#sinking my teeth into this and never letting go

[stardustquills]

thinking about sylus making you be on top, despite your protests. currently giggling and kicking my feet like a schoolgirl with a crush. 18+ mdni. wc; 1.5k

-

“come on, sweetie,” sylus teased, half-lidded eyes and a smirk cast your way. his hand lazily pumped his hard cock, head thrown back on the pillows behind him. “you’ll be fine-”

“sylus.” you cut him off with a whine. you hid your flushed face in your hands. he thought that was pointless. you’re naked in his bed. “i’ve never been on top before. i don’t wanna. why can’t you-“

“i’m always on top.” now it was his turn to cut you off. he didn’t mind always being on top - he was just being a prick because you were the one who initiated. sylus grabbed one of your wrists, pulling you closer to him. “you’ll be okay. i’ll help you through it.”

you let him pull you towards him, apprehensive and hesitant. he guided one of your hands down to his cock, his hand encasing yours as he helped you pump. sylus’ eyes closed as your hand moved under his. you watched his adam’s apple as he swallowed, a soft moan escaping his parted lips.

you didn’t even notice when his eyes opened again, garnet iris’ flickering all over your body. your own eyes were fixated on his pretty pink lips, still parted as he let out a melody of sighs. your gaze slipped down to his neck, where you could see the marks you’d left a few days prior, then down to his chest, hard muscles tensing as you stroked him, a light sheen of sweat on his abs.

finally, your eyes went further south, landing on the veiny cock in your hand. pearls of precum leaked from the angry tip and you could feel your own pool of arousal building. you couldn’t take your eyes off of it even if you tried. it was just too pretty - just like every other part of sylus.

his laughter snapped you out of your trance. “see something you want, kitten?”

“perhaps…”

“get on top, then.”

another whine left your throat. you shot him a pointed look, but he could see through it, see the hunger that laid just past that layer of annoyance. he could always see through you, no matter what irritated glance you sent at him.

maybe he’ll let it go if you give him a treat? so you leant down, licking your lips. you only managed to kiss the tip before his free hand dug itself into your hair, yanking your head up away with from his cock.

“ah ah,” he chided, raising an eyebrow. “being nice won’t get you out of this, sweetie.”

“sylus-“ you pleaded with a pout.

“it’s either you on top or nothing.” his eyes stared into yours, his tone leaving no room for your pathetic arguments. “what’s it going to be?”

when you didn’t say anything, only glaring at him, he knew what the answer was. but still, he decided he needed to hear your words be.

“well?” his rich voice purred. he grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing your face towards his. “i need words, kitten.”

a beat of silence, then, “fine.”

“fine, what?”

“…i’ll be on top.”

sylus smirked, letting go of your chin and lightly tapping your cheek a few times. “good girl.”

you found yourself on top of him, letting yourself leisurely sink down onto his dick. sylus was still being a jackass - he didn’t help you at all! just kept his hands resting on your thighs, watching with hungry eyes as he disappeared into you. your hands were splayed on your chest, bottom lip tucked under your teeth as you ever so slowly sat on him. you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding once your hips connected with his, a sigh of relief escaping you.

you felt awkward being on top. you didn’t know how to move, didn’t know how to do anything as you just stared at the spot where you and sylus connected. you like that for a moment too long, causing sylus to speak up.

“you gonna move?”

“i-“ you cleared your throat when you heard how meek you sounded. “i don’t know how,”

“just roll your hips,” sylus whispered, surprisingly gentle and soft compared to the last time he spoke. his eyes landed on your face, taking in the blush on your cheeks that began to grow. “like you do when you sit on my face.”

“sylus-!”

“what?” he laughed, fingers tapping your thighs. “maybe if you’re good, i’ll reward you.”

“you’re mean.”

“should i take away the offer?”

“no!” you responded almost too quickly, shaking your head and earning a chuckle from the man underneath you. you loved sitting on sylus’ face, but he cherished it more than you did.

he was a giver, after all.

you rolled your hips like he said, shakily exhaling as he reached a new depth in you. you weren’t used to the deep penetration from the get go - he’d always ease you into it, starting with slow, shallow thrusts before they blurred into hard and fast ones.

but still, it felt so wonderful. continuing to rock your hips against his, a pretty string of moans and sighs of sylus’ name left you. you took what you wanted, eyes closing as you threw your head back, and sylus watched proudly as you finally were on top of him, doing all of the work.

you started gaining confidence as you heard his own sounds of pleasure, soft murmurs of “there you go, kitten,” and “atta girl, you got it,” as his own eyes closed. you decided to start bouncing in his cock, a darling whine as you felt him ram into your cervix violently.

only a handful of bounces later and your thighs started burning, so you went back to rolling your hips against him. sylus noticed, of course, another demeaning snicker leaving him as his eyes opened.

he reached towards your face, brushing the strands of hair away from your face while your hips worked against his. “does it burn?” velvety and caring voice making your eyes snap to his. his hands moved up your thighs, settling nicely on the curve of your hips. “do you want some help, kitten?”

he already knew the answer before you nodded. his hands helped you up and down, his own hips bucking up to meet yours. tits bouncing in front of his face, your fucked out expression, and you on top of him - sylus thinks he’s at the pearly gates of heaven.

if he died, this is what he’d see in the afterlife. his perfect, sexy girlfriend riding his cock, absolutely losing herself. he thinks he’s enjoying this more than you are!

“s-sylus, h-ahh!” you lifted your head to look at him, hands still splayed on his chest. his dick absolutely ruined you, even more so with this new angle. brushing against that spongy spot, you let out a loud noise. “fffuck!”

“mm-yeah, you like being on top, don’t you?” he groaned when your nails dug into his chest, leaving crescent-shaped indents. “you’re doing so well, too.”

his hands wrap around your waist, pinning you against him as he starts slamming his thick cock into you, unable to hold back any longer. and just like all the times before, you took it like the amazing girlfriend you were. “hah, squeezing my cock so good,” he moaned into your ears.

his moans were much more musical than when he was actually singing.

only a handful of thrusts later and you’re coming undone quicker than you ever have - sylus has strong suspicions it’s because you’re on top, riding him like you fucking own him. he follows soon after, releasing his own pleasure into you. the sound of skin slapping skin slowly subdues as his tempo came to a halt, his face falling forward onto you chest.

he stayed like that for a few moments. just catching his breath as he buried his face into your tits.

sylus is a man of his word. so obviously, he kept his word - slipping himself out of you with a whine from you. he shifted so he laid on his back, his hands on your thighs encouraging to move up his body.

“wanna eat this pretty pussy,” he practically purred, eyes trained on your cunt. he grinned happily as you complied, thighs on either side of his head as you lowered yourself down onto him.

out of habit, one hand seized a fistful of his hair as the other held onto the headboard, steadying yourself as he ate you out like a man starved. a long lick, from your gaping hole to you clit, before he moved back to your slippery slit, greedily lapping up your combined fluids. he deliberately shook his head against you, making sure his nose rubbed against your puffy clit.

it was a nasty sight - your boyfriend’s mouth working wonders on you as his laughs were muffled by your cunt. he drank up your combined come as his hands wrapped around your thighs, immobilizing you against him.

with hearts floating in his red eyes, he looked up at you so lovingly, watching your every expression and reaction to his ministrations. sylus thinks he could stay like this for hours; eating out his girl after coming in her might be his favourite pastime. but fuck he can’t get the way you looked on top of him out of his head. next time, he thinks he’ll make you tie him up so you’d really have to do all of the work.

he’ll make you be in top more often from now on!

-

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated:)

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Two

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, abduction, forced proximity

Word Count: 4.4k

The skull-faced lieutenant takes you back to base. The two of you are forced to spend the night in the same space.

Chapter One // Chapter Three

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

The scream is a gunshot.

You flinch. Turn away. Cover your mouth with your hand.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

“You fucking motherfucker! I’m gonna fucking kill you! You—”

The man’s words are swallowed up by the echoing pop of a pistol unloading. Ghost yanks on your arm, but you’re frozen like a rabbit sensing a predator. Even after the world fell apart, you witnessed so much, but seeing such brutal execution twists your insides like tangled barbed wire.

“Walk,” Ghost commands, but your legs are unmovable like Redwood trees.

You’re sinking. The ground is opening up.

Danger. Danger.

“Hey.”

Another crack, followed by begging.

“Look at me.” There are large hands on your shoulders. Squeezing. Urging. “Look at me.”

Ghost’s voice is a firm directive, and you snap to attention. Your gaze, once distant, locks with his. Behind the mask are his eyes—a whiskey brown with gold flecks crowned by long, pale eyelashes.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he soothes, hands sliding away from your shoulders to rest against your ears.

He presses, silencing the world. When the next gunshot goes off, you hardly hear it. Just a muffled blip amongst the quiet. With every inhale and subsequent exhale, the buzzing rush of adrenaline softens, then crashes. It’s just a shiver of release. A dismissive wave of the hand.

And Ghost never looks away. Not once.

Focused and sharp, you’re unable to look away from Ghost’s intensity. Like a roiling river, his eye contact swallows you up, drowning you in its chaos. It allows you a moment to simply observe the man before you, to study what you can of his face. It isn’t much, just blackish smudges around the eyes and a prominent brow.

A curiosity blooms where there was no soil.

You’re so focused on him that you don’t realize the gunshots have stopped until Ghost drops his hands.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you gasp, unsure of why you’ve just apologized to him.

Ghost is impassive. Unresponsive. He simply stares, arms at his sides, and that attention is almost worse than the gunshots. It is unnerving—but not in the creeping sense of nefarious interest. He may be silent, but in his silence, there is a question.

A curiosity. Blooming.

But whatever you’ve witnessed quickly passes.

Ghost is grabbing hold of your upper arm, tugging you forward. This time your legs surrender, moving with him but struggling to keep up with his long strides.

You pass one armored truck. Then another.

“Wait,” you say, but it’s a whisper lost to the breeze.

We’re taking her with us.

“Wait,” and this time it’s louder. It carries on the wind.

Survival. Survival is paramount. And this stranger is leading you to unknown places, likely to never return you to where you come from.

Digging your feet in, you attempt to come to a stop. Ghost hardly faulters. His strength overpowers, and you nearly topple forward to eat pavement.

“Wait!”

With a growl, Ghost whirls on you. “We’re on a tight schedule, love. Keep up.”

Another tug, this one not an annoyance but a brief bite of pain. Instinct flares, and you lash out, forming a fist. It lands against his chest, striking just to the right of his left shoulder.

It’s a dumb fucking move.

Ghost shoves you up against the side of one of the armored trucks, caging you between him and the metal exterior. “Want my attention that bad? Well, love. You’ve got it.” His chest heaves as if this one interaction is taking all his stamina.

“Take your fucking hands off me,” you growl, placing both hands flat on his chest and shoving with all your strength.

Ghost grunts, and shoves you right back, pinning you to the vehicle. “Behave,” he murmurs.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

You struggle against him, working your shoulders back and forth to shake off his hold. It’s fruitless. Pathetic. Lieutenant Skull Face is stronger—weight unyielding.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you spit at him, just because it feels good.

Ghost ignores your outburst. “You’re coming back with us. Stop your bloody fussing.”

He talks to you like you’re a small child in need of a good scolding. It’s infuriating. You might be weaponless and without leverage, but the first thing you learned when defending yourself in a world like this is to never allow anyone to take you to a secondary location. Fight like hell when you can, and survive.

But fighting doesn’t always mean physical.

“I mean nothing to you. Just leave me,” you reply, adding a slight quiver to your voice.

Negotiating. Begging. It might work with him.

“That’s not an option.”

From his tone, it’s clear that Ghost is over this conversation. Your window is closing. Soon, each of these men will turn their attention to the trucks, which means they’ll be focused on you. If you want to escape, you need to escape now.

Ghost eases his hold, drawing back to take you with him.

You give one final attempt before you start swinging.

Grasping the back of his neck, you drag him back to you. There is no mouth for you to kiss, so you press your lips to where you believe his might be. You aim for just above the skull teeth. The material of the mask is surprisingly smooth. With your leverage of your hand at the back of his neck, you lightly rock your hips in a provocative gesture, hooking your leg up slightly to imitate grinding.

Ghost stiffens, clearly confused and startled by your actions. It lasts only a few fleeting seconds, and then he softens, his hands falling to your hips.

Sweet victory sings in your veins.

Men are all the same.

All you have to do is convince him to go to one of these vehicles alone. Climb on top if you can, but make do if you’re under him. Allow him a few thrusts. Moan a bit to make him think you want this. Then go for the fucking throat.

Ghost’s hands squeeze your hips, but it’s not to pull you closer. He starts to push you away. Rejecting. He’s rejecting you.

“Tempting offer,” he murmurs. “But we’re on a schedule.”

No. Fucking no.

This is your chance. Your one chance.

The world tilts, and you switch gears.

With a quick upward motion, you drive your knee into Ghost’s groin, nailing him where his pelvis meets his thigh.

“Fucking hell,” he coughs, staggering to the side, bending over in pain.

You dip beneath his arm, dashing toward the connecting street. The Jeep keys are lost to you, and you have no gun, but if you run fast enough, and lose them amongst the houses, you might have a chance to sneak back to the Jeep undetected and hotwire it home.

Legs pumping, you dash past the armored truck.

Freedom is close. It is calling out to you. Reaching—

Large, muscled arms wrap around you, hauling you backward. They don’t throw you to ground, but restrain you, holding you firmly against a solid body.

Fuck it. Fuck this.

It’s time for fists and teeth and claws.

Kicking and screaming, you raise hell. An arm loosens. Bending it, you bring your elbow down into his shoulder.

Ghost grunts, grasps your wrist, and yanks. He twists you around, seizing both of your arms, pinning them behind your back.

You immediately go limp.

It almost works.

Ghost staggers but recovers enough to ease into the movement, using the momentum to lift you up and into his arms.

Arms now free, you snarl, swiping at him with an open palm. Ghost promptly drops you.

You hit the ground. Hard.

With a groan, you push up from the pavement with the intent to flee. A boot presses against your back, and forces you down until you’re flat on your stomach. Seconds later and you’re zip-tied.

“That’s better,” grumbles Ghost.

Grabbing you by your forearms, he lifts you back onto your feet.

A slurry of profanities leaves your lips. “Bastard! Fucking bastard! Motherfucker! Cock sucking motherfucking bastard!”

You throw your body weight around, too, but Ghost remains firm, dragging you along toward the cluster of vehicles.

“You—you—shit eating…tit zit!”

Ghost chuckles. “Creative,” he muses like he appreciates it.

His amused demeanor only deflates your hope, melting you down until you decide it’s best to beg, to see if this man will show even a hint of mercy.

“Please,” you exhale, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Please. Just—just let me go.”

Ghost doesn’t acknowledge you. Keeping his gaze forward, Ghost hauls you over to a Humvee. He opens the rear passenger door.

“Get in,” he nods. “Or I’ll toss you in.”

“Please,” you beg. “Please listen.”

“Wrong answer.”

With a quick bend of the knees, Ghost lifts you off the ground and fulfills his threat. You bounce on the seat and almost topple onto the floor.

This is it. There is no going back. You’re being taken elsewhere, and there is little you can do. Everything going forward has to be about you, and what you have to do to survive.

But then you remember Ben, and how his body is just…there. Discarded.

As Ghost starts to turn away, you lean forward, knowing that what you’re about to ask will likely be ignored.

“You have to bring him with us. Please.”

Ghost has no reason to speak to you—to entertain what you’ve just said. You expect him to slam the door in your face, to give you his back.

“Bring who?” replies Ghost. He sounds genuinely curious, and his body language isn’t hostile. He has one hand on the handle of the door and the other resting against the side of the Humvee.

“Ben. We can’t leave him here. It’s not right.”

Behind the balaclava, his gaze narrows. “Is that who you were with?” You nod. Ghost briefly glances over his shoulder and then turns his gaze back to you. “Were you his?”

Were you his? Is that jealously? Does Ghost feel threatened by a dead man?

“No,” you laugh softly. “No. But…”

“But what?” he prompts.

“He has—had a wife. Two daughters.” You pause, remembering how the two girls had cornered you during community movie night, listing all the books they wanted you to find. “People loved him. They’ll want closure.”

You hate these moments of silence, of Ghost simply staring at you before he answers.

“I can’t bring him with us,” he finally says.

“Then leave him somewhere where they’ll find him,” you urge. “Please.”

Ghost’s demeanor shifts. His hand falls away from the side of the vehicle. “You came from a bigger group?”

“Does that matter?”

Ghost shakes his head in annoyance. “It fucking bloody well matters.”

“They won’t come after you,” you insist. “They aren’t expecting us for hours. You’ll be long gone before they come looking.”

“You could be lying to me.”

Anger flares in your chest. You need him to understand. “I just want Ben to go home to his family. They deserve it!”

Ghost sighs, and shakes his head. “Watch your feet,” he mutters.

You turn your legs at the last second as the Humvee door slams shut.

Left alone in the vehicle, the reality of your situation starts to settle, to seep into your bloodstream. It shoots straight to your brain, slithering in the folds, sinking in until the anxiety becomes a roar. Your breath comes and goes in quick gasps.

Panic. You’re panicking.

You’re fucking panicking.

Sliding across the seat, you reach with wiggling fingers for the handle. With wrists bound and no way to truly see what you’re doing, you’re forced to seek with your hands, praying that you’ll find the handle before Ghost arrives.

Sweat forms, making it difficult to hang on to anything.

“Come on,” you sob, knowing that this is it.

You find the handle. Tug.

Nothing. It doesn’t budge.

“No,” you gasp, yanking and yanking and yanking again. “No.”

He’s locked you in.

Desperation fuels you, motivating you to try the other door, and then kicking with both feet until your knees hurt and your thighs burn.

When Ghost returns to the Humvee, he finds you on your back, staring blankly.

There are no tears. No panic. Only numbness.

“Sit up,” he says, voice flat.

You obediently comply, shifting until you’re sitting upright. Ghost hops in, forcing you to slide all the way to the other side of the bench seat. He settles in, nearly squishing you between him and the door. There’s no room to move. The two of you are thigh to thigh—touching.

“Ready to bloody go.” You glance to the left at the familiar Scottish voice.

“You and me both, Soap,” grumbles Ghost, shifting even further to the right to accommodate the new addition to the backseat.

The driver and front passenger doors open simultaneously, two soldiers sliding in.

“Back to base, Lieutenant Riley?” asks the driver.

He lifts his arm, pressing a few buttons on an overhead panel. Sewn into his uniform is that same azimuthal projection of the earth from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches. It’s so fucking familiar. It’s something from before—you know this, and yet you can’t place it. Beneath it is the flag of Mexico. Yet again, all in black. Leaning to the right, you peek over the seat. The soldier in the front passenger seat’s flag is three horizontal stripes but all in different shades of black or grey. There is no way for you to distinguish what country it belongs to.

“Affirmative,” answers Ghost.

Lieutenant Riley. That’s more of a name than Ghost. It’s a small piece, a fraction of information.

As you settle back against your seat, you don’t realize that Ghost has leaned toward you until he whispers in your ear. “It’s done.”

When you and Ben don’t show up, the rest of the convoy will come looking. They’ll find him, find the carnage, and wonder where you are. They’ll search, likely every building and street. Zac will certainly order it, and it’s entirely likely they’ll head back home only to return the next day, and perhaps even the next with the hope that you’ll show up.

But you’ll be long gone.

Elsewhere. Somewhere.

Ghost turns away from you, and doesn’t speak or even glance at you the rest of the trip, engaging in limited conversation with Soap.

You zone out. Stare at the landscape. Stomach turning sour.

The town disappears, giving way to trees and then highway.

It’s astounding how clear and uncongested the road is. You thought it strange when you and Ben were in the Jeep, how the roads themselves weren’t exactly maintained yet were somehow completely clear of cars. The few cars you did came across were pushed off to the side, allowing for a clear path. You dismissed it then, but you don’t dismiss it now as the Humvee carries you away from your life—your safety.

There is so little you know about the world as it currently exists.

After everything descended into chaos, you simply survived, weary of everyone, sometimes selling your body for food or shelter. Six years and you’ve been with the people are now, flourishing and unaware of everything happening beyond.

How much have Zac and the others kept from you? From the community? Or do they know about any of this at all?

These are the questions you ask yourself as time passes—as day becomes evenings becomes night.

The radio crackles. The soldier in the driver’s seat speaks.

“Base this is Bravo.”

A few seconds of silence. Then the radio comes alive.

“Received, Bravo. Go for Base.”

“Returning. Ten minutes.”

“Copy, Bravo. Returning.”

To the left of you, Soap groans. “Bloody fucking finally. Can stretch my damn legs. Take a piss.”

Ghost chuckles. “Eat a hot meal.”

Soap grunts in agreement. “Only thing missing is a warm cunt to stick my dick into.”

Ghost shakes his head as the two men up front laugh.

The soldier in the front passenger seat turns slightly, addressing Soap. “Might find a willing recruit,” he says, teasing.

“Bile yer heid,” laughs Soap, leaning forward to shove at him.

You remain still. Unmoving. Silent. They’re not thinking about you, and you don’t want to give them any reason to shift focus.

In the echoes of their laughter, the Humvee crests a hill. Through the windshield, bright spotlights appear, cutting through the dark. It’s difficult to see from where you sit. You lean to the left, brushing up against Ghost’s arm.

You draw back quickly, muttering an apology.

“You can look,” murmurs Ghost. His brow is soft as he leans towards Soap, giving you space to look out the windshield.

It’s a small gesture. A flicker of kindness.

Just like his hands over your ears. Or placing Ben in a place where someone will find him.

You fill the vacated space, gaze sweeping over the illuminated dark.

It’s a military base. Not makeshift or shuffled together, but a real one, like from the time before. Clean. Manufactured. Intimidating.

The Humvee rumbles up to the gates. The driver and guard exchange a few words before you hear a shout. A rattling reaches your ears, mimicking the stuttering of your heart. It’s enough to squash whatever hope you still cling to, smothering that ember until it’s snuffed out. Sinking back into your quiet, you turn inward, pressing yourself against the Humvee door until you feel smaller than dirt.

You keep your gaze downward, staring at your feet as the Humvee rolls through the gates. You don’t look up again until it comes to a stop.

“Stay here,” instructs Ghost as he slides out of the vehicle.

He shuts the door, turning away from you completely as if you’re not there at all. At some point in the trip, Soap lowered the window, and you’re able to shimmy over to the other side, listening in.

“Soap! Ghost!”

“Captain!”

Two strangers approach. One is a bit older, addressed as “captain” by Soap. The other is younger, handsome. They all clasp hands, greeting each other with a warmness that can only come from closeness and familiarity.

“Successful?”

“Brought three back for interrogation.”

“Good. And the rest?”

“Dead.”

“Good lad.”

Their voices drop slightly. Of what you can pick out from their conversation, it isn’t much. It’s just the newcomers’ names, Price and Gaz, and a brief mention about a secondary raid. Little else reaches your ears, and straining does nothing.

Leaning back against the seat, you tilt your head backward, staring up at the ceiling of the Humvee. Your arms ache, wrists sore, and you have to fucking pee.

“Who is that?”

The question is spoken loudly, closer than you thought from where the group was standing.

Your eyes snap open, body jolting up in the seat as you seek out the new voice. Ghost yanks the door open, reaching in to grasp your elbow. He helps you out and onto your feet. There is no room for resistance.

Outside the Humvee, you’re able to see the base more clearly. The convoy you were apart of is lined up in front of several low buildings. It’s late, but the base is still active, soldiers moving about as if it’s the middle of the day.

Soap laughs. “Go on, Lt.”

Ghost rolls his shoulders. “Found her while we were out.” Soap snorts and Ghost glares at him. “Running from the rubbish we eliminated.”

“She not with them?” asks Captain Price.

“No, Captain. She’s not with them.”

“The lass put up a fight though,” says Soap. “Kissed Lt here.”

“Hush, Soap,” mutters Ghost.

“When he rejected her, she kneed him in the groin.”

“Fucking hell,” laughs Gaz. “Really?”

Price’s mouth is a grim, thin line. “Why did you bring her?”

“The mandate.”

All four men sigh, but you have no idea what they’re talking about.

Captain Price nods. “Will she be any trouble?”

Ghost turns his attention on you. “Are you going to cause problems?”

You shake your head. “No. I’ll behave.”

Price affirms your answer with a quick smile. “Then the restraints aren’t necessary.”

Ghost makes a “turn around” gesture with his finger. You comply. There’s a quick tug, the pressure around your wrists releasing. As you turn around, you gently rub at the spots that have gone raw.

“It’s too late to travel,” sighs Price. “She’ll have to stay here for the night. Turn her over to processing tomorrow.”

Processing. Processing?

“We have any empty bunks?” asks Ghost.

“You want her with the general population?” counters Price.

“No,” answers Ghost automatically.

Price glances away, his gaze on the four low buildings nearby. “Take her to a private bunk. Bring her home in the morning.” He turns his gaze back to Ghost. “We’ll follow after.”

“It’ll be good to go home. Been weeks,” murmurs Gaz.

There’s a mutual, silent agreement among them that you pick up on but don’t understand. Your home is behind you, waiting, and yet it is unlikely you will see it again any time soon.

Ghost’s hand on your arm tightens, pulling you against him.

“I’ll take her there now.”

Price nods. A dismissal.

The three men turn and stride off, leaving you and Ghost next to the Humvee. Ghost leans in, head bent slightly in your direction. “Did you mean it? That you’ll behave?”

You lick your lips. Swallow. “Yes,” you breathe.

“Come with me then.”

Ghost’s hand eases before releasing completely. It’s the first amount of freedom you’ve had in hours, and you suddenly dread what that might mean.

Walking beside him, you follow his long strides. Ghost walks right past the four low buildings, passing a larger, communal area, before heading for a squat row of cabin-like dwellings. Ghost heads for the furthest on the end.

Each step is harrowing, dragging you closer and closer to an unknown fate. Ghost is at the door, pushing it open, stepping aside to allow you entrance. You talk past him, enter, come to a stop a few steps inside.

The doors shuts. You glance over your shoulder, expecting to see solid wood.

“What are you doing?” you ask, shuffling backward.

Ghost engages the lock on the door. “Keeping an eye on you.”

“Are—are you staying with me? In the room?”

“That a problem?” counters Ghost, as if your concern is silly.

“I’m guessing my answer to that question won’t matter.”

“No,” replies Ghost. “It won’t.”

You nod weakly, turning away to take a deep, calming breath.

The room itself is just a room, no larger than your average bedroom. There is a single, full bed in the corner, a plain wood desk, a chair, a bedside table, and a lamp. It is free of all other decoration. The bathroom isn’t separate, but blocked off by a half-wall. The sink and shower are in full view, and the half-wall hides the toilet. There is no privacy to be had with Ghost in the room with you.

Ghost grabs the chair from the desk, dragging it over to the door. He pushes it up against the wood, and drops into the seat with a deep sigh. The urge to pee grows. You won’t be able to hold it much longer.

“I have to pee.”

“Then pee.”

“With you in the room?”

Ghost crosses his arms over his chest, settling into the small chair like it’s comfortable. “I can’t see.”

“But you can hear,” you protest. “Can’t you just…step outside?”

Ghost rests the back of his head against the door. “It locks from the inside. I step out and you lock me out.”

“Even if I did, you could easily get back in.”

“True.”

“Then step out!”

“No.”

You could be a child about this. Stomp your feet. Moan and complain. But Ghost won’t budge and your bladder is about to burst.

With an annoyed groan, you go for the toilet, dropping down onto it and letting it all go. It feels so goddamn good even though your pride has taken a blown. You turn your head to the right, and find Ghost watching you over the top of the half-wall.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp. “Creeping much?”

Ghost arches a singular eyebrow. “You really had to go.”

“Oh my God,” you breathe, reaching between your legs to wipe.

“Should shower,” mutters Ghost. “You’re covered in blood.”

You glance down at your top and the red that stains it. It’s not yours, and it thankfully isn’t Ben’s. It’s that fucker’s with the shitty teeth that knocked you to the ground. You want to be rid of him, rid of the grit and dirt and grime. But there is no curtain, and Ghost would see all of you.

“I’ll be fine,” you reply sharply, washing your hands.

Ghost leans forward. “There’s hot water here.”

“Just say you want to see me naked,” you retort, whirling on him.

With a sly swagger, Ghost drags his gaze up and down your body. “I could strip down. Join you.”

Your neck grows hot, and then your cheeks. “That’s not necessary.”

Ghost inclines his head. “Then shower.”

“Do I even have an option here?” you ask, shaking your hands over the sink.

“What do you think, love?”

You stride toward him, suddenly frustrated. “Stop answering my questions with questions.”

“Shower,” insists Ghost. “You’ll feel better.”

“And then what? You’ll join me in bed?”

“Likely.”

“You—”

“Keep the attitude and I’ll give you something else to moan about.” You quickly glance away, nervously tugging on the bottom of your top. “What?” he chides. “You were eager earlier.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“There she is,” and you hear the smile in it.

Is he purposefully pushing your buttons? Teasing you because you have no way to wiggle your way out?

“Are you staying here all night, Lieutenant Riley?”

“All. Night,” he replies, slowly pushing up from the chair. Ghost stalks over, observing you like prey. You take a step back and Ghost shakes his head. “Don’t.”

You freeze, staying perfectly still.

Ghost’s gloved hand brushes along the side of your arm. It’s a soft caress, one that makes you shiver. This man is your captor. He has torn you from your home, from the future you imagined for yourself, and smashed it under his fist. There is no reason for you to respond to him like this.

“You should shower. Enjoy the hot water.” Ghost grasps the bottom of your chin, tilting your face upward. You’re unable to look away. “Promise I won’t look.”

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@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving

[sturnlsstuff]

CHRIS WOKE UP WITH A BONER AFTER HAVING A WET DREAM ABOUT YOU...

warnings; smut, masturbation, handjob, getting caught, chris getting off next to reader?? idk

a/n; i woke up today with this exact scenario in my head so... i had to write it

chris had a wet dream. an intense one.

and usually, there would be no problem with this, but today he wasn't alone in his bed.

the two of you decided to have a sleepover like usual, nothing surprising, you were bestfriends. but for some reason he had a dream about you, and it made him toss and turn in his sleep, bucking his hips against the blanket, trying to find some kind of release. his hand was unconsciously stroking his erection through his pajama pants that he wasn't wearing anything under - he liked to let it hang loose. but in his dream it was your hand.

his dick was so painfully hard that it woke him up, the room hot and quiet, the only sound being his soft, ragged breaths as he squeezed his hardness through the thin fabric. he was clearly overwhelmed with sleepy lust, his eyes were closed tightly as he keeps replaying the dream in his mind, the way your tits bounced as you rode him, or how your hand was jerking him off, making him feel so good.

chris lets out a quiet groan, pulling his pajamas down, freeing his hard length, the tip glistening with pre-cum. his breathing hitched slightly as his hand wraps around his cock, moving slowly, his sleepiness making him whiny and needy.

until he feels something shift beside him.

his eyes flutter open, a frown appears between his eyebrows and that's when he sees you. asleep next to him. you were laying on your stomach, cheek pressed against the pillow, your face turned away from him, hair tousled spilling across the pillow in a tangled mess. then chris's eyes move down, your tank top rolling up, letting him see a bit of the skin on your back, but something else caught his attention.

the blanket was drawn up to your knees so almost all of your body was exposed. your hips slightly raised, one leg thrown over the blanket, the shorts you were wearing leaving little to the imagination.

chris almost drooled all over himself. his hand freezes mid stroke, realizing that his best friend was just right next to him. thank god you were sleeping. he would be so embarrassed if you saw or heard him.

and he was about to stop, wanting to go to the bathroom just like any person would. but he couldn't take his eyes away from your ass.

how perfect it looked, how it was slightly up in those tiny shorts, making him lose all sense of boundaries. his gaze intensified as he stared at your lower half. he slowly shifts his hips, trying desperately to find a more comfortable position without disturbing you. inside, he's wrestling with his own confusion and guilt over his inappropriate attraction, but he was so sleepy and so fucking needy.

biting down on his bottom lip, his hand starts moving under the covers again, the faint sound of his skin sliding against his own growing louder as he picks up the pace.

if he's quick then you'll never know.

despite knowing it was wrong, he couldn't stop himself, his arousal and tiredness made him careless.

another whimper leaves him as he tries to stifle it in the pillow, his cheeks growing hotter, finding this situation strange but also incredibly hot. the sight of your ass makes him think back to his dream where he would pound into you from behind, grabbing your butt or slapping it, leaving red marks on your skin.

chris's movements immediately became more urgent, his breaths coming in short gasps. his hips lifting off the bed as he starts thrusting into his hand, imagining that it was you who he was fucking right now. the wet sounds echoing in the silent room, another muffled groan leaving chris as his teeth sink into his lip to keep the sound quiet. he was so close he could feel it, his legs spreading, giving his hand more room. he just needed to finish and wanted to go back to sleep, it was too early to be up.

but then he hears your voice.

"chris, what the fuck?"

his whole body tenses, his hand freezes as he moves his eyes up to see your confused face. you were clearly awake, propping yourself up on your elbows, a frown between your eyebrows. you've been awake for a while, him constantly shifting woke you up, and while you tried to sleep again, you didn't have the chance because of his quiet whimpers, and the obvious movements under the covers. so you were... listening. until you couldn't take it anymore.

his heart almost leaping out of his chest, his face turning a deep shade of red as he realized he's been caught.

"fuck-" chris's wide eyes full of guilt and embarrassment, he quickly tries to compose himself, pulling his hand out from under the covers as nonchalantly as possible, but he could feel the evidence of what he was doing still wet on his fingers. "i wasn't.... i...i was just... just adjusting..."he stumbles over his lie, seeing by the look on your face that there was no point in denying what you clearly saw and heard him doing.

he shifts uncomfortably, still painfully hard, his cock brushing against the covers almost making him moan. "shit, m'so fuckin' sorry, i just.... i wasn't thinkin' straight, i had a dream- i mean, i thought you were asleep and..."

but he's immediately silenced by your voice, the tiredness clearly making you more bold as well. "i wasnt sleeping," you admit, looking down at his covered by the blanket lap, and then back up. "did you, uh... finish?"

chris almost choked on his own saliva.

his heart raced, mind reeling as he stares at you with wide eyes, completely surprised that you asked him that. he expected you to be grossed out, or think that he's a perv, not asking him if he came. the curiosity was written all over your sleepy expression, his dick twitching after your question.

he shakes his head, not daring to use his voice, too scared that it will betray how much more you just turned him on.

chris can see the wheels turning in your head as you shift onto your side, still propping yourself up on your elbow. your tits perfectly squeezed together now, catching his attention, and he almost comes right there and then when he notices your hard nipples through the thin tank top you were wearing.

your voice completely unsure, but still managing to put a lot of dirty thoughts into chris's mind as you ask, "do you.... wanna?"

his breath caught in his throat, eyes widening at your question once again. you were asking... or maybe even offering something to him...?

seeing you so vulnerable and sleepy made him bolder than usual. he swallowed hard, his composure fraying, "yeah."

his eyes were locked on your face, seeing its just as red as his, the way you were nervously chewing on your bottom lip makes him wonder what is going on in that pretty head of yours.

neither of you could logically think now, both too worked up to do so. he watched your hand twitch, almost wanting to touch him but hesitating. he thought that maybe you were too shy to do it, when really, you were too scared to make the first move, knowing it's your bestfriend.

but chris was so hard, his mind whirling. he knew you were touchy-feely when you were sleepy, usually seeking any physical contact when you were staying over but never like this. and you gave him that look— your doe eyes making his cock throb. and he just had to take the decision out of your hands. he couldn't handle the unspoken request and his own need anymore. so he grabbed your hand and guided it down under the covers, wrapping your fingers around his erection. "like this," he murmured sleepily.

both of you breathing heavily as you squeezed him, his hips jerking involuntarily. you keep biting your bottom lip, pulling the covers off him so you could see him and holy shit.

"you're so big-" it slips out of your mouth before you can think, your cheeks immediately growing hotter as you keep your eyes locked on his cock, brushing your thumb against his tip and spreading his precum over his length.

a low groan escaped him after hearing your words, sleep and lust making his body super sensitive to your touch. "yeah?" a small smirk appeared on his face, seeing the way you look at him and start to grow more confident in your movements.

it was like his wet dream coming true.

his body tensing up while you're moving your hand on his cock, the slow strokes making him crazy. his hand gripping the sheets as he lets out another low, needy groan, the sight of your hand wrapped around him was almost too much.

"what did you dream about?" he almost misses your question, too lost in the pleasure you're giving him already.

"uh..." his hips began to move in sync with your strokes, unable to stay still. "...you-" he admits, sucking in a sharp breath, the precum beading at his tip as your thumb keep brushing against it.

"me?"

your eyes met his, the intensity of your gaze makes his dick twitch in your hand. he nods, reaching down to cover your hand with his own, guiding you to squeeze him tighter and move faster. "yeah, you... i, uh...dreamed 'bout you doin' this and then-" he cuts himself off when you immediately pick up your pace just like he wanted, changing your angle a bit as well, your other hand playing with his balls. "fucking shit-" he groaned, head falling back against the pillow.

"is this good?"

he wanted to laugh at your question, 'cause it was pretty clear to see. "yeah," he managed to choke out, his voice rough with desire. "so fuckin' good..."

his hair sticking to his forehead, brows knitted together as you keep jerking him off, him also fucking your hand which makes his balls tighten with each stroke, the pleasure starting to be overwhelming. he could feel your eyes being locked on his face more than his cock, and it somehow felt even more intimate. "holy shit, keep goin'-"

"what else were you dreaming about?" you ask, and chris wants nothing else than to show you.

"you were on top of me...ridin' me-" his chest was falling and rising rapidly. "and then i was— fuccckk— takin' you from behind—"

as he fucked into your hand and talked about his dream, seeing you listening and squeezing your thighs together, chris felt his release approaching fast. his breathing was ragged as he tried to hold back, but the way you reacted to his movements, the way your body tensed, was too much. "fuck, gonna come-"

you don't even have the chance to respond as he moans, finally letting go. his hot sticky cum spills out of his tip onto your hand and his shirtless stomach as he continues thrusting into your palm. his entire body shook with the force of his orgasm, his head thrown back and eyes closed, but he's totally aware of your gaze on him, and it makes all of this even more intense.

but you don't stop. he came, but your hand was still moving. your gaze falls on your painted with his release hand, and you have an urge to taste it.

so you do.

quickly enough you end up gripping his sheets for dear life, and moaning his name while he's deep inside you, turning his wet dream into reality.

© sturnlsstuff

[nonville]

been thinking about more office assistant!hyuck ... reader is always a few years older than him in my mind for this au because the dynamic is soooo much better this way. nsfw ahead!

the entire floor seems to know about his blatant crush on you, and the topic is brought up often enough for it to become a running joke. when your coworkers see him dashing back and forth to get the printed papers you'd ask for, chuckles can be heard over slight chatter. wherever you go, he's a half step behind, and he's been nicknamed something between your shadow and a cute dog. he's certainly puppy-like, you realize one day, his eyes sparkling as he hangs on to your every word.

"just put the kid out of his misery," one of your work friends giggles at you during your break. you both watch him through the glass panes as he scribbles urgently on a nearby whiteboard mounted to a wall, still going at a task you'd assigned him fifteen minutes ago.

your eyebrows raise and they shrug. "he's sweet on you... but company policy."

you roll your eyes. company policy. "and not the fact that i'm a couple years older than him?"

they laugh and shrug. "wouldn't be the first time it's happened in this office."

after that comment though, it's as if you'd suddenly been given the gift of clear sight. you notice his eyes drop to your lips halfway through a conversation... and you swear you caught him looking a second too long when you'd bent over to pick up a few papers you'd dropped, ears red as he scrambled to help you after freezing in place. now all you can think is... cute.

it's boyish, his crush on you. you'd laugh if you didn't find it endearing. his hands linger when you ask him to help you with paper stacks, plush lower lip between teeth when you thank him for his hard work. you can see him physically tamp down his wriggles of happiness—cute—at the desk set up for him not too far from yours. you can't help yourself. you pinch his cheeks, pat his arm, and just barely refrain yourself from squeezing him each time he blushes at your praise. he's a sweet kid.

you've been fooled, though.

what you don't know about your sweet little assistant as that he fucks his fist until it hurts, eyes rolling back at the mere thought of your smile every night. bare thighs trembling hours after he stumbles back into his apartment, biting down on a ratty t-shirt to muffle moans of your name. his neighbors are probably sick of him, but he doesn't care.

the smell of your sweet perfume. the outfits you choose to wear. the way your voice never rose on the rare occasion he made mistakes. you were kind to him, a far cry from the other jobs he's worked around, and he's spoiled rotten. now that he's had a taste of your attention, he's never letting you go.

he sniffles loudly around another cry of your name, the sound of his fist slick and wet, and wonders if you know he's this tormented. that he would do anything to replace his fist with yours... shit, maybe even your mouth... or even better—

cum splatters across his shirt and chin as the thought of your warm heat sinking down on him sends him over the edge, a hoarse sound of desire leaving his lips. he doesn't even know how many times he's become undone tonight alone. the overstimulation makes him hiss, brows furrowed as his lips part around a shuddering breath.

he had to have you. one way or another.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Clayton, Kess, or Luke with reader who is loopy from anesthesia??

Thought this could count as a short prompt, but if you don’t agree, please ignore.

Love your writing!! 💛

Thank you, lovely! Picked my husband, Clay! I hope you enjoy this :) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

Clayton think he's prepared for it, he knows that anaesthesia can make people a little woozy, a little loopy, a little strange. He knows that you're probably not going to be quite yourself when he comes to pick you back up from your wisdom tooth removal to take you home and he thinks he's ready for that. Ready to make sure you eat the right foods and get safely home. Ready to deal with whatever silly comments you decide to make. But, boy, oh boy, does he really underestimate just how hard anaesthetic is going to hit you as someone whose never been under, someone who rarely drinks or loses control. Someone who often overthinks their every word.

When he comes to get you, you're led out by a nurse, a little uneven in your gait, stumbling as you go like a new born deer. Your cheeks look massive a combination of the swelling that's already beginning and the gauze shoved into your cheeks. You're a little ashy in the face, not your usual colouring and he's standing before you even reach him, bridging the gap between the two of you until the nurse lets him take your arm in his.

Clay's careful to avoid your jaw and cheek when his hand rests on the base of your neck, thumb rubbing against the hollow there like always as he tries to bring your attention back into the world around you. To remove a little bit of that dazed look you're sporting.

"Hey, sweet girl, how you doing?" You blink up at him like you're barely processing his existence, gauze stuffed in your mouth to stem any bleeding from your tooth extraction, cheeks like a hamster.

"You cam't call me tha'" Your voice is muffled and slurred, words coming out barely legible as you try to speak around the gauze and the numbness in your jaw, You frown at him as you say it , like you're about to scold him for calling you 'sweet girl'. Something he's called you almost every day since you started dating.

"Why not, baby? I always call you that?" You slap away his hand, the one at your throat, pushing him away from you in a way that you've never done before and he lets you. Of course he lets you, he'd never touch you if you didn't want it and while it makes his heart sink, he also knows you're a little drowsy, a little woozy, a little confused right now. He knows you're not your usual self.

"I hab a boyfrien' and he woul'nt like it." You cross your arms as you scold him, the way you sway on the spot and the slurring definitely taking some of the bite out of it.

Clay can't help but let out a huff of amusement, a light laugh as he starts to smile at you, teeth peeking out from behind his lips, dimples starting to show. Your frown falters at his smile, getting that starry eyed look you tend to get whenever he smiles your way. Not immune to his charms even when you're convinced you have a different boyfriend somewhere.

"Baby, I am your boyfriend." You gasp at his words, mouth dropping open, eyes wide and glimmering with wonder like he's just told you that unicorns exist. Part of him wishes he had his phone out to record, to show you later.

"Reawlly?"

"Yeah, baby, it's me, Clayton."

You gasp, hands reaching out to touch him. You paw at his face clumsily, fingers tracing his features and pushing at strands of his hair. "You're so pwetty!" You let him step back into your personal space, let his hands reach for your waist as your fingers find his chains. Old habits seeming to die hard even when you don't recognise him, your body seems to, muscle memory taking hold.

"Thank you, sweet girl, you're pretty too." Your eyes grow wider at his words, cheeks flushing, mouth dropping open like you can barely believe him.

"You thin' 'm pwetty?"

"Of course I do, baby, I love you," His grin gets wider, eyes softening, twinkling at you with humour because fuck if it isn't adorable that you're so taken aback by it all.

"You lobe me?"

"Yeah, of course I do, you're my girl," Your face heats up, flushing with colour moments before you hide your face into his chest. Too embarrassed to look at him, sweetly shy because this handsome man is saying he's your boyfriend and you're not sure how to process it.

Clay's hands slide into your hair, stroking through the strands, massaging the back of your neck and scalp, waiting for you to calm down from the rush of giddy energy. You used to be this giddy at the start, before you were in a relationship, but he hasn't seen it in a while. He forgot how much he missed it, the shyness that openly told him how much you admired him.

"You're okay, baby...it's a bit too much, huh?" You nod into his chest, face still planted there as Clay strokes soothing lengths down your hair and back, his other hand wrapping around your waist to keep you close. "How about we go home and I get you some ice-cream, sound good?"

"Ywes, plwease..."

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

some body dysmorphia comfort but make it spicy! he’s sweet,caring, taking his time to show you that he loves every inch of you and you should too

made for me - rafe cameron

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ content: 18+ MDNI insecure!reader, body dysmorphia, body worship, oral (f. receiving), praise, mirror sex, fingering

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ yap: i love writing for insecure reader

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ word count: 2.1k

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, the dim light casting soft shadows over your bare skin. You’d slipped out of your clothes moments ago, a rare moment of vulnerability spurred by a quiet night in with Rafe. But now, staring at yourself, the familiar wave of dread crept in—body dysmorphia tightening its grip. Your eyes darted to every flaw you’d convinced yourself defined you: the curve of your stomach you swore was too soft, the stretch marks faint across your thighs, the way your hips flared more than you wished. You hugged your arms around yourself, trying to shrink, to hide, the voice in your head screaming that you’d never be enough—not for Rafe, not for anyone.

He’d been sprawled on the bed, scrolling through his phone, but he noticed the shift—the way your shoulders tensed, the quiet hitch in your breath. “Hey,” he said, voice low as he sat up, tossing his phone aside. He was behind you in an instant, his broad frame filling the space, his warmth pressing against your back. “What’s going on in that head of yours, baby?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes in the reflection, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I just… I don’t get it,” you murmured, voice small. “How you can look at me and not see everything wrong.”

Rafe’s hands settled gently on your hips, his fingers splaying over your skin, firm but tender. “Look at me,” he said, not a command but a quiet plea. You lifted your eyes reluctantly, meeting his in the mirror—blue and steady, locked on you like you were the only thing in the room. “You think I don’t see you? I see every damn inch of you, and I’m fucking obsessed.”

Your breath caught as he slid his hands up slowly, tracing the curve of your waist, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “This,” he said, voice dropping to a husky whisper as he cupped them, his touch reverent, “these are perfect—soft, real, mine.” He squeezed lightly, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you gasped, a spark of heat shooting through you. “Love how they fit in my hands, how they feel when you’re pressed up against me.”

You shifted, self-consciousness warring with the way his touch lit you up, but he didn’t let you pull away. His lips found the side of your neck, kissing slow and deliberate, his stubble grazing your skin as he moved down to your shoulder. “And here,” he murmured, one hand sliding over your stomach, flattening against it as he pulled you tighter against him. You flinched, instinctively wanting to cover up, but he held you there, his erection pressing hard against your lower back through his jeans. “This right here? This drives me fucking crazy. You’re soft, yeah, but that’s what makes you you—makes me wanna bury myself in you every chance I get.”

“Rafe…” Your voice trembled, torn between doubt and the heat pooling low in your belly. He ignored it, his other hand slipping down to your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh there as he spread them slightly, forcing you to see what he saw.

“Look at these,” he growled, his grip possessive, kneading the skin. “These thighs—fuck, baby, they’re gorgeous. Strong enough to wrap around me when I’m fucking you, soft enough I wanna sink my teeth into ‘em.” He dropped to his knees behind you, and before you could protest, his lips pressed to the back of your thigh, kissing the stretch marks you hated. “These lines? They’re proof you’re real, proof you’ve lived. I’d trace every one of ‘em with my tongue if you’d let me.���

You whimpered as he did just that, his tongue dragging slow and hot over the faint marks, his hands guiding your legs apart. In the mirror, you saw yourself—naked, flushed, trembling—and him, fully clothed, worshipping you like you were a goddess. He didn’t stop there, his mouth moving higher, kissing the curve of your ass before he nudged you wider, his breath hot against your core. “And this,” he murmured, lips brushing your slick folds, “this pussy—fuck, it’s everything.” He licked a slow, broad stripe up your center, tasting you, groaning low in his throat as his tongue flicked over your clit. “So fucking sweet, baby. Love how you taste, how you feel.”

“Rafe—oh God,” you gasped, hands fisting in his hair as he ate you out, slow and thorough, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you open. His tongue circled your clit, teasing, before dipping lower to push inside you, fucking you with it as he hummed against your skin, the vibration making your legs shake. He pulled back just enough to look up at you in the mirror, lips shiny with you, eyes dark with hunger. “Look at yourself,” he said, voice rough. “Look how fucking gorgeous you are like this—wet and needy for me.” He sucked your clit hard, drawing a cry from your lips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he devoured you, relentless, until you were trembling on the edge, hips bucking against his face.

He stood again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, pressing himself against you, his hands roaming now, one slipping between your thighs to find you dripping. “See this?” he said, fingers sliding through your slickness, teasing your entrance as his eyes held yours in the reflection. “This is what you do to me. You’re so fucking beautiful, you’ve got me hard just standing here.”

He turned you slightly, angling you so you could see the way his fingers worked you, slow and deliberate, dipping inside just enough to make you clench. “Every inch of you,” he whispered against your ear, his free hand cupping your breast again, pinching the nipple until you arched. “This body—your body—it’s mine, and I love it. I love how it feels under me, how it moves when I fuck you, how it looks when you’re coming apart.”

Your knees buckled, but he held you up, his chest pressed to your back, his voice a steady anchor. “You should love it too,” he said, softer now, his fingers curling inside you, coaxing a moan from your lips. “You don’t see what I see, but I’m gonna keep showing you ‘til you do.”

He pulled his hand free, and you whined at the loss, but then he was unbuttoning his jeans with a quiet urgency, shoving them down along with his boxers until they hit the floor. His cock sprang free, thick and rigid, the tip flushed and leaking as he gripped it, giving it a slow stroke before pressing it against your ass. “Look at us,” he rasped, dragging the head through your folds, smearing your wetness over himself, teasing you with the pressure. “Look at how fucking perfect you are for me.”

He notched himself at your entrance, circling your slick heat with the tip, letting it catch and slide just inside before pulling back out, drawing a desperate whimper from your throat. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his hands clamping onto your hips, fingers digging into the flesh as he lined himself up properly. He pushed in slow—agonizingly slow—stretching you open, the thick head breaching you inch by inch, your body yielding to him as he filled you. Every ridge, every vein dragged against your walls, and he hissed through his teeth, pausing halfway to let you feel him throb inside you. “You’re so tight—shit, so fucking good. You feel that?”

You moaned, head tipping back against his shoulder, the stretch intense, his heat searing as he sank deeper, bottoming out until his hips pressed flush against your ass. “Rafe—oh God,” you gasped, your hands reaching back to grip his thighs, needing something to hold onto as he held still, letting you adjust to the fullness. He was so deep, so thick, your body trembling around him, and in the mirror you saw it—his cock buried inside you, your stomach slightly bulging from how far he reached.

He started to move, pulling out slow, the slick drag making your toes curl, before thrusting back in with a controlled, deliberate force that rocked your whole body forward. “Look at your tits,” he growled, hands sliding up to cup them, squeezing hard as he fucked into you again, watching them bounce in the reflection. “Fucking love how they move—look at ‘em, baby.” He pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers as his hips snapped forward, the wet smack of his skin against yours echoing in the room. Your breasts jiggled with every thrust, the sight making your core clench tighter around him, and he groaned, feeling it.

He shifted his grip, one hand flattening over your stomach, pressing down just enough to feel himself moving inside you. “This belly,” he panted, his voice rough with lust, “so fucking soft, so sexy—love how it feels when I’m fucking you deep like this.” He thrust harder, the pressure of his hand amplifying the sensation, his cock hitting that spot inside that made your vision blur. Your slickness coated him, dripping down your thighs, and he cursed under his breath, his fingers digging into your stomach as he pounded into you, relentless now, the mirror showing every shudder, every bounce of your body.

“And this ass,” he grunted, his other hand sliding back to grab it, smacking it hard enough to leave a faint red mark before gripping it tight, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. “Fuck, baby, the way it shakes when I slam into you—makes me wanna fuck you all night.” He angled his hips up, driving deeper, the head of his cock brushing your cervix with a sharp, delicious ache that had you crying out. Your ass jiggled with the force, the sight in the mirror obscene—his hands kneading your flesh, his cock stretching you wide, your body trembling under the onslaught.

He slowed for a moment, pulling out until just the tip rested inside, teasing your entrance with shallow pumps, watching your face in the reflection as you whined, desperate for more. “Look at that pussy,” he murmured, reaching around to spread you open with two fingers, exposing your swollen, glistening core to the mirror. “So fucking pretty—look how it grips me, how it begs for me.” He thrust back in hard, a single, brutal stroke that buried him to the hilt, your walls spasming around him as you gasped, hands flying to brace against the mirror.

“Rafe—please,” you begged, voice breaking, and he grinned, dark and hungry, his pace picking up again, ruthless now. He lifted one of your legs slightly, hooking his arm under your thigh to spread you wider, giving him a better angle to fuck you deeper. “These thighs,” he growled, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, “fucking heaven when they’re around me—shaking like this, so damn strong and soft.” His cock drove into you, the new angle letting him hit that sweet spot over and over, each thrust sending a shockwave through you, your slickness soaking him, dripping down his thighs now too.

He reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as he pounded into you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. “You’re so wet—so fucking tight, so mine,” he rasped, his hips slamming against you, the sound filthy and wet. “Watch yourself—watch how your body takes me, how it fucking loves me.”

You couldn’t look away—the mirror showed everything: his cock glistening as it slid in and out, stretching you wide, your breasts bouncing wildly, your stomach flexing with every thrust, your thighs trembling, your face flushed and wrecked. His fingers worked your clit faster, the pressure building, unbearable, and he leaned closer, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Love this pussy—love how it feels wrapped around me, sucking me in like you can’t get enough.”

Your body tightened, the coil snapping as you came hard, a scream tearing from your throat, your walls pulsing around him, gushing slick down his cock. He groaned, low and guttural, his thrusts faltering as he chased his own release, the sight of you unraveling pushing him over. “Fuck—baby,” he growled, slamming in deep one last time, his cock throbbing as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, his hips jerking with each pulse until he was spent.

He didn’t pull out, just stayed buried inside you, panting against your neck, his arms wrapping around you tight to keep you upright. “Every inch,” he whispered, kissing your sweat-slick skin slow and soft, from your shoulder up to your jaw. “I love every damn inch of you. And I’m gonna keep fucking you, keep showing you, ‘til you see it too.” He turned you gently, still inside you, his lips finding yours in a deep, messy kiss, tasting of salt and heat, anchoring you in the afterglow as your bodies pressed together, spent and whole.

taglist: @littlelamy @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt

[endless-ineffabilities]

take a shot. 🥃

bucky barnes x reader (x steve rogers)

You, Buck, Steve. The three best friends that anyone could have. But when one ran late to a hangout, the other decided to take his fuckin' shot.

masterlist

You did not think super soldiers could get drunk.

In theory, they should not.

Even a gallon of tequila would burn fast and quick with their inhuman metabolism, the effects of the alcohol rendered moot.

And so, as you sat cross-legged on the beloved carpet in your barely furnished living room, you found yourself wondering if Bucky was only putting it on, or if he was well and properly shitfaced.

Hell, how many shots had he downed? Twenty? Thirty? Were you even still on the fourth bottle?

If he was drunk, then you might as well have been near-comatose. But you held yourself up pretty well. Much to your surprise. Granted, you've only had a mere 4 shots to Buck's potential 44 but... hell. Credit has to be given where it's due.

"So, yeah, yeah..." you slurred. "That's how that went. Story of my fucking life, eh, Buck?"

"What did you say again? Wha... Good luck on—"

"The date! I told Steve, 'Good luck on your date.' You know, because I'm such a good friend. The best."

"And then he...?"

"Then... then he smiled, you know, that soft and unassuming Steve smile?" Your voice became wistful and full of wanting, and Bucky could only hum in response. He had seen that smile hundreds of times, and never in a million years did he ever think his heart would sink at the thought of it.

But it did. Because he was jealous. Why couldn't you speak of his smile in the same way?

Probably because his was much rarer, something that springs unexpectedly. Bucky was not known for being a ray of sunshine, not at all. But he smiled around you, and not the polite lip-quirk kind — full smiles, all stretched, blue eyes crinkling.

Maybe you just didn't notice. Or, who was he kidding? Maybe you did, and just didn't like him enough to admire him the way you do Steve.

Bucky had to remind himself to tune in as you rambled on, your melodic voice breaking through his pathetic introspection.

"Then he said that he actually got dressed up all nice for me... I couldn't believe it, Buck, me! We went on our first official date that night, and the rest is history."

You beamed at him, awaiting something, anything. He should be happy for his two best friends. He should playfully clap you on the shoulder, prompting that adorable nose scrunch that you do.

Instead he said, "You know something, darling? Sometimes I wish it was me you wanted."

Bucky blanched. He must have died, bombs going off and eviscerating the state of New York, because there can't have been any chance of those words flying out his mouth in this lifetime.

His pounding heart proved him wrong. Along with the warmth surging in his system as you gazed at him wide-eyed, your lips softly parted in surprise.

"Darling, I —"

"Bucky, I — "

Super soldiers can get drunk, in some sense of the word, only if they allow it. The amount that would have a normal human punching well above a 0.40% BAC, might just be enough to make someone like Bucky slightly tipsy.

If he let it. And so he did.

He moved quickly, before he could even contemplate the stupidity of his actions.

Then Bucky felt you, your somewhat chapped lips soft against his. Motionless at first, until he pushed his tongue past your teeth, and melded it with your own.

He knew what was coming, who was coming.

Steve had been held up, racing across the city. Bucky could already hear his sure stomps climbing up the old stairwell of your apartment building.

Yet Bucky didn't stop. How could he?

"Wait, Bucky, we can't — "

"Uh-uh," he chided you, smirking. "Just kiss me. Please. It's all I ask."

His blood rushed down, down, awakening a part of Bucky that may just be too much for polite society. That graceless, careless casanova who would gladly rip the skirt off of his best friend's girlfriend. That very dame who he also happened to be in love with.

When Bucky kissed you again, his ears picked up Steve's steady heartbeat down the hallway. The keys to his motorbike jingling in his pocket. The sweet smell emanating from a bouquet of peonies he brought you.

All those heightened senses, and not a single one saved Bucky from falling for you.

Or from what came next.

"What. The. Shit."

[stellarsturniolos]

━━ ⟢ ‘good in bed’ ╰ C.S.

・ ˖  ✦ �� . in which.. you and chris drive each other mad. but that's what makes you good in bed.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, riding, light dirty talk, i think that covers it !

A/N: reblogs and likes are appreciated! i do NOT give consent for my work to be copied or uploaded to any other platform. thank you. for @bernardsbendystraws music writing challenge. divider by rose also !

got me thinkin' it'd be better if we didn't stay together. then you put your hands up on my waist. the apartment is silent, a raging mix of anxiety and tension filling the minimal space as you sit on the couch and wait for chris to come over.

you haven't seen him or heard from him in almost a week. you're used to your boyfriend, if you can even call him that anymore, being busy. filming with his brothers, preparing for their tour, working on his brand.

but you've never gone this long without at least hearing his voice. and you don't like it.

you know you need to talk to him. you need for him to understand that he's messing with your head. you need him to know that he's hurting you.

you know exactly what you're going to say to him. you've practiced, time and time again, in the mirror. you've got it all scripted and memorized, every syllable has been perfected.

you perk up when you suddenly hear a key turning in the lock and the harsh thunk of the latch, and then your apartment door swings open. and there he is. as frustratingly handsome as ever.

you stand up and walk over to greet him. you open your mouth to speak, but you don't get the chance.

because chris plants his hands on your hips and gently tugs your body closer to his. he captures your lips and it's immediately hungry. frantic. you gasp as his tongue explores your mouth. he licks at your teeth, the roof of your mouth — like he's trying to devour every inch of you that he can.

his mouth travels down to your neck and his lips linger on your skin, warm and inviting, sucking gently behind your ear and making your knees go weak.

"chris," you want to pull away but you're entranced. you can't do it. "we need to talk."

he lets out a dramatic huff against your neck. "later. s'been so long since i've had you, baby. just wanna make my girl feel good. please?"

and you've never been able to tell him no.

we drive each other mad, it might be kinda sad, but i think that's what makes us good in bed.

his hands roam all over your body, and as much as you don't want to want this, you do. you crave his touch the way an addict craves their next fix.

you swallow hard, trying to push past the lump in your throat, and your hands unconsciously slide up his chest and loop around his neck.

a quiet hum rumbles deep in his chest and he grabs your hips even tighter. his voice is rough when he speaks again. "c'mon. bedroom, now." you pause for a moment, trying to remember everything you wanted to say to him. but your mind is blank. all you can think about is how much you need his touch.

so you push aside your hesitation, ignore the angel on your right shoulder and listen to the devil on your left. you let him lead you into the bedroom.

he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside before reaching for the hem of yours. "want y'to ride me, baby. that okay?"

you nod dumbly. he takes your shirt off and his mouth immediately latches onto one of your nipples. for an ass guy, he always loved to tease your tits.

you slip out of your pajama shorts and peel your damp panties off before shoving him down onto the bed. you pull down his jeans and underwear in one go and then climb onto his lap. you grip his cock with one hand and rub the tip over your puffy folds. he hisses and you whimper as his dick brushes against your clit.

you don't want to waste anymore time. you settle on his lap, lowering yourself slowly as his cock slides between your folds and sinks into your heat. you whimper as he stretches you. he was right, it's been so long since he's had you. too long.

your gummy walls squeeze around his cock as you slowly rock back and forth, carefully grinding against him.

"fuuuuck," his voice is gruff, his hands move down to squeeze your ass as you ride him. "so fuckin' good, baby. so tight. so wet f'me."

an airy whine slips from your lips as you bounce, picking up the pace, sinking back down to the hilt before repeating the motion again and again.

one of his hands slides up your body to play with your hardened nipple. pinching and massaging your breast as his eyes darken further. "shit, baby. jus' look at you."

sweat glistens on your skin as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock. "you're s'big, chris. fuckin' me so good."

you bounce up and down wildly. your pussy clenches around his cock. you feel so full.

"m'gonna cum soon," he says, his voice strained. "gonna fill you up so fuckin' good, baby."

"please.." you're panting as you look down at him, locking eyes. "fill me up. i need it."

you cry out as chris thrusts upward and tugs you down at the same time, fucking into your harshly. you can feel his cock pulsating as he spills inside of you, filling you to the brim. you whimper as his release triggers your own. your inner walls spasm as he continues to pump his hips and thrust into you.

you tremble and shudder, collapsing against his chest. his fingers trail up and down your sweaty back as you both try to catch your breaths.

he drives you mad. but at least he's good in bed.

we don't know how to talk, but damn, we know how to fuck.

[purinbunnii]

Bound by Blood, Ignited by Desire

Breaking and Owning You

The room was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the air heavy with the aftermath of what Toji had done to you.

Your legs still trembled, your body wrecked from the relentless pleasure he had forced you through. Your mind was barely piecing itself back together, drunk on the feeling of him, the weight of his presence still pressing into your skin.

But Toji?

Toji was far from done.

He was kneeling over you now, broad frame towering, those dark green eyes devouring every inch of you—the way your chest still rose and fell unevenly, the way your thighs quivered, slick still coating your skin from what he had pulled from you.

His lips curled, gaze dark with possession.

“You look fuckin’ ruined,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Your stomach flipped.

You should have fought back. Should have clawed at him, shoved him away, kept your pride intact.

But all you could do was breathe.

And watch as Toji’s fingers curled around the fabric of your soaked yukata, ripping it off your body in one effortless tug.

You gasped, heat spiking as you were suddenly bare beneath him, nothing but flushed, oversensitive skin against the cool air.

Toji hummed, dragging his knuckles over your stomach, watching the way your muscles twitched under his touch.

“You like bein’ owned like this, huh?”

Your jaw clenched. “I don’t belong to you.”

Toji grinned.

Then, before you could react—

His hand was around your throat.

Not tight. Not choking. Just holding you there, claiming you, pressing you into the futon as he hovered over you.

His breath was hot against your lips.

“You do now, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Then, in one smooth, effortless motion—

He pushed inside you.

Your back arched, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as you felt every inch of him stretching you open.

Too big. Too deep. Too much.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, and Toji groaned, his hips rolling deeper, filling you completely.

“Fuck—” you gasped, your breath shattering.

Toji let out a low, dark laugh, pressing his forehead to yours as he stretched you further, his cock pulsing inside you.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger, need. “That’s me, buried so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

Your nails scraped down his back, your body shuddering beneath him.

“Bastard,” you hissed, but the word broke on a moan as he thrust in deeper, harder.

Toji’s grip tightened, his other hand wrapping around your thigh, pinning it high against his waist, forcing you open for him.

“Yeah? You say that, but your pussy’s gripping me like you never wanna let go.”

Your face burned, but Toji didn’t give you time to fight back.

He started moving.

Slow, deep, agonizing strokes, pulling out just enough to tease you, before sinking back in with a force that had your breath hitching.

“Fuck—Toji—”

His grin widened.

“That’s right,” he groaned, his hand sliding from your throat to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Say my fuckin’ name when I’m inside you.”

Your body burned, pleasure winding tight, too tight, heat licking up your spine, making your toes curl.

Toji was everywhere.

His body caging you in, stretching you open, ruining you completely.

And he knew it.

His teeth scraped against your jawline, his tongue flicking over the pulse that was pounding wildly beneath his lips.

“You like bein’ fucked like this, huh?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “Like bein’ pinned down and used?”

Your fingers clenched in his hair, your head tipping back as he slammed into you harder.

“Tell me,” Toji growled, his lips brushing your ear. “Tell me how good I feel.”

You bit your lip.

Toji clicked his tongue.

“Still bein’ stubborn?”

Then, suddenly—

His hand slipped between your legs, his fingers pressing against your swollen clit.

Your entire body jolted.

A choked, broken cry tore from your lips as pleasure detonated through you like a fucking earthquake.

Toji groaned, watching the way your body clenched around him, the way your nails raked across his back.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming sharper, more desperate. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t fight it.

The tension in your core snapped, and suddenly—

You were falling apart around him.

Your vision went white, your body locking up as your orgasm ripped through you, wave after wave.

Toji cursed, his grip on your hips tightening as he pounded into you, chasing his own release.

Then, with a deep, guttural growl, he buried himself to the hilt, spilling inside you, filling you so full you felt it deep in your stomach.

Your body twitched, pleasure still wracking through you, your head spinning from the sheer intensity.

And Toji?

Toji was grinning.

His lips brushed over your cheek, your jaw, your throat, lazy, possessive kisses as he rode out the last waves of his high.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, collapsing onto his elbows, his weight pressing you into the futon.

You shivered, still tingling, every nerve in your body wrecked beyond repair.

For a long moment, the room was silent.

Then, Toji shifted, sliding out of you with a groan, his fingers brushing over your thighs, your stomach.

His touch was lighter now.

Not demanding. Not teasing.

Just tracing you.

His way of claiming you, even now.

Your eyes flickered open, and you caught the way his gaze softened, just for a second, before he smirked.

“You ain’t gonna be walkin’ tomorrow.”

You huffed, turning your face away, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Toji chuckled, stretching lazily, completely unbothered.

Then, after a long pause, he reached out—grabbing you, pulling you against his chest, holding you there.

Your breath hitched.

He felt it.

Toji’s smirk pressed against your hair.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly. “You’re definitely mine now.”

And for the first time, you didn’t fight it.

————

When you woke, your body felt foreign.

Heavy. Boneless. Ruined.

You were still pressed against him, your bare back to Toji’s chest, one of his massive arms slung across your waist like a claim, the other tucked beneath your neck like a silent threat that had become a cradle.

The bastard was still asleep.

Breathing deep, steady. A rhythm that felt… peaceful.

Unfamiliar.

His grip on your waist didn’t ease, even when you shifted. He just grunted, burying his face deeper against your shoulder, lips brushing over the bruises he’d left on your throat.

You blinked up at the ceiling.

What the fuck were you doing?

Last night—

God.

You let him ruin you.

You came on his mouth.

On his fingers.

On his cock.

You didn’t just give in—you broke.

And the worst part?

Toji held you after.

No snide remarks. No immediate retreat. No pulling away once the heat faded.

Just solid warmth, his voice a low growl at your ear as he said,

“You’re mine now. Get used to it.”

⸻

Later that day…

You didn’t speak to him. Not during breakfast. Not during your solo training session. Not even when he returned from a bounty with blood drying on his neck and a look in his eye that suggested something primal had been stirred again.

But of course, Toji noticed.

He always noticed.

You’d barely stepped out of the bathhouse when his hand snatched your wrist, dragging you down the hall and slamming the door behind you.

“What’s your fuckin’ problem now?” he bit out.

Your jaw clenched. You refused to look at him. “I don’t have a problem.”

Toji crowded you, trapping you between the wall and his body, voice dangerously low.

“You’re walking like I didn’t have you sobbing on my cock last night.”

Your entire face burned.

“Let me go.”

He didn’t.

Instead, his mouth brushed your ear, voice turning lethal.

“You’re pissed ‘cause you liked it.”

You shoved at his chest. “I didn’t.”

Toji laughed. It was low. Dark.

“You’re still soaked, sweetheart. I can smell it.”

Your breath hitched.

And then his hand was between your thighs again, sliding beneath your robe, finding your bare core with an ease that made you want to scream.

“You didn’t wear underwear.”

His fingers brushed over your slit, your thighs immediately pressing together. He forced them apart.

“You were waiting for me to do this again, weren’t you?”

His thumb dragged up to your clit—just once, slow and firm—and your hips jerked.

“Bingo.”

You gasped as he dropped to his knees in front of you, strong hands pulling your thighs apart. His mouth hovered just over your sex, his breath hot.

“You could’ve used your words, y’know,” he said with a crooked smirk. “But I like it better when you’re too proud to beg and still spread your legs for me anyway.”

And then his tongue was on you.

One slow, devastating lick.

You bit your wrist to keep from screaming.

Toji looked up through his lashes, tongue still working you open as he growled, “Move that hand or I’ll tie it above your head and make you cum so loud the whole fuckin’ clan hears.”

You didn’t listen. So he grabbed your thighs, lifted one onto his shoulder, and ate you like he had something to prove.

He licked, sucked, growled against your pussy until your knees were giving out, until your head hit the wall behind you, until tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you begged—yes, begged—for him to let you cum.

Only then did he ease back, licking his lips like he’d just finished a five-star meal.

“Good girl.”

Your chest heaved.

“Come here,” he ordered, grabbing your thighs and hauling you onto the futon before he slid behind you, spooning you.

You blinked. “What are you—”

“Put my cock back in.”

Your heart skipped.

You felt it—hard and hot, resting against your ass, twitching slightly.

“Toji—”

“Slide it in.”

You hesitated.

He bit your shoulder—not hard, just enough to make you shiver.

“Now.”

So you reached back and guided him in—slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside you, his size stretching you all over again.

But he didn’t move.

He just held you there.

Thick, full, stuffed to the brim and trembling—but he didn’t move.

“Feel that?” he whispered, hand gripping your hip, cock twitching inside you. “That’s what happens when you act like you don’t need me.”

You moaned softly, the sensation of him so deep, so present, that it blurred the line between possession and obsession.

“You’re gonna keep me warm all night,” he murmured against your skin, hips barely rocking. “And tomorrow? I’ll fuck you until you forget your own name.”

And maybe…

Maybe you’d let him.

————

You didn’t sleep.

Not because he was inside you all night—though that had plenty to do with it.

But because Toji’s breath never left your neck.

He didn’t thrust. Didn’t grind.

Just held you there, filled to the brim, tethered to him by the thick weight of his cock and the silent command of his arms wrapped around you like steel bars.

You’d expected him to pass out. You’d even braced for it—Toji, ever the insatiable, taking what he wanted and slipping into sleep like it was a job well done.

But instead, he kept his hand on your thigh.

Felt you twitch.

Felt you clench.

Felt every reaction your body gave without permission.

And when your breath hitched for the tenth time that hour—he finally spoke.

“You still awake?”

You didn’t answer.

He chuckled low. “Guess I wore you out, huh?”

You swallowed thickly. “You’re still hard.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Why?”

Toji’s teeth grazed your shoulder. “Because your pussy feels too fuckin’ good to leave.”

You cursed under your breath, trying to shift away, but he held you tighter.

“Don’t,” he warned. “You’ll make me cum.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively. That much pressure inside you? It would feel like—

“Then pull out,” you hissed.

Toji’s voice was a dark rumble. “I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

And then—he moved.

Just a slow rock of his hips, deep and smooth, and your body lit up like a curse had been triggered.

You arched involuntarily. “Toji—”

He grabbed your thigh, bent your leg higher over his hip, and rolled his cock deeper until you were whimpering, your body gripping him, even as your pride tried to claw itself back.

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to the back of your neck. “You can pretend all you want, sweetheart, but your body knows who it belongs to.”

Your voice cracked. “You’re—such a cocky asshole.”

He thrust again—sharper—and you gasped.

“Say it again,” he growled. “See what happens.”

You clenched your jaw. Refused.

So he reached for your wrist.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he grabbed the belt of your robe from the floor and—fast, decisive, efficient—wrapped it around your wrists and tied you up.

You froze.

He rolled you onto your back, your bound wrists above your head, and slid back inside you in one fluid motion.

The stretch made you cry out, your walls fluttering around him from the sudden angle.

Toji’s face hovered over yours, dark hair falling into his eyes, his expression so intense it made you stop breathing.

“You want out?”

Silence.

You stared up at him—glaring, confused, wet, full.

But not afraid.

“…No.”

Toji smirked. “Good girl.”

Then he fucked you.

Hard. Deep. With no softness and no lies.

Each thrust dragged the air from your lungs. Your hands tugged at the makeshift binds, your hips arching up to meet him even as you cursed his name.

You didn’t want him to stop.

You didn’t want him to stop.

You didn’t want him to stop.

“Look at you,” he panted, slamming into you. “Fucked open on my cock like it’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel alive.”

You moaned, voice raw.

“You need this,” he growled. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself.”

He grabbed your jaw, forcing your mouth open. “What do you want?”

“I hate you,” you whispered.

His thrusts slowed.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, then leaned in and said it so quiet, so close, you almost missed the shift beneath the heat:

“I don’t care.”

And then he kissed you.

Really kissed you.

Mouth slanting over yours like it belonged there. Like he’d been waiting for it. Like he needed to prove that you were his now—not just in your body, but in every inch of your defiance.

You moaned into his mouth.

And you didn’t stop him.

————

He untied your wrists gently.

You didn’t expect that.

And when you rolled away from him, legs aching, body buzzing, skin flushed and marked—he didn’t stop you.

But he didn’t let you leave either.

“Get back here.”

You paused at the doorway.

“Why?” you asked without looking back.

Toji’s voice came low and quiet.

“‘Cause the bed feels fuckin’ cold without you in it.”

You turned.

He was on his back, one arm behind his head, the other holding your robe belt loosely in his fingers.

He wasn’t smiling.

Just watching.

Waiting.

You crossed the room slowly and slipped under the covers.

This time, you reached for him.

And Toji—just once—let you feel safe in his arms.

5

[shyamanuensis]

my personal crucio

MDNI. Unhinged. All Slytherin boys will be making an appearance. Reader is currently dating Cedric Diggory. Oh no. Clearly she needs a new bad habit xo

Hot – that’s the only word I can use to describe it. Not sweltering or burning. Hot. Just hot; but not uncomfortably. Both the club and him. There’s a sweat beading across my skin which is either from the pill I took in the alleyway about an hour earlier or the way his hands have found my hips. This is almost a weekly ritual for us. Three tequila shots down and a burn at the back of my tongue which seems almost unholy: we’re in a bathroom stall. Dirty, filthy, nasty. Am I still describing the place or him?

The beat the DJ is spinning outside vibrates through the walls; sending a shiver up my spine which is complimented by the way his lips are attached to my neck. Neither of us are for formalities. The dress I’m wearing has been pooled around my waist roughly; heel balancing on the toilet seat; his thrusts lazy but satisfying. A sense of euphoria has kicked in and my mind begins to blank but I’m desperate to keep myself in the moment. To feel worshiped; to feel needed. He groans his usual array of praises – tight, slut, mine. It’s the highlight of every Saturday night – being used, pleasured, wanted. Is it sex? Well yeah, just without the foreplay, build up, emotional high and aftercare.

He’s a bad habit but I’m not exactly what you’d call angel material. At least he asks for consent through, right? It’s never verbal. No, that would be asking too much of the situation. It’s a simple glance which glitters with a mischief I’m addicted to harder than the drugs my friends encourage me to take; and all I have to do is smile back. Once he winks, it’s endgame.

Well – almost. Endgame kicks in as he wraps a hand around my throat; eyes meeting mine for the last time during the night as his hips smack against my own with a greed I’d struggle to define. He’s never been one to care about if I finish; but tonight, he murmurs something about making sure I feel alright, and his thumb finds my clit. Before I know it, my teeth sink into his shoulder, and I’ve hit another high. Naturally this time.

His chest heaves. It takes a few seconds for both of us to catch our breaths. A knock at the stall door for a girl desperate to use the bathroom has us giggling like children although we both know we’re not that innocent. It’s a single kiss – barely there which ends the arrangement between us. His jeans zipped back up; my dress back down. I’m missing underwear, but it wouldn’t be the first time and I’m not desperate enough to pick up anything that’s been discarded on the sticky floor. We shuffle out of the stall as the girl waiting rushes past and make our way back into the club. As a rule, we never hold hands but tonight our fingertips only just find one another’s and there’s a scarce feeling of romantic intimacy.

“You know – I still don’t know your name?”

Is it wrong to ask? Should I appreciate the anonymity we have? Maybe. But just like any other woman in this world, I’ve got a build in sense of curiosity that often leads me off the path astray. He twists to face me; a hand brushing hair behind my shoulder as he cups my cheek tenderly and smiles.

“How about I promise to tell you next week?”

He kisses my forehead before ghosting off into the crowd and I’m stunned for a few seconds; next week. Next week. Fuck; can I wait that long? I guess I do for the sex anyway. Feeling a weight shadow over me from behind, lighter, gentler hands intertwining with my own, the familiar scent of my boyfriend’s cologne becomes almost overwhelming. Do I feel guilty? Surprisingly no. He’s stable. He’s secure. He’s emotionally available and free. Like a good man should be. My thighs are wet though. Almost uncomfortably. I have to suggest something – anything to take my mind off of Mr Wrong.

“Cedric babe; let’s go grab another drink…”

[bibuckagenda]

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered lyrics that make me feral about Buddie:

“Men are not a new sensation, I’ve done pretty well I think”

“He’s a fool and don’t I know it, but a fool can have his charms. I’m in love and don’t I show it, like a babe in arms”

“Loves the same old sad sensation. Lately I’ve not slept a wink, since this half-pint imitation put me on the blink”

“Burned a lot, but learned a lot, and now you are broke, so you earned a lot. Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered no more”

[peapod20001]

@carbonateddelusion

And Ero took that literally

[habibisagi]

[dallonwrites]

the first chapter of lover boy is really intense on an emotional level because So Many Things happen in quick succession it's like beau barely gets a chance to breathe and process it. meanwhile RR opening chapter is just felix and dorothy arguing in a laundromat.

[usernyoom]

"i feel like the red bull daniel. he is still here."

[daz4i]

one thing abt me is that i'll fixate on the bird boy