hand wrapping around the hard length of him. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, the heat between you almost unbearable.
“Are you ready for this?” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth, teasing him with the barest touch of your lips.
His eyes opened, dark and full of need as they locked on yours. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Always.”
And with that, you lowered yourself onto him, the feeling of him stretching you filling every inch of you, sending a wave of pleasure crashing through your body. His grip on your hips was firm, guiding you as you moved, his breath ragged and hot against your neck.
The SUV felt impossibly small as you moved together, the heat and intensity of the moment swallowing everything else around you. There was only him, his hands on your body, his breath in your ear, and the sound of his groans as you took him deeper, faster, until neither of you could hold back any longer.
“Aaron,” you gasped, your body trembling with the intensity of it all, the pleasure overwhelming as you rode him, feeling the tension building between you, the coil tightening with every movement.
He gripped you harder, pulling you down onto him, his own breath hitching as he buried his face in your neck. “God, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself together.
Aaron's voice was rough and full of raw desire as he looked at you, his grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck, you’re so filthy,” he growled, his tone low and commanding. “Fucking your boss in an FBI car. I want to hear you beg me to come inside you, beg for it baby.”
The filthy edge to his words sent a shiver down your spine, making you groan in response. Your hands gripped his shoulders as the heat of the moment intensified, every nerve in your body on fire. “God, I do love that,” you gasped breathlessly, your voice shaking with need. “Please, Aaron, please come inside me. I need it, I need you…”
Your desperate plea made him groan, and the sound of your voice begging for him only drove him closer to the edge.
And then, with one final movement, the tension snapped, your body exploding with pleasure as you came, trembling and gasping against him. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you harder against him as he followed, his own release crashing over him in a wave that left both of you breathless.
For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled together in the aftermath of pleasure. His hands stayed on your waist, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, and you couldn’t help but smile as you felt the last remnants of tension slowly fade away.
Finally, you pulled back slightly, your forehead resting against his as you both tried to catch your breath. Aaron’s hands slid up your back, his touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the intensity of just moments ago.
“You’re something else,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss.
You grinned, still breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked into his dark, satisfied eyes. “And you love it.”
He chuckled, low and soft, his hands tightening around your waist as he pulled you close again. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice filled with both affection and a lingering hunger. “I really do.”
Just as the heat between you and Aaron cooled off, the unthinkable happened, a sharp knock echoed through the SUV. Both of you froze, your breath still heavy, bodies tangled in the haze of lust and passion.
You quickly turned your head toward the window, your heart racing, only to see a familiar silhouette standing outside the car. It was Morgan. He leaned down, squinting through the heavily tinted windows, clearly trying to make out who was inside.
"Hey!" he called out, knocking on the window again, a curious lilt in his voice. "Who’s in the FBI car? I saw the lights on from outside the building."
Your eyes widened in panic, and you turned to Aaron, who looked as composed as ever, though you could see the flicker of frustration in his dark gaze. His hand was still gripping your waist, and your bodies were still connected. You had no time to move, no chance to hide what had just happened.
Aaron’s jaw clenched, and he leaned in close, whispering against your ear. "Stay quiet," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "I’ll handle it."
With a quick but careful motion, he pulled you tighter against him, using his suit jacket to shield the evidence of what had just transpired. He tapped a button on the door to roll the window down just a crack, keeping the inside of the car dark enough to hide you.
"Morgan," Aaron said, his voice as steady and authoritative as ever. "What are you doing out here this late?"
Morgan tilted his head, still trying to peer inside. "Hotch? What are you doing in the car with the lights on? I thought everyone had cleared out for the night."
You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, your body still trembling from the intensity of the moment. You pressed yourself deeper into Aaron’s chest, trying to stay as still as possible, your heart racing as you waited for Morgan to give up and walk away.
But Morgan, ever the curious one, didn’t seem satisfied with Aaron’s calm demeanor. "Everything okay in there, man? You sure you’re not hiding something?"
Aaron gave him a sharp, knowing look. "Just wrapping up some paperwork. You can head home, Morgan."
For a moment, there was silence as Morgan seemed to process the situation. Then, with a skeptical shrug, he stepped back from the car. "Alright, Hotch. If you say so. But next time, don’t leave the lights on, you’re wasting company resources."
Aaron waited until Morgan had turned and walked back toward the office building before he let out a breath, his fingers still gripping your waist possessively.
“That was close,” you whispered, your voice shaky but laced with amusement.
Aaron smirked, his lips brushing your ear. “Too close.
taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner imagine#ssa aaron hotchner#aaron hotch#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotch fanfiction#criminal minds smut#criminal minds hotch#criminal minds imagine#hotchner x reader#hotchner smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
I just watched the f1 never have I ever video and Charles says that he has missed a flight and it was his fault that he missed it so can you write a smut piece where he was with reader and he lost track of time? 😉😏
Dangerous Distraction | C. Leclerc
Summary: Charles misses his flight because of you
warnings: 18+ smut, oral (fem receiving), slight overstimulation
pairing: charles x fem!reader
wc: 1.4k
masterlist
© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work
“never have I ever missed a flight?”
CL: “I have, more than once”
“was it your fault?”
CL: “oh yeah, yeah”
You were sprawled out on the plush bed, wrapped in a soft comforter as you watched Charles packing his suitcase with a determined focus. He moved around the room, trying to neatly fold his clothes before placing them in his suitcase. As time went on, his crisp folds turned into a pile of rumpled clothes that will surely have creases when he would unpack them on the other side of the world.
He couldn't maintain his focus on the mundane task; his gaze kept drifting toward you, especially when you shifted in bed, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of your bare legs.
"Need any help?" you teased, your voice soft and inviting.
Charles paused, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes locked onto yours. "You're a dangerous distraction," he murmured, abandoning his suitcase to walk over to the bed.
You smiled, reaching out to grab his hand and pull him closer. "Maybe you need a break," you suggested seductively.
Charles climbed up onto the bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, intoxicating kiss. Moaning into his mouth, you could taste a mix of mint and something uniquely Charles. His hands moved to the edge of the comforter, pulling it down to reveal more of your bare skin.
He pulled back slightly, his gaze trailing down your body. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered, watching goosebumps rise on your skin as he trailed his fingers down your chest, hardening your nipples with a delicate touch.
You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, the warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, and you responded eagerly, your hands roaming over his chest and back.
"You're impossible to resist," he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and filled with desire.
"Then don't resist," you replied, your voice a husky invitation that he didn't think twice before accepting.
Charles eyes darkened with lust as he lowered himself beside you, his hands exploring every inch of your body. He kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours as his fingers traced a path down your side. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he found all the places that made you shiver with pleasure.
He pulled back slightly, his gaze intense as he looked at you. "I should be packing," he said, though his voice lacked any real conviction.
You smiled, running a hand through his hair. "You have some free time."
He hummed, "and I plan to make the most of it." He trailed featherlight kisses down your throat, not leaving an inch of skin untouched.
He claimed your lips again in a passionate kiss, his hands roaming all over your body with a sense of urgency. You melted into his touch, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him even closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more fervent as the minutes ticked by unnoticed.
He pulled back to quickly strip off his clothes before pressing a kiss to your stomach. Charles' hands parted your thighs as he settled between them. Licking, sucking, and kissing your inner thighs, he teased you mercilessly, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.
"Charles," you moaned, your voice trembling with anticipation.
He glanced up at you, his eyes dark with desire, before finally giving you some relief by directing his attention to your pussy. His tongue flicked out to taste you, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.
He took his time, alternating between gentle licks and firm strokes. His lips and tongue drove you wild, your hands clutching at the sheets below you and your hips arched off the bed as he brought you closer to the edge.
"Please," you begged, your tone barely higher than a whisper.
Charles smiled against you, his tongue working faster, more insistently. You felt yourself teetering on the brink, every nerve alight with sensation. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he spread your folds using two of his fingers and licked up a final stripe before sucking hard on your clit, sending you spiralling into a powerful orgasm.
You cried out, your body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you. Charles didn't stop, his mouth continuing the relentless movements while he slipped his fingers inside your pussy. The dual sensation was almost too much to bear, leaving you torn between pulling away and arching into the overwhelming pleasure.
He pumped his fingers in and out of you with a skillful rhythm, curling them just right to hit the sweet spot deep inside. Each thrust of his fingers were accompanied by the tantalizing flicks of his tongue against your overstimulated clit. The combination drove you wild, your hips bucking against his hand as you sought more.
"Charles, baby," you gasped, your voice a breathless moan as you felt the tension building again, faster and more intense this time. Your fingers tangled in his hair again, pulling him closer as you rocked against his mouth.
He responded with a low moan of satisfaction, his fingers moving faster, more determined to push you over the edge. His free hand lifted your leg up over his shoulder while he added a third finger in your pussy, stretching you perfectly.
His tongue worked in harmony with his fingers, and you felt yourself climbing higher and higher.
"Yes, oh god, yes," you panted, your body trembling as you reached the precipice of another orgasm.
Charles didn't let up, his fingers curling inside you, mouth sucking and licking with a precision that drove you insane. You felt the wave building higher until it crashed over you with a devastating force. You cried out his name, your vision blurring as the orgasm tore through you, leaving you breathless and shaking.
He continued to work you through it, his fingers slowing but never stopping, his mouth still pressing gentle kisses to your throbbing clit while lapping up all your cum. Finally, when you were utterly spent, he withdrew his fingers and moved up to cradle you in his arms.
He made a show of licking his lips before humming in delight. "You taste amazing, mon amour," he whispered before pressing a soft kiss to your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.
You smiled, still catching your breath, your body humming with the aftershocks of your release. "Was that your parting present?"
Charles chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I think I can do better than that," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.
Just as he leaned in to kiss you again, his eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand. His expression changed instantly.
"Merde!" he exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. "I completely lost track of time."
You followed his gaze to the clock and your eyes widened. "Charles, your flight!" you gasped, the reality sinking in.
He scrambled off the bed, grabbing his phone to see a couple missed calls from his manager. He quickly dialled back, pacing around the room until the line was connected.
"I'm so sorry, I got... distracted," he explained, hurriedly casting a sheepish grin in your direction.
You couldn't help but giggle as he spoke, realizing this was the first time Charles had potentially missed a flight because of you. You knew you should feel guilty, and perhaps you would later when the consequences set in, but in that moment, basking in the post-orgasmic bliss, you wouldn't have had it any other way.
Charles hung up, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. "Looks like I'll have to catch the next flight," he said, a hint of frustration in his tone knowing that he wouldn't be able to fly with any of his team members.
But then, his gaze softened as he looked at you, a small smile spreading across his face. "Not that I regret a single second."
You laughed, reaching out to pull him back to the bed. "Guess you'll have to stay here with me a little longer," you teased, running your fingers down his chest.
Charles chuckled, shaking his head. "You're insatiable," he murmured, his eyes filled with playful affection.
You grinned, your fingers tracing lower. "You've used your fingers and your tongue, but not your cock yet," you replied, your voice dripping with desire.
Charles' eyes darkens with lust at your words. "Is that a request?" he asked, his voice husky as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin.
"More like a demand," you whispered, pulling him in for a deep, hungry kiss.
Taglist: @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @tellybearryyyy @nikfigueiredo @jointhehunt67 @bokutos-babyowl @sya-skies @charlesleclercsonlywife @dreamingonbed @wonnou @heylookwhoitis
#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#thef1diary fic#f1 imagine#f1 imagines#f1 smut#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc fic#smut#fanfic
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
SNAP AND BREAK
SYNOPSIS you piss caleb off by going on a risky mission so he makes you pay. dearly.
WARNINGS caleb x fem!reader, fights, arguments, tension, misunderstandings, secret relationship, pseudo-cest, punishment, unprotected sex, improper use of evol, gagging, cockwarming, restraints, bondage, bdsm scene, size difference, verbal humiliation, pussy job, dirty talk, multiple positions, orgasm edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, nipple play, marking, biting, forgiveness, aftercare
DAWN SAYS another one for the cfgc <3 caleb punish me challenge mode: extremely hard. also, big thanks to bb vienna for tossing back some ideas and helping me shape up this bad boy ❤️
x / a03
It’s not often Caleb comes home for the holidays, and when he does, you want to make sure everything’s perfect for him.
Sweat dots your brow, dripping down your neck as you spring around the house like a frantic OTTO-PHO, cleaning every inch of your old home and picking up after any mess left behind. With Gran in elderly care and your childhood friend stuck in Skyhaven, the onus is on you to keep the space spick-and-span—a duty you sorely neglected due to your erratic mission schedule.
Damn it, you scowl, glancing at the clock. It’s already 9PM… Caleb could be home anytime soon…
Huffing, you bring out a box of Christmas lights, completely entangled together in a wiry mess, and you groan at the thought of spending hours trying to get one end loose from the other. Sure, Christmas Eve is a time for families to gather together and enjoy the festivities with merriment, food and one too many glasses of bourbon, but as much as you would love to spend time with Caleb on his rare days back in Linkon, there’s a lingering thought in the back of your mind, connected right to the Hunter’s watch on your wrist.
As you check through the notifs, you miss the front door clicking open, the soft scuffle of boots on the wooden floor only reaching your distracted ears when the person was a few feet from you. Despite your wicked fast reflexes, Caleb is quicker, caging you in his arms, pulling you tightly to his chest as his boyish laughter grazes your ears.
“Really, pipsqueak? Being distracted could cost you some Hunter brownie points.”
“Caleb!” you squeal, whirling around and smacking his chest, your eyes sparkling at the sight of him. “When did you get here?! I didn’t even hear your bike.”
He releases his grip on your waist, spinning you to face him, taking you in with his warm gaze. You didn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes, stress-induced from nights in a world so far above the ground, with secrets you sense he could never tell you.
“Guess someone was more distracted than I gave her credit for,” he teases, ignoring your probing gaze.
You tighten your grip on his arm, and pull him closer, scrutinizing him from head to toe. “And you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“Jeez,” he worms out of your grasp, though his cheery disposition remains unflappable. “Are you trying to steal my thunder? I’m the one that’s supposed to be the nagger, not the other way around. And you look like you’re short of a few days of sleep, too, Pips.”
It never surprises you how at ease he makes you feel. Banter and laughter flow freely between Caleb and you, and where words fall short, the silence remains warm and companionable. The scent of food is in the air, and you take a moment to inhale the fragrance of warm bread leaving the pan greedily. Caleb makes your favorite baozi, the sweet dough mingling with the succulent fattiness of the pork belly sandwiched between the two buns melting on your tongue, sending sparks of serotonin straight to the pleasure center of your brain.
He watches you eat with a twinkle in his eye. “Good?”
"Heavenly,” you practically moan, and take another bite. You miss his eyes darkening, the quick aversion of his gaze from your blissed-out face.
“Mhm. Glad you love it,” he raps the table with his knuckles and stands, focused on the tasks ahead. “We’ll pick up Gran from the care center tomorrow and return home. Can I trust you with the turkey, Pips?”
You nod, dusting your fingers free from crumbs and standing, too. “Got it. Turkey. What about the cupcakes?”
“Oh, I can get them delivered. Don’t worry,” he reassures with a grin. “Wouldn’t want Gran to worry about us stuck in Christmas traffic.”
He’s got a point. When Christmas Eve arrives, the streets of Linkon bustle with throngs of bodies hurrying down the sidewalks, a sense of urgency and excitement in the air. You’re carrying the turkey back to your bike when a familiar vibration on your wrist pulls your attention from strapping the bird tightly into your rear basket, and your heart falls when you see the fluctuation pattern.
Wanderers.
Your mind rushes with the implications of what comes next, and in your ear, the ever-present comm beeps, Nero’s voice on the other end briefing Team Alpha.
“... interrupt Christmas break… urgent deployment to Chansia City—team of explorers—Caves—”
It comes in bits and pieces. You’re struggling to listen while kicking your bike into gear, revving back home to pack for the overnight mission.
“Nero, slow down—which part is overrun?” Jenna demands, her voice crisp from the other end of the line.
“—Chapel Bay. We need reinforcements—”
Kicking up dirt in your wake, you zip back home, arriving in time for Caleb to poke his head past the door, his greeting dying on his lips when he sees the tension radiating off you in waves.
“Pipsqueak, what’s wrong—?”
There’s no time to consider softening the blow when an entire neighborhood is at risk of being wiped out by Wanderers.
“I just got a call to go to Chansia. There’s been a huge Wanderer attack.” You pry the turkey from your bike’s rear basket and hand it to him, sprinting back into the house to pack when a tight grip on your wrist stops you.
“Slow down, Pipsqueak,” Caleb urges, his eyes wide with trepidation. “Did you just say Chansia?”
You nod, and something in his expression darkens.
“You can’t go.”
“Wh—?”
Before you can protest, Caleb slams the front door closed, barricading it with his broader build. “Pips, that area is certified Wanderer territory after the Profield Fall six months ago. Going there would be signing your death sentence .”
His words ring in your mind, leaving behind a tremor of fear. But, your stubbornness and need to help takes precedence over whatever hesitation you might feel, and you shake your head.
“Caleb, it’s my job—”
“ Y/N, please.”
No Pipsqueak, Pips, or short stack …
Your eyes widen as the realization hits you square in the chest. Caleb is completely serious about this. You take a step back when he corners you against the wall, those amethyst eyes shining with a desperate plea for you to listen to him—just this once.
“Trust me when I say this—the DAA knows what’s going on there and we’ve escalated it to Zone Three status. You could die there, Y/N—”
“Caleb, I can’t just leave my team behind!”
He swallows hard, crossing his arms and in a tone brokering no argument, he utters: “Give me Captain Jenna’s number right now.”
You gape at him, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “ Are you trying to get me fired? ”
“Family code for the Hunter’s Association means family members can refuse to allow a Hunter to serve—”
“Now you’re just making things up!”
Your cheeks burn hotly with indignation, eyes narrowing at the sight of his wilful glare. Deep down, Caleb is just worried for you, his overprotective big brother tendencies leaving him resolutely firm on not allowing you to go. But, you’re not a kid anymore, and this is the duty you swore to uphold. Family or not, Caleb has no right to stop you from leaving.
“No,” you reiterate, standing your ground. “Caleb, this is unacceptable. You can’t just dictate when I can do my job just like that!”
“Oh, I can and I will.”
You feel a firm tug around your waist, and to your horror, his Evol snatches your phone from deep inside your pants pocket. “Hey—!”
He holds it above your head, no longer goofing around like he usually does when he teases you like this; expression serious and unyielding. “Tell me your phone password now.”
You seethe, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “Absolutely not!” Palm to his chest, he grunts, feeling the first stirrings of your Resonance piercing through the atoms binding his telekinesis together, goading him to explode. He grabs your wrist with the other hand, a mutinous and unfamiliar glare twisting his mouth into a sneer.
“Oh, don’t even think about using your Evol on me, little missy.” With a staggering strength you thought he would never use on you, Caleb drags you closer, pressing your thumb on the phone’s biometric sensor. It lights up and your phone unlocks, leaving him privy to your contacts.
In one swift motion, you kick him right in the bend of his knee, knocking him off balance. Caleb yelps and the turkey you so carefully transported back home goes crashing to the ground along with his knees hitting the carpet. Moving fluidly, you grab his shoulder, restraining his arm behind his back, forcing him to relinquish his grip on your phone where it clatters onto the floor.
“Pips—”
You push your knee right in between his shoulder blades, forcing him to the ground.
Caleb grunts in pain, but you’re too angry to even care about his discomfort.
“How dare you come in the way of my job?” You spit out, increasing the force of your knee into his back. “You have no right, Caleb. None.”
“I was just—”
“What’s going on?!”
You both glance up to find Gran staring at you in horror, frozen in her wheelchair. It’s been years since she saw a fight this bad between you and Caleb—the last one being when you two were angsty teenagers. At the look of dismay on her face, you hesitate and ease up, letting him go. Caleb rises with a derisive scoff, and without a second glance, tosses your phone back to you, remaining indifferent when you fumble to catch it.
“Fine. But, don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you’re going through with this, then I have nothing else to say to you.”
He walks away, his head bent, broad shoulders tense with frustration. You watch him disappear back into the kitchen and glance down at the mess of the turkey scattered on the floor—reminding you of the chaos you’ve brought to what was supposed to be a day of family and celebration. How you single-handedly ruined Christmas Eve.
“Gran, I’m—”
She raises a hand to stop your string of excuses and apologies. “Whatever you need to do, go and do it. Just come back in one piece, dear.”
You glance at the deep set lines of her face, the kindness in her eyes you didn’t deserve. “Could you tell him…?” You trail off, and flicker your gaze to the kitchen. Gran nods, imperceptibly understanding your request.
“I’ll speak to him, don’t you worry.”
Taking one last look at her, you nod and hitch the strap of your purse higher, thoughts already racing on the logistics of returning to the Association base and retrieving your hunting gear. As you straddle your bike, you steal a final glance at the kitchen window, wondering if he could see you pulling away. But, the curtains are drawn, and the lights dim.
Feeling the melancholy of separating on such awful terms with him, you kick up the bike stand and zip down the highway to your unknown fate, ready to fight Wanderers despite how much every fiber in your body was screaming at you to turn around and make things right with Caleb.
Caleb stares at the phone in his hand. It’s been three days since he last heard from you; since he last saw you.
He’s gone through the entire cycle of grief the whole time you’ve been missing from his side: denial that you had the nerve to hurt him after all he’s done for you, anger at the way you dismissed his concerns and complaints about him mother henning you when all he wants is to ensure your safety; bargaining with the voices in his mind to forgive and forget; a crippling depression at the lack of consideration you had for him by not even bothering to reach out and finally acceptance that come what may, you had to return home.
He wouldn’t rest till he sees you again—till he makes sure you’re safe and whole.
But, when the fourth day trickles by with still no sign or contact from you, anxiety gnaws him right to the bone and he can’t focus on anything else but the chirp of his phone, heart pounding wildly and breath hitching as he picks it up, hoping to see the golden notification which will indicate you’re still alive.
He’s disappointed time and time again.
Yet, he doesn’t switch off his phone or mute it. Caleb reasons if you ever did call him, he would always be on standby to berate you.
(And ask you when you’ll be coming home again so he can prepare to see you).
His heart echoes a dull thud that grows murkier and darker with each growing day of your absence. Till he can’t take it anymore and punches in the emergency number you left on the fridge, hearing the dial tone that echoes forlornly in the background of this empty kitchen soaking in the last rays of sunset.
The call doesn’t go through, and he tries the other number you left for him.
“Hello?”
Mercifully, a woman answers and his white-knuckled grip on the phone tightens.
“Hi,” he stutters and feels like a fool. “My name is Caleb. I’m… Y/N’s friend,” clearing his throat, he presses on. “I haven’t heard from her in days and I’m starting to, uh, get worried. Is she—?”
He barely gets the question out when the woman interrupts him, not unkindly.
“Caleb, isn’t it? You’re her adopted brother. My name is Jenna and I’m the captain of Team Alpha. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose any further information about our Deepspace Hunters except that they are currently on a very important mission.”
Jenna’s tone is steepled in regret, and Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. I know, damn it.” If she finds his cursing crass, she doesn’t comment on it. “But, it’s been four days already. I just need to know—”
“Mr. Caleb, we understand your frustration, but please, do let us handle the mission on our end, and if there are any updates—”
“You’d only tell me if she returns in a body bag.”
The transparency of his resigned statement floats uneasily like a greasy film over a thick coating of lies he’s very well accustomed to in the military and law enforcement world. The reality is this: he would never know if you were alive until you came back home.
Caleb thumps his forehead against the frosty kitchen glass, watching the white snowflakes dance in front of him with listless, pained violet eyes. The necklace you gifted him hangs from his neck like a noose, threatening to choke the last of his composure. He struggles to hold onto his temper, as he swallows and nods.
“Alright. Roger that. Thank you, Captain.”
He doesn’t give Jenna a chance to reply, ending the call and, in a fit of rage, slams his phone onto the table. His sudden fit of anger doesn't go unobserved, Gran’s weary eyes watching him pace restlessly through the kitchen, not noticing her sitting in the dark corner. She wants to comfort him but doesn’t know how. After all, it was you who usually took the mantle of calming down this unnerving, determined young man during his rare, but terrifying bouts of rage.
Gran sighs quietly and stares up at the ceiling as if she could see past the layers of plaster and unease and into the graying, snowy sky.
Caleb slams the front door on his way out to god knows where. Like always, she remains reticent and disengaged, sitting in the furthest corner where his disconcerting emotions could never reach her.
You weren’t expecting anyone to wait for you back in your apartment when you finally returned home.
Light snow coats the front of your lobby stairs, and the second he sees you, the doorman waves to catch your attention.
“Oh, Miss Hunter! You have a care package waiting for you in the mail room.”
Curious and weary from your arduous mission, you trudge to the mailroom to retrieve the package under your name. Clasping it in one arm, you drag your tired and bruised body straight to your apartment and push open the door, switching on the lights and air conditioning. The space smells of stale air and an underlying current of tension, greeting you with a lingering melancholy you couldn’t quite shake off.
You carefully close the door behind you and set the package on your dining table. Glancing out at the twinkling lights of the street below, the feeling of missing out on an important holiday creeps back in, and you fight back the urge to sob.
Now’s not the time…your inner voice chimes. You need to eat something… shower and rest. Wiping your damp eyes, you take a deep breath. The time to break down and mourn over your guilt can come later.
Tearing the package open, your heart skips a beat when you see a bento box filled with dehydrated vegetables, powdered cranberry sauce, dried turkey, and a side of instant mac ‘n’ cheese. A note, written in a blocky scrawl you recognize as Caleb’s, makes the lump of guilt in your throat thicken even more.
Merry Christmas, Pipsqueak. We missed you. — C
You boil some water, microwave the food, and rehydrate the greens again, taking your sad pre-packed Christmas meal on the balcony. The food is good, and you have an inkling of Caleb freeze-drying it for you—begrudgingly making sure you could still enjoy your holiday even after the catastrophic fight you both had.
As you chew listlessly on a slice of turkey, you glance up at the sky where you imagine the outline of Skyhaven to be, snowflakes clinging onto the ends of your lashes, falling like powdered sugar onto your bare hands.
Caleb… your mind echoes forlornly. Did he return to the base? Is he still here in Linkon?
One quick look at your Moments feed, and you see he’s still here, catching up with old classmates and grinning brightly in his photos like the two of you hadn’t been at each other’s throats just a few days ago.
The temptation to call him up is at odds with your bruised ego from the smothering behavior he exhibited days earlier. A part of you wants an excuse to see him again despite the growing distance since the argument—to thank him for the meal he prepared for you.
Snowflakes melt in your hair, an unceasing chill creeping up on you. Despite the unusual distance creeping insidiously into your relationship, the chill, the reproachful silence—the meal he sent you was more than a peace offering. It was his version of an apology.
Your mind floats a million miles away, thinking about Caleb, wondering if he is still mad at you. You heave a sigh. As much as you dread it, there’s only one way to find out.
Pulling out your phone, you click on his number. The dial tone drones on and on, plucking on your nerves, and you reflexively nibble on your nails, waiting for him to pick up.
“Hello! ” You expel a rushed breath, an apology on the tip of your tongue when you’re hit with the realization that you’ve reached his voicemail box instead. “—probably busy. Please leave a message after the beep—”
Silence. You catch a staggering breath. “Caleb? It’s me. If you get this, let’s meet up, ‘kay? Talk to you soon.”
There’s a hum in the night air, a tension drawing lines around your taut figure. You wait and wait for his return call, glancing at your phone every minute, checking on your messages in case he left one when your back was turned. The warm shower you took could barely flush out the thought of Caleb, your anxiety peaking when you decide to check on Moments, seeing him post a picture of his dinner with his friends, but leaving your message on read.
Crap. You’re in deep trouble now. Sighing, you run your fingers through your hair, rubbing your face.
There isn’t a hint of doubt that he’s punishing you now with the silent treatment. Caleb is never the type to avoid confrontations—he thrives on them. He loves arguing, challenging your worldview, and trying to prove his point, just to rub it in your face that he will always be right.
The indifference is odd; this distance is not like him.
Before you can stop yourself from calling him again, you slip on your coat, tug on your scarf, and rush to your bike.
I’m going to make him talk to me if it’s the last thing I do, you think viciously, revving up the bike aggressively—kicking up snow and dirt in your wake to break this frostiness between you two.
In fifteen minutes, you find yourself in front of your childhood home, the kitchen lights glowing warmly. Gran is probably already back at the elderly care center, and since Caleb is still treating you as public enemy #1, he’s staying here to keep his distance from you. You kill the engine and march straight up to the door, unlocking it with your spare key.
Inside the house is warm and toasty, the faint smell of food drifting from the kitchen. You freeze when the sound of heavy footsteps reaches your ears, looking straight into his wide, amethyst eyes.
Caleb exhales a sharp breath, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Pipsqueak…”
You remain nailed to the spot, wondering if he would kick you out—ask you to leave for daring to show your face here again. But, he does no such thing, beckoning you to close the door and come in. Though he doesn’t outright reject you, he doesn’t welcome you with open arms, either, the usual exuberance and grins he reserves for you nowhere to be found on his unsettlingly serious expression.
Caleb goes back into the kitchen, picking up a towel to wipe down his hands. The paper plane bracelet you got for him years ago peeks past the sleeve of his gray hoodie, a reminder of happier times between you two.
You hesitate for a single second by the doorway, wondering when the thought of home left you this cold and disorientated.
Like a lost puppy, you trail after him, removing your jacket and setting it on the back of a dining chair.
“Thank you… for the meal,” your hoarse voice breaks the icy silence.
Caleb glances at you from behind the kitchen island and nods. “You’re welcome.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and the easy familiarity from years of knowing each other fades into a glacial stillness. You hear your breath leaving your lips, and sense the way he’s avoiding your eyes.
“Caleb—”
He scoffs at the sound of his name leaving your lips, and turns around, putting all his focus on the bread he’s baking. You know him well enough to understand he only bakes when he’s completely stressed out over something.
Without thinking, you touch his wrist, not anticipating the sharp way he draws his hand back from you.
“Caleb…”
He doesn’t glance at you—barely gives your pain a second glance. “What’re you doing here, Pipsqueak?” He murmurs gruffly. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing a debrief report right now?”
As much as his distance stings, his dismissal hurts even worse, feeling like a knife carving through your chest.
“It’s Christmas season,” you whisper. “The offices are closed—”
“And yet, risky missions still prevail, huh?”
His words bite straight to your core, and you wince. “Caleb, it’s not—”
“Save it,” your childhood friend cuts you off, jerking his chin towards the dining table. “Sit down there and don’t disturb me. I’m making sourdough focaccia and if something goes wrong, I will 100% blame you.”
Despite the warning in his tone, you can’t help but smile faintly.
“Okay…”
Taking a seat at the table, you watch him work. The sleeves of his hoodie stretch tautly over his bulging biceps, rolling up to expose his forearms as he works the dough into a malleable ball. The silence is something new, a phenomenon born from the supernova of your hasty mistakes, leaving gaping black holes of awkwardness surrounding the two of you. Any light coming through from your attempts to make conversation is shut down with a dismissive hum or grunt from Caleb.
You can tell he’s avoiding any attempts to talk, focusing on making the bread and ignoring your presence in the corner of his eye. The childish part of you that grew up with his undivided attention screams, tearing and twisting in your chest, needing to reclaim his interest and care again. You pout, sulk, and heave numerous heavy sighs. But, he doesn’t turn to look at you, much too busy focusing on brushing basil oil onto the bubbling surface of the dough.
So, you amp up the distractions. You circle closer and closer to him, pressing your face near his shoulder to watch him decorate the dough with slivers of cherry tomatoes. You linger when he turns to grab the container of sea salt flakes, playfully sticking your finger into the concoction to pop a bubble forming.
“Okay, that’s it—”
He grabs your wrist and tugs you back into the living room, making you sit on the couch with a scowl on his face. The look of pure wrath in his expression startles you, and you barely have time to murmur an apology when he shakes his head, glare intensifying.
“Stay out of my hair, Pipsqueak. I mean it. ”
“But—”
He whirls around, silencing you with a deep and unmistakable glint of rage in his usually gentle purple eyes. You fall into a stuttering disquiet, unable to stop the hurt from flashing across your face.
“Caleb—”
“Don’t give me that look. And stay away from the kitchen.” Stay away from me. He doesn’t say it, but the warning is implicit.
You’ve never seen him this enraged before. Your breath falls out in a huff, and you give him an incredulous look. Caleb turns around, completely ignoring you, and returns to his focaccia. A voice in your head chimes in, telling you to just own up to your mistakes and apologize to him. But, the stubborn part of your consciousness, the one who insists she’s right despite how poorly she had treated one of her oldest childhood friends, remains stubbornly set on not breaking the ice first.
Easier said than done.
It’s hard.
It’s hard for you to sit on the couch, quiet and seething when Caleb is just a few feet away. It’s absolute torture to not be in there with him, yapping off his ear with updates to your mission, or trying to sneak eat a few cherry tomatoes when his back is turned. You miss him, and you miss his shitty jokes and dopey smile. You miss him.
You find yourself sneaking glances at him, wondering if he’s making an extra batch for you—hoping he isn’t too mad to deny you from having a focaccia slice. You know you’re being selfish and immature again, thinking he will be okay with you after the stunt you pulled on him when the reality of his dejection runs deeper.
Shamelessly, you stand and venture back into the kitchen, unlike a stray kitten who could never take a hint. You stand by his side, hovering around until he pays you a morsel of attention—gifting you back his sunny smiles and easygoing laughter.
But, Caleb remains steadfast in his efforts to ignore you, and you decide it’s time to bring out the big guns. Pressing closer to him, you lean your head against his shoulder, nuzzling your cheek into the soft material of his hoodie.
“Gege… don’t be mad at me…”
He stiffens, and yet, you persist with your efforts. Playfully nipping the back of his ear, you find his weakness in an instant, hearing his breath catch in the back of his throat.
Caleb pretends you don’t exist, letting you fight for his attention, but you can tell his resolve is crumbling. You hear the hitch in his quiet groan when you lick the sensitive shell of his ear, the heat of your body seeping past the thick fabric of his hoodie.
Gran isn’t here, and you don’t have to hide your desires from her, free to mess around with Caleb as much as you can.
You stand on your tiptoes, tracing the tip of your tongue down the curve of his neck, scraping your teeth against his sensitive skin.
Caleb hisses, and you fight back the urge to grin in triumph. His hands grip the marble island’s edge with a white-knuckle hold. You feel his resolution to ignore you falling apart, piece by piece, simmering in the knowledge of you offering yourself to him as a way of apologizing for the things you said—how you hurt him both physically and emotionally before your mission.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, gege,” you murmur against the salt of his skin, feeling his body heat under your touch. “Can you ever forgive me? Can you ever forgive your mei mei? ”
He bites back a groan, narrowing his eyes.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Pipsqueak…” he hisses under his breath.
The way he says it, full of anger and warning, sends a sick, dark thrill up your spine. You resist the urge to lay off him, needing him to fully crack and give in to your whims like he always does—like he always will when it comes to you because you’re nothing if not Caleb’s spoiled rotten mei mei who always gets what she wants.
“Pipsqueak—” his words cut off into a low growl when he feels your arms belting around his waist, your hands sliding further down… fingertips teasingly brushing the bulge tenting under his pants. “Watch it.”
But, his warning lacks bite, and you gnaw on your lower lip, feeling his patience slowly dissipating. Caleb is once again putty in your hands, easy to mold to your desires. You grin against his back, feeling the same revulsive knot twisting in your stomach, the stench of the impending perverseness making your nostrils flare.
“ Gege… ” you whisper again.
It’s the final nail to the coffin of his attempts to resist you. Except when he snaps, he does it in a way you never expect.
Caleb grabs your hand and spins you around, pinning you right to the counter edge. Without a second’s hesitation, he drags your pants down, baring your vulnerable backside. The stinging pain of his hit on your left cheek draws you up short, and you cry out, cursing profusely.
“My, my,” you can hear the grin in his dark tone. “Such a mouth you have on yourself, mei mei … you need to be reprimanded.”
Another sharp spank lands on your right cheek this time, and your head jerks up, a yelp slipping past your clenched teeth.
“C-Caleb—”
“Don’t you dare Caleb me,” he sneers and drags you like you’re a ragdoll to the bedroom—his bedroom. Inside, you’re faced with gege’s full wrath, as he stands before you, tall and imposing, those amethyst eyes barely wavering when he takes in your warm cheeks and the glimmer of pain simmering in your gaze.
“Strip,” Caleb commands, lifting a dark brow. “ Now .”
You want to argue, to tell him to ease up, but the look on his face remains flinty and firm.
Swallowing your trepidation, you start by pulling your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Caleb’s expression doesn’t shift, not even when his eyes rake over the lace bra you’re wearing. His jaw tightens, and he gestures at your pants, silently telling you to go all in if you want to earn his forgiveness back.
You reluctantly tuck your thumbs into the waistband of your pants and drag them down, leaving you shivering in your matching lacy panties.
He scoffs, running his eyes up and down your scantily-clad form. “You sure you weren’t thinking indecent thoughts, you shameless minx? Good girls don’t try to seduce their older brothers by looking like this.”
You flush warmly at his degrading words, feeling your bravado slipping. “I-I wasn’t—”
Your words die in the back of your throat when you feel the restrictive force of his Evol grasping your wrists, drawing them above your head. Caleb’s expression and outstretched hand don't falter, and he takes another step closer, bearing down on your helplessness.
“Be quiet,” he snaps. Flicking his fingers, he pushes you against the wall, hearing the gust of breath rushing out your lungs when your back hits the hard plaster. You grunt in surprise, struggling and failing to fight your way out of the bonds he has your wrists in.
“Scared?” He goads, approaching you, taking your chin, and tilting your face up. The look in his eyes is borderline terrifying—you’ve never seen Caleb ( your sweet, lovely, kind, and sunny Caleb )—look this angry in your life. “This is what you wanted, right?” Grabbing your wrists in one large palm, he tightens his grip on you. “Teasing me… hurting me… you have a knack for breaking your gege’s heart, huh, Pipsqueak?”
You shake your head, wanting to protest when he silences you with a punishing kiss. Caleb bites down on your lower lip, your words and coherence lost in the slurry mess of his tongue fighting yours, tasting the warmth and wetness of your mouth.
“Mhm,” you moan into the kiss, tilting your head to the side to get more—taste more of him. He runs the tip of his tongue over the hard ridges of your teeth, squeezing your cheeks in a possessive hold, forcing your mouth to remain open and giving as he continues to take what he wants without a care for your pathetic whines.
“Don’t think I’ll go nice on you, Y/N,” he warns, tipping your head back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. “You treated me like dirt before you left. You hurt my feelings—” He growls, biting down hard on your earlobe. “You selfish, bratty little Pipsqueak… I won’t go easy on you, do you hear me? Nod if you understand.”
You can’t do anything but nod, helpless in the face of his anger. The corners of his mouth twitch at the sight of your submission, the dark monster within he tries hard to suppress rearing its jealous head, beckoning him to devour you. With a surprising show of dominance, he tangles his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back with a grunt, exposing more of your throat to his wandering lips.
He licks, nips, and sucks his marks onto the pristine column of your throat, needing to see his marks bloom on your skin. Caleb is relentless in his attempts to remind you who you belong to.
The force of his touch sends sparks of thrill up your spine, and you gasp with every hot press of his open-mouth kisses to your vulnerable jaw and neck.
Caleb’s teeth scrapes your sensitive skin, drawing guttural gasps from your kiss-swollen lips.
“Ca-leb—” you break off into a hiss when his Evol rearranges your limbs, spreading your thighs wider; your arms restrained above your head. The last time he had you in this position was a summer ago before he left for a mission to Vagrant Land. You swore after that night when he was done with you, that you had to double your Plan B dosage less your body betrayed you and you conceived his baby.
“Please—”
He doesn’t hear your begging, taking a step closer, his bigger build pressing harder into your body.
“I said: Shut. Up. ”
In one swift motion, his telekinesis holds your lips shut, your struggles and indignant squeals barely triggering a reaction from him. The look on his face sparks both terror and desire, your body responding to his unexpected dominance; proof of your arousal shining from between your thighs.
“Already wet? How pathetic…”
He smirks, coating his fingers with the proof of your desire pooling right between your folds.
“Mhmph—Cwaleb—” your desperate squeak shoots his ego straight up to the moon, and Caleb is on cloud nine.
Such a desperate, little Pipsqueak. You want this so badly, huh? Mhm hmm. That’s right. That’s fucking right. You like my fingers in you? Good girl. Such a good, little Pipsqueak. You’re doing so well—fuck.
His anger aside, Caleb can’t help but praise you. It’s his default; his DNA. You drive him insane and he wants to punish you for getting under his skin—where you’ll always belong, not if he can help it.
“Something you wanna say, Pips?” he sneers, pumping two long, lithe, and callused fingers inside of you, catching on a spot that makes your toes curl.
“S-swo…sworry,” you manage to spit past the pressure clamping your mouth shut, tears swimming in your eyes, “Cwaleb… mhm .”
He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy your struggle. The flush on your cheeks, the wetness glimmering on your lips. Caleb wants to see you completely and utterly ruined for him.
“Beg,” he commands, slipping into his Captain persona with ease. In his eyes, you were nothing but an unruly cadet in need of a stern fixing. “Beg me and I might give you what you want.”
Thumb on your clit, he’s driving you delirious with feathery, teasing circles. Your eyes roll back into your head.
Cwaleb, you groan against his Evol. Pwease—mhmph!
The pressure of his fingers gets meaner, the look in his violet eyes muffling the last of your protests. Giving up on trying to get him to relent, you submit with feeble sighs, letting him take full control. Caleb grins, feeling you succumbing to his ministrations, your squeaks and sighs growing louder and more distraught.
He loves having you like this—on the edge, overstimulated, and completely relying on him.
Years of knowing your body and what makes you tick is enough for him to push your buttons—taking your limits past the breaking point.
He’s meticulous and sure with his punishment, doing whatever it takes to hammer in the anger and shame he wants you to feel—the lesson he’s trying to impart to your desperate body and distraught mind.
As he releases the pressure on your mouth so you can moan and gasp freely, Caleb’s quick with a foot of rope, using it to bind your hands in your front, allowing you just enough give to grip a pen in your shaky hand as he makes you sit on his cock and write ‘I will always obey my gege’ over and over again until your eyes swim, and your cunt is pulsing from every slight movement.
He teases you with shallow thrusts, lips in the crook of your neck, and warm, large palms covering your heaving breasts; playing with your distended nipples till they blossom into a pretty blush shade.
Driving you further into a pleasure-filled delirium, he rubs your clit with teasing circles, smacking your thighs when they start to snap close.
“I said—keep 'em’ open unless you know what’s good for ya, princess,” he sneers, leaving another stinging mark blooming on the plush flesh.
“Please…” The plea drops from your swollen lips and he chuckles.
“Struggling already?”
Caleb peers over your shoulder at your almost illegible writing and shakes his head. “I thought you were better than this—didn’t you once win the best handwriting award in high school? Tch.”
To your mortification and horror, he picks up the sheet of paper and tears it in half, ruining your hour-long effort of completing a hundred lines.
“Again,” he orders, and grabs a blank sheet, placing it in front of you. “And make sure your writing is pretty Pipsqueak. I wanna frame this.”
A strangled whimper tumbles from your mouth, and behind you, Caleb smirks at the sheer frustration at the sound.
Good.
Now, you would understand a sliver of the anguish he felt when you went missing for days. Now, you would feel the exasperation and outrage he did—and god, does it feelgood to watch you come undone for him.
You pick up the pen, and with a teary, little huff, start to write again. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, breath warm and distracting against your neck.
“Atta girl,” he murmurs, chest rumbling with deep satisfaction. “Look at’cha. Doing so well… I oughta reward you after this, hmm?”
He teasingly trails his palm up your thigh, squeezing your flesh—enjoying how your pretty, tight pussy squeezes down on him with every rasp of his palm on your skin. The sight between your thighs is lewd, a creamy mess coating the base of his cock, dribbles of arousal gathering at the lips of your entrance which ripples around his thick girth. Caleb is equal parts mesmerized and thrilled by the sight, watching how your little clit shivers when he teases her with the rough pad of his index finger; how your body shudders, and the pen in your hand shakes.
“Much better,” he compliments your penmanship, giving your clit and nipple a squeeze.
“Ah— mhm! ” You choke through your tears. This minute reaction costs you a firm smack on your thigh, his fingernails digging into the singing flesh.
“Did I say you could take your eyes off the paper?” Caleb demands, and in a low tone, barks out, “ Write .”
Tears mist your vision, your hips twitching and muscles tightening around the fleshy intrusion lodged deeply in your tender pussy. Caleb wraps his hands around your waist and gingerly lifts you up and down, fucking you on his cock as the words on the paper get blurrer and blurrer.
I will always obey gege.
I will always obey gege.
I will always—
The words get subconsciously stuck in your head, your lips shaping and breathing them out in shaky puffs. Black strokes of your obedience begin to fill up half of the page, and soon the whole sheet is covered with the affirmation. Caleb presses his lips to your jaw, giving you a much softer kiss, catching you off guard with his gentleness.
“There you go… lookin’ good, darlin’.”
He takes the paper from you and scrutinizes each word, well aware of your body trembling; your sweet, tight cunt squeezing pitifully around his cock. You’ve made such a mess on his lap, Caleb is surprised how the powerful orgasm you’ve been holding back for the past two hours hasn’t taken you under yet. It seems like one single touch and you might blow.
He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back, and sets your work down, gripping your hip tighter.
“Good girl,” he croons in your ear. Those maliciously thick and long fingers slide up the length of your thigh, reaching to wrap around your neck.
“I did what you asked,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut and moaning at the sensation of his lips kissing down your throat. “A-am I forgiven yet?”
Hmm, Caleb hums, his smirking mouth pressing on your pulse point. He loves how despite your lofty title as Linkon’s shining Hunter, you’re still so much smaller than him; your entire body dwarfed between his bigger build and the hard edge of the table. “... suppose I could show you some mercy.”
He traces random patterns on your thigh and a sliver of hope takes root in your heart. Maybe you’ve done enough to fully earn his trust and love back. Maybe he might be merciful and kiss you—
As if you weighed next to nothing, Caleb’s strong arms carry you back to bed, setting you down on his lap again. He buries his nose in your hair and inhales like a starved man tasting honey for the first time, his tongue darting out to trace the jut of your jaw, trailing down your throat.
“You’re so sweet… so sinful…”
His grave murmurs send sparks of desire straight to your core, and you clench your thighs, whimpering.
“Caleb…”
Your whisper is a fleeting plea of desire that disappears under his smothering kiss. Caleb devours your mouth, swirling his tongue with yours, his fingers holding your chin in place. Hungry, open-mouth kisses smear down your neck, right to your collarbone, where the ghost of his breath on your perky nipples makes you shudder.
He takes his time, playing with you while you’re all tied up and helpless. Caleb grins against your sternum, hearing your breath hitch when he parts your thighs and sinks a finger inside you with barely any prep. Your body takes him without resistance, and he nuzzles your bare breasts, relishing how soft your skin is against his cheek.
“You’re so eager… so ready for me…”
His dick throbs, but he pays it no mind, completely zeroing in on your pleasure. Caleb’s entire focus is on you—your whimpers, your sighs, how your poor, puffy pussy clenches down so nicely on his thick fingers.
You’re just ready to burst, darlin’ ... he murmurs huskily into your ear. Must be frustrating, hmm? Not being given the chance to come… I’m sure you’re aching…
His thumb circles on your greasy, little nub, hearing your soft moans and sighs in his hair. Caleb guides you to the bed, your bound body falling in a heap under him. He positions himself over you, forearms on either side of your head as he goes back to licking and sucking at your neck.
The sting of his teeth leaving another bite leaves you light-headed with lust, your body throbbing for the slightest bit of relief.
Please… you whimper again, trying your luck. Caleb… I need you…
Yeah? He murmurs huskily. Where’dya need me, princess?
You squirm, moving your hips and he feels you writhing underneath him. “Inside. All the way.”
His breathing hitches, blood growing hotter at the desperation and need in your tone.
“All the way? You know what to say to get a man going, sweetness.”
“I— ohhh .”
Your words die in the back of your throat at what he does next.
Caleb grins as he pushes your thighs apart, settling in between them. He carelessly tugs his pants down, ripping off his clothes to toss them to the floor, gifting you inches and inches of bare, tanned skin and defined muscles to gawk at. Ready, baby? Giving his cock a few good pumps, he lines the tip to your entrance, catching it on the rim of your pussy.
Teasingly, he works the flush, sticky head up and down your weeping clit, circling your opening, pushing it in past the tight ring of muscle with taunting ‘pops’. Your gasps reach his ears, and he grins, enjoying drawing out your pleasure far too much.
Like that? He licks his lips, eyes half-hooded and heated. It’s all going in you, baby… just… at my… pace.
He punctuates each languid word with a few more inches sinking inside of you, coaxing more sweet sounds from your slack jaw.
Oh, yes… yes… fuck me, Caleb. Fuck—oooh.
Your drawn-out hiss springs a wicked smile to his face. The way your eyes roll back; how your hips twitch.
Spasming wildly, your sweet pussy draws him in, and Caleb can’t get enough of you. It’s excruciating how much he’s edging himself as much as he’s torturing you. But, the moment he bottoms out inside of you, all the tension condenses right to the point where you’re connected to him.
Caleb sets a rhythm that leaves you gasping, legs wrapping instinctively around his fitted waist. His biceps and abs ripple with every thrust, those pesky lips you love too much finding the hollow of your throat, leaving behind his claim on your delicate skin for the world to see. His mouth presses to yours in a heated display of ownership, tongue delving past your lips to dominate yours.
His taste—musk, salt, man—coats your tastebuds, and you’re swimming in his heat and scent.
Caleb is everywhere and anywhere over you, all at once.
His bigger build completely dwarfs you on the bed, expert hands pushing your thighs apart and pressing your knees to your chest, leaving you flushed and completely vulnerable to him.
He laughs when your clit trembles under his scrutiny, the little bud exposed with nowhere to hide.
Zeroing in on your tender bundle of nerves, he presses his thumb to it, feeling the greasy little button twitch under his fingertip.
You look so pretty like this… all tied up and vulnerable… just for me.
“Caleb…” your moans begin to stutter, your hips beginning to spasm. You’re so close, all it takes is one misstep on his end to lead you down the biggest orgasm of your life.
Hours of teasing and drawing out your pleasure renders you an incoherent, babbling mess.
Faster, faster… oh god, please. Yesyesyes. Caleb—Caleb…
Anyone passing by the room could tell you were barely holding on by a thread. You look so beautiful under him like this: hair fanning across his pillows, cheeks warm and lips flushed. The glassy look in your eyes.
God, he’s so in love with you.
Having you here, under him where you belong, heals the fissured part inside of him that still aches from your cruel dismissal of his concerns.
His thrusts grow more punishing, the tip of his long, girthy cock hitting your cervix. Caleb tilts your pelvis, making you take him deeper.
There ya go, sweet thing, he coaxes. Can you feel me here—? He touches your womb. Feel me where ya need me. Oh, darlin’... I’m gonna make sure you feel me for days.
Picking up his pace, the bed creaks and rocks under you. Caleb makes sure to tease your clit as well with every punishing thrust, feeling your thighs tremble around his shoulders.
He’s so deep, so flushed against your body, he thinks you could suck him up and take him in your body forever.
Caleb is hard-pressed to admit he doesn’t want that—there is nothing in the world he desires more than to be one with your bones and breath. His movements get erratic, needing to bring you to the edge and back.
He can tell you’re close.
The look on your face, the warmth in your cheeks. You’re holding back and he couldn’t be any more prouder.
“What do you want, princess?” He asks, eyes soft with affection.
You struggle to put your desires into words, completely wrecked at the end of his cock.
“I… mhm— close… ”
He feels your muscles squeezing down on him, and chuckles breathlessly.
“Yeah? I can tell, princess. You want to cum—you need to cum, huh?”
You give a teary, little nod that tugs on his heartstrings. But, Caleb isn’t done with you—not by a long shot.
He grins and without warning, switches the position, putting you on top of him. When you falter and almost fall face-first into his chest, the familiar stirrings of energy hold you upright, his Evol keeping you centered and balanced on his cock.
“Ride me,” he whispers huskily. “Show me how much you want this—prove to me how badly you want to cum.”
The challenge in his tone drives you dizzy with lust. Licking your lips, you murmur a whimper which makes his grin stretch wider, and shift your hips, testing the give of his Evol.
Sturdy and sure, his grip on you doesn’t falter, and you quickly find a rhythm that makes his eyelids flutter shut. A groan slips from Caleb’s lips, his pretty purple eyes prying open to drink at the sight of you riding him feverishly.
Arduous and urgent, you move your hips like a pro. Caleb’s sure he’s never seen you this determined—the look in your eyes searing through him.
The sight of his dog tag and the apple charm you gave him years ago shining silver from his neck catches your eye, a stark contrast to his tanned and flushed skin.
God… you’re killing me…
Caleb smirks at your breathless words. I do? Glad to know, princess…
His large palm collides against your plush ass, watching the flesh jiggle with each precise spank. Your sharp inhales and whines spur him on as he takes his frustrations out on your pert ass, venting the fear and anger he felt when you left him behind for that torturous week onto your willing body.
Try to leave me again. His nostrils flare, eyes dark with promise. And I’ll make sure you’ll never have any use for your legs, you hear me, Pips
Possessive and passionate, he tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the vulnerable skin of your neck. His Evol loosens its grip, and you go falling into his arms, his lips practically devouring your neck with heated kisses and nips.
You gasp when he works in another mark over one he just made a few minutes ago, the stinging bite of pain enough to get you fluttering all over his cock.
“ Mhm… ” you groan. You’re lost to the sensations, drunk off the high he’s giving you.
Caleb is no better. He’s almost cross-eyed from the pleasure, drunkenly leaving marks on your jaw and collarbone.
Sloppy. Languid. Caleb fucks you like he’s got all the time in the world.
He runs his hands down your back, over your sides, fondling your sore and stinging ass. Moving underneath you like a strong wave, he slowly rolls his hips up against you, pulling you closer onto his lap.
“You’re so good… taking everything so well… my perfect pipsqueak…”
Caleb’s moans and praises get lost in the crook of your neck. He uses his free hand to grip and squeeze your breast, drawing your turgid nipples into his mouth one by one; his other hand continues to spank and grope your ass.
It’s too much—all too soon.
You’re on the edge and he still hasn’t permitted you to come. The need to be good is at war with your primal instincts to give in to the pleasure, your gasps and moans are a desperate symphony to his heated ears.
His thrusts get more erratic, the wet sounds of your bodies joining together bouncing off the walls. The windows of his bedroom start to fog up, the bed creaking maddeningly with every thrust.
“Caleb,” you gasp, feeling the familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. “Oh… oh… ”
He hears the note of panic in your tone and chuckles gravelly. Dark hair in a disarray, amethyst eyes shining with mischief. Caleb is the picture of ravaged underneath you, and there’s little doubt you’re in a much worse state above him.
Licking his puffy lips, Caleb shakes his head, abs undulating from the release he’s also trying to hold back.
“Uh-uh-uh, princess,” he taunts, voice dropping an octave lower. “Not yet…”
You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut in despair. He grins, lips moving back to your neck, murmuring against the salt of your skin.
“I love seeing you like this… hearing you gasp and whimper… feeling you writhe so desperately above me…”
Caleb… you whisper his name like a prayer, one you hope he grants.
“Yeah, princess? Say my name… I love it when you say my name.”
“Caleb… oh… Caleb… ”
He nuzzles your neck in an unexpected gesture of adoration, feeling how tense your body is.
“You’re so close, hmm?” He murmurs, unlike how a pet owner tries to soothe a fretting kitten. “I know you are, Pips. I can feel ya. So close… oh… and yet so… far .”
At the last second, before you succumb to your pleasure, Caleb’s Evol lifts you off his cock, the sudden, gaping loss ripping the earth-shattering orgasm right from under your trembling body.
No! You cry out in a thick voice, and you swear real tears spring in your eyes. No… no… please…!
Begging him shamelessly. That’s what you were reduced to.
Caleb chuckles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He loosens his grip on you and guides you back onto his cock. You hiss from the intrusion, eyes rolling back in your head. Nothing but a puppet to her Master’s strings; Caleb is firmly in control.
He manipulates your body to his own pace, using his Evol to fuck you on top of his cock like you’re a lifeless doll, made only for his pleasure.
“Oh… oh… y-you ass—”
Caleb laughs, cutting off your tirade by gripping your hips tighter.
“Don’tcha love it, princess? Don’t lie to me—you adore it when I tease ya. Make you work for my lovin’,” he mutters hotly into your neck. “You can deny it all ya one, Pips, but I know what you want… I know what you want deep, deep down…”
As he drawls out ‘deep’, his Evol loosens, making you slide down his cock until you bottom out.
“ Ngh! ” You cry out, the tears in your eyes dripping down your cheeks. Caleb clicks his tongue and wipes the proof of your frustration away with his calloused thumb.
“No need to cry, Pips. I gotcha. Gege’s got ya, don’t he?”
You struggle to reply, the last of your coherent thoughts scrambled by his cock working you back to the edge again.
Caleb… Caleb… you cry out, his name a mantra, a chant that grounds you as his cock continues to fuck you up.
It seems like forever passes by when he brings you to the edge, abandons all motion, and does it again until you’re practically sobbing from the overstimulation. Caleb is a mastermind of your own body—he knows just how to get you trembling from the onslaught of pleasure without ever letting you fall over.
The torturous cycle starts and ends the same: with your begging and whining doing nothing to move him.
“Please…” you finally gasp, hanging your head, strands of your hair tickling his chin. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry…” Fighting back the lump in your throat, your shiny eyes beg him to show you some mercy. “I’m sorry I hurt you… s-sorry I— ah… mhmmm… treated you like shit… I’m so sorry—”
Caleb sweeps you into his arms, his Evol completely releasing its grip on you. “That’s all I wanted to hear… all I needed…”
He registers how you’re choking up and rubs gentle circles on your back. “Hey—ssh. Ssh. Apology accepted, Pipsqueak. Don’t cry, okay… come here…” Gripping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his, he gives you a soft smile. “You did so well… I’m so proud of you, hey? You wanna come, sweetness?”
Without a shred of stubbornness left, you eagerly nod. He chuckles, and positions you back on his cock, purple eyes glistening with the pure adoration he has for you.
“Alright—come on, baby… ride me good this time, okay? And don’t hold back—you deserve this… deserve all this for being such a good, little girl—”
It doesn't take long for you to get to the edge, hours of suppressing your release make you needy and very sensitive.
Come… come for me… he encourages you, rubbing your clit, pinching your nipples—doing everything in his power to get you to lose control.
The tension in your belly snowballs to something beyond your control, and you tilt your head back, expelling a long, drawn-out moan.
In the ropes and under his cruel yet tender ministrations, you find the courage to fall apart—his name rebounding across the room like a screamed cry of relief. Caleb feels you shuddering all around him and gives in to his baser need to fill you up, grunting low and deep into the crook of your neck as ribbons of warmth coat your walls.
Drops of white dribble to stain your inner thighs and his lap, but neither of you cares.
Undoing the rope and relinquishing his Evol’s hold on you, Caleb catches you in his arms, burying his nose into your hair, soothed by your delicate scent.
The afterglow settles like a haze, enveloping your body like a warm, fluffy blanket.
Caleb traces patterns on your bare back, pressing soft kisses to your temple and cheek. He breathes in your light scent, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
“You alive, Pips?”
Nodding, your eyes flutter close, the comfort found in the crook of his body intoxicatingly cozy. Your heartbeat starts to slow, lulled by the gentleness of his breathing. His pulse steadies under your cheek, his arms tightening around you, pressing you closer to his chest.
“You did so good, princess…” he murmurs, stroking your head. “So proud of you—I’m so proud of my little Pipsqueak…”
His praise hits your system like a shot of red wine, warming you up from the inside out. Flushed from his gentle words, you eagerly rub your face against his throat, his boyish chuckles easing the guilt still swimming in your soul.
“Caleb?” He looks down at you, taken by your small voice.
“Yes, Pips?”
“Am I… forgiven?”
He nods without a beat of hesitation. “You sure are. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about anymore, okay? Let’s put this behind us and start fresh, princess. How’s that sound?”
Relieved, you nod, and the love you feel for him intensifies, radiating brightly from deep within.
One thing you’ve learned about wounded hearts is this: with Caleb’s smile, everything can be healed.
— feedback and reblogs are much appreciated ❤️ your support means a lot to me
© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, claim as your own or feed my works into AI
#🦢 writes#caleb xia yizhou#caleb love and deepspace#caleb lads#caleb x mc#caleb x reader#caleb x you#caleb smut#lnds smut#lads smut#love and deepspace fic
541 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐈𝐈𝐈 | Marcus Acacius x Fem!Reader x Lucius Verus Aurelius | ~13k wc (woops) | Explicit. Minors DNI.
Summary: Lucius Aurelius, the stepson of wealthy and renowned architect Marcus Acacius, falls in love with you, Marcus's personal assistant. However, you're already in the midst of a tangled affair with his stepfather. (based on)
Tags: modern!au, family drama, they're both arrogant architects with egos out of this world, reasonable age gap between marcus and reader, infidelity (sorry lucilla), porn with plot, dirty talk, degradation (slut, whore), spanking, oral (f&m receiving), facial, unprotected p in v sex (this is fiction be smart irl), anal, spit as lube, cum eating, creampie kink, baby's first mmf threesome, double penetration, jealousy!, possessiveness!, but the boys are learning how to share, everyone is kind of shitty, some latin (carissime/dear, praecantrix/enchantress, dulcissima/sweetest), no use of y/n, reader has long hair, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!
A/N: i sense a pattern occurring with this specific pairing and i ain't mad at it! ridley scott knew what he was doing when casting these two hunks. this is for my love @almostempty, always on the frontlines of the threesome fic movement 🫡 okay, i hope you all enjoy reading and let ya girl know what you think 🖤
Marcus’s lips curl into a slow, smug smile as he watches you. “Come on, my carissime,” he murmurs, a gravelly caress against your heated skin. “You can do better than that. I know you can.” His large hand cups the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle.
He brushes the stray strands from your face, his touch tender despite the edge of authority in his tone. He wants to see you—wants to savor the way your lips stretch around the thick girth of his cock, the way your cheeks hollow as you struggle to take more of him.
Drool drips from the corner of your mouth, and your eyes flutter upward, catching his smoldering gaze. His golden flecked eyes darken as he drinks you in, and you can’t help but admire him from your position between his powerful thighs.
The streaks of silver weaving through his dark brown curls and beard catch the light, a testament to his age and masculinity.
His chiseled features, strong and weathered, are the kind you’ve explored endlessly—memorizing every dip and ridge with your lips and fingertips.
Marcus is more than handsome; he’s devastating, a man aging like fine wine—complex, intoxicating, and wholly addictive.
He’s right, of course. You can do better. You’ve done better. But Marcus’s cock always demands a moment of adjustment, a slow surrender to its sheer size and delicious thickness. It’s a challenge you relish, evidence of your enthusiasm to satisfy.
Pulling off him with a gasp, you let your hand slide up his spit slick shaft, jerking him with gentle pressure. A web of saliva bridges your lips to his flushed, throbbing cock, and you purse your lips, spitting onto him, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room.
Marcus watches you, his lips quirking into a crooked smirk, pride and desire flickering across his sharp features.
“Look at you,” he praises, his thumb brushing along the corner of your mouth, wiping away a strand of drool that’s smudged your lipstick, dragging it across your cheek.
The adoration of the gesture is at odds with the thirst in his eyes, his pupils blown wide with lust as he takes in the way you work for him. “Messy little thing. You love this, don’t you?”
Your answer comes in the form of a teasing smirk, your tongue darting out to swipe at his head. The salty tang of his precum dances on your taste buds, and you slap his cock against the pink muscle, the soft thud making you dizzy.
Your lips then glide over the pulsating, veined flesh of his cock and the weight of him on your tongue sends a deep pulse of heat straight to your cunt. It has you shifting slightly on your knees, your own arousal dampening the thin fabric of your panties, making you crave friction, relief—anything.
But you know better than to touch yourself without his permission. Marcus thrives on control, his mastery over your pleasure woven into every fiber of his devotion to you.
So though the temptation to sneak a hand down to your needy clit is overwhelming, you revel in the sweet agony of denial, knowing he’ll make the eventual release all the more shattering.
His fingers tighten in your hair, tugging just enough to elicit a muffled moan. The sound vibrates around him, making his cock twitch as you hollow your cheeks again and draw a deep breath through your nose.
Inch by inch, you let him slide deeper, the bulbous tip nudging your uvula, tears pooling in your eyes, the tip of your nose brushing against the coarse hairs at his base.
“Such a praecantrix,” Marcus growls, the Latin rolling off his tongue with an edge of mockery. You love when he speaks to you in the dead language, a relic of his fascination with ancient Roman culture. It feels intimate, and you savor the way he wields it like a weapon meant only for you.
He’s told you as much—that this language, with all its history, is yours alone.
“So eager to fall to your knees and please a married man. That’s my favorite thing about you, sweetheart. Such a dirty fucking slut.”
The degradation spills over you like molten heat, pooling low in your belly. It’s cruel and intoxicating, and it makes your pussy ache with a mix of shame and desire.
You choke on him, the stretch of his cock testing the limits of your throat, but you don’t pull back. He loves the power, the control, the sight of you struggling yet determined to take everything he gives.
Whether it’s your mouth, your cunt, or on those nights when he’s feeling particularly depraved, your ass—he relishes pushing you to the brink and watching you rise to meet him.
And so what if he’s married? You’ve justified it a hundred times over in your head. His wife should’ve done a better job keeping him satisfied. She shouldn’t have let a man like him go hungry, his appetite desires more than what’s waiting for him at home, which left him roaming, seeking out someone—you—to feed his ravenous needs.
If she couldn’t keep him, that’s not your problem. You didn’t steal him; he came willingly, like a moth to your flame.
You know your role as the other woman. You play it well. During the day, you’re his personal assistant: poised, professional, efficient. You keep his schedule flawless, his coffee perfect, and your interactions just cool enough to deflect suspicion.
But here, in moments like this—when his cock fills your greedy mouth and his filthy words drip into your ears—you’re anything but restrained. You’re his, entirely, bending to his every whim, doing whatever it takes to please him.
No love bites are left where she might see. No lingering perfume to betray you, no smudged lipstick to stain his crisp, tailored shirts. You stay in your lane, as he expects of you, and in return, Marcus makes you feel like an empress—his empress, even if it’s only in secret.
The thrill of being his secret indulgence, his escape, burns hotter than any guilt you once felt. The wrongness of it, the illicit danger of fucking another woman’s husband, only fuels the lustful fire.
You know you shouldn’t. You’ve tried to stop.
The one and only time you tried to end it, it lasted a pathetic seven days. This so-called breakup was spurred on by a friend’s misguided advice.
So, you’d sat him down over a quiet dinner in one of your usual haunts, a restaurant miles away where no one could recognize you, your stomach twisting as you broke the news.
Marcus’s reaction had been icy, his fury masked by a veneer of composure that was somehow worse than an outburst.
The wrinkles on his handsome face deepend before he stood abruptly, throwing down enough cash to cover the bill without a word, leaving you alone to call an Uber, tears dampening your cheeks as you wondered if you’d just lost your job, your lover—or both.
The following days were a cold war. At work, he was stoic and distant, his orders sharp, his reprimands cutting. He barely looked at you, and when he did, his gaze was devoid of the heat you’d grown addicted to. The sting of it was worse than you’d anticipated.
You hated it. You hated yourself for hating it, for craving the attention of a man who wasn’t yours to begin with.
Then, on the eighth day, Marcus snapped. It was late, the floor empty except for you, hunched over your computer. He appeared without warning, dragging you into his office, closing the door with a sharp click.
Before you could speak, he was on you, his hands gripping your hips, his body pinning yours against the cool glass window that overlooked the city.
“You thought you could walk away from me?” His voice was a low growl, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re fucking stupid if you think I’d let my favorite pussy go without putting up a fight.”
That night, he took you hard and fast, his words filthier than ever, his grip bruising and possessive. He made it clear that you weren’t going anywhere—not unless he said so.
And no, he wouldn’t leave her for you. He’d told you as much, his tone unapologetic, almost cruel. But that didn’t matter, not when he was deliciously buried inside your pussy, making you scream his name against the glass.
Now, here you are again—on your knees, his cock filling your throat, his hands tangled in your hair as he reminds you, with every vulgar word, exactly where you belong.
You bring your hand up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm as you keep up your rhythm, your other hand gripping the base of his cock to keep him steady.
The combination draws a sharp hiss from him, and his grip in your hair tightens, holding you in place when his hips start to move in earnest thrusts that force him deeper into your throat as he uses you for his pleasure.
You surrender completely, your body alive with need and your heart racing in sync with his labored breaths.
“Fuck, you’re going to make me come,” he warns, his head tipping back against the leather of his chair. The deep timbre of his voice resonates through you. “You want it, don’t you? My good girl wants every fucking drop.”
Your answer comes in the form of a pornographic moan, your nails digging into his meaty thigh as you nod.
A dull ache spreads across your jaw as you work over his cock, bobbing eagerly, losing yourself in the head you’re giving.
You feel the familiar tightening of his balls, the telltale sign that he’s close, and it spurs you on. Your rhythm grows more frantic, more desperate, sloppy; your lips glossy with saliva as you pop him out of your mouth to lavish attention on his cockhead. You tease the sensitive ridge of his frenulum with slow, deliberate licks, kissing and sucking, worshipping this unit of a man above you.
The muscles of his thighs flex beneath your hands, his body trembling with restrained power.
Marcus’s growl deepens and he quickly pulls you off his cock. The sharp tug makes you moan, your neck arching gracefully, putting you on display for him like a prized possession.
He stands, towering over you, his broad shoulders and commanding presence casting a shadow that feels consuming. His dark brown eyes bore into yours, appetence and dominance swirling within them.
You stare at him from your position on your knees, swollen lips parted, spit and precum gleaming on your mouth and chin.
Your breaths come shallow and quick; you know what he wants, so you begin to jerk his cock with both of your fists, twisting your wrists with a skill honed from all the times you’ve gotten him off like this, the wet and lewd sounds of your action having you moan slightly and his grip on your hair tightens.
“Just like that, carissima, milk my cock.”
He comes with a guttural groan, his head thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing, and you gasp as thick ropes of his release paint your face, splattering across your cheeks, your lips, even your lashes.
You instinctively dart your tongue out, catching the salty taste of him, savoring his essence as though it were nectar from your favorite fruit, giggling softly.
The sight of you, defiled and glowing with satisfaction, makes his hips jerk forward involuntarily, a man undone.
You stroke him through the aftershocks, his cock softening in your hands as you lean into his touch. His grip on your hair loosens, his large fingers threading through it more gently now, brushing it away from your face as he admires his work.
“What a sight, so beautiful on your knees like this, covered in my cum.” Marcus muses, his voice hoarse as his chest heaves. He swipes through the mess on your face, collecting his spend before pressing his fingers into your mouth. You hum, sucking them clean with the same devotion you’ve given his cock.
The taste of him, warm and heady, sends a thrill down your spine.
When he offers you his hand to help you up, you accept it, your knees stiff and aching from kneeling on the rug beneath his desk.
“Your son will be here—” you start, your tone shifting back to professional, delivering the message you initially came in here for before getting… distracted.
“He is not my son,” Marcus snaps, the venom in his voice cutting through the room. He’s buckling his belt with sharp motions, his jaw clenched so tight you can practically hear his teeth grinding.
You don’t flinch—it’s not the first time you’ve seen his temper flare when his stepson is mentioned, and it won’t be the last. Instead, you adjust your tone, correcting yourself smoothly. “Lucius will be here within the hour to discuss the Anderson project.”
You smooth down your work pants, fingers brushing against the creases, and glance into the reflective surface of the nearby cabinet. You already know a trip to the restroom is in order to fix the telltale signs of his rough affection—your swollen lips, disheveled hair, the smudge of mascara beneath your eyes.
Marcus doesn’t respond right away, but the scowl on his face deepens, his broad shoulders rigid as he adjusts the cuffs of his shirt.
The tension between Marcus and Lucius is legendary, an animosity born out of years of neglect, betrayal, and a battle for control over the Aurelius family legacy.
Marcus makes no effort to mask his disdain for his stepson, and Lucius returns the sentiment with equal fervor. Their interactions are charged, each conversation laced with thinly veiled insults and simmering resentment.
Lucius’s childhood, from what you’ve gathered, had been a mess of abandonment and rebellion. Shipped off to boarding schools before he hit puberty, a move orchestrated by his mother, who, by all accounts, seemed eager to rid herself of the burden of raising a troublesome son.
The expulsions came next, one after the other, as Lucius acted out, a desperate bid for his mother’s attention. It never worked. She was too preoccupied with the luxuries of high society to care. Especially not after she married Marcus and skipped her son’s college graduation altogether, solidifying a wedge between them that even time couldn’t mend.
Years later, Lucius had returned with a vengeance, polished and poised, armed with degrees and accolades in both architecture and engineering.
He was ready to reclaim what his grandfather left behind—what Marcus had taken over when he married into the family.
Lucius wasn’t content to sit on the sidelines. He had marched in and demanded his rightful place—a share in the architectural firm that had been in his family for generations.
You remember that day vividly, the drama unfolding like a soap opera in real-time in the conference room as lawyers from both sides tried to hammer out the details.
Lucius had made it clear that he wasn’t asking for permission—he was taking what was his. Marcus, in contrast, was a picture of barely restrained fury, his fists clenched on the table, his voice cold as he tried to shut his stepson down.
But the younger man didn’t retract, and by the end of the meeting, he had secured his position as a partner.
For you, the spectacle was captivating, a battleground of egos and legal jargon. Sitting at the edge of the room, your notepad in hand, you watched it all unfold with barely concealed amusement.
If anything, you’d felt a buzz of anticipation, knowing the tension would wind Marcus so tight he’d take it out on you later. The thought had made you giddy, your pen sliding between your lips as you nibbled on it, your tongue swirling absentmindedly.
You couldn’t help but fantasize about what was to come—the sharp crack of Marcus’ palm against your ass, the growl in his voice as he delivered brutal backshots.
What you hadn’t noticed at the time was Lucius’s gaze on you. Those icy eyes of his watching every flick of your tongue, every scrape of your teeth against the pen.
“Very well,” Marcus says finally, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand. “Send him in when he arrives.”
As you turn to leave, his hand shoots out, catching you by the elbow. He pulls you close, his body radiating heat against yours. His thumb swipes over your swollen bottom lip before pressing into your mouth, forcing it open.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what I owe you, dulcissima,” he murmurs, all dark and seductive. “I’ll take good care of you later tonight. Midnight. Our room.”
The promise in his tone sends excitement through your veins, your thighs pressing together instinctively.
As you start to nod, your mind remembers one tiny detail from his schedule. “You have dinner reservations with Lucil—” you begin, her name barely leaving your lips before his thumb presses down harder, silencing you with a whimper.
“Don’t say her name,” his eyes narrow, daring you to defy him, “and don’t you worry about that. I’ll be with you. Midnight.”
Midnight. Our room—a luxury suite in one of the hotels he designed, cloaked in opulence and secrecy. It’s where he comes to you after being with her, and sometimes, where he leaves you to go back to her.
The sting of it is subtle now, dulled by repetition. You’ve taught yourself not to dwell on the fact that his hands on you tonight might still carry the scent of her.
You try not to wonder if he kisses her the way he kisses you, if he whispers sweet nothings in her ear the same way he does when he’s buried inside you.
You don’t want to know. It’s easier to exist in this bubble of ignorance where you can pretend you’re the only one who matters.
Instead, you nod obediently, giving in to the charade you’ve chosen. The playful edge returns, and you bite down lightly on his thumb, your teeth grazing the skin in a way that has his lips twitching into a smirk.
Marcus leans in to press his lips against yours passionately, how you like it, lingering just long enough to make your heart ache. It’s maddening how he kisses you—like he means it, like he loves you.
And maybe, in his own twisted way, he does.
You sit behind your desk, eyes averted as she lounges in the small sitting area, waiting for him to finish his meeting.
She’s here to capture Marcus’s attention. It’s a game you’ve grown accustomed to—her attempts to reclaim parts of him she craves—the passion, the primal connection—all things he reserves for you.
And as petty as it is, part of you revels in knowing how little he gives her. What’s left of his affection after he’s spent it all on you is scraps at best.
She may have his last name, his ring, the sprawling mansion he designed and built for her, but none of it holds a candle to the way he devours you in the secrecy of your shared nights.
The door to his office creaks open, and Marcus steps out, his brow furrowed in the perpetual scowl he wears like armor.
She rises from the loveseat, moving to him as though pulled by an invisible string. Their embrace is brief but intimate enough to make your stomach churn. You keep your focus on the glowing screen of your computer, scrolling through emails that blur together as you strain to block out their presence.
Smug satisfaction only goes so far, and the familiar pang of jealousy gnaws at the edges of your confidence.
Their conversation floats toward you: lunch at the country club, a round of golf, insular activities that reek of old money and class—worlds you’ve only glimpsed from behind the scenes, arranging his reservations, managing his calendar, ensuring his whims are catered to.
You expect him to brush her off, as he often does, leaving her deflated while he buries himself in work—or in you.
But he doesn’t.
“Clear my schedule for the day and remain on standby in case anything should arise.”
His indifference lands like a slap. You glance up briefly, meeting his gaze, and catch the slight twitch of amusement tugging at his lips before leaning in to kiss her.
He’s enjoying this, you realize. Playing you, toying with your jealousy, rubbing it in just enough to sting.
He knows you can see the way he openly parades her, the casual ease with which he can show her off to the world while you’re relegated to the shadows. Lavish gifts and extravagant outings are hers for the taking, while your rewards are delivered in hushed whispers and midnight rendezvous.
Your smile is syrupy sweet, the kind of false cheer that could rot teeth. “Of course, sir. Enjoy your day together,” you chirp, each word coated in venom he’ll detect, even if she doesn’t.
Marcus doesn’t spare you another glance as he guides her toward the elevator, his arm snug around her waist.
The pang in your chest tightens, sharper than usual. He’s not usually like this with her—so overt, so public. This new display of affection unsettles you, sends your thoughts spiraling down dark avenues.
Are they mending things? Rekindling their marriage?
A cold panic begins to rise, but you quash it down, clinging to the task at hand. You bury yourself in clearing his schedule, canceling meetings, rearranging appointments.
It’s easier to focus on the practical than to confront the gnawing fear that you might no longer hold the place in his life you once did.
Some time later, the sound of footsteps approaching pulls you from your task, and when you glance up, it’s none other than Lucius stepping into view.
He breezes in like he owns the place—well, technically, part of it is his—and you pause the music playing through your earbuds, slipping one out as he approaches your desk.
“He’s not in,” you inform him, polite but curt. “Won’t be until tomorrow. If it’s urgent, I’m sure you have his personal number.”
He doesn’t reply immediately, instead perching himself on the edge of your desk. His fingers idly play with one of the trinkets decorating your workspace, a polished glass paperweight that catches the light and casts fractured rainbows across his dexterous hands.
You narrow your eyes at his intrusion, taking a moment to really look at him. Where Marcus is the epitome of old-school refinement, pressed suits in muted tones and custom leather shoes, Lucius is his foil.
He’s all rich silken shirts in bold colors, stylish sneakers, and enough jewelry to make him gleam under the office lighting.
Rings adorn on his fingers, chains glint at his neck, and his pierced ears and tattoos add that touch of rebellion he’s infamously known for.
He’s hot, undeniably so, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed before.
There’s always been a charge between the two of you, a flirtatious undercurrent in the way he looks at you, the subtle innuendos in his words.
You’ve never acted on it—how could you, not with a man like Marcus whispering promises of ruin and rapture. Your secret lover waiting behind closed doors.
But today… after the way he flaunted her in front of you, the bitterness curdling in your chest craves a taste of some sort of retaliation. It’s irrational, you know, but something inside you itches.
And maybe, just maybe, Lucius is exactly what you need to scratch that itch.
“Then why are you still here?” He finally speaks, partially amused, as those piercing blue eyes lock onto yours. They’re sharp, assessing, and your cheeks warm slightly under the weight of his gaze.
“A busy man like him has a busy schedule that precedes him,” you reply, keeping your tone professional. “It doesn’t organize itself.”
His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, one that makes your body hum. “Ah, ever the dutiful assistant. He’s lucky to have someone like you keeping his chaos in check.”
You shrug, forcing a nonchalant air, though his attention feels like a spotlight. “It’s what I’m being paid to do.”
He tilts his head, the movement almost predatory, gaze giving you a not so subtle once over. “It must be exhausting, though. All work and no play makes for a dull life. When’s the last time you took a break?”
Your brows pinch together. “Why do you care?”
“Because,” he drawls, leaning closer, his cologne—a mix of citrus and something spicier—hitting your senses, “I don’t think someone as pretty as you should spend her days buried in schedules and emails.”
“Flattery doesn’t work on me.” A damn lie.
“Oh, I’m not trying to flatter you.” He smirks, his confidence maddening. “I’m simply stating a fact.”
Before you can form a retort, he straightens, brushing invisible lint off his shirt. “Join me for lunch,” he says, and it’s not quite a question. “You look like you could use a little indulgence.”
Your brain immediately shouts no, warning you of all the ways this is a terrible idea, but your pride, bruised and still licking its wounds from earlier, nudges you forward.
“Lunch?” you ask, raising a skeptical brow. “You and me?”
“Why not?” he replies, his grin boyish but undeniably charming. “Unless you’ve got a better offer.”
You know agreeing to this is risky, a slippery slope, but thinking of Marcus coming back to find out you’ve been out with his stepson stokes a spark of defiance you can’t quite ignore.
“I don’t. And if you’re paying, there’s this new place I’ve been dying to try,” you’re playful with it, standing and grabbing your bag, ignoring the little voice in your head screaming at you for potentially girlbossing a little too close to the sun. “If this ends up being a waste of time, I’m billing you for the hour.”
Lucius gives you a smug smile, his satisfaction evident as he steps aside to let you pass. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
“Oh fuck, just like that,” you moan, your breath hitching as your orgasm crests, fingers gripping the edge of the counter tightly.
Between your spread thighs, Lucius works you with his mouth, his tongue sliding through your folds with obscene skill. His strong nose nudges your clit, each brush sparking jolts of pleasure that leave you trembling.
The cold mirror at your back is a sharp contrast to the heat that’s overtaken your entire being, a reminder of where you are—some ritzy bar’s fancy men’s restroom, the door locked behind you.
Lunch had been harmless enough—until it wasn’t. A few drinks at the bar loosened both of your tongues, flirtatious words became heated looks, and before you knew it, Lucius leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “I think we both know how this is going to end.”
You hadn’t argued when he tugged you toward the restroom, your body tingling with the thrill of doing something so reckless, so delectably wrong. But that’s kind of what you’re into, isn’t it?
The moment the door clicked shut, his mouth had been on yours, kissing you with a fervor that made you forget about everything.
“Been wanting this for so long,” Lucius mutters now as he pulls back, licking his lips, glistening with your sweet slick. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider as his darkened blue eyes flick up to meet yours. “Not fuckin’ fair that he gets everything.”
You’re too far gone to care about his words, your head lolling back against the mirror as his lips press a trail of kisses up your inner thigh. “Fuck, Lucius,” you pant, your hands reaching for him, needing more. Your fingers find his dark curls, tugging lightly as he stands, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s all heat and desperation.
His tongue slips past your lips, and you moan at the lingering taste of yourself there. Your hand slides down between you, palming the thick length of him through his pants, and he groans into your mouth, his fingers returning to your pussy, teasing your puffy clit until you’re a whimpering mess.
“Are you going to fuck me right here?” you ask breathlessly, biting your lip as you look up at him through heavy lashes.
He groans, his large hand cradling your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him. “What do you think? Turn around.”
He relinquishes his hold on you, stepping back just enough to give you room, and you obey, spinning to face the mirror, your reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and eyes hazy with lust. Behind you, Lucius’s hands are already lifting your skirt, one you’d chosen specifically for Marcus this morning, knowing how much he loves you in pretty, feminine things.
But he had barely spared you a glance before he left with her, and now the thought of him feels distant, unimportant.
He lets out a low whistle, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass, admiring the sight of you bent over for him.
You shut your eyes, willing away any lingering thoughts of Marcus as his fingers trace the slick seam of your pussy before dipping inside, his touch confident and practiced.
“Look at yourself,” he commands, his free hand pressing firmly on the small of your back, arching you further. “Eyes on the mirror.”
Your lashes flutter as you meet your own reflection again. His fingers pick up their pace, his chest brushing against your back as he frees himself from his pants. Your breath catches when you feel the thick head of his cock glide through your folds, replacing his digits at your entrance.
You wag your hips playfully, earning a sharp smack to your ass, the sting blooming with heat, and it makes you giggle, the sound light and sultry.
“Are you always this giddy to get fucked?” Lucius teases, his tone dripping with amusement as he lines himself up.
“Only when it’s someone who knows what they’re doing.”
He laughs, a deep, wicked sound, before gripping your hip with one hand and guiding himself inside you with the other. The stretch is exquisite, stealing the air from your lungs as he sinks into you inch by inch, his girth filling you completely.
He’s not as thick or as large as Marcus, but the way he feels inside you is undeniably satisfying, and judging by the expert way he used his mouth, you’re eager to explore the rest of his talents.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his head falling forward, his nose nuzzling into your hair. “So fuckin’ perfect.”
You cry out, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the marbled counter as he starts to move with pure vehemence.
Every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, his pace building until you’re nothing but a mess of moans and desperate gasps.
The sight of him fucking you from behind, his mouth agape, brows furrowed, has your pussy clenching around him. His strokes are deep and hard, each one making the edge of the countertop dig into the front your thighs, but you don’t care. It feels too damn good.
The universe has an impeccable way of fucking with you, and it does so spectacularly when your phone buzzes in your purse.
The ringtone you’ve assigned to Marcus echoes through the luxurious restroom, shattering the moment and flooding your veins with icy dread.
“L-Lucius, stop,” you whine, your voice betraying how little you actually mean it. His thrusts are hitting just the right spot, and you can barely think straight, let alone care about the consequences of missing Marcus’s call.
Lucius pauses, though not in the way you hoped—or feared. He slows, grinding himself against you, his length pressing deliciously into your g-spot.
Leaning over your bent form, he rummages through your purse until he retrieves the still-ringing phone. “Go ahead,” he holds the device out to you with a cocky grin. “Answer it. Wouldn’t want to upset the boss, now would we?”
You hesitate, staring at the phone like it’s a ticking bomb.
The position you’re in—physically and metaphorically—feels impossible to navigate. When the ringing threatens to stop, instinct gives way, and you snatch the phone from his hand and answer, pressing it to your ear.
“Hello?” Your voice is shaky, breathless, and you pray he doesn’t notice.
“Where the hell are you?” Marcus’s tone is sharp, tinged with irritation.
Your breath hitches. He’s back at the office? He said he’d be gone all day. Panic bubbles in your chest as Lucius’s hips roll lazily, burying himself deep inside you as if to prove a point, and you fight not to moan.
“I-I went out for lunch and to run a few errands,” you stammer, gripping the counter for dear life. In the mirror, Lucius’s smirk deepens. His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts over your blouse as he pulls you upright against his chest.
He moves your hair aside and starts placing soft, teasing kisses along your neck, his facial hair grazing your skin and adding to the maddening sensations.
“How long are you going to be?”
“Not much longer,” you manage, biting your lip as Lucius’s fingers find your clit. “Do you… need something?” The slow, torturous circles make your knees buckle, and you have to mute the phone to let out a strangled moan.
“Yes,” Marcus replies, oblivious to your plight. “I need you back here. I ran into a client while I was out, and…”
Whatever else he says fades into static as Lucius speeds up his ministrations, his fingers and cock working in perfect harmony to unravel you. Your free hand flies to his wrist, a silent plea for mercy, but he just grins against your neck.
“Just let me finish this call,” you whisper, your voice desperate and pleading.
“No,” he growls through gritted teeth. “You’re going to come all over my dick while you’re on the phone with him.”
Before you can protest, he presses you back down against the counter, resuming the relentless rhythm that slips a film of haze over your vision. Your hand trembles as you unmute the call, your brain scrambling to form coherent words while Lucius fucks you like he owns you.
“...so get back here to pull the prints,” Marcus finishes.
“Okay,” you rasp, tightly holding the edge of the counter, the sound of skin meeting skin threatening to echo over the line. “I-I’ll be there soon.”
There’s a long pause, and your heart pounds in your chest, more from the overwhelming sensation between your legs than Marcus’s impending suspicion. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” you blurt out, squeezing your eyes shut as his fingers press harder against your clit, tipping you dangerously close to the edge. “I—I have to go. I’ll see you at the office.”
Without waiting for a response, you hang up and toss the phone onto the counter.
Finally, you let go, your high pitched moans spilling freely as your orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clamp down around Lucius’s cock, and you throw your hips back to meet his thrusts, chasing every last bit of pleasure.
“Oh fuck me, I’m coming!” you cry out, your voice echoing through the restroom.
He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he delivers a few final, punishing thrusts. “There we go,” he practically purrs, satisfied.
He pulls out at the last second, stroking himself until his release coats the supple skin of your ass. He exhales sharply, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he watches you shudder beneath him.
For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing. Then, he chuckles, stepping back to grab a few tissues. “You’re a fucking masterpiece,” he murmurs, gently cleaning you up.
You let out a weak laugh, your legs still trembling as you brace yourself against the counter. “That was way too close.”
He shrugs, tucking himself back into his pants and leaning against the sink, watching you fix your skirt and smooth your hair in the mirror. “I don’t really give a shit,” he replies, his tone so nonchalant it borders on arrogance.
“Yeah,” you give him a sidelong glance. “I figured as much.” You straighten your appearance, making sure to fix every little imperfection and evidence of what just transpired.
“When can we do this again?”
You hadn’t thought this far ahead, too caught up in the heat of the moment to consider what might come next. His proposition is tempting, dangerously so, and you hesitate, weighing the risks.
Marcus is married after all, and while he’s never outright told you not to see anyone else (not that you wanted to, either), the possessiveness in the way he fucks you and how he treats you when it was just the two of you makes it clear he wouldn’t be thrilled.
It’s not necessarily the smartest move to hookup with his stepson, considering the messy family history, but that’s really none of your business.
And the alternative? What, meeting some awkward Tinder match with a small cock who can’t get over his ex? No, thanks. You’d pick Lucius any day of the week.
“You tell me,” you concede. What Marcus doesn’t know won’t kill him. “I don’t want Marcus to know about us. He’d pop his lid—and as fun as that would be for you, I don’t need that drama in my life right now.”
He reaches for you, his hand curling around your waist to pull you closer until you’re standing between his legs. His hands rest lightly on your hips, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your skirt. “It shouldn’t be any of his business who you fuck.”
You bite down on your tongue, gently pushing his hair back, running your fingers through the soft curls. “I know, but that man is complicated. You, of all people should know that.”
“Right,” he takes in your features, noting how beautiful you are, getting lost in your eyes. “Doesn’t matter much to me, but for you, we can keep this low-key.”
“I’d appreciate that,” you give him a small smile, leaning forward and brushing your lips softly against his in a kiss that lingers just long enough to make your pulse quicken again.
He grins boastfully as he pulls back, his thumb brushing against your jaw in a small, teasing motion. “Come on, I’ll take you back. We’ve probably hogged the washroom long enough.”
You nod, letting him guide you toward the door, though the weight of your choices lingers. For now, though, you push it all aside. One mess at a time.
Juggling these two men feels like a balancing act you’ve somehow mastered. Each fills a different part of your life, balancing out the deficiencies of the other like two halves of a very complicated equation.
Marcus is raw power, the kind of dominance that leaves your soul humming and your heart racing. He’s harsh, unapologetically entitled, and he takes what he wants with a certainty that has you willingly offering yourself up.
You crave his intensity, the way he makes you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something dangerously exhilarating.
Lucius, though, is the warmth you never knew you needed. He’s attentive in ways Marcus never could be, the type of lover you’d believed only existed in fiction.
He doesn’t just fuck you—he worships you, like you’re the only person in the world when he’s with you. He makes you laugh, makes you feel seen. He treats you like you’re the prize, not some stolen treasure.
And yet, you’re the one hiding him. He’s eager to show you off, to take you to lavish galas with his Ivy League crowd, or whisk you away to some foreign paradise.
But a stubborn part of you clings to Marcus, to the ridiculous fantasy that one day he might wake up and finally choose you.
That he’ll leave her and realize you were what he wanted all along.
It’s an illusion, of course. And you know it—especially when Marcus mentions that he and his wife are starting couples counseling.
His tone is so nonchalant. It’s like he doesn’t even register what that means for you. But you do. It’s a dagger to the heart, a confirmation of the insecurities that have been simmering on your side of the affair for as long as it’s been happening.
The beginning of the end. If he’s putting in the effort to save his marriage, you’re the obvious sacrifice.
You tell yourself you don’t care. That it’s good he’s fixing things because it means you can finally walk away.
That night, you cry—gut-wrenching sobs that wrack your body as you curl up on your couch.
The tears aren’t just for him. They’re for you, for the mess you let yourself fall into, for the heartbreak you practically handed to yourself on a silver platter.
You didn’t realize how much of yourself you’d given to him until it was too late.
In what world does the mistress ever get a happy ending?
Determined, you decide that your time together is up. For real this time.
The sessions with his wife have already put distance between you—less frequent rendezvous, fewer late-night texts. And when you are together, the connection feels fractured.
Sure, he still fucks you like he always has, still uses that ancient, sweet language that once made you feel special.
But now, everything he does cuts like glass because you know it’s just an act, a hollow currency to keep you around, to keep you looking at him like he’s your moon and stars.
Tonight is supposed to be the last time. You’ve planned it out—how you’ll say it, how you’ll walk away. The usual hotel room feels like the right setting for closure, neutral and familiar enough to weather whatever fallout may come.
You arrive early, as always. The room is pristine, the bed’s crisp linens beckoning. But it’s the item sitting in the center that draws your attention.
A white box tied with a vibrant red bow, your name written elegantly on a card tucked into the ribbon.
Knew these would look divine on you the moment I saw them, my carissime. I haven’t been the most attentive lover as of late, and for that, I apologize. - M
Your heart stutters as you slip the bow free and open the box. Inside lies the most exquisite set of lingerie you’ve ever seen, delicate lace and fine silk in a shade that complements your skin tone perfectly.
It looks so luxurious, you’re almost afraid to touch it. Two smaller boxes rest alongside it. Curious, you open them to reveal earrings and a matching necklace, adorned with your favorite gemstones.
Damn him. He’s making this so hard. The rational part of you knows better, but the temptation is too strong.
What’s the harm in one final night of indulgence? One last chance to revel in his attention, to let him taste you and remember exactly what he’s losing?
You slip out of your clothes, carefully donning the lingerie. The way it hugs your curves, accentuating every dip and swell of your body, makes you feel like a goddess.
You glance at your heels from earlier, slipping them back on—they match perfectly, adding the final touch to your look.
A small, knowing smile graces your lips. If this is goodbye, you’ll make sure it’s a goodbye he’ll never forget.
The door clicks open, and Marcus steps inside, the heavy weight of his presence commanding the room.
He pauses, taking in the sight of you sprawled across the bed, legs kicking up lazily, your chin propped on your palm. The thin strap of your bra slips down your shoulder, revealing more than enough to stoke the embers of desire in his eyes.
His gaze rakes over you with the intensity of a predator. “Dulcissima…” he breathes, the word oozes like molasses, thick and sweet, curling in your ear and making you wet.
You tilt your head, giving him your best doe-eyed expression, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Hi, Marcus,” you sing-song, your tone sweet, teasing, knowing exactly what it does to him.
He steps closer, his eyes lingering on the curves accentuated by the expensive lingerie he gifted you. “I was right to assume you’d look fucking sexy in this,” he says, his voice lower now, his fingertips grazing up your spine.
The faint touch sends a delicious shiver across your skin. His eyes devour you, the glint of the necklace he’d bought you sparkling against your throat like a declaration of ownership.
You turn slowly onto your back, stretching out lazily like a kitten, letting him take in the full view, and he exhales sharply through his nose, his control visibly fraying.
His gaze dips to the way the bra pushes your breasts together, the soft curve of your stomach, the jewelry catching the light.
“Did you like your gifts?” he asks, leaning down to press his lips against your bare midriff.
The kiss is hot, possessive, and you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin. Your stomach flips under his touch.
“Mhm…” you hum softly, keeping your tone light and coy.
His kisses trail higher, his mouth brushing over the swell of your breasts, the faint scrape of his teeth and beard sending a tremor through your body. When he bites down gently, your shaky exhale gives you away, and he chuckles, pleased with himself.
“Good,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin. “Couldn’t let my favorite girl forget how much I care about her.”
The word “favorite” grates against something inside you, even as the heat of his mouth distracts you. You let him keep talking, let him spin his meaningless webs.
You know this will be the last time, but you’ll let him play his game a little longer—for now.
Your fingers slip into his salt and peppered hair, pulling him up to you. His lips crash against yours in a fiery kiss, all teeth and tongue, his need barely contained. Your hands slide down his shoulders, body arching against him.
His hands move below you, skillfully undoing the clasp of your bra, the fabric slipping down your arms—when a sudden, sharp knock at the door splits the air.
Both of you freeze. Your breath catches in your throat, and you pull back, looking at Marcus in confusion.
His expression mirrors yours, his brow furrowing in annoyance as he glances toward the door.
The knock comes again, louder this time, more insistent. Then, a voice—deep, familiar, furious.
“Open the door. I know you’re in there.” A pause, your name spoken with quiet venom. “Don’t make me say it again.”
Lucius.
Panic flares in your chest. Your stomach twists as the full weight of what’s about to happen sinks in. You scramble off the bed, your hands shaking as you grab your bra and hurriedly fasten it, your mind racing.
Marcus straightens, his countenance hardening as recognition dawns. His entire demeanor shifts, his shoulders squaring, his jaw tightening.
Everything is going to come to a head now, and you’re not ready for the chaos about to unfold. Marcus is seconds away from finding out about you and Lucius, Lucius uncovering your affair—and there’s no way to stop the inevitable collision.
He stalks to the door, throwing it open with a force that rattles the frame.
There stands Lucius, his expression a storm of anger and betrayal.
His sharp gaze cuts past Marcus immediately, landing on you. He matches the stance of the other man as he takes in the scene: your disheveled state, the lingerie, the necklace glinting on your chest.
“So it’s true.” He storms into the room, “I knew you were sleeping around. My mother did too—just not with who. I should have fucking known it was her.” His words strike like daggers. “It’s always the gold-digging, whorish assistant.”
The insult lands hard, but you refuse to flinch.
Marcus steps forward, spitting out his name. His lips curl into a snarl, his broad body taut with controlled aggression. “What is it that you want? And don’t bullshit me.”
Lucius doesn’t back down. “To see you fall.”
The room goes deadly quiet, the tension is a living thing now, crackling with the threat of violence. You stand frozen, both men squaring off like animals about to tear each other apart.
“Once my mother hears about this, she’s going to divorce you. She’ll take everything. The firm will be mine. She,” his gaze shifts to you, and it’s like being pierced with ice. “Will be mine.”
Marcus lets out a laugh—dark, guttural, dangerous.
“You are an entitled little shit,” the insult makes his disdain clear. “You think you can waltz in here, throw a tantrum, and get what you want? You think I give a damn about your threats?”
“I don’t need threats,” Lucius snaps. “I have the truth.”
“What truth?”
Lucius fucking smirks, stepping away from him and closer to you, rounding your body until he’s right behind you, his words melting into your skin. “She’s not just your dirty little secret. She’s been fucking me too.”
The words drop like a bomb, shattering the fragile facade of control in the room.
Marcus’s body stiffens, gaze snapping toward you with a look you can’t quite decipher—shock, anger, betrayal all dancing in his dark brown eyes.
“Is that true?” He demands, his eyes bore into you, demanding an answer.
Your throat goes dry, panic rising like an avalanche threatening to drown you. “Marcus, I—”
“It’s true,” Lucius interrupts, his tone triumphant and venomous, wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you flush against him. “She’s been playing both sides. Isn’t that right?” His lips trail over your neck, and you hate the way the throbbing at your pussy begins to pulse. “Tell him. Tell him how you’d come running to me every time he wasn’t enough for you. How you let me fuck you while he was on the phone.”
“That’s enough,” Marcus growls, stepping closer, his larger frame looming over the both of you. His anger is palpable, but there’s something else simmering beneath it—arousal.
Lucius laughs, the sound bitter and taunting. “What’s the matter, Acacius? Is the truth too much for you? Or is it the thought of this pussy creaming all over my cock that’s got you so worked up?”
His hand presses against you, his fingers teasing through the damp fabric of your panties, and a soft whimper escapes your lips despite yourself. You bite down on it too late, and Marcus’s gaze sharpens, locking onto you like a predator.
“She’s a liar,” Lucius continues, his voice a deadly purr. “And a cheat. Just like you.”
The accusation tantalizes a reaction out of Marcus, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his eyes fall to where Lucius’s hand moves between your legs, then back to your face.
Slowly, deliberately, he steps closer until the barest inch separates the two of you.
“You’re dripping,” Lucius observes with a smirk, his tone triumphant. “She likes it when we talk to her like this.”
“I know she does,” Marcus replies, razor-sharp. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his fingers digging just enough to make you gasp. “She always gets off on being called out for what she is—a filthy, nasty little slut.”
“Oh my god,” you breathe, the words slipping out unbidden as Lucius begins to circle your clit. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your body betraying you with every twitch and moan.
“No, darling,” Marcus commands, tightening his grip on your face and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Look at me. Keep those pretty eyes open.”
You blink up at him, your lashes damp with unshed tears of humiliation and need. His gaze is scorching, consuming every inch of your face.
“Why?” Marcus demands, his voice steady but deadly. “Why both of us? What’s in it for you?”
Your lips part, the truth clawing its way to the surface. “Because I can,” you finally admit, your voice trembling but defiant.
The confession hits the air like a spark to kindling. Marcus’s lips morph into a cold smirk, and Lucius lets out a low chuckle behind you.
“Say that again,” Marcus orders, leaning in until his forehead almost touches yours.
“I had two powerful men doing everything for me,” your admission is louder this time, emboldened by the heat of their attention. “Showering me with gifts, meals, and good cock. Why the fuck would I give that up?”
Marcus’s grip on your jaw shifting to trail down your throat, gripping it just enough to make your pulse race beneath his fingertips.
“You’re perfect, my carissime.” There’s this softness to his tone that surprises you, and it only amplifies the pleasure you feel as Lucius slips two fingers inside of you, your mouth falling open as you let out a breathy moan. “So beautiful.” He’s not furious—he’s consumed by the same fire threatening to burn all three of you alive.
“Tell us,” Lucius demands, his voice a smooth drawl as his digits curl just right, pressing onto the spongy, sensitive spot that makes your desire flare. “Tell us what you really want, or we’ll stop. Maybe leave you here all wet and needy.”
Marcus can feel the way you harshly swallow against his palm, brows twitching with amusement as he watches you intently, anticipating your answer. “I want both of you,” you confess. “I want you to ruin me, together.”
The air between you is laced with shared lust and hostility. Marcus shakes his head, a bitter, haughty laugh escaping him. “You really are a whore,” he says, his free hand gripping your chin again to force you to look at him. “And you’ll take whatever we give you. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” you whisper, the word a plea as Lucius withdraws his fingers only to bring them to your lips. He smirks when you part them willingly, sucking his fingers clean with a moan that makes Marcus’s eyes darken further.
“You’ve got her trained well,” He taunts, his gaze locking with Marcus’s over your shoulder.
“Enough talking,” Marcus snaps, his patience finally snapping, “Get her on the bed.”
Lucius doesn’t hesitate. He guides you backwards, sitting at the edge of the bed with you on his lap, undoing your bra and slipping it off your shoulders.
Your legs spread instinctively, your body already responding to the charged dominance of the two men using you.
Lucius’s lips claim yours in a kiss that’s as punishing as it is passionate. His hands roam freely over your body, kneading your breasts, pinching at your nipples while Marcus watches, his belt undone and his pants unbuttoned but still on.
He strokes himself slowly, his gaze fixed on the way Lucius toys with you.
When Lucius pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips. He smirks, attention turning to Marcus. “She’s all yours. For now,” his tone drips with challenge.
Marcus steps forward, gripping your thighs. “Been thinking about tasting her all day. You’re not about to fuck that up for me.”
Then, with a confidence that makes your heart stutter, he drops to his fucking knees.
The motion is almost reverent, but the hunger in his eyes tells a different story. He hooks his fingers into the delicate lace of your panties, dragging them down your legs until they hang precariously from the sharp tip of your heels. His breath ghosts over your sticky, swollen folds, making your thighs quiver in anticipation.
“Fuck,” Marcus mutters under his breath, the words guttural, as if the sight alone is enough to wreck him. His mouth descends, and the moment his tongue laves over your folds, devouring you with reckless abandon, you cry out, your back arching instinctively against Lucius.
“Oh!” The exclamation is ripped from your throat, and Lucius grunts in response, his hands tugging at your sensitive nipples while his lips and teeth nip at your neck, leaving stinging kisses.
It’s overwhelming, the sensation of being worshipped and claimed by both of them.
The heat, the hands, the mouths—everything converges until you’re dizzy with pleasure. Your trembling fingers fumble behind you, reaching for Lucius’s pants, desperate for more.
It makes him chuckle low in your ear, the sound both amused and darkly approving.
“Impatient,” Lucius murmurs, helping you by undoing his pants and freeing his thick cock. You wrap your shaky hand around him, earning a hiss of pleasure as he hardens further under your touch.
Meanwhile, Marcus’s lips wrap around your fleshy pearl, sucking it into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth. His tongue flicks against the sensitive nub, your hips grinding against his face.
He doesn’t stop you—if anything, he encourages it, absolutely pussy drunk, groaning against your cunt as if your taste alone could sustain him.
Your juices smear across his lips and beard, the rough bristle of it adding another layer of sensation that makes your vision blur. The heat coils tighter in your core, your thighs trembling as Lucius’s cock twitches in your hand.
You have a devious idea. With a soft call of Marcus’s name, you draw his attention, your voice breathless and needy.
His dark eyes flick up to yours, his lips glistening with your slick. Without a word, you extend your hand, palm up, quirking a brow in silent request.
Marcus smirks, his smugness dripping with sinful intent, and spits into your hand. The obscene mixture of his saliva and your syrupy arousal pools in your palm, and you return to stroking Lucius’s cock with it. His sharp intake of breath tells you he appreciates the added slickness.
“Fuck,” Lucius curses, his hips jerking forward into your grip as your lips reconnect with his. Marcus, undeterred, dives back between your legs, his tongue and lips working in perfect rhythm.
The wet, lewd sounds of your hand on Lucius’s cock and Marcus devouring you echo through the room, an indecent symphony pushing you closer to the edge.
Your breaths grow ragged, your body taut like a bowstring. “I—I’m close,” you manage to stammer, your voice barely audible against Lucius’s mouth.
“Then come,” Marcus commands, his voice muffled against your heat but no less authoritative. “Come all over my tongue, darling. Take it.”
His teeth graze your clit just right, and the sharp sensation sends you careening over the edge. You scream his name, your body convulsing as your orgasm crashes over you, your release drenching Marcus’s face.
He doesn’t falter, drinking you greedily as though you’re the sweetest ambrosia. The fountain of fucking youth.
You collapse against Lucius, your body trembling and spent, but the men aren’t done with you. Not even close.
Marcus rises to his feet, his shirt already discarded, his chest heaving as he toes off his shoes and sheds the rest of his clothing. Lucius holds you close, his hands gentle as they trail over your skin, his lips pressing soft, almost tender kisses to your shoulder.
Then you’re maneuvered, heels taken off and bent over the edge of the bed.
Lucius scoots back just enough to rid himself of his remaining garments, his cock standing proud and throbbing as it brushes against your cheek. He cups your face, his thumb stroking your flushed skin as he guides the bulbous head to your lips.
Marcus leans down to kiss the back of your shoulder, his lips hot against your skin. “Show him what that pretty little mouth can do.”
You moan softly, your lips parting to take Lucius in. “I know exactly what she can do,” he says cockily, his voice dark with jealousy. “Don’t I, baby?”
Marcus growls from behind, envious, his large hands sliding over your ass, squeezing possessively as he lines himself up with your dripping, fluttering entrance.
You whimper, nodding weakly, but any response is cut off as Marcus thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one unrelenting stroke.
You cry out, the stretch of him almost too much. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, his hands gripping your hips as he sets a punishing pace.
Lucius gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, holding you steady as he begins to rock his hips, driving himself deeper down your throat. “Goddamn,” he rasps, his face contorting in bliss.
The intensity of it all—the exhilarating roughness of Marcus inside you, the weight of Lucius on your tongue, the heat and dominance radiating from both of them—sends your mind spiraling.
Your body is a conduit for their pleasure, and the way they claim you, together, makes the ache in your core unbearable.
“She’s so fucking tight,” Marcus growls, his nails digging into your skin. “Even with two cocks, she could take more. Couldn’t you, carissima?”
Lucius pulls you back with his firm grip on your hair as he forces you to answer. “Y-Yes,” you stutter, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer intensity. “Both of you—however you want me.”
The words spark something feral in them both. Marcus spanks you hard, the sharp sting making you cry out, while Lucius smirks, his gaze burning with approval.
“She’s about to come again,” Marcus announces, his thrusts growing erratic. “I can feel it. Shit, I shouldn’t let her, but she looks so goddamn beautiful when she does.”
Lucius chuckles darkly, his hand stroking his cock as he watches you fall apart. “She really is something when she’s like this.”
Marcus’s hand cracks against your ass repeatedly in a rhythmic cadence, heightening the pressure building deep within you. Each spank forces a moan from your throat, your body yielding completely to him as he drives you closer to the edge.
When your orgasm hits, it’s shattering. Your muscles lock, trembling as you cry out his name, the intensity leaving you utterly spent. Your release coats Marcus’s thick cock, the mess dripping down between your thighs.
Lucius, ever the observer, watches with an almost languid fascination, his lips curling into a sly smirk.
He doesn’t try to reclaim your mouth, instead captivated by the way your features twist in pleasure.
The sounds leaving you are primal—animalistic—and you’re too far gone to care. Your body screams for respite, muscles quivering from the relentless pace Marcus set, but your desire eclipses your exhaustion.
You don’t want it to stop; you crave more, as if their touch is the only thing keeping you tethered to this earth.
Your pussy flutters around Marcus as if unwilling to let him go, and for a moment, he hesitates, groaning at the way you cling to him.
“Could die in your sweet cunt,” he sighs, pulling out reluctantly. His cock, glistening with your combined juices, twitches at the loss of your warmth. “But I want to see you bounce on his cock now. Go on—show me how well you can follow instructions.”
The command is firm and your body responds before your mind can catch up.
Lucius shifts back against the headboard, his expression one of lazy satisfaction as he pulls you onto his lap. His hands guide you with surprising gentleness, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your hips as your lips meet his.
The kiss is slow, a stark contrast to the brutal pace Marcus had set, but it’s no less intense.
You feel Lucius’s cock slide through your swollen and used folds, the head teasing your oversensitive entrance before he thrusts inside.
You gasp into his mouth, wincing at the overwhelming sensation, but the pleasure quickly drowns out the ache as you adjust to him.
“Lucius,” you whimper, your voice high and pleading as your hips begin to rock. The friction makes you shudder, your body melting against his as he matches your rhythm.
“Just like that,” he groans, his head falling back against the headboard. His praise is genuine, his tone dripping with admiration. “Fuck, you’re amazing. Keep going—ride me, baby.”
You obey, rolling your hips with increasing determination before bouncing on him, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. You cling to him for support, your sweat slick tits pressing against his as he moves with you.
The bed dips, the shift pulling your attention away just as Marcus reappears, his towering figure imposing. His cock, messy with your release, bobs enticingly in front of you, making your mouth water.
You don’t hesitate. Leaning forward, you press a teasing kiss to the base of his shaft before dragging your tongue up the length of him, from his heavy balls to the sensitive tip.
You repeat the action, savoring the salty taste of yourself on him before finally taking him into your mouth.
The room is a haze of sweat, lust, and the raw, carnal need radiating between the three of you.
Marcus curses above you as your mouth devours him, your lips dragging from his throbbing, veined shaft down to the soft weight of his balls.
You let your tongue explore, slurping and licking, his sparse pubic hairs tickling your cheeks.
“Shit,” he groans, his large hand resting at the back of your head, letting you work at your own pace. “You’re so good at this, you know that? Worshipping me like you’re fucking made for it.”
Your throat is hoarse from the cries you’ve let out and the sheer volume of cock you’ve taken, but you press on, sucking and tonguing at him.
Lucius’ nails dig into the soft flesh of your ass cheeks, leaving faint crescents in their wake as he thrusts upward into your drenched pussy, the force of his movements making your entire body jolt.
“Keep bouncing on it,” He spreads your ass cheeks wider, his fingers teasing your other hole, brushing lightly against the tight ring.
The sensation makes you gasp against Marcus, your pussy clenching hard around the cock inside of you.
Marcus lets out a low laugh, his thumb swiping over the sheen of sweat on your temple.
“You’ve been in this tight little ass before?” Lucius asks, his tone laced with curiosity and lust.
“Plenty of times,” Marcus replies smoothly, gripping your face to guide your mouth back onto him. “She takes it so well. Always does. Don’t you, dulcissima?”
You gurgle around his length, your throat convulsing as he pushes deep, cutting off your air supply.
The world starts to dim, stars dancing at the edges of your vision, but the dizzying combination of Marcus’s cock down your throat and Lucius’s relentless thrusts makes you shudder with pleasure.
Marcus finally releases you, pulling out with a slick pop, and a mess of saliva drips down your chin, your chest, mixing with the sweat already coating your skin.
You cough, your body trembling as you try to catch your breath, and when you look up, your face is a wreck—puffy lips, smeared makeup, eyes glassy.
“Please,” you manage to whisper, your voice broken but no less keen.
Marcus tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing your spit-slick lips. “So fucking dirty,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you sloppily, uncaring of the mess between you.
His lips are selfish, his tongue curling against yours, his large hand cradling your face as if you’re his salacious treasure.
Lucius slows his thrusts, letting Marcus take over once he’s finished kissing you.
You’re pliant, boneless, too fucked-out to do anything but submit as Marcus positions himself behind you.
Your body is sandwiched between them, the heat of their skin against yours making your head swim. The room reeks of sex, their natural musk mingling with the sticky-sweet scent of your arousal.
“You got what you wanted, huh?” Lucius whispers against your ear, his lips brushing your neck.
“Both of us at the same time,” Marcus answers for you, his tone dripping with amusement as he strokes himself, the other hand spreading your ass.
His thumb circles your puckered hole, pressing just enough to make you moan.
“Fuck yes,” you pant, a smirk pulling at the corners of your swollen lips despite how utterly wrecked you feel.
The two men exchange a look—a silent agreement passing between them.
Marcus spits, the warm glob of saliva landing perfectly on your tight hole. His cock, wet with your earlier attention, glistens as he smears the spit across himself, preparing you.
“Relax,” Lucius coos, his hand brushing your hair back. His lips press against your jaw then the corner of your mouth. “Take it like you always do.”
Marcus pushes in slowly, the stretch almost unbearable, and your breath hitches, eyes rolling back as your body adjusts to the intrusion.
The sensation of being completely filled—Lucius’s cock buried in your pussy, Marcus’s girthy length breaching your ass—is overwhelming.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, your nails digging into Lucius’s shoulders as Marcus inches deeper, his pace agonizingly deliberate.
“Always so tight, and ready” Marcus growls, his voice thick with restraint.
Lucius lets out a low chuckle, his hands roaming your body, one moving to your breast to tweak a sensitive nipple. “She always is. And she loves it, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” you cry out, your voice trembling, desperate. “I love it.”
They move in tandem, their cocks filling you, stretching you, driving you mad with pleasure as they fuck you mercilessly.
You’re lost in it all; the pain, the rhapsody, the sound of their grunts and groans mingling with your cries as your body is pushed to its limit.
It’s all a blur of sin. Both men push you closer and closer to the brink of oblivion.
Marcus drives into your ass, his fingers leaving bruises on the meat of your hips, while Lucius pistons upward from beneath you, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside your pussy that makes your vision white out.
The thin barrier of flesh separating their cocks as they thrust into you sends jolts of ecstasy coursing through your body, your nerves raw and exposed.
You feel alive—every touch, every degrading word, every deserving thrust driving you closer to the precipice.
Their voices are a cacophony in your ears, their sharp remarks intertwining with your own ragged moans.
“Look at her,” Marcus sneers from behind you, his hand coming down in a sharp slap against your ass, forcing a yelp from your lips. “She’s fucking loving this. Such a filthy little thing, taking both our cocks like it’s the only thing she’s good for.”
You can’t form words, your head lolling between them as their bodies claim yours. Every stroke blurs the line between pain and pleasure, their belittling words fanning the flames in your gut.
“Slut,” Marcus taunts, his voice dripping with mockery as his hand slides up your back, pushing you further down against Lucius’s chest.
Lucius’s hand snakes between your legs, his fingers finding your swollen clit.
The added stimulation is too much. With a strangled cry, your final orgasm explodes through you, ripping a scream from your throat as you convulse around them.
“Fuck!” you shout, your voice cracking as your body arches and you reach blindly for the both of them to anchor yourself. “Marcus! Lucius!”
“That’s it, scream for us,” Marcus mocks, his voice rough as he continues pounding into your ass.
Lucius grips your waist, holding you flush against him, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he murmurs darkly, “Gonna fill this pussy up, and you’re not going to waste a single drop, you hear me?”
You nod weakly, your body limp against him as both men drive into you, their relentless rhythm dragging you through the haze of overstimulation.
“Poor girl is out of it,” Marcus taunts, slapping your sore ass again. “Come on, hang on a little longer.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all. It is almost too much, and for a fleeting moment, you consider tapping out. But the way their bodies command yours, the sound of their growls, and the sheer force of their presence keep you in the game.
Marcus’s breathing grows labored, his hands clutching your hips right above where Lucius is holding you as he thrusts into you wildly a few more times before he freezes, his cock pulsing deep inside you.
“Fucking. Take. It,” he snarls as his release floods your ass in hot, thick ribbons.
Your body twitches against Lucius’s as Marcus lets out a satisfied grunt, and he is the last to follow, as he forces you down onto his cock entirely, holding you there while he empties himself into your pussy.
You’re spent, your body trembling and boneless as they finally slow, their brawny hands roaming over your skin as if soothing the raw, frenzied mess they’ve made of you.
The exhaustion finally catches up, an almost unbearable heaviness dragging at your limbs as Marcus and Lucius pull out of you.
You barely register their murmured words or the gentle way they clean you up, your body too drained to offer anything more than faint whimpers.
When your head hits the pillow, lying on your back beneath the linens, sleep claims you almost instantly, as though your body has surrendered entirely.
You don’t know how much time passes before you stir again. The room is still dark, save for the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Everything is quiet—no voices, no sounds of movement— and you blink, fully groggy and disoriented.
Every inch of you is sore, your legs leaden, your pussy and ass throbbing with the aftermath of their brutal attentions. Shifting slightly, you wince, and the movement stirs a dull, lingering heat in your core.
“Carissime,” the familiar endearment pulls you fully from the fog of sleep, your heart skipping as you feel large hands seeking you out, pulling you into a broad chest that you recognize all too well.
“Marcus,” you croak, your throat burning with the effort, the rough sounds of earlier cries and screams still lingering in your vocal cords.
Your words devolve into a coughing fit, and Marcus shifts immediately, reaching over to flick on the lamp beside the bed.
Warm light floods part of the room, making you squint and illuminating his strong features, softened with concern as he hands you a glass of water he must have prepared.
“Drink.”
You gulp the water down greedily, the coolness soothing your parched throat. When the glass is empty, you lower it shakily, only for Marcus to take it from your hands and set it aside.
His hand slides to your back, stroking it in slow, deliberate circles.
“What…” you start, your thoughts tangled, unsure where to begin.
Marcus hushes you, tipping your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, his dark eyes boring into yours. “You made a mess of things, you know that, right?”
You can only stare at him, your lips parting in confusion as he holds your gaze captive.
“You know I don’t like sharing,” he continues, his voice deceptively gentle. “And you still went out and found some other dick to hop on... Not just with anyone, either, but with Lucius.” His lips curl into a wry smile, almost amused at the irony.
The mention of your other lover makes your heart race.
“My sweet girl,” Marcus goes on, stroking your thigh beneath the sheets with his free hand. “This is my fault, really. For not prioritizing you the way I should have.”
There’s a flicker of guilt in his expression, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears. “But it could never be that way. You know this. I told you from the start I’d never put you at the forefront. And I meant it.”
His words sting, soft though they are, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You don’t know where he’s leading this conversation, but it feels like he’s holding your heart right in the palm of his hand.
“I convinced the boy to keep our secret,” Marcus continues, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as he watches you intently. “But you’re too much of a temptation to keep around. I should fire you. Let you go.”
Your breath catches, panic surging momentarily until his hand moves higher, cupping your cheek.
“But I’m a selfish man that craves your cunt,” he admits, his lips curling in a predatory smirk. “Your mouth. Your body.”
His hand presses firmer against your thigh, as if to emphasize his claim, while his thumb continues its tantalizing stroke over your lip.
“So I’m—we’re—keeping you around,” Marcus declares, the weight of his decision settling heavily in the space between you.
You should feel insulted, degraded even. But instead, the ache between your legs throbs with want, remembering how he and Lucius took you apart.
“It’s the only way I can make this work without losing you. It’ll kill me to know you’ll roll around in bed with him, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to keep seeing your beautiful face every day. To keep my share of the firm.”
So this is what it’s all about—it isn’t about love, it’s about men and their entitlement, their rivalry, their need to possess and control.
Marcus tilts his head, studying you as if waiting for your response. “That is, if you want it,” he adds. “I have no interest in keeping you here against your will.”
The opening is there—the chance to leave this mess behind. To reclaim some shred of dignity and walk away from the entanglement of lust and rivalry these men represent.
But then the delicious ache in your body pulls at you, reminding you of how good it felt to have both of them claim you, how intoxicating it is to be the center of their desire, their depravity.
You don’t ask about his wife or any of that other bullshit. Instead, your lips curve into a saccharine smile, and you nod, your voice steady despite the chaos in your mind.
“I want this,” you say simply.
Marcus’s eyes darken with satisfaction, his smirk growing as he cups your face and kisses you—messy and bruising, claiming you once more.
If you’re a bad person for choosing this, then so be it. Bad people always find their place, and yours is right here, tangled in their dangerous games.
#pedro pascal#paul mescal#marcus acacius smut#lucius verus smut#lucius verus x reader#marcus acacius x reader#gladiator ii fanfiction#gladiator ii fic#marcus acacius fic#marcus acacius fanfic#lucius verus fic#lucius verus fanfic#kat's writing.
670 notes
·
View notes
Text
X-Men x Reader (Part.1)
You smacks their ass as they walk past (Part.1)
Each X-Man reacts with a mix of surprise and playful teasing when you smacks their ass as they walk past, leading to affectionate and mischievous moments.
Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Warren Worthington III, Bobby Drake, Alex Summers, Pietro Maximoff & Jean Grey
Logan (Wolverine):
You’re in the kitchen, mindlessly going about your business, while Logan’s at the counter slicing through a loaf of bread. He’s focused, as usual, with that familiar scowl on his face that never quite leaves. The kitchen is quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint sounds of his knife slicing through the bread. You can’t help yourself—you watch him for a moment, admiring the way his muscles move under his tight shirt, the raw strength in every little motion. He looks so serious, so in his own world.
As you pass behind him, you smirk to yourself. It’s too tempting. Without thinking twice, you let your hand drift out, and with a sharp flick of your wrist, you smack his ass, enjoying the solid *thwack* that follows. You don’t stop, just continue walking like nothing happened, a satisfied smile curling on your lips.
Logan freezes mid-slice. For a beat, he doesn’t say a word. Then you hear the low rumble of a growl deep in his chest. “Really, darlin’?” His voice is thick, a little rough around the edges, and you can hear the amusement creeping in. He turns his head, one eyebrow raised, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You glance back at him, feigning innocence, but you can see the way his eyes darken just a bit. He drops the knife, turning slowly, taking a step toward you. His movements are deliberate, almost predatory. “You think you can just walk by like that and not face the consequences?” His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, sending shivers down your spine.
Before you can respond, Logan’s hand is on your waist, pulling you back against him. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, “If you’re gonna start somethin’, sweetheart, you better be ready to finish it.” There’s a playful challenge in his voice, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not about to let you off the hook that easily.
Remy LeBeau (Gambit):
Remy is leaning against the couch, casually flipping through a deck of cards, as he often does when he’s bored. The two of you have been lounging around the living room all afternoon, and there’s an easy, comfortable silence between you. He’s dressed in that effortless way he always is—dark jeans that hug him in all the right places and a shirt that’s just tight enough to show off his lean muscles. He catches you looking at him, flashing you that mischievous smile, the one that makes your heart skip a beat.
You roll your eyes at him, but you’re already plotting something in your head. You stroll past him, heading toward the kitchen, but as you do, you let your hand dip down and smack his ass, hard enough to make him jump a little. You don’t stop, just keep walking like nothing happened, a satisfied smirk on your face.
“Mon dieu, cherie,” Remy’s voice comes out in a playful drawl, full of that Southern charm he’s famous for. He’s immediately on his feet, tossing the cards onto the couch and following you into the kitchen. “You really gonna hit an innocent man like dat and walk away?” You glance over your shoulder, and he’s grinning, his red-on-black eyes glowing with amusement.
Before you can get far, he’s behind you, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you back against him. “Y’know, cher, dat’s gonna cost you somethin’,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. There’s a heat to his words, and you can feel the playful threat behind them. “You know what happens when you mess with de Ragin’ Cajun, right?”
He spins you around, pressing you up against the counter with that wicked grin still plastered on his face. His hands slide down your sides, landing right where you’d smacked him. “Might have t’ return de favor,” he purrs, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to your lips. “You know Remy always collects his dues, mon amour.”
Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler):
You’re in the middle of tidying up the bedroom when you spot Kurt near the door, his back to you as he’s sorting through some papers. He’s muttering to himself in that soft, lilting German accent that you love so much, completely unaware of your eyes on him. His tail sways lazily behind him as he concentrates, and you can’t help but grin to yourself, an idea forming in your head.
You move silently, making your way over to him, and just as you pass by, you raise your hand and give his firm ass a playful smack. The sound is sharp in the quiet room, and you immediately keep walking, acting as if nothing had happened. But the reaction is instantaneous.
Kurt yelps in surprise, his tail flicking up and curling in the air as he turns to face you, a mix of shock and amusement on his face. “Liebling!” he exclaims, his yellow eyes wide with playful disbelief. “Did you just…?” His voice trails off as he stares at you, his mouth hanging open in mock offense.
You glance over your shoulder at him, feigning innocence. “What? I didn’t do anything,” you say with a smirk, knowing full well he doesn’t believe a word of it.
Before you can blink, there’s a familiar "bamf", and in an instant, Kurt’s teleported right in front of you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his tail curls mischievously around your leg. “Oh, so you think you can get away with that, meine Liebe?” he teases, his voice low and filled with amusement. “You know I won’t let that slide.”
His lips brush against your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he continues, “Perhaps you need a reminder of what happens when you provoke a demon.” The way he says it is both playful and sultry, sending a thrill down your spine. His tail tightens its grip on your leg, holding you in place as his hands move to your hips.
Kurt’s mischievous smile is contagious, and you can’t help but laugh as he presses a light kiss to your lips. “Next time, I might just have to teleport you somewhere… private,” he adds with a wink, his tail flicking playfully as he pulls you closer, the two of you lost in your little game.
Scott Summers (Cyclops):
You’re sitting at the dining room table, flipping through some documents when Scott walks by with his usual purposeful stride. His posture is perfect, as always, and that stern expression he wears doesn’t falter. He’s got a natural air of authority, but you’ve seen the softer side of him that few others get to witness. As he walks past you, that teasing side of you sparks to life, and without warning, you reach out and give his ass a firm smack.
The sound echoes in the quiet room, and Scott stops dead in his tracks. For a moment, you think maybe you’ve startled him too much, but then he turns slowly, adjusting his visor in that way he does when he’s trying to keep control. “Really?” he asks, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “You’re feeling bold today, huh?”
You grin, leaning back in your chair as if daring him to react. “What? You can’t handle a little fun?” you tease, enjoying the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly.
Scott doesn’t let himself smile, but you can see the ghost of one tugging at his lips. He strides back toward you, placing his hands on either side of your chair, leaning down until his face is mere inches from yours. His eyes are hidden behind that visor, but you know that intense gaze is focused solely on you. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and authoritative, “I could make this a teaching moment if you keep testing me.”
There’s a flicker of challenge in his tone, and you can’t help but shiver at the way he’s so controlled yet playful all at once. “Maybe I want to be taught a lesson,” you reply cheekily, smirking up at him.
Scott’s lips quirk into a small smile at that, and he leans in even closer, his breath brushing your skin. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” he warns softly, his tone filled with promise. You know Scott is all about discipline and control, but with you, there’s always an undercurrent of heat simmering just beneath the surface. And right now, you’re enjoying pushing all his buttons.
Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto):
You’ve just finished straightening up a few things around the living room when you notice Erik standing by the window, his arms crossed and his expression distant. He’s always deep in thought, his mind constantly working through plans, strategies, and the weight of his responsibilities. But in moments like these, you love pulling him out of that serious headspace, even if just for a second.
As you walk past him, you let your hand trail along his lower back before delivering a quick, playful smack to his ass. You know it’ll catch him off guard, and sure enough, Erik’s head turns sharply toward you, a mixture of surprise and amusement flashing in his steely gaze. “Liebling,” he says slowly, his deep voice laced with a dark chuckle, “I hope you realize what you’ve just done.”
You meet his gaze with a mischievous smile, shrugging casually. “What? Can’t a person have a little fun?”
Erik narrows his eyes, though you can see the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He steps toward you, his movements smooth and deliberate, until he’s standing directly in front of you, his towering presence almost intimidating. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warns, his voice low and dripping with intent.
His fingers reach out, brushing against your arm with a feather-light touch before sliding to your waist. “You should know better than to provoke me,” he continues, his tone growing softer, more menacing in a way that sends a thrill down your spine. There’s always something about Erik’s raw power that makes moments like these feel electric, like you’re on the verge of something intense.
You raise an eyebrow at him, refusing to back down. “Maybe I like living dangerously.”
Erik’s smirk widens, and without warning, he pulls you closer, his hand firm on your waist. “Careful, Liebling,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Next time, I might not be so gentle.” His eyes gleam with the promise of something more, and you can’t help but smile, knowing that with Erik, every moment is charged with tension and passion.
Warren Worthington III (Angel):
Warren is pacing around the room, his wings fluttering slightly as he moves. He always gets restless like this, especially after long missions, and you can see the tension in his shoulders. His wings, magnificent as ever, brush against the walls with each step, and you can’t help but admire the effortless grace he carries with him.
You decide to lighten the mood, and as you walk by, you reach out and give his ass a playful smack. It’s quick, unexpected, and you’re already a few steps ahead by the time Warren stops and turns to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really, Y/N?” he says, a soft laugh escaping his lips. There’s a twinkle in his blue eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting into that charming smile you know so well.
“What?” you reply innocently, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Just wanted to see if you’d notice.”
Warren chuckles, shaking his head as he folds his wings neatly behind him and strides over to you. “Oh, I noticed,” he says, his voice smooth and playful, like silk brushing against your skin. He steps closer, his hand slipping around your waist, pulling you back toward him. “You’re lucky I find it cute when you get cheeky.”
You grin up at him, but before you can say anything, Warren’s lips are by your ear, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “But you should know… you’ve got my full attention now.” There’s a teasing edge to his words, and you can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, his wings subtly enclosing around you, as if shielding the two of you from the world.
His fingers glide down your back, lingering just above where your hand had landed on him. “You know,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck, “if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.” His lips brush the shell of your ear, and you can feel the playful energy between you shift into something deeper, more intimate. Warren always knows how to turn a simple moment into something unforgettable, and as his wings wrap around you, you know you’re in for more than just playful teasing tonight.
Bobby Drake (Iceman):
You’re standing by the counter, organizing some groceries while Bobby flips through a magazine at the kitchen table. His legs are kicked up, as casual as ever, when you pass by. Feeling playful, you give his ass a swift smack as you move past him. The sound echoes in the small space, and it’s enough to catch his attention immediately.
Bobby jerks, almost spilling his drink in surprise, before whipping around to face you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed from both the slap and embarrassment. “Woah! Y/N, what was that for?” he asks, though there’s no hiding the grin pulling at his lips.
You shrug, flashing him an innocent look. “Just making sure you’re awake.”
He laughs, shaking his head as he stands up, crossing the room to stand next to you. “Oh, I’m awake now, alright,” he teases, sliding his arms around your waist, his touch cool against your skin. “I didn’t know you had it in you to get so… bold.”
His playful tone matches the mischievous glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but laugh along with him. “What? You can’t handle a little fun?” you challenge, enjoying the light banter between you two.
Bobby leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “I can handle anything you throw at me, but don’t think I’ll let you get away with that.” His voice is laced with a teasing edge, and you feel a cool breeze sweep through the room, a subtle reminder of the icy powers he wields. You know he’s up to something, but before you can react, he presses a quick kiss to your neck and steps back with a wink. “You’re gonna pay for that, you know.”
Alex Summers (Havok):
Alex is sprawled out on the couch, looking through some reports when you walk by. His feet are up, and there’s a focused look on his face, the kind he always wears when he’s trying to deal with the endless responsibilities of being an X-Man. You take the opportunity as you pass, leaning over to give his ass a firm smack, catching him completely off guard.
Alex sits up instantly, his eyes narrowing playfully as he turns to you. “Did you just…?” he starts, not quite believing what just happened. He’s still processing it, a mix of amusement and shock spreading across his face.
You grin, crossing your arms as you raise an eyebrow. “What? Just thought I’d remind you who’s boss around here,” you tease, knowing it’ll get a rise out of him.
Alex chuckles, shaking his head as he stands up, his presence commanding yet relaxed. “Oh, is that right?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of mischief lacing his words. He walks toward you, closing the space between you quickly. “Well, I think you’re about to find out that I don’t take orders so easily.”
His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, his energy always simmering just beneath the surface. “You like playing with fire, huh?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Careful, Y/N… you might just get burned.”
The tension between you sizzles, and there’s a playful challenge in his eyes as he leans in closer. Alex has always had that perfect balance of power and charm, and moments like this remind you just how intoxicating he can be.
Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver):
Pietro is a blur of motion, zipping around the room as he organizes everything at lightning speed. You’ve gotten used to his constant fast-paced movements, but that doesn’t stop you from messing with him whenever you get the chance. As he darts past you, you reach out, timing it perfectly to give his ass a swift smack.
In a flash, Pietro skids to a halt, spinning around to face you, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and excitement. “Did you just smack me?” he asks, his voice incredulous but laced with laughter. “I didn’t even see that coming!”
You grin, leaning against the counter as you shrug casually. “Maybe you’re losing your touch, Speedy.”
Pietro narrows his eyes playfully, zipping right in front of you in the blink of an eye. He’s so close, you can feel the rush of air from his speed. “Losing my touch? Oh, you’re in for it now,” he teases, his lips curling into that trademark smirk that always makes your heart race.
Before you can respond, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re lucky I find this little game of yours amusing,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr. “But don’t think for a second I won’t get you back. Faster than you can blink.”
Pietro’s hand slides down your side, and you can feel the energy buzzing off him, the tension between you electric. His eyes gleam with mischief as he tilts his head slightly. “Next time you try that, you better be ready to run,” he warns, but there’s no real danger in his tone—only the promise of more playful banter to come.
Jean Grey:
Jean is standing at the stove, her mind likely a million miles away as she stirs something in the pot. You’ve always loved watching her in these quiet moments, the way her hair seems to glow in the soft light, her expression so calm and serene. As you walk by, you decide to playfully break the stillness and give her a quick, teasing smack on the ass.
Jean gasps in surprise, her stirring hand freezing mid-motion as she looks over her shoulder at you, eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. “Y/N!” she exclaims, her voice half-laughing, half-scolding. You can see the blush rising on her cheeks, and it only makes your grin widen.
“What?” you reply innocently, trying your best to look like you didn’t just commit the playful act. “I couldn’t resist.”
Jean sets the spoon down and turns fully toward you, hands on her hips, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes. “You’re trouble, you know that?” she says, though the smile tugging at her lips betrays any attempt at a stern tone.
Before you can respond, you feel a subtle tug in your mind—Jean’s way of playfully reminding you she’s always got the upper hand when it comes to your little games. She steps closer, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “You know I could have you pinned with a single thought,” she teases, her voice soft yet teasing. “But I think I’ll let you off the hook this time… unless you want me to show you what happens when you mess with a telepath.”
You raise an eyebrow, feeling the warmth of her body as she presses closer, her lips ghosting over your ear. “Think you’re fast enough to get away next time?” she whispers, her breath hot against your skin, leaving you anticipating her next move.
#marvel x reader#marvel imagine#marvel headcanons#marvel#xmen imagine#x men x reader#x men headcanons#xmen imagines#imagine#imagines#headcanons#x reader#x men#logan howlett x reader#remy lebeau x reader#kurt wagner x reader#scott summers x reader#erik lehnsherr x reader#warren worthington x reader#alex summers x reader#bobby drake x reader#pietro maximoff x reader#jean grey x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Princess and her knight
Gwayne Hightower x targ!fem!reader
[warnings: mdni (18+) sensual kissing, touching, fingering, semi-public, almost getting caught
[word count: 1.3k
[note | fixed my writing. pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned
You stood on the balcony of your chambers, overlooking the bustling city below. The cool breeze tugged at your silver hair, a stark contrast to the warmth that seemed to radiate from within her. You were lost in thought when you heard the soft footsteps behind you.
"Your grace," came a familiar voice, deep and smooth, sending a shiver down her spine.
You turned to see Gwayne Hightower standing at the entrance to her chambers. The son of the former Hand of the King, he was tall and broad-shouldered, his green eyes intense as they met hers. There was a tension between you, an unspoken desire that had been growing with each stolen glance and whispered conversation.
"Ser Gwayne," you replied, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. "To what do I owe this visit?"
He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving your. "I wished to speak with you. Away from prying eyes and listening ears."
Your heart quickened as he closed the distance between the two of you. You could feel the heat of his body, the scent of leather and steel mingling with something uniquely him. "And what is it you wish to speak about?"
His eyes darkened with an emotion you couldn't quite place. "You, I've thought of little else."
Before you could respond, Gwayne reached out, his hand cupping your cheek. The touch was gentle, but the fire in his eyes spoke of a deeper yearning. "Do you feel it too?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.
You nodded, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed over your lower lip. "I do."
The last vestiges of restraint crumbled as Gwayne leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and insistent. You melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, your mouths moving together in a dance of desire that left you both breathless.
Gwayne's hands roamed over your back, tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that made your heart race. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to catch his breath. "My princess," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Tell me to stop, and I will."
You shook your head, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Don't stop. Show me just how much you want me." you whispered, your voice trembling with need.
With a growl of hunger, Gwayne's lips found yours again, more urgent this time. He kissed his way down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips as he nipped and kissed his way to your collarbone. Your hands slid down to his shoulders, feeling the strength beneath the fabric of his tunic.
Gwayne's hands moved to your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the edge of the balcony railing. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer as his lips continued their journey down your body. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the two of them, lost in a sea of passion and longing.
His breath continued to get heavy. "I crave you, ___. Every kiss, every touch only makes me want you more." he whispered into your ear as he slightly tugged on your earlobe with his teeth.
His hands found the laces of your dress, pulling them lose with practiced ease. The dress now cascaded over your shoulders, exposing them to the moonlight. He paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of her before lowering his lips to your exposed skin. Each kiss sent a jolt of pleasure through you, building an inferno of desire that threatened to consume them both. Your fingers fumbled with the clasps of his tunic, your need to feel his skin against yours overwhelming.
Gwayne helped you, discarding the garment before pulling you into another searing kiss. Your bodies pressed together, the heat between you almost unbearable.
As your kisses grew more heated, Gwayne's hands moved lower, exploring every inch of you with such desire that it made your heart ache. You could feel his need for you, mirrored in your own desperate longing. The world outside was forgotten; there was only the two of them, their hearts and bodies entwined in a dance of passion that knew no bounds.
Gwayne trailed his fingering across your body, finally setting underneath your dress. He teased the spot in between your thighs, trying to gain a reaction for you. You were struggling to keep your face straight from showing any pleasure, you didn’t want anyone to hear. You grabbed a hold on his arm, leaning towards him. You took your free arm and wrapped it around his neck. “My beautiful girl” he lowly moaned against your ear as you kissed his neck.
“Are you trying to silence yourself?” He asked as he continued his trail of kisses down your neck. You was lost in please unable to think about what he said. You continued to ride his fingers trying to catch your release. However, once gwayne took noticed, he stopped. Whining against him, you pulled herself away. You both were now left heavily panting as they catched their breaths. The moonlight shined against his face, casting an everlasting light on him. He looked devilishly handsome. Gwayne leaned forward again, pushing his lips against you once again. The night had deepened, and the fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a warm glow over your entwined forms.
Lost in the depths of their passion, the two of you barely registered the sounds of the bustling keep around yourselves. It wasn't until you heard the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps approaching the chamber door that reality crashed back in.
Gwayne froze, his lips still pressed against your skin, as the footsteps grew louder. "Someone's coming," he whispered urgently, his breath hot against your ear.
Your eyes widened, the fog of desire lifting just enough for panic to set in. "Quick, hide," you whispered, your voice trembling with urgency.
Gwayne moved swiftly, grabbing his discarded tunic and slipping into the shadows behind a large tapestry that hung on the wall. You hurriedly adjusted your dress, smoothing the fabric and hastily tying the laces that Gwayne had so expertly undone moments before.
Just as you composed yourself, the door swung open, and a young servant girl entered, her eyes wide with worry.
"Your grace, I apologize for the intrusion," she began, her voice breathless. "Your father requests your presence in the council chamber immediately."
You forced a calm smile, though your heart was still racing. "Thank you, Ellyn. Inform my father I will be there shortly."
The servant girl nodded, her eyes flicking briefly to the scattered garments on the floor before she quickly retreated, closing the door behind her. The sound of her footsteps faded, leaving the room in tense silence.
Gwayne emerged from his hiding place, his expression a mix of relief and lingering desire. "That was close," he said, his voice low and laced with frustration.
You nodded, your cheeks flushed from more than just your earlier passion. "Too close," she agreed, stepping into his embrace once more.
"But we must be careful. We cannot afford to be discovered."
Gwayne cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching hers. "I know, ___. But it doesn't change how I feel about you. How much I need you."
You leaned into his touch, your heart aching with the intensity of your feelings.
"I feel the same way, Gwayne. More than you know." You shared a brief, tender kiss, a promise of what was to come. But the urgency of the council meeting weighed heavily on your mind.
With a reluctant sigh, you pulled back, straightening your dress once more. "I must go," you said softly.
Gwayne nodded, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment longer before he stepped back. "Be safe, my princess," he murmured.
You gave him one last, longing look before you left your chamber, your heart still racing from their close call. The night might have been interrupted, but your desire for each other burned brighter than ever, a flame that would not be easily extinguished.
banner by: @cafekitsune
#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#hotd season 2#house targaryen#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#gwayne hightower#gwayne smut#hotd smut#gwayne x reader#ser gwayne#gwayne x you#house hightower#kings landing#forbidden love
864 notes
·
View notes
Text
apt — fushiguro megumi.
Megumi looks down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, but his eyes darken, understanding the suggestion beneath your words. His hand slides up your back, his touch slow and deliberate, sending a trail of warmth along your spine. You catch his eye, the music thrumming around you, and lean in closer. "Don't you want me like I want you, baby?" you ask, your voice playful and teasing. You feel him tense slightly, not because he's unsure, but because this is new to him—the intensity, the openness of your affection. You’re out in the open, letting your feelings show, and you can tell he’s still adjusting to this.
GENRE: Alternate Universe — Canon Convergence;
WARNING/s: AFAB!, Fluff, Romance, Aged Up! Megumi (he and reader are 20), Pet Names (Baby, Babe, Sweetie), Clubbing, Kissing, Making Out, Humor, Flirting, Teasing, Mention of Sexual Want, Mention of Body Parts, Mention of Sensual Touching, Depiction of Clubbing Experience, Depiction of Sensual Touching, Depiction of Kissing, Depiction of Making Out, Implied Sexual Content;
WORDS: 2.6k words.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: i like to think that megumi might end up dating his polar opposite. he's quiet and likes being a homebody and i really think that if he ends up, he'll end up with someone loud and someone who enjoys going out (cough cough thats itafushi kayu) and yes, i also think he's someone that loves and loves. he loves love. he's a wheezer fan. but anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3
masterlist
if you want to, tip! <3
IT’S VERY RARE FOR MEGUMI TO WANNA GO OUT CLUBBING. When you’d suggested going out dancing, you weren’t sure how Megumi would react. He wasn’t exactly the clubbing type—always so composed, preferring quiet nights and calm spaces.
But when you flashed him your best doe-eyed look, teasing him with a playful smile, he couldn’t resist. It only took a moment for his resolve to waver, and before you knew it, the two of you were stepping into the pulsating energy of the club.
Now, as the music thumps loudly around you, lights flashing and casting shifting shadows across his face, you can’t help but be surprised by how relaxed he seems. His usual guarded exterior has softened, the hard edges of his stoic demeanor blurring in the haze of the neon glow.
He’s not as stiff or reserved as you’d expected; instead, he moves with you, his body attuned to yours as if the two of you have been doing this for years. The way you click—it’s undeniable, as if something magnetic has pulled you closer tonight.
You dance together in sync, the beat of the music reverberating in your chest. Every brush of your skin against his sends sparks of electricity through you. Megumi might not be as expressive with words, but the way he watches you now, his eyes following your every move, speaks volumes. There’s an intensity in his gaze, a quiet confidence that contrasts with the chaos around you, making your heart race even faster.
The rhythm carries you both, your bodies swaying together effortlessly, almost as if you’re the only two people in the room. The connection between you feels palpable tonight—charged and electric, as if the energy in the club has amplified the pull between you. It’s like the world outside these four walls has faded away, leaving only the two of you in the dim, flashing lights, lost in each other.
Megumi’s hands rest on your waist, steady and strong, guiding you closer to him. You lean into him, your lips brushing his ear as you speak over the music. "You’re enjoying this more than you thought, aren’t you?" you tease, grinning when you feel him tense slightly.
He chuckles, a sound so rare and low that it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. "Maybe." he admits, his voice soft but unmistakably sincere. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you even closer as the beat of the music pulses around you, almost syncing with the rhythm of your racing heart.
You turn your face towards his, close enough that you can feel his breath against your skin. There’s a moment where everything slows down, despite the chaos of the club around you, and you realize just how much you’ve wanted this closeness. Not just the dancing, but being with him like this—feeling the weight of his presence, the quiet strength in the way he holds you.
"Apartment, apartment." you sing softly into his ear, mimicking the lyrics of the song playing in the background, but with an unmistakable undertone.
It’s a playful invitation, laced with flirtation, but also something more. You don’t want this night to end with just dancing.
Megumi looks down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, but his eyes darken, understanding the suggestion beneath your words. His hand slides up your back, his touch slow and deliberate, sending a trail of warmth along your spine.
You catch his eye, the music thrumming around you, and lean in closer. "Don't you want me like I want you, baby?" you ask, your voice playful and teasing.
You feel him tense slightly, not because he's unsure, but because this is new to him—the intensity, the openness of your affection. You’re out in the open, letting your feelings show, and you can tell he’s still adjusting to this.
As you sway together, your bodies in sync with the rhythm, you press your lips close to his ear. "Apartment, apartment." you hum, mimicking the song playing in the background. There's an invitation hidden in your words, the way you sing it softly into his ear like a secret only for him.
You pull back slightly to see his reaction, his eyes dark with something that makes your heart race. His usual calm exterior cracks just a bit, revealing a hint of amusement in his smirk. He knows what you’re asking. You’ve both been having a great time, but there’s an unspoken tension lingering between you, something that can only be released away from the crowd, in the privacy of your apartment.
“Kissy face, kissy face.” you remind him, thinking back to the flirtatious texts you sent before meeting up tonight. The playful hearts, the suggestive emojis—they all led up to this moment. “Sent to your phone, but I’m tryna kiss your lips for real.”
Megumi doesn’t say much, you know how your boyfriend is. He’s always been the quiet type—but the way his gaze locks onto yours tells you everything. His hand tightens around yours just slightly, as if he’s made his decision. He leans in, his voice low and just for you.
“Yeah.” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Let’s go, sweetie.”
Without another word, you take his hand and lead him through the packed club, weaving through people who seem oblivious to the magnetic pull between the two of you. The cool night air hits you as you step outside, a refreshing contrast to the heat inside. Your heart races, excitement buzzing under your skin as you both walk toward your apartment.
"Apartment, apartment." you sing softly again, the words echoing playfully between you. Megumi chuckles, something rare but beautiful, shaking his head at your antics. But there’s a warmth in his eyes that tells you he’s looking forward to whatever comes next.
As you reach your apartment door, there’s a shared anticipation, a quiet understanding of what’s about to happen. You unlock the door and step inside, immediately feeling the contrast between the lively, loud club and the intimate, quiet space of your home. The city lights outside cast a soft glow into the room, but everything else feels like it’s just the two of you.
"Turn this apartment into a club." you say with a grin, referencing the lyrics of the song still stuck in your head. Megumi just shakes his head again, but his eyes glint with something more mischievous.
You hit play on the stereo, and the familiar beat from the club fills the apartment, but it feels different here together. This was more personal, more intimate. There’s no one else, just you and him, swaying in the soft glow of the room. You twirl around him, pulling him closer, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair.
As the music fills the space between you, you lean in again. "Don't you need me like I need you now?" you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear.
His hands settle on your waist, pulling you in closer, his voice barely above a murmur. "I do, sweetie."
As the music pulses softly in the background, the intimacy between you and Megumi thickens in the air. Your bodies are already so close, the rhythm of your movements syncing naturally, but there's a shift—a deeper pull. His hands, resting on your waist, slide lower, fingers tightening slightly, as if he’s anchoring himself in the moment.
You lean back just enough to catch his gaze, eyes meeting him in the dim light of your apartment. There’s something smoldering there, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.
You’ve both been dancing around this tension all night, but now it feels impossible to ignore. You feel bold, more playful, and you let your hand trail up from his chest to his neck, brushing the side of his jaw with your fingertips.
"Don’t you want me like I want you, baby?" you whisper again, voice low and teasing. It’s the same question you’ve asked before, but this time, it’s loaded with more than just a flirty tone. You lean in closer, lips brushing just the edge of his, a featherlight tease that leaves both of you on edge.
Megumi’s breath hitches, his usual calm exterior cracking just a little. He doesn’t respond with words this time. Instead, he closes the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours with a sudden intensity that takes your breath away. The kiss is hot, urgent—like he’s been holding back for too long and can’t anymore.
His hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepens, your lips moving in perfect sync, hungry for more. You respond with just as much intensity, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you can’t get enough. His mouth moves with a confidence that sends heat coursing through your body, and you melt into him, giving in to the passion building between you.
You gasp slightly as he nips at your bottom lip, his hands sliding up your back, pressing you even closer. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and begins. The heat between you is overwhelming, but you don’t want it to stop. The kiss grows deeper, more desperate, as if neither of you can get close enough, fast enough.
His hands roam over your body, exploring, as yours do the same—tracing the lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Every touch feels like it ignites a fire, the air between you charged with tension that has finally snapped. You pull back for just a moment, both of you breathless, your lips swollen from the heat of the kiss.
You look up at him, eyes wide with desire, and he’s looking back at you with the same intensity. His usual composed, reserved expression is long gone, replaced by something darker, more primal. Without saying a word, he leans down and captures your lips again, this time rougher, hungrier, and you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth.
Your back hits the wall as he presses you against it, his body flush against yours, his hands now gripping your thighs as he lifts you slightly, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist. You do, pulling him even closer, deepening the kiss as your fingers grip the back of his neck, holding on tightly as if the world outside your apartment has ceased to exist.
His lips leave yours, trailing hot kisses down your jawline, to your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin in a way that makes your head spin. Each kiss sends a shiver down your spine, and you tilt your head back, giving him full access as you let out a breathy sigh. His lips are relentless, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, while his hands continue their journey over your body, setting every nerve on fire.
You pull him back to your lips, capturing him in another searing kiss, your bodies moving together in perfect, heated rhythm. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just raw, unfiltered desire, consuming both of you.
You don’t even notice how long it’s been, how far you’ve let yourselves get lost in each other, but you don’t care. All you know is that you want more.
And from the way Fushiguro Megumi's hands tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer, you can tell he feels the same.
The heat between you both only intensifies, each kiss growing deeper, more desperate as Megumi presses you harder against the wall. The air is thick with tension, each movement, each touch, fueling the fire that's been simmering all night. His lips leave yours again, but only to trail down your neck, sucking gently at your pulse point, making your breath hitch as your body responds instantly to his touch.
You let out a soft moan, feeling the way his hands roam up and down your sides, gripping you with possessive urgency. Every part of you is attuned to him—the feel of his body pressed tightly against yours, the way his fingers trace along your skin, igniting sparks everywhere he touches. Your legs stay wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, craving the connection, the closeness that’s becoming overwhelming.
"You're driving me crazy, baby." you breathe against his ear, your lips grazing the skin just beneath it, and you feel him shudder in response. His usual restraint is gone, replaced by a hunger that matches your own.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, half-lidded with desire. There’s something so intense about the way he looks at you now, as if he’s seeing you in a way no one else ever has.
It makes your heart race even faster, your body craving every bit of him. He leans in again, this time slower, but no less passionate, his lips meeting yours in a deep, heated kiss that feels like it's pulling you under.
His hands slide under your shirt, fingers brushing against bare skin, and you gasp at the contact, the coolness of his touch contrasting with the heat spreading through your body. Your own hands roam freely, tugging at his shirt, wanting to feel him, to be closer. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, and you can't get enough.
Suddenly, Megumi pulls you away from the wall and carries you toward the couch, the movement swift and smooth, as if he’s completely lost in the moment. He lowers you into it, his body pressing down on yours, his lips never leaving yours as you sink into the cushions together. The weight of him above you feels perfect, grounding you while also heightening the intensity of every kiss, every touch.
His mouth moves from yours to your collarbone, his kisses turning into soft bites that make you arch against him, every nerve in your body alive with sensation. You feel his breath hot against your skin as he whispers your name, his voice low and rough, sending a fresh wave of heat through you.
Your hands thread through his hair, tugging him closer, needing more of him as his mouth explores every inch of exposed skin. You tilt your head back, giving in to the sensation, your mind spinning with the sheer intensity of it all.
"Don’t stop, babe, oh—" you whisper, your voice breathless, and he responds by kissing you harder, his body pressing more insistently against yours. You can feel the tension building, the desire between you reaching a fever pitch as you lose yourselves completely in each other.
Megumi’s hands are everywhere and you loved that. You liked being consumed by him. On your waist, sliding up your back, holding you closer as if he can’t get enough of you. His kisses are hot, urgent, and you meet his intensity with your own, pulling him closer, your bodies moving in perfect, heated rhythm.
Every moment feels like a blur of passion—his lips, his hands, the way he touches you like you’re the only thing that matters in this moment. Time seems to slow down, the world outside fading away, until it’s just the two of you, tangled together, lost in the heat of the moment.
There’s a pause, just a brief one, where he pulls back slightly, his breathing heavy, and his eyes lock onto yours. His gaze is dark, filled with raw need, and it sends a shiver through you. Without a word, he leans in again, capturing your lips in another hot, searing kiss, as if he’s silently telling you there’s no going back now. And you don’t want to.
Everything about this moment feels perfect—electric, intense, and real. The way he touches you, the way he kisses you, it’s all-consuming, and you give yourself over to it completely, lettin’ the night take you wherever it leads, knowing that with him, this connection, this fire, is only just beginning.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#fushiguro megumi x you#fushiguro megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro x you#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi x y/n#megumi x you#megumi x reader#fushiguro x you#fushiguro x reader#fushiguro x y/n#fushiguro megumi#jjk fushiguro megumi#jujutsu megumi#jujutsu kaisen megumi#megumi fushiguro#jjk megumi#fushiguro#jjk fic#jjk fluff#megumi fluff#jjk megumi fushiguro#kayu writes ! ! !
375 notes
·
View notes
Text
the sweetest dream
pairing || Miguel O’Hara x f!Reader
word count || 1.5k
summary || Miguel comes home to find you sleeping peacefully on the couch. He can’t help himself.
content || SMUT, somnophilia, oral (miguel eats that 🐱 while ur sleeping), rough needy sex, creampie, Miguel is pussy whipped!!!
a/n || saw ATSV twice just for this man
Miguel Masterlist | Masterlist
It’s late when Miguel finally walks through the front door - later than usual. Nothing quite went to plan today. A series of fuck ups left him scouring an alien world for an anomaly that should have been a quick and easy grab. Hours later, he stalks into his apartment with leftover adrenaline still boiling just beneath the surface. The sight of you sprawled out on the couch is the only thing that keeps him from slamming the door behind him.
You must have fallen asleep trying to wait up for him. It eases some of that tension that still plagues him. A sigh heaves through him as he drinks in the image you make. It would make him smile if he wasn’t still so tense. You look so peaceful and soft, only wearing a tank top and panties that leave so much bare skin exposed to his hungry gaze. He missed you. All day, throughout all of the bullshit, all he could do was think about how much easier it would be if you were by his side. His partner in all things.
Miguel’s fingers trail over the curve of your hip contemplatively. He knows he should just carry you to bed, wrap himself around you, and let you both get some rest. He knows that. But the temptation of your body, so soft and sleepy and pliable… he doesn’t know how to resist. His fingertips glide up your inner thigh and you sigh softly, your legs spreading for him almost on instinct.
“Fuck, baby…” Miguel murmurs in a low, aching tone. He braces one knee on the cushion and flattens his hands on each of your thighs, eagerly spreading you further to satiate his growing greed. A broken sound leaves him at the darkened spot on your underwear. He can’t stop himself from rubbing you through the soft cotton and watching that wet spot grow. “Dreamin’ about me, aren’t you?”
You make another soft, sleepy sound that sends arousal pulsing through him. He’s careful as he tugs your underwear down and discards them on the floor. He doesn’t want you waking until you’re desperate enough to whine and tremble for him just how he likes. His fingers stroke your clit in slow circles, marveling at how wet you get from the simplest of his touches. Every little sound and shudder he draws from you melts that tension in his muscles a little more.
Miguel hovers over your prone body with a possessive, aching need to take, take, take. The tank top shreds with a simple swipe of his claw and he can’t help the shiver that rocks through him as he watches the cool air flush across your bare skin. He leans into the impulse and lets his suit disappear, his hand automatically wrapping around his leaking cock. He strokes himself in a loose fist - any more would be too much. He’s already on edge just from the sight of you. He trails sloppy kisses between your breasts, licking and sucking the familiar taste of your skin. Feeling you, tasting you - it calms the crazed beast that has been pacing like a caged animal in his mind all day. His fingers tweak your nipple and you shift, subtly pushing your chest into his touch before settling back down. So needy for him, even in sleep.
It drives him fucking crazy. Miguel shoves himself down the couch with little finesse, too desperate to bury his face between your thighs. A low growl emanates from his chest as he finally gets a taste of you - that addictive taste of sweat and woman that makes him insatiable. His tongue finds your clit with practiced ease, his eyes falling closed as he sucks that sensitive nub.
The sound of you gasping out his name in a sleep-roughened voice is the sweetest sound to ever grace his ears. His hands wrap around your thighs in a possessively tight grip as they begin to quiver. He watches through half-lidded eyes as you emerge from the last dregs of sleep and bloom with pleasure. Pride and love unfurl in his chest, a warm flush of affection that he can never seem to get enough from.
All that exists in this moment is you: your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips rolling into his face, your choked moan as he slips two thick fingers into you without warning. Every other universe, every threat to the canon - none of it fucking matters. Not when he’s got your perfect cunt soaking his face and fluttering around his fingers. This is when he would work you up nice and slow, drawing you so dangerously close to that edge before pulling you back from the precipice just to hear you beg. He would rest his chin on your belly and watch you beg for it with that cocky smirk on his face. But not tonight.
Miguel curls his fingers in time with the messy licking and sucking of his mouth. His free hand massages your thigh as you tremble beneath him. Just when you would expect him to slow down and ease up on you, his pace doubles. You inhale sharply and tighten your grip in his hair. Your sweet little murmurs of fuck, fuck, fuck, only encourage him. Slick clings to his face and runs down to his wrist in wet trails, and Miguel can’t stop himself from grinding his hips into the couch. Just seeing you like this, so close to falling apart for him, is enough to make him damn near come untouched.
You don’t need to say anything for him to know you’re close. Miguel has spent so much time with his hands on your body that he knows every inch by heart. Every swirl of his tongue and stroke of his fingers is perfectly designed to make you fall apart for him. He drags you over the edge with deliberate strokes of his tongue and fingers, and he revels in the moment that you finally break. He can’t imagine a better way to go than being suffocated by your thighs or drowned in your slick.
It isn’t until you push him away, shivering and a little overstimulated, that Miguel actually relents. He eases his fingers out of you and kisses his way up your body, paying special attention to all those little spots that make you yelp so adorably.
“Welcome home, I guess.” You tease in a sleep rough voice.
“Missed you.” He murmurs against your neck where he trails desperate, sloppy kisses. His hips rock into you, his cock rutting hard against your thigh. “Can I? Please, I just - fuck, I need you so bad, baby. Been thinkin’ about this pretty pussy all fuckin’ day…”
“Come on, pretty boy.” You nuzzle your face into his jaw. Finish what you started.”
Miguel takes the allowance and runs with it.
He threads his fingers through yours and pins your hand to the couch as he sinks into your soft, wet cunt. The last thread of his reason fractures at the feeling and his hips snap forward so hard you lurch up the couch. Before he can try to rein himself in, you level him with a look that ignites his very soul. Fire burns in your eyes, pure lust and desire that has your teeth gritting and your hips rolling to meet his. A look that dares him to take, to fuck you like he needs to. He’s never been one to step down from a challenge.
The pace he sets is devastating. Sweat slicks every inch where your bodies meet. His body is pressed so close to yours that he grinds against your clit with every thrust and he can tell how close you are to coming again. You curse him as his cock shoves against something deep and so impossibly good that it hurts. Miguel doesn’t relent. He isn’t much further behind and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t work another orgasm out of his girl before this is over. He shifts the angle of his hips just so and you convulse around the thick of his cock. Your nails dig into the thick muscle of his shoulder and you throw your head back with a broken cry.
His hips slam into you with every growled word: Good. Fucking. Girl. He buries almost painfully deep as pleasure snaps in his belly, molten and all-consuming in the heat of your cunt. Every pulse of his cock sees him melting a little bit more into you, his weight only supported by one teetering elbow braced in the cushion. His hips still jerk, forcing the cutest whimpers out of you. He chases after your sweet little sounds, tongue dipping into your mouth for the slightest taste of that honeyed pleasure. Your fingers thread in his soft curls The kiss is almost��� tender. As if he didn’t just fuck the absolute shit out of you.
You hum, a happy little rumble that almost sounds like purring. “Missed you too, Miggy.”
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x reader smut#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara fanfiction
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Stolen Moments 📸
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)
Summary: Y/N finds herself unable to resist capturing a rare, peaceful moment of Dean Winchester sleeping in a motel room. But when Dean wakes up and catches her in the act, what starts as an innocent photo op quickly turns into an intimate encounter.
Warnings: light smut, fluff, Dean being hot while he’s asleep (if I missed any lmk)
Y/N couldn’t help herself. Dean Winchester, the ever-tough hunter, was sprawled out on the motel bed, sound asleep. His usually furrowed brow was relaxed, lips slightly parted, and his broad chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The sight of him so vulnerable, so at peace, was a rare one, and Y/N felt a flutter in her chest that she couldn’t ignore.
She quietly picked up her phone, careful not to make any noise that might wake him. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the cracked blinds, casting soft shadows across Dean's face. The perfect light for a candid shot. Y/N brought her phone up, framing the image, and snapped a few photos. She moved slightly closer, wanting to capture the way his lashes brushed against his cheekbones and the stubble that darkened his jawline.
In her concentration, she didn’t notice the small twitch in Dean’s fingers, nor the way his breathing changed ever so slightly. As she leaned in for a closer shot, a low, gravelly voice broke the silence.
Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat as she looked up to find Dean’s piercing green eyes fluttered open and stared back at her, one brow arched in that classic Dean Winchester way. His lips curved into a lazy smirk, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.
“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?”
“I, uh…” She fumbled for words, trying to explain herself, but Dean just chuckled, the sound deep and warm.
“Could’ve just asked for a picture, you know,” he said, pushing himself up on one elbow. “But I gotta admit, it’s kinda cute you were sneakin’ around like that.”
Y/N bit her lip, her embarrassment quickly turning into something else as Dean’s gaze lingered on her, his smirk fading into something more serious. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her hand, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Come here,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost a command.
She didn’t hesitate. Y/N moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean’s hand slid up her arm, his touch gentle but firm as he pulled her towards him. She leaned in, her heart pounding in her chest, until their faces were just inches apart.
“You gonna keep takin’ pictures, or are you gonna give me something to remember?” Dean’s voice was a low rumble, and the way he was looking at her made her pulse quicken.
Y/N didn’t need any more encouragement. She closed the distance between them, her lips finding his in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative. But Dean’s response was immediate, his hand moving to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. The room seemed to fade away, the only thing she could focus on was the feel of his lips against hers, the way his stubble scratched her skin in the most intoxicating way.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them slightly breathless, Dean’s thumb brushed over her cheek, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Next time, you could always just ask for what you want, baby girl.”
She smiled, her earlier nerves completely gone. “And miss out on all the fun? I don’t think so.”
Dean chuckled again, pulling her down onto the bed beside him, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”
As they lay there, Dean’s fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin, Y/N realized just how much she enjoyed these quiet moments with him, the rare times when the world seemed to slow down, and it was just the two of them. And maybe, just maybe, she’d have to start sneaking more pictures of him when he wasn’t looking. After all, Dean Winchester was a sight worth capturing.
Authors Note:
Hope you enjoyed this story!
@deanwinchestersgirl8734 requested this and I thought it was such a cute idea! Feel free to let me know what you think! I always love reading feedback!
Like & follow for more !! Xoxo
Want to read more? Check out my other stories!
Master list 📝
Tag list
@kr804573 / @deanscherrypie420 / @reignsboy19 / @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx / @riah1606 / @deanwinchestersgirl8734 / @thoughtfullyfurryangel
If you would like to be added on my Taglist for stories please send me a message
#supernatural#jensen ackles#dean winchester#supernatural family#supernatural fandom#supernatural fan account#fanfiction#supernatural edits#supernatural fanfiction#deanedit#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fanfiction#dean x reader#dean winchester reader insert
690 notes
·
View notes
Text
Knee Socks
matthew sturniolo x reader
Summary: When Matt sees y/n in her Knee socks, he just can't resist her.
Warnings: Smut, Cursing, Edging, Giving head, I think that's it.
A/n: I know, I know, I do love Arctic Monkeys songs, but LISTEN TO IT!!
I sigh, frustrated.
The rain pelts against the windshield, blurring the streetlights into smudged streaks of light. Frustration churns in my gut as I grip the steering wheel tighter.
I left work early, unable to focus on anything but one thing: the picture she sent me while I was stuck in the office.
The image burns in my mind, fueling a growing ache towards my erection.
With each passing mile, my boner grows steadily, pressing uncomfortably against my pants.
I shift in my seat, trying to alleviate the tension, but all I can think about is the picture, hovering around in my thoughts, driving me wild with desire.
Finally, I pull into the driveway of my darkened house. Rain pounds against the roof of the car as I sit there for a moment, collecting my thoughts.
With a frustrated grunt, I slam the car door shut and trudge towards the front door.
To my surprise, the lights are still on inside, casting a warm glow through the windows.
You got the lights on in the afternoon,
I check my watch as I reach for the doorknob. Minutes before midnight. Despite the late hour, my heart quickens with anticipation as I step inside.
And the nights are drawn out long.
The familiar scent of her perfume fills the air, sending a shiver down my spine. I kick off my shoes and make my way through the dimly lit hallway, my pulse quickening with each step.
As I glance around the corner, my gaze is met with hers.
She was sitting in the corner, a sly smirk across her face, my sky blue lacoste t-shirt too big for her over her knee socks.
I just wanted to bend her over the counter, and fuck her, there and then, in her knee socks.
"Hey, baby." She says, biting her lower lip, making my head spin.
"Did you get those pictures?" She asked, batting her eyelashes up at me, a seemingly innocent question, but it was far from.
And you were sittin' in the corner with the coats all piled high,
And I thought you might be mine.
Ignoring her question, I begin unbuttoning my belt instead.
She lifts her arms up ever so slightly, caressing my face, causing the shirt she was wearing to ride up intentionally, exposing her thighs, which were only barely covered by the knee socks she was wearing.
In a small world, on an exceptionally rainy Tuesday night,
In the right place and time.
"Strip." I demand, my desire growing, minute by minute.
As she obeyed, slowly stripping, I couldn't help but pause and admire her semi-naked state as she began to slide my top off, leaving her in her matching set paired with her knee socks that made me weak in the knees.
I pulled my shirt off, determined to get what I wanted, and now. As she goes to take her knee socks off, I stop her, smirking lightly, "Keep them on."
She looks up at me with a sultry smile, her cheeks lined with a tinge of pink, "Wanna fuck me in them?" She asks, her freshly manicured nails creeping up my neck, making me shiver.
I bite my tongue, hard.
I didn't know how long I could maintain my composure before I ripped all of her clothes off and fucked her over the counter.
My eyelids flutter shut as she reaches upwards, tracing my jawline with her fingernails.
"Do you want to fuck me in them, Matthew?" She repeats, this time insistent.
When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste, And your knee socks.
"Fuck yeah, I do." I reply, licking my lips.
I let my trousers fall to my feet, and I step out of them, the growing tent in my pants painfully obvious.
Without looking up, I feel her grasp my jaw, smashing her lips onto mine. Although surprised, I don't hesitate to kiss back as I grip her hips tightly, backing into the wall.
The rain pounded against the window panes as our lips met in desire and lust, my erection growing with every minute.
I press her against the wall as I find her tongue prodding at my bottom lip. I take advantage, my tongue fighting for dominance, easily winning.
Groaning into the kiss, I feel her hands tangle in my brown curls, but then I remember that she needed a punishment.
I pull away suddenly, yanking her panties down, directing her to the counter, before she even has time to react.
"Bend over, Princess," I demand roughly.
She lets out a small shriek as I roughly push her against the cold kitchen counter, her naked lower half pressed against it.
I slap her ass harshly before yanking down my boxers, my dick springing out, the tip red and covered with pre-cum.
Without warning, I plunge my cock into her walls, she lets out a gasp, arching her back against my cock.
I grab her hips and pound roughly into her, one hand grasping her hair, holding her head up to whisper into her ear, "Not so brave now, are you?"
As I let go of her head, her head lolls back down, trying to reply, but failing, her words gibberish as I fuck her senseless.
I throw my own head back in pleasure, seeing stars from how her pussy clenched against my cock, how it was so perfect, how she could make me so hard just by thinking of her.
I bring my hands up to her white lace bra, and unclasp it expertly before bringing her tits into my hands, slowly massaging her nipples, in contrast to how fast I was pounding into her velvet walls.
"Don't stop," She whimpers, her legs trembling, and her chest heaving with sobs as I frantically hit her G-spot several times, cupping her breasts, making her moan weakly against me.
"You like that?" I tease, bringing my lips back down to her ear, only to be met with breathy moans from her parted lips.
"Shit, shit, shit..." She curses several times, her legs trembling as I mercilessly tighten my grip on her hips, plunging impossibly deeper into her, grazing her sweet spot, making her arch her back, moaning uncontrollably.
"Just like that..." She whimpers breathlessly, her back arching further as her lewd sounds power me to go on.
"Fuck, I'm almost there." I screwed my eyes shut, chasing my orgasm, and feeling her pussy clench tighter and tighter, I knew she was, too.
Then, a mischievous thought appeared in my head, a smirk forming on my face as I opened my eyes, a plan forming in my head.
I was going to edge her.
I let myself release into her, gasping as I shot my load into her throbbing pussy.
"Matt, fuck!" She cries out, her hips bucking up to mine needily.
Suddenly, just as she was about to come, I pull out harshly, pumping my cock, still in pleasure.
"The fuck?-" She whispered, confused, her voice nearly inaudible as she turned to face me, her elbows steadying her on the counter, cum steadily dripping from her.
I just smirk at her, not feeling sorry one bit, "On your knees, Sweetheart."
"But-" She starts before I interrupt her, bringing a finger to her red lips.
"I promise you'll get your time. Just after your punishment." I lick my lips, not hearing her protests, determined to get at least one more orgasm.
"Matty, please. I really need to come." She pouts, tilting her head to the side, in attempts to try to sway my decision.
"Sorry baby. After all, you were naughty. Sending me pictures at work, what did you think would happen, hm?" I reply, tilting her head up with my fingers to look at me, grazing her parted lips with my thumb.
"-It's not fair!" She exclaims, but as sees my face, she goes silent, getting on her knees, looking up at me with her wide doe eyes, making me go hard again.
"I'll make you come extra hard tonight, darling." She considers this for a moment, then upon realising she has no choice, she opens her mouth, sticking her tongue out as I lower my cock into her mouth slowly.
I feel her lick the base of my cock, and my eyes flutter shut as she takes it completely into her mouth, swiftly jerking off what she can't fit in her mouth.
I grasp her hair into a makeshift ponytail, forcing her mouth onto my cock.
"Fuck." I groan, bucking up my hips to her mouth as she quickens her pace, my dick hitting the back of her throat multiple times, making her gag.
She begins to bob her head up and down, throwing me back onto cloud 9, my head tossed back in ecstasy.
"So good for me baby-" I whisper, barely able to talk, from the way she can take me like this.
She hums in response, the vibrations from her voice making me even closer to my orgasm than before.
I grasp her hair tighter, navigating her on my cock, but my grip loosens as I feel my climax arriving, faster than expected.
"I'm gonna..." But before I can finish my sentence, I feel myself come into her mouth once again, and I groan in pleasure as she swallows every last drop.
I slowly pull out, wiping the corner of her mouth with the base of my thumb, and massaging her head with my hands.
I take her hands, helping her up, planting a kiss on her forehead.
"Such a good girl." I praise, gently lifting her up by her ass and settling her down on the couch.
"Mhm" She hums, her fucked out expression telling me she wasn't ready for Round 3.
Yet.
#matt sturniolo#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#tumblr fyp#matt sturniolo x reader#smut#sturniolo#spotify#chris sturniolo#fluff#nick sturniolo#matthew bernard sturniolo#oneshot#angst#masterlist#drabble#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#matthew sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#x reader#boyfriend#knee socks#arctic monkeys#fypage#smutty fanfiction#female reader#fem reader
701 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sweet Like Honey | Simon Riley x Reader
A honey trap��such a sterile phrase his superiors used, as if it could sanitize the rot festering in his conscience. Unethical? Yes; but that single syllable barely scratched the surface of his transgression. They needed information, they said, and Simon—God help him—had orchestrated every tender moment, every breathless laugh, every trembling touch with surgical precision. His superiors, those faceless men in their stark offices, had pushed the proposal forward; they wanted him closer to her father, that suspected architect of labyrinthine offshore accounts.
He remembers that exact moment. Her eyes had sparkled with tears of joy when he dropped to one knee—tears that now haunted his dreams, crystalline drops of his betrayal. In quiet moments, when she lay sleeping beside him, her trust radiating like warmth against his skin, the question would claw at his throat: When she discovers the truth—not if, but when—will those same tears fall in rivers of rage? Will her love calcify into hatred, sharp enough to pierce the armor he'd built around his guilt?
"Three years of marriage." Her words floated like seafoam in the Mykonos twilight; wine-hazed eyes drinking in the pastel sky as if it were a gift he'd arranged specially for their anniversary.
Simon's jaw tightened—a muscle working beneath the skin—as waves lapped at their bare feet with metronome precision. The word 'marriage' sat like bile in his throat; every anniversary a fresh reminder of his calculated lies. He fixed his gaze on the bleeding horizon—anywhere but at her—letting the salt wind strip away the taste of guilt that had become his constant companion.
"Yeah... three bloody years." The words scraped past his lips, his British accent thick and coarse as Mediterranean sand. A bitter laugh threatened to escape—three years of this charade, three years of her soft touches that felt like brands against his skin. "Can't believe it's been that long."
She reached for his hand; he let her take it.
"I'm so happy you married me..." Her words hung in the salt air—fragile as soap bubbles, painful in their innocence. Those eyes, sparkling with a love he could never return, cut deeper than any interrogation he'd endured in the field.
Simon's muscles coiled beneath his skin; her declaration struck like a precisely aimed blade. His jaw worked silently—grinding truth to dust—as guilt wrapped its familiar fingers around his throat. The sensation lasted only moments before training kicked in; sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford. He had a job to do—always the job.
"Yeah..." The word emerged like gravel. His expression hardened into the mask he'd worn for three years. "Me too."
A heartbeat of hesitation—then, striving for conviction: "It was the right thing to do..."
She wound herself around his arm like morning glory seeking sunlight. "Do you love me?" The question dripped with need for reassurance; every syllable another weight added to the anchor of his deception.
A muscle betrayed him—twitching in his jaw like Morse code airing out his lies.
"Course I do..." The words tasted of ashes as he forced himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes—God, those trusting eyes—gleamed up at him like searchlights through his carefully constructed shadows, sending fresh waves of guilt crashing against his ribs.
Mission parameters flashed through his mind like a lifeline: just a mission, a means to an end—nothing more. Clinical words that did nothing to dull the edge of her next question.
"Have I made you happy?"
The question hung between them like a loaded gun; he wondered which of them it would wound more deeply.
Simon's jaw ticked—a mechanical tell he couldn't control—as her voice spilled sweetness and light into the darkening air. His fists clenched; knuckles white with the effort of containing truths that would shatter her world.
"Yeah... you have." The words scraped past gritted teeth; his tone harsh enough to wound—though whether himself or her, he wasn't certain.
He forced himself to look at her—God help him—and found trust swimming in those eyes; love so pure it sent guilt cascading through his veins like ice water. Training kicked in like muscle memory: compartmentalize, distance, remember the mission parameters. This was all theater—a carefully orchestrated performance where he played the doting husband.
"If I make you uncomfortable or unhappy—" her voice trembled with an eagerness that flayed him alive—"tell me what to do and I'll change whatever it is you don't like about me."
Simon's shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her devotion; each word of self-doubt another stone added to the cairn of his shame. Her willingness to reshape herself for a man who didn't exist—it was obscene in its innocence.
"You don't need to change anything." His voice emerged gruff, carefully modulated to hide the storm beneath. "You're perfect the way you are." Perfect—and that made it infinitely worse.
As they walked further along the shore, his boss's voice slithered through his memory like an oil slick: "Give her a baby, Riley. Solidify that you're a family man to her and her family... that'll make them trust you more..."
The waves crashed against the shore; Simon wondered if they could wash away the taste of bile rising in his throat. A baby—the ultimate collateral damage in this game of shadows and lies. His handler's words echoed like bullets in an empty chamber; each one designed to kill whatever conscience he had left.
Simon's gut twisted into knots as his handler's words burrowed deeper—parasitic thoughts breeding shame. Using her love, her body, their marriage had been one thing; but this—creating life as a prop in their charade—made bile rise bitter in his throat.
He swallowed against the acid guilt. "Baby..." The endearment scraped past his lips like broken glass; his voice rough with self-loathing. "I need to talk to you about something."
"Yeah, baby?" Her response came wrapped in a smile—always that damned smile on her gorgeous face; each curve of her lips another twist of the knife he'd planted in his own conscience.
Simon guided her toward a secluded stretch of beach—away from witnesses to his latest betrayal. His muscles coiled tight as she called him 'baby'; the war in his mind reached fever pitch—duty and disgust grappling in the shadows of his skull. Professional distance crumbled beneath the weight of what he was about to propose.
He drew in a breath that tasted of salt and lies; tried to fortify himself against the magnitude of this new deception. Speaking had never been his strong suit—now words felt like weapons turned inward.
"...I've been thinking about something." His voice dropped low; serious—as if gravity itself could lend legitimacy to this fresh hell.
"I've been thinking..." Another breath—sharp enough to cut—"that maybe we should start trying for a baby..."
The words fell like stones into the space between them; he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. Instead, his gaze fixed on the sand—watching darkness creep across it like the stain he felt spreading through his soul. This was more than a mission parameter now; this was crossing a line he hadn't known existed until he stood at its edge—about to take a step that could never be untaken.
Her eyes widened—galaxies of hope expanding in those innocent depths.
The squeal that erupted from her lips pierced the evening air: "Yes! Yes!"
Simon's face contracted like a wound being stitched; her unbridled joy a fresh kind of torture. The guilt gnawed at his bones—a familiar parasite he'd learned to live with—but he buried it beneath layers of practiced indifference. Just the job, just the bloody job.
"Yeah... yeah..." The words tasted of ash in his mouth as he attempted enthusiasm—a poor actor playing at happiness. "I thought it was time." Time for what? Another layer of betrayal; another innocent drawn into his lies?
Her face glowed with such pure delight—Christ, if she only knew the truth behind his proposal, would that radiance transform into something that could burn him alive?
"I'm so happy... I'm so happy..." She bounced on her toes like an excited child; her eyes swimming with naked affection as she gazed up at him. "Can we try tonight?"
The question hit him like a body blow—air evacuating his lungs in a silent gasp. His jaw clenched; muscle memory of contained revulsion. "Tonight?" His voice emerged rough as sandpaper. "Uhh... tonight?"
The speed of her agreement caught him off-guard; reality crashed over him like a cold wave. The physical act loomed before him—another performance in his repertoire of deception. But sex is sex—a mantra he'd repeated through three years of marriage; a thin comfort that grew thinner with each repetition.
"Sure baby... sure." The agreement slipped past his defenses before he could stop it.
Sex is still sex—the lie tasted bitter this time.
"Yeah... alright... tonight." Each word dragged like shrapnel from a wound.
Simon forced the syllables past the knot of self-loathing in his gut. Conflict churned inside him—desire warring with disgust, duty grappling with decency. But there was no extraction plan for this mission; no way to abort without destroying everything.
He drew in a breath that felt sharp as glass. "We'll head back to the room then, yeah?"
His extended hand seemed to belong to someone else—a stranger playing at being a loving husband. His mind raced through a labyrinth of regrets; each thought a new dead end. The fraud of it all pressed against his chest—this performance of love, this pantomime of family planning.
"Come on." The words scraped past his lips, gruff with barely contained turmoil. "Let's go."
Each step toward their room felt like moving through quicksand—every movement drawing him deeper into a lie he might never escape.
That evening, as she lay beneath him—trusting, eager, loving—his guilt manifested in the most primal betrayal of all. The little blue pill dissolved on his tongue earlier was his shameful secret; another lie to add to his collection. His body rebelled against his deception—even chemistry couldn't fully overcome the weight of his conscience.
It should have been paradise, shouldn't it? Being buried in the warm sanctuary of her body—her beauty undeniable, her desire genuine. But paradise, he'd learned, couldn't be built on foundations of sand and shadows. Each tender touch felt like judgment; each passionate kiss a sentence passed. His pleasure came tainted with self-loathing—mechanical responses to artificial stimulation.
The truth burned in his throat like acid: he couldn't maintain arousal—not with guilt wrapped around his throat like a garrote; not with his handler's voice echoing in his mind. This secret he'd take to his grave—another shard of shame embedded too deep to ever extract. The warmth of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; heaven transformed into a special kind of hell, designed just for him.
She lay beneath him—all warmth and trust and love—while his heart turned to ice in his chest. The dim light caught the gold of her wedding ring; it flickered like an accusation with every movement. His own ring felt like a brand against his skin, burning with each tender touch she offered.
The chemistry coursed through his veins—artificial desire fighting against the tide of his guilt. Her fingers traced patterns of affection across his shoulders; each caress felt like judgment carved into his flesh. Paradise turned to purgatory; pleasure transformed into punishment.
"I love you," she whispered against his neck—words that should have been salvation became damnation instead.
His body responded while his mind recoiled; training and tablets working in tandem to maintain this cruelest deception. She arched beneath him—so trusting, so eager to create life with a man who was more shadow than substance. Her skin flushed with genuine desire; his grew cold with calculated performance.
The sounds she made—soft sighs of pleasure, whispered endearments—echoed in his skull like accusations. Each thrust felt mechanical; each kiss a fresh betrayal. His handler's voice mingled with her moans: "family man... make them trust you more..." Until he couldn't tell where the mission ended and the madness began.
Her hands cupped his face—so gentle, so loving—and he wanted to weep at the cruel irony. Here she was, trying to create life with a man who died a little more with each tender touch. The heat of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; intimacy perverted into intelligence gathering.
He buried his face in her neck—not from passion, but to hide the war raging behind his eyes. She mistook his shuddering for pleasure; it was revulsion at himself. Even as his body chased its chemical conclusion, his mind splintered into fragments of guilt and duty and shame—pieces too sharp to ever fit back together.
Mediterranean sunlight crept through the curtains like liquid gold.
"Did you have fun?" Her question floated up from the tangled sheets; innocent as morning dew.
Guilt lanced through him—sharp and familiar now. Her eagerness to please him felt like needles under his skin; every effort she made to earn love he couldn't give was another weight added to his conscience.
He forced out a grunt—another performance in his endless repertoire. "Yeah... yeah I did. You've gotten better." The words tasted of copper and shame.
"Why do you ask?" He aimed for casual; missed by miles—tension threading through his voice like steel wire.
"I just want to make sure I'm making you happy," she murmured against his chest, fingers tracing abstract patterns on his skin. "I read some articles about... you know... trying for a baby. Making it more likely to happen." A soft laugh escaped her—pure, unguarded. "I want to do everything right."
Her head rested on his shoulder—soft hair brushing his skin like whispered accusations. Any other man would thank whatever god they believed in for a woman like her; Simon could only hate himself more with each gentle breath she took.
He wrapped an arm around her—another act in this elaborate charade—pulling her closer even as his soul recoiled. The weight of her trust pressed against him harder than her body ever could. She felt like silk against his skin; he felt like sandpaper against hers—rough with deception, coarse with lies.
The urge to push her away clawed at his chest—to end this facade, to confess every sin he'd committed in the name of duty. But the mission bound him like chains forged from his own choices. His mind waged its endless war: duty versus decency, mission versus morality. An innocent woman lay in the crossfire, and he'd loaded every bullet himself.
Her warmth seeped into his side; he wondered if it would ever wash away the cold calculation that had become his core.
Simon slouched in the corner, half-hidden by a wall of pastel balloons and garlands, the sound of laughter and soft coos grating against him like nails on glass. She was radiant, glowing in that way all the books and articles had promised, a woman basking in the warmth of her impending motherhood. Friends and family surrounded her, hands touching her belly as though it held some sacred truth he could never understand. She laughed—a sweet, unguarded sound that should have brought him joy. Instead, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He couldn’t bring himself to join the celebration; every time he looked at her, every time she glanced over and smiled at him, something twisted deep in his gut—a sharp, relentless reminder that he was a fraud. She deserved a man who’d be a father in more than name alone, someone who’d be wrapped up in this new life with her, but all he could feel was the weight of his shame and pathetic self pressing down on him.
That evening, Simon spun a quick excuse for her—something about a problem at the office, a sudden emergency requiring his immediate attention. She barely questioned him, simply nodded with that gentle trust he’d come to dread. But his destination wasn’t the office; it was a dimly lit bar, a familiar back corner where his superior waited, nursing a drink and an expression Simon could only describe as smug satisfaction.
“So… successfully knocked an heiress up, eh?” The words rolled off his boss’s tongue as if they were discussing the weather.
Simon ground his teeth, feeling a spike of anger flare in his chest. “Yeah.” The response was clipped, his jaw clenched so tight he could barely force the words out. “I did what you asked.”
“Head over heels for you, is she?” His boss laughed, a low, contemptuous sound. “God, the poor thing.”
Each word felt like a blade twisting deeper. Yes, she loved him; she loved him with a sincerity he’d never known he could inspire. But the way his boss spoke of it—as if her affection was some cheap victory, as if her trust was a trophy to be tossed aside—made his blood run cold.
He balled his fists beneath the table, his knuckles turning white. “I know,” he said through gritted teeth, barely able to keep his voice steady.
“We didn’t think you’d pull it off this well.” The amusement in his boss’s voice was unmistakable. “We knew you could manipulate—use people; that’s what you do best, after all. But to get her so… blindly devoted? Impressive, even for you.”
Simon bit down hard, jaw aching as he fought to keep the bile from rising. He didn’t want to hear it; he didn’t want to hear about how flawlessly he’d betrayed her, how thoroughly he’d convinced her of a love that was nothing but smoke and mirrors.
“She trusts me,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel, hoping to deflect, to shut down this sickening praise.
His boss let out a chuckle, cold and mocking. “Just trust, is it? Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. But come on—no credit for yourself? I think you deserve a bonus for this one, Riley. You’ve put in the work, pulled all the strings. Hell, even I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Simon felt himself go still, every muscle in his body wound tight, like a coiled spring about to snap. The monster his boss saw in him—was that all he’d ever be? He forced himself to nod, his voice barely a murmur. “Yeah… sure. Send some extra cash my way if it makes you feel better.”
“Good,” his boss replied, that smug satisfaction radiating from him like poison. “I’m proud of you, Riley. You’ve secured an influential family, locked down the daughter. And soon enough, there’ll be a little Riley running around, further cementing our foothold.”
A wave of nausea rolled through him at that. His boss spoke as though this were just another operation, another mission ticked off the list. Not a woman’s life, not a child’s future—just another step in their endless game of leverage and control.
Simon gave a curt nod, jaw so tight it felt like it might shatter. He kept his silence, swallowing the urge to spit some scathing retort, to lash out and tear down every vile word his boss had spoken.
“Good,” his boss said again, with a finality that felt like chains tightening around Simon’s throat. “Keep it up… and, of course, gather all the intel you can on her father.”
Simon didn’t respond. He simply sat there, silent and still, the weight of his choices pressing down like iron shackles. The mission bound him—bound him tighter than any oath he’d ever sworn—and he couldn’t escape the feeling that, somewhere along the line, he’d traded his soul for it.
All photos sourced through Pinterest
Headers made by @rookthornesartistry
#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley fluff#simon riley angst#ghost fanfiction#ghost imagine#ghost cod smut#ghost cod imagine#ghost cod#cod angst#codau#cod au#cod smut#simon ghost riley x oc#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley angst#simon riley imagine#ghost simon riley#simon riley dubcon#simon riley
277 notes
·
View notes
Note
Reader having girlnight with her friends and coming home drunk. So Lewis takes care of her, pampering her and bring her to bed. Please make it fluff
Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!
-xoxo babygirl 💜
A Loving Night In
The night air was cool as Yn stepped out of the taxi, her heels clinking on the pavement as she staggered slightly, giggling. Her friends had insisted on making it a late night out, a girls' night filled with laughter, cocktails, and stories from the week. She had thoroughly enjoyed it, but now, as the alcohol buzzed through her veins, she realized how late it had gotten.
She fumbled for her keys, and after a few seconds of fumbling, finally managed to open the door. As she stepped inside, the warmth of the house hit her, and she sighed in relief. But just as she was about to close the door behind her, she heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway.
"Y/N?" a deep, calm voice called out from the darkened living room.
Her heart skipped a beat. Lewis.
"Baby?" she slurred, trying to focus her vision on his tall figure that was slowly stepping toward her, his expression a mixture of concern and fondness.
"Hey, you're home late," he said, his eyes scanning her for any signs of trouble. "Are you okay?"
She nodded vigorously, though her balance wasn't as steady. "I’m fine! Just... having fun with the girls!" She smiled, her words a little too loud for the quiet house. "You miss me?"
He chuckled softly, his eyes softening with affection. "Always." He stepped closer, taking her by the arms gently to steady her when she swayed.
"How much have you had to drink, hm?" he asked, his voice low and soothing, as he led her into the living room.
"Maybe a little too much..." she giggled, giving him a lopsided grin. "But they made me, Lew! You know how they are!"
He smiled softly, brushing her hair from her face. “I know,” he said, but his tone was gentle, his fingers touching her forehead, noting how warm she was. "Come on, let's get you settled, yeah?"
She sighed dramatically, leaning against him for support. "I’m so tired, Lew... you’re so nice... always taking care of me." She blinked up at him, smiling dazedly.
He laughed, his hands going to her shoulders. “That’s what I’m here for, love,” he murmured. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.”
Yn’s feet dragged as Lewis gently guided her toward the bathroom. She leaned her head against his arm, feeling the world spin just a little. “I can walk,” she insisted, though it was clear she could hardly stand straight.
“I’m not in a rush, baby,” he said softly, supporting her with his arm around her waist. “Just let me take care of you tonight.”
She nodded and followed him to the bathroom, leaning on him for support as he helped her sit on the edge of the tub. Lewis knelt in front of her, his hands tender as he carefully untangled the knots in her hair. “Alright, let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?”
Yn lifted her arms up, grinning like a child. “Are you gonna undress me, Lew?”
His face softened with love as he pulled the dress over her head, making sure she was comfortable. “I’m just helping you, love. You’ve had a long night.”
She giggled and gave him a playful shove. “You’re so sweet.”
He chuckled softly and helped her stand up, then helped her into the shower. The water ran hot as he adjusted the temperature, making sure it wasn’t too hot for her. “Alright, let’s get you clean, love,” he said, reaching for the body wash and lathering it between his hands.
Yn closed her eyes, letting the warm water hit her face, the scent of lavender filling the air. She leaned back against the tiles, letting out a soft sigh of relief. “Mmm… feels so good.”
Lewis took his time, being careful as he rubbed the body wash over her skin, his touch gentle and slow. “You always smell so good,” he murmured, rinsing the soap from her body.
"You're the best boyfriend in the world," she slurred, her eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his gaze.
“Only the best for you, babe,” he said, his lips curling into a soft smile. “I love you.”
“I love you too…” she mumbled, leaning her head back against the wall.
Once he was sure she was rinsed off and ready, he gently guided her out of the shower, wrapping her in a fluffy towel and helping her dry off. “Okay, time for bed now,” he said softly, drying her hair as she hummed in contentment.
“Will you sleep with me tonight?” she asked, a little too innocently.
“Of course I will,” Lewis chuckled, taking her hand as he led her to the bedroom.
He helped her into a soft oversized T-shirt of his that she loved to wear when she was at home. “There you go,” he said, smoothing out the fabric. “Comfy?”
“Mhm,” she nodded, her head already drooping as she climbed under the covers.
Lewis smiled as he tucked her in, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face. “Stay with me tonight, baby,” she whispered, her voice soft and drowsy.
“Always,” he replied, sitting down next to her on the bed. He reached over to the nightstand, pulling a glass of water and a plate with a small sandwich. “Here, you need to eat something, and drink some water.”
Yn blinked at the food for a moment before letting out a little giggle. “You’re really taking care of me, aren’t you?”
“Always,” Lewis repeated, his eyes warm as he handed her the sandwich. “You need to stay hydrated, babe. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
She took a small bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly. “You’re the best,” she mumbled, her eyes fluttering shut as she finished the water he gave her.
He tucked the blanket around her more snugly and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I know, I know.” He smiled, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “But you’re the best, Y/N. I’ll always be here for you.”
“Mmm…” she hummed softly, curling into him as she reached out to pull him closer. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world, Lew.”
“I’m your favorite, huh?” he asked with a teasing smile, though his heart was swelling with love for her.
“Always,” she whispered, her voice trailing off as she drifted into a peaceful, alcohol-induced sleep.
Lewis watched her for a moment, his heart full of love and contentment. He could never get enough of taking care of her, of being the one she could count on when she needed someone. She was everything to him, and nothing in the world could change that.
With a smile on his face, Lewis carefully crawled into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. She sighed happily as she nestled against him, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.
As the world outside quieted, Lewis and Yn fell into a peaceful sleep together, the night filled with love, tenderness, and the knowledge that no matter what, they’d always have each other.
#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#xoxo babygirl 💋#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#boyfriend lewis#girls night
330 notes
·
View notes
Note
just imagine ( also dom chan 😫😫>>>) chan not giving you attention and suddenly goes out then you text him to ask where he went ( you know he is out with the members you jus got somthing up your sleeve
“ where are you”
chan: i’m with the boys
you reply “ same”
he’ll start blowing up your phone and you leave him in read
you bet you’ll get it when he gets home🫣
Oh goodness- the brat mentality is jumping out in this one and I'm so down for it!!! ❣ Warnings: Dom! Chris, brat! reader, degradation, Dom/Sub dynamics, slight spit roasting, slight choking, open ended ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Reader is referred to as Princess, Baby, Good Girl, Brat, Spoiled
Attention Seeking
You knew this would happen - pushing one too many buttons of his and breaking some small, but carefully picked, rules to bring out that authoritative aura you had a gut wrenching craving for.
Chris told you if you kept acting out, he'd ignore you until you decided to act right like his "good girl would", but you were well beyond the puppy eyes and lilted begging - that wasn't any fun.
So, when he announced he was heading out with the boys for a little bit, not even the slightest bit amused when you denied his offer of coming with, you took to putting the rest of your plan to work a little more than half an hour later.
Princess💖: Where are you? Channie🐺: Huh?? Channie🐺: I'm with the boys.. Princess💖: Mm, same
There was a short minute between your message and his reply, but the result was nothing short of golden.
Channie🐺: What? Channie🐺: Baby who are you with?
No less than a second later, your phone was ringing with his caller ID on full display, but you just sat and listened to the ringtone play through until it cut off, sending his call straight to voicemail.
Channie🐺: Answer me Channie🐺: Who are you with??? Channie🐺: Baby I swear
Another phone call, but this time you swiftly declined it without a moment of hesitation, sending him to voicemail yourself.
Channie🐺: K.
With that, your phone went silent, no further texts or calls coming through; and though part of you felt bad for taking it to these lengths, you couldn't help the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach as you eagerly awaited his arrival.
Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to hours, and the excitement that was once coursing through your veins had slowly turned into annoyance and anticipation - had he played you at your own game? Was he truly outwitting the brat? Did he actually choose a true punishment over the punishment you were practically begging for?
Leaving your phone in the bedroom, you decided to venture into the kitchen to at least satiate your thirst since it didn't seem like anything else was being satiated any time soon.
However, the second you grabbed a cup from the cabinet and set it on the counter, an arm was wrapped around your waist and a hand was around your neck.
You would've screamed if it weren't for the familiar scent of mahogany and coconut filling your nose, though that didn't stop your heart rate from skyrocketing in the process; your body freezing against his.
"You fucking minx," Chris breathed against the shell of your ear, the hand around your neck twitching slightly as he felt your pulse, "lost all your senses in one night for what, huh? Because you needed some fucking attention? You can't go one hour without needing me?"
Swallowing thickly, you somehow managed to find your voice as the rolling flame of defiance grew within you. "Y-You were gone for more than an hour, Christopher."
There was a scoff, then you were spun around in his hold and backed against the counter, though his arm protected your lower back from the sharp edge - he would be the one inflicting pain, nothing else.
His eyes were sharp, darkened by a mix of aggravation and arousal, and if it weren't for the fact that he was holding onto you, you would've melted to the floor where you stood.
"Speaking back, acting out, breaking the worlds easiest rules, ignoring messages, ignoring calls." With each subject listed the tick in his lip grew, and if you hadn't known better it would've felt like he was genuinely mad at you. "If you want to act like a spoiled rotten brat, then fine," the hand that was once on your neck now cradled your jaw, squishing your cheeks almost painfully as he forced your gaze to remain on him, "I'll remind you what bad girls get, I'll break that fucking ego of yours until you're begging for my forgiveness."
He leaned forward and your eyes fluttered, your body instinctively preparing itself to feel his lips on yours, but when you only felt the pass of his breath you whined pitifully.
"That's what I thought." Peering down at you, he tilted his head back just a sliver, "All that bark and no bite - don't worry, baby, I've got all the bite you need."
[unedited]
965 notes
·
View notes
Text
God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader
PREVIOUS NEXT
CHAPTER SIX: HEATED EMOTIONS
synopsis: Anakin surrenders to the forbidden paradise offered by his son’s girlfriend, lost in the intensity of the moment. Neither of you realize that hidden eyes are watching, witnessing the sinful moment.
warning: sexual content (+18), age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, oral sex (male receiving), blowjob, voyeurism (kinda)
words: 2.6k
a/n: hello there, how are you guys? Thanks again for the comments, they motivate me a lot to keep trying to bring you the best I can. We're heading towards the final stretch, there are still 4 chapters left, so the conflicts will start to arise, but before that I think we deserve a little bit of slutty fun. Anyway, enjoy ;)
Couldn't take my eyes off you (you're something else) She's watching too (can't help herself)
The weight of Anakin’s words lingered in the humid air, every revelation sinking deep into the silence that stretched between you. His raw honesty had shattered the immaculate facade you’d held of his life, leaving a chaotic swirl of emotions in its wake. The truth was more complex, more painful than you’d imagined.
You sat there, hand still in his, the heat of his palm grounding you yet setting your nerves alight. Words spun in your mind, fragments of thoughts, but none formed anything coherent. There was only the steady pulse of your heart, pounding in time with the ache you saw reflected in his eyes. You wanted to help him, to ease the weight he carried, but what could you offer?
“Anakin.” His name slipped from your lips, low and hesitant, but charged with a warmth you couldn’t suppress—a warmth that always seemed to spark when you were near him.
He lifted his head, those storm-blue eyes finding yours. They were searching, haunted, yet softened by something else. His gaze flickered downward, just for a moment, lingering on your lips. They trembled slightly, caught in a battle between hesitation and desire.
“Yes, angel?” His voice was calm, but it carried an undercurrent—a restrained tension that seemed to echo your own.
You swallowed, the air thick, your next words barely more than a whisper. “Let me take care of you.”
The offer hung between you, simple yet layered with unspoken promises. Your hand, almost of its own volition, slid from his grasp to rest gently on his thigh. The warmth of his skin beneath the towel sent a jolt through you, your fingers barely brushing, yet the contact felt electric.
Anakin’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as he searched your face, his own emotions warring just beneath the surface. There was desire, yes—but something else, too. Guilt. Longing. A hesitation that mirrored your own.
“Are you sure?” His voice was low, rough, filled with an unspoken plea.
You nodded, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you both. Logic screamed at you to pull away, to step back before you crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. But the pull between you was magnetic, inevitable.
In that charged silence, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. The walls of the sauna, the distant noise of the ship—it all faded, leaving only the thrum of your heartbeat and the storm brewing in his eyes.
One step closer. You could feel the moment teetering on the edge, ready to plunge into something that could change everything.
“Okay,” Anakin murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the humid air. “I suppose you owed me one after the pool.” His breath was hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Each word was a caress, dizzying in its effect, the line between temptation and danger growing fainter by the second.
Your pulse quickened as he reached for your hand, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, strong and sure. Slowly, he guided your hand from his thigh to his shoulder, the heat of his skin searing against your palm. The deliberate pace of his movements made each moment stretch, charged with a tension that seemed to fill the room.
“But first,” he said, voice dipping lower, his storm-blue eyes locking onto yours, “I’d like a kiss.” A mischievous smile played at the corners of his mouth, the intensity of his gaze leaving no room for doubt. “Can you do that for me, angel?”
Your breath caught, heat blooming in your cheeks. You nodded, words failing you, your mind a chaotic swirl of anticipation and desire. Moving closer, you shifted on the sauna bench to face him fully. Your fingers, trembling slightly, found his shoulders, the muscles beneath your touch taut and solid.
You leaned in, eyes fluttering closed, your senses sharpening. The scent of him—spice and heat—enveloped you, the space between you charged with an electric pull.
The moment your lips met, the world seemed to tilt. His mouth was warm, the kiss soft at first, almost tentative. But as his hand slid to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your damp hair, the kiss deepened, hunger rising between you.
His lips parted, and you followed, the kiss turning languid, exploratory. His tongue brushed against yours, slow and deliberate, igniting a fire that spread through your body. Each movement was measured yet intense, his dominance tempered by an unexpected gentleness that left you breathless.
Anakin pulled back just a fraction, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His thumb traced a feather-light path along your jaw. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he whispered, his voice rough, eyes dark with something that felt like both a promise and a warning.
His words sent a shiver through you, the heat of the sauna paling in comparison to the inferno inside. His lips found yours again, more insistent this time, the kiss deepening into something raw, consuming. His hands explored, one sliding down your back, the other cradling your face as if you were something precious, fragile.
Time seemed to stretch, each kiss leaving you more breathless than the last. The lines between right and wrong blurred further, lost in the pull of his touch, the taste of him, the way he made you feel seen, wanted.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours, filled with an unspoken question, a silent challenge. “Was that what you expected, angel?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips.
You couldn’t find the words. The only answer was the pounding of your heart, the ache that settled deep in your chest, and the undeniable truth that everything had changed.
Anakin smiled mischievously as he cupped your chin, his thumb brushing lightly over your soft, plump lips. "Good girl," he purred, his voice a low, sensual rumble that sent shivers racing down your spine. "Now, let's see what other things that pretty little mouth of yours can do..."
Heat rushed to your cheeks at his suggestive words, your heart hammering in your chest as anticipation coiled tight in your belly. You knew what he meant, knew the direction this was heading, and a thrill of both excitement and trepidation coursed through you.
The sauna was dimly lit, the air thick and humid, the perfect cover for your illicit activities. Anakin lounged on one of the benches, his muscular form on display, a towel draped carelessly around his narrow hips. The sight of him, all sinew and strength, made your mouth go dry, your palms itching to explore the planes of his body.
You knelt between his spread legs, your eyes level with the bulge trying his towel. The knowledge that he wanted you, desired you so intensely, felt a rush of power through you. Slowly, teasingly, you reached out, your fingers tracing the outline of his cock through the thin fabric.
Anakin hissed in a breath, his hips bucking slightly at your touch. "Careful, angel," he warned, his voice rough with desire. "Play with fire, and you might get burned."
But you weren't afraid. Emboldened by his reaction, you gripped the edge of the towel and tugged, letting the fabric fall away to reveal its impressive length. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, flushed and hard and ready, the tip already glistening with pearls of pre-cum.
You licked your lips unconsciously, your eyes devouring every inch of him. Slowly, reverently, you placed your hands on his thighs, your fingers digging into the firm muscle as you leaned forward, your breath ghosting over his heated flesh.
A sigh of pleasure and anticipation escaped Anakin's open lips as he stared down at you kneeling between his legs, your fingers slowly trailing up his muscular thighs. His thick cock twitched and hardened further under your sensual touch, straining towards you needily.
"Mmm, see what you do to me, angel," he murmured hoarsely, voice roughened with desire. His large hands fisted in your hair, fingertips grazing your scalp. "How badly I want this pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock."
Emboldened by his words and the knowledge of the effect you had on him, you leaned in closer, trailing feather-light kisses along his inner thigh. Anakin shuddered, muscles tensing beneath his lips. You savored the salty musk of his skin, the heat radiating from his core.
Your tongue peeked out, kitten licking at his heavy balls before flicking experimentally over the weeping slit of his cock. The taste exploded across your tongue and you moaned, lapping hungrily at the bead of pre-cum. Anakin grew approvingly, thighs tensing as he fought not to thrust into his eager mouth.
"Fuck, just like that," he panted, hips rocking subtly. "Worship this cock like a good girl. Show me what that mouth was made for."
Spurred on, you took him deeper, stretching your lips around his thick girth. Your head bobbed steadily as you worked him, hands stroking what you couldn't fit. The filthy sounds of your slurping filled the steamy air, punctuated by Anakin's guttural groans.
You revealed in pleasuring him, in the musky taste of his arousal coating your tongue. His fingers tightened in your hair, guiding your pace as he fucked your mouth. Saliva dripped down your chin, eyes watering from the strain, but you didn't care. All that mattered was Anakin's pleasure, his approval.
Anakin’s moans, low and rough, echoed through the sauna, each gasp a shadow in the thick, foggy air. The sound drifted down the hallway, barely muffled by the haze. Padmé paused, her steps faltering. She had been looking for you after finishing her massage; Leia had already gone ahead, but you’d disappeared, leaving a quiet question in her mind.
The muffled sighs caught her attention. That cadence—a mix of soft murmurs and something more—was unmistakable. She knew that voice, the rhythm of it, the weight. Anakin. Even without seeing him, she would recognize her husband’s presence anywhere.
Her heart tightened, a mix of curiosity and something sharper—a lingering remnant of emotions she no longer dared name. We agreed not to interfere. The unspoken rule echoed in her mind, a fragile truce they had maintained for years. They lived separate lives, sought separate comforts. It wasn’t her place to ask questions, to intrude.
But something compelled her forward, the pull of the unknown stronger than reason. Quietly, she approached the smoked glass door, her pulse quickening. With a hesitation that felt almost reverent, she pushed it open just enough to see.
Padmé froze in the doorway, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the erotic scene before her. Anakin was lost in pleasure, his eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall, sweat glistening on his brow and chest. Soft moans and grunts spilled from his parted lips as his hips rocked, driving his thick cock deeper into the eager mouth worshiping him.
Padmé's gauze traced the lines of her husband's body, drinking in every glistening muscle, every bead of sweat trailing down his abdomen. She knew she shouldn't watch, that this was a private moment, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. There was something so primal, so raw about seeing Anakin in the throes of passion, his usual stoic control stripped away.
The sauna was thick with steam and the heady scent of sex, muffling the obscene sounds of the blowjob. Padmé swallowed hard, her core clenching with unwanted arousal as she watched Anakin's face contort in ecstasy, his fingers tangling almost painfully in the girl's hair as he fucked her mouth.
Shame flooded through her at the thought of spying on them like this, but there was a dark thrill too, a forbidden excitement at catching a glimpse of her husband's secret desires. She knew she should leave, respect his privacy, but morbid curiosity rooted her in place.
Anakin tensed, a guttural groan ripping from his throat as the girl redoubled her efforts, bobbing her head faster, taking him impossibly deeper. Padmé's breath caught, watching his abs flex, sweat slicking his skin, as he teetered on the edge. She knew she was intruding on something special, something intimate, but she couldn't look away.
Anakin's thighs began to tremble, his balls drawing up tight. "Fuck, I'm close," he grunted, voice strained with impending release. The girl's eyes flew up to meet his, a silent question, as her tongue swirled around the sensitive head.
With a shaky exhale, Anakin gave a sharp nod. "I'm gonna cum, angel... so if you want to pull back now's the time," he murmured breathlessly.
Through the fogged glass, Padmé watched, her breath catching as the shadows clarified. Anakin’s silhouette was unmistakable—the way he moved, the intensity in his gestures. But it wasn’t until his hand threaded through the girl's hair, gathering it into a loose ponytail, that realization struck like a physical blow.
It was you.
The shock froze her in place, confusion and disbelief tangling like a knot in her chest. You. The girl she’d welcomed into her home. The girl she’d comforted, reassured, trusted. The girl who was supposed to be with Luke.
How could you do this to him? The thought pounded through her mind, each word a drumbeat of betrayal. Luke—her son—was just upstairs, oblivious. Loyal, trusting. And here you were, wrapped in Anakin’s arms, in the steamy cocoon of the sauna, each touch heavy with unspoken promises.
Disappointment curled through her, sharp and bitter. It was a familiar feeling—Anakin had always been good at stirring it. But this was different. Why her? she wondered, the question raw, painful. How could you, of all people, cross that line?
Her fingers trembled on the doorframe. She wanted to turn away, to shut the door on this moment, but her body wouldn’t obey. Her eyes stayed fixed on the scene unfolding in front of her, each soft whisper, each lingering touch cutting deeper.
Padmé swallowed hard, forcing down the emotion that threatened to surface. This was their agreement, wasn’t it? Separate lives. Separate rules. Don’t interfere. But the ache of betrayal—this time from both of you—was harder to ignore than she’d ever imagined.
Padmé's heart clenched painfully as she watched Anakin's climax build, his hips thrusting urgently into the eager mouth of his young lover. Shame and disbelief warred within her, rendering her frozen in place behind the smoked glass door. How could he do this, here, now, with Luke just feet away, oblivious to his father's betrayal?
Through the hazy veil of steam, Padmé's eyes were transfixed on the obscene sight - Anakin's powerful body undulating in pleasure, his hard cock disappearing again and again between the girl's soft lips. Her own core clenched traitorously at the erotic display, even as her mind recoiled in disgust.
"That's it, angel," Anakin groaned, his voice a guttural rasp. "Swallow every drop. Be a good girl for me.
Padmé watched as you redoubled your efforts, head bobbing frantically as you took him to the hilt. Your eyes watered but did not leave his, pleading for approval, for praise. Anakin's fingers tightened almost painfully in your hair, guiding your movements as his hips snapped forward.
"Fuck, I'm cumming!" he snarled through gritted teeth. His body went rigid, muscles tensing as he slammed his cock into your waiting mouth. Spurt after spurt of thick, white fluid poured across your tongue, flooding your mouth and throat.
You tried valiantly to swallow it all, but rivulets escaped the seal of your lips, dribbling down your chin, dripping onto your bare breasts. Anakin threw his head back with a guttural moan, riding out the waves of his release.
Padmé's heart broke for her son, imagining the devastation he would feel if he knew. She wanted to scream, to rage at Anakin for his selfishness, his lack of control. But she remained paralyzed, a silent voyeur to their sordid affair.
#anakin skywalker x you#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin x reader#dilf anakin x reader#dilf anakin#alternative wolrd#star wars#hayden christensen
154 notes
·
View notes