#some kind of freaky state

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

❛ YOU AND RAFE TAKE HONEY PACKETS BUT HE CAVES FIRST ❜

girlfriend¡reader . . . rafe cameron

“Okay, but you guys have to hear this,” Mia said, swirling her wine before taking a dramatic sip. “Last weekend, Aiden and I tried those aphrodisiac honeypacks—you know, the ones they’re always hyping up on TikTok? Holy shit, it was insane.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your glass down on the table with a soft clink. “Insane how?” you asked, curiosity piqued. Beside you, Lila, who’d been scrolling her phone absentmindedly, perked up, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

Mia grinned, leaning forward like she was about to spill a state secret. “Okay, so you know those little packets you can get at sketchy gas stations or online? They’re like honey mixed with some herbal stuff—supposedly gets your blood pumping or whatever. We each took one, and I swear to God, within twenty minutes, we were clawing at each other like animals. I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like every touch felt electric, and I couldn’t think about anything except jumping him.”

Lila burst out laughing, her voice bright and sharp. “Oh my God, that’s fucking hot. Did you plan it, or just wing it?”

“Totally spontaneous,” Mia said, her cheeks flushing slightly—not from embarrassment, but from the memory. “We barely made it to the bedroom. I’m telling you, it’s like someone turned the dial up to eleven on every nerve in my body.”

You shifted in your seat, the wicker creaking beneath you, a slow heat creeping up your neck as you pictured it. Rafe flashed into your mind—his broad shoulders, the cocky tilt of his smirk, the way his hands felt when they gripped your hips.

You’d been dating him long enough to know he’d be game for something like this, but the thought of him losing control? That was a whole different level of intriguing.

“Wait,” you said, cutting through their giggles. “So it’s not just hype? It actually works?”

“Works?” Mia echoed, incredulous. “Babe, I’m saying it’s dangerous. Aiden was begging me to touch him by the end of the night, and he’s usually the one playing it cool. You should try it with Rafe. Bet he’d lose his mind.”

Lila nodded enthusiastically, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, he totally would. Rafe’s got that whole ‘I’m in charge’ vibe, but I bet you could break him with this. Make it a game or something—see who caves first.”

You chewed your lip, the idea taking root like a seed in fertile soil. The thought of Rafe—your Rafe, all sharp edges and simmering intensity—reduced to a needy mess because of you? It sent a shiver down your spine, one that had nothing to do with the cooling evening air. “Okay,” you said slowly, a grin tugging at your lips. “I’m in. Next weekend.”

Mia clapped her hands together, delighted. “Yes! Report back. I need details.”

. . .

“Hey,” you said casually, tilting your head to look up at him. His blue eyes flicked down to meet yours, a faint smirk already playing on his lips like he knew you were up to something.

“What’s up, princess?” he drawled, his voice low and rough, the kind that always made your stomach flip.

You shifted, sitting up a little straighter, your knee brushing against his thigh. “So, Mia was telling me about this thing she tried with Aiden. Those aphrodisiac honeypacks—you heard of ‘em?”

Rafe’s smirk deepened, his brows lifting slightly. “Those horny honey things? Yeah, I’ve seen ‘em around. Why? You wanna get freaky?” He chuckled, but there was a spark in his eyes, a flicker of interest that told you he was already hooked.

“Maybe,” you teased, running your fingers lightly over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his T-shirt. “But I was thinking we make it fun. Like a game. We each take one, no touching allowed, and the first one to cave loses. Winner gets bragging rights—or whatever else they want.”

He tilted his head, studying you with that predatory glint he got when he was intrigued. “You think you can outlast me, huh?” His voice dropped an octave, thick with challenge. “Baby, I’m made of steel. You’re gonna be begging me to touch you in ten minutes flat.”

You laughed, the sound light but edged with defiance. “Oh, please. You’re the one who can’t keep your hands off me half the time. I give it five minutes before you’re on your knees.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his smirk turning into something darker, hungrier. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You’re on, sweetheart. Next weekend. But when I win, you’re gonna owe me big.”

The heat of his breath against your skin sent a thrill through you, but you pulled back, meeting his gaze with a wicked smile. “We’ll see about that.”

. . .

The following Saturday night, the air in Rafe’s bedroom was thick with anticipation. You sat cross-legged on his bed, the navy comforter rumpled beneath you, wearing nothing but one of his oversized T-shirts and a pair of lacy black panties. Rafe stood across the room, leaning against the dresser, shirtless in a pair of gray sweats that hung low on his hips. His chest was broad and tan, a faint sheen of sweat already glistening in the warm light.

On the nightstand sat two small golden packets, their shiny foil catching the glow of the lamp. You picked one up, turning it over in your hands, the weight of it surprisingly light for something that promised so much chaos. “Last chance to back out,” you said, smirking at him as you tore the corner open.

Rafe snorted, grabbing his own packet. “Not a chance. You’re going down, baby.” He ripped his open with his teeth, the gesture primal and a little too hot for your liking, and squeezed the thick, amber honey onto his tongue. You followed suit, the sweet, herbal taste coating your mouth, a faint warmth spreading down your throat as you swallowed.

For the first few minutes, it was all bravado. Rafe paced the room like a caged animal, cracking his knuckles, his smirk intact. “Feeling anything yet?” he asked, voice cocky as he flexed his arms, the muscles rippling under his skin.

You shrugged, playing it cool even as a subtle heat began to bloom in your chest. “Nope. You?”

He shook his head, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “Nah.”

Ten minutes in, the air shifted. The warmth in your body intensified, sinking lower, pooling between your thighs. Your skin prickled, every brush of the T-shirt against your nipples sending a jolt through you. You shifted on the bed, pressing your legs together, trying to ignore the growing ache.

Across the room, Rafe stopped pacing. His breathing was heavier now, his chest rising and falling faster. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands sticking to his forehead, and when his eyes met yours, they were dark—pupils blown wide, a storm brewing behind them.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. He leaned back against the dresser, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles whitened. “This shit’s no joke.”

You bit your lip, the sight of him unraveling doing dangerous things to you. “What’s wrong, Rafe? Cracking already?” Your voice was teasing, but it came out breathier than you intended, the need starting to seep through your composure.

He laughed, but it was strained, jagged. “You wish. I could bend you over right now and still win this.” But his hands stayed glued to the dresser, and his hips shifted—just a fraction, enough to tell you he was fighting the same war you were.

Fifteen minutes, and the room felt like a furnace. Your pulse hammered in your ears, your body screaming for contact. The air smelled of him—sweat and musk and that damn cologne—and it was driving you insane. You curled your fingers into the comforter, nails digging in as you watched Rafe.

He was a mess now, his sweats tented embarrassingly, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack. His eyes raked over you, lingering on the way the T-shirt rode up your thighs, and he groaned—a low, guttural sound that hit you like a freight train.

“Goddamn it, baby,” he rasped, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re killing me. Just—fuck—just let me touch you. Please.”

You smirked, though it took everything in you to hold it together. “That sounds like caving, Rafe.”

He growled, stepping forward, then stopping himself, fists balled at his sides. “You’re such a fucking tease,” he panted, his voice raw, desperate. “Look at you, sitting there all smug. I bet you’re soaked, aren’t you? Bet you’re dying for it just as bad.”

He wasn’t wrong. Your thighs trembled, slickness pooling in your panties, but you weren’t about to admit it. “Guess you’ll never know unless you lose,” you shot back, voice shaking but defiant.

Twenty minutes, and Rafe snapped—or tried to. He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands hovering an inch from your thighs. “Fuck it,” he breathed, his voice wrecked. “I lose. I fucking lose, okay? Just—please, baby, I need you. I’m going crazy here.”

You tilted your head, savoring the power, the way he looked up at you like a man unhinged. “Not yet,” you said, voice low and deliberate, your hand reaching out to graze his cheek—just a featherlight touch, enough to make him shudder. “You can wait a little longer.”

His eyes widened, a mix of shock and pure torment flashing across his face. “You’re kidding,” he choked out, his hands twitching, aching to close the distance. “Baby, I’m dying here. You can’t do this to me.”

“Oh, I can,” you replied, leaning back on your elbows, letting the T-shirt ride up higher, exposing more of your thighs, the edge of your panties just visible. His gaze dropped, and he let out a strangled sound, his whole body tensing like a coiled spring. “You said you’re made of steel, right? Prove it.”

Twenty-five minutes, and Rafe was a wreck. He’d slumped back onto his heels, hands dragging through his hair, sweat dripping down his chest. His cock strained against his sweats, a dark spot forming where he was leaking, and his breathing was so ragged it sounded like he’d run a marathon. “You’re evil,” he muttered, voice hoarse, his eyes locked on you with a mix of reverence and desperation. “Fucking evil, you know that?”

You shifted again, letting one leg fall open slightly, giving him a glimpse that made his jaw drop. “Maybe,” you said, smirking. “But you love it.”

Thirty minutes, and he was begging—really begging. “Please, baby,” he whispered, crawling closer, his hands trembling as they hovered over your knees. “I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. I’ll do anything you want, just let me touch you. I’m fucking losing it.”

You held his gaze, letting the tension stretch one agonizing second longer, then nodded. “Okay,” you said softly, victorious. “You lose.”

. . .

His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard while his other hand kneaded the opposite side. The sensation—amplified by the honey packets still coursing through you—had you arching into him, a sharp cry escaping your lips as your nails dug into his scalp.

“Rafe—slow down,” you gasped, half-laughing, but he shook his head, his teeth grazing your skin as he moved lower, kissing and biting a frantic path down your stomach.

“No chance,” he growled, hooking his fingers into your panties and dragging them down your legs in one swift motion. He paused then, just for a second, staring at you—spread out, glistening, trembling—and the look in his eyes was feral, reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “You’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, before diving in.

His mouth was relentless, tongue plunging into you, lapping up every drop like he’d been starved for it. You screamed, hips bucking, but he pinned you down with an arm across your waist, his other hand spreading you wider for him. He sucked at your clit, hard and fast, then slow and teasing, every movement driving you higher, the aphrodisiac making it all too much, too good.

Your hands twisted in his hair, pulling hard, and he moaned against you, the vibration sending you spiraling.

“Rafe—oh God—I’m gonna—” You couldn’t finish the sentence before it hit, a blinding orgasm that had you shaking, clenching around nothing as he kept going, drawing it out until you were whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.

He pulled back, lips shiny, chest heaving, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like a man who’d just won the lottery. “You taste so fucking good,” he said, voice rough as he shoved his sweats down, freeing his cock—red, leaking, impossibly hard. He climbed onto the bed, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach with ease, pulling you up onto your knees.

“Been thinking about this for thirty fucking minutes,” he rasped, lining himself up and thrusting in deep in one brutal stroke. You cried out, the stretch overwhelming, perfect, your walls fluttering around him as he set a punishing pace. His hands gripped your hips so hard you knew you’d bruise, but you didn’t care—every slap of his skin against yours, every grunt and curse spilling from his lips, was worth it.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, one hand sliding up your back to fist in your hair, pulling your head back as he pounded into you. “So perfect—shit, I’m not gonna last.”

“Don’t,” you managed, pushing back against him, meeting every thrust. “Come for me, Rafe.”

He did—hard—his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a broken moan, his fingers digging into your skin. The feel of him, hot and pulsing, tipped you over again, a second wave crashing through you as you clenched around him, milking him dry.

He collapsed beside you, both of you slick with sweat, breathing like you’d run a race. His arm snaked around you, pulling you close, and he pressed a lazy kiss to your temple. “You’re a fucking sadist,” he muttered, but there was a grin in his voice. “Making me wait like that.”

You laughed, breathless, nuzzling into his chest. “Worth it, though, right?” “Fuck yeah,” he said, already sounding half-ready for round two. “But next time, I’m winning.”

𓂅 notes ―

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©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ꪆৎ est. 2025

[hatethysinner]

if you take little prompts, could i propose a jealous remmick drabble with a breeding kink? 👀

"I’m gonna fill you up, make sure you carry somethin of me forever"

ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

ᴡᴄ: 6.9k (i giggled too)

ᴀ/ɴ: the title choice... if you know you know. anyways, i needed to get my freak on and god damn did i do just that. i adore fluff but sometimes i just can't say no to my pussy. please don't talk to me about the mental state i was in while writing this. i simply have no excuses, take me to horny jail. though i will say i feel WAY more confident about writing smut now. i think i should do these more often because it's kind of an outstanding way for me to stretch my legs if you will. THAT SOUNDS SO CRAZY LAMFJDJHVHBJDV but i even got over my fear of em dashes just a tiny bit. also, this was a combination of like 3 asks in 1 and you'll definitely SEE which ones i'm talking about when you check the warnings. anons, you know who you are!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!), filthy disgusting shameless smut, minimal plot all porn, exes, stalking, very rough sex, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, spit kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, dumbification, sadism, masochism, choking, spanking, biting, dacryphilia, overstimulation, eye contact, drooling, cuckolding, infidelity, bloodplay, threats of violence, fantasizing about violence, graphic violence, murder, dark!dom!remmick, sub!fem!reader, reader is just as freaky, vague setting, excessive use of pet names, excessive use of italicization, read at your own discretion

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with peace. Not the softness of contentment or rest. This was the kind of silence that felt like it was waiting. Like something pressed against the windows, unseen, watching the curve of your back as you moved through the hallway in your robe, your bare feet barely whispering against the floor.

You should’ve been asleep. But the bed felt too big tonight.

Your husband was out, running one of his rare late-night errands. Something about a friend’s stalled car, a favor owed. He’d apologized for leaving, pressed a kiss to your forehead, a hand brushing the side of your face like he always did. “Won’t be long,” he promised. “I hate sleeping without you.”

And he meant it. He always did. He was that kind of man.

You loved him. You did. He was good. Honest. Steady. The kind of man who brought home your favorite pastries without being asked, who offered to do the dishes before you even touched your plate. You didn’t marry him expecting fireworks. You married him because you were tired of chasing smoke.

But some nights, like tonight, you still missed the fire.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping lukewarm tea you’d already forgotten to drink, robe slipping off one shoulder. The tile was cool beneath your feet. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space like static, soft and constant.

And then, like it always did when you let your mind wander too far, the memory of him crept in.

Remmick.

A name you hadn’t spoken in years. A man you hadn’t touched in longer.

You cut him off like you were supposed to. You did it for your own good. Your sanity. Your future. But Lord, if there wasn’t something in the way he ruined you that no one else had been able to match since.

He didn’t beg. He didn’t need to. Just looked at you in that way that made your stomach knot and your thighs press together. He touched you like he was claiming something. Deep, slow, maddeningly precise. He didn’t fuck fast. He fucked full. He filled you, stretched you, split you open in ways that made you forget your own name. And when he looked at you—

God, when he looked at you.

It was like you were his favorite meal. His last drink. His only prayer.

Your husband never looked at you like that. He looked at you with kindness, sure. But never hunger. Never need. Never like you were something to be devoured.

You closed your eyes, set your mug down. The ache between your legs pulsed, low and steady, like a bruise remembered. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t want him.

But you did.

You always had.

And it had been so long since someone made you come the way Remmick used to. Effortlessly, endlessly, like he knew every part of you before you even touched yourself for the first time.

You shivered.

Outside, thunder rumbled low in the distance.

Somewhere, not nearly far enough, Remmick was still out there.

Waiting.

And, of course, it had to be tonight when he came.

The knock was sharp. Not loud. But sure. Like whoever stood behind that door knew you were already halfway toward it, breath stuck somewhere between your ribs. You froze in the hallway, mug still warm in your palm, heart already catching on a beat you hadn’t felt in years.

Three more taps followed. Firm. Even. Familiar.

You didn’t need to check the window. Didn’t need to ask who it was.

Your feet moved on their own.

When you opened the door, there he stood.

Remmick.

Older, sharper, polished like glass but dangerous like a blade. He leaned against the frame like he owned it, like he’d been here before and would be again. That light blue shirt was pressed clean, top buttons undone just enough to show a sliver of white undershirt and the chain you remembered. Gold, delicate, glinting faint in the porch light. Black slacks. A belt with a gold buckle. Suspenders hanging easy off his shoulders.

His hair was slicked back, still dark, still wild in places where the waves refused to be tamed. But it was his eyes, those deep sea-blue eyes, the unmistakable red glow, that made you forget how to breathe. That looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel.

He didn’t just see you.

He devoured you.

“Well, hey there, darlin’,” he said, low and slow and unmistakably him. He didn’t bother hiding the curve of his grin. Fangs bared. Sharp. Bright. Gorgeous.

Your pulse tripped over itself.

“What…” You swallowed. “What are you doin’ here?”

That smile stretched wider, lazier. He stepped forward just enough for the porch light to catch the edges of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.

“Y’know damn well why I’m here.”

There wasn’t an ounce of shame in his voice. Not one drop of hesitation. Just velvet certainty, dragging you backward into something you’d spent years clawing your way out of. Something you never stopped missing.

You blinked at him, trying to level your tone. “My husband—”

“Ain’t here,” Remmick said quick and flat, like it was obvious. He glanced down the street. “Car’s gone. Bedroom light’s off. Not a single trace of that man in this house ‘cept that little ring you’re tryin’ to hide behind your fingers.”

You dropped your hand before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head. “Still nervous, huh?”

“Remmick—”

“You alone?”

Your lips parted, but the truth had already settled between you like smoke. You knew the question was redundant. That he was simply trying to drive home the point.

“…Yeah.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not exactly. Something darker. Warmer. Hungrier.

“Knew it,” he murmured. “Knew he didn’t know what to do with ya.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned forward, just a few inches, but it knocked the air right out of your lungs. The air between you changed. Heavy. Hot. Close. The kind of air that pulled your thighs tight and made your stomach knot with something sharp and sweet and old.

“Ya look beautiful,” he said, his eyes raking over you. “But y’knew that already.”

You should’ve closed the door. Should’ve told him to leave.

But you didn’t.

Remmick’s voice lowered, slow and syrup-thick. “Let me in.”

It wasn’t a question.

The muscles in your arms tensed, fingers still on the knob like you weren’t sure who you were anymore. Every part of you said no. But your body, your breath, your blood? All of it whispered yes.

He waited.

And waited.

His eyes burned into you, red flickering hotter now. Not loud, not angry. Just patient. Starved.

“I ain’t gonna ask again,” he said, voice soft, almost sweet. “Don’t make me beg, baby.”

Your throat went dry.

You didn’t shut the door.

You didn’t step back.

You didn’t even breathe.

“…Come in,” you said. Quiet. But clear.

And he did.

The moment he stepped inside, the door shut with a thud behind him.

Remmick laughed.

Not a sound you’d heard from him before. It wasn’t warm or familiar. It wasn’t charming or even cruel. It was cold. Final. Like something had been waiting, watching, for the moment you said Come in, and now that you had, it didn’t have to pretend anymore.

“You’re just as desperate as I remember,” he said, still smiling as his boots landed slow and heavy on the floor. “Knew y’would be.”

Before you could even blink, he had you. A searing kiss, full and crushing and greedy. No warning. No space to breathe. His hands gripped your jaw, thumbs pressing your cheeks, mouth sealing over yours like he’d gone too long without it.

You should’ve pulled away.

You should’ve shoved him off, reminded yourself of the ring still sitting on your finger.

But your lips parted.

Your breath caught.

And when his body pressed against yours—hard chest, long arms, belt buckle cold against your stomach—you melted into it with a sound that betrayed every shred of shame you still had left.

You hated how much you missed this.

How much you’d been starving, too.

Remmick’s hand slid down the front of your robe. He didn’t waste time. Not even a little. Fingers traced the curve of your stomach, the ridge of your hip, and then dipped between your thighs like he already knew what he’d find there.

When he felt how wet you were, he growled.

Actually growled.

“Slut,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along your cheek, jaw, ear. “My married girl, touchin’ herself to the thought of me. Makin’ them soft sounds every time y’say my name.”

You trembled.

“I heard ya,” he whispered, voice all breath and bite. “Every damn night. Ya don’t know how many times I nearly came through that window just to shut ya up the way ya wanted.”

His fingers were still there, not moving much, just resting. A threat. A promise.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your fingertips, in your thighs. Your robe slipped further open, the air cool against your chest where the silk parted.

“I didn’t—” you tried, but the words caught somewhere deep. You couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not with your legs shaking and your lips kiss-bruised and your entire body leaning into him like it had never wanted anyone else.

He chuckled again, quieter this time. Darker.

“Ya did,” he said, kissing the side of your neck, lips soft now. Tender, even. “And I ain’t mad, darlin’. Y’think I don’t dream ‘bout this too?”

His other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he hadn’t just dragged twenty years of buried longing to the surface in a single kiss.

“I just didn’t think,” he murmured, eyes glowing as they flicked to yours, “ya’d open the door so easy.”

And then his hand moved.

Two fingers, thick and slow, slipped inside you with a precision that made your knees lock and your breath shudder out in a gasp you didn’t mean to make. No warning. No teasing. Just in, to the knuckle, deep and deliberate, like he’d never forgotten the exact shape of you.

You jolted forward against his chest, hips stuttering, thighs pressing shut on instinct. But his arm wrapped firm around your waist, locking you there, helpless and pinned against him as he crooked his fingers just right and pulled another sound from your throat you didn’t recognize.

He groaned low. “Still so fuckin’ soft. Still open for me like I never left.”

Your hand slapped the doorframe for balance, fingers scrabbling, mouth half-open, trying to find air. But Remmick wasn’t giving you space. Not anymore.

His mouth brushed your ear. “He ever touch ya like this?”

You didn’t answer.

His fingers stopped.

Completely.

The stillness was brutal.

Your body rocked against him, desperate, aching, but he didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

“Answer me,” he said. Calm. Almost bored. “Your good man. Your sweet husband. He ever make ya feel like this?”

“…No,” you whispered, too soft.

Remmick clicked his tongue.

“I said speak up, baby. Y’know better.”

You swallowed hard, voice shaking. “No. He—he doesn’t.”

A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest. “Didn’t think so.”

He thrust his fingers deeper, slow and grinding, pressing against that spot that made your spine curve and your mouth fall open.

“Ever make you soak through your sheets just from thinkin’ ‘bout a look?” he asked. “Ever make your legs shake ‘cause you wanted it so bad you thought you’d die from it?”

You whined. Tried to shake your head. But again, he stopped.

Not a flex. Not a curl. Nothing.

“Remmick—please—”

“Answer me.”

Your voice broke. “No. Never. Not once.”

His mouth split into a grin so wicked it made your whole body clench around him. “Didn’t think so.”

He fucked you slow, fingers curling in a rhythm that felt like a secret being pulled from your bones. His hand on your waist held you still, anchored you to him as he worked you open with ease, with arrogance, with that goddamn patience that made him feel like punishment and prayer in equal measure.

“Y’ever beg for him?” Remmick murmured. “Cry for it? Lose your fuckin’ mind just ‘cause he looked at you the right way?”

You didn’t want to answer.

You didn’t want to admit any of this.

But the pause was longer this time. The stillness unbearable. Your body was screaming for it.

“No,” you gasped. “Only you.”

“That’s right.” His smile pressed into your neck. “My good little wife, moanin’ for the wrong man.”

His thumb found your clit and circled it once, just once, enough to make your legs buckle.

“Ya feel how wet you are?” he whispered, nose brushing your cheek. “This for him?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He paused.

You whimpered.

He pulled back just slightly. Not out. Just enough to make you feel the empty stretch behind it.

“For who?”

Your voice cracked. “You.”

“Say my name.”

“Remmick.”

He groaned against your throat, fingers thrusting again with filthy, exquisite control.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t just touch you, he worked you. Drew out every forgotten ache, every unsaid word, every damn piece of yourself you’d buried under decency and dishes and folded laundry.

“Ya ever fake it?” he asked, lips at your jaw. “For him?”

You nodded.

He stilled again.

You whimpered, panicked. “Yes! Yes, I—God, I have, I did—”

Remmick chuckled darkly, fingers starting to move again, slick and obscene.

“Course ya did. Poor thing. Never stood a chance.”

You clenched around him, helpless against it. Your head dropped back, vision fogging.

“That’s it,” he cooed. “Y’remember how this ends, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew.

And so did your body—traitorous, needy, too honest for its own good.

You were close.

You were so fucking close.

And just for a moment, you let yourself believe he’d let you finish.

Just as your stomach curled, breath catching, thighs beginning to tighten—he pulled out. Abrupt. Cruel.

Your whole body jerked like he’d ripped something vital out of you. A desperate, broken whimper escaped your throat before you could bite it back.

And Remmick laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he said, voice thick with mock-sympathy, “that little sound right there?”

He licked the tips of his fingers slow, eyes never leaving yours.

“That’s the sound of a girl who forgot who she was dealin’ with.”

You hated the way your body trembled. Hated that your pulse was still stuttering out of control. Hated that he was right. That your cunt was still clenching around nothing, already grieving the loss of him like he’d been inside you for years instead of seconds.

Before you could think to curse him, slap him, beg him, he moved.

Remmick grabbed you by the hips and lifted.

Effortless. Like you weighed nothing. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d thrown you around.

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. Old muscle memory. Dangerous muscle memory.

Your arms clung to his shoulders as he walked, carrying you like a man on a mission.

And you knew.

You knew where you were headed.

The moment you saw the edge of the dining table come into view—solid oak, the one your husband insisted was “too nice to actually use”—your breath hitched, legs squeezing tighter around his hips.

“Still remember, huh?” Remmick muttered against your jaw, setting you down with zero gentleness. Your back hit the wood hard enough to knock a gasp out of you, the cool polish biting into your skin through the robe’s thin silk. “Told ya once I’d take you on every fuckin’ surface of that house. Never broke that promise.”

You barely had time to adjust before he gripped the hem of your robe—what little of it still covered you—and ripped.

The bottom half tore clean off, jagged and loud, silk whining in protest before it fluttered to the floor.

You were bare beneath it.

You always had been.

Remmick groaned like he was seeing it for the first time. “Goddamn, darlin’.”

Then he dropped to his knees.

Didn’t say another word. Didn’t tease. Didn’t breathe.

His mouth found you like it belonged there.

Hot tongue, open mouth, greedy hunger.

No hesitation. No warm-up. He dove in like he was starved, like he’d been dreaming of this every goddamn night since the last time he tasted you. His hands gripped your thighs, spread them wide, fingers digging in like bruises he meant to leave.

And his mouth—

You screamed.

Low and sharp, head tossed back as he licked through your folds with the kind of practiced ruthlessness that made your vision blur.

He devoured you.

Sloppy. Loud. Wet.

His tongue flicked against your clit with obscene precision, slow and steady until your hips bucked. Then he sucked it between his lips and groaned like it was his favorite flavor.

You clutched the edge of the table with both hands, knuckles white, legs already shaking against his shoulders.

“Oh my God—Remmick—”

He didn’t slow.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look up.

You felt him groan into you, like your taste alone was something holy. One hand slipped down to grip your ass, yanking you closer to the edge, forcing you to take it, to feel every roll of his tongue like a punishment you’d begged for.

You wanted to run.

You wanted to cry.

You wanted to come.

You could feel it, spine curling, fingers digging into the table hard enough to leave crescents. Your breath came fast and ragged, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth as he sucked and licked and fucked you with his tongue like he meant to ruin you.

And he did.

Because he always did.

The orgasm hit you like nothing else ever had. No slow climb, no gentle crest. Just an eruption, pure and bright and violent, ripping through your entire body like lightning set to music. You screamed. You sobbed. You shook, thighs squeezing around his head as your back arched clean off the table.

You came so hard you forgot your name.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

His hands held you open, mouth insatiable, tongue dragging through the aftermath like he was trying to clean you out, like he couldn’t stand to waste a drop. You cried out again, voice cracking, body too raw and too sensitive, but he kept going, sucking and lapping and groaning like he’d never get enough.

You tasted yourself on the air. Felt the heat dripping down your thighs. Felt your soul start to float.

Until finally—

“Please,” you gasped, sobbing now, voice broken. “Please, Remmick—s-stop—‘s too much—please—”

You were crying.

Tears streaked your cheeks, your chest heaving as your hands tried and failed to push his head away.

And that’s when he looked up.

Face soaked.

Neck wet.

Shirt clinging to his chest, sheer with your slick.

But it wasn’t just you.

There was drool.

An obscene amount.

Slipping from the corners of his mouth, glistening down his chin in thick, silvery ropes. So much spit you couldn’t even understand how it kept coming, gluing him to you, shining like filth made holy.

He stared at you.

Eyes glowing—red, hungry, starved.

And then he smiled. Real slow. Real soft.

“Ya always look the prettiest when ya cry.”

That broke you.

Something in you cracked wide open. You whimpered, too weak to fight, too full of him to think.

And then he moved.

He stood in one smooth motion, grabbing you by the waist, and lifted you off the table like you weighed nothing. Again. And you went, limp and ruined, legs instinctively wrapping around him, arms slung over his shoulders.

This time, his tongue shoved its way into your mouth the second he caught your lips.

And you drowned.

In yourself. In him.

The taste was unbearable. Your come and his spit, mingled and messy, wet and wild. It filled your mouth, coated your tongue, slid down your throat as he kissed you with open-mouthed desperation, feeding it to you like it was a gift.

You choked on it.

You loved it.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, still damp with what you’d given him, and he kissed you harder, tongue claiming you like he needed it to live.

Then, he turned.

He walked.

Straight down the hall, not even breaking the kiss.

And you knew where he was taking you.

The bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Where you and your husband lay in false comfort night after night.

Where your hand slipped between your thighs in silence after the lights went out, tracing your own skin as you bit your tongue to keep from whispering the name of the man you really wanted.

Remmick didn’t speak as he pushed the door open with his shoulder.

Didn’t look around.

Didn’t hesitate.

He set you down hard on the edge of the bed, the marital bed, the sacred shrine of everything you pretended was enough, and looked down at you like he was ready to burn it to the ground.

You were on him the second your back hit the bed.

Fingers trembling but fast, grabbing for his belt buckle like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. You needed him out of it. Needed him inside you, now, needed to feel every inch of him stretch you open until you forgot the name of the man who actually slept in this room.

The metal clinked once before you got it undone, hands sliding down to shove the leather free.

Remmick chuckled.

Not the amused kind.

The mean kind.

“Christ, slow the fuck down,” he snapped, voice a blade slicing through the haze. “Ya always were a needy little thing. Sloppy hands, pantin’ like a bitch in heat.”

The words should’ve shamed you.

They didn’t.

They burned.

Hot. Dirty. True.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. But you heard the rustle of his slacks hitting the floor, his boxers following quick after. He didn’t bother with his shirt. Didn’t even unroll his sleeves. He climbed on top of you half-dressed, his chain swinging low and his breath heavy as his body pressed yours into the mattress like he was settling back into something he’d missed.

He didn’t have to try. Didn’t need force.

His weight alone pinned you down.

One arm slid beneath your back, the other caught your wrists, locking them overhead with no more effort than it took to breathe. You couldn’t move. Could barely think.

And God, it was familiar.

The ache of it.

The sheer rightness.

The feeling of his body covering yours, his mouth close enough to taste your thoughts, his cock heavy against your thigh as he lined himself up with no warning, no softness, no pause.

This was love, wasn’t it?

Not the gentle, tepid kind your husband gave you—bedtime kisses and surprise bouquets.

This was Remmick love.

Cruel. Honest. Brutal.

“I shouldn’t let you fuckin’ have it,” he muttered, eyes burning into yours, “after the way ya ran. The way ya begged me to stay, then slammed the door like ya meant it.”

You squirmed beneath him, already gasping at the feel of his tip pressing just there, your cunt still soaked, still trembling, still too raw from what he did to you on the dining table.

“But y’want it so fuckin’ bad, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

He slammed into you.

One sharp, vicious thrust.

You cried out, body arching up as your walls struggled to take him, stretch for him, remember him. You weren’t ready. You couldn’t be. Not after what he’d already done to you. But that didn’t stop him. Didn’t even slow him.

“Fuck,” Remmick growled, hips pulling back only to rut forward again, deeper this time, harder. “Still tight. Still fuckin’ perfect. Like this pussy never forgot me.”

Your eyes rolled back.

Your hands clawed uselessly at the sheets, wrists still pinned tight in his grip. His other hand caught your jaw, forcing your face toward his, making sure you didn’t dare look away.

“Ya let him fuck you in here?” he hissed, voice venom. “In this bed? These sheets?”

You whimpered.

Remmick’s thrusts got rougher. Barbarous. He was fucking you like he owned you. Like he was carving himself back into the spaces time tried to seal shut.

“Answer me.”

Your voice came out a rasp. “Y-yes.”

He spat, not even trying to hide his disgust. “Bet he couldn’t even make ya come.”

You shook your head, biting back a sob.

“And now look at ya,” he snarled, dragging his hips slow this time, a deliberate grind that made your body sing. “Lettin’ me fuck the truth outta ya like always. Like nothin’s changed.”

Tears welled again.

Because nothing had.

Because it had always been like this with Remmick. Not gentle. Not sweet.

But real.

He fucked you like he was never going to stop.

Eyes locked on yours.

Not blinking. Not flinching.

Just watching as your mouth parted, as your body opened for him, as the ruin of you spilled across the sheets that had never seen this kind of worship.

And still, Remmick didn't slow.

Not even close.

Not when your eyes rolled back. Not when your body clenched tight around him like you’d never learned how to let go. Not when the air left your lungs in staggered, helpless sobs.

Remmick fucked you like he hated you.

Like he’d missed hating you.

And then—

His hand let go of your wrists.

Only to move to your throat.

Fingers curling slow around your neck, the pads of them warm, calloused, unforgiving.

Your body froze beneath him.

Not in fear. Not exactly.

Something darker. Deeper.

You looked up into his eyes.

And he looked back like he wasn’t really there anymore.

“Y’know,” he said, voice calm, like he was talking about the weather, “there were so many nights I thought about killin’ ya.”

Your breath caught.

His grip tightened.

“After ya left,” he murmured, hips still driving into you like punctuation, “after y’said all that pretty shit and slammed the door—when you thought ya’d won—I used to lay awake, hand on my dick, thinkin’ about wringin’ your pretty little neck.”

You whimpered, legs trembling around his hips.

He leaned closer, chest flush to yours, breath hot against your lips.

“Not just ya,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “That man of yours, too.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I thought about what his blood would look like on your white fuckin’ comforter. What your scream would sound like. If ya’d still cry my name with his body lyin’ cold at the end of the bed.”

His fingers pressed harder. Just enough to make your vision shimmer.

“Y’don’t believe me,” he whispered. “But I still think about it.”

Your heart stuttered.

“And right now?” he said, grinning. “Right now, I could do it. So easy. You’re lettin’ me fuck you raw in your husband’s bed, cryin’ beneath me, beggin’ for it. What’s one more sin, huh?”

His grip cinched tight.

Your breath stopped.

The room swam.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just held you there, trembling beneath him, his cock still buried deep inside you as the world slipped sideways.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Your fingers spasmed.

And just before the edges went black—

Smack.

A vicious slap to your thigh, loud and hot, snapped the air back into your lungs. Then another, this time across your ass, hard enough to sting. Your throat opened on a strangled gasp, your back arching as your body reeled from the sudden shock.

“There she is,” Remmick said, laughing low. “Didn’t want ya driftin’ off just yet, darlin’. We’re just gettin’ to the good part.”

You choked on your own breath, eyes wet, chest heaving.

He let go of your throat, dragging both hands down your ribs like he hadn’t just threatened to kill you. Like the idea still wasn’t sitting there behind his eyes, twitching like a secret.

You were dizzy. Raw. Split open and trembling and soaked.

And Remmick looked like he'd never been more in love.

Which is exactly when the front door opened.

Just a quiet creak. A shift of hinges.

But it shattered the world.

You went still.

So did Remmick.

The sound of keys hitting the bowl by the entryway echoed like a gunshot through the hallway. A low thud as shoes hit the mat. A familiar voice, soft and unsuspecting, humming the tail end of some commercial jingle. Your husband.

Your husband was home.

And your heart plummeted.

The blood in your veins iced over. Your breath caught. Every nerve ending snapped taut, your body trembling beneath Remmick in frozen disbelief. You were still spread beneath him, raw and soaked and filthy, your thighs trembling and your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

Remmick blinked.

Once.

Then again.

Then he looked at the door.

Then at you.

Back to the door.

Then you again.

And then that grin split his face.

Wide. Sharp. Wrong.

It wasn’t the cocky, teasing smile he wore when he knew you’d already given in.

This was different.

This was a grin that made something ancient and terrified curl up inside you and scream.

“Y’ain’t tell me he was gonna be early,” he whispered, voice light, sing-song. “How rude.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

But Remmick moved with purpose now—sat up, still inside you, dragging your body with him. He flipped you like he owned you, like you were just a doll to be repositioned. Hands grabbed your hips, yanked them up beneath him, forced your knees into the sheets until your back arched and your cheek was pressed flat against the mattress.

Doggy style.

Exposed. Helpless.

His cock dragged out slow before slamming back in with a wet, brutal sound.

You gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“No no no,” Remmick said, voice a low hum as he gripped your face, twisting it until your eyes were pointed toward the bedroom door. “Keep ‘em open. He deserves to see it.”

Your name echoed from down the hall.

“Honey?” your husband called, so painfully unaware. “You home?”

Another thrust.

Louder this time.

Obscene.

The slap of his hips hitting your ass echoed off the walls like thunder.

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it.

“Sweetheart?” the voice came again, closer now. Footsteps.

Remmick picked up his pace.

Flesh on flesh. Sharp. Wet. Merciless.

You heard a pause outside the door.

Then the knob turned.

Then the door opened.

Your husband stepped into the room.

And froze.

His eyes landed on yours first—your face, contorted in shock, shame, raw pleasure.

Then his gaze moved.

To where Remmick’s hands were fisted in your hips.

To the way your body shook with every loud, violent thrust.

To the way your mouth hung open in a sob you hadn’t let fall yet.

The look on his face could’ve killed you.

Confusion.

Betrayal.

Then—horror.

Like something inside him snapped.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

He slammed into you again, harder than before, dragging your face further toward the edge of the bed, forcing you to watch.

“Smile for him,” he said, voice thick with a darkness that made your stomach turn. “Show him how happy ya look when you’re finally bein’ fucked right.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes.

Wrecked.

That was the only word for it. Wrecked in a way you’d never seen before—like someone had cracked open his ribcage and yanked his heart out with their bare hands. He looked lost. Pale. Mouth parted. Staring at you like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

And for a second—for one brief, trembling second—you wanted to believe in him.

Wanted to believe he’d fight.

That he’d do something.

That he’d cross the room, fists swinging, screaming, snarling, crying, clawing Remmick off of you like the man he was supposed to be. Like the husband he was supposed to be. That he’d fight for his wife, no matter how futile, no matter how ugly, no matter how late.

You wanted to believe he’d choose you.

But instead—

He covered his face with both hands.

And sat.

In the chair at the corner of the room, opposite the bed.

Chest heaving.

Shoulders shaking.

Not saying a word.

Not making a move.

And just like that—

Every drop of love you had left for him died.

Turned to ash in your mouth.

It wasn’t just disappointment. It wasn’t just betrayal.

It was hatred.

Hot. Immediate. Unforgiving.

And Remmick saw it happen.

Felt it bloom in your body beneath him.

He laughed.

Not playfully.

Not even cruelly.

It was disgusted.

A laugh like spitting. Like rot.

“That’s the man ya chose over me?” he said, thrusts still pounding into your cunt, hands bruising your hips as he snapped his hips against you with brutal rhythm. “That little fuckin’ coward?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The silence screamed.

“Jesus Christ,” Remmick muttered, breathless and gleeful, “he can’t even pretend to care. Ya ruined him, darlin’. Just like I knew y’would.”

He pulled out of you without warning, grabbing you by the waist and flipping you again, dragging you half off the bed until your head dangled over the edge, hair brushing the floor, throat exposed, everything upside-down.

And there he was.

Remmick, towering above you, cock flushed and leaking, sliding back into your wrecked cunt with a force that rattled your teeth. The angle sent lightning up your spine, your toes curling, vision swimming. He gripped your thighs and pushed them wide apart, spreading you open, fucking you down against the edge of the bed like you were just a hole to conquer.

But your eyes?

They were locked on him.

Your husband.

Still sitting there.

Hands still over his face.

Until they weren’t.

You saw the moment shame turned to something else.

Curiosity.

Then heat.

One hand dropped to his lap.

You didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to see it.

But you couldn’t look away.

The outline of his cock, straining against his jeans. The way his chest rose and fell faster. The way his fingers hesitated—then unzipped.

Remmick saw it, too.

“Oh fuck me,” he laughed, cruel and delighted. “You’re hard, aren’t ya?”

Your husband flinched.

Remmick leaned over you, one hand grabbing your jaw, tilting your face so you couldn’t look away, even though he knew you weren’t.

“He’s hard, baby,” he sneered. “Your good little husband, sittin’ there watchin’ another man ruin his wife and he’s got his fuckin’ cock out.”

You whimpered.

Remmick thrust harder.

“Go on,” he said over your shoulder, loud enough to sting. “You’re already sittin’ there. Might as well enjoy the show, huh?”

And then, your stomach dropped.

Because your husband did it.

He pulled his cock free.

Hard. Strained. Already wet at the tip.

And he started stroking himself.

Right there.

Right fucking there, watching you be destroyed.

Something inside you shattered.

But Remmick’s grip only tightened.

“See?” he breathed, voice low in your ear, hips pistoning into you like he wanted to leave dents. “Told ya no one would ever love ya the way I do.”

And as your tears slipped backward into your hair, as your cunt pulsed around Remmick’s cock and your husband’s soft, broken moans filled the room—

You realized something sickening:

You believed him.

And the second you did, everything shifted.

Remmick’s voice fell away.

Replaced by sound.

Raw, filthy, feral sound.

The slap of skin against skin. The wet pulse of your cunt around him. His groans—deep, guttural, half-choked—as he rutted into you with a new kind of desperation. Like something had cracked inside him too. Like he was breaking right alongside you.

His hips lost rhythm.

Gained need.

The drag of his cock turned erratic, heavy, slick. His breath stuttered against your neck, hot and shallow, teeth grazing skin in the warning way. And you felt it—his weight pressing down, arms sliding beneath your back, legs shifting to cage you in, his entire body wrapping around you until there was no air between you, no space left untouched.

He was everywhere.

Crushing.

Consuming.

Yours.

“Gonna fill ya up,” he slurred, voice strained, drunk on you, on this, on everything he hadn’t let himself say until now. “Gonna—fuck—gonna put a baby in ya, darlin’.”

You gasped, eyes wide, your arms sliding up around his back without thinking.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t care.

“Make ya a momma,” he panted, forehead pressed hard against yours, sweat dripping from his brow to yours. “My fuckin’ housewife. Keep ya barefoot and full for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Your thighs clenched around him.

Your fingers dug into his back.

“Just how y’should be,” he growled, pace stuttering. “No more runnin’. No more pretendin’. Just me with ya and a whole house full’a kids with my fuckin’ eyes.”

You cried out, your body already tightening again, trembling.

And then, one last thrust.

Devastating. Bone-deep. Final.

He came with a groan that barely sounded human, hips locked in place, cock pulsing inside you, spilling heat deep into your cunt like it was a claim. Endless. Relentless. It spilled out around him, a mess between your thighs, and still he didn’t stop.

And with it—

His fangs sank deep into your neck.

No warning.

No care.

Just sharp, precise, possessive puncture.

You screamed—and came. Hard. Wrung-out, shattered, blinding.

The orgasm ripped through you like it had teeth. Your walls fluttered around him, milking every last drop. Your back arched, pinned and blood-warm, as his mouth sealed over your skin and drank. Long, greedy pulls. Like he needed it more than breath.

Your heart stuttered. Your eyes rolled back.

And in the haze of it, another sound.

A choked gasp. The sharp, wet rhythm of a fist meeting skin. Then a broken, pathetic groan as your husband came too. Facing you both, cock in his hand, shame on his face, guilt dripping down his knuckles.

Remmick pulled back from your neck, blood staining his lips, breath heaving.

Then he angled to look.

Smirked.

Spat.

“This the first time y’ever came with her, huh?”

He thrust once more into your ruined cunt, slow and deep, just to emphasize it.

“Had to watch me do it for ya. Pathetic.”

And you?

You didn’t even blink.

Didn’t even look at the man you once thought would love you right.

Because Remmick was right about that too.

This was where you belonged.

He stayed inside you for a moment longer, just long enough for you to pretend it would never end. Your walls still fluttered around him in soft aftershocks, your body unwilling to believe it was over even as your mind tried to catch up.

Then—

He pulled out.

Slow. Measured. Intentional.

A sound escaped your throat—broken, needy, trembling. Not quite a sob, not quite a plea.

Your hands caught his hips weakly, as if you could keep him, tether him, keep that full warmth inside for just a moment longer. "Please…"

“Shhh,” Remmick cooed, brushing a thumb beneath your eye where your tears had dried and cracked. “It’s alright, baby. You’ll get it again.”

The emptiness hit harder than anything else had.

A cavernous ache. Raw. Desperate. A void nothing else could fill.

You didn’t realize you were crying again until your vision blurred.

You watched as he stood.

Watched as he moved across the room toward the man still sitting dumb and wide-eyed in the chair.

Your husband.

Your witness.

There was a single second.

A flash of recognition.

His eyes met Remmick’s.

And that was all.

The claws flashed.

Once.

Ripped.

There was no scream. No fight. No time for last words.

Just a sound, wet and ugly, as his throat was torn open. Gutted clean from beneath the jawline, near-severed, a geyser of arterial red splattering across the walls, the chair, the floor.

And still, for one sickening second, his body twitched.

You screamed.

You screamed with everything you had left, dragged yourself backward across the soaked sheets until your spine hit the bedframe, until your limbs locked up with exhaustion and fear and your own slick still coating your thighs.

Remmick turned to face you.

Blood painted his chest, his jaw, his hands, dripping from his fingers like it had always belonged there. His eyes were gleaming, that familiar, terrifying red turned brighter now, like it fed off what he’d just done.

And then he crawled.

Across the bed.

Staining the sheets with long streaks of crimson, smearing every part of the room you once thought of as yours. As his.

Now defiled.

Claimed.

Ruined.

His hands—slick, sticky—cupped your face with impossible tenderness.

And then he kissed you.

Slow.

Deep.

Unforgiving.

Spit. Blood. The coppery tang of death. And beneath it all, still the faint, almost-sweet taste of you on his tongue.

It coated your teeth. Filled your lungs.

You let him.

You kissed him back.

When he pulled away, his voice dropped low, affectionate, almost reverent.

“Guess it’s just us now, darlin’,” he whispered. “Us. And our little thing growin’ inside ya.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came.

He leaned in again, brushing his blood-wet cheek against yours, dragging his tongue slow along the edge of your jaw.

“Gonna make sure y’never forget who you belong to.”

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

There were no words left.

Just slick cooling on your thighs.

Just sheets ruined for good.

Just the memory of your husband's eyes, wide and broken, moments before he died doing nothing.

And a part of you—that sick, lost, unredeemable part—knew:

That was exactly how you wanted it to be.

Forever.

[fushitoru]

rainy days and brownies

pairing ⸺ college/modern!au: bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky)

warnings ⸺ smut, tooth rotting fluff, some mild angst?, gojo unfortunately mentions skibidi toilet, I think I made gojo gen z here, boob worship, brownies and baking, established relationship, oral (f!receiving), gojo eats pussy like a champ, NOT EDITED, might be incoherent to everyone except me, product of a forceful effort to escape writer’s block, rainy mornings <3, lots of intimacy, art by 3-aem, probably in the same universe as this

general masterlist

Rainy mornings with Satoru means baking.

It’s a ritual the both of you have fallen into. On a day like this, where the air smells like rain, you blearily wake up from your nap to smell the warm distinct aroma of overly sweet brownies.

The slutty brownies were Satoru’s masterpiece. Even if he did overdo the sugar, you can’t admit that your stomach was growling as you rubbed your bleary eyes and frowned while raking a hand through your head. This bed head was going to be a bitch to untangle with the hairbrush.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU—“

You jumped, caught off guard by Satoru randomly deciding to pay homage to Whitney Houston. Standing up, you headed towards the living room of you and Satoru’s apartment—-not before you adjusted your tank top so your tits weren’t out and the boy shorts you chose to sleep in properly covered your ass.

“WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU—-“ You cringed at Satoru’s attempt of a high note, grumpily looking at him use his chocolate covered spatula as a makeshift mic. He was in the kitchen—-shirtless, of course—-now bending over to peek at the state of his brownies in the oven. Deciding the brownies weren’t done yet, he closed the oven door and stood up once more, reaching for his phone to undoubtedly scroll through TikTok. Continuing to hum different variations of the chorus, he swiped at his phone, ignorant to your presence behind him.

You think he’s kind of sweet like this. If it weren’t for him, the both of you would never be in this position. You would always be the cold frigid bitch he saw in freshman orientation and occasionally at parties across campus, and he would be the sweet, friendly guy that all the girls would continue to fall head over heels for.

To be honest, you don’t really see what he sees in you. You’re like a Disney villain, the witch that entraps him in her webs of insecurity and jealousy, but he remains the valiant prince, fighting to get to you. When he finally has you in his arms, he kisses you into believing that you are his princess instead.

It’s obvious in the way he fought for you—memorizing your schedule, rushing across campus just to walk you to class, pleading with you to grab dinner. And each time, you’d brush him off with sharp rejections, finding excuses to keep him at arm’s length.

But when he finally had you, finally cracked all your defenses—he was never going to let you go. You could see as much; the way he proudly walked on campus with you at his side, across the main quad so he could boast that he got you. You were his, and he was fully, undoubtedly yours. At parties, his eyes would always be on you, raking his eyes up and down your figure in your nurse outfit, conjuring up the hundred and thirty four positions he would fuck you so good in, even if there were prettier girls clinging onto his arms asking for a morsel of his attention. Pettily enough, you would just need to sigh and mumble “This party isn’t fun,” to have Satoru whipped, ushering you out of the frat house while those girls glared at the back of your Halloween costume, angry beyond measure that a nobody like you has the campus sweetheart wrapped around your finger.

Loud booms of the Vine gunshot sound effect snaps you back into the present, where Satoru is snickering at some god awful brain rot. You choose to approach him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smothering your face into his muscular back.

“Hi baby,” you mumble.

“Guess which sleepyhead is awake!” He announces to the world and turns around, and your traitorous heart jumps in its chest while looking into his eyes. It’s stupid. You’re both in your PJs on a morning where the rain thuds against the window pane, blurring both the window and all outside life, suspending you both in this moment. His eyes look affectionately down to you, and he plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “How was your nap, baby?”

“It was good.” You watch him turn around again to peek at the oven, and he hums, upper arm flexing as he grabs the heavy bag of flour, dragging it closer to him. “When’d you get up?”

“Around 7.”

You shoot him a bewildered look as you hop onto the counter, a better space to observe your boyfriend. When he realized that you had woken up, he had left his phone open to give you a kiss, reel playing noises. You peek over and almost snort at what is playing.

“Satoru, why are you watching alligators get chased away by a shovel?”

He looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he was now cleaning—-with his tongue, mind you—-and grins boyishly. “Isn't it crazy how hundreds of years of evolution get destroyed by a shovel?”

”Your feed is not normal,” you shake your head, keeping a stony face as you continue to scroll through his TikTok. In fact, it’s hilarious—-the things he got were weirder than one could dream, with toilets producing heads of men taking over whole cities. You’re not sure what that means about your boyfriend, but you accept it as you watch the nonsensical video.

“Wait,” he makes his way over to you, standing in between your legs. “Is that skibidi toilet?”

“What the hell is that.”

“Baby,” he whines. “You don’t know the lore? I don’t know if I can be with you for any longer.”

Your bite back a grin. “And subjecting me to hours of FNAF backstory wasn’t testament to how much I love you?”

Before he could whine back, you noticed he had some leftover chocolate on the side of his mouth and leaned over to lick it. Humming at the taste, you grabbed his hands and took in his brownie coated index and middle finger into your mouth.

He frowns. “Are you trying to seduce me into forgiving you and giving you more brownies?”

You laugh softly and give him a soft smooch on his shoulder. “No, silly. If I ate any more than half, I would have diabetes.”

He grabs the back of your hips and pulls you closer into him, nuzzling his nose against yours. The physical contact rubs at your nerves the right way, firing off that emotional part of you that makes you think loving him is so easy. How lucky you are that he’s chosen to give you his love.

His god-awful alarm blares—same annoying sound he keeps hitting snooze on for his 7ams—and the moment breaks as he reaches for the oven mitts to pull out the brownies. The aroma hits you instantly, making your mouth water. Satoru blows dramatically on the brownies, pouting and mock-yelling, “Hurry up and cool down! My girlfriend wants to eat you.” You can’t help but giggle. Once Satoru finally decides they’re cool enough, he grabs one and offers it to you. “Make way for the choo-choo train!” he snickers, guiding the brownie through imaginary tracks, a shit-eating grin on his face, before plopping it into your mouth.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the brownie melts on your tongue, its warmth enveloping your senses. Rich, velvety tones of chocolate overwhelm your mouth, with each bite releasing a symphony of deep, indulgent flavors that linger long after the brownie is fully swallowed. “Wow, this is actually good.”

He pauses, brownie and hand held in mid air. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug innocently but stick your tongue out to him regardless.

Popping the brownie in his mouth--but not before sending you a pout---he brushes his hands together to remove the brownie crumbs as he makes his way back in between your legs. The way he settles between them makes you all too aware of the heat of his groin encompassing you. He lazily drags his eyes up your figure, but not before settling on your outfit. His eyes then flick down to watch his hands trace the hem of your tank top, and your eyes follow his hands, a little dizzy by the action.

You’re always a bit sensitive in the mornings, and before this day, you and Satoru’s interactions have been limited to a kiss before he runs for his 7am and then doing college work until 3am, where you’re both too tired for anything particularly frisky. So, yea, you are kind of pent up---and judging by the bulge that’s starting to form in Satoru’s sweats, you assume he is too.

You put your elbows on his shoulder blades to give him head scratches from behind and lean towards his jawlines giving small kisses. You can feel him close his eyes, purring silently like a cat, and underneath your hands, his back and shoulder blades tense and relax as you rake your hands over his scalp.

“This new?” He uses his index finger to snap the strap of your tank top against your shoulder, using his mouth to given open mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

“Mhm,” you hum, a little deliriously at that---he’s begun to trail down, mouth working at the swell of your breasts.

He slowly pulls the collar of your tank down, down down down until your breast pops out. His eyes trace the swing urgently and groans. “I missed these, sweet girl.”

You gasp sharply when he puts it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Satoru’s always been a boob guy, joking about his hands being your bra to support “those mommy milkers.” Right now, he’s doing just that; groping the hell out of them and giving them kisses, as if they were God’s greatest creation.

As much as you were enjoying your boyfriend’s boob worshipping, you need more. You were throbbing in want of contact on your pussy, and you made sure to relay just that. “Toru, I need more,” you whined.

“God forbid a man appreciate nice boobs.” He rolls his like the sassy man he is and parts with your nipple like lips after a messy and wet make out session. Your breasts are gleaming with his spit, a string connecting your nipple to his lips. He trails his face down your torso, making his way down to his knees until he was facing your crotch.

You whine and clench your thighs together to draw his face closer to the space between your thighs. He looks up at you and coos, giving your inner thigh a kiss. “I can smell you from here, cutie.”

His statement reminds you that you’re not too wet in the mornings. As soon as you wake up, some of your morning sessions with Satoru require the aid of lube to ensure no pain. Irritation flares at you at the thought that you might need to leave your position to grab some l—-

Oh.

“What the hell. I thought you wet your pants,” Satoru giggles. The finger running through your folds glides messily, as you both marvel to how wet you are. You’re also on another plane; you haven’t felt his touch for weeks, and the feeling overwhelms you as the squelches your pussy makes echo throughout the kitchen.

Satoru gives you a kiss on your neck. “Baby, can I?” You deliriously remember that he’s lightly circling his finger around your entrance and when you finally give him the okay, he pushes in.

Both of you groan at how tight you are. “Satoru,” you moan and proceed to bring him in for a kiss as he pistons in and out of your pussy, curling them just the way you like and making you see colors.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he groans. “Left my baby so pent up.”

At that, all you can do is nod and whimper in agreement. All that leaves your mouth are gasps of his names and oh my god’s because he’s making you feel so good.

And then, you almost scream as you feel him blowing hot air onto your folds, leaning down to give teasing kitten licks around your clit, but not directly on it. His tongue drags up and down until he finally stops it right next to your clit as if feeling the sensation of your pussy throbbing, echoing your fastened heartbeat skin-to-skin while drooling.

Frustrated, you try to move your hips, but Satoru grabs them to stay in place. He’s so close to the place you want him, but he’s stationed in one place, spit flowing down as his tongue is still and his dark eyes are staring at you as if enraptured by your struggling.

“Satoru, please lick my clit,” you moan wantonly, begging for him to change his position.

But Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without some teasing. “What was that, baby? Avoid your clit? You got it.”

“No,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and directing his tongue to your clit. This time, he relents, sucking the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, making you see stars.

But soon, his quick and fast lapping turn into lazy licks, and you get frustrated, grinding against air and pussy oozing out wetness as Satoru keeps his tongue outstretched in front of you but not close enough to make contact with your skin, teasing. You hate the feeling of your pussy throbbing and the inner thighs and pussy wet with your slick, lacking the sensation you needed to finally climax. “Oh my god, Satoru, please make me cum.”

“I don’t know baby, you sound pretty commanding to me.” The motherfucker shrugs as if he has nothing to do with your dilemma and starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His touches were close to where you needed him most, making you ache for the sensation of his wet laps against you.

“Please, baby,” you beg. “You feel so good, you’re making me feel soo good. I love you so much. Please let me cum.” You’re full on sobbing, hips writhing to get any sensation in.

Satoru, at your display, seems to give in, because he’s coming in once more, giving you a sweet little kiss on your clit. You nearly ascend.

He’s diving in, making a rhythm of dipping his tongue into your entrance and coming back to give sloppily wet laps on your clit. It’s when he groans while his tongue is inside, hot air and vibrations needily simulating your clit, that you come up with a gasp. You roll your hips, Satoru giving you little licks to help you ride out your orgasm.

For how hard you came, you’re bucking your hips frantically, body on a mind of its own as you almost fall off the counter. Satoru has to grip your thighs to prevent that potential injury and rubs soothing circles on the outside of your thigh as you pant, wetness and sweat likely painting the counter beneath you. It’s not until your breath returns back to it’s normal pace that you notice Satoru’s head against your thighs, looking up at you with lovesick eyes.

You’re probably giving him the same look back, you realize, given he made you ascend to heaven and back. He gives an affectionate kiss to your mound, moaning corny shit like “Your pussy tastes sweeter than the brownie.”

And then he stands up, knees popping on the way back up, and despite your fucked out state, you can’t help but giggle. “You old man with the popping knee caps.”

He glares at you playfully, but you know his expression too well to know there’s no real offense in it. “Hey. Rude to say that after I just made you cum your brains out.”

”And you’re about to get the same thing,” you purr, putting a hand on his hard-on. He hisses but looks at you with lust blown eyes as he grabs the back of your thighs to carry you to your shared bedroom.

Yes, rainy days do mean baking with Satoru, but not without intimacy with your even sweeter boyfriend in bed.

general masterlist

comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all of them <3

a/n lol this was a bitch to write. this might be a word soup or salad or whatever for all readers and that’s ok! I’ve written this primarily at 1am so…

eugh ok im going back to writing ch5 of bridgerton!gojo and fixing the em dashes in this post when i wake up LOL

[wbellab]

Therapy session | J. Bucky Barnes

this could be read as a standalone or a part 2 of Busy Woman.

summary: after a chaotic mission, you end up attending a therapy session with bucky trying to mend up your relationship. this seems to have worsen up everything.

pairing: tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

cw: angsssst, therapy session, inspired by sambucky session in tfatws, graphic violence, some fluff (crumbles and bits), no use of y/n

3.1 k words

"Alright, Dr Raynor." You stated, more like a question and she nodded. "I get why you want me to talk to freaky magoo over here. But I’m a hundred per cent fine."

You definitely were not fine.

After the failed mission, Sam had dragged both you and Bucky to Baltimore in a failed attempt to get information from a former super soldier. That went about as well as expected. Meaning not at all. And to top it off, Bucky got arrested for skipping therapy.

But the real question was: why were you sitting there with him now?

There’s a high chance that Sam had conveniently brought up the fact that your relationship with Bucky had become a bit rocky— not that you ever really got along. Either that, or the tension between you had been so thick it practically walked into the room before you did.

"It is my job to make sure you both are okay. Sam told me what happened, so yeah." Oh so you were right. "This may be slightly unprofessional but it’s the only way that I can see you getting over whatever’s eating at you."

"This is ridiculous." You muttered.

"Yeah i agree."

"Okay we’re going to do an exercise. It’s something I use with couples when they’re trying to figure what kind of life they’re trying to build together." You let out a snort, not out of amusement but irony. Bucky just rolled his eyes.

"Are you familiar with the miracle question ?"

"I don’t think it’s necessar-" Bucky started but you cut him off.

"No I’m not. What is it ?"

"Okay it goes like this. Suppose that while you are sleeping, a miracle occurs. When you wake up what is something you would like to see that would make your life better ?"

With no surprise, Bucky was the first to answer the question.

"In my miracle, she would talk less."

"Is that why you threw me out of a moving truck asshole?"

"See what i mean." He turned to the therapist, which made you send a glare towards him.

"You both are leaving me with no choice. It’s time for the soul gazing exercise."

"I like this one."

"Oh thank you I love this."

"Oh you should really enjoy this." You told him, moving your chair so that you would be facing him.

"I’m going to."

"I know you are."

"Okay you both face each other." The therapist instructed.

"Let’s do it let’s stare."

"We get close this is a good exercise."

"Thanks doc." You muttered.

"Alright, good get close. Come on closer."

"Well which way you want to go, right or left ?"

"Why do you have your legs wide open. You want me to sit on your lap or what ? You know what, fine." You scooted forward, legs angling inward until your knee pressed between his—and his was between yours.

The position was awkward. Too awkward. You could feel the brush of his knee against your inner thigh, too high, too warm. And though you hated to admit it, you could’ve almost been aroused by it. If your anger toward him didn’t burn hotter than the tension.

"You happy now ?" You huffed, successfully concealing your flustered state—which Bucky hasn’t been able to hide.

He sat stiffly, visibly uncomfortable, like even the slightest movement might set something off. He hadn’t moved an inch since you got close. Shoulders tense, jaw tight, clearly unsure where to look. It would’ve been satisfying if you weren’t equally rattled beneath the surface.

"All right, good. That’s fine." The therapist tried to stop your banter.

"It’s a little close." He muttered.

"It’s very close that’s what you wanted right ?" You retorted aggressively.

"Guys,"you both stopped. "Now look at each other. You need to look at each other in the eyes," you stared right at his blue eyes, a frown on your face similar to his. "There you see that wasn’t so hard."

You just continued staring right in them. Your eyes squinted trying hard not to blink as he did the same back.

You were still mad, furious actually, that he tossed you out of the damn truck without a single word. Like you were just some reckless burden he couldn’t deal with a second longer. And now, you wanted him to feel that. Every ounce of your anger.

So you weren’t about to blink. Not once. Not until he squirmed. Not until he realized you weren’t going to let him off easy.

Probably childish but effective.

"Wait what are you doing ? Are you having a staring contest ?" When none of you responded she snapped her fingers, making you close your teary eyes. Dammit.

"Just blink. Sweet Jesus."

Bucky’s frown was still on his face as he stared at the doctor.

"All right, Bucky, why does she aggravate you ?" A smirk started forming on his lips. He could definitely think of a bunch of reasons why you aggravated him. And when he was about to mention your current interest to his ass, Doctor Raynor cut him off. "And don’t say something childish."

Bucky’s smirk faltered and he let out a frustrated breathe. His jaw clenched as he started thinking, the muscle twitching like he was holding something back. For a second, he looked like he might drop it entirely. But then he sighed, tired of carrying the question around in silence.

"Why are you always flirting with me?" he asked quietly, almost too quietly. It wasn’t sarcastic. It wasn’t bitter. It was genuine, and that made it worse. There was a flicker of something raw behind his eyes, like he hated that he even had to ask. He sounded insecure and he hated it.


"Oh my god is this what it is all about?" You dryly chuckle. "Why are you making such a big deal out of something so insignificant ?"

"Do you flirt with Bucky to push his buttons ?" The therapist chimed in, a bit more interested in the direction the conversation was flowing.

You rolled your eyes. What is it with all these weird questions ?

"I flirt with him because I like him. The button pushing is just a bonus."

"Yeah. Of course you would." His voice was cold. Harsh and condescending. Every hint of amusement disappeared from your face. "Do you get a kick out of messing with people just for fun? You don’t get to flirt with people and then act like none of this matters. Like I’m just something to pass the time until you get bored. It’s fucking disgraceful. And I’m–"

He couldn’t bring himself to say more. You were staring right at him, a frown on your face. How could he bring himself to explain what he was feeling out loud?

Bucky couldn’t believe you. He wouldn’t believe that you simply liked him. This was too simple of an explanation for someone like him. Someone that did horrible things couldn’t be wanted in the first place.

And it wasn’t just his own insecurities getting through him.

No. This was anchored in his brain, as if a small cognitive part of it told him this wasn’t possible. That every small moment of kindness was a lie he wasn’t allowed to believe in. Someone like him don’t get the girl, not really. Not without her regretting it later.

Another part of his brain told him your boldness and playfulness were just a reflection of the value you had of him, insignificant. You were messing with him, knowing Bucky would fall for you.

And how could he not ? You did everything to make him. When you were so insistent with him, bold, charismatic and funny. Clingy and affectionate. You were everything he had been craving since he came back from Hydra. There was absolutely no universe in which James Buchanan Barnes wouldn’t have fallen for you.

"Don’t act like this is real. It’s unfair." He said more softly.

You couldn’t believe what you just heard. It wasn’t mean, not exactly but this was as if. You couldn’t believe you ever let yourself fall for someone like him. He never really understood you.

What you felt in that moment was a deep, gut-punch kind of hurt.

Being told it all meant nothing. That your affection was careless or meaningless. This all shattered something fragile inside you. Everything you ever said or did, thinking it was sweet or meaningful felt exposed, misunderstood. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place, something you’d been too oblivious to see or too hopeful to admit.

He would never like you, never reciprocate the feelings.

This wasn’t just romantic rejection. It was emotional rejection. He hadn’t just dismissed your feelings, he’d rejected the way you showed your love to him. And that hit harder than anything else. It was humiliating to care so much, and be accused of the exact opposite.

With a final sigh, you told yourself this would be all over. You were done being taken for a fool.

"You know what’s really unfair? You dismissing my fucking feelings when I have been displaying them so obviously." You bit back, scooting your chair away from him, when you noticed the proximity you still had. "Maybe this is something you would never understand and I’m so done making a fool out of myself just for you to not get the signals." You snapped. Breathe in, breathe out. You turned to the doctor, glaring at her like she'd personally orchestrated this mess. She did nothing wrong but she was the reason why you were here, trapped in this room, sitting across from him. And right now, that was enough.

You didn’t even have the sense to feel guilty for it. Not with the way your chest burned. Not after everything that had gone unsaid.

"You know what Doc I don’t have time for this. We have some real serious shit going on. So how about this, I will squash it, right now. We’re gonna deal with this and when we’re done we’ll go on long separate vacations. And never see each other again."

"Yeah." He sighed, he did not want you to squash it. He wanted to talk, to understand. "I like that." He lied.

"Great then let’s get to work." You turned to the therapist. "Thanks doc for making it weird. I feel so much better. See you outside." You rolled your eyes, stomping to the door. This was a total mess.

"Thank you." She answered, but you were already gone. She turned to Bucky. "That was really great. You’re doing better at expressing your emotions. Maybe next time, we’ll work on the dating part." He completely ignored her, standing up to leave before being interrupted by her. "I know that look." She stared at him as if she would see right through him. "You’re pushing her away."

He ignored what she said once again. "What was rule number two again ?"

"Don’t hurt anyone." She simply answered.

"Goodbye doc."

This session did not help your case. It was worse and Sam noticed.

"So how did it go ?" He asked you once you were out.

"Get lost." You muttered, going through the door to leave the police station.

Sam turned to Bucky who left the room a few seconds after you, noticing the gloomy stare on his face.

"I get that it did not go as well as expected."

"Oh fuck off."

"Ok guys I don’t know what happened in this room but you need to deal with it like right now before we enter Madripoor."

"There’s nothing wrong. I’m totally fine, let’s deal with the more important matters." You scoffed

"If I may say–"

"Shut up."

"Please don’t."

You and Bucky said at the same time. Zemo raised an eyebrow but wisely chose silence, folding his hands behind his back. It had barely been three hours since Bucky busted him out of prison, and those three hours had already been filled with tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The fallout of that decision had led to a heated argument between you and Bucky, and the aftermath still lingered, electric and unspoken, hovering just beneath the surface.

And this tension would linger for days.

"You should fuck the tension off. Worked well with my wife." Zemo mentioned once in the jet.

"That’s what I told them." Sam grumbled, it seemed like it was the only thing he agreed about with Zemo.

You and Bucky both turned to glare at him in unison.

This was hard. The comments, all the underlying tension. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, let alone to anyone else but you hadn’t moved on. Not really. It still hurt to think about it. Not in a loud, obvious way but in a slow, aching kind that sat in your chest and made it hard to breathe.


It was over before it ever began. That was the part that stung the most.

You kept your eyes off him. Avoided looking. You didn’t know if he was watching you, and you didn’t care anymore. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The mission was done. You had stopped the Flash Smaggers’ attack on New York. You’d won.

And yet.

You noticed how close Sam and Bucky had become. You also noticed how far you’d drifted, not just from Sam, but from everyone. Two months. No calls returned. No contact. Just silence. You were alone again. Like before. And somehow, that felt almost familiar. Pathetic, but familiar.

Your boots hit the pavement in steady, silent steps. You were walking nowhere. Just moving.

And then you felt it, the presence behind you. Subtle, careful. But not careful enough. You’d clocked them almost thirty minutes ago. You were trained for this. So you led them here in a dark alley, bad angles.

You pressed your back to the cold brick wall, waited. As soon as the figure passed the corner, you struck. Knife in hand, aiming for the throat.

But they were faster. The blade never made it.


You felt cold metal clamp around your wrist, stopping you mid-motion. Bucky. Of course.

You didn’t hesitate. If anything, that just made you angrier.

You slammed your heel into his solar plexus. He faltered, loosened his grip, and your wrist slipped free. In one fluid motion, you ducked low, sweeping for his legs.
But he was already moving.

Instead, he grabbed your jacket, yanked you forward, and slammed you against the wall with a thud that echoed.

You retaliated immediately, headbutting him hard bone cracking against bone. He staggered, blood running from his nose, and you used the opening to punch him in the stomach.

But before it could collide, he grabbed your wrist, and twisted it back. But you twisted with him, using the momentum to slam your elbow into his ribs again and shove him into the wall.

He gripped your waist, lifted you, and threw you to the ground. Hard.

You hit the concrete with a grunt, For a second, something flickered in his expression, concern, hesitation. And that split-second lapse was all you needed. You kicked upward, catching him in the thigh, rolling to your feet before he could pin you.

You were breathing hard now, both of you bruised, dirt and blood smeared across your clothes, faces cut and scraped from the pavement.

"Stop following me. You think you can just toss me out of a truck, dismiss my feelings and then follow me like nothing happened?" you snarled, your leg connected with the back of his knee to destabilize him. "You don’t get to throw me away literally and come running when you feel like it."

He stumbled back, but he caught himself. "You’re the one who disappeared."

You didn’t even wait. You slammed your elbow to his throat, driving him into the alley wall with a loud thud.

"Because you made it clear I meant nothing to you!"

"I did not mean to hurt you." he spat back, shoving you off him roughly. "You think any of this is easy for me?"

"I don’t care if it’s easy!" You shoved again, fists pounding at his chest now. "You said I toyed with you. You said I didn’t care. You made me feel like I was some stupid little girl who couldn’t take this seriously—"

"You think I don’t feel anything?" His voice cracked, but not out of emotion. Out of sheer frustration. "I was lost and I couldn’t understand you. I was trying to protect you!"

"By humiliating me? By making me feel like shit? You don't get to act like some noble idiot now, Bucky. You’re not the victim."

He lunged again, catching your wrists, holding them against the wall this time. Not gently.

"You think I’m not aware of that?" his voice was low in your ear. "I know I’m screwed up. I know what people see when they look at me. So forgive me if I don’t believe it when someone like you pretends to give a damn."

Your breathing was ragged. The tension between you was suffocating.

"Get your hands off me," you whispered.

He didn’t move. "Say you didn’t mean it."

"What?"

"All the flirting. The drunk night. The things you said. Say you didn’t mean any of it."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. But you didn’t say a word.

That silence was enough.

He let go of you like your skin burned him, and took two steps back.

The distance felt a hell of a lot colder than the fight.

"I was cruel," he said quietly.

"You were," you answered, not softening it for him.

And he nodded, like he knew you would say that. Like he needed to hear it.

“It wasn’t about you,” he said. "But I made it about you. I made you pay for the shit in my head, and that’s on me."

"I no longer care." You lied.

"Please come back." His hand grabbed you arm, softly now. You let him guide you towards him. Although you stayed impassive.

"No. James don’t."

He ignored you and caressed the bruise that was forming on your forehead.

"I’m sorry." He muttered. You couldn’t tell if he meant the bruise or everything else—but your throat tightened anyway.

You frowned, eyes stinging, and before you could stop yourself, everything that you’ve been bottling up had exploded. Tears spilled over and he saw it.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he could keep the world out.

"It’s okay. I’ve got you." He muttered, his hand stroking your hair.

You sank into him, both of you slowly lowering to the ground. He followed without letting go, holding you as tightly as he could while you cried against his chest.

"You deserve better, doll."

"I don’t–" Your choked on a sob. And he only pulled you tighter.

"We’ll figure it out. I’m not letting you go again."

Dirtied, bloodied, bruised. You both looked wrecked. And somehow, in the thick of it all, you decided to believe him. To start over.

Not with promises. Not with pretty words. But with this—his arms around you, your tears on his shirt, and the silence that didn’t need to be filled.

That was how it would begin: in the comfort of the chaos. Not clean, not easy. But real.

a/n: i was about to separate this one and make a part 3 but i m on my exam period so it was either binge writing it or never finishing it. Thank you for everyone all of you I truly appreciate that you liked the first part !

@vxllys @seventeen-x @softpia @just-a-little-awkward @am-3-thyst @freshfreakoaftrash @awinchester83 @stars4birdie @ladyliloslife @starstruckfirecat @hannahbanannax @genlovesdcb @fandomsearcherforcuntymen

@astermwah @spaceunicorn293 @inloveallthetime @bigteefsmallbrain @oceanaroma @winchestert101 @thatgirljas13

[escarmargott]

MINORS DNI 18+

clark kent x reader smut

just some disgusting pwp to start the day

SUPERMAN is a freak, and is especially freaky after a big intergalactic alien fight. Hair no longer neatly gelled, his curls messy and sweaty, his face covered in dirt, sweat and whatever alien goo he encountered during the fight. Costume torn in the most convenient places, showing a muscular shoulder, thickly corded back muscles or a sliver of the skin on his thighs. Kryptonians don't produce body odour of any kind, so the only musk you can smell (and lick and taste) on him afterwards is usually the salty tang of sweat and a smoky undertone from speeding and user laser-vision.

SUPERMAN climbs on top of you like a bear after a fight, nuzzling his sweaty hair into your neck, muscling a thigh into the space between yours. "Babe," He groans, using his big hands to push your thighs apart, his callused thumbs rubbing small circles on the inner skin, enjoying the softness of your flesh. You whimper, the mound between your legs growing damp and sticky. With his supersenses, he definitely knows it's there. His grin widens, lazy but sharklike. He barely even had the patience to shed his torn suit, scraps of elastic blue costume hanging off of his shoulders. Your small hands scrabble and pull at his ruined costume, trying to expose more of his muscled body. He dips his head low, nuzzling at your moist throbbing mound. "Babe," He rasps again, tearing your underwear with a pull of his strong fingers, reducing you to the same state of undress as he.

SUPERMAN fucks nasty and sloppy, with barely any more coordination and energy left in his body, but still using his remaining strength to lift you up with his hands and thrust into you. The room is filled with the sounds of wet flesh slapping repeatedly on each other, along with the rumbled low moans and high-pitched whimpers. His cock almost slips out several times, coated in a generous layer of sticky white bodily fluids. Your eyes roll back as you slump onto his strong body, moaning open-mouthed as he speeds up the space, snarling and moaning. "ugh, ugh, ugh.... Cla-Clark..." He smirks, bending you in half even more, his thrusts relentless. "Who's Clark, babe? I'm Superman."

[cinnawonbabe]

ATTENTION, PLEASE! (1)

pairings: professor!heeseung x student fem!reader

warnings: teacher x student relationship, forbidden affairs, smut, oral, both receiving, anal play, praise and spankings, legal age gap

overview: y/n was just like any other college girl, crushing on the young and attractive literature professor at the university she attended. one day she’s asked to come back after class and things get a little steamy. who knew being a teacher’s pet was fun?

taglist 🏷️: @nayeoniiz @mheretoreadff @deobitifull @riribelle @jakeswifez @yohanabanana @fkarchve @1013club @rizz00 @kpopjackie @isagistar @wheretheheckis-ssaki @freaky-enhamadswriter @manuosorioh

SORRY IF YOU ASKED FOR A TAG AND DIDN’T GET IT. I COULDN’T TAG MOST BECAUSE YOUR ACCOUNT WAS NOT POPPING UP FOR ME. PLEASE ENJOY! IF THIS DOES WELL AND GET 400 NOTES, I’LL POST A PART TWO!!

it was the first day back from spring break and to say y/n was excited was an understatement. she was overjoyed to see her friends again. while she was getting ready for her first class of the day, literature, and finishing the last touches to her makeup, her friend winter called. y/n answered, putting the phone on speaker so she could multitask talking and finishing getting herself ready.

"girl where are you? class is about to start," winter whisper-yelled through the phone. y/n checked the time, seeing that she was in fact behind schedule.

"fuck, i'm gonna be late," she said, rushing to put her shoes on. after making sure her uniform was neat, she grabbed her bag and phone before running out the door.

"and who are you trying to look cute for?" winter joked with a laugh upon y/n switching the call over to a facetime.

"no one. i just felt the need to dress up today. is the professor there?" she answered while speed walking over to the building her class was held in.

"no. they haven't arrived yet, so you're lucky for once," winter said with a laugh. "hurry though, i saved you a spot," she added and y/n hummed in response as she approached the building.

she made her way inside, picking up her pace so she wouldn't be that late, but ultimately made it to class.

"fucking finally. you're here," winter laughed, taking her bag off the seat next to her for y/n to sit in. "still no professor?" y/n asked and winter shrugged not knowing herself.

you know, after 15 minutes, if a teacher hasn't arrived to class after the set time has passed, class is canceled?" one male student in the back stated.

y/n turned back to see it was one of the football players. most students got to talking with excitement as it was getting close to that 15 minute mark while others were upset that they didn't get to see the professor today, y/n was one of the students who was pretty bummed out.

just when some students were packing up their supplies, the classroom door opened up.

professor lee heeseung rushed in class. "sorry for the wait guys. i was in an important staff meeting about the fair we're having for the homecoming events next week and we kind of got carried away." he said in between breaths.

he took off his blazer and set it down on the podium that was situated in the front of the room. he rolled up his sleeves. "anyone else feeling a bit hot or is that just me?" he asked, chuckling to himself.

all the girls, including y/n, couldn't help but stare at him. watching him intently.

he has to know what he's doing. he just knows how attractive he is. y/n thought to herself.

"no it's hot in here sir. me and my friends think the air conditioning unit has stopped working." one female student stated.

heeseung nodded his head in acknowledgement, "oh i see. i'll have to make a complaint about that later. let me write that down so i don't forget." he said walking over to his desk situated in the corner of the room.

he pulled out a sticky notepad from one of his drawers and grabbed a pen from the cuphold on the desk and scribbled a mental note to himself there.

"okay, considering i was way behind my schedule. i'm going to give you all a break and just let you either stay here to make up work or you can just leave. it's completely up to you all." heeseung said, looking around the classroom after he placed the notepad back on his desk.

most students didn't hesitate to collect their things and bid heeseung goodbye or thank him for his kindness.

of course he smiled and bid those goodbye before turning his attention back to the few students that did decide to stay. which consisted of a two male students, one being a literature major and the other that just so happened to be asleep and the rest we girls that just wanted an excuse to stare at the professor.

"assuming that you all are here for help and to catch up on work so feel free to ask me any questions, okay?" he said once more before heading back to his desk.

y/n watched his backside as he headed to his desk and wondered what his back muscles looked like under his dress shirt. once he sat down he looked back towards the class, catching y/n stare. she imma looked down in embarrassment and busied herself with her studies, not catching the little smirk that made his way on his face.

y/n felt movement beside her and looked over to see her seatmate fixing herself up before calling out to the professor. "professor lee? i need help on one of the older assignments you gave. can you give me a but of assistance with it?" y/n heard her ask.

he nodded and signaled for her to come to his desk and so she did. getting up from her seat, swaying her hips purposely in the process.

she bent over his desk, showing her cleavage to him as she placed her paper down for 'help'.

that's usually how things goes. most girls go out there way to get his attention but from all the things y/n has seen, it doesn't seem to work. he wasn't phased by it and just gave her the help she needed before he sent her back to her seat.

another girl failed. y/n of course hasn't. in fact, she never tried to because she was too scared and too shy to even hold a conversation or even ask him for help but that never stopped him from trying to talk to her.

he had taken an interest in calling on her sometimes for questions she never volunteers herself from.

usually that would end up with her stuttering to answer it or having her frozen from being put on the spot.

after a while of sitting in a somewhat silent classroom, heeseung cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. "attention everyone class is just about over and my next class will be here soon." he stated, looking at his wristwatch.

everyone packed up their things and headed out of the class. y/n was just about to leave before she was stopped by heeseung's voice suddenly calling out to her.

y/n stopped where she was near the classroom door, turning to him as he sat at his desk. "yes, professor lee?" she asked. he motioned for her to come to him, waving his hand in a signaling gesture. she was hesitant at first, she wasn't sure if she should or not. she swallowed her own pride and made her way over to him.

"so i wanted to talk to you to see if you'd like to help me later with gathering things for the art and theatre club. they'll be doing most of the creative work and i promised the directors that i'll head to the storage area in the left wing and get the supplies they needed. i can't do it myself, so would you like to help a poor old man like me?" he asked with pleading eyes.

y/n was a bit speechless as to why he chose her out of all people. he wants me to help him? she thought to herself. there was no way out of all the girls in this class, he chose her. she stood there unresponsive for a bit, lost in her own thoughts. it began to worry him a little bit from her sudden quietness. "it's okay if you don't want to i can always just ask-" he couldn't finish his sentence as y/n interrupted him with a slightly raised voice. "no!"

she realized the tone and volume of her voice and felt hot from the embarrassment. she didn’t notice the change in his demeanor, a slight smirk appearing on his face knowing his plan was working.

"uhm i meant no it's okay professor lee, i can help you. i don't mind at all!" she stated a bit too eagerly.

she mentally cursed at herself because of it but nonetheless, heeseung didn't seem to mind. "great!! just meet me back here around 7pm, okay?" he smiled softly, causing y/n’s heart to flutter. he definitely knows the effect he has on her.

she nodded her head in agreement before flashing him a small smile in return. “yes sir,” she retorted before walking out the classroom door. she was lost in her thoughts once again, geeking over the fact that he wanted alone time with her. this was truly a dream come true.

her thoughts soon interrupted by her best friend winter spooking her, “hey!” winter yelled a little bit as she approached her. y/n grabbed her chest as she calmed herself down. “my bad, didn’t mean to scare you,” winter joked before bursting out into a fit of giggles, earning a slap on the arm from her friend. “that’s not funny win,” y/n stated, rolling her eyes playfully as she walked off with winter following close behind her. “so what was that all about?” she asked, jumping in her face as she interrogated her. y/n gently pushed her back, smiling wide as the scene replayed in her mind. even though it just happened moments prior to this conversation, she couldn’t help but reminisce about how he chose her. winter nudged her, bringing her back to reality. “soooo are you going to tell me why hot stuff over there held you back?” she questioned again but y/n only giggled in response, causing her bestie to groan at in annoyance. “its nothing really, he just wants me to help him with something for theatre class and i told him i would,” she replied honestly.

winter stared at her intensely, looking for any glimmer of doubt. she was trying to see if she was lying to her or not. y/n stared back at her clueless as to why her best friend was seemingly trying to intimidate her for some reason. is she jealous? she thought. ultimately, winter shrugged it off. i guess she was being truthful. “well good luck and make sure you use a condom, i’m not ready to be an auntie just yet,” she laughed, nudging her friend. y/n’s eyes widened upon hearing those words leave her mouth. before she could smack her friend, winter took off running, satisfied with the reaction she got from her bestie. y/n followed shortly behind, yelling out threats to her friend as she did so.

__________________________

time seemed to have moved on so fast. it was already 7pm and y/n was making her way back to professor heeseung’s classroom. i hope this doesn’t look suspicious. she was having second thoughts. maybe this was a bad idea. she didn’t want to get caught up in something that wasn’t true, even though she wished it was. she didn’t want people to think she was having a secret affair with her teacher, but then again she didn’t actually mind it at all. she longed for him to caress her ever so gently. she wanted to feel his lips against her own but who didn’t? every girl on campus wanted a piece of him but can you blame them? he’s in his late twenties teaching hormonal nineteen and twenty year olds. a lot of his students were fresh out of highschool so seeing a young professor was like winning the lottery.

eventually she made it towards his classroom door, peering inside. it was dark and the only form of light was coming from the hallway where she stood. she scanned the room as best as she could but there was no sign of him. maybe he had forgotten. as she was about to walk away she ran face first into something or someone. she looked up and was face to face with heeseung himself. oh god. she thought. a light blush painted her face as she realized how close they were so she took a few steps back. “sorry, i should’ve been paying more attention to where i was going,” she apologized, her eyes averting her vision everywhere but his.

the view was astonishing to him. their slight height difference boosted his ego. it empowered him. he knew exactly what he what he was doing. y/n was timid and kept to herself. she wasn’t like the other girls he taught.

everyday a female student would force themselves onto him any chance he got. he was used to all the attention he gotten. he may not have shown it but he did enjoy it. so it was weird that y/n never seemed to try. he knew she found him attractive but she never seem to give him the time of day. so he started making moves. calling on her during class even though she never raised her hand, taking initiative to talk to her after class whenever he could because he knew it made her heart race. the innocence she portrayed had drawn her in. it was something he had to obtain, more so, alter it. he wanted her to be his, to hold, to control. that’s exactly how they ended up here. he falsified the ‘i need help’ teacher act. he knew she would fall for it. she was oblivious to it all.

he stared at her for a moment before he spoke, “it’s okay, i was just heading in,” he stated before moving passed her and towards the door. he unlocked it and entered the room, holding the door open for her. “are you joining me still?” he asked tenderly, his voice soft and sweet. it made her heart skip a beat. he was pure gold to her. a soft hearted, well-mannered, absolutely beautiful, educated and elegant man was spending alone time with her. she was head over heels for him.

she hummed in response and followed in right behind him. upon entering he closed the door, discreetly locking it without her noticing and flicked on the lights. “i hope you don’t mind, i have to gather up a few paperwork before we head that way, is that fine?” he asked, making his way towards his desk. he sat down, picking up groups of scattered papers that sat disorganized on his desk. he neated placed them into piles before putting them in his briefcase that he brought with him. y/n walked closer, gazing over at him. she watched

him quietly, fiddling with her fingers as she did so. she couldn’t help but think about what winter said earlier. imagining her professor fucking her on this desk right now.

images of him pounding into her core flushed her mind, making her core leak from the slight horniness that had taken over her. she was so lost in thought she couldn’t hear heeseung calling out to her. he then cleared his throat, finally gaining her attention. she looked up at him, face flustered. she looked absolutely stunning to him; no, beautiful actually. he wanted to ruin her. “you’re one of my best students?” he asked, getting up from his seat and walked over to the front of his desk where he leaned up against it.

she was dumbfounded, “i am?” she asked innocently, her brows furrowed slightly in confusion. heeseung found it adorable, she really didn’t have a clue in the world. “precisely. you’ve never been the type to throw yourself at me. that’s what i like about you,” he continued, making her all flustered again. he truly was enjoying this moment right now. “i’m just not the kind of girl. you’re my teacher not a love interest,” she said truthfully, but he didn’t like that response. he knew better than that and so did she. they both wanted each other more than anything right now.

he began to loosen his tie, then slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt. “is that really how you feel?” he asked, finally pulling his shirt open, revealing his toned abdomen. she stared in awe as she watched him strip in front of her. his shirt sliding off his shoulder and falling to the ground. her eyes trailed down his figure. he was a sight to see that’s for sure. she noticed a tent forming in his pants and she audibly gasped unintentionally. a smirk appeared on his lips. gotcha. he thought.

she didn’t know how to react in this very moment. what was she supposed to do? her very attractive literature teacher was standing shirtless in front of her. that’s every girl on campus dream and yet here she was living it.

“i-i don’t know if this is appropriate professor,” she stuttered, averting her gaze towards the floor. she stared at her sneakers until another pair of shoes came into view. she froze. too scared to look up now knowing how close he was to her. he took his hand and gently tilted her head upward so they were facing each other. she gulped, now meeting eyes with a different side of her professor. and truth be told, she was enjoying every second of it. “i want you more than anything right now,” he said, disregarding her previous statement of whether this was appropriate between the two. he didn’t care. nine years wasn’t that big of an age gap for him. she was nineteen and he was twenty- eight years old. how bad could this be?

he looked her in her eyes, searching for any sign he needed to know what his next move was. there it was, like a flicker. he smiled mischievously, pondering his next move but was surprised by her crashing her lips onto his.

she kissed him hungrily. she couldn’t hold it any longer. she needed him right now.

heeseung snaked his arm around her, grabbing her thighs to signal her to jump. she did, jumping into his embrace and wrapping her legs around his waist as their lips danced in one another.

he carried her to his desking, next faltering this kiss. he sat her on the edge, slipping his tongue in her mouth and explore every crevice of it. she moaned into the kiss, sucking on his tongue as he fiddled with the hem of her shirt. he broke the kiss, pulling her shirt over her head, taking it off and tossing it on the floor.

y/n took that time to catch her breath before he smashed his lips back on to hers. she grabbed his belt loosening it up but before she could pull them down he stopped her, grabbing ahold of her hands, “not so fast baby, lets take it slow.”

she whined, disappointed and desperate. he laughed, placing a small and shirt kiss on her lips. he unclipped her bra, sliding it off her. her breasts we plumped and perky. just how he liked them. he attached his mouth to one breast, sucking and swirling his tongue around her nipple. she bit back a few moans that threatened to slip out. she felt elastic. she knew what they were doing was so wrong but it felt so right. the adrenaline rush she got from this turned her on more. at any given moment they could be caught by anyone, a dean, a security guard, or a fellow student passing by.

she didn’t care at all, it thrilled her actually. fueling her desires even more. she watched and he alternated between each of her breast, leaving love bites all over her chest before proceeding to kiss down to the hem of her skirt, he didn’t care to take those off, he wanted to fuck her in her cute little uniform skirt so he pushed them up to get a better view of her leaking core.

a small chuckle left his lips upon seeing how soaked her panties were just from them kissing. she felt a little embarrassed hearing him laugh and tried to shut her legs but he stopped her from doing so. “don’t hide baby, she’s beautiful. let’s she was she looks like without these in the way,” he reassured her, sliding her pantines to the side to get a better look and her dripping core.

her little cunt made him go crazy. he looked up at her as he licked between her flaps. the warmth of his tongue sent shivers down her spine. he placed small kisses on her clit, edging her on. he wanted to tease her and have her begging for more.

y/n was too impatient and grabbed a fistful of his hair, shoving his face into her leaky cunt, heeseung obliged, giving her what she wanted. he began to eat her out, sucking on her clit and flicking his tongue in a way that made her toes curl. soft moans escape her mouth but she didn’t care. everything felt so good right now. place her legs above his shoulders and started to slowly grind against his face. the pleasure building up as she felt ecstatic. she threw her head back, moaning loudly as she continued to hump his face. he watched her as she got closer to her climax, he took two of his digits and plunged them deep into her pretty little cunt.

a loud gasp was heard from her, feeling his fingers deep inside him. he thrusted them faster, curling them as he hit her sweet spot, earning beautiful moans from y/n. he absolutely loved it. he was marking what was rightfully his. he continued his pace as she grew closer to her climax. he sucked a little harder on her clit, humming, sending vibrations to her core. a familiar pit grew in her stomach.

she was close, so so close and couldn’t contain it any longer. she screamed, forgetting where she was for a moment. her back arching as she squirted into his mouth, causing him to choke a little bit as her juices hit the back of his throat. she rode out her orgasm and she grinded on his face more before falling back onto his desk breathless.

heeseung stood up, dropping his pants to the floor as he looked down at her tired little figure laying on his desk. “we’re not finished yet, angel,” he said, stroking his long and thick member in his hand. she looked up, her eyes widened. there was no way in hell that was going to fit in her. “can daddy have some head baby?” he asked softly and she nodded, getting off his desk and kneeling before him. he cooed, watching her doe eyes stare up at him. he was loving this view of her better. she parted her lips slightly as he began to slap his cock against her face.

“open your mouth wide baby,” he instructed and she obliged, parting her lips more as s

he slid his cock right in. his breath hitched in his throat. the warmth of her mouth engulfing his seven inches did something to him. he let her take control, watching her bob her head on his thickness, taking every inch and girth of his cock. “yes baby. just like that. you’re doing so good for me,” he praised, encouraging her more. she forced herself to deep throat him, gagging as she did. he grunted at the feeling of her throat hugging his member, her gagging made the feeling even better.

her eyes started to brim with tears as his cock hit the back of her throat, drool dripping down her chin.

she took her hand and stroked him while sucking him off. this pleasure alone could’ve made him cum but he was determined to last. he grabbed her by her hair, pulling her off him to keeping him for cumming then and there. she winced from the harsh grip but didn’t stop it. she liked how rough he was getting. it turned her on even more.

he bent down crashing his lips onto hers. he didn’t care that she just had his cock in his mouth, he was a real man like that. kissing her hard and tasting himself on her before he pulled back. “open your fucking mouth!” he exclaimed, and she did without hesitation. he spit in her mouth and she swallowed it so effortlessly. “you like that my nasty little slut?” he asked and she whined in response.

he slipped his cock back into her mouth, fucking her throat hard, she choked out a cry around his member. he didn’t care. he kept fucking her mouth hard and deep, moaning loudly. “fuck just like that baby,” he said once more. he felt his climax coming soon so he pulled right back out. “bend over my desk,” he ordered. she got up slowly, her legs wobbling a bit. he couldn’t help but laugh, “don’t laugh,” she pouted and he cooed at her, he helped her lay her stomach flat onto his desk, her bottom side completely exposed.

he bit his lip at the sight in front of him, rubbing his hands against her firmly plumped ass cheeks. he needed to mark them. he took his big hand and smack down on her ass hard, causing a scream of pain and pleasure from y/n. this was all so new to her. she never knew she’d like being treat like a fuck toy by her hot professor. he brought a side of her she didn’t know she possessed. he lashed at her ass a few times, the classroom echoing from skin slapping and cries coming from y/n. who knew being a teacher's pet could be so fun.

handprints now decorated her ass and he was more that pleased to know that it was because of him. only he could have her like this.

he positioned himself at the entrance of her core, “spread for me baby,” he told her softly. she reached back, grabbing her ass cheeks and spread them open; giving him more access to come right on in. he spat between her crack, using his dick to wipe it down towards her cunt before sliding the tip in. they both moaned out in pleasure upon contact.

she felt every bit of his cock slide into her tight little cunt before he bellowed out. his whole member filled her to the brim. he sat there for a moment, letting her adjust to his size before he began to move. slowly thrusting in and out of her, he pace precise and steady.

the desk began to squeak against the floor as he thrusted harder than before, yelps of pleasure falling from her lips. he was digging into her guts. it felt like his tip was touching the inside of her stomach. her moans encouraging him to go harder. he dugges his cock deeper into her, her ass clapping against his skin. the room filled with the sounds of them fucking. he hoped they wouldn’t get caught but parts of him did. he wanted people to see the whore he was making out of her. he wanted people to know who she belonged to. he felt her wet cunt hug his girth, bringing both of them to their high, he fucked her harder, sliding his thumb in her ass. she screamed once more from the unexpected intrusion. fuck. he thought.

the pleasure was becoming too much for her, she couldn’t handle it any longer. both her holes were filled, a sensation she never knew she needed. “fuck baby i’m gonna cum,” he said and she could only moan out incoherent nonsense in response. that drove him nuts. he picked up his pace, fucking her to her climax. she cried out loud as the pleasure was unbearable and came hard once again.

this drove heeseung to his climax as well, cumming deep and hard into her. they hadn’t worn a condom. his cum filling her deep and oozing out with every little thrust he gave before him finally pulled out. he placed a kiss on her back before watching his thick load spill right out of her cunt. he didn’t care that they didn’t play it safe. to be honest, baby didn’t sound that bad to him. she was stuck with him regardless.

he reached over to the tissue box on his desk and began to clean her up and help her get dressed before dressing himself. she sat back up on his desk, her makeup ruined from all the sweat and tears she indured with getting her brains fuck out.

“you’re mine princess, got it?” he stated, pulling her close. she tiredly hummed in response, too warn out to say a word. a small smile formed on both of their faces before they snuck back out and went their separate ways.

the next day rolled around and y/n was heading to class where she met up with winter. “so how was it?” winter asked, and y/n furrowed her brows. “how was what?” she asked and winter laughed.

“how was it when you sucked his dick?” she joked, causing y/n to freeze. how did she know? did someone see us? she thought. winter nudged her friend. “i’m just joking god. i know nothing happened. you don’t have it in you to do something of that nature,” winter assured her, causing her to relax again. she didn’t know after all. y/n laughed, “i don’t think i could ever do anything like that,” she lied.

their conversation was cut short upon professor heeseung entering the class room. “good morning everyone!” he greeted, and most of them greeted back. him and y/n locked eyes momentarily, causing her to blush and look away before he began today’s lesson.

winter grew a little suspicious of that little encounter but said nothing.

if only she knew what was to come in the near future.

THE END!!

[lacydollette]

ROUGH SEX WITH YOUR CO-STAR ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: actor!jensen x actress!reader

warnings: jensen ackles x fem!reader, actor!jensen, actress!reader, age gap, 18+, mdni, dom!jensen, sub!reader, oral (male receiving), forced blow job, hair pulling, choking, p in v (unprotected), praise kink, jensen being freaky asf, wc: 3.8k

The sound of laughter and music filled the bar as you and cast of The Boys gathered around the table, enjoying a rare evening off after a whirlwind of interviews, conventions, and press events promoting the new season. You sat near the edge of the group, a glass of wine in your hand as you watched the scene unfold. You’d been on the road with them for two weeks now, traveling from state to state to promote the show, and despite the exhausting schedule, nights like this made it all worth it.

Especially with your costar Jensen sitting just across the table, his smile lighting up the room, making everyone around him feel at ease. And despite your usual calm aura, he could tell you were taking it all in, probably still adjusting to the chaotic rhythm of show business.

You had joined the cast as the newest love interest for Soldier Boy, Jensen's character, and while you’d been nervous about working with such an established actor— he quickly made you feel comfortable. He was kind, funny, and despite being almost fifteen years older than you, he never treated you like the "new girl."

When you’d first started working together, Jensen was like a mentor to you but soon enough,m he found himself noticing more than just your talent. While you also found yourself noticing things about him—like the way he smiled at you when you two ran lines together or how his hand would linger just a little longer on your arm when you wrapped a scene.

And then, of course, there was the fact that you found him undeniably attractive. Everyone knew Jensen was good-looking, but up close? It was something else entirely. You’d kept it professional, though. He'd just come off a divorce, and the last thing you wanted was to complicate things for him or yourself. Still, there was no denying the chemistry between you two, both on-screen and off. And Jensen wasn't oblivious to the tension that had developed between you over the last few weeks either..

"Hey, y/n," Jensen called from across the table, snapping you out of your thoughts. He was leaning forward, his voice cutting through the laughters around you. "You've been quiet tonight. Everything okay?" You smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, just still getting used to it." Jensen grinned, his eyes glistening in the dim light. "You sure? We've got drinks, great company. Seems like a perfect night to me."

You chuckled, sipping your wine to hide the fact that your heart had started beating just a little faster. He'd been like this all night—talkative, laughing easily, and more physical than usual. His hand had brushed your arm more than once when you talked, and every time, your skin began to burn—in a good way.

As the night wore on, the group started to thin out. Some of the cast heading back to the hotel, but you, Jensen, and a few others stuck around, ordering another round of drinks. The bar was cozier now, quieter, and the low lighting gave it an intimate atmosphere.

So Jensen found himself talking to you more closely, the casual distance between you shrinking without you even realizing it. "So, how are you feeling about everything?" He asked, his voice low as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "The show, all this traveling. It's a lot, huh?"

"Yeah," you admitted, meeting his gaze. "It's been amazing, though. A little surreal, honestly. Sometimes I still can't believe I'm here, working with you guys."

"Well, you're killing it," Jensen said, his eyes locking onto yours. "I mean it, y/n. You've been great this season." Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, trying to compose yourself. "Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you."

"Don't downplay it. You're talented as hell. And...you're fun to work with. Really fun," he added, letting his words hang in the air. He hadn't meant for them to sound as loaded as they did, but now that he'd said it, he found himself holding your gaze a little longer, wondering if you’d caught the shift in his tone.

Your heart raced as you glanced up at him, trying to read his expression. Was he just being friendly? Or was there something more behind his words? "I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say, or even if you should say anything at all. But it was hard to ignore the way he was looking at you, the warmth in his eyes, the subtle way his knee brushed against yours under the table.

"You know," he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes never left yours, "I think we've spent more time together on this road trip than we did shooting the season." You laughed softly, grateful for the slight change in topic. "Yeah, but the road trip's been fun. It's nice getting to see different places, meet fans, and, you know, bond with the cast." Jensen's grin widened. "Bond, huh? Is that what we're calling it?" You laughed, clearly trying to brush off the tension. "What else would you call it?"

"Something else entirely," he said, his voice low, a hint of challenge that sent a shiver through you. Before you could respond though, Karl called over from the bar, breaking the moment. Jensen leaned back, laughing at something the others were saying, but his hand lingered on your lower arm, his thumb tracing a small, almost absent-minded circle against your skin. It was such a subtle gesture, but it sent a thrill through you.

You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more going on here than just casual flirting. There was tension between the two of you, a pull you couldn't ignore, and you were certain he felt it too. But as much as you wanted to explore whatever this was, you knew you had to be careful. Still, you couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered every time he looked at you. For now, you’d play it cool. But something told you that whatever was happening between you wasn't going away anytime soon.

Eventually, even the most fun nights had to end. The bar's lights dimmed and everyone decided it was time to call it a night. You all made your way back to the hotel, the cool night air helping to clear your mind, which had been buzzing with thoughts of Jensen all night. When you finally reached your room, you kicked off your shoes and put on your silk pyjamas before flopping onto the bed with a long sigh. The events of the night played in your head—Jensen's teasing remarks, the way he'd stayed close to you, how his touch lingered just a bit too long. There was definitely something there, you could feel it.

But as your thoughts swirled, you suddenly realized something. Your phone. Where was your phone? You shot up, mentally retracing your steps. Then it hit you—you’d given it to Jensen earlier in the night to hold onto because you hadn't brought a purse with you. "Dammit," you muttered, cursing yourself for forgetting. Now you’d have to go to his room and get it back. You groaned inwardly, knowing it would feel awkward after the way you’d been acting all night. But there was no way you could go to bed without your phone.

Reluctantly, you got up, slipped your shoes back on, and headed out of your room. You walked down the hallway, heart thumping a little faster than it should have. You told yourself it was just because you didn't want to bother him this late, but you knew the truth.

It was Jensen.

And the way he made you feel, had you on edge.

When you reached his door, you took a deep breath and knocked. No response. You frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. You were just about to turn and head back to your room when the door swung open. And there stood Jensen, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, his hair wet and dripping from the shower. He looked at you with those piercing eyes, a playful smirk on his lips, completely unfazed by the fact that he was half-naked in front of you.

Your breath caught in your throat. God, he looked unbelievably sexy. His broad chest was still glistening with water, and your eyes instinctively trailed down over his abs to the towel hanging low on his hips. You were completely overwhelmed, mind scrambling to find words, but all you could do was stand there, staring like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Uh... I—" you stammered, trying to get rid of any filthy thoughts that were coming to you. "I need my phone... I think you have it? I gave it to you earlier at the bar." Jensen raised an eyebrow, amused by the way your cheeks flushed as he smirked. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that," he said, his voice playful. "Come on in. I think I put it on the nightstand."

You hesitated for a split second, heart hammering in your chest, but you forced yourself to move, stepping inside. The room was dimly lit, cozy, and the scent of his sweet body wash hung in the air. You tried not to focus on how close he was standing to you as you made your way to the nightstand where your phone sat.

As you reached for it, you could feel his eyes on you, the tension between you almost palpable. You picked up the phone, your hand trembling slightly, and turned to face him. He was leaning casually against the wall now, arms crossed, still wearing nothing but that damn towel. His demeanor was teasing, but there was something else in his gaze too—something that made your pulse race even faster.

"You know," Jensen said, his voice low and smooth, "you could've just called for it. Oh wait," he added with a smirk, "you didn't have your phone." You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. "Yeah, a little hard to call without it," you replied, attempting to sound nonchalant but clearly nervous.

Jensen chuckled softly, pushing off the wall and walking toward you, stopping just a few feet away. He looked down at you with that same playful glint in his eyes, the air between you thick with something unspoken. "You sure that's all you came for?" he asked, his voice dropping lower. He saw the hesitation in your eyes, the flicker of doubt, but also curiosity, maybe even a hint of longing.

Your breath hitched. You could feel the tension between you two, the way his gaze held yours, and for a brief second, you wondered what would happen if you just... leaned in. But then reality came crashing back. Jensen had just gone through a divorce. He was vulnerable, and you didn't want to complicate things, not like this. Not now.

You forced yourself to smile, though your heart was still racing. "Yeah," you said, holding up your phone as if to prove your point. "Just needed this." Jensen's eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he stepped back a little, his smirk softening. "Well, you've got it now."

"Thanks," you said quickly, eyes dropping down to the floor as you couldn't bare to look into his piercing green eyes, yet the pull too was strong, so that you raised your head again just seconds later. His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he watched you standing there, still holding onto your phone like a lifeline. The playful smirk never leaving his face, his voice low and laced with a teasing challenge.

"Yet you're still here."

The words hung in the air between you, thick with tension. You froze, the grip on your phone tightening. Were you imagining things? Misreading him? The way he had been so flirtatious all night, the casual touches, the lingering glances-it couldn't be nothing, could it?

Your mind was spinning, trying to make sense of the situation. You weren’t sure if you were overthinking or if you were too tipsy to trust your own judgment. But the way he looked at you now, like he was daring you to stay, made your pulse race.

He must have noticed the hesitation in your eyes because his expression shifted. He moved toward you, closing the distance, his hand finding your waist with an almost deliberate slowness. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and before you could process what was happening, he pulled you just a bit closer.

It was a bold move, one that made your heart skip a beat. You were taken aback, breath hitching in your chest as you looked up at him. His face was inches from yours now, and the tension was so thick it was hard to breathe. For a moment, your mind raced with mixed emotions. You knew this could complicate everything. And yet, the pull between you was undeniable.

Jensen's thumb gently brushed your side, his touch grounding you as the intensity of the moment swirled around you. His green eyes bore into yours, and for a split second, you were unsure of what to do. But then, in the next heartbeat, your hesitation melted away. Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a rush of heat and urgency.

The second your mouths touched, it was like a dam had broken. The tension that had been simmering between you all night finally erupted into something raw and electric. Jensen responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you fully against him, eager to finally feel you, his lips moving hungrily against yours.

Your mind blurred with a heady mix of desire and disbelief, your hands instinctively finding their way to his bare chest, your fingers grazing his muscles still damp from the shower. You could taste the faint bitterness of alcohol on his lips, and the fact that you were both a little tipsy only seemed to add to the intensity of the moment.

His hands roamed up your sides, one slipping into your hair as the kiss deepened, his body pressing you gently but firmly against the edge of the bed. Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you softly plunged onto the soft mattress.

You unconsciously bit onto your lower lip as you looked up at him, unholy images replaying in your mind as your gaze fell onto his happy trail, wanting nothing more than to rip that damn towel off of him. Jensen noticed how your eyes stuck to his body just a little too long, eliciting a chuckle out of him, "Go ahead, no need to be all shy now."

For a second, a small ounce of doubt crept into your mind—this was risky, so risky. You two were co-stars, and if anyone found out, it could lead to complications neither of you were ready for. But as Jensen's hand reached down to your chin, grabbing it with his big palm, that doubt vanished, replaced by desire.

You couldn't bare the need for him any longer, immediately getting to work by dropping onto your knees, the anticipation almost killing you as Jensen teasingly began to remove the towel from his hips. His eyes never left yours as he pulled down the white cloth, revealing his already hard cock. The sight of him, made your breath catch in your throat, gulping as you saw how big he actually was.

You came face to face with his length, looking up at him through hooded eyes, "Come on, show me what that pretty mouth can do." He groaned, immediately sending tingles to your core, desperately pressing your thighs together. With easy hands you held him in your soft palms, running your thumb over his tip and spreading the already leaking precum over it.

Pressing your lips together you gathered all your courage and inched closer, sticking out your tongue and licking a stripe all the way from his base to the tip. You repeated this action a few more times, then fully taking him in your mouth as far as you could go.

"Holy fuck, baby." Jensen growled, his head thrown back in pleasure as he couldn't believe how good your wet and warm mouth felt around him, only having imagined it before. You began to swirl your tongue around his cock, jerking off what you couldn't get in your mouth, as he reached to grab a fist full of your hair, yanking you back a little so he could grab at your neck with his other hand.

"You wanna be a good girl for me, right?" He mumbled in between grunts, admiring your plump lips that were so desperately trying to get back to sucking him off. You nodded hastily, this man could literally do anything to you and you’d thank him after.

"Good then, open up wide, baby."

He instantly took advantage of your parted lips and plunged himself down your throat in a swift motion, your eyes widening as you had to gag at the force. "Shhh, relax." Jensen cooed, his voice now softer as he gave you some time to get used to your mouth being full of him.

Once you gave him a small nod he began rolling his hips slowly into your mouth, your hands grabbing at his thighs to steady yourself. It was a weird feeling to have him down your throat so deep but as he continued his movements you began to like it, wanting him to go even harder.

You jerked your face closer to his abdomen, earning a deep and breathless chuckle from him. Realizing how eager you were lapping at his dick he picked up his pace, his tip hitting the back of your throat over and over again, driving you crazy.

The built up of saliva and precum that was dripping from the corner of your lips, helped Jensen even more to slide his cock in and out of your warm mouth. His grunts became louder and his hands were gripping the back of your head as he fucked your throat, your moans sending vibrations throughout his body, and he knew that if he continued he wouldn't last any longer.

But cuming just in your mouth tonight wouldn't satisfy him, he needed more. Pulling you off him by your hair you shot him a confused look, scared that he might've changed his mind and didn't want any of this, that it was just the alcohol on which behalf he was acting out, but his words quickly made all your doubts vanish.

"Need to finish inside you, y/n." He said, before pulling you back onto your feet and yanking your small frame onto the silky sheets. Towering over you he ran his hands along the soft fabric of your pyjama shorts, pulling them down harshly as you freed yourself from the little top that was just barely covering your tits anyway.

By the way his eyes widened and the way he pulled some air in sharply, you could tell that he took notice of your dripping wet cunt, already leaking onto the sheets. "Jensen.." you whined, the urge to finally feel him inside taking over you.

"Patience, baby." He smirked up at you, eyes full of lust as he placed some teasing kisses onto the insides of your soft thighs, making you squirm in desperation. Jensen jerked his still glistening cock for a few times, his one hand stayed at your chest, playing with your tit, as he lined himself up with your entrance.

Looking up at you for approval, you nodded which gave him the sign to proceed, his tip brushing over your clit and through your slick folds to lube himself up, before pushing into your needy cunt fast. You gasped at the sudden fullness, his cock stretching out your walls so perfectly, making Jensen grunt as he burried himself completely inside you, as if you were made for him.

"Gosh, look how perfect your pretty cunt is sucking me in. Really needed me that bad, huh?" Your eyes scrunched together, feeling yourself get wetter from his words alone. You rapidly nodded, breathing out a soft "mhm..shit..yes" as he chuckled, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses to your neck.

He was quick to go back to his previous action, rolling his hips smoothly against yours as he picked up his pace, soon slamming into you at an ungodly speed. The almost pornografic noises that came out of your mouth made him chuckle, clearly knowing that there might be some complaints by the morning, but he didn't care.

He kept on pounding into your eager pussy, your legs wrapped around his hips by now, making him hit much deeper, if that was even humanly possible. "Fuck.. I'm gonna.." you cursed underneath your breath, feeling the familiar knot in your lower stomach screaming for release.

"Cum all over me, sweetheart." Jensen groaned into your ear, his hot breath making your skin prickle. His hand crept down, two of his digits rubbing circles at your clit, causing you to let out a loud, almost scream-like, moan as you released all over him, creaming his cock.

"Fucking shit.." he grunted, teeth pressing into his lower lip as he gave you a few more hard thrusts, pearls of sweat forming on his forehead as he chased his own high. Groaning out loud you felt him twitch inside of you, cuming deep in your cunt, painting your slick walls white.

As both of you calmed down you still couldn't believe that this was actually real, even as Jensen pulled out of you and plopped onto the bed beside you. "Shit y/n, that shower was hella pointless..definitely not complaining though." He laughed, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he wrapped one of his big arms around your waist, pulling you close.

"Well, screams for a round two then." You replied, stroking his muscular chest. "You mean this or the shower?" He eyed you down, a smirk plastered on his face as he pointed in between you two. You just shrugged, yet the devilish smile plastered on your lips gave it away.

wow this was a wild ride, and i am actually kinda proud of this one !!

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated !!

tags: @gibson-g1rl @beausling @angelicjackles @nuemanfilms @hischrrypie @starkeysprincess @drewsarms @rubyvhs @deansenvy @supernatural-wolfie @sammyluvr @nxptvn @rafecameroninterlude @deansbite

[rafesbabyg1rl]

Private session part2 is needed!! We all know Barry can be a dick head and he actually considers adding the having sex with a stripper option to customers when y/n finds out about this she obviously mad and saying no but when rafe finds outs about this he’s obviously mad and goes to Barry pissed saying wtf is this he obviously dose not want y/n to have sex with anyone else but him

Private Session - part two

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Summary: Rafe likes to watch reader while she works as a stripper. He asks for a private session in which he'll pay a large amount for her time. Rafe takes her home and uses her however he pleases. When he finds out Barry has been selling you to customers, he gets jealous, insisting that you must not sleep with anyone else.

Pairings: Stripper!Reader X obsessive!Rafe

Warnings: Rafe is obsessive of reader. Reader is a stripper. Mention of drugs (Rafe and Barry do cocaine), bondage (reader is tied up), p in v, unprotected sex, language, SLIGHT degradation, praise, oral (f receiving), fingering. SMUT SMUT SMUT!

Word Count: 4.8k

Author Note: Hey babes! I got this idea from this GIF , like just imagine he's sitting in the strip club throwing dollar bills at you like that. This fic is NOT proofread, it's almost FIVE AM and I have school tomorrow, well, today I guess...UGH. I just got this request and had to write this!! Also thank you all for the support on part one?!?!?! That's INSANE, I love you guys! I wanted to get this out asap for y'all. Sorry if it's actually shit, I'm so tired and also high. If you see any errors please feel free to correct me kindly! Thanks!

I promise I will work on The Watcher; I just got a bit stuck. Thank you guys for reading, I hope you enjoy! I love you all and stay freaky!

Credits: GIF from this post

Some time has passed since your ‘private session’ with Rafe. The first time you’d come back to work after your session with Rafe, Barry had talked to you at the beginning of your shift. Apparently, after seeing how much Rafe paid you for just one hour alone with him, Barry was inspired. He had told you that the club will now be providing a new “service” to well-paying customers. Customers now have the option to have sex with the dancers for the right price. Barry knew better than to sell his girls out for cheap, so the cost is rather high. And there’s typically only two types of men that have both the means and the money for it: the rich, old sugar daddies who probably can’t even get it up on their own and the rich, horny assholes of the island, take Rafe for example. 

When Barry had told you this, you were pissed. This was not in your job description; you’re a stripper not a hooker. You wanted to yell at him and quit. The issue is that when you got this job, you had signed a contract with Barry stating that you’d have to work there for at least a year or else you’d have to pay a fee. Knowing Barry, it’s a ridiculously large fee, ensuring that no one quit before their year was up. And it’s likely that the contract he made you sign isn’t even legal. But you're not going to try and find out, knowing that even if it’s not, that doesn’t matter to Barry. He’ll make you pay. And you don’t have that kind of money, that’s why you’re in this position in the first place.

Over the next few weeks, you’ve noticed that Rafe hasn’t been coming in as much. Not while you’re working at least. The few times he has come in, he hasn’t been alone, always coming in with a few other kooks and barely paying any attention to you. Which is definitely not normal for Rafe. You just assume that since he’s had you now, he’s lost his interest. You expected that you’d be relieved when he finally stopped watching you like prey, but now you’re not exactly sure what you feel. Does he not find you attractive anymore? Did he just lose interest after finally getting what it is that he had craved for so long? God, was it just you; did he see who you really are and run in the opposite direction? You knew that whole experience with him was too good to be true.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts as you hear the door to the back room open. Quickly, you grab one of the dresses hanging in your locker and slip it over you; it’s what Barry told you to wear over your lingerie when you do at-home sessions with clients. You turn, watching as your boss and none other than Rafe Cameron stumble in through the door. Rafe goes quiet, his expression going dead as he lays eyes on you. 

“Lookin’ good”, Barry whistles. “Where you headed, princess?” He asks as he turns away from you, sitting on a chair. Barry leans back in his seat, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small baggie full of white powder. You’ve always ignored his side business, always pretending you don’t see any of it. Which is what you do right now. Trying your hardest to ignore the fact he’s preparing a line on the small, glass coffee table, you finish up what you’re doing and close your locker a bit harshly.

“I have a client waiting.” You snap. You walk closer to where Barry is sitting and turn your back to him. “Tie me?” You ask, holding your hair up and waiting for him to tie the complex strings of your backless dress. Though he’s currently busy doing a line of cocaine. Without hesitation, Rafe steps closer, his fingers moving to tie your dress. You don’t have to see him to know he’s the one tying your dress. Your skin just immediately remembers his touch, causing chills to run down your spine at the flashbacks of that night. Rafe notices your slight shiver and smirks as he tries to figure out how the straps of your dress go. His hands linger on the skin of your lower back for longer than they need to and your breath hitches each time his skin comes into contact with your own.

When he’s done, he sits on the couch across from Barry, facing you. You turn back to them, not bothering to thank him. To be honest, you’re a bit pissed at him for starting this whole sex with customers thing. You know he didn’t intend to, but he’s the one who gave Barry the idea. 

Barry speaks up again as he wipes the excess powder from his nose. “When will you be back, I need you out on the floor.” 

I can’t do fucking everything, you think. Although your words come out much more politely. “It’s an at-home appointment so probably an hour.” You’ve had this client before, he typically finishes pretty quick. 

You hear Rafe’s loud breathing as he snorts a line which grabs your attention, making you briefly turn your head to look at him. You watch as he leans back, shutting his eyes and inhaling deeply as his high takes over. Rafe slouches in his seat, spreading his legs wide, making you quickly look away. Of course he notices how you’re reacting to him, he always notices everything about you. He crosses his arm and lets out a small sigh. 

Rafe’s tone is sharp as he cuts in. “At-home?” He questions, still trying to act as though he doesn’t care about the conversation you and Barry were having. 

Barry’s eyes linger on you for a moment, taking in the sight before turning to look at Rafe. “We now offer a new service: you can fuck any of ‘em bitches now.” You make a face at Barry’s words, not liking how he described you and the other girls. Usually he’d never say that in the presence of one of his “bitches”, but Rafe and Barry always brought out the worst in each other; their behavior much worse when they’re together. 

“Wait, what?!” He asks, sitting up a bit before calming himself down. He leans back against the couch, trying to seem all nonchalant. “So, they’re hookers?” He questions more calmly as he looks over to you. You recall having to tell him you weren’t a hooker the last time you saw him. You scowl, hating that he’s trying to prove you wrong and rub it in. 

“Hookers, bitches, call ‘em whatever you want. I should thank you for giving me the idea. I mean, do you have any idea how much money this is making me.” Barry boasts. “And miss pretty princess over here is our top money maker.” Barry gestures to you as you stand there, waiting for your chance to leave. “She brings in the most customers. Ain’t that right, darlin’?” You nod. Everytime Barry gets high, he doesn’t fucking shut up. Rafe just nods his head dryly, leaning down to snort another line of the white substance from the table. 

You take this as your queue to leave and you walk out through the door and back into the main part of the club. You walk through the crowd and search for your client. Leaving Rafe with a few moments to think in silence before Barry starts yapping about all the guys you’ve been fucking. Rafe is fucking furious with this new addition to the club. He had never intended for Barry to take inspiration from his actions, he just needed you. And now anyone else who wants you, can have you. How is it that you could say that you don’t go home with guys often, and turn around and go fuck a bunch of guys for a living right after? Was he just another client to you? Rafe can’t take it anymore and decides to take action. He shoots up from his seat on the couch and storms after you. 

As you’re walking, you feel a hand grip your arm and spin you around. You’re almost chest to chest with Rafe as he speaks down to you. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I have a client.” You explain, again. 

“The fuck you mean ‘a client’?” 

“You’re not the only one who’s willing to pay just to fuck me, Rafe.” You say coldly. 

He chuckles, responding sarcastically as he stares down at you with his wide, dilated eyes. “Thought you never went home with random guys?”

“I didn’t. Until you gave Barry the idea of selling me out to strangers for a quick buck.”

Rafe sighs, his grip on your arm loosening. “That’s not what I wanted. I mean c’mon, you think I want other guys fucking you?”

The implication in his words shock you, but you try not to read too much into it. Before you get the chance to respond he lets go of your arm, letting out a deep breath and shaking his head. Without question, he pulls his wallet out from his pocket, flipping it open and looking up at you. “How much is he gonna pay?” You stare at him blankly, confused in what he’s doing. He huffs out a long breath shutting his eyes for a second before bringing one hand up to snap in your face, grabbing your attention. “The guy, your…” his hand waves around in the air, gesturing outwards as he momentarily stutters. “...Client, or whatever. How much was he going to pay you?” He speaks more slowly this time, as if you’re stupid or something. 

“Depends.” You answer. The client you’re supposed to be meeting right now didn’t have an exact time planned, but you know how much he typically has the stamina for. 

He purses his lips, shifting on his feet. “Ballpark.” He demands. His gaze darted between your eyes, constantly shifting to look at both. 

Still confused, you hesitantly respond to his question, stuttering as you speak. “$800.” Immediately, he starts to count the money in his wallet, taking out the eight-hundred and then some. Rafe hands the cash out to you, but you don’t take it right away so he tucks it into the low cut neckline of your dress.

“There, now I take priority.” He takes hold of your arm again and drags you through the club and out into the parking lot. He walks you up to his truck, which you can now recognize. Rafe pulls the passenger door open for you and walks around to his side, climbing in and starting the engine. You know to get in, shutting the door behind you and buckling your seatbelt before looking over at him. Your stomach tightens as his eyes undress you. Rafe finally turns his head away, reaching over his shoulder to grab his seatbelt. Suddenly, it’s like the image registered in his brain and he whipped his head back to you, glaring at your thighs.

You noticed him staring at you, looking down into your lap. The super short dress you were wearing has ridden up, revealing the few hickeys that are spread over your inner thighs. His eyes find the others on your neck as well and he knows he wasn’t the one to leave them. You try to keep your customers from leaving hickeys and other marks in your body, but it’s like the more you tell them not to, the more they want to. It makes Rafe almost sick to his stomach when he thinks about kissing you with those marks; marks left on your skin from other men. He can’t stand it. Suddenly his mind is filled with images of you fucking other guys, he tries to shake out the thoughts but he can’t; they’re eating away at him. The two lines of cocaine from earlier not helping the situation, it only serves to intensify his anger. 

As he drives he looks over at you. He starts to rant, his voice booming inside the small tuck cabin. “Bet they can’t make you cum four fuckin’ times in an hour, can they?”  You only slightly jump when he startles you with the increasing volume of his voice. “They can’t fuckin’ touch you like I can, huh?” He glances at the road shortly, then he turns his head back to you. “Nobody makes you feel as good as I do, yeah?” He waits for a response.

You catch the hint. “Mhm…yeah.” You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

When you get to Tanneyhill, Rafe comes to an abrupt stop in his driveway. He wastes no time before getting out of the truck and rounding the front of it to get to your side. Rafe pulls the passenger seat door open, grabbing ahold of your arm again. He tugs you inside, shutting the door behind you two. 

As soon as you hear the door shut, his lips are finding yours and attacking them. In the moment, he decides that his bedroom upstairs is too far and he takes you into the kitchen. He continues to kiss you, walking you backwards until your lower hips bump into the counter; in which he grabs your waist and lifts you up to sit on the counter. One of his hands finds its way underneath your dress and between your legs. In quick movements, he tugs your lacy thong down and off of your body. Once they hit the floor, he’s pulling your legs apart; forcing them to spread wide so that you’re exposed and accessible to him. Your pussy grows wet in anticipation of what he’s going to do to you; which is something that none of the other men have been able to make you feel.

Rafe brushes a light hand over your cunt, groaning into your mouth as he discovers how wet you are for him. Not some random guy at the club, but him. He continues to kiss you, swallowing the small moans that try and escape your lips. His hands move to his belt, working on getting it off. Once it’s off, he pulls his jeans down and steps out of them; only breaking the kiss once. The next thing to go in his boxers; he slides them down and lets them pool at his ankles.

With absolutely no warning or further preparation, Rafe slams into you. You choke out a moan, tilting your head back. Rafe starts to kiss the sensitive spot behind your ear just so that your cunt can squeeze around him even tighter as he jackhammers into you. “Fuuck…so tight.” He groans. “Did anyone else fuck you like this, hm? Did anyone else’s cock stretch you out like this?” He growls into your ear. His hand snakes around to the back of your head, gathering all your hair and tugging your head back so that you were looking at him. “That was a fucking question. Fucking answer.” He demands.

“I…”, you cry out as his cock repeatedly hits the extra sensitive spot deep inside you. A spot that nobody else can reach like how he does. “N-no…just you.” 

“Just me, what?” He continues, enjoying your struggle to form words as he fucks you at this pace.

“Just you can fuck me like this.” You admit. You’re not even saying it because he wants you to, but because you can honestly say that nobody’s ever fucked you like how he’s fucked you. 

“Good girl.” He praises. He runs a hand through your hair and slows his speed to a very slow, careful pace, admiring your features as your face contorts with pleasure. After about a minute, his hand finds your clit, his fingers rubbing harsh circles as his thrusts speed up to an unbearable pace again. He places a hand on your chest, pushing you down so that you’re laying with your back flat on the counter. 

The cold counter adds to the intense feeling. He pauses for a moment to pull your shiny, little dress up past your hips to keep it out of the way. When he continues, he’s drilling into you faster than before, giving you the last bit of his anger through his thrusts. Your back begins to arch off the counter, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. And just as you’re about to see stars, Rafe pulls out of you and steps back, pulling his boxers back up from his ankles.

An involuntary whine escapes your lips when his touch leaves you and you sit up on your elbows, trying to figure out why he stopped. Except he doesn’t say anything, he just lifts you up, carrying you upstairs and into his bedroom. 

When you get into his room, he sets you down just before the bed. “Shit, I almost forgot.” He mumbles. You furrow your brows and follow his gaze to his bed. On his bed sits a small gift box. You look back at him to find him staring at you. “Open it.” The demands, his tone almost displaying a small trace of excitement. 

You look back at the box, taking a few steps closer to the bed. You reach out to flip over the small tag on the box, it reads: ‘To: my favorite hooker’. Your breath hitches. He’s so frustrating with his persistence of using that word, ‘hooker’, when he knows you aren’t one. Well, you didn’t used to be one. But you have to admit, this seems almost…sweet, in a way. Sweet for Rafe anyhow. You fight back your smile as you reach both hands out, carefully lifting the lid off of the box, setting it on the bed. Inside the box lay some very beautiful, intricate lingerie; it’s clearly very expensive, judging on the fact that you can’t even pronounce the brand name. 

Rafe explains, “For what I ripped last time. I told you I’d replace it.”

“You did.��� You say, getting lost in his eyes for perhaps a moment too long.

“Take it out.” He instructs and you obey, taking the delicate lingerie out of the gift box. Underneath the set, you find another gift. A vibrating wand as well as some thick ribbon. The vibrator you understand, the ribbon…not so much. You hold some of it up, turning to face him as if asking ‘what’s this for?’. Rafe understands what you’re asking and he responds vaguely. “You’ll see.” Clearly he enjoys keeping you on your toes, and you hate it. 

After changing into your new lingerie, you exit his bathroom and walk towards his bed. Quickly he has you laying on your back. He takes some ribbon from the box and straddles your waist leaning over you as he ties each of your wrists to a separate bed post. He then did the same with your feet. Now you’re all tied up for him, spread out on the bed and vulnerable. 

He leans down, hovering over you. He starts to kiss all over your body, his lips finding any open spot of skin on you. He pauses his kisses for a moment, leaning back up enough to look at you. He tells you, “Don’t wear this at the club.” Rafe leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your chest. “This is for me, yeah?” He mumbles, giving you yet another kiss. “My eyes only.” you nod in response, you agree. This is way too expensive to be wearing to the club.

“Yes, yes, only you.” You desperately plead. 

Rafe chuckles and starts to kiss down your body, He makes a momentary stop at your chest, mouthing over one of your nipples through the thin fabric, his fingers rolling your other nipple between his fingers. His actions elicit a loud moan to escape your lips as your body tenses up, struggling against the restraints. You now understand the ribbon. Last time, he had used rope to tie you up and it would painfully dig into your skin. But the ribbon was soft, not causing pain to be inflicted upon you as your body reacts to his actions. His mouth leaves your breast, moving to the other side, ensuring that it wasn’t left out. His hand also switches to pinch at your other nipple.

His mouth starts to travel down your body again as his hand reaches behind him on the bed to grab something. He mouths over your clothed cunt, making you whine and shiver underneath him; still sensitive from when he had teased you earlier on the kitchen counter. 

You hear a vibrating sound, but before your brain could register what it is, he’s using the new vibrator he bought for you, on you. He presses it firmly against your clit through the fabric of your panties. Your arms tug at the restraints in response, your legs trying, and failing to close. You feel so vulnerable, so exposed and weak. Lying here helpless as he assaults your small bundle of nerves. 

Rafe pulls your panties to the side, revealing your dripping cunt. He pushes the vibrator directly on your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your body at the sensation. “F-fuck!” You cry, your abdominal muscles contracting as your eyes squeeze shut and your toes curl. Rafe leans in, using his tongue to lap up the juices that drip from your slick entrance as he keeps the vibrator steady on your most sensitive part. “Rafe!” You scream his name out as you cum, finally seeing the stars you were denied earlier, the build-up making it that much more intense. 

He pulls the vibrator away, only using his tongue to work you down from your high. When your body starts to relax more, he stops and moves back up your body. He sets the vibrator aside and kisses at your neck, leaving new marks of his own; darker and larger than the others. 

You’re still in shock at Rafe’s decision to use a toy on you. You definitely weren’t mad about it, that’s for sure. It’s just that typical guys won’t want to use a vibrator on you because they want to prove they’re better all by themselves. Rafe’s definitely good at sex, that’s just a given fact. But the confidence he has to use a vibrator on you, mixed with his skill…he’s fucking incomparable. 

Rafe unties your wrists, letting your arms fall and relax. Next he moves to untie the ribbon that ties your feet to the bed. Once you’re completely free, he gives you a moment, knowing how tiring that was for your body. He knows you need to recover if he wants to get more orgasms from you tonight. 

Though you appreciate his generosity, you want to help him out too. So you take him by surprise by placing your hand over his hard cock through his boxers. Except he still manages to be the one surprising you when he speaks. “Fuck…that feels…s’so good baby.” He groans, but moves your hand off his dick. “But let me take care of you, yeah? I know Barry’s got you workin’ a lot, hm? Heard you’ve got the most customers, is that right?” He asks, his hands starting to squeeze and massage at you calves 

“Mhm…” you agree, closing your eyes in relaxation. 

Rafe’s hands move to massage your feet, knowing the tall heels you’re always wearing have to be causing you some discomfort. And he knows he assumed correctly when you let out a deep sigh at his touch. “Nobody ever takes care of you, hm? Always just taking what they want and giving you nothing?” He leans in closer to your ear and whispers, “I like taking care of you.” Rafe starts to nip softly at your ear, making you moan softly. 

After a while, his hands leave your feet, moving back up your body. He gently pulls off the lingerie, setting it on the bed beside you two. He takes a moment to revel in the sight of you, taking in what he is lucky enough to have in front of him. One of his hands finds its way to your slimy folds, gently running over your entrance. He gathers some of your slick and brings it up to your clit as he begins to rub it in steady, slow circles.

Finally, he pulls his boxers off. He uses his other hand to hold himself at the base, gently stroking himself a few times as he looks down at you underneath him. Without much more preparation, he pushes himself inside of you. This time, he moves slowly. His mind isn;t clouded from the effects of cocaine and anger anymore, instead he just wants to help you feel good. He wants to take him time, even though you’re likely not going to last long after your previous orgasm. 

“Shit, so fuckin’ wet f’me. You’re always so wet for me, hm? Such a good girl. Such a good fuckin’ girl.” He groans, his mouth right next to your ear so you can clearly hear all his praises. “M’gonna have to talk to Barry for you. Can’t have you fuckin’ those other guys anymore. This pussy’s for me; it’s mine.” His speed gets faster, his pace more erratic as you get closer, your cunt squeezing around him tighter; ultimately bringing him closer to finishing as well. “Hm? You hear me?”

“Mhm…” you nod eagerly, getting so close to cumming that you can barely form a complete thought. “Y-yes Rafe. Yours, fuck! Yours.”

He gathers all your hair, tugging on it so that your neck cocks back, giving him full access to mark it up. He leaves wet, sloppy kisses all over your neck; sucking and biting at your skin. “Only a slut for me, right? Nobody else, not anymore.”

“Yes…sure, fuck, okay yeah!” You scream. The recognizable feeling of your stomach tightening just for the band to snap, making your back arch off the bed, pushing your body against his as you reach another orgasm. “Ohh…nngghh…f-fucking shit!” You curse, your hand clawing at his shirt, trying to take it off. Rafe understands what you need and does it for you.

It’s not long before he gets to his peak with the way you keep squeezing him; so wet that he just slips right in and out. But before he cums, he asks you a final question. “Can I?”,is all he says but it’s enough for you to know what it is that he’s asking. He’s already done it before, so you don’t see the problem, especially not right now. You don’t even have it in you to say no even if it was what you wanted,

“Mhm…please. Please cum inside me, Rafe. I-I need it.” You admit.

Without wasting another second, Rafe’s movements slow down as he releases his load in you; painting your walls white with his cum. You could feel his warm seed spilling out of you, mixing with your sticky juices. When he pulls out, you feel empty. Your lonely cunt left clenching around nothing. 

Rafe lies down beside you, wrapping his arms around you. You never had taken Rafe for much of a cuddler, but he’s full of surprises tonight. You return the action, wrapping your arms around him and draping a leg over him. 

After you’ve both had time to recover, you still just lie there, enjoying each other's silent company. But you finally decide to break the silence between you two. “Y’know, I have to admit that it is kinda nice to be with someone who can get it up without taking pills.” You joke truthfully, referring to all the old sugar daddies that pay for your services.  

Rafe chuckles at your words. He wants to say ‘I told you so’, to prove that he knew nobody else made you feel the same as he did, but fights the urge. Instead he just laughs. “Oh, I bet.” 

“Did…did you mean what you said about talking to Barry?” You ask on a more serious note.

Rafe looks at you, admiring your soft, tired, fucked-out expression as he runs a gentle hand through your hair. “Oh yeah, yeah. I can talk to him if you want. He usually listens to me.”

“And if he doesn’t?” You ask.

“Then I’ll make him.” He reassures you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I started this, I’m gonna fix it, okay? So don’t worry. You ain’t gotta fuck nobody you don’t wanna no more, yeah? How’s that sound?”

“Thank you.” You mumble to him, your eyes starting to get heavy and droop shut. 

“I hope that means you’ll still fuck me.” He teases, petting your soft hair as he watches you. 

You just nod, too exhausted to engage in his jokes. Rafe just smiles softly, appreciating the fact that he has you all sleepy in his bed; his arms. Of all the time he spent watching you and admiring you at the club, he never was able to imagine this moment.

He presses one final kiss to your head before closing his own eyes, pulling you in tighter. “I’ll take you back tomorrow, that alright?”

“Mhm…” You mumble under your breath, already half asleep. 

“Goodnight.” He whispers, pulling the covers over the two of you. 

Thank you for reading! I greatly appreciate it! PLEASE feel free to leave Rafe x reader requests!! I LOVE getting them!

Again, sorry if this is bad. I'm so tired and too lazy/impatient to proofread/edit. I hope this is good enough to fulfill your request!

[lohotine]

Can we get NSFW Two Time and reader headcanons? He's so freaky, I like him 🙏

Two Time x Reader

An: i know you asked for NSFW headcanons, but uh, I felt generous so I included my general headcanons list- both SFW and NSFW. Enjoy ○>○

SFW and NSFW Two Time Headcanons:

(It's kind of a character rant lowk...)

Cw: Angst, mature themes, (eventual) NSFW content, NOT PROOF READ..

SFW (ish):

So, first things first, dating Two Time is extremely chaotic, and if I'm being perfectly honest, probably not the healthiest.

Two Time has very dangerous tendencies, directed at both you and themself, because they're, y'know, kind of insane

I'm VERY aware that there is more to Two Time's character than just insane twink or whatever, trust me, it's very complicated stuff with multiple layers, and I really don't want to get into allat right now, but my point still stands

A relationship with Two Time WILL come with problems!!!

You're going to have to be in charge of making sure they take care of themself. This includes their: hygiene, mental state, and overall health

I also believe that they're not fully over Azure yet, and might never be, so if you're dating them, you're gonna have to deal with that

(Has probably called you Azure at least once before. 50/50 chance that it was at least somewhat intentional.)

Uh... into some lighter stuff...

Two Time definitely runs cold. I say this with like 99% accuracy

They're probably also deficient in some sort of vitamin

(It's probably iron or smt, please make sure they take their gummy vitamins every day 😓)

Oh, and they also don't know how to cook. I'm pretty sure it's canon that, and I quote:

The voices start talking to them when they pick up the knife.

Or something along those lines.

If they do know how to cook, you should not trust them to.

Oh, and Two Time probably hasn't tried that many foods.

I say this because of that one interaction with Elliot, where they mention not really eating Pizza much.

I know it's not a direct confirmation, but like, it's a bit implied, right?

So yes, take them out to dinner and let them try new foods. They will appreciate it. Wine and dine them.

I am a firm believer that Two Time retained a good amount of the random flora trivia that Azure yapped about back when they were dating, and you now bear the burden of listening to Two Time yap about it in the present day

Sometimes will ramble about these facts while holding you close to them and getting ready to go to bed

Two Time doesn't really have a preference for being the big or little spoon, so long as you're touching them in some way.

But if they end up being the little spoon, please run your fingers through their hair. They can't get enough of it <3

Do they get jealous? Probably. At least every once in a while.

They know you know better than to go off and leave them, and most of the time, when they're jealous, it's mainly them getting irritated at the other party

I mean, they aren't exactly secretive about dating you, and they will not hesitate to drop hints towards the other party or just straight up tell them that you are very much taken.

It doesn't really come from a place of insecurity, I think. Probably more or less just because they are possesive

Uh, random headcanon, but I think Two Time listens to Jack Stauber, Penelope Scott, and maybe even ICP.

Do these bands exist in the forsaken universe? Idk, but if they did, Two Time would fw them

(Source: trust me bro)

NSFW:

They definitely have at least some experience.

Two Time and Azure 100% have, at the very least, dabbled in sexual activities before. (Freaks)

Oh yeah and I HC them as AMAB, BTW.

Eight times out of ten, Two Time is the one with the dominant position

I can't exactly explain why, but I know it has something to do with how little control they had over everything back when they were in the cult

Also because they, as I've already stated, are a FREAK.

Gets up to some of the most diabolical, down-bad, goon-worthy shit. (I'm so sorry.)

On the rare occasion that they are the sub, they are the most whiney, desperate, pathetic sub out there.

They need you to touch them, to fuck them until they can't think straight (or maybe even pass out.)

Like it's BAD bro

They probably cry a little, im not gonna lie

Oh yeah and they WILL mention the Spawn while fucking you

(Yes, the [SPAWN] stays on during sex.)

Two Time probably never shuts up during sex :/

Whether that be them saying random things to turn you on or just them moaning into your ear

If you want them to stop talking, you have to shove your fingers into their mouth or fuck them until their overstimulated.

(Overstimulation only works 40% of the time. The other 60% of the time, they just blabber more, only now it's borderline incoherent or nonsensical.)

I feel like Two Time would probably leave some sort of mark on you

It might be an unintentional scratch mark or a hickey, but you're probably not getting out of that unmarked

If you asked them not to, they'd listen, or at least leave the mark somewhere easy to cover up, like on your chest or inner thigh

Also this guy is HORNY. If you don't fuck them enough, they will probably jerk off to you in the bathroom or closet.

They have probably jerked off to the scent of your clothing, too.

Two Time is up for whatever kinks you are

I think some of their biggest kinks are:

Praise/Degradation

Orgasm Denial

Okay. So

I think Two Time definitely enjoys degrading you and being degraded

Its kind of natural for them

Will not hesitate to call you desperate or a slut while pounding into you

BUT

They absolutely love being praised by you

If you ever praise them, telling them how good they're making you feel or how good they're being

Uhg, they will just melt on the spot

Eats that UP

Oh yeah and they like denying your orgasm because of course they do

They like how needy you get

I feel like if they were to ever partake in exhibitionism, it would only be partial

Like somewhere Semi-public. (Ex, open windows, closets, you know the drill.)

I honestly can't see them fully going for it in public.

[arrenlebanen777]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS/ RANDOM EDITION +18

♅ Im very impressed by the beauty of Cancer risings. ♅ And also very impressed by Cancer freakiness. ♅ Remember knowing astrology should be bonus since you can see hidden influences and energies that usually rules people uncounciously. ♅ Mars conjunct/parallel Daitarabochi(8551): Very violent person if its pushed, dark desires, attracted to taboo and dark things, and usually can be intimidating to a lot of people and if the person is not intimidating phisically it can be repulsive for some people. ♅ Mercury conjunct/parallel Daitarabochi(8551): The mind process is inmense, usually their minds can be scary sometimes, is the people you think are psycopaths but aren't, x-rays, sometimes suicide is always an option for these people, they can be perverse, and are a little bit crazy when they experience some kind of abuse, usually is kinda difficult to these people to see the light(metaphorically), always in dark places sometimes. ♅ Mars conjunct/parallel Heracles(5143): unshakable determination, tendency to seek out or attract situations that require strength and courage either in the external world or within, combative/ competitive attitude, the person might feel a strong need to prove their ability to overcome difficulties, Without realizing it, they constantly seek out difficult or challenging situations.

♅ Mars conjunct/parallel DANTE(2999): An extraordinary capacity for actions that others would deem extreme, brutal, or even "evil" in certain contexts. Their drive to act could be fueled by a deep connection to the darker side of existence. They are likely to pursue their goals with a disregard for conventional moral boundaries or concern for the suffering of others, potentially making them capable of cold, calculated actions. This individual may appear unstoppable or unyielding when going after what they want, with a natural affinity for crises, violence, or radical transformations. Tendency to confront the darkest aspects within partnerships and might be drawn to relationships that involve power struggles, control, or even transformative or traumatic experiences. They could be perceived as cold, distant, or ruthless, especially if they feel their authority or power is being challenged, (Very similar to Kenpachi Zaraki from Bleach). ♅ Ive seen some Scorpio Venus having hard times in matters related to love, since loyalty and fidelity are being so trampled on these days, they usually suffer the consequences of this and have a pretty bad time, I have seen that some opt for open relationships or even polyamory, but I know that deep down they only want one person with whom they can completely merge, which is also quite difficult in these times, I know.

♅ Usually in intimacy some planets or asteroids related to sexual things can be expressed on the oposite sign, for example: Eros in aries is more submissive in bed and Eros in libra is more dominant and agressive. ♅ Mars in capricorn: Can represent the devil himself sometimes, very materialistic, very rude and brute, sometimes they see people as obstacles, horny 24/7 but usually supressed 24/7 too due to the focus on their ambitions and goals, if they are not connected with their ambitions and purpose they can enter in very depressed states, very critical and demanding with themselves and with others too, strong endurance and stamina, sometimes they objectify their partners and they can generally resist more than others. ♅ I have seen many people who know almost nothing about astrology being Lilith dominant and I swear that when they are unconscious of this part of themselves they are usually quite narcissistic, violent, cold, calculating, manipulative and superficial since Lilith "remember" if is not conscious it always brings poison with her. ♅ Moon conjunct Chiron: Ive seen that this placement is very similar to Lilith conj moon but is sad, the mother usually is very negligent with the child, doesn't trust her, and the native of this position can be very naive about the mother's true intentions or the total opposite and not trust her at all. But i love them, they are so compassionate too, and this side is very beautiful.

♅Lust(4386) conjunct/parallel Moon: Constant desire for passion and pleasure, they feel drawn to situations or people that evoke deep emotional and sensual satisfaction, once they connect with you emotionally the seduce you almost completely, blurred line between emotional needs and physical impulses, rich inner world but it can be overwhelming at times, can be nymphomaniacs, they get depressed if they don't have someone they can have sex with constantly. ♅ Almost all anime villains that you see are the archetype of Lilith/Pluto dominant people.

[samkerrworshipper]

initiation pt.3 | barca femeni x reader

warnings: smut 18+ minors dni.

pt.1 -> pt.2

it’s not valentines here anymore but for yall who are/are not celebrating i hope this makes ur day a little bit cheekier ;)

I promise u the freaky stuff is coming but this is the buffer for that lol

Instead of waking up to a warm embrace of Keira and Lucy, you wake up to an empty bed. It takes you a few seconds to take in your surroundings, your body is tangled up in sheets and a duvet. The room is mostly dark besides some light coming in from under the door. You allow yourself to take a deep breath, breathing in the cool air around you and slowly waking yourself up. The ache between your legs is the first thing you feel, it wraps your thighs up like a warm hug and it reignites the previous desire in you as the memories of what you’d experienced only a few hours ago flash through your mind.

If it wasn’t for the bed you were in and the faint sound of moans through the walls of the house you’d probably be a little bit more concerned about your surroundings, but instead the environment you are in only brightens your mood.

It’s definitely not an unpleasant way to wake up, you absorb your surroundings and listen with a light head and fuzzy thoughts as you stretch out across the extremely comfortable mattress, bathing in the absolute serenity that you can feel across your whole body and soul. You’ve been thinking about this night since Lucy had told you about it days ago, stressing about all the different possibilities and things that could happen.

You never, not even in your craziest and wildest dream could have ever concocted some kind of idea that would come anything close to what you’d experienced in the last few hours. From the sounds of it, something was still happening and you’d be damned if you missed out on any of it, so even though it pained you to leave the bed that probably had a thread count higher than the amount of money in your bank account, it was with the hopes that you would get to experience something that was far better than any bed.

You are still as naked as ever, your whole body completely bare as you pushed yourself off the mattress and with unsteady legs onto the floor boards. The combination of the post-orgasm bliss and few hours of rest maKe you feel better than ever and without any struggle you made it to the closed door of the bedroom.

Your skin pricked up, little dots forming against your skin as your exposed body began to feel the effects of being in a room with a fan and aircon on.

You could have taken a sheet or blanket with you as coverage, but you figured that by the noises being produced your companions would be in a similar state of undress and even if they weren’t it wasn’t like they would see anything they already hadn’t.

The hallway you stepped into was empty. Although there were little thready moans coming out from some of the rooms beside your one. Because Lucy had practically carried you into the room you struggled to remember what way to go but you managed to trail your way back to the main room by following the noise that was being emitted.

The sight this time was completely different from beforehand and it took your eyes a little bit to adjust.

There were some people missing, although your brain was still too fogged up to really take account of people, just what was happening around you.

The first sight that catches your eyes is Keira, who has so many hands on her that it’s hard to tell who is who.

Ingrid is the first person you spot, mainly because she’s the least entwined in Keira’s body. She’s got the same strap on that she wore earlier when she was pounding into you, except this time it's being brutally thrusted into Keira’s throat. It’s a pretty sight, Keira’s drool and slobber all over her chin as she repeatedly gags on the strap. Frido is the second person you spot, mainly because her and Ingrid are pretty much next to eachother, the two bestfriends connected by their lips, although it’s not what captures your attention, instead you’re eyes are glued to the suctioned dildo that Frido is riding, her knees bent against the floor, pushing up and down. Your eyes don’t focus on her long, instead searching around Keira. It’s harder to figure out who is behind her, but it’s a process of elimination and spotting different heads of hair and hands. Keira is on all fours with Aitana’s mouth slurping at her from below and Marta’s fingers soundly fucking her from behind. Keira looks so blissed out, like she’s floating on a cloud of dopamine so strong that it could rival drugs.

On the couch is Alexia and Mapi, the two best friends lazily making out whilst their bodies grind down against each other in perfect synchronisation.

Before this, you were fairly sure that scissoring was a social construct, but watching Mapi and Alexia’s hips jolt out again and again is making you reconsider your beliefs.

Lucy, Ona, Jenni and Caro are on the bed, and it’s a sight that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

Ona is laid down on her back on the bed, Jenni grinding down on top of her face whilst Lucy and Caro are down the other end of Ona. At first, you think the two older players are taking both of Ona’s holes, but after a few seconds, and an angle change when Ona’s hips buck, your jaw drops in realisation that the Norwegian and English player are both fucking in and out of the same hole.

Your eyes almost bulge out of your head, you can feel the arousal re building inside you as you watch Caro and Lucy brutally fuck into Ona, pretty much using her to get themselves off. Ona’s body is boneless and unmoving beside her hips which every few thrusts cant up to buck upwards.

You can’t take your eyes off of the sight, it might be rude to stare but in your opinion it would be rude not to admire the complete erotic beauty that is unfolding before your eyes.

“Hola chica.”

The words are directed at you, forcing your eyes away from Ona and to Mapi, whose head has craned backwards to look at you from her spot on top of Alexia’s lap.

There is a thin sheen of sweat across her forrid, her eyes are full of lust and she looks positively feral.

You smile at her, too terrified that if you open up your mouth you’ll say something wrong or let out one of the moans that have built up in your gut from watching Ona.

Your eyes drifted back to Keira on the floor, all three of her holes being used, quite literally having her brains fucked out.

It’s not something that you’ve ever directly desired, but right now it’s all that’s in your mind, you aren’t quite sure if you could handle it, you’ve never taken more then two fingers in your asshole and too be fucked in both fo your other holes at the same time seems like over kill, but watching Keira suddenly makes you so intrigued and suddenly attracted to what she’s enduring.

You don’t know where to go or look, but Mapi ushers you over with her hand and your brain can’t ignore her, so you put one foot in front of the other until you are standing directly in front of the two women.

Alexia smiles at you, her hands are resting on Mapi’s hips, gently helping her to grind against Ale, there isn’t much fervour or energy to it, from what you can tell, it can’t possibly be stimulating enough to put either of them anywhere near the edge, your either wrong or they just don’t mind. There are red splotches up and down Alexia’s chest, little dots and tiny teeth marks that are splattered out across Alexia’s chest and neck.

Mapi has some darker, purple marks across her neck, less than Alexia but far more noticeable.

“How’d you sleep bebita? You feeling rested and up for some more fun?”

It’s bewildering to you how level headed Mapi is considering the situation she’s in. You think about how you would behave if you were in her situation and you are fairly certain it wouldn’t be anywhere near as composed.

“Hoping I didn’t miss out on much.”

Mapi smirks, her lips parting and letting out a breathy moan as Alexia pulls her hips down harder, trying to get her own friction against her clit.

“I’m sure we can find some ways for you to make up for lost time. Come sit down next to Ale, I’m sure she’ll be able to wake you up.”

You drop your body down beside Alexia on the couch, unsure what to do but much happier with the closer proximity.

“Look at Kei, look at how good she’s being, would you like to be used like that?”

Alexia leans down to whisper the words into your ear, her voice low and drawn out.

You bite your lip, happy to let your eyes stray back to Keira, Ingrid is no longer in her mouth and Marta is no longer in her ass, instead Keira is now bouncing up and down on Ingrid’s strap, Ingrid jack-hammering into her with absolutely no mercy.

Keira looks pretty fucked out, you’ve got a better view of her face and body now that it’s not so occupied with so many hands and people.

Her mouth is permanently open, deep moans leaving her mouth every time Ingrid thrusts up into her, the other thing that catches your eye is the way that Keira’s tits bounce up and down with every single movement, her nipples are risen and hard and her right breast has a big red mark on the side of it.

Keira’s eyes are glazed over, but there’s still some form of cheekiness behind them, just from the sight of her you can tell that she’s having the most fun that you’ve seen her have in months, that she’s so incredibly at peace with Ingrid all over her.

One of Alexia’s hands fall from Mapi’s hip, down to you knee first, gently coaxing your legs apart before trailing her hand up.

You look down for a few seconds, before Alexia’s mouth is back pressed against your ears.

“Look at Oni, she’s been such a brat tonight, look how’s she’s getting fucked, look at all those bruises on her, you don’t want that do you? Don’t want to be filled up but on the edge all night, right? Little Oni thought it would be smart co cum without permission so now she has to deal with Lucia and Caro stretching her out with no relief. You don’t want that do you? You’ll be our good girl, sí?”

Your eyes lift up to Ona, her body being brutally used by Lucy, Jenni and Caro. Her pussy is still being stretched by the two women, and to think that she’s going through it without any finish is eye opening to you and also terrifying.

“Yes, Ale.”

Alexia smirks against your earlobe, her lips opening to suck down on the skin whilst her hand trailed up and down the bottom of your stomach.

“Such a good girl, so perfect, so well behaved.”

Alexia’s hand creeps down further, her lips tugging on your earlobe whilst she cups your mound, her ring and middle finger dipping between your folds for half a second to collect some of the wetness.

Alexia pulls it up to your face and after a particularly harsh nip to your ear that has your lips falling open, and Alexia’s fingers in your mouth.

Without any prompting, you suck your taste off of her, the salty and slightly sweet flavour welcome on your tongue.

“Suck.”

Alexia’s fingers are too big for your mouth, something you begin to realise as she slowly attempts to push her fingers in deeper.

By the time they’re at the back of your mouth you’re struggling to breathe, having to switch to your nasal passage to take in oxygen. By the time they’ve hit the back of your throat you are trying your hardest not to gag and to suck on them. Alexia’s lips are a distraction, her mouth has worked its way down from your earlobe and to the sensitive spot on your neck. Your moans are muffled by Alexia’s fingers, two thirds of her fingers as deep in your mouth as they can get.

It’s when your jaw relaxes for the two first knuckles that she decides it's the perfect time to force the final third in.

You gag almost immediately, your throat tightening and struggling to accommodate the extra length that your throat didn’t have the room for.

You tried to slacken your jaw, tried to relax your throat, it was obvious though that Alexia’s fingers were too long.

You are so desperate to please her, to prove that you are her good girl, that you will do anything that she wants or asks you to do, so you don’t end up with a fate similar to Ona’s, so even though you are gagging and struggling to breathe properly you push through, sucking on Alexia’s fingers just as she’d ordered.

Your own drool is dripping down your jaw, you’re certain of it, it’s something that you can’t afford to care or think about though, your focus is solely on Alexia’s fingers and mouth.

Just as you’ve begun to feel slightly lightheaded from the shallow bits of oxygen that you are managing to intake Alexia’s fingers are pulled from your mouth, and whilst you are occupied with gasping for air and Alexia’s fingers shoot right down to inbetween your legs.

Your body lurches at the sudden contact, hips chasing Alexia’s hand desperately.

Alexia allows the movement, her fingers trace the outside of your lips, never even coming close to touching you where you need her most.

“Look at Mapi, look at how desperate she is, using me for her own pleasure. All because of you bebita, all because of how worked up you got her earlier, she’s such a filthy whore for you, isn’t that right Maria?”

Mapi’s head rocks forward to look at you, a big smirk on her face, telling you that what Alexia is saying is true, that some part of whatever she’s experiencing is due to you.

“Are you going to make her come before you hand her off or are you going to make her wait.”

Mapi’s eyes stay locked to your own, even though it’s clear the question isn’t meant for you.

Alexia removes her mouth from your neck, just to stare at you in deliberation out of her peripherals.

“What do you think? Should we reward our good girl, or make her wait? You’d look so pretty coming all over my fingers bebita, but maybe I should make you wait for Lucia? Just so I can watch you get fucked out by her.”

You aren’t sure what you want, with Alexia putting both offers out on the table and making them both sound good, you’re too focused on Alexia’s hand dipping in and out of your pussy to truly comprehend what’s being said.

When Alexia’s fingertips finally make contact with your clit everything you’d begun to process is completely erased from your brain, every single one of your brain cells is completely captured by the sensation of Alexia’s slicked fingers finally touching you where you’ve been so desperately needing her.

“How does she feel bebita, she touching you where you need it?”

You nod your head at Mapi, more than happy to deal with a little bit of teasing if it means that you continue getting what you want.

When Alexia’s fingers migrate further down, her roughened palm moving down with her fingers to grind down against your clit as her fingers tease your hole you moan, louder than you think you ever have.

Alexia’s palm is wonderful, but her fingers slowly slipping into your hole, inch by inch similar to how they did your mouth, is indescribable.

You’re still tight and oversensitive from your previous orgasms, so every single move, every twitch of Alexia’s hand sends shocks through you.

Her pace is similar to the pace that Mapi has set on top of her, fast but thorough, Mapi’s hips gyrating against down against Alexia haphazardly, but with obvious amounts of detail, she’s searching for the friction against her clit, and she knows where she has to angle herself to find it.

Alexia pushes her palm down against your clit, forcing your legs as wide as she can from her spot beside you, her head cocked to the side so she has a good angle of both Mapi and you.

“Watch Oni bebita, that’ll be you soon enough, once she’s had the brat fucked out of her it’ll be your turn. That’s what happens to little sluts who think they know better, who think that they will get away with being disobedient. You’re a good girl though, and if you keep acting like one I’m sure Jenni and Lucia will be happy to reward you, in fact, if you keep being good for me I’m sure that we can sort out any kind of reward you’d like, how does that sound?”

Your eyes lift up to Ona, it’s a struggle to keep them open with Alexia’s constant pace in and out of you but for the sake of obeying Alexia, you do as she’s asked and watch Ona.

Jenni’s no longer balanced on top of her face, now she’s lying to the side of Ona, her hands pinching down on her nipples so hard that there are tears in Ona’s eyes over the torture she’s being subjected to.

Lucy and Caro are no longer pounding into Ona, instead they’ve both pulled out and Lucy’s strap has been thrown to the side, she’s currently being fucked by Caro, right in front of Ona’s eyes, just another form of teasing thrown her way you assume.

“Tell me what you want as a reward, bebita, anything you want you can have.”

It feels like Alexia is offering you the whole world, and yet you can’t even begin to formulate what it is that you want, because there are infinite possibilities and different scenarios that you want to try, but there is one thing that springs to the forefront of your mind, something that’s been buried deep in your mind ever since Keira’s lips had touched yours for the first time just a couple of hours ago.

“Wanna sit on Kei’s face.”

Alexia’s eyebrows raise in intrigue.

“Do you now? Well you prove to me that you can be good and I certainly think that can be arranged, now how about you focus a little bit harder on my fingers so I can focus a little bit more on Maria here, aprobado?”

You nod your head furiously, grinding your hips down onto Alexia’s fingers with motivation.

“No cumming without permission bebita, let me know when you’re close.”

You nod at Alexia, honestly too consumed with the feeling of Alexia’s finger tips repetitively hitting the walls of your insides. When she angles them just right, the pads of her two fingers brushing against your sweet spot, your spine shudders, all the wonderful sensations spreading out across your body.

Alexia’s fingers, whilst they may have struggled to fit in your mouth, they have absolutely zero problems fucking in and out of your pussy, your hole is practically sucking them in with every thrust, trying it’s very hardest to cling onto the feeling of Alexia.

With her palm pushing down against your clit, and your eyes on Keira, it doesn’t take you long to get close to the edge. Keira’s body is limp, her back pressed to Ingrid’s front whilst Ingrid fucks her brutally in reverse cowgirl.

When Keira screams, her own orgasm taking over, you are completely enthralled by the sight, everyone in the rooms seems to be. The noises leaving Keira’s mouth are so loud and so erotic, if you tried you could probably orgasm purely off of them.

Ingrid’s pace slows, but doesn’t come to a full stop, the Norwegian bouncing Keira up and down slowly, holding onto her hips and helping her to ride out her high.

Mapi apparently, isn’t far behind her, the Zaragozan’s moans suddenly becoming a lot quicker and louder, before you miss anything you pull your eyes from Keira, receiving immediate gratification in the form of Mapi, whose hips are stalled, her clit pressed down against Alexia’s as her body and coil in her stomach shatter.

It’s a rare moment where you see Alexia’s confident and composed facade fall. Alexia is beaming, pressing soft kisses to Mapi’s collar bone well before her orgasm hits, murmuring soft spanish words into her skin, very subtly thrusting her own hips up into Mapi, giving her a longer orgasm and something more to rut down against.

“Alexia-I’m close.”

With all the noises and people around you, it’s hard for you not to be on the edge. Alexia’s hand stops immediately, her palm lifting from your clit and fingers slowly withdrawing. It’s sad, being in a room full of people experiencing pleasure and having yours revoked, although you thank the lords that you aren’t Ona, that you aren’t being subjected to the pure pain and hell that she’s being put through.

You also suppose that if Ona wasn’t somewhat okay with it then it wouldn’t be happening, and if she was truly in pain she would safe word. That thought only seems to make you more aroused, the realisation that Ona, to some extent, is getting off on what she’s experiencing.

“Such a good job, bebita, letting me know when you're close. Once Keira has come down I’m sure she’ll have no problems fulfilling that little reward of yours.”

———————————————————————

lol i’m not one to normally leave things at a cliff hanger buttttttt yk gotta keep yall coming back somehow lol xoxo

[sombrashe]

NSFW alphabet tlou tv show jesse

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Attentive, he makes sure his partner is completely cleaned up if you two got messy but beyond that isn't too in tune with aftercare as a whole

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Biceps, he loooooves his biceps since he spends so much time training and increasing their mass

Thighs, he absolutely adores a good chubby thigh and wide hip combo

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Pull-out game king, doesn't actually cum inside of his partners (at least he tries mot to) and prefers to paint their skin with pretty little white droplets

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wants to be taken care of, not really a dirty secret per-say but it is a private one because while on the surface he knows he's "captain wyoming" that doesn't mean he doesn't want to be held and told everything will be okay

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

As experienced as a man with one partner can be, has only ever really been with Dina before you and knows the basics and some freaky positions but that's all

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, from what he knows missionary is the go to position and he sticks to it without much thought

Reverse cowgirl, something he's always wanted to try (ever since his talk with eugene) and thinks you'd look so good with your ass in his face

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Serious to a fault, sex is something important to him and he believes that it should be taken with the upmost seriousness

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Naturally trimmed, unlike you whose bush is a fun little exploration his pubes are naturally short pretty black curls close to his skin

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Worships his partners, in the heat of the moment his mouth moves faster than his brain and he ends up spouting out romantic (and dirty) praises

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not often, when he does jack off it's either because you're both too pre-occupied with Jackson to have a moment or he's in between relationships

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

giving praise, making his partner cry (from how good it is), titty fucking, brat taming, hear his partner begging, lactation, choking, period sex, giving/receiving face fucking, sleepy sex, giving/receiving nipple play, edging

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom, he prefers his room or yours over any other place conceivable since there's less of a chance being caught

Patrol, whenever he's feeling a little reckless he'll take the time to whisk you away during patrol to get a round or two in before setting down

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Surviving, since he's always in fight or flight mode he's unfortunately (for him) horny a lot of the time and can end up back up quite easily

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Basics, bathroom stuff, anything that involves physically hurting you, or guns/weapons are a big NO for him

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

A giver, loves loves loves giving oral and will go out of his way to make sure you're completely satisfied before moving onto penetrative sex

Quite good at it too

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and steady wins the race, at least that's what he likes to believe but he's more of a heat of the moment kind of guy and will end up jack hammering into you if the session calls for it

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not a fan, with the state of the world he knows a full blown session isn't always in the cards but by god he will get that looooong session if it kills him

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not a risk taker, he's a stickler for the rules and that extends to his sex life

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

My god man, this man can go for hours and horse and hours he seems to know exactly what to do to make himself last longer with each private moment spent with you

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No, even if there were an abundance of toys or in a modern au he much prefers to use his hands and mouth to get his partner off and expects the same from them

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The teaserrrrr, he spends most of his time getting ready for sex by withholding and dangling release over your head until you're begging

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Scarily quiet, soft moans and grunts are all he really gives with the occasional whine whenever you feel particularly tight as you cum

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Not nsfw, Korean and can speak a little kit of korean that he learned from his grandparents before their inevitable end which lead him to living in Jackson

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

6" soft, 8" hard

slight curve to the right, has two moles one on his tip and one right on the seam above his balls

his tip is thicker than his shaft, uncircumcised and takes very good care of himself

surprisingly fat balls but blessed without all the hair on them

the thickest bit of hair on his body beyond his head is his happy trail

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Medium sex drive, he's horny but he's not at the same time he can keep up with you if yours is high but can easily hold off if you end up in a drought without a complaint

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Can and will stay up, if you end up falling asleep before he does (which is super easy to do) he will stay up for a few more hours just lost in thought while absentmindedly tracing shapes into your skin

[calicocoffeecafe]

All Wound Up

Colin Gray x Reader (NFSW)

How could he resist when you looked like that?

Colin didn't know why he even bothered to come here. The music was way loud and not to his own tastes. Jennifer had dragged him along because she needed a date and he just happened to be passing by. He thought she was pretty but wasn't super into her. Colin wasn't much a fan of girls like Jennifer, the popular, trendy, stereotypical teenager type. Sitting on the stairs, a drink that was too strong in his hand, he saw you dancing among the people as the revelry raged on. He was ensnared by the way your hips flowed, how that snug top hugged your body, leaving very little to the imagination. Most of all, he was mesmerized by how unbothered you seemed by all that was around you.

Jennifer had been hypervigilant since they had arrived, scanning the scene for who was there, where the drinks were, and what there was to do. You, however, were dancing up on some girl, your eyes shut without a care in the world. It was hypnotizing, Colin couldn't look away.

Perhaps it's for the best that he was locked in on you because it kept him from seeing Jennifer practically fucking a guy off to the side. Not that it would bother Colin much anyway, as stated before, he just didn't want her that way. When it came to seeing those ripped tights and devilish black shorts on you, he felt the blood rushing south.

He shook his head and looked away, not trying to be the guy perving on some random girl at a party, let alone while sitting on the stairs where anyone could see him if they looked up. Sporting a rager at a rager tended to not bode well for most. Colin was already on thin ice, socially, having developed a reputation for being an absolute freak. Rumor had it, he once begged a girl to peg and choke him until he passed out. This was entirely false, though, but Colin wouldn't be averse to such a thing if the opportunity presented itself.

Sick of the crap that played over and over again, Colin decided to add his own track to the queue. An industrial song with a fuck ton of synth. He knew it would be a minute before he heard it, but at least then people would listen to something with actual substance and not just the same bass-boosted remix of a song that was popular for approximately two weeks. He dumped the rest of his drink out and figured he'd be better off with just a soda or something, so that's what he chose. Well, he thought it was a soda. Turned out to be a hard seltzer, but he seldom enjoyed anything Cherry-flavored unless it was a Shirley Temple. Was that kind of pathetic for a guy his age? Maybe, but his only other option was a juice box.

Colin decided he would nurse that drink for a bit.

He couldn't get the image of you out of his head. Knew you went to school together, having seen you on occasion, but never made an effort to speak to you. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps plainly not motivated to. Either way, he had seen you in a much different light and it was driving him crazy. Colin couldn't even think about how Jennifer was probably making out with some dude she came across. Standing in that kitchen, he was way zoned out.

Meanwhile, on the dance floor, your friend mentioned that she saw Colin “totally staring at you, girl.” You barely paid the comment any mind because you were focused on dancing and having a good time tonight, not what some dude was thinking about you. However, being slightly buzzed, you couldn't help but ask a clarifying question.

“Freaky Colin?” You had to raise your voice a little over the music, straining just a smidge to be audible.

“Yeah! He was on the stairs just checking you out. Maybe he wants you to like pee on him or something,” She let out a strong laugh, proud of her ingenious wit. You shuddered at such a notion, finding that kind of thing to be very not your speed. Sincerely hoped that Colin wasn't imagining that.

You needed a break, your gut hurting just a little from grooving a bit too hard out there. The best remedy was obviously something to drink. Not water, or Gatorade, or whatever, but something sweet sounded incredible right about now. Slipping away from your girls, you took your moment of respite in the kitchen, catching your breath and settling down from all the excitement going on just across the open-floor concept. Rooted around in the cooler, only to find diet sodas and juice boxes. Weak.

“Uh, hey, you want this? I'm not going to… uh, drink it.” You glanced in the direction of the voice and saw none other than Colin Gray holding out an unopened can of hard seltzer. Cherry-flavored, your favorite.

“Thanks,” Your voice came out softer than you meant it to, taking the can from him. Was he OK? He seemed flushed, then again, so were you. Probably just buzzed, was all. Colin sort of stood there nervously, fidgeting with the rosary he always wore as you popped the can open and took a few gulps. The burp that followed made your throat tickle, eliciting a small giggle from you.

He was enamored.

“Colin, right?” You asked, licking your lips of the fizzy, fruity beverage and holding his gaze with yours. If you were gonna leave this party without making him cream his jeans, you had to stop being so sexy.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, that's me,” He had zoned out when you asked, so the question caught him off guard. Snapping back to reality, he confirmed your assumption. You gave him your name and shook his hand enthusiastically. For a girl dressed like she was in a riot earlier today, you were awfully peppy.

“I think we had Chemistry last year,” You recalled, thinking back to the time his group almost lit their lab paper on fire and chuckled. Colin misheard you for a second before his brain filled in the blank and corrected his initial thought.

“Yeah, third period.” Colin was either feeling a bit more relaxed or was about to pass out, regardless, he didn't seem as physically tense as he was at first. Popping up on the counter to sit down, you thought back to the many tidbits of gossip you had heard about the guy.

Some claimed he was a crazy sex fiend, which was what you heard most often. Others proposed he once killed a dog for the fun of it, which you never really bought into, especially actually talking with him. The poor fella looked so nervous, there was no way he would take something's life. Craziest of all, one girl told you he had a massive hog in his pants. Although that might have been a typo on her part. “Cock” and “cuck” were rather similar.

The conversation was cut short by a familiar beat coming from the speakers, an older song you adored but never would have figured to be on the playlist tonight. Some people stayed dancing, finding the vibe where it was, others chose to sit this one out. You caught your second wind and hopped off the counter, excited to thrash.

“Holy shit, I love this song!” You squealed, much to Colin's surprise.

“Y-You do?”

“Of course! The guitar is fucking insane. Come on!” And just like that, you were back in the mob of teens going hard to the music. Colin, unknowing of what compelled him to, followed you to the floor. Perhaps he was merely thinking with his dick, which was still rocking a semi throughout that entire chat. He considered himself a Saint for keeping it in check enough for you to not notice. At least he hoped you didn't.

After about thirty seconds, you realized that Colin wasn't the most graceful dancer. It was charming, in a way, watching how he tossed himself about. In the zone, you were much more focused on feeling the music than critiquing Colin's dance abilities. It was more fun than you thought it would be, moving with him, especially with how captivated he seemed by you.

Overcome with a sense of boldness, you started to dance up against him, your erratic yet stylized motions setting his skin on fire through the fabric of his clothing. Colin was inspired by how you were so effortlessly taken by the music, his hands tentatively finding their way onto your hips as they swayed to and fro on him. The smell of your perfume coupled with the leather of your jacket mixed together into an aroma cocktail that made him dizzy. He hungered for more.

You were certainly aware of the effect you had on him by this point. It was obvious he was into you, and why wouldn't he be? There was a brief internal discussion about whether or not this was a fire you should feed, but when you felt his hands grab so firmly at your hips, your decision was made. His hardening cock was right up against your ass, and both of you felt it. Colin huffed, growing far too horny for the particular scene you were in the midst of, his face nearing your neck.

“Please…” Colin sighed, a hint of a whine in his voice. There was no way you didn't want the same thing he did. It would have been impossible for him to misinterpret all the signals you were shooting at him. Hearing the need coming from him gave you chills, the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

Unfortunately, the song came to its end. Colin didn't notice, fully enveloped in you. Taking his hand, you pulled him away from the main crowd of people. His face was undeniably red, more than earlier, so it was clearly because of you, not the alcohol.

“Let's take this… elsewhere,” You suggested, the implication making his brain short-circuit, full stop. Leading him upstairs, you passed a few people who had stumbled their way up for whatever motive they might have had. Finding a bedroom that wasn't occupied, you shut the door behind you and laid your eyes on the boy who couldn't take his off you.

As if on cue, you came together in a frenzied kiss, your hands clawing at each other as he pushed you up against the door, eager to kiss further down to your neck. Fuck, it felt so good. His piercing just made the whole thing even better. He was a man starved going after you, nipping and biting at the soft skin of your neck. Slipped his hands under your shirt, exploring what lay underneath. So hard, Colin ground himself against your thigh and you were made aware just how much he had to be proud of below the belt.

Soft moans floated out of you as Colin worked you over, driven wild by how responsive you were. You needed him. Right then. Just as your mind started to shut down, his hand roamed over your breast and halted as he felt something. Something hard. Venturing to press on it, his eyes widened with the excitement of a kid in a candy store.

“Are your nipples pierced?” Colin asked, his eyes sparkling as if he discovered a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. You bit your lip, a smile peaking through, and nodded. Colin was going to fuck you so hard.

Almost immediately, he yanked you onto his lap, sitting on the edge of the bed and having you straddle him. You shrugged off your jacket and let him slip your shirt over your head. Of course, you had come braless because it was a party, and Colin thought he was going to pass out.

He nearly couldn't believe his eyes, staring at the two bars that adorned your nipples, the perfect final touch to make your breasts even hotter than they already were. Colin spared no time taking one into his mouth, licking over the bud, and tugging gently on the bar with his teeth. The yipe that you let out caused his brain to short-circuit again. Tender, careful not to be too rough and hurt you beyond the masochistic thrill of bitten nips, Colin gave the other the same treatment, fondling the free breast with one hand while the other rested on your hip. It was exhilarating. The look of passion and desire on his face as he ravished you made you high. Maybe he was a sex fiend, kinky guys do it better anyway.

Unable to hold back his throbbing dick any longer, Colin soon had himself and you naked, positioning you into a downward doggy style and lining himself up with your eager pussy. He wanted to make you beg, but the sight of you presenting yourself like such a well-behaved slut tore through any patience he had left. Colin slid all of himself into you, and- FUCK- he was big. Fully buried inside you, the wind left your lungs, his hands so hard on your hips that they'd be sure to bruise.

Without more than ten seconds to get used to his monster, Colin rocked his hips back out, plunging back in and knocking a high-pitched moan out of you. Over and over, he beat his cock into your hungry cunt, your sounds filling the room and flooding his senses.

You felt so good, so wet, and so fucking tight. Colin was hooked. You were his drug.

“Good girl, take it all, baby,” He grunted, his voice rough yet sweet. All you could do was whine in response, letting him know you were enjoying yourself as he fucked you senseless.

His hips pounded your ass with a strong rhythm, unrelenting, unfaltering, untamed. Your face pressed into the comforter and pillows, you had not a single thought in your head, fully enraptured by the dicking of a lifetime you were experiencing. With a crisp slap, he spanked your ass, watching the way the skin rippled and further turned on by your exclamation. You were so perfect.

“That's it, let me hear what a whore you are,” Colin growled, leaning over you so you could get a closer feel of the intensity in his tone, striking all the best spots inside you and making you see stars. Following orders like the whore you are, you made sure there was no confusion as to what effect Colin had on you. For a moment, you were worried about the people outside of the room hearing you, but then Colin's cock slammed back into you and the worry was gone.

Several minutes of bliss approached their end as you felt the pressure build up in your lower stomach, the bubble coming close to bursting. Colin could feel it, the way your body started to spasm more and more, the way your insides gripped him with a twitching hold, and how your sounds grew needier, more desperate. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them behind you on your lower back as his thrusts hit harder and harder, you knew you'd be walking a little funny when all this was said and done, but the way his cock beat into you was one of the greatest sensations you had been subjected to by far.

“You going to cum for me, baby? You going to let everybody hear how good I'm fucking you?” You never would have guessed Colin was so confident in bed. Maybe it was a context thing, regardless, it was hot as fuck. You moaned out your answer, a resounding yes, and with a few more well-angled rocks into you, everything went fuzzy as you came. Hard. Your inner walls clamped down on his cock like the jaws of life, only much softer and warmer, a loud noise emanating from you that surely didn't go unheard by various partygoers. You'd been with a few guys, but none of them were able to fuck your orgasm out of you like Colin just so expertly did. While you were feeling the waves of euphoria flood your system, Colin still had a little left in him as he relished how you convulsed beneath him. It wasn't long before his rhythm was lost and he went balls-deep, pumping you full of his load and holding you against him to make sure you got it all.

After some brief clean-up and getting dressed, you both took a minute to just sit with each other in the privacy of the room.

“So… that was…” You spoke up, you voice hoarse from all the crying out in ecstasy.

“Yeah…” Colin agreed, out of breath, as were you.

“I never took you for the type to…”

“I'm not, usually… but, I don't know, you brought out this animal inside me. Fuck, that sounds so cringey but you know what I mean. Right?”

“Yeah, I do… and for the record, I loved that,” You didn't want him to get the idea that it was all for show or anything.

“Mhm, me too,” Colin gave you a smile.

You went on to chat about seeing each other around school but never really saying much, Colin admitted to wanting to fuck you all night, and you just giggled, making a remark about his dream coming true.

When you finally did return to the party, your hair messed up and clothes askew, a few people gave you a look that said all you needed to know. The new rumors about Colin were certainly going to be about his game in bed.

Lucky you to be the woman who could verify.

~ ° +. ⛤ .+ ° ~

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x15, "clueless"

"love will make you do wrong" oh i'm sure.

this is one of those recaps where i'm definitely just reiterating what the writers were putting down, but it's so insane that it bears in-depth repeating imo.

please believe me when i say this rewatch project's goal is a wholistic view of the entire series. yet, with that in mind, you can imagine the stress i feel when what seems like an episode devoted entirely to unpacking intimate interpersonal relationships has hilson as the fulcrum. and not just hilson - equal character development for both house and wilson as the domesticity shenanigans unfold.

that's not to downplay the patient story - it's crazy, and i'm kind of obsessed with it. the zebra factor is probably way off the charts, but i love the extra sherlockian vibe and the confirmation that house md can, in fact, do shock value without throwing entire identities under the bus (@ 2x13). all that plus the horror movie opening? golden (lmfao).

from the top, then. look at his triangle ass stance here:

we can safely say, i'd argue, that 2000s audiences were supposed to laugh at how much wilson cares about his appearance; i'm laughing, too, but in a 2020s Woke Queer Way. and house lasts just one night with wilson crashing on his couch before he says that this won't work; his domestic sphere has been invaded by someone he doesn't know how to account for, at least not in this capacity. one of the things we know about house thus far is that routine is immeasurably valuable to him.

it also kills me how devastated wilson is to hear that house wants him out, along with his sassy retort about house's hair, or "what's left of it." gagged.

this entire episode is based on the (heterosexual) domicile. it also devotes a lot of time qualifying the patient and his partner, bob and maria, as Sexually Freaky (tm). they upend traditional notions of marriage, partnership, and sex through their kinks/bdsm, including consensual noncon sex. the team leaps to the initial conclusion that bob's sudden suffocation comes from repeated history of rough sex, which is quickly disproven.

maria and bob's sex life absolutely boggles everyone's minds...except for cameron's lol. the growing fluidity with which she treats relationships as some of her convictions adapt (not dissolve! just shift!) is really interesting to me, like it interests chase, too lol.

2x15 persistently deconstructs maria and bob's personal lives until its full ugliness is on display (while unforch being a little kink-shamey, but we can look past this). despite their insistence that they're happy, maria is secretly poisoning her husband. despite their pristine home, what takes place in there is only thinly disguised intermarital violence. cameron's bet on their happiness falls flat on its face, and house md argues that a frontward functional relationship will always be plagued with deeper issues.

those issues are not represented visually, however! let's contrast the 2 major sites of domesticity in this episode:

foreman's remarks that maria and bob keep an impeccably clean place contrasts with wilson's general opinion of house's apartment. over the seasons, we see house's place in various states of disarray, though it's chock full of his personality and history, whereas maria and bob's place is just cold, 2000s chic. this reinforces the subliminal distance between maria and bob and captures the degree to which wilson is invited into house's personal life.

next i want to tackle the emphasis on food, poisoning, and choking in 2x15. i thought it was a silly bullet point in my notes until i actually sat down to right this (like literally in this moment!). after repeatedly arguing that bob was poisoned with heavy metals, house eventually lands on the theory that maria is behind it. it's not until the end does 2x15 reveal that she's been dosing his food with gold (don't ask me the full name lmfao), scarring his lungs over time.

meanwhile, in stuffed pepper, pancake, salad, and sandwich land:

house pretends to find the bell peppers stinky but takes a liking to the rest of wilson's cooking immediately. no poison to be had here. in an outwardly dysfunctional domestic situation, food sharing (however reluctant) is a net positive. wilson's final note warning house off his lunch is closer to a joke than a formal warning:

if it's not clear, i'm casting house as maria and wilson as bob in this off-kilter domesticity parallel, and a subtle but brilliant example of this comes at the very end. while maria is taken away in handcuffs, house rushes back home on his motorcycle. while foreman and chase inform bob that maria was trying to kill him, wilson sleeps soundly on house's couch. viewers are also treated to al green's "love and happiness" in the background, with the very poignant lyric: "love will make you do wrong."

everything about house/wilson and maria/bob is reversed, along with their respective "wrongs." 2x15 is funny and crazy enough to suggest that house deleting the message about wilson's apartment is symbolically akin to maria killing bob slowly over time. look how they both gaze upon their domestic partners - one with faux guilt on their face, and the other with faux annoyance:

i've spent all this time building to the following argument: in pretending that he hates having wilson around, 2x15 subverts the assumed happiness brought on by a heteronormative domestic space. as much as maria pretends to love bob, house pretends to hate living with wilson. maria tries to remove bob from her domestic (and from this earth lol) while house tries to keep wilson around. we spend an entire episode unearthing how sinister a sexually charged heterosexual marriage can be, only to arrive at the house and wilson dynamic of it all.

i'm not even strictly hilson posting here, just highlighting how bizarre it is in that 2000s network tv decided to deconstruct heteronormativity, however intentionally/unintentionally. it's not my fault that wilson has to make everything about sex. and that every moment of this episode is about sex except for the moments spent between house and wilson.

lastly, one of the concluding scenes between house and the fellows is a nice example of audience/house solidarity, something the entire show does subtly throughout to get us squarely in his headspace. the four of them are ruminating over what could possibly motivate someone to kill their partner, which cameron seems especially appalled by.

in response, house makes a slew of interesting deductions: "maybe she just got tired of being married. didn't want to admit to family and friends that the marriage everyone thought was perfect wasn't."

i call this house solidarity because we know for a fact that he's talking about wilson's situation...but who within his marriage? we never meet julie (which, apart from the unfortunate fridging, i think is a good narrative choice), so we don't get her side of the story or understand if/how she's been open about her and wilson's separation. all we know, and all that house cares to know, is that wilson's marriage isn't perfect.

this next bit is informed by my hilson brain, but there's been a subtle thrill in house in the face of wilson's separation. i get the sense that he hopes he's talking about wilson here, that he hopes wilson got tired of being married because things (in the aforementioned heteronormative relationship!) are imperfect. and, as if to secure this hope, he deletes the message about the apartment while looking especially smug.

this line of dialogue also does some work in acknowledging wilson's vulnerability. like the patient in 2x14 suggested, we can't be afraid to look stupid. by nature of showing up at house's door, he's admitted that things aren't perfect. that's their give-and-take; wilson lets house in emotionally while house lets wilson in physically. given house's reliance on routine and privacy, this is an equal exchange.

here's my actual final note: why can't wilson realize that he has a real love language? FOOD! and acts of service! you don't just have to sleep with everyone you love! there are other ways to express these things! you literally had a spoon at the ready for house! and you seem so secretly pleased when he doesn't hate the taste!

[keferon]

I don’t know if there are further plans for Blurr’s story, but I can’t stop thinking about that ending and the possibilities for his fate. Maybe he dies shortly after Swerve’s avatar fades (and fulfills what seems to be the fate of dying a horrible death that many incarnations of Blurr seem to suffer from). Maybe he’s found still alive. Maybe the medics can treat his wounds and he survives. But even if he did, it wouldn’t be the same as before. And so worse, maybe they do find his body barely still alive in his mech’s wreckage. Blurr’s injuries are severe. Severe enough that it’s not certain whether he’ll survive and even if he does, some of the damage is permanent. They can’t reconstruct a human body. But they can reconstruct a mech. The program needs Blurr as a symbol. One that encourages people to enlist and invest and buy in to what they’re doing. And after the incredible feats he pulled off, his heroic sacrifice, all the lives he saved, they can sell the story better than ever because now everyone knows that he’s the real deal and not just a publicity stunt. They need Blurr back in a mech, but they don’t need Blurr as a person. So, when they pull him from the rubble injured beyond what the medics can heal, they fuse what’s left of him into a new built mech. It saves his life, but at what cost?

I can easily imagine Shockwave would pull this kind of unethical fuckery. Easily.

Actually. It’s probably better not to think too much about all the endless possibilities of what could Shockwave do to Blurr. It will be a very fucking long list ahahaha

But now I can’t stop imagining like..Swerve right after he realised his “dream” was actually real. Panicking so fucking hard because he remembers the state he left Blurr in. And thinking FUCK he wasn’t made up, he wasn’t your fantasy, he was real and he was dying and you didn’t do anything

Him finding his way back Earth only to find out what kind of freaky machine Shockwave has turned Blurr into

[callme-holly]

More FREAKY darry stuff, I beg😔😔😔💔💔💔🤫🤫🤫

𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 - 𝐃.𝐂

in which darry is sick of reader's teasing and decides to do something about it

WARNINGS: pure smut. oral (male!recieving). manhandling. degradation. MINORS DNI ! ||۶ৎ y'all are being blessed with all this freaky shit xx

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

The house was blessedly empty for the first time in days, the quiet welcome as peace settled throughout the rooms like a blanket. The August heat has finally cooled into something a bit more bearable, but that wasn’t what had Darry’s forehead slick with sweat and him constantly on edge.

You were the problem that caused that—you’d been teasing him all day with little things that could be passed off as casual gestures if it weren’t for the fact he knew you: wearing his shirt with no bra underneath, wearing those tight little shorts that left nothing to the imagination to the store, and bending down in front of him on numerous occasions, hips swaying enough to catch attention. 

And now, he’d had enough. He’d tried to be patient—really he had—but the second you walked into the kitchen with that smug little grin, like you knew you had won, something inside of him snapped.

He stalked towards you, grabbing your wrist sharply and manhandling you up against the wall, not caring for the little squeak of surprise that left you.

“Darry—” 

“You take me for some kind of idiot, darlin’?” He hissed, face dangerously close to yours, pupils blown wide with lust. 

You shake your head quickly, all traces of cockiness replaced with something else.

Submission.

“No? You been actin’ up all day, baby. Thought I wouldn’t do anythin’ about it, huh?” His words are sharp and cutting, and there’s no remorse behind them. You’ve worked him up to this point, and now you’ll bring him back down. 

“I knew you’d do somethin’ about it…” You whisper, biting your lip as you look up through your lashes, catching the way his eyes narrow.

“Mouthy little thing today.” He tuts, and you drop your head in shame, heat rising to your cheeks. 

“Nuh-uh. Keep your eyes on me.” His fingers find their way to your jaw, tipping your face back up just enough for your eyes to meet his, his thumb pressing against your lips. You accept it gratefully, licking at the pad and sucking greedily, earning a small chuckle. 

“So greedy...” 

He lets you continue for a few seconds, watching your focus like a dog would watch a bone, drooling and desperate. Spit forms in the corner of your lips and he flicks it away quickly, pulling his thumb from your mouth and giving you a disapproving look when you whine. 

“Don’t do that, baby.” He huffs, pushing lightly on your shoulders, all but forcing you down to your knees. “Such a messy girl. Ain’t even stuffed your mouth and you're already droolin’ everywhere like a damn animal.” 

Your hands come up to paw at his jeans, fingers fumbling uselessly with his belt, the buckle suddenly far too complicated for you to figure out in your lustful state. “Darry…” You whine eventually, peering up at him with big, pleading eyes.

He chuckles. “What?” 

“Can’t do it…” The admission only makes the embarrassment worse, and you swallow heavily, hands falling limply to your sides as if they weighed a tonne. 

Darry seems to get the hint, however, and frees himself with such ease that it makes you look stupid. Pathetic. 

“Open up, sweetheart…” he coos, cock heavy in his hand, already hard and leaking. He brings it to your lips, and you part them obediently, tongue flicking out to lick his head. “That’s it… Such a good girl.” 

His hand finds your hair, fingers tangling in the strands, tugging with such tenderness that it makes you melt, taking him deeper.

Praise falls from his tongue like a mantra, his breaths heavy and laboured, hips occasionally rocking in sync with your sucks. It’s messy and sloppy, and every wet sound you make only solidifies just how filthy this is. You’re sucking his cock in the middle of the kitchen.

Anyone could walk in. Anyone. 

Your jaw aches, drool dribbling down your chin, soaking the collar of your shirt. And yet you don’t seem to care—you’re far too focused on Darry’s groans, hands tightening in your hair as he hits the back of your throat.

You gag and splutter, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“Shit—look at you, sweetheart. Takin’ it so well.” 

You whine around him, cheeks hollowing and tongue working, driving him closer to the edge. He’s close. You can feel it in the way his muscles tighten, the way he twitches in your mouth, his breaths growing sharper.

“Gonna come,” he growls, forcing your head all the way down, holding you there until you gag. “You want that? Want me to make a mess of that smart mouth?” 

You nod the best you can, and that’s all it takes.

Darry lets out a low, guttural groan, pulling out of your mouth quickly, his hand working his length in fast, desperate strokes. You watch through tear-soaked lashes, tongue out and glistening with spit, like you’re begging for it.

"Stay jus' like that," he pants. "Wanna see that pretty face where I cover it..."

And you do. You hold perfectly still as thick ropes of cum paint your cheeks, your lips, and your chin. He slaps the head of his cock against your tongue and you swallow, not wanting to waste anything.

"Fuck," he breathes, hand cupping your jaw gently, thumb wiping away the mess he'd just made. "You look so good like this."

You blink up at him, dazed and aching, completely blinded by submission as he leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"You wanna act like a tease, darlin'" he whispers, "Then you better expect to deal with what you begged for." 

||۶ৎ darry masterlist

||۶ৎ tag list. @mrsdillonx , @goingdelux18 , @princesshailierawr , @r0seb100d , @groovydonutpost, @rizzraa , @sheepandlams , @marinefreaakk , @sugarrootwrites , @marilyn-girly , @itonlyhastobetruetoday , @dairyfairyy , @williamafton26 , @mystiqueonfleek007 , @atpeacee , @theoneandonly-vrg , @hge-cok , @warped-rabbithole , @muu-5uvii , @fatalloveanddevotion , @marianaissocool , @jamesdeanbby , @alula394 , @goldennviolet , @i3beingcuntyyyy