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killerplink · 2 months ago

Text

ANNIVERSARY

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: Your three-year anniversary with Dick turns into a night of teasing and tension, with you tying him up and keeping him on edge ✨ ( @angeleyes1376 , finally posting this one, sorry for the delay )

Words: 12k

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, oral sex, overstimulation, praise, orgasm denial, light bondage, creampie, rough sex, fluff, aftercare

Dinner had been perfect—romantic, intimate, and everything you could have hoped for on your three-year anniversary. The dim candlelight, the hushed murmur of other patrons, the rich aroma of wine and decadent dishes, it all set the stage for a night neither of you would forget.

Dick looked absolutely sinful in a dark suit, the fabric perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and trim waist, the crisp white dress shirt underneath only adding to the polished elegance of it all. You barely ever saw him in something this refined, and God, it made you want to rip it off of him the second you got the chance.

You weren't exactly subtle about it, either. The way your eyes lingered on him, the way your fingers traced the lapel of his jacket, the way you let your foot brush against his leg under the table. And he wasn't any better—his hand stayed on your thigh for most of the evening, squeezing whenever you leaned in too close, whispering things in his ear that had his jaw tightening.

But it was the dress that truly undid him. A deep, dark burgundy that clung to your curves like it was made for you, long and elegant but with a slit up your right leg that had his gaze flicking down every time you shifted. He loved your legs, and you knew that. You wore this dress for that exact reaction, and judging by the way he kept shifting in his seat, it was working.

The wine helped loosen you up even more, warmth buzzing through your veins as the two of you finally made your way back home. He expected you to be tipsy, maybe a little giggly, a little clingy. What he didn't expect was for you to be this hungry, this desperate.

The door barely shuts before you're on him, your lips crashing into his, your hands tugging at his suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He barely gets the chance to let it fall to the floor before you're kissing him again, hot and messy, your tongue slipping past his lips as you suck on his tongue, dragging a low, helpless groan from him. You taste like wine, like heat, like pure desire, and fuck, he's already hard, his cock straining against his boxers, already leaking just from the way you kiss him.

You're insatiable tonight. Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging, pulling him closer, your body pressed flush against his. You can feel him—every hard line of him, every bit of tension coiling in his muscles as you kiss him like you'll die if you don't. And then, before he can get a grip on the situation, before he can take control like he always does, you push him.

He stumbles back onto the bed, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide as you climb over him, straddling his hips, grinding against his cock through the thin fabric of your lace panties. He groans, hands flying to your ass, gripping you tight as he pushes up against you, seeking more, needing more.

You look fucking wrecked already. Your face is flushed, your lips swollen from kissing, your hair a little messy from where he ran his fingers through it. Your eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and you grin as you tug at his tie, loosening it, slipping it from around his neck with slow, deliberate movements.

"Let me tie you up, baby," you purr, your voice low and teasing.

His breath hitches, his body going still beneath you. His lips part slightly, his chest rising and falling faster now, and you can see the gears turning in his head. He's never let you do this before. He's always been the one in control, always been the one to take the lead.

You lean down, brushing your lips over his jaw, then lower, down his neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin as you whisper, "What do you say, my love?"

His eyes flutter shut for a brief second, like he's weighing the idea, but then you grind down on him again, and whatever argument he might have had dies in his throat.

He nods, his voice coming out rough, needy. "Yeah."

That's all you need. With a pleased hum, you slide the silk tie around his wrists, tying them together with practiced ease before securing them to the cool metal bars of the bed frame. He shifts, testing the restraint, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard, his cock twitching beneath you.

You take your time with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, dragging your fingers over his firm chest, his sculpted abs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He's breathing heavily, watching you, his blue eyes dark and hooded, half-lidded with need. His lips are parted, and you know he's already wrecked, already desperate, but he's trying to be patient. Trying to let you take your time.

And fuck, he looks so good like this—tied up, shirt open, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. Yours. Completely at your mercy.

You press your lips to his collarbone, soft, lingering, and then you work your way down. Slow, wet kisses across his chest, your tongue flicking over his skin, over the hard muscle of his stomach, down, down, until you're kneeling between his thighs. You can feel him shudder, his muscles tightening beneath your lips as you press kisses lower, right above his belt, your breath hot against his skin.

His cock twitches beneath the fabric of his slacks, straining against the material, and you grin, nipping softly at his skin before finally unbuckling his belt. You undo his button, drag his zipper down with aching slowness, teasing him, making him wait. And when you finally tug his slacks down, freeing him from the fabric, your breath catches because fuck.

You've seen him like this a million times before, hard and leaking, thick and heavy, but it never gets old. Never stops making your mouth water, your cunt throb.

You lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to the flushed head of his cock through his boxers, and he groans—low and needy, his hips jerking up, desperate for more. You hum, dragging your tongue over the damp fabric, tasting the precum seeping through, and his head drops back against the pillow.

When you finally pull his boxers down, his cock slaps against his stomach, thick and heavy, flushed so dark it almost looks painful. Your pussy clenches at the sight, at the way it twitches when you breathe over it, at the way his thighs tense like he's trying so hard not to beg.

And then you lean closer, tongue flicking over his slit, licking up the warm precum that beads at the tip, and his whole body shudders. His breath catches, a deep, broken moan spilling from his lips as his hands flex uselessly against the tie restraining him.

He needs you. Needs to feel more, to bury himself in your mouth, to grip your hair and thrust deep, but he can't. And the realization—being completely at your mercy, unable to do anything but feel—only makes his cock throb harder.

And when you press soft, teasing kisses along the thick vein running down his length, he groans again, his hips shifting, straining toward you, toward the heat of your mouth. But you're not done teasing him yet.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his dick, stroking him slow, teasing, watching the way his breath stutters, the way his abs tense, the way his wrists flex against the tie holding him in place. He's so fucking hard, leaking all over himself, all over you, and it's delicious—the way he's at your mercy, the way his whole body is reacting to every little thing you do.

You hum, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the thick head, swirling your tongue over his slit, tasting the salt of his precum again. His moan is deep, raw, his hips jerking, but you pull back just enough to keep him from getting what he wants.

"Fuck, baby—"

His voice is wrecked already, strained and breathless, and he groans when you drag your tongue down the length of him, tracing that thick, pulsing vein, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath the head.

His whole body shudders beneath you. He's so fucking gone for you, for your mouth, for the way you're touching him like you own him. And you do because he's yours.

You hum against his skin, your fingers stroking him slow, teasing, and he's moaning again, deep and broken, his thighs trembling, his head thrown back against the pillow. He's already losing it, already unraveling, and you love it.

"So fucking pretty," you murmur, kissing along the underside of his cock, sucking softly at the base before licking your way back up. "So perfect for me."

His breath catches, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven pants, and fuck, he's never been this turned on in his life. Never been this desperate. His hands flex against the tie, his muscles tight, straining like he wants to touch you, to fist your hair and guide you deeper, but he can't. He has to take it. Take whatever you give him.

And then your lips wrap around his cock, sinking down, slow, wet, deep—and he moans, his back arching, his hips trying to thrust, but he can't, he fucking can't, and it's fucking killing him.

"Jesus—fuck, baby—"

His moan cracks when you hollow your cheeks, sucking him in, your tongue flicking over the slit, dragging along the underside as you bob your head, slow and steady. His thighs shake, his fingers twitch, his whole body tense with pleasure, with need.

And when you take him deeper—fuck, so deep he can feel the tight clench of your throat around him, so deep you're swallowing him—he whimpers, his head dropping back, his jaw clenching so fucking tight it aches.

He's losing his fucking mind. He knows it. He can feel it. And it's so fucking good.

Your throat flutters around him, holding him there, swallowing around his cock, and he swears he's about to fucking die. His stomach tightens, his abs clenching, his breath coming out in sharp, ragged moans.

And fuck, you love this. Love the weight of him on your tongue, love the way he sounds, the way he's falling apart just from your mouth, just from your touch. Your pussy clenches, aching, dripping, needy—but this isn't about you. Not yet.

This is about making him beg.

Your lips wrap around the head of his cock again, sucking just right, stroking him slow and tight, and he moans, hips twitching, stomach tensing. He's close—so fucking close, his whole body wound up so tight he can feel his orgasm building, that sweet, hot pressure coiling deep in his gut, in his spine, in his balls, ready to snap—

And then you stop.

You pull off him completely, letting his cock slip from your lips, throbbing, slick, so fucking hard it twitches against his stomach, leaking all over himself. His breath comes out in a broken, desperate moan, his head dropping back against the pillow as he whimpers.

"Fuck—baby, please—"

You just smirk, licking the taste of him from your lips, watching the way his chest rises and falls in uneven pants, the way his arms flex against the tie holding him down. He's suffering, and it's so fucking beautiful.

So you do it again.

You take him back in your mouth, sucking slow, deep, pumping the base with your fingers, feeling him throb, hearing the way he groans, deep and wrecked, his whole body trembling beneath you. And just when you know he's about to cum—just when you feel him tense, his moans getting higher, his cock pulsing, ready to spill—

You stop again. And again. And again.

By the fourth time, he's gone. A complete, desperate fucking mess. His skin is damp with sweat, his stomach tight, his thighs trembling, his cock so red and swollen it looks like it hurts. His abs flex with every ragged breath, his jaw clenched so tight it aches, and his voice is a wrecked, broken plea when he gasps—

"Baby... please. I'm so close."

You hum, crawling up his body, straddling him again, teasing him with the slow, deliberate roll of your hips. His dick is hot, aching, trapped between your soaked panties and his stomach, every little grind making his breath stutter, making his moans crack, his hips jerking desperately for more.

And then—slowly, torturously—you peel your dress off.

The straps slip down your shoulders first, and his breath catches, his eyes glued to the way your tits spill free, soft, perfect, bouncing slightly as you move. And then you tug it down, down, until it pools at your waist, and you lift yourself up just enough to push it off completely, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

You're left in nothing but your panties. Your soaked, slick panties that are currently pressed right against his throbbing, neglected dick.

"Fuck—"

His head falls back against the pillow, his abs tightening, his whole body shuddering when you grind down on him, teasing him with the wet heat of your pussy. The lace is soaked, clinging to your cunt, barely there, and every roll of your hips makes his cock throb, makes his breath stutter, makes his muscles strain against the tie holding him down.

And he can't fucking take it anymore.

He lifts his head, mouth latching onto one of your nipples, sucking hard, desperate, his tongue flicking over the peak, his teeth nipping gently, just enough to make you gasp, to make your hips jerk, to make your pussy throb against him.

"Yeah, like that," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair, holding him there, arching into his mouth as he groans against your skin.

And he doesn't stop. Doesn't hesitate.

His tongue swirls, slow and teasing, before he sucks again, harder, his lips wrapping around you, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shudder. And then he moves to the other, giving it the same treatment, licking, sucking, worshiping you with his mouth, all while your hips keep moving, keep grinding, keep rubbing your soaked panties over his throbbing, desperate cock.

And he's losing his fucking mind.

Your moans spill into the room, soft and breathless, melting into the wet sounds of his mouth on your tits. Every suck, every flick of his tongue sends a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your clit, making your hips stutter against him, making you grind down harder, needier.

And then, slowly, you reach between your legs, fingers slipping past the damp lace of your panties, tugging them to the side. The second your bare cunt presses against his cock, his whole body shudders. A ragged, desperate moan rips from his throat as his dick twitches against you, slicking up between your folds, smearing precum and arousal all over your slit.

"Fuck," he groans, head dropping back, his fingers curling into fists where they're tied above him. "Baby—"

You roll your hips, dragging your pussy up the length of his cock, coating him in your slick, letting the head nudge right against your clit. And it feels so fucking good, the thick, heavy heat of him slipping against you, the way he throbs under you, the way he aches for you.

"Shit—"

He jerks his hips up, trying to slide inside, desperate, needy, fucking gone. But you just chuckle, pulling back just enough to stop him, smirking when he whimpers.

"You're so cute, baby," you murmur, leaning down, brushing your lips against his, teasing him, keeping just out of reach.

"Please," he gasps, voice raw, ruined. "Doll, I need to cum, please—"

You coo, tilting your head, swiping your thumb over his flushed, swollen lips. "Oh? You need it, huh?"

But you don't let him. You keep grinding, keep rubbing your soaked, needy cunt all over his cock, keep rolling your hips just right so the swollen head nudges your clit over and over again, making your breath hitch, making your stomach tighten, making the pleasure build so fast, so fucking intense.

It's so slippery, so fucking messy.

His cock is drenched in you, soaked, slick with how wet you are, and it only makes you hotter, only makes you grind harder, makes you chase that tight, burning pleasure curling low in your belly, makes you moan into his mouth when you kiss him, wet and slow, filthy, licking into him as he whimpers beneath you.

"God— baby, you're so wet," he gasps against your lips, his cock throbbing against your pussy, twitching every time your clit rubs against the thick, swollen head. "Fuck—let me feel you, please—"

And then it hits you.

So hard, so sudden, it makes your whole body jerk. You cry out, gasping against his lips, nails dragging down his chest as your orgasm slams into you. Your cunt clenches, pulses, gushing all over his dick, soaking him, dripping down his shaft, coating his stomach.

"Oh— fuck—" you whimper, hips stuttering, rolling through it, grinding against him even as you shake.

Even as your legs go weak, even as the pleasure leaves you breathless, your pussy convulsing, fluttering, rubbing slick and soaked and so fucking messy all over his dick. And he feels it. He feels the way your cunt clenches, how you drip for him, how fucking wet you are, how you're making a mess of him.

"Shit," he groans, head falling back, his biceps flexing against the tie, his breath ragged, desperate, his whole body trembling under you. "Baby, please—"

But you're still cumming, still gasping, still grinding slow and deep, dragging it out, making sure he feels every second of it.

Your breath stutters as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, leaving you flushed, panting, still grinding on his soaked, aching cock. You can feel how hard he is, how swollen, how his whole body trembles beneath you, desperate, wrecked.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his, murmuring breathlessly, "You look so hot right now, baby."

And then you kiss him—deep, slow, so filthy.

Your lips part against his, your tongue teasing, licking into his mouth, tasting the whimpers he lets out as you keep rolling your hips, dragging your slick pussy up and down his throbbing dick. Your tits brush against his chest, soft against the heat of his skin, making him shiver, making his fingers flex.

He groans into your mouth, tilting his head, trying to chase your lips, kissing you back just as deep, just as messy, moaning when you suck on his tongue, when you nip at his bottom lip, when you pull away just enough to breathe against him, teasing, cruel.

"Please, baby," he gasps, his voice shaking, his whole body tightening beneath you. "I need to cum, I can't—"

But then you lift yourself up, and his breath stutters, his whole body tensing, his cock twitching, aching, desperate for you, for your heat, for anything.

And then your hand dips down, your thumb brushing over the swollen, leaking head of his dick, smearing his precum, teasing him, making him jerk beneath you, a strangled moan ripping from his throat.

"God, baby," you whisper, smirking, your voice full of heat, full of control. "You have no idea how good you look like this. Tied, begging to cum..."

His head drops back against the pillows, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his mind spiraling. Because, fuck—you do something to him. It's not just the way you touch him, not just the way you tease him, not just the way you keep him on the edge, ruining him, making him ache for you, making him need you like this.

It's you. It's how beautiful you are, even when you're making him suffer, even when you're playing with him, toying with him, making him beg. It's the way your lips shine from kissing him, the way your hair is messy, wild, like you've been thoroughly fucked already, the way your flushed skin glows under the low bedroom light. It's the way you look down at him, amusement and heat flickering in your eyes, so confident, so in control, like you know he's yours, like you know he'd do anything for you.

Because he would. And when you finally line him up with your soaked, throbbing cunt—when you sink down, taking his dick inch by inch, stretching your tight, sensitive walls around him—he swears he could die like this.

"Oh—fuck," you moan, head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as he fills you, as your walls clench around him, fluttering, gripping him so tight he almost loses it right there.

"Shit—baby—"

His voice is wrecked, strained, his hands twitching in the restraints, aching to touch you, to grab your hips, to hold you down, to thrust up into you, to fuck you senseless.

But all he can do is watch.

Watch the way your body moves, the way you take him so fucking slow, dragging it out, making him feel every inch as you sink down again, taking him deep, all the way, until your soaked pussy is flush against his base, until your clit rubs against his skin, until his cock nudges against your end.

"Ohhh—"

Your moan is sweet, drawn-out, full of pleasure as you start to ride him, rolling your hips, taking him all the way, over and over again, grinding down so he presses right where you need him.

And he's losing his mind.

Because you feel so good, so tight, so hot, so fucking perfect wrapped around him, squeezing him, milking him, using him exactly how you want, fucking owning him.

And he can't do anything but moan for you.

Your hips move in a slow, steady rhythm, rolling, grinding, taking every inch of him, stretching your pussy wide around his thick, aching cock. He's so hard, throbbing inside you, and you can feel how desperate he is—his whole body tense, muscles straining.

The way he shudders when you squeeze around him, when your slick, ruined panties rub against the base of his dick, adding to the friction, making him groan, making him suffer in the best way.

"God, baby," you moan, your lips parting as you take him deep again, dragging your soaked cunt down his cock, making him feel you. "You feel so good. So hard for me."

He whimpers, his head tilting back, his throat exposed, his arms pulling at the tie holding them to the bed frame, his fingers twitching, aching to touch you. But all he can do is take it.

Take the way you ride him, the way you move, slow and filthy, teasing, rolling your hips just right so your clit drags against his skin, so your cunt squeezes tight, so your ruined panties make everything messier, wetter, hotter.

"Fuck—please," he gasps, his hips jerking up, chasing you, desperate to cum, desperate to fill you.

And just when he's close—just when his cock throbs, when his breath stutters, when his whole body tenses beneath you—you stop.

Lifting yourself up, letting his swollen, leaking tip slip from your fluttering walls, leaving him aching, leaving him empty.

"No—no, please—"

His voice is wrecked, his eyes blown wide, desperate, staring up at you as if you've just ruined him.

You moan softly, rubbing his sensitive tip against your slick lips, teasing him, making him ache, making him need. "Just a bit longer, baby. Please. You're so fucking hot."

And he trembles, his whole body shaking, every muscle in his body drawn tight as he fights the urge to beg, to plead. But then, after just a few agonizing seconds, you sink down again, taking him all in one slow, deep movement, making him moan as your hot, dripping pussy wraps around him again, squeezing him, clenching around him so fucking tight.

"Ohhh—fuck," you gasp, your head tilting back, your mouth parting as you start to move again, rolling your hips, grinding down on him, making his cock throb against your slick walls, making him suffer in the most delicious way.

And then, one of your hands trails up your body, cupping your tits, teasing, playing, rolling your nipples between your fingers, making you shudder, making your walls flutter around him.

The other dips between your legs. Pressing to your clit, slick and swollen, rubbing tight, slow circles that send sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your whole body tingle, making your pussy clamp down around him, milking him.

"Fuck—fuck, baby," he groans, his head spinning, his breath ragged, his arms pulling at the restraints, his whole body fighting to stay still, to let you take your pleasure, to let you use him.

And you do.

You keep rolling your hips, keep riding him, fucking him, moaning as you play with yourself, teasing your tits, rubbing your clit, sending pleasure crashing through you, building higher, higher, higher. Until—

"Oh, God..."

You cum. Your body tenses, your walls spasming around him, milking his cock, squeezing so fucking tight as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, making you shake, making your breath stutter, making you moan, high-pitched and wrecked.

And you don't stop. You keep rubbing your clit, keep teasing your sensitive tits, keep grinding down on his cock, overstimulating yourself. Making your whole body shudder, making your cunt gush around him, soaking him, making a mess, making him feel every pulse, every spasm, every fucking throb.

His breath is ragged, his cock is twitching, his whole body is on fire as he watches you, as he feels you, as he suffers through every second of your pleasure, knowing that he can't cum, that you won't let him. And it's killing him. Because you're so fucking beautiful like this. So wet, so needy, so desperate, so perfect. And you're his.

You fuck him harder, faster, chasing that high, needing him to fill you up, needing to feel his hot cum spilling deep inside you. The bed rocks beneath you, the slap of your hips meeting his echoing through the room, wet, obscene, so fucking filthy. And he's falling apart beneath you, his moans breaking, his thighs tensing, his hands still bound, fingers twitching, desperate to grab at you, to pull you down, to feel your body against his.

He's gasping, his chest rising and falling, his cock twitching inside you, your slick making it so easy, so slippery, each thrust sending heat licking up your spine.

And when he finally chokes out, "I'm gonna cum, baby," you fucking shiver.

Leaning down, licking the words from his tongue as you murmur, "Yes, cum for me, my love. Fill me up."

And fuck, he does. His whole body goes taut beneath you, his hips snapping up, burying himself as deep as he can go before he spills, thick ropes of cum flooding your pussy, coating your walls, painting your insides in that delicious warmth. You moan at the feeling, at how fucking full you are, how your cunt clenches down, milking him, sucking him in, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

But there's too much, and you feel it spill, thick and messy, leaking out around his cock, dripping down between your thighs. And you love it—you fucking love it—the way it makes everything even more slippery, the way it drips onto his slacks, the way he whimpers when you keep fucking him through it, even though he's so overstimulated, even though his dick keeps twitching, throbbing, spilling the last few weak spurts of cum inside you.

He whines beneath you, body trembling, head lolling back, but you're relentless, rolling your hips, grinding down, desperate for just one more orgasm. And fuck, you can feel it, so close, so fucking close, your fingers slipping between your thighs, rubbing your swollen clit, gasping as slick gushes out of you, mixing with his cum, coating your fingers, making everything so wet, so filthy.

It crashes over you like a fucking tidal wave, your whole body going tight, thighs shaking as you moan his name, as your pussy pulses, clenches, convulses around him, soaking his cock in even more of your slick. Your head tilts back, lips parted, breathless, overwhelmed, your entire body trembling as the pleasure ripples through you, dragging you under, leaving you spent, sated, ruined.

And still, even as you finally slow, as your muscles go lax, as you collapse onto his chest, you can still feel it—the heat of him inside you, the way his cum still trickles out, messy, sticky, perfect.

Your whole body trembles, gasping against his skin, still shuddering from the intensity of it all. His chest rises and falls beneath you, his breath unsteady, wrecked, and then—

"Untie me, baby, please."

His voice is hoarse, pleading, his wrists flexing against the restraints.

But you just hum, lips curling into a lazy smirk as you murmur against his neck, "I'm not done with you, love."

And then you start kissing him again, soft at first, teasing, before dragging your tongue along his pulse, tasting the heat of his skin, the faint salt of sweat. You feel his body react instantly—his dick twitching inside you, still so hard, still so needy—and fuck, it makes you dizzy, knowing he's still aching for you, knowing you have him like this.

Your lips move lower, your teeth grazing his throat before sucking a deep, dark bruise into his skin, marking him, claiming him, yours. He groans, his hips shifting just slightly, desperate for friction, and you chuckle against his neck, breath warm, teasing.

Finally, you lift yourself up, slow, making sure he feels every single inch of it as his cock slips free, slapping wetly against his abdomen, still sticky and messy, still drenched in your slick and his cum. A thick trail follows, trickling out of your swollen pussy, dripping down onto him, onto his stomach, his thighs, but neither of you fucking care.

You just watch him for a second, still panting, taking him in. The way he looks beneath you—flushed, fucked-out, so goddamn beautiful—makes your chest ache. He's yours. This sweet, perfect, good man is yours, and it still fucking stuns you sometimes.

But then, his cock twitches again, still so hard, still so ready, and your lips curl into something wicked. You shift, moving to straddle him again, but this time in reverse cowgirl. His breath hitches, and you know why—your ass.

He can't fucking take his eyes off it, his fingers flexing against his palms like he's aching to grab you, hold you, squeeze you. But he can't. And the realization makes him whimper softly, needy, desperate.

Fuck.

The sound sends a hot pulse straight between your legs, your cunt clenching around nothing, so eager to be filled again. You glance over your shoulder, watching his face as you wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him a few times, smearing the mix of both of you all over his length. His hips jerk, just barely, and he exhales a shaky breath, eyes locked on you.

And then, finally, you guide him back inside.

Your slick makes it so easy, his cock sliding in so smoothly, but the angle—fuck, the angle. You feel him in a whole different way, his length rubbing right against that sweet spot inside you, making your toes curl, your thighs tense. A gasp catches in your throat, and he groans behind you, hands still uselessly bound, forced to just watch as you start to move.

Slow at first, just getting used to the stretch again, to the way he fills you so deep. But then, as the pleasure builds, your pace quickens, your ass bouncing with every roll of your hips, every downward thrust that takes him to the hilt.

And he watches, fucking mesmerized.

Your moans spill out unchecked, desperate and breathless, your body moving—no, fucking yourself—on his cock like you can't get enough. And fuck, you really can't.

"Oh my God, baby, you feel so fucking good," you gasp, head tilting back, mouth parted, pleasure wrecking you. "So deep—fuck, so hard—"

And you keep going, babbling, mindless words falling from your lips between moans, between the slick, obscene sounds of your soaked pussy taking his dick again and again. He's so big, so thick, and every time you drop down, he hits it—that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake, makes your walls flutter, makes you see stars.

Under you, Dick is struggling. You don't even notice at first. You're too focused on how fucking good this feels, how he stretches you so perfectly, how your clit throbs every time your hips grind against him just right. But he's desperate. His fingers flex, his arms pull as hard as he can. He needs to touch you. And then—rip. The tie snaps.

You don't hear it, don't even feel it, too lost in the rhythm, too drunk on pleasure, but then, you feel his hands. Big, warm, rough hands gripping your ass.

You freeze for a second, a shuddering gasp escaping your lips, your walls clenching hard around his cock. And when you turn your head to look back, eyes half-lidded, breathless, the only thing you manage to moan is—

"Dick..."

He just groans, his grip tightening, fingers sinking into the plush of your ass as he spreads you open. "Just keep going, baby," he rasps, voice thick, raw, wrecked. "Take what you need."

And fuck—fuck. That does something to you. So you do. You keep fucking him, moaning louder, rolling your hips harder, pushing back onto his cock like you're trying to take him deeper.

And Dick is losing his fucking mind. His grip is firm, desperate, greedy, his thumbs spreading your cheeks so he can see better, watch the way your soaked cunt swallows his cock, clinging to every inch of him. You're dripping.

Every bounce, every grind leaves a slick, wet sheen along his cock, your swollen lips stretched around him so tight, so perfect. It's a fucking mess, your arousal shining on his length, coating his pelvis, dripping down onto his thighs.

And your ass, God.

Bouncing, shaking, soft and so fucking beautiful. He grabs at it, kneads it, his fingers digging into your flesh, spreading you open wider, watching the way his cock disappears into you with every downward thrust.

And the sounds you make—fuck. The way you moan for him, the way your voice breaks when you take him deep, the breathy, wrecked little gasps you let out every time his cock nudges against your sweet spot—it's too much, too good.

His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight. He's close. And he knows you're gonna ruin him. Your body is a live wire, every nerve buzzing, every muscle trembling as you grind down on him, taking his cock so deep, so perfectly.

You can feel it—feel everything. How thick he is inside you, how the head of his dick presses into that sweet, aching spot with every bounce of your hips, how your slick makes each movement so smooth, so messy.

You're close. So fucking close, you can taste it, can feel the coil in your belly winding tighter, burning hot, unbearable. You're whimpering, babbling, barely aware of the words spilling from your lips.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, baby—"

And then it hits. Your climax crashes through you like a wave, violent and all-consuming, and you sob as you cum, your entire body shuddering, your cunt clamping down so tight around his cock that you feel every throb, every pulse of his length.

You gush around him, drenching his cock, your slick dripping down onto his balls, onto the sheets, making a complete fucking mess—but you don't care, can't care, not when it feels this good, this deep, this intense. Your walls flutter, spasming uncontrollably, and the pleasure is so much, so overwhelming, that your arms nearly give out.

And then—you feel it. The way he shudders beneath you. The way his hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh so hard that you know you'll feel it tomorrow.

The way his cock twitches, throbbing as he groans, deep and wrecked, "Fuuuck, baby—"

And then he's cumming. His cock pulses hard, and you moan as you feel it—the warmth of it, the thickness, the way his cum floods you deep, so deep, pumping against your cervix, coating your walls, filling you to the brim.

Dick moans, a breathless, needy sound, his grip on you tightening as his body jerks beneath you. His abs tense, his thighs flex, his fingers dig into your ass, squeezing as he rides it out, as he gives you everything.

Your body thrums, your chest heaving, your mind dazed with pleasure, but before you can even catch your breath, before you can even whisper his name—

He moves. In one swift, fluid motion, he lifts you off of him, and you gasp, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. His cum leaks out immediately, dripping down your thighs, pooling between your legs, making a mess on the sheets.

"Baby—" you barely manage to say.

But he's already moving you, already positioning you. Ass up, face down. And then, he's inside you again, burying himself deep. You moan into the sheets, your entire body jerking forward, your walls clamping down around him as he fills you again in one smooth thrust.

"Okay," he growls, his voice low, wrecked, dangerous as his hands settle on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you. "You had your fun, doll. My turn."

And then he fucks you. Hard. Deep. Your pussy is still so sensitive, still aching from your orgasm, but you don't tell him to stop—you don't want him to. You want more. You need more. And he knows it.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, obscene, wet, loud, mixing with the desperate, wrecked little moans spilling from your lips. His balls slap against your pussy every time he thrusts in, slick and messy from how much you've cum.

He's so sensitive, but he doesn't care. Not when you feel this good. Not when your tight little cunt is still gripping him perfectly, still soaking him, still taking every inch of him so beautifully. His perfect fucking girl. And he tells you as much.

"Fuck, baby. Look at you."

His voice is low, rough with arousal as he watches the way his cock sinks into your swollen cunt. The way you're creaming around him, leaving a messy little ring at the base of his dick.

"Taking it so fucking well, huh?"

Your moans are high-pitched, needy, desperate, muffled against the sheets as you tremble beneath him. He chuckles, dark and wrecked, before slapping your ass. You cry out, shuddering, walls clenching around him.

"Yeah? You like that, baby?"

He does it again, harder, watching the way your soft flesh jiggles beneath his palm. Watching the way your pussy tightens up around him in response.

"God, you're so fucking good for me. My perfect girl."

You sob, grinding your hips back into him as he pounds into you, deep, shallow thrusts that have you moaning into the sheets, completely fucked out, completely ruined. And you love it.

Because you're his. And he's gonna make sure you remember it. Everything is too much—too sensitive, too raw, too fucking good.

Your body is a mess of pleasure, every nerve lit up, every touch electric, your cunt so swollen, so overstimulated from how many times he's fucked you through your orgasms. But he doesn't stop—he won't stop.

Not when you're still so tight around him.

Not when your walls are hot, puffy, gripping him like you never want to let him go. Not when you're still pushing back against him, still desperate for more. And God, you are. You need it.

Even as your thighs tremble, even as you moan and whimper into the sheets, begging, pleading, "Baby, please, I can't—"

But you still arch your back, still spread your legs wider, still take it. And fuck, he loves it.

His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock, forcing you to take every deep, obscene thrust as he fucks into you again, again, again.

The bed creaks beneath you, the frame knocking against the wall. The wet, filthy sound of your slick and his cum squelching with every thrust makes his stomach tighten, makes his cock throb inside you, makes him groan.

His hips slap against your ass, sharp, deep, every thrust forcing more of his mess out of your wrecked cunt, more wetness dripping down your thighs, onto the sheets, onto his balls. And fuck, you're so full. So full of him, full of his cum, full of everything he gives you.

He groans, voice wrecked, low and deep, fingers flexing on your hips. "God, you're so fucking good for me, baby."

You sob at his words, whimpering, because you are. You're his good girl. You take it so well, take him so perfectly, so deep, so tight. And then—his hand slides lower.

His fingers skim down your stomach, and you whine, already knowing what he's about to do, already dreading it, already needing it. And then, he rubs your clit. Your body jerks, and you gasp, shuddering, because fuck, it's too much, it's too much, it's too fucking much.

Your clit is puffy, swollen, throbbing, so fucking sensitive, so messy, slick and sticky from his cum, and his touch is a shock, making you feel like you're going to fucking break apart. You try to pull away, try to close your thighs, but he doesn't let you. He keeps you spread open, his fingers circling your clit, pressing, teasing, forcing you to take it.

And you sob, your body shaking, your walls fluttering around him as you whimper, "No, baby, please, I can't—I can't—"

But he knows you can. And he tells you.

"Oh, doll, I know you can take it." His voice is low, teasing, but his fingers don't slow, his hips don't stop, and he leans over you, lips at your ear as he fucks you deeper, harder. "Be a good girl for me, yeah? Let me feel you."

And you do. You can't stop it. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking shockwave, violent, unbearable, earth-shattering.

You choke a moan, your whole body convulsing, your cunt milking his cock, gushing around him, soaking his length, drenching his balls, making the mess between your thighs filthier, hotter. And he can't stop fucking you.

Not when you're creaming around him like this. Not when your pussy is pulsing, sucking him in, refusing to let him go. Your body is wrecked, trembling, your thighs quivering as another aftershock ripples through your cunt, your walls still clenching down around him, still squeezing him so tight he can barely fucking breathe. And he watches it all.

He spreads your ass, forces you open, and the sight knocks the breath out of his lungs. You're a mess. His cum is dripping out of you, slick and white, coating your folds, smeared on your thighs, sticky and wet and filthy.

Your walls cling to him every time he pulls back, stretched around his cock, slick and messy, gripping him like you never want him to leave.

And fuck, he never wants to.

Not when you look this good, not when you feel this good, this warm, this wet, this tight. He groans, low and deep, hips rocking into you slow, deep, dragging out every second of it, savoring the way you pulse and throb around him.

And you take it. Of course you do.

There is nothing this man could give you that you wouldn't take—nothing. If he wants to fill you up again, you'll let him. If he wants to fuck you until you can't move, you'll take it. If he wants to ruin you, make you his perfect, fucked-out, dripping mess, you'll fucking let him.

Because you belong to him, and he belongs to you.

A whimper slips from your lips, and he leans over you, pressing his chest against your sweaty, overheated back, mouth hot against your shoulder.

"Shhh, baby," he murmurs, voice wrecked, deep, tinged with so much hunger, so much adoration.

His lips press to your damp skin, soft kisses, slow kisses, trailing over your shoulder, your spine, your neck, as he fucks you. His thrusts slow, deepen, rolling into you instead of pounding, giving you a moment to catch your breath, come back to yourself.

But he doesn't stop. Because he's not done with you. His voice is low, husky, a breathless plea against your sweat-slicked skin.

"Can you take more, love?"

You barely lift your head from the sheets, your body trembling, already raw and wrecked. But you still nod, sucking in a shaky breath.

"Y-yeah," you whisper, voice cracking, "I can take it."

A groan rips from his throat. "That's my girl."

His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he keeps fucking you, dragging his cock in and out of your swollen, overstimulated pussy. Every thrust is deep, slow, but firm—making sure you feel every thick inch stretching you, making a mess of your insides.

The slick, obscene sound of him pumping into you fills the room, mixing with your soft sobs of pleasure, the way your pussy clenches down on him greedily, milking him with every deep stroke.

He fills you up so completely, so perfectly, and he knows it. He can feel it in the way your body trembles under him, the way you still push back, desperate for more even when you're whimpering, even when you're so fucking sensitive.

And he can't stop watching you.

Your body is glowing with sweat, flushed, gorgeous, every inch of you made for him, made to take him. His eyes drop to where his cock is splitting you open, to the way your swollen, slick folds suck him in hungrily, coated in a creamy mix of his cum and your arousal. It drips down, so messy, so fucking perfect.

"God, baby," he groans, fingers spreading you wider, just to see more, just to watch the way your tight little cunt clings to him every time he pulls back. "You're so fucking beautiful. Look at the way you take me. You were made for this, weren't you?"

You sob into the sheets, but you nod again, arching your back, pushing your hips higher, giving him more.

"Yes," you gasp, "God, yes, baby, I—oh fuck, I love it. I love you."

His thrusts stutter, something breaking in his chest at how wrecked and desperate you sound, how much you want him. How much you need him. He leans over you, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulders, your spine, his dick still stretching you, filling you, keeping you pinned in place.

"I love you too, doll," he murmurs, voice raw. "So fucking much. So good for me. My perfect girl."

Your body shudders under his, but he doesn't stop fucking you, stretching you, pushing you higher, deeper into the heat of it. You can barely breathe, your body wrecked, your mind swimming, but you can't stop, you don't want to stop. The pressure builds again, faster this time, so intense it leaves you shaking, gasping, so close you can barely think.

And then you snap.

A loud, broken sob leaves your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, drenching his cock, your walls pulsing, gripping him so tight he chokes out a moan.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips as your tight little pussy milks him, sucks him in, makes him lose control.

He can't hold back. Not when you feel this good. His thrusts turn desperate, sloppy, pounding into you as he chases his own release, needing to fill you up again, needing to claim you completely.

"Oh my God," you babble, still shuddering, still moaning. "Baby, you feel so fucking good. More, please, give me more."

He groans at your words, at how fucked-out and wrecked you sound. And then he feels it—the heat coiling in his spine, the unbearable pressure, the way your slick pussy is sucking him deeper, milking him, begging him to let go.

"Gonna cum, baby," he pants, hips snapping against your ass, fucking you faster, harder, needier.

"Yes, yes," you moan, pushing back against him, drunk on the way he fucks you, on the way his cock throbs inside you, so close, so fucking close. "Fill me up, give me everything, please."

His head drops forward, a ragged groan escaping his lips as he finally breaks. A shudder racks through him as he slams deep, holding you tight, burying himself as far as he can go.

And then he cums. Thick, hot ropes of his seed flood your womb, spilling deep, painting your insides as his cock throbs, twitching against your cervix.

"Fuck," he groans, voice cracking, hips jerking, fucking it deeper, even as it leaks out around him, even as your walls keep clenching down, milking every last drop.

Your body trembles beneath him, and then, before you can even catch your breath, you shudder and moan, your pussy fluttering as another orgasm rolls through you. Just from feeling him cum inside you.

"Oh my God," you sob, your slick gushing out, mixing with his, soaking his thighs, making a mess of both of you.

Your walls squeeze around him in relentless, fluttering pulses, greedily milking every bit of warmth he pours into you. The overstimulation hits you like a tidal wave—sharp, hot, and all-consuming—each pulse of his cock sending sparks of pleasure crackling through your nerves.

It's too much and not enough, leaving you breathless and squirming, your body caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to keep him buried inside you.

He groans again, deeper this time, hips giving another shallow thrust as if he can't help himself. The movement makes his cum spill out even more, thick and sticky as it drips down to the mess pooling beneath you.

Your cunt flutters around him, still contracting, still hungry for him. It's filthy—the way you're both soaked in it, the way you're trembling, overstimulated and wrecked—but God, it feels so good.

His breath stutters against your neck. "Fuck, baby," he pants, voice wrecked, "you're squeezing me so tight... can feel you milking my dick."

His words send a fresh shiver down your spine, another weak moan slipping from your lips.

"Look at that," he murmurs, voice rough but so fucking tender underneath. "So full of me... making such a mess, pretty girl."

And you can't even answer—you're too far gone, too lost in the aftershocks rippling through you. Your thighs twitch as another small, involuntary pulse grips him, your slick gushing out in a sticky rush. It mixes with his cum, dripping down your skin, leaving you both soaked.

Your cunt clenches so tight he whimpers, digging his nails into your hips, panting, groaning as you keep trembling around him. Even when he's empty, even when he's so fucking sensitive he could cry, he still keeps thrusting, still keeps fucking his cum deeper, because he just can't stop.

His arms tighten around you, holding you close as his hips still, breath hot against your skin. The air is thick with heat and the sound of your ragged breathing, bodies pressed together, sticky and warm and completely spent.

You're a mess. He's a mess. And God, you've never felt so good, his body heavy and warm over yours, chest heaving, heartbeat hammering against your back.

And then, slowly, he moves, pressing soft, breathless kisses to your back, your shoulders, your spine. He doesn't pull out.

Just stays there, inside you, still throbbing, still leaking, one hand soft on your hip, the other smoothing over your spine, grounding you, keeping you there with him.

When he finally pulls out, you whimper, a broken, needy sound, your cunt clenching instinctively at the loss. And then you feel it—his cum trickling out of your swollen, stretched pussy, thick and warm as it spills down your folds.

It drips in slow, lazy streams, pooling between your thighs before seeping onto the sheets beneath you, sticky and messy. You twitch at the sensation, oversensitive and spent, body shuddering with every pulse of aftershock still lingering in your core.

"Fuck," he breathes, eyes locked on the way you leak all over the bed.

His gaze darkens, jaw clenching, and there's something filthy about how proud he looks—like he loves seeing you ruined like this, fucked open and dripping with him. But then his expression softens, guilt creeping in as he notices the way you flinch with every tiny movement.

His thumb ghosts over your slick-coated folds, watching how more of his cum spills out with the slightest touch. "Didn't mean to be so rough," he adds, though there's still that lingering heat in his tone.

You whimper again, thighs instinctively trying to close, but he gently keeps them apart, soothing circles drawn into your skin. "I've got you," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your lower back.

Your head spins, body thrumming with a mix of exhaustion, overstimulation, and the lingering warmth of his touch. You're a wreck—leaking, stretched, and completely undone. And God, it feels so good.

He presses a soothing kiss between your shoulder blades, murmuring softly, "Shhh, baby, I've got you. I've got you."

And his hands are already on you, grounding you, smoothing over your hips and up your back, tracing light, gentle circles into your overheated skin. His touch is warm, reverent, pulling you back to him even as he shifts to settle beside you.

As soon as he's on his back, he guides you against him, gathering you in his arms, and you go so easily, pressing yourself into him, your body melting against his warmth, skin against skin. Your legs tangle with his, your breath uneven, chest still heaving as you cling to him. He can feel the way you're shaking, small aftershocks rolling through you, and his hold tightens, protective, reassuring.

"Hey, baby," he whispers, tucking his nose into your damp hair, kissing your temple. "Breathe, pretty girl. You're okay. You did so good for me."

You let out a soft sniffle, your fingers gripping his bicep, and he shushes you gently, stroking your back, slow and steady, coaxing you into calmer breaths. His lips trail down, brushing over your cheek, down to your jaw, his touch featherlight, affectionate.

His hand finds your face, cradling it so delicately, his thumb swiping over your cheekbone before he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze softens as he takes you in—your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the dazed, exhausted look in your eyes, still glossy, still lost in the intensity of it all.

"You with me, baby?" he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing, full of love.

You nod, barely, your breath shuddering, and he tilts your chin up just enough to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"That's my girl," he whispers. "Come back to me."

He watches you, patient, letting you settle in his arms, letting you come back down from it at your own pace. His fingers keep moving, tracing over your spine, your ribs, brushing over the swell of your hip, never stopping, never letting you feel anything but the warmth of him, the love in his touch.

"You were perfect," he murmurs. "So perfect for me."

And the way he says it—so soft, so full of everything he feels for you—it makes your chest ache, makes your body curl even closer to his, like you want to mold yourself into him completely.

He smiles against your temple, kissing you again, his arm tightening around you. "That's it, baby," he breathes. "I've got you."

You blink up at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion, your lashes clumped together from sweat and whatever was left of your ruined makeup.

He chuckles softly, brushing a thumb beneath one of your eyes. "You look so cute."

You groan, rolling your face into his chest, voice muffled when you mumble, "I look like a fucking raccoon."

His laugh is warm, full of affection, and he tilts your chin up so you have to look at him. "No, baby. You're beautiful."

You let out a small, tired huff and slap his chest weakly, pouting up at him. "Don't lie to me."

He grins, shaking his head. "You know I never lie to you, my love."

You narrow your eyes, lips still in a soft pout before you give up, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He lets you, wrapping his arms around you, his palm rubbing soothing circles against your back.

His lips press gentle kisses into your damp hair, and for a while, the two of you just stay like that—warm, tangled up in each other, the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath your cheek lulling you into something dangerously close to sleep.

Then, you shiver softly, a little tremor running through you, and he frowns. He can feel your body sinking into his like dead weight, your breaths coming out slower, deeper. You're so close to dozing off, and he almost lets you, but he knows you can't sleep like this.

Not with how sensitive your skin is, not with the way sweat and smudged makeup still cling to your face. You'd be miserable in the morning, and he's not about to let that happen.

So he shifts.

You whimper, clinging to him instantly, your hands fisting at his back, and he hushes you softly, stroking your side. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby."

You shake your head, nose still buried in his neck. "Don't wanna move," you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

He chuckles, pressing another kiss to your temple. "I know, pretty girl. But we can't sleep like this."

You groan, shifting just enough to pout up at him. "Why not?" Your voice is so small, so tired, like a sleepy little kitten, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking your warm skin. "Because the sheets are a mess, your makeup is still on," he murmurs. "And I know you hate sleeping like this."

You make a soft, grumpy sound, and even though you can't argue with that, you still murmur, "Can't move, baby."

He smiles, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "No problem," he reassures, voice as gentle as the hands holding you. "I'll carry you to the bathroom, yeah? Slowly, my love."

You whine softly, clinging tighter to him, but when he shifts again, lifting you into his arms with ease, you don't resist. Your head lolls against his shoulder, and he cradles you close as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Once he sets you down, you immediately reach for him again, arms wrapping around his waist as you press yourself against his warmth, looking up at him with big, pouty eyes.

"Can we take a bath?"

And how the fuck is he supposed to say no to that?

"Yeah, we can," he says, voice impossibly soft.

His arm stays wrapped around you as he moves to the tub, only pulling back slightly to turn the faucet on. Warm water starts to fill the basin, and he keeps you close, holding you against him as he reaches for the oils and bubbles he knows you love.

He pours them in carefully, swirling the water with his fingers as delicate foam forms on the surface, the scent of soft florals and vanilla filling the air. His other hand remains steady on you, rubbing soothing circles against your back, keeping you close, keeping you grounded.

"You okay, baby?" he murmurs, looking down at you.

You nod sleepily, your cheek pressed to his chest. "Mhmm. 'M just tired."

He smiles, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "I know, my love. We'll get you all clean and cozy, and then we can sleep, yeah?"

You hum, nodding again, and he tightens his hold on you, just for a moment, before reaching to shut off the water. You whine softly when he pulls away, even just an inch, your fingers instinctively curling into his skin, not wanting to let go. He chuckles, the sound deep and warm as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," he murmurs, reaching for your makeup remover and a stack of cotton pads.

You blink sleepily as he soaks a few, then hands them to you. You take them with clumsy fingers, swiping them over your face in slow, lazy motions, barely putting in the effort, but it's enough. He watches you, his lips twitching when you pause, your hand growing still against your cheek, clearly too tired to finish.

He huffs out a soft laugh, plucking the used cotton pads from your fingers before guiding you to the sink. "Come on, pretty girl. Let's wash the rest off, yeah?"

You hum in agreement, letting him help you as he always does. His palm rests against your lower back as you reach for your cleanser, and when you start rubbing it over your face, he strokes slow circles over your skin, grounding you, making sure you don't drift too far.

You rinse away the remnants of your makeup, patting your face dry with a fluffy towel, and by the time you look back at him, he's already kneeling in front of you, those strong hands of his hooking into your panties.

He tugs them down slowly, his fingers brushing against your thighs, and you shiver under his touch, even though it's barely anything. His gaze flickers up to yours, checking on you, and when you nod sleepily, he slips them off the rest of the way, tossing them into the laundry basket.

"Good girl," he murmurs, voice soft as he helps you into the tub.

The water is warm, the bubbles thick, and as soon as you sink in, you let out a tiny, contented sigh. He smiles, watching you for a second before quickly shedding his own clothes.

Then, he's stepping in behind you, settling in the water before pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you easily, like it's second nature, like he was made to hold you.

You rest your head on his shoulder, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to his skin before murmuring, "Are you mad that I teased you like that?"

He exhales a quiet laugh, lips grazing your temple as he says, "No, baby. I kind of liked it."

You giggle, the sound so sweet, so sleepy, and his heart clenches.

Then, your gaze flickers up to him, those big, drowsy eyes locking onto his. "I ruined your tie," you pout.

His brows lift slightly, then he lets out a soft chuckle. "That's okay," he murmurs. "It's just a tie. I'll buy another one, sweet girl."

You hum, satisfied with that answer, sinking further into the warm water, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. For a moment, it's just the two of you, breathing each other in, warm and comfortable, the quiet sound of water lapping against the tub filling the air.

Then, you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, "Can you believe it's been three years?"

His chest rises and falls beneath you as he exhales slowly. "Honestly? No." His voice is softer now, thoughtful. "I can't believe you put up with my ass for so long."

You scoff, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Who else is gonna do that?"

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "I don't know," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But I don't care. I just want you."

You tilt your head up, gazing at him with tired, affectionate eyes, your lips parting as you murmur, "I love you so much."

His expression softens instantly, those warm eyes of his locking onto yours like you're the only thing that matters. "I know, baby," he whispers, leaning down. "I love you too."

Then, he kisses you. Soft. Slow. Sweet. His lips press against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten, makes your breath catch in your throat. His hand cradle your face, thumb stroking over your damp skin as he kisses you deeper, his tongue slipping past your lips to brush against yours. A tiny, breathy moan escapes you, muffled between his lips, and he swallows it down, pulling you closer, pressing into you like he can't get enough.

You melt against him, fingers gripping his forearm as the kiss lingers, warm and lazy, unhurried. He hums against your mouth, savoring the way you taste, the way your lips move with his, so soft, so familiar.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are pink, glistening, and he lets his forehead rest against yours, his breath fanning over your skin.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped in him, your body relaxed, your mind quiet. Your eyelids grow heavier, and before you know it, you're on the verge of sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you lulling you closer and closer.

But then, his voice rumbles through you, gentle and warm. "Let's clean you up, okay?"

You nod sleepily, making a small, clumsy move to sit up, but your limbs are too heavy, your body too lax. He catches you easily, chuckling as he steadies you.

"Let me, baby," he murmurs, reaching for the body wash on the side of the tub.

You hum in agreement, letting yourself relax again as he takes care of you. His hands are slow, deliberate, so gentle as he runs them over your body, washing away the remnants of sweat and slick and him. He murmurs sweet praises between soft kisses, his lips pressing against your shoulder, your temple, your cheek.

"You did so good for me, doll," he breathes, sliding his hand over your arm.

You shiver, letting out a tiny, contented sigh as you sink further into his embrace.

"My pretty girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair, his voice filled with nothing but love. "So perfect for me."

Once he's finished washing you, he moves on to himself, making quick work of rinsing off before reaching over to drain the tub. Then, with ease, he stands, stepping out before offering you his hand.

You take it without hesitation, letting him help you up, and the second you're on your feet, he's wrapping you in a thick, fluffy towel, tucking you against his chest.

You sigh into him, pressing your face against his skin, savoring his warmth, his scent. He rubs his hands up and down your back, drying you off gently before leading you to the sink.

You don't bother with your full skincare routine—too sleepy, too relaxed—but you do swipe on some moisturizer and dab a bit of under-eye cream beneath your tired eyes while he steps out, making quick work of changing the sheets.

He returns a few minutes later, already dressed in a pair of soft gray shorts that hang low on his hips, hair still damp from the bath, and in his hands, he's holding a pair of your panties and one of his t-shirts. He smiles as he approaches, eyes warm and gentle.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs. "Let's get you out of that wet towel."

You lift your arms without protest, letting him peel the towel away from your body. His gaze softens even more at the sight of you—freshly cleaned, skin dewy, hair damp and tousled, cheeks flushed with lingering warmth. God, you're beautiful.

He kneels in front of you, holding the panties open. "Step in for me," he coaxes.

You place your hands on his shoulders for balance, and he steadies you as you step into them one foot at a time. He begins sliding them up your legs, slow and careful—until, just before he pulls them over your hips, he leans in and presses a kiss right to your pussy.

"Dick!" you squeak, cheeks burning.

He grins up at you, completely unrepentant. "What?" he teases, laughter dancing in his eyes, and finally tugs the panties up properly.

You huff, playfully swatting at his shoulder, but he just chuckles, standing back up. He reaches for the t-shirt next, pulling it over your head and gently guiding your arms through the sleeves.

It's big and soft, smelling like him—clean laundry mixed with the faint trace of his cologne and something inherently him. Comforting. Warm. Home.

Just as he starts to turn away, you reach out and grab his wrist. "Come here," you murmur.

He groans softly, head tilting back with exaggerated exasperation. "Baby," he pouts, "I thought you were tired."

But he already knows what's coming. You grin, half-asleep and utterly sweet as you grab your moisturizer and dab a bit onto your fingertips. "You have such nice skin," you mumble, dotting some onto his face. "It'd be even nicer if you took care of it from time to time."

He pulls a face, pretending to be annoyed—but still leans down so you can reach better. His nose wrinkles at the cool sensation, and you giggle, smoothing the cream into his skin with gentle fingers. His eyes flutter shut under your touch, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries not to smile at your concentration.

"Stop making faces," you laugh.

"I can't help it," he mutters, lips curving upward despite himself. "Feels weird."

"But good for you," you counter, tapping his cheek once you're done.

Once that's over, you both reach for your toothbrushes, standing side by side at the sink. He keeps nudging you with his hip, playful as ever, making you shoot him exasperated glances between mouthfuls of toothpaste. He just grins around his toothbrush, utterly unbothered.

When you finally finish, spitting out the minty foam and rinsing your mouth, he wraps an arm around your waist and guides you back to the bedroom. The sheets are fresh, soft, and he's already picked up the clothes you both left strewn across the floor earlier.

He pulls the covers back for you. "Come on, pretty girl," he murmurs, coaxing.

You don't need to be told twice—you plop down onto the mattress with a happy squeal, limbs sprawling out as you sink into the warmth.

His heart clenches at how adorable you are—eyes sleepy, hair a mess, but smiling like that, so content, so soft. God, he loves you. Loves how easily you make his world feel right. He slides in beside you, reaching to pull the covers over you both.

You immediately cling to him, nuzzling into his chest as the warmth of his skin wraps around you like a cocoon. His arms instinctively tighten, pulling you closer, and he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple.

"Mmm..." you hum sleepily, fingers curling into his side.

He shifts just enough to tuck you under his chin, resting his cheek against the top of your head. You're already half-asleep, breaths evening out against his skin, your body melting into his like you were made to fit there. And God, he thinks you were.

His thumb strokes slow circles against your lower back as you drift off, and for a moment, he just... lets himself be still. Lets himself feel the quiet weight of you in his arms. The way you trust him enough to fall asleep like this—safe, warm, loved.

Three years.

His chest tightens. Has it really been that long? It feels like just yesterday he was meeting you for the first time—those eyes, that smile that hooked him from the start. And yet, it also feels like he's known you forever, like you've been stitched into the fabric of his life from the beginning.

He thinks about everything you've been through together—the laughter, the fights, the quiet nights, the chaotic mornings. The way you hold him when he's had a rough day. The way you light up when you talk about things you love. The way you look at him like he's the only thing in the world that matters.

He's so fucking lucky.

The best three years of his life. And God, he wants more. More lazy mornings, more nights tangled up in fresh sheets like this, more soft kisses, more sleepy grins, more of you. Always you.

His fingers drift along your back, tracing slow, absentminded patterns as his thoughts wander. There are nights—plenty of them—when he comes home to you bruised and beaten, body aching from patrol.

And God, he hates that. Hates how you worry, how your eyes soften with concern the moment you see him limping through the door. But you always take care of him. Always.

You patch him up with the gentlest hands, tending to every scrape and cut with that same unwavering tenderness. And it's not just the care—it's the way you press soft kisses to his bruises like you can kiss the pain away.

The way you murmur praises against his skin—Thank you for keeping me safe, for making Blüdhaven better, for always coming back to me. It's enough to make his heart clench every damn time.

And when he first told you—really told you—that he was Nightwing, you didn't even flinch. Just looked at him with those knowing eyes, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you said you figured.

Like you always knew. Like it didn't scare you away. If anything, you just pulled him into your arms and held him tighter. No judgement. No fear. Just love. Just you.

God—he doesn't know what he did to deserve that. To deserve you.

His lips brush your hair again. "I love you," he whispers, voice barely audible in the quiet room.

You murmur something incoherent in response—half a hum, half a sleepy sigh—but it makes him smile anyway. Because you're here. In his arms. Safe. Loved. His.

And as you breathe slow and steady against him, warmth blooming in his chest, he thinks—yeah. This is it. This is home.

#nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut #nightwing #dick grayson is a menace #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #smut fanfiction #smutty smut smut #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #dick grayson x you #dick grayson #bludhaven #smutty fanfiction #i love him #he deserves the world

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hotgeniusreid · 2 months ago

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Have you ever tried… This position?

Aaron Hotchner x F! Reader

Mentions of: Sex, P in V (wrap it b4 you tap it), riding (SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOY YEEHAW), oral (M! Receiving), not proofread we die like men

!!!NSFW/MINORSS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

One thing you had come to realize since your relationship with the BAUs Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner was that without a doubt, he was a very dominant man. He’d soften up when he’d come home from work and see Jack, but in bed? The dominance continued, not that you were complaining but you had spent many lonely nights wondering what it would be like to be on top just once, would he lose his composure? What noises would he make?

You sighed, once again losing focus on the book you were reading, letting out a groan of frustration and tossing the book on the couch, you were losing your mind over something so trivial, you loved being under him, but the thought of being the one on top had you spiraling, you had to experience it at least once and then you’d stop obsessing over it. Standing up from the couch, you had made a decision, thankfully Jack was away at his aunts house for the night, and Aaron was coming tonight from a rather difficult case, you had made up your mind, your were going to ride this man like if your life depended on it.

You had it all planned out, hopping out of the shower, you blow dried and styled your hair, and slipped on your favorite lingerie, a baby blue lace babydoll nightgown with matching lace panties, one night during a girls night with the BAU girls, you had confessed that you had a thing for buying pretty lingerie, you never really had the chance to wear them though, because Aaron always cut right to the chase, always taking you to the room and commanding you to strip with that dominant tone. You did your makeup subtly, and dolled yourself up with some jewelry, spraying his favorite perfume you own, and slipping a short silk white robe on top. Looking at the time, you realized you still had more than enough time to cook dinner and set up the table.

The sound of the door opening and keys being dropped into the bowl by the door signalled that Aaron was finally home, you slipped out of the kitchen and met him at the door, “Hi honey, how was the case?” You murmured as you wrapped your arms around him, standing on your tiptoes to press your lips to his, his arm wrapped around your back as he returned the kiss, “A bit tiring, but we managed to catch the unsub, how are you? Where’s Jack?” He asked, looking around, waiting for Jack to come out and welcome him home. “Jack is having a sleepover with Jessica tonight, said something about a movie night.” You smiled softly, “Come to the table, I just finished making dinner, it’s your favorite.” Turning around, you walked off to the kitchen, his eyes finally raked over your body, breath hitching at the fact that you were wearing the smallest silk robe that looked so nice against your body, he could feel himself growing hard, if only he knew what was under.

He walked into the kitchen, the smell of a home cooked meal making him smile, he loved you more than you could ever know, and seeing you do something so domestic such as serving him food truly made him appreciate just how much you did for him and Jack. He wrapped his arms around you as you began serving the food onto plates, “All right, what’s the big idea hm? Cooking my favorite meal, and looking so pretty, what did I do to deserve this?” You let out a giggle, throwing your head back against him, taking in the fact he was home, “nothing, just wanted to show you how much I missed you, I also happened to have a lot of free time today.” A chuckle escaped him as he shook his head, “Honey you spoil me, takeout and a movie would have been just fine, unless, there’s an ulterior motive for this?” He said, his hand stopping at the tie on your waist. Setting the plate down on the counter, you froze, had he really found you out? Turning around and looking at him with a pout, “Me? Ulterior motive? You wound me Aaron. But maybe I suppose you might be right.” You murmured sensually, turning around and pressing a kiss to his neck, he let out a low hum as he gripped your waist. “I think dinner can wait a little longer, I think I’m hungry for something else.” He said, his voice deep and wanting.

In an instant, his hands were at the tie of your robe, loosening it, a groan fought its way out of his throat at the sight of your lingerie that he was not expecting, his eyes raking down your body, he took in how well the lingerie hugged your curves, he licked his lips, “God you look so fucking pretty baby, this all for me?” You nodded your head, “Why don’t we go to the room?” You said turning around and walking to your shared room, swaying your hips, his pupils dilated, taking in the sight of your ass, he palmed his now achingly hard cock, ridding himself of his shoes and following you to the room. He closed the door behind himself and the moment the door closed he was on you, bringing your body against his, his erection pressed against your ass as you let out a mewl, you wanted to submit to him right then and there, but you remembered the task at hand.

You turned him around so that his back was facing the bed, you pressed your lips to his and walked him backward til his legs hit the end of the bed. Aaron sat down, you dropped down, knees on the floor, looking up at him through your lashes, you began to palm his hard cock through his slacks, a low rumble sounding in his throat, you smiled at him, “Aaron your so handsome.” You murmured, “Especially like this.” You breathed, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks, bringing them down enough for his cock to spring free. Your mouth always watered at the sight of Aaron’s cock, long and girthy, the tip red and angry, with a pearl of precum adorning it, you licked a long strip from base to tip, before taking his tip in your mouth, a sigh escaping from him as he tangled his hands in your mouth. “You always look so pretty, but your so gorgeous when you have my cock in your mouth.” You moaned around his cock at his praise, taking more of him in your mouth, you bobbed your head up and down, groans and sighs escaping his mouth at the feeling of you giving him head.

You loved riling him up by sucking his cock, the weight of his cock in your mouth never failed to get you wet, the heady taste never failing to make you so needy, you took a deep breath, before swallowing his cock to the base, a moan escaped his throat as his hand tightened in your hair. You pulled off of him, a string of saliva and precum the only thing connecting you to his cock, the string snapped and you wiped it as you stood up, straddling Aaron, bringing your lips to his desperately, your tongues clashing and spit slipping from the corners of your mouths, you grinded yourself against his hard cock, a gasp escaping you at the feeling of cock pressing against your clothed pussy, “Fuck Aaron, wanna ride you so bad.” You whined, circling your hips, he let out a breathy chuckle, “Is that what this is about baby? Wanna ride my cock?” You nodded, a whimper falling from your mouth as he grabbed your ass roughly. “Yea, wanna fuck myself on your cock baby.” You pulled your panties to the side, too desperate to completely pull them off, you moaned at the feeling of your bare pussy against his cock, you bucked your hips at the feeling, your head finding a place on his shoulder.

You heard a dark chuckle before you felt a hand tangling in your hair and pulling you upright, forcing you to stare at Aaron, “If your gonna ride my cock, your gonna fucking look at me while you do it, you can be a good girl and do that right?” You nodded vigorously, whimpering at the feeling of your hair being pulled, you lifted yourself, lining his cock up with your entrance, and dropping yourself down on his cock in one movement, a gasp fought its way out of your throat, you knew Aaron was big, and usually when he’s on top he fucks you so good, but the feeling of being on top and the fullness you felt was something you could have never imagined, you threw your head back, trying to regain your composure, Aaron littered kisses against your neck, “Breathe baby, eyes on me.” He murmured, encircling his arm around your waist, you took a deep breath, and looked at him, the sight of him under you was exactly what you wanted, heavy panting and lidded eyes, you clenched around his cock at just the sight of him looking so fucking sexy. He let out a growl, his thumb digging into your side at the feeling of you clenching around him.

You pressed your forehead to his, staring into his eyes as you lifted yourself up and dropped back down, moans coming from both of you as you began bouncing on his cock, “F-Fuck you look so pretty like this, all ruined over my cock.” He was panting, his hand on the small of your back guiding you to rock your hips back and forth, the action causing friction on your clit, you clenched around him once more, a wanton mewl slipping from you, you placed your hand on his chest, pushing him back til his back was on the bed, you continued rocking your hips against him, “Mmm, Aaron feels s’good, fuck your so big.” You were a mess on top of him, you had spent so much time thinking about how it would feel to be on top, and now that you had it, it was indescribable, you were in your own little world, relishing in the feeling of how deep Aaron was, Aaron planted his feet on the bed, thrusting up into you, a scream tore from your throat, instantly losing your balance and tumbling into his chest as he continued pounding into you from below, moans and cries of ecstasy falling from your lips.

“A-Ah Aaron, gonna cum!” Tears were trickling down from the pleasure he was giving you, you met his thrusts, bouncing up and down, chasing your high, your hand on his abdomen, feeling the coil in your stomach threatening to snap, “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me hm? That’s what you wanted right? To cum while you were riding me? Go ahead baby” He murmured, holding off his release so you could let go first. A choked sob came from you when he brought his hand down to your clit, your orgasm washed over you, waves and waves of pleasure, your thighs trembled and you clenched tightly around him, the feeling of you clenching around him so tightly triggered his own orgasm, hot ropes of white cum staining your insides, you wrapped your arms around his neck as you both came down from your highs, Aaron let out a chuckle, “So this is what you got all pretty for? You wanted to ride me?” You hid your face in his neck, “It’s been on my mind since you left for the case, and it was frustrating me. Had to do something about it.” You mumbled.

He rubbed your back lovingly, “Cmon, let’s go shower and go eat dinner.” You laughed softly, “Oh now you care about dinner?” You smiled up at him, “I cared about dinner from the moment I got home, you just distracted me honey.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, he pulled out of you, you whined at the loss and grimaced at the feeling of his cum leaking out, he stood up, picking you up bridal style and taking you to shower, but to no surprise, he fucked you in the shower, saying something along the lines of ‘having to thank you for riding him’. Lying down in bed, thoroughly satisfied, you looked at him, a smile gracing his features, “I love you.” He whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, before leaning down and kissing you softly, “I love you too.” You said as you snuggled into him, basking in the post sex haze.

When Aaron went into the office the next morning looking well-rested and in a good mood, Morgan patted him on the back, “Had a good night last huh?” Morgan teased, smirk on his face, Aaron smirked back “A very good night indeed.”

#criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader smut

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cherry-cola-on-ice · 1 year ago

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Slashers with a sleepwalking s/o

AN: totally based off my personal experiences sleepwalking lol asked my friends and family what their favorite sleepwalking episode was.

Jason Voorhees 🏕

Jason is already paranoid AF about you unknowingly wandering into a trap during the day.

But the first time he comes across you in the woods at night? When you should be asleep?

He is not a happy man. Many thoughts run through his mind. Are you trying to leave him? Trying to get yourself hurt? Would you rather die then be with him?

It takes him a good while and a lot of explaining for him to understand what's happening. That your not intentionally doing this. Science shit™️

He sets up a system. Maybe a bell or two. Something loud to let him know where you are. Maybe some trip wires.

Strangest thing he's seen you do: He watched you eat a entire sleeve of saltines while standing in the shower.

Michael Myers 🎃

Michael's seen some shit. So this is nothing. All those years in Smiths Grove have prepared him for this. So you sleepwalk? Cool, his neighbor at Smiths Grove used to eat cockroachs.

That being said, the closer you're relationship grows, the more worried he becomes. What if you fall down the stairs? What if you wander into the road? What if, what if, what if??

He doesn't have the foresight to set up traps, like Jason does.

Uses his fucked up sleep schedule to his advantage and often stands over your sleeping body. Jumpscare.

Will definitely tie a bell on you while you sleep. Totally not a collar what are you saying? Don't make it kinky.

The strangest thing he's seen you do: Put all of the remotes in the refrigerator because they needed batteries.

Thomas Hewitt 🥩

Poor sweet man. You're going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

However, he's probably one of the more better prepared of the lot. His house is set up to keep people in and out. So there isn't much danger you can get into.

Unless he forgets to lock up the basement. Which has happened once. And only once. You were fairly unharmed if not a little traumatized.

Has taken to locking your bedroom door. Also installs like 10 latches. AND puts a bell on the doorknob. And maybe sometimes you.

Look, he's already scared of losing you to somebody else, he doesn't want to have to worry him losing you to you.

Strangest thing he's seen you do: Him, Monty and Hoyt sat and watched you stand in front of the sink for a hour and a half. Just standing there. Menacingly

Brahms Heelshire 🐀

Oh, poor baby is confused. Especially at the start of your situation-ship. You don't know he's there, you just think you're babysitting a doll for a sad old couple. Not their grown ass son who lives in the walls.

The first time Brahms finds you sleepwalking, he's pissed. You trying to leave him, he knows you are. But... did you just snore?? Wait, you're asleep. He feels a little better about the situation.

Until you start walking towards the stairs. Boy's never moved so fast in his life. He knows if he wakes you up it's game over. So he gives you a gentle nudge back to your room.

Now after you find about the rat man in the walls, things are different. Brahms, even in the deepest REM cycle, will never let you go. Man is a koala and you are the tree he's clinging to for dear life. It's almost impossible to escape his arms at night.

Almost makes you sleep in the walls instead of the bedroom so you're safer. Like ain't no way you're getting out of those without him waking up.

Strangest thing he's seen you do: Sat up in bed, complaining about the maracas in your mouth??? He cried.

Billy Lenz 🎄

World's worst caretaker 👑

Especially before yall start dating because, at that point in time, he's still trying to decide if he wants to kill you. He won't lie, he very briefly thought about pushing you down the stairs.

But? After you win him over? Yeah still kinda sucks ass at keeping you from hurting yourself. He'll keep you alive, mind you, just a little worse for wear.

He asked you once if he could tie you down in bed. You didn't like the look in his eyes so you declined. Billy pouted for the next three days.

TBH he might do it anyways. Look he's just trying to keep your silly little self safe, S/O. Get your mind out of the gutter. Haha, jk...unless 😏?

The strangest thing he's seen you do is eat a entire bag of gummy bears while standing outside. He joined you.

Vincent Sinclair 🖌

Another prepared king 👑

His workshop is dangerous. Upstairs is dangerous. The whole town is health code violation. And bby cannot stand the idea of you hurting yourself.

But other then the constant anxiety that you'll some how end up falling off the stairs or falling into the wax or the any other number of things his brain comes up with, he's very level-headed.

Child safety locks. He buys that shit in bulk.

But hey, gives him a excuse to hold you at night. (Vincent, they're literally your s/o)

The strangest thing he's seen you do is stand over Bo's bed, chanting tomato. Bo almost cried.

Bo Sinclair 🔧

Definition of "Look at that idiot...oh wait that's my idiot!"

Honestly, probably the worst. Not like 'let's you just walk around' worst, but more like 'Imma gonna chain you to the bed' worst.

Dude's so scared of losing you, pretty much the best thing that ever happened to him, that his willing to go to drastic matters to keep you safe.

Don't try to explain the science behind it, you'll only give him a migraine. Just let him keep you safe. K, bby?

Bo's gonna lose sleep some nights, he's that scared. No doubt you will wake up to the feeling of someone watching you. Just comfort him, ok?

Strangest thing he's seen you do is sit up in bed and start singing 'Livin La Vida Loca'

Asa Emory 🪲

Number one prepared king™️

I'm not saying he may or may not, kinda sorta perhaps placed cameras around your living situation before you two even began dating. But yeah he did.

So he knows all about the crazy shenanigans you are up to at night.

He reads the books, watching online lectures 👏all👏the👏research. You can bet your sweet ass he knows exactly how to wake you up in case of emergency.

In the same breath, despite how much he does love you, science. Prepare to be studied like a bug under a microscope.

Strangest thing he's seen you do is standing with the refrigerator doors open, telling him how much you love this show.

Norman Bates 🚿

My poor sweet innocent murder bby. He doesn't know what to do.

Yeah, keep you safe, he's got that much down. But at what cost?

The hotel looks like a a daycare center now. Baby proofing everywhere (ask him about getting locked out of the bathroom, it's funny)

Suggested a collar once as a joke, wasn't expecting you to agree. Got flustered. Dropped his cup, maybe got a bone.

Another koala sleeper, so good luck escaping his embrace. Will go as far as following you to the bathroom to make sure you're actually awake.

Strangest thing he's seen you do is sit down in a fake potted plant in the living room and talk about dinosaurs.

#Michael Myers x reader #Jason Voorhees x reader #Thomas Hewitt x reader #Brahms Heelshire x reader #Billy Lenz x reader #Vincent Sinclair x reader #Bo Sinclair x reader #Asa Emory x reader #Slasher x reader #norman bates x reader

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chaptersleftunwritten · 8 months ago

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Strawberry Fields Forever

Blurb: You go on a picnic date with some friends, not expecting to rile Eddie up.

Pairing: Perv!Eddie Munson x Friendly!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ This is basically smut with a tiny bit of plot, cursing/swearing, some light mentions of alcohol, corruption kink, praising, exhibitionism, oral (f & m receiving), oral fixation, choking, fingering, teasing.

The sun flushed the earth with an unwavering heatwave and everyone in Hawkins was struggling to keep cool during this scorcher of a summer. There was no hiding from it. The humidity even penetrated the shade- no where was safe.

Naturally you seek out the forest, travelling along a trail with Steve, Nancy, Robin, Eddie and some of the younger bunch who had begged to come alone. They wanted to go swimming in Lover’s Lake and you wanted to have a picnic next to the water.

“Fuck me,” Eddie groans, dragging his feet behind you, “Can’t we just stay in here? It must be hotter than Hell out there.” In a huff, Eddie shrugs off his denim jacket, exposing his tatted arms as he slings the coat over his shoulder. He wore a black t-shirt, of all colours he chose black, no wonder he was melting into a puddle.

Steve wipes at his sweaty forehead with his forearm, his long mousy brown hair sticking to his sun kissed skin, “Eddie has a point, I’m sweating my balls off here.” Nancy snorts a laugh, her fingers interlocked around Steve’s bicep.

Robin marches in front of you, on a mission to try and keep up with the others children whom had snuck off into the distance, squealing and revelling in the great outdoors. Robin evidently being fearful that they were going to run off or worse- disappear.

“C’mon guys, it’s not so bad! Maybe you should have worn more appropriate clothes,” Your dig is aimed at Eddie and he rolls his eyes, panting in response. He is clearly hating how his hair seems to be gluing itself to his neck.

“I’ll take my shirt off if you pay me,” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, his lips baring a wolfish grin, “This ain’t a free show, sweetheart.” He fans at his face, his flirtatious attempt quickly evaporating with his rising body temperature.

You take a hair tie from your wrist, handing it to Eddie, “You’ll be a lot cooler if you tie up that nest of yours.”

He gapes at you, offended, “Wow…” he drags out the word, “And here I was thinking that we were finally getting along.” You giggle at him before continuing your pursuit further, trying to catch up with the two love birds who had somehow overtaken you.

“It’s not long now, only a little further.” You call back to Eddie who is slugging behind you. Usually Eddie loved being outdoors, but in this heat? He would rather be dead.

The only thing keeping Eddie alive at the moment was the view he had of you from behind. Your ass is clad in the cutest pair of light denim shorts he had ever seen, hugging your thighs and body perfectly. You wore a red checkered blouse on top that slipped effortlessly from your shoulders, exposing the mounds of your breasts to him every so often. He was already fighting for his life against an erection.

So when the pale yellow and pink picnic blanket was set down onto the unnervingly fried grass and Eddie watched you unload the weaved basket he couldn’t help but notice when your eyes light up at the sight of a massive bowl of strawberries.

“My favourite!” You squeal happily, flashing the bowl to Eddie he chuckles heartily, his legs crossing over one another as he lays back, propped up on one elbow.

“Strawbs are good, I guess.” His shoulders shrug.

“You guess? They are the superior fruit, Ed’s!” This was a debate you were willing to fight until your dying breath. You would die on this hill.

Eddie plucks one from the bowl, examining the red fruit before he pushes the whole thing into his mouth, taking a moment to chew before swallowing.

“Y’know, I’ve always thought strawberries were much better with a little bit of cream…” Eddie’s tongue dances out onto his lips, licking them clean of any juices that may have escaped.

He doesn’t mean for it to sound so dirty, but when you don’t register it that way Eddie sees this as an opportunity; to make this into a fun little game where he is a perverted fuck and you are absolutely oblivious to it all.

“Hmm,” you hum in response, not batting an eyelash to Eddie’s cream comment as you push a strawberry between your lips, biting on the pointed end of it softly- savouring the flavour.

Glancing around you see nearby on the blanket Steve has his tongue wedged down Nancy’s throat. She’s nearly choking on it as they sloppily dish out kisses. Talk about no shame..

Robin is on life guard duty- or so she says. In reality, she just wants to do cannonballs into the water with the kids, splashing them and fighting with them. Jokingly pushing Dustin’s head beneath the water whilst Mike tries to do the same to Will.

Dustin emerges, crying attempted murder and you laugh hysterically, shaking your head proudly at their free spirits.

“Are you thinking of going in the water?” You flick your attention back to Eddie and he can’t help himself from staring as you wrap your lips coyly around a massive strawberry. Your eyes peeking innocently up at him has his cock threatening to burst in his jeans and the thought of the strawberry being replaced by his thick manhood leaves him feeling dizzy.

“Possibly,” he gulps, his crossed legs becoming more tightly acquainted, “You?” He cracks open a can of beer, taking a light swing to cleanse his drying throat.

You nod, looking between the lake and Eddie, “I might- it looks like they are having so much fun.” You sigh, feeling the most relaxed you have a in a while. It’s not as hot anymore now that you have sat down.

“You should.”

‘Please!’ Eddie thinks to himself. He doesn’t know why, but you have him totally bewitched. His hungry gaze never leaving your mouth as dark pink juice stains your lips. You slurp to try and prevent it from spilling all over you, the pad of your thumb swiping quickly at the leaky corners of your mouth.

Eddie thinks he might combust into flames right there and then, biting his tongue harshly to try and keep a groan lodged in his throat- can he taste blood?

“Do I have something on my face Ed’s?” You ask after feeling his eyes on you for a prolonged period of time, your fingers tips tracing your cheeks gently.

Eddie shakes his head, “No, love. Not a single drop touched your chin.” His voice is low, nearly a growl as it leaves his mouth.

From his side Eddie can sense Steve’s amused smirk on him. You might have been unknowing to Eddie’s game, but Steve knew exactly what the ‘freak’ was up to. It relieved him to see Eddie finally trying to shoot his shot with you- it had only taken him a year and a half.

“You would tell me, right?” You giggle, scooting closer to his lanky frame, “Promise?”

“Promise.” He tucks a rogue strand of your hair behind your ear and heat unrelated to the sun prickles at your cheeks, causing you to advert your gaze.

Eddie almost coos aloud at how adorable you are. He can guess that you’ll taste even more sugary than the fruit you’re sucking on, “Can I…” He picks up another strawberry, bringing it to your mouth. You hold eye contact with him as he swirls the tip of the fruit across the plumpness of your lips, allowing the lowest groan to emit from his throat.

“Open wider,” His demand comes out as a bark and you slacken your jaw, your mouth gaping open wider for him to slot the strawberry inside. Eddie’s own jaw laid slack, his soft eyes on you unabashedly, “Does it taste good, princess?”

You nod, your tongue slick with juice from the strawberry. It wasn’t foreign for Eddie to call you sweet pet names, but something inside of you stirs at his voice. Sure you thought Eddie was attractive, often times you’d fantasies over him… but it hadn’t ever gotten this intense in real life.

You’d take every compliment from him with a grain of salt, but with the way his darkened eyes are staring at you now, it leads you to believe that something may be upon the horizon.

gif by @kwistowee

“What’d you say?” Eddie’s eyebrows knit together, his eyelids narrowing at you distastefully.

“Uhm…” it takes a moment for the gears inside of your head to turn, “Thank you?” It is more of a question rather than a response, luckily Eddie seems satisfied nonetheless.

“Exactly,” He grins at you dirtily, “Don’t go forgetting your manners now, babe. I know you’re a good girl.”

An inaudible sound leaves your windpipe as you try to contain the feverish blush that has claimed your face as its own. Your heart is quick inside of your chest and you can’t ignore the fluttering of your stomach and the pulse between your thighs. No one had ever made you feel like this before. No one was crazy enough to speak this filthy to you in person. So blatant and forward.

Just before Eddie can say anything more, water hits you both. So lost in your own world you had forgotten about your friends who you had came here with.

“Are you guys just going to sit there or what?!” Robin exclaims in a high pitched tone, visibly vexed at your unwillingness to join in.

Steve and Nancy were stripping down to their underwear, something that didn’t phase you in the slightest. You look to Eddie for some sort of guidance and he shrugs his shoulders, leaving the choice to you.

“I’m happy here! Sorry- love you though!” You announce loudly and Robin rolls her eyes, shouting back that she loved you too before she was swimming off. It seemed like the group were venturing further down stream, leaving you and Eddie totally invisible to them.

“Good choice,” He purrs into your ear, making you jump slightly startled at his close proximity.

“I don’t mind spending time alone with you, Eddie.” You reply honestly and Eddie toys with a piece of your hair in his fingers, twirling and twisting it.

He hums, intrigued, “Is that so?” Eddie knew he was pushing you, but fuck, was it fun.

You suck on your bottom lip, teeth nibbling at the skin as you nod your head, “You make me feel.. happy.” The words come out as a low mumble, your finger tips playing with the hem of your shorts as you try to busy your nervous hands.

Eddie rumbles a chuckle, “I know a few other ways to make you feel ‘happy’…” You are desperate to avoid his cocoa coloured orbs, but Eddie isn’t having none of it as he gasps your chin sternly with his fingers, pulling your face to him.

“H..how so?” You wish the ground would swallow you whole as you stumble pathetically over your words. He hadn’t even touched you intimately and yet, you can’t think straight.

From your chin, Eddie’s fingers tickle down the front of your throat, hesitating there he decided to take a leisurely second to curl his strong fingers around your trachea. The momentary loss of oxygen makes your eyelids fall to hood your eyes, “Fuck, I could ruin you.” The whole time Eddie continues to gawk at the partition of your lips, and how relaxed you look beneath his touch.

Releasing you slowly he continues his assault on your hot skin, his feathery touch causing goosebumps to erupt after their wake. He palms your breasts through your blouse, grabbing a fist full of the plush flesh which causes you to cry out quietly, “No bra? Such a little fucking tease.” Eddie clicks his tongue, pinching your coiled nipples and roughly plucking at the stiff peaks with his fingertips.

“Ah...” you mewl and Eddie’s ears perk at the sound, like a puppy being called on for the first time.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” His raspy voice asks as his lips pepper a kiss to your exposed shoulder, his tongue running briefly over the skin just because he wanted to taste you. You shake your head, in total awe of him and everything that he is.

“Poor baby,” He pouts out his bottom lip mockingly before his lips stretch into a lascivious grin, “I can take care of you.” His tongue flicks at the lobe of your ear before he is pulling the flesh in between his teeth, gnawing on it playfully.

“But we’re outside…” you remind him, your eyes focusing on the slow current of the water. The sun beating down onto it, making it glisten and glitter in a heavenly way.

“Mhm, we are,” He sucks at your neck, your body jolting ever so slightly at the electricity that zaps at your cunt from the contact, “She likes that, doesn’t she.” Eddie laughs breathily as he pulls back from your jugular, situating himself between your bare legs.

“I bet your pussy tastes so fucking good.” Eddie nuzzles his nose into the soft skin of your inner thigh, causing you to giggle at the ticklish touch of his hair.

“What if someone sees us?” A look over Eddie’s shoulder confirms that the group are way too occupied with one another to even focus on you two.

“They won’t.” His voice drips with confidence and his fingers move with deliberate precision as he rips your denim shorts from your legs, taking a pause to truly admire your underwear, and the darkened wet spot that had the material slick to your pussy lips, “These are cute, baby. You always wear such pretty panties?” He perks an eyebrow whilst his fingertips dance over the lacey fabric and you look at him with wide doe like eyes, stunned by the question and his touch. You hadn’t really thought about it.

“They are just my regulars…” you admit bashfully in a hushed tone and Eddie’s husky groan declares that he really likes that answer.

“Need you so bad,” His fingers hastily hook around the thin elastic of your waistband, “Can I?” Even when he is too horny to think straight, he remains a gentleman.

Feeling just as needy, you nod, and without a beat Eddie is yanking your panties all the wall down your legs, taking them off and shoving them into his jeans pocket.

His large hands catch behind your knees, hoisting your legs up so they sit comfortably on his shoulders. He wastes no time in bringing his mouth to your mound, his tongue frantic as he laps at your soaked core, “Mmm so fucking sweet.” He mutters, his voice dripping with possessiveness. Each caressing touch of his tongue driving you insane as you wrestle to keep yourself quiet.

Your whimpers send Eddie spiralling, awakening something primal within him. He wanted to watch you whither and crumble beneath his touch- he wanted to make you his.

Eddie moans into your dripping cunt, totally self indulging in the very taste of you. Your scent was now his favourite perfume and he wanted it to be seared into his memory forever.

“Oh god…” you pant, your eyes tearful as you look down at Eddie lapping messily between your thighs. You want nothing more than to scream his name at the top of your lungs, but instead you had to settle for silence.

Just when you thought you had mastered the art of biting your tongue, you feel a prodding at your entrance and then a gaping stretch as Eddie pushes two of his fingers deep inside of you, eliciting a grumbly moan from your throat, “You’re so responsive, such a good girl for me.”

The feeling of his long fingers pumping in and out of your sopping wet pussy leaves your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your mouth hanging open when he curls his digits inside of you, massaging that sweet spongy spot.

Eddie has to pry his own lips away from your core, his addiction to you worsening with each passing second, “You’re gushing baby, think you could handle three?”

The noise of your own arousal hits your ears like a symphony and you swear you have never felt pleasure like this before. Even when masturbating, it didn’t compare, “Ed’s.. please..” your voice is a pathetic whine and Eddie smirks at the way your eyes have blown in total submission to him. You’re just as drunk on him as he is on you.

You’re a babbling mess for him and Eddie is contemplating whether or not this is reality or just a really fucking good dream that he’s having, “That’s it, baby, fuck my fingers.” Your hips buck upward to meet each thrust of Eddie’s fingers and you nearly cry out- seconds away from blowing your little operation but thankfully Eddie manages to clutch his hand harshly over your mouth, “Shhh!” He warns with a smile as your eyes glaze over with pure lust. A tightness brews in your lower stomach, a blissful burn that you chase and chase and the next thing you know you’re a shaking mess, your thighs pressed firmly together entrapping Eddie’s hand inside of you as you cum- hard, screaming into Eddie’s palm.

“Clever girl, taking my fingers so well, darling.” Eddie winks down at you, his lips punctured by his two front teeth as he forces his arousal dripping fingers into your mouth, the pads of his fingers exploring the length of your tongue, “You taste so good, don’t you baby?” You moan around his digits, still fleeting from your release.

“I would love to see those perfect lips of yours wrapped around my cock… you wanna do that, sweet girl?” He palms himself over his jeans, so rock solid that any touch to his cock nearly causes him to burst at the seams, “C’mere.” Eddie is gentle as he takes a hold of your elbows, pulling you in for a quick but heated kiss before he sits you propped up on your knees.

“Lookin’ all pretty, just for me.” You are so gone, your head is in the clouds- mind filled with Eddie, Eddie and more Eddie, “Open up, sweetheart.” Eddie’s fingers glide through your hair, clutching the delicate strands at the root in a domineering grip. You shouldn’t like the pain, but you do.

Obediently you listen to Eddie’s deep voice and you open your mouth nice and wide, sticking out your tongue flatly to allow Eddie’s length to sit comfortably on the muscle, “Shit, princess, have you done this before?” He blurts, the question being rhetorical as a rapacious smile appears on his face as he forces his cock further into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag slightly.

“You can take it, right?” He punctuates his question with a thrust, tears swelling in your eyes as you struggle to breathe. Your nostrils flare, desperate for air as Eddie menacingly fucks your throat, “Just as I imagined.” He beams, balls deep in your mouth as you peer up at him, your nose tickled by his small snail trail leading to his belly button.

“Keep looking at me,” He asserted, his lips parted in astonishment at the image of you in front of him- so picture perfect, he wanted to carry it around in his wallet. You hollow your cheeks, drool pooling from your open mouth and dripping shamelessly down your chin. You can feel the wetness of your own saliva soaking the skin of your thighs, “That’s it, princess, eyes on me.”

“Shhh… I know it’s a lot, don’t cry.” His large thumb wipes your tear streaked cheeks, his eyes swirling with adoration and sin, “I’m so close baby, keep goin’ please.” And you do. Anything to have Eddie be pleased with you. To hear him call you a good girl. His good girl.

Your cheeks ache as your face bobs up and down his length, your chin pressing against his sack every time you meet his base. His hand is tangled messily in your hair now, fucking against your own movements.

A pleasure filled wail leaves Eddie’s mouth, his head thrown back in euphoria as his cum shoots far into your mouth, leaking down your oesophagus.

You both stay that way for a moment afterwards, Eddie’s hips rutting gently against your tongue as he allows his high to subside.

“You okay?” He muses, checking your features for any sort of discomfort or sadness.

“Yeah,” you reply, a happiness apparent in your cheerful voice, “Thank you.”

He starts himself up and pulling his jeans securely back around his waist, however it takes him mere seconds before he turns his attention to you. Dropping to his knees he grabs some napkins from your picnic basket, gliding the soft paper tissue over your swollen mouth, “You look so beautiful right now.” He chirps, landing a kiss to your forehead before continuing to clean you up. His touch is tender as he helps you shimmy your denim shorts back onto your hips, his lips littering kisses up your bare legs as he did which causes you to giggle. The moment feels light and airy and you can tell that this is the beginning of something really special.

Without a second to spare, the group approach shore. You are met with raised eyebrows and confusion at your flushed appearance and messy hair.

“So,” Steve interjects with a catty smirk, “What’d we miss?”

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson smut #smut #perv!eddie x reader #perv!eddie munson #mean!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie the freak munson #fandom #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #strawberry fields forever

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darinawrites · 2 months ago

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๑-Glares that kill-๑

Pair: In ho x gn!reader

Summary: desperate to let the X side win tomorrow, you go up to an old man to convince him. Who knew he could be so snarky? Yet, when his hand lifted, another stopped him (In-ho standing up for you).

A/n: this was written while waiting for a bus that came 2 HOURS late in the freezing cold, so this is probably a bit rushed. I hate this, honestly. But for writing with thumbs that were about to fall off from the cold, I'll take it.

Word count: 1.2k

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You felt sick, utterly sick. Watching the numbers get bigger on the O side, anxiety going up everytime someone strode down to the button. A sigh of either relief or disappointment echoing in your ear once the button was clicked.

You simply didn't understand it. You didn't understand why people thought so lowly of their life to throw it away. You've seen both sides try to talk some sense into each other, but at las it never worked. Simply stabbing their words into each others veins, trying to get it deep enough to convince them. It felt like watching a zoo seeing it happen.

You couldn't even bare to watch the count anymore, everyone's choice to pick O so enigmatic to you. Gaze on the floor each time a new number was called, a number nearing yours. A feeling of betrayal rushing trough you each time a person beside you picked to stay, picking for your death.

You didn't trust your ears once the number sewed into your tracksuit was called, too engrossed with your thoughts. You stood still for a moment before feeling the familiar gaze of everyone set on you. You sighed, walking as everyone watched with meticulous detail on your hand that now loomed over the two buttons presented to you.

Letting your eyes stare at the immense difference of votes displayed above you, eyes glistening as all drops of hope vanished from your body. You felt so hopeless, your opinion so puny. What difference would this one number make?

Regardless, you picked X, all types of reactions ringing in your ear as you left the platform and found a spot on the side you chose. Some people around gave you hopeful smiles, but you couldn't return them. Shoulders slumped, only a few votes left before the decision was made. A very obvious decision.

The rest of the voting time was a blur, not being able to focus on anything. The thought that you'd have to play another childrens game tomorrow made you want to throw up. You didn't want to die, you didn't want blood staining your clothes.

But the others didn't care. Loud cheering mixed in with the groans once the voice on the speaker announced another game tomorrow. There's nothing you could do about it now, the pink guards cleaning everything up as the rest sat down.

Having not aquatinted yourself with anyone, you leaned against a wall by yourself in the corner. Contemplating all the different emotions whirling inside your head.

If you somehow lived tomorrow, there'd still be another vote. You had to make sure there's at least a tie between the two sides. Maybe you could convince some people to vote X, to let yourself not feel so useless.

The problem now lies between the selfishness and persistence of the people. The luminous piggy bank above you controlling these people to act like lunatics.

But, with a mellifluous voice and a logical explanation, you could convince them. Right? They still had to have something beneath the nefarious facade. Even if it didn't, a try is still something.

Stepping off the wall, you tried finding the nearest O's. It seems like your luck ran out though, the person being the the persistent and loud old man, surrounding himself with the little group of minions he made.

It'll definitely be a a hard task, but also something that could benefit the votes a lot. Sighing, you just had to act scrupulous this one time. A tinge of hope coming back as you walked over to the group.

You couldn't deny your nervousness with their creepy stares, but you hid it and started to, respectfully, show them the 'wrong' in voting O. Before you could even finish, you were rudely interrupted by a scoff.

"Oh, please. Just because you're scared doesn't mean my vote is going to change." glaring at the old man, or rather player 100 as he completely ignored all the sensible argument you made with just one sentence.

Furrowing your eyebrows, reminding yourself to stay respectful, you tried to speak up again. "But sir. Have you not lis-""

Just look at yourself. Weak and pathetic, of course you'd pick X. We're not going to fall for it." you were rudely interrupted. A young man beside player 100 loudly calling you weak, now catching the attention of the people surrounding you.

You tried to restrain yourself, lashing out wouldn't help your case. Especially with a newly found crowd now joining in. Yet it felt like talking with a wall. The group not letting you speak properly, dismissing your words and even insulting you. Every loud snarky remark coming out of their mouth made more and more heads turn to your way.

"Fucking bastards.." you muttered under your breath, completely done with them. Their side is simply too coarse and violent to deal with. Foolish to think you could start anything with them.

"You want to repeat that?" one of the men spoke up, now standing in front of you to emphasize his threat. Must've said your thoughts too loudly, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

The scoff that you let out in response ticked him off, apparently. Twitching his eye as he raised his hand. You closed your eyes as your arms flinched to your face, fear now rushing in at the sudden aggression.

Gasps filled your ear, but no pain rang out. Slowly opening your eyes, you could see a tight grip on the man who wanted to hit you. Glancing at your savior, you could see the number '001' on the tracksuit.

"That's enough." the words coldly lingered, his stare sharp. The silent that followed after was eery, everyone baffled at the actions.

The men seemed to get the memo. Intimidated, they slowly walked away with fire in their eyes. A sigh was let out in relief, you were sure to get bruises if they stayed even a second longer.

"Hey, miss. Are you alright?" the same voice that stood up for you called out.

You've seen the guy before, being the reason you've had to endure another game today. It made you resent him, truthfully. But you must've judged wrong with the way he saved you today. Especially since a red patch was given to him while voting.

"I'm fine. Thank you for helping me out there." smiling softly as you bowed your head a bit out of gratitude, causing him to have an enchanting smile plastered on his face.

"No one in here knows how to respect anyone. You should stay away from that side, unnecessary arguments will only worsen things."

The chattering of the players shooed the tension from before, continuing like normal as you spoke with the stranger that helped you more. His eyes lingering on yours far too much everytime you spoke, but you didn't mind. It felt nice to have a sincere conversation with someone here, his jokes even letting you giggle, a feeling you've missed since stepping into this place.

It was only once the guards came back did your enjoyable conversation end. The announcement of food suddenly reminding you of your empty stomach, rumbling for anything to satiate it.

"Ah, seems like they finally decided to give us something. Let's see what they have." he grabbed your hand, a small blush creeping on your cheek once you feel his strong grip on you, quickly pulling you to the line.

Must his hand feel so warm? It was basically engulfing you, heat seeping into your freezing fingers. It felt so oddly intimate, the act making your stomach churn, but not in hunger. Looking up to see him, you realized he was staring at you, giving a small smile before adverting his gaze.

You slightly squeezed his hand, the hand that helped you from those lunatics. The hand that made you forget the horrors of this place, just for a moment.

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luvyeni · 9 months ago

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YOU TRY TO ESCAPE 𖹭 엔하이픈 ( reaction ) !

genre yandere 𖹭 warning mentions of murder and tying up , jake is crazy , sunghoon needs help and heeseung and jay are maniacs — parings enhypen hyungline x fem reader | back to library .

request. hii girlie could you do yandere enhypen when you try to escape it can be hyung line or ot7!

— enhypens reaction when you try and escape.

「 authors note 𖹭 」 i hope you like it.

﹙ 𐙚 : heeseung﹚ .ᐟ

normally heeseung ties you up before he goes to bed , but this night he was too tired and he crashed right on the bed , leaving you both awake and unbound — so you took your chances , slowly moving his hand from your waist , climbing off the bed; tip toeing towards the door. "stupid stupid girl." you heard your boyfriend say. "you think just because i didn't tie you up i didn't set precautions for this?" he slowly climbed out of bed. "open the door , try it." he smiled. "fucking open it." you opened the door, only for an alarm to go off. "close it." he said , you tearfully closed it. "now get back into bed." he said and you listened , climbing back into bed. "I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt." he pulled out the handcuffs.

"but you clearly can't be trusted."

﹙ 𐙚 : jay ﹚ .ᐟ

jay would let you leave , it's not like you can get far with the tracker he put those pretty little earrings you were to stupid and high on adrenaline to take off , he knows where you are— so when you come to a sudden stop at a bus station , he smirks before telling his guys to get the car ready. you sat waiting for the next bus out of town and away from jay , you were finally free. "oh princess." you felt someone sitting next to you , your body freezing in fear as you felt his hand on your knee. "h-how did you find me?" he smiled , but you could see the anger in his eyes. "those really expensive earrings that you're wearing, pretty baby those are trackers." you tried to get up , but squeezed your thighs. "i have two men at the ready in case you run , so you don't have a choice." he said as a car pulled up.

"you really don't have a choice , get in the fucking car."

﹙ 𐙚 : jake﹚ .ᐟ

the thing with jake is , he's crazy in love with a big emphasis on crazy; once he met you , his life had no meaning, he didn't live for himself , he lived for you — but jake also wasn't willing to let you leave , no he loved you too much , he'd kill you before he'd ever let you walk away from him , and if you weren't there then he'd had nothing to live for. "where are you going?" your heart dropped hearing your boyfriends voice , you turned around to where he stood , teary eyed , holding a knife in his hand. "you're leaving me aren't , you were gonna leave me." he was sobbing now. "jaeyun— no!" he shouted. "i won't let you go." he walked closer with the knife. "jake calm down." you said. "i can't let you go , but i can't live without you." he said. "let's calm down jake."

"i'll kill us both , let's die together huh? i can't let you go."

﹙ 𐙚 : sunghoon ﹚ .ᐟ

he knew you were bluffing; he knows you'll be right back where you started , you have no money , no friends , no family; he's all you have and you know it. "you want to leave?" he smiled , but it wasn't a humorous laugh. "go." he said pointing to the door. "the doors right there." he shrugged. "answer me this one question , where are you going?" he asked. "how are you gonna get there?" you stammered over your words. "that's right , you have no one , you cut them off because of me." he said. "dumb move." he said. "so walk out that door , do it." he said.

"and see who really loves you."

©️LUVYENI

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more-lavender-syrup · 9 months ago

Text

The Prince's Heir

Description: Daemon returned home from battle with one very specific thing in mind. Despite your sleeping state, you're more than willing to give it to him. Word Count: 1,882 Warnings/Notes: PIV, breeding kink, reader is asleep in the beginning, Daemon is manipulative (isn't be always?), Daemon wants an heir Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!WifeReader

A set of black boots, bloodied from battle, thudded against the floor beside the bed. A man pulled his shirt over his head before discarding it onto the floor below. The bed dipped inward and the blankets lifted off of the mattress as the familiar shape climbed inside. Slowly, the man began to inch closer to your sleeping form, careful not to wake you.

You flinched, feeling yourself awaken as the man pressed his chest to your back.

“Daemon?” You asked through the darkness. Your mind was still asleep and it was far too dark to see anything in the room.

You got your answer when a familiar set of lips pressed against your cheek.

He smelled of ash and sweat; like battle and victory. You were sure in the morning you would see all of the new bruises that painted his pale skin.

But for now, all you could feel was gratefulness that he was safe.

You were sure that you had seen the battle in a dream; images of Daemon riding Caraxes and ordering the beast to burn everything to ash flashed through your mind, painting the pale prince in a crueler light. But, as you lay there, the dream became foggier.

His hands slid across your back, searching for the quickest access to your body.

“The tie is behind my neck.” You said. You were still half asleep as his hand drifted upward and began tugging at the thin pieces of ribbon.

“You can go back to sleep.” He whispered. Once the knot was undone, he wasted no time. He pushed a dirty hand under the white linen of your nightgown, caressing the soft skin of your back. His other hand carefully pulled the material off of your shoulders and began to usher it downward. The material drifted over your knees before he pulled it completely free of your form and discarded it onto the cold floor below. You were left completely bare, with only your husband to keep you warm.

He wanted to relish this moment; savor the fact that his bride had been waiting, warm and soft for him. He had fought valiantly, after all. He had defended the realm and fulfilled his princely duty.

You spread your naked thighs for him, your chest still pressed against your pillows. This wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence for the two of you. In fact, it had become something of a tradition.

His hands moved across the small of your back before he groped your ass.

“You’ll be so beautiful, darling.”

“Hmm?” You asked.

With each movement, he peppered more kisses across your face. It was his way of showering you in perverted adoration. You were the goddess that he would die to defend; a little piece of heaven that was his to love, touch, and fuck. He didn’t need the Faith of the Seven, so long as he had you to bury himself in every single night.

“I missed you.” You whispered.

“I missed you, too. I missed you every hour that I was gone.”

The bed trembled as Daemon carefully undid his pants and then pulled them over his pale thighs.

His lips grazed the shell of your ear. Somewhere down the hall, you heard a cask of wine collide with a wall. Several men cheered in response.

“They’re celebrating.” Daemon offered. “You can go back to sleep. I’ll be gentle.”

“Do you wish to join them?” You mumbled. Your voice was muffled by the ocean of blankets that surrounded you.

“No.” He had come home with a mission.

Daemon worked quickly, pushing a hand underneath your body so that it was between your warm form and the mattress. He gently reached his hand under your hips. His fingers ghosted through your folds, carefully finding your clit in the darkness. The pads of his finger swirled small circles over the bud. Jolts of pleasure shot through you, making you gasp and grab at the sheet that surrounded you.

After a moment, he pulled his hand away. You whined at the loss of contact. But, getting you to finish wasn’t the point; at least, not right now.

“It’s alright, darling. I’ll take care of you.” You knew he would. He leaned downward and pressed a quick kiss against your naked shoulder before he glanced downward to see a growing slickness between your legs. With that, he pulled his hand from under your hips. He folded his fingers into a fist, leaving only his index finger free.

Carefully, he slid one finger between your folds. He poked at your entrance, making sure not to move too fast. You sighed, feeling his finger slide inside of you.

“Daemon.” You gasped, overwhelmed by the feel of stretching around him. A free hand drifted upward, moving so that his large palm covered the back of your hand.

“What would you do to please me?” He whispered, his eyes still fixed on where your body was swallowing him.

“Anything. Anything in the world.” He grinned at your words; he knew you would do whatever he wished.

“Give me an heir.” He whispered. The request caught you off guard. You didn’t know why; it made perfect sense for a prince to want a child. However, it had never been something that he had directly asked you for.

“What?”

He pulled his finger free, watching as it glistened in the dim light.

He then leaned down, moving his face so that he was closer to your open thighs. You felt him drop a long line of spit against your core, guaranteeing that you would be able to take him.

The warm drool pooled between your folds.

“Give me an heir.”

“What?” You asked.

You felt his heavy cock against your thigh. He had come home from battle desperate; needy.

“Don’t you want a gaggle of silver haired babes running around?”

“Uh yes, but-”

“Wouldn’t you like to feel a part of me growing inside of you?”

“I- uh” your head was fuzzy from sleep and he was saying so much, so fast. He had clearly practiced the routine on the way home.

“Don’t you want the gift of carrying a prince’s child? A Targaryen child?”

Daemon’s child.

It would be a gift, from him to you.

You nodded against the pillow.

Suddenly, you felt the head of his cock prod at your entrance. Then, in one smooth movement, he pushed inside of you, stretching you so wide that you gasped.

“Daemon!”

You twitched around him, trying to adjust to his size.

“What do you want, darling? Is there something you want to ask me for?” He leaned down and peppered a series of kisses along your bare shoulder. Each motion was gentle; loving. It was a beautiful contradiction to the saccharine manipulation that was going on.

You had finally stretched to accommodate him. Now, all you wanted was for him to move. But, instead, he was staying completely still.

Why isn’t he moving?

You rolled your hips upward, moving until his length almost slipped out of you. Then, you pushed yourself back, fucking yourself with Daemon’s cock.

“I want to give you an heir.”

He lifted his face from your bare skin, only to move his lips to the shell of your ear.

“I don’t believe I heard you, darling.”

“Please let me give you a child.” You begged.

He grinned, pleased with himself. He had gotten his way, as always.

Now, he could give you what you wanted.

He slid his hips backward and then slammed back inside of you, claiming you as his own.

Daemon had the special ability to turn any idea of his around; now, it seemed like it was your idea, more than anything else. And he was merely the dutiful prince, always willing to please his ladylove.

You didn’t understand why he had never been selected to be the Hand of the King; he could convince you to do anything in the world. Then again you had always felt that the Daemon you saw, the man who would call you pet names and coo to you on nights when you couldn’t sleep, was not the same man who could beat rival soldiers to death with helmets. The man you got was a harmless, silver-haired angel.

You bounced your hips backward, taking him inside of you over and over.

Daemon pressed his forehead against yours; you could hear the hitches in his breathing with every thrust.

Daemon groaned; he was close.

His rough hands traced your naked form, taking in every dip and curve as you grinded against him. He wanted to feel you; all of you. Despite the fact that he was buried inside of you, with the weight of his body pressing against yours, you both still wanted to be closer.

“Harder.” You begged. Your husband happily obliged, hitting so deep inside of you that you saw stars.

It took only a minute of the breakneck pace for your head to fall against the pillow as a wave of heat shot through you. You gasped, feeling pleasure begin to shoot through you as your body clenched and spasmed around him.

He groaned, feeling himself fall over the edge after you. You felt a sudden flood of warm wetness fill you as he fucked himself as deep into your core as possible.

All you could do was writhe between the bed and his warm body.

The pleasure slowly died down, leaving your bodies tangled in a sweaty mess.

He held your hips against his, making sure that every drop had been drained into you. He didn’t want to risk any part going to waste.

Daemon whispered something against your skin, but you didn’t hear what it was. You were also too tired to ask.

You inched your thighs open, expecting him to slide out. However, he remained firmly in place, his lips still dancing over your exposed skin.

“I’m going to give it a little while. Just to make sure it takes.”

The exhaustion that you had felt earlier was eating away at your thoughts. You wanted to say something to him, but anytime you tried to open your mouth, whatever you were about to say slipped away before it could come out.

Daemon leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips.

“You can go back to sleep, darling. I’ll be here to take care of you.” He cooed.

Strong hands reached out and grasped the edge of the blanket. Daemon carefully pulled the blanket around you, tucking you in so that you could be warm.

“I love you.” He whispered. It was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep.

He remained inside of you, thrusting every so often when he would begin to go soft.

You had many dreams that night. Each one was filled with Daemon’s adoring voice. There was no battle; no bloodshed.

At the end of one of the dreams, you could not find Daemon. You had found him in your bedroom. He was speaking softly to himself as he bounced on the balls of his feet. He had been so lost in his own world that he didn’t even notice you come in. After a moment, though, he turned, showing you the silver haired babe that he was holding.

#Daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen headcanon #daemon targaryen fic #house of the dragon smut #daemon smut #prince daemon smut

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devilish-cherry · 1 month ago

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ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 7 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 9 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: hihi!! i would’ve updated sooner, but unfortunately, my body decided to nerf me with a sickness debuff. tragic. 😔 BUT!!! i had so much fun writing this chapter. like, full-on giggling to myself like a mad scientist. i really hope you guys enjoy it!! (or at the very least find it as funny as my fever-ridden brain did)

The day starts like any other. Which is to say, badly.

Greg the Manager, who has been conveniently absent all morning, suddenly materializes with the urgency of a man who just remembered his parole officer exists. He’s slightly out of breath, like he sprinted exactly halfway here and then gave up. His tie is loose, his shirt is untucked, and his eyes have the glazed-over look of someone who is about to make their incompetence your problem.

“Oh, by the way, a news crew is coming in five minutes.”

You pause mid-coffee pour. The statement is so absurd, so wildly out of pocket, that your brain flatlines for a solid three seconds. “A what.”

Greg, already retreating like the rat he is, waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, some feel-good story about supporting small businesses or whatever. They called a few weeks ago? Thought it’d be good PR. Forgot to tell you. Anyway, good luck!”

You stare at him, waiting for some kind of elaboration. An explanation. An apology. A joke. Anything.

“And you’re telling me this now?”

Greg shrugs, the human embodiment of the ‘Not My Problem’ energy. “I forgot.”

“Greg.”

“Gotta go, bro.” And like that, he vanishes, as if he were never there to begin with.

You stand there, emotionally buffering. You stare at the empty space where he once stood, trying to come to terms with the fact that a news crew is about to descend upon your personal hellscape with exactly zero warning. You look down at your apron, which has a very concerning stain on it (origin unknown), and realize your only hope is radical acceptance.

There’s no time to panic. You take a deep breath, straighten your apron, and slap on your best retail smile—the one that says I hate my job but I need to pay rent!

The café door swings open, and in comes the news crew with the confidence of people who have never suffered a single day in food service. The camera crew bustles in, setting up tripods, adjusting microphones, and looking around like they’re trying to absorb the rich ambiance of your workplace. Which, to be clear, smells like burnt espresso and quiet desperation.

The reporter, a professionally dressed woman with overly bright eyes and the enthusiasm of someone who has never once been berated by a middle-aged woman demanding to know why oat milk costs extra, beams at you. "We’re so excited to feature your charming little café!"

The words I would rather die are on the tip of your tongue, but you figure that’s not what she wants to hear. Instead, you nod politely. “We are also excited.”

She turns toward a customer near the window—Muffin Guy, your most mysterious regular. He sits in his usual spot, staring unblinkingly at the muffin before him, as if waiting for it to reveal a prophecy.

The reporter, undeterred by the strange aura surrounding him, approaches. “We love to highlight loyal customers!” she chirps. “Sir, could you tell us what you love most about this café?”

Silence.

The camera zooms in.

Muffin Guy does not blink.

He does not move.

He does not acknowledge the camera, the reporter, or the fundamental concept of human interaction.

The silence stretches.

The tension is suffocating. The reporter’s smile wavers. A single bead of sweat rolls down the intern’s forehead. Someone in the back coughs.

The reporter, clearly regretting all of her life choices, tries again. “Sir?”

Still nothing.

The camera stays on him for a full twenty seconds.

It is unbearable.

You mentally check out just as the reporter shifts focus to you, her expression slightly cracked but still hopeful. “So, tell us about this lovely café.”

You recite your dead-inside script: “We serve coffee. Sometimes people drink it.”

There is a beat of silence.

The reporter’s enthusiasm dims like a cheap LED bulb. “Wonderful.”

The reporter, visibly eager to move on from whatever existential nightmare Muffin Guy just put her through, scans the café for her next victim. You can see the calculations happening in real time behind her eyes: Okay, that guy and the barista were a bust, but surely the next person will be normal.

Unfortunately, she picks Choso.

Choso, who has been standing near the counter watching you with his usual unblinking intensity, straightens up as she approaches. You can tell he's eager to be of assistance, but his posture is too stiff, his expression too serious, and he moves with the slow, deliberate energy of a cryptid trying to blend into human society.

“How about you?” The reporter smiles, extending the mic. “What’s your name?”

Choso stares at her for a beat too long, like he’s mentally reviewing whether or not he should tell her. Finally, he leans toward the microphone. “Hello,” he says in his usual dead-serious monotone. “I am Choso."

The way he delivers it makes it sound like a warning. Like he's introducing himself as an omen of death.

The reporter, momentarily thrown off by his delivery, laughs nervously. “Oh! And what do you like about this café?”

Choso considers this. Too long.

Like, way too long.

The camera guy shifts. The boom mic sags. The intern wipes a bead of sweat from his brow.

Finally, Choso nods to himself, having seemingly reached a conclusion of great personal significance. A normal person would say something safe like the coffee or the atmosphere or that it’s not a Denny’s. But Choso is not normal. “The barista.”

The camera zooms in on your horrified expression.

The world stops. The temperature drops. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks.

The reporter blinks. Once. Twice. Three times, like she’s trying to reboot her system. Her professional instincts desperately try to steer this awkward trainwreck back onto the tracks. “And what about the drinks?”

Choso nods, like this is an acceptable question. “The lattes bring me peace.”

The reporter hesitates. “They… bring you peace?”

“Yes.” Choso stares directly into the camera, like he’s about to issue a public service announcement. His expression is completely unreadable. “I have known suffering. But the lattes are satisfactory.”

There is an audible silence. The kind that only happens when everyone in the room is simultaneously thinking Oh, this man has killed someone before. It’s like everyone suddenly realizes they are part of something far bigger than themselves. Something unknowable. Something profoundly unsettling. Somewhere in the background, Yuji is shaking his head like a man watching a car crash in slow motion.

There is no appropriate response to this, and yet the reporter is contractually obligated to continue this interview. “...Right. And, uh, what do you do?”

Choso doesn't hesitate. “I protect my brother.” he answers with a hint of pride.

“Oh!” The reporter latches onto this like a drowning woman grasping for a life preserver. “That’s… nice?”

Choso tilts his head, as if considering the very concept of “nice.” Then, as if suddenly struck by divine realization, he adds, “I would also protect the barista. If required.”

You nearly choke on your own spit.

The reporter, alarmed, shifts slightly away from him. “...Required from what?”

Choso does not blink. “Threats.”

“What… kind of threats?”

Choso narrows his eyes. “Unclear. But I remain vigilant.”

The weight of that statement sinks into the room. The energy shifts. The café suddenly feels smaller.

Then, with no warning, Choso reaches into his coat.

The reporter flinches. The intern drops his clipboard. The cameraman tenses, like he’s about to record a live crime.

Yuji, who knows exactly where this is going, starts waving his arms in the background like a man desperately trying to stop a rogue missile launch.

Choso pulls out… a single hard-boiled egg.

The collective exhale from the crew is audible.

Solemnly, as if this is the most important action he will ever take, Choso extends the egg to you.

“Eat.”

You stare at the egg, then at him, then at the egg again.

You clear your throat. “I, uh... Thanks, Choso.”

Choso nods once, as if you’ve just agreed to some kind of unspoken contract.

The reporter looks at the camera like she is moments from calling the police.

While the reporter is still trying to process the whole mildly threatening egg presentation situation, Gojo—human calamity, agent of chaos, destroyer of peace—has decided that his one and only mission is to singlehandedly ruin every single camera shot.

The moment the cameraman turns around, Gojo materializes behind the reporter, flashing a double peace sign like he’s about to drop the hottest mixtape of the century. His grin is blinding. His sunglasses somehow catch every possible light source.

The cameraman pivots, adjusting the shot.

Somehow, impossibly, Gojo is already there.

This time, he’s leaning against the counter, holding a latte he definitely did not pay for, sipping obnoxiously with exaggerated flair. He winks at the camera like he’s in an over-the-top commercial for overpriced cologne. If he had a fan blowing his hair back in slow motion, it would be perfect.

“Sir, please move,” the cameraman pratically begs.

Gojo, unfazed, turns his full attention to the lens.

“HELLOOOOO~,” Gojo sings, waving both hands like a game show host who has just revealed a brand-new car. “I’M THE FACE OF THIS ESTABLISHMENT!”

This is objectively false.

Before you can attempt damage control, Gojo launches himself next to you like a man with zero impulse control and a PhD in being a public nuisance. He throws an arm around your shoulders, his sunglasses catching the light dramatically, making it impossible to tell if he’s about to endorse your café or announce the second coming of Christ.

“This barista?” he announces dramatically, pointing at you with a flourish like he’s about to knight you on national television. “The best. The backbone of this place.”

Yuji, in the background, is visibly panicking. “Gojo-sensei, please. No.”

Gojo completely ignores him. Instead, he strikes a different pose, basking in the camera’s attention like it physically sustains him.

“I come here every single day,” he declares with the confidence of a man who lies recreationally.

You narrow your eyes. “You show up, like, once a week at best.”

Gojo ignores you, too.

The reporter, attempting to maintain some semblance of control, nods hesitantly. “Oh! So you’re a regular—”

“You know why?” Gojo interrupts and then pauses, letting the tension build as if he’s delivering the monologue of a lifetime. “The experience. The drama. The coffee that, against all odds, continues to exist despite this machine’s cursed energy.”

He gestures vaguely to the espresso machine.

As if in response, the espresso machine lets out a deep, unsettling groan that seems to reverberate through the walls.

The reporter looks horrified. “Cursed—what?”

“Nothing!” Yuji yelps, visibly panicked, as he attempts to grab Gojo. “He’s joking! Joking! Ha ha ha!”

Gojo, still completely ignoring Yuji, gestures dramatically to the café at large.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, effortlessly resisting Yuji’s efforts, “the vibes? Unmatched.” He motions toward Muffin Guy, who is still staring directly into the camera like an urban legend caught on night vision footage. “Where else do you find a guy like that?”

The cameraman—who is either an artist or a man in the process of losing his grip on reality—zooms in on Muffin Guy.

It is haunting.

Yuji tries to grab him once more. Gojo dodges effortlessly, throwing up finger guns at the camera.

“Hashtag Support Local Businesses!”

You consider whether it's legally permissible to quit mid-shift.

The reporter, who looks like she has aged twenty years in the past five minutes and like she's beginning to suspect that this café is actually some kind of underground social experiment, attempts to regain control.

Before she can salvage any part of this nightmare of an interview, the door opens.

The camera instinctively pans toward the entrance. The crew is expecting another customer, maybe, finally, someone normal.

They are wrong.

Toji walks in, moving with the kind of dangerous ease that suggests he’s about five seconds away from committing a felony or taking a nap—whichever comes first.

Toji, who was very much not expecting cameras, tilts his head slightly, his eyes flicking to the reporter, then the crew, then to you.

You lock eyes with him.

You watch, helpless, as he slowly takes in the situation.

Then, with the kind of ease that only comes from years of very questionable decision-making, he smirks.

“Damn. This place got cameras now? What is this, evidence?”

Behind him, Shiu walks in, immediately lights a cigarette inside the café like a man who has never respected a single law in his life, then realizes—far too late—that there are cameras everywhere.

Slowly, with the calculated movement of a man processing a series of very poor life choices, he lowers the cigarette, muttering under his breath, “Oh, shit.”

The reporter goes still.

You can see the realization dawn on her face—the slow, sinking horror that she has just stumbled into something she was never supposed to witness. The reporter looks at you, eyes wide with concern.

You meet her gaze, deadpan.

You just nod.

By the time the segment actually airs, it is nothing like the wholesome, feel-good small-business feature it was supposed to be. Instead of showcasing a “quirky but struggling café,” the final product is an absolute trainwreck.

The official headline?

"Muffin Man, Mystery Egg, and Wanted Criminal? Local Café More Concerning Than Quirky."

It gets worse.

The tone of the segment suggests the café is possibly haunted, a front for illegal activity, and a gathering spot for deeply concerning individuals. It does not encourage people to visit. It warns them. Every shot looks like it was pulled from an unreleased horror documentary about places you should not go. The ominous background music—something that belongs in a Dateline special—only adds to the effect.

The highlights include:

The news crew inexplicably leaving in the full, unbroken 15 seconds of Muffin Guy staring directly into the camera like he’s either a demon or an AI-generated horror experiment. No words. No movement. Just him, staring—waiting—as if challenging the audience to comprehend his existence. The way they edit it makes it look like he’s part of some psychological horror movie, a lost soul trapped between dimensions.

Choso’s interview, which, thanks to the dramatic lighting and his very serious tone, is framed like a true crime documentary. They use dramatic zoom-ins on his expression, emphasizing the fact that he looks way too intense for a man talking about coffee. The way he deadpans “I have known suffering. But the lattes are satisfactory.” is played over eerie background music, making it sound like he's fought in at least three wars, suffered great personal loss, and only finds solace in lattes. The words "Remains Vigilant Against Threats.” slide across the screen in bold letters.

Gojo and Yuji wrestling in the background while Gojo dramatically yells, “They can’t prove I don’t work here!” The footage is grainy, shaky, and the captions just read: [Incoherent yelling] as Yuji desperately tries to prevent Gojo from launching himself directly into the camera.

Toji, smirking at the camera, casually implying he is a wanted fugitive. The producers slow down his words for dramatic effect: “Damn. This place got cameras now? What is this, evidence?” followed by a zoom-in of his grin and the words: "??? Unknown Criminal Activity ???"

The espresso machine, actively rattling and smoking in the background of multiple shots. At one point, the camera catches it letting out a deep, unsettling groan, and they overlay dramatic violin music as the reporter visibly recoils. The segment's b-roll footage of the café includes multiple instances of the espresso machine shaking, glitching out, and occasionally making a noise that sounds vaguely like a demonic whisper. The captions simply read: [UNSETTLING METALLIC GROAN]

Greg the Manager, with the most suspicious phrasing humanly possible, stating, “We’re totallyyy not violating health codes!” The phrasing alone guarantees that everyone now believes the café is absolutely violating health codes. The camera cuts immediately after, giving it the same energy as a villain’s last known sighting before fleeing the country.

There is a random, blurry, and heavily pixelated, freeze-frame of Greg at the end of the segment, edited in black and white, with the words: “DOES THIS MAN KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING?”

The answer is no.

And finally, the closing words from the reporter, who stares deadpan into the camera, fully drained of life and hope, and states with exhausted finality:

“I am never going back there.”

The screen cuts to black.

A single ominous boom sound plays.

Gojo, watching the segment from his phone at full volume in the café, nods to himself, clearly proud of his work. “We did great!”

Yuji is actively attempting to dig a hole and bury himself in it.

Choso, on the other hand, looks genuinely pleased. He gives a slow, approving nod. “I have promoted the barista’s establishment.”

You stare at him. “That was not promotion, that was a federal warning.”

Gojo waves a dismissive hand. “Details, details.”

You don’t have the energy to argue. You’re already preparing for the worst when you walk into work the next morning.

You expect Greg the Manager to be pacing anxiously, waiting for someone from the health department to shut the place down.

You expect fewer customers because, surely, surely, no sane human being would willingly come to a place that was just portrayed as a front for criminal activity, a ghost-infested hellhole, and a potential cult meeting ground all in one.

You do not expect to see a line out the door.

You stop in your tracks, processing the sight of dozens of people wrapped around the block, all eagerly waiting to enter the chaos.

The café is more popular than ever. People aren’t scared. They’re curious.

Inside, Greg—who has learned absolutely nothing—is practically buzzing with excitement.

“Dude, FREE PUBLICITY!” he cheers, spinning in circles like a man who thinks chaos is good for business. "We need to, like, start making merch!"

You stare at him. Then at the never-ending line of morbidly curious customers.

Then at the espresso machine, which lets out a low, menacing growl.

Then at Muffin Guy, who is—as always—unmoving.

Then at Choso, who is standing in his usual spot by the counter, nodding approvingly, like he has manifested this outcome through sheer force of will.

Slowly, you reach into your pocket, pull out your phone, and start updating your resume.

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: fun fact: this chapter is based on my real-life nightmare scenario. i have never been a barista, but i have worked in an animal shelter (as a manager, no less—why did they trust me with that? unclear.), and i still have war flashbacks to the absolute menaces that walked through those doors. (there was a time when a man i instantly recognized from a local true crime documentary tried to adopt a dog from us?? he was found innocent because of very questionable reasons so needless to say i was terrified the whole time lmfao)

one day, the higher-ups told me the news was coming to interview us, and i lived in pure fear from that moment on. i spent days spiraling, imagining the absolute worst possible situations. (what if i tripped over a dog? what if i accidentally said something insane on live tv? what if i just. forgot how to speak?) i had actual nightmares about it. thankfully, they never came while i worked there, but the fear? the dread? permanently ingrained in my soul. so naturally, i had to make the barista suffer through it. :)

also!! just a heads-up—i wrote another side story for a choso x reader request set in the minimum wage, maximum suffering universe! not canon to the main fic, just a fun little “what if” scenario, feel free to check it out! as always, thank you so much for reading and your feedback!! reading your reactions makes my day, and i’m so grateful for everyone enjoying this little unhinged fic. hope you all enjoyed the chaos of this chapter!!

₊⊹. tag list: @alpha-mommy69 @luluminati @amortsukii-writes @inthedarkshadows000 @isomehowexist @not-aya @emochosoluvr @lov3vivian @literallyushiwaka @kodditty @arrozyfrijoles23

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #choso x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #higuruma x reader #naoya x reader #shiu x reader #mahito x reader #shoko x reader #jjk crack #jjk x gender neutral reader #k #jjk x y/n #jjk x you

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fandomnerd9602 · 4 months ago

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Naughty or Nice (🌶️)

Wolf!Natasha x Reader

You couldn’t believe it. Your first Christmas celebration in the sanctuary and your first with your wolf best friend Natasha as your mate.

You were so looking forward to spending this winter time with your girlfriend. And that’s exactly how you spent it.

The day before Christmas has arrived, you and Natasha found yourselves decorating the sanctuary’s cafeteria area. Yelena and Kate had already brought the tree in.

“No it should be in the center!” Kate argued, her own black wolf tail wagging.

“No! It must be in corner, Kate Bishop!” Yelena argued back, “Sestra back me up!”

“I dunno im with Kate on this one,” Natasha admitted.

“I’m with Yelena,” you reasoned, “corner allows for more open space”

“It is a tie!” Yelena bemoaned.

You whisper in Natasha’s red furred wolf ear, “agree with me and you get cuddles”

“I change my mind! I’m with Yelena!” Natasha immediately speaks up.

“Bribery!” Kate calls out.

The set up was a success and that night the entire Sanctuary was in the cafeteria for its first ever Christmas party. Tony Stark, ever the show boat, paid for it himself.

You and Natasha found yourselves having one too many drinks as the rest of the hybrids partied the night away.

Natasha, who you were sure may have been part minx instead of wolf, was wearing a red cocktail dress, her tail swishing playfully every time she walked past you. You could help but admire the beautiful wolf gal before you. She was your mate after all.

Your favorite wolf in question sauntered up to you and kissed you tenderly as your arms instinctively wrapped around her lower back.

“Merry Christmas, malysh,” she purred in your ear.

“Merry Christmas my wolf,” you smiled back at her. “I have a gift for you”

“For little ol’ me?” She giggles.

“It’s back in my office,” you admitted.

She perked up even more, if that were even possible. Natasha gripped your hand tight and pulled you off to your office. Her tail was wagging furiously as she practically dragged you there.

You’re barely five steps into your office when Natasha kissed you feverishly. Her tail was wagging back and forth happily.

“Muya luybov” she whispers against your lips, pushing you onto your desk. Your hands reach under your desk as she tries kissing you hungrily and repeatedly.

You bring up a small little gift box to Natasha’s eye line. She gasps.

“You were serious?” She smirks.

“I was.” You try to say, trying to catch your breath. Natasha’s kisses always left you breathless; if you were to die from them, it would be a happy way to go.

Natasha takes the gift box and gingerly unwraps it, as if the wrapping paper itself was paper gold.

As soon as the wrapping paper was gone, Natasha let out a little gasp. Her gift was a small simple music box, made from mahogany wood, painted a brownish red color.

Her hands tenderly opened its lid to find a little crystal ballerina figurine that twirled to the music of Swan Lake.

Natasha began to tear up a little. It was perfect.

“Malysh” she whispered, her wolf ears fold a little as she cries. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect!”

“Merry Christmas my honey wolf” you kiss her forehead and pull her into a hug. “Do you like your gift?”

“Mmm hmm,” she giggles, her tail swishing seductively at you, “and I hope you’re gonna love yours”

“Oh? So the dress you’re wearing isn’t my gift? It is quite a sight”

Natasha giggles, gently pushing you away from the desk. “Nope. This is just the wrapping”

She pulls at her dress’ straps, letting the red cocktail dress fall away from her body exposing some red lingerie. “Merry Christmas my hunter”

“We’re not going back to the party. Are we?” You ask rhetorically with a smirk as you walk up to your wolf girl mate.

Somewhere among the guests, Yelena faintly heard the howls of a very satisfied red haired wolf. Yelena could only smirk and roll her eyes as she joined Kate Bishop on the dance floor.

A Merry Christmas indeed.

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @redhoodte @ma1egamer @multi-fandom-enjoyer @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @iiconicsfan25 @texaswolf23

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aliceinborderlandsquidgame · 3 months ago

Text

Friendly Competition | Triangle!Guard x GN!Reader |

Gif by @delirivmtr3mens

Summary: You two seem to hold a competition when it comes on who takes more players down.

Warnings: Canon violence - Guns - Flirting - Organ Traffic - Reader gets called Sweetheart - MDNI -

Notes: Yes he is a bastard but I like him so if you dont then dont read. And I dont remember his number.

Player 104 The robotic voice in your left ear said. You checked throw the scope of your riffle and took the shot on his knee so he would not die fast.

Player 206 The voice said once more, this time you went to aim for her side when another shoot won yours and passed throw her liver.

"Really 033" You asked pulling your shirt to talk throw the small speaker. A male laught was your response, this was the only chance you got to know his real voice and not the robotic one the masks gave all of you.

"You need to be faster 013" He responded and you could hear the smile on his face as you repositioned yourself waiting for the next order.

Player 055 You took the shot it pierced the guy's heart. You cursed yourself mentally since it would mean less organs.

Player 405 You saw the male go down with a clean shot to the head

"You are welcome Sweetheart" His voice came once again and you had to bite down your lip to prevent the smile

"About what? You just disposed a good body" You responded looking once again as the doll sang

"And you shot one down throw the heart. Its that an indirect for me?" He joked to you as he positioned himself once more

"Im counting 14 on my side. Whats yours?" You asked to stop him from going further not that you were not liking it

A whistle rang throw your ear pircing it. "I believe we are on a tie Sweetheart. Maybe we should look for a new way on breaking this"

You could hear a small "why dont they fuck and be done" by other Guard. You felt pity for the rest. This has been going since you joined the games as a Guard.

Player 127 You were already on him shooting down at his feet then at his knee. You saw another one fall not to far away.

"15 and 15 Sweetheart, I know you can do better" His taunting yet alluring voice said

"Are going to let me win this round?" You asked back checking one again and shooting off when the voice ordered

"Temping. But I believe we should set a reward for the one who wins" Another one down "What are you doing after this" He taunted knowing fully well you two needed to follow protocol.

"Oh, I will be going out to dance tonight" You followed his joke hitting another player "Do you think you could follow my moves?"

"Sweetheart for you? I would follow anything" He flirted "I should be telling you that I dance hard, and I get that a lot"

Player 400 He was double shot by you and him and you had to bite down a laught from the side comments of the others.

The next song would be the last one and the reminded players behind the lines would be shot down. This was the last chance to break the tie. And you knew most Guards would let you and him have your own fun. You two were the best snipers of the Guards after all, all of them did bet on who would take down the most players. Even if they had to tolerate the flirting.

The Doll stopped and you wasted no time in taking down the rest of the players. You die not see their numbers or faces. For a lont time now you had detached yourself from it.

"Guards, collect your weapons and retire to your rooms. This time Guard 013 its the Guard with more kills followed by 033"

"Better luck next time 033" You called as you tucked down your gun and prepared to leave.

"Such a cold heart. Does this mean I dont get to dance with you tonight?" He asked, him pulling away his own weapon. His mind imagining yourself under the uniform and under him.

"You can knock yourself and figure it out" You responded "A warning, im a difficult dancer" You finally said pulling your mask back on.

"Oh, I would not have you any other way Sweetheart. Cant wait"

The doors opened and all of you stepped out. You could see his figure a few guards in front of you. He was all rigid and ready to follow the Square Guard orders.

It was small, very subtle but when you passed by him as he left his riffle you felt his gloved hand on you. A shiver down your spine by the idea of him coming to your room tonight.

It was luck the Front Man or other Guards seemed not to care at all. Hell maybe you two would be recorder and then the recording would be sold on the dark web.

Just as the door was closing behind you it was pushed open, guard 033 was there uniform still on. The door was pushed closed as he removed his mask and black cloth, his eyes full with desire were the first thing you saw and the messy hair.

He was on you in an instant pulling your own mask off and the cloth kissing your lips like he was starved from them. He caressed your sides urging you to get out from the uniform as he bite down on your lower lip. A suprised gasp left your mouth and he wasted no time in pushing his tongue inside. It explored yours, you got a small groan from him as you pulled his hair.

Still kissing he pushed you onto the bed, getting between your legs to let you feel just how much he wanted you. He licked your cheeck and bite down on the little flesh the uniform let see.

Moaning you removed your gloves to feel his hair now on your skin taking a mental note on how soft it was. When you feel his teeth on you, you pulled at his hair again harder getting now a full moan out of him.

"No marks" You warned, as you started to get out from the uniform.

"Sweetheart just time...I will let you call the shoots" His voice was raw with need as he kissed right where your pulse was. "Next time, and trust me there will be a next one. I will be the one who decides"

#squid game imagines #squid game x y/n #suicide squad imagine #squid game x reader #triangle guard x reader #guard x reader

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facefullofsadness · 3 months ago

Note

now i need yandere!yunjin😞

OMLLLL 🫠 idk if u wanted me to write to this but I'm gonna! bayonetta yunjin as pics bc same-ish vibes!

also cw for non-con

AHAKDHKDJFKG YESSSSS!!! dyk how much I love a yandere concept... it's actually a little concerning but I digress! yandere!jen who's been your bestie for a while. she became friends with you solely to get closer to you, learn every little thing there is to know about you, know your exact routine, understand the relationship dynamics you have, and eliminate possible threats. simply put, she needs to know what to do to make sure you are hers.

you run into her room absolutely sobbing, collapsing into her arms as she asks what's wrong even though she already knew. your best friend had been brutally murdered last night and you were in total shock. she held you in her arms and comforted you as she felt you melt into the hug, seeking solace and warmth in her embrace. she comforts you with a sinister smile uncontrollably emerging on her lips, holding you tight as your face is buried in her chest, unbeknownst to you her creepy expression. she softly calls out comforting words to make sure you know you're not alone and that she'll always be there for you, that she'll do anything to make you feel better.

explaining that you might need time alone for a few months because of how heartbroken you were and her expression turning bitter, not appreciating or liking the idea of you being anywhere else other than with her. she tries talking you out of it, suggesting you stay with her instead, that there's a killer on the loose and you need protection, but you'd rather die to their hands than live with this pain of your friend dead. that sets her off, she's angry you don't wanna stay with her despite everything she's done for you, how nice of a friend she's being, it's so unfair of you to treat her this way after what she's done! you'd rather die than stay with her? then she'll be the one to do it... not until she's had her fill.

flipping you over and pinning you down, resisting because what the fuck is actually happening right now, panicking and fighting against her, thrashing around to get away from the aggressive yunjin with a fiery look in her eye, screaming horrifyingly as she has you completely overpowered, way stronger and more calculated as she manages to tie your limbs down and all apart from each other. you can't move and you're terrified as her eyes burn through your clothing and tears of sadness and grief turn to ones of fear and confusion, yunjin burning with desire as she watches your pretty face distraught and betrayed, blazing with emotion.

after everything I've done for you, this is how you repay me? if I can't have you, no one can... but this is just the start. her words send chills throughout your entire body as she absolutely ravishes you, a feral animal tearing open your clothes and consuming you whole. her possessive hands dragging all over your body, claiming each and every inch for herself, her mouth littering your frozen-in-place state, heating you up despite your mind screaming for her to stop. her hands are greedy, groping and digging her fingers into your skin, her mouth is desperate as her tongue leaves trails of wet desire across your heaving chest, your body covered in red marks, hickeys, and bites. you moan as her mouth trails lower, her fingers pushing forcefully into your wet virgin hole, screaming as she rips you open while wrapping her lips around your throbbing clit.

the pain and heartbreak makes you continue to sob, but the pleasurable heat emanating from your core is undeniable as your body ignites into seething lust, whole body ruined emotionally and physically as yunjin forces orgasm after orgasm from you, squirt and cum covering the insane maniac in between your legs. after everything she's done for you, the audacity for a stupid little girl like you not to fall in love with her gave her no other choice than to make you hers.

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thatwishfulthinking · 2 months ago

Text

in the name of it

hi so i am posting this and then absconding back to my arsenal of viktor x reader pieces that i can’t seem to stop writing

art: gea-rth on pinterest

wc: 4.0k

summary: viktor tries to play IN YOUR FACE until you set him straight. kind of. literally just smut with the feisty reader trope (sorry), simpy viktor, fluff, and some banter. f!reader

warnings: smut, choking, warfare (?)

^ not sure what else to put but eager to learn so let me know if I should include anything else!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, no, no, no no no..” you plunder frantically, releasing his tie and grabbing his wrists to stop him from unbuttoning his vest. “Not that. Too slow,” you groan.

Your hands fly to his belt in tragic desperation, yanking hard as the buckle doesn’t unclasp. You’ve lost all understanding of the most trivial, age-old technology, unable to get the small metal bar to unhook as you fumble with it hopelessly. Viktor’s hips buck with every pull and he lets out a sharp gasp, staring down at you, you, a neurotic and hysterical mess, you, biting at the inside of your lip and looking like you could almost cry, you, an insect that he had just trapped under a glass, panicked, fluttering wings sending you ricocheting off the rounded edges as you tried to reach the world outside of it; too worked up to recognize your incompetence, that there was a translucent barrier between you and what you wanted. Desperately trying, over and over, to no avail.

Oh this wasn’t you, though you were never all that poised, and often hasty, but this, this, was far beyond what he had ever seen from you. But god, was it nourishing to his ego, and nearly fascinating to observe. He watches you with a sympathetic expression on his face, bringing his hand to your neck and pinning you, harder than he intended, to the mattress under you.

You let your hands fall, the impact surprising you, surrendering to his touch. You lay limp and helpless, staring up at him. His gaze is so intense, so entertained, his eyes sparkling, gold muddled with sick amusement.

“Help” you squeak, writhing out of his touch and rotating your body to the side, pulling yourself into a fetal position and burying your face into the pillow, yelping as your neck strained unexpectedly at the rapid shift in positioning.

“Mmm,” he’s studying you now, all contorted and pitiful like this. “Come back here, my love.”

You try to roll over further, so you could lay face down on the bed and just die, but he grabs your thigh and holds it in place. Once you still, he gingerly rubs your hip, after a moment letting his hand round down and under your ass, toying his finger at your slit, compressed between your legs, through your pants.

“Don’t poke at me, Viktor,” you snap, pulling your face out of the cotton sheets and resting your temple against it, staring, antagonized, at the wall. “I’m a girl, not a sea creature in a touch tank.”

Oh, it’s too easy. “What’s this then? Why are you wet?”

You jerk and strain and turn yourself again under him, letting your arms fall straight out to the sides. A modern case of crucifixion, right here, in Viktor’s bedroom.

“Why are you wet?” He repeats, his accent feigning innocence this time.

“What do you want me to do?” You stare up at the ceiling in defeat, past his unkempt locks, stray hairs shooting off in every direction as electrical currents do. “What do I have to do?”

To no response, you grab the pillow from behind you and push it into your face, protruding feathers poking unpleasantly at your nostrils. “I’m ordering an air strike to this apartment” you mumble into the cushioning.

“Who knew such fervent arousal could turn sadistic so quickly,” his voice mused from the other side.

You pull the pillow away from your face, and in one swift movement, send it swinging right into his. “I don’t know the first thing about sadism. But since you’ve appointed yourself to give me a lesson, I seem to be catching on very quick.”

He chuckles gently, the intensity in his eyes draining. “Okay, love,” he murmurs, taking the pillow and gingerly holding the bottom of your skull, cradling your occipital upwards so that he can place it back under your head.

You give his cheek a patronizing pat, two short motions. You would like to swing your arm back further, and… “Thank you. Now leave.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Out.”

“Of my own residence?”

“I quite like it here, actually,” you hiss. “Just be sure to let me know where you go so I can provide missile coordinates.”

He shakes his head, what the hell, and won’t stop shaking his head, the smile tugging at his lips is enraging, but he looks so sweet, a rouge growing under his cheeks. He finally lowers himself to you, the pressure of his weight on top of you so tantalizingly familiar. Your muscles relinquish any tension, and suddenly the exhaustion of your desires’s antics against your own body are dragging you down so low that you could nearly sleep right there.

“Just, take a second to breathe, please.” He murmurs, nose nuzzling your cheekbone, coaching you through the matter of your torment, that, you’re not sure who, between the two of you, is more responsible for.

You let your eyes dart to the peripheral, watching the mole above his lip move as he speaks. Your wildness, finally tranquilized. You imagine a prehistoric Viktor, ragged facial hair, in an animal pelt getup, chasing you with a spear. You stare at the wall again, glum and dead and unamused in the pupils.

Viktor nearly seems a bit concerned. “Are you alright?” And he’s propping himself up again, his face hovering centimeters over yours, his breath, hot tendrils fresh off of charred coals, undulating up the bridge of your nose. He looks almost guilty. No, Viktor wasn’t one to be this cruel, and maybe he had taken it a bit too far.

“Fine.” You say shortly, still not meeting his eyes.

He plants a firm kiss between your brows. “I— Did I ruin it, love?”

He did not. You wanted him so badly nestled tightly in the ditch right under your jaw, moans and whimpers and grunts and gasps working their way easily up to your ear, positioned perfectly for your listening pleasure. The sounds of sex, specifically, the sounds of sex with Viktor, were just as important to you as the involvement of body parts and sensation. You drank them in and wished you could etch them into your skin, commemorating each place they occurred, here against your temple where he whined, there into your collarbone where he huffed.

You grab him, kissing him softer than you want to. You tell yourself that you’ll keep it that way, refusing to let yourself get back to a place where he can exert this newfound audacity again.

“I’m sorry,” he offers into your mouth, the words slick with syrupy sincerity, wedging between your teeth and forming immediate cavities.

His hands are at your waistband, pulling your pants down gracefully, shuffling his body down as to give you your apology. And, as if no time had passed, no plans of homicide yet uttered, you grab desperately for his shoulders, whining in dismay.

His neck tilts slowly up at you, like an owl. His eyes are so warm and beautiful that you’ve sworn more than once you were able to see them glowing through the night.

But the look on his face is abysmal. You were never one to refuse tastebuds against your clit, which worked out quite nicely, because it was Viktor’s idea of a pleasant afternoon to sample you, particularly needy and devoted, when it came to chasing your orgasm, for however many hours you liked.

“Oh, my girl,” he exhales, his face flickering in shock to your uncharacteristic ambitiousness skip what you enjoyed so much and just get started. To be plainly, brazenly, fucked. He grabs your hand, pinning it into the bed to the right of your head, fixing to murmur sweet nothings into your ears.

“I don’t want romance.” You say seedily, it coming out fast and sharp and dripping with unfortunate distress, still irritated, your other fingers twisting in the sheets.

He pulls away, his eyebrows lowering and tangling together in a calm and intense reverence. “You don’t have a choice. You’re getting romance.”

You don’t protest, rather, just press your lips into a thin line. Shut up. Shut up.

“Let me romance you,” he murmurs, biting at your earlobe softly. “I’ll fuck you right, my love, hard, but not in the absence of romance. In the name of it.”

You respond by dragging nails down the side of his arm, not aggressively, but enough to leave five little red lines, snapping your head and meeting his lips, kissing hard, desperately seeking everything you could possibly get. His moan into your mouth has you absolutely back up to 10, god. You didn’t appreciate the typical conventions, being the only one expected to be vocal. You liked hearing what it all did to him, a detailed song, as making love was, a duet, after all.

This kiss is becoming more frantic, on your end, but he’s breaking now too, serving it right back. You’re pathetically grateful that the frenetic, longing energy has finally became contagious. You whine and groan and try for his belt again, and he grabs your wrists, to your protest, too hasty and caught up in need that you can’t wait a moment to figure out that he’s helping you out, taking it off himself. But when it does click for you, or unclick, you yank his pants down, just below the butt, because you’re feeling lazy. No. Because you’re feeling productive.

He lets out a short, low gasp and the lust gets caught in his throat, you can see it knotted up in the dip of where his neck met his collar, which you slide your tongue along, letting him know that you knew that it was exactly there. His tip brushes between the frame of your folds and you can’t help but yelp and flinch and clench your legs together to prevent an exorbitant amount of lubrication from spilling out. But as he pushes himself inside of you, slow and lingering to start, a gentleman like always, it all comes crashing, causing you both to moan and grasp for each other.

The heartbeat of his dick is quite easily the most tantalizing thing you’ve ever felt. He straightens his face in concentration, starting to buck into you, nails resisting not to puncture the skin on your hips, the flesh of your ass, not forgetting to take a moment to grind against you at the the height of every thrust while buried inside. You take his thumb in your mouth, sucking for good measure, content with the rumbling noise he elicits. It’s not enough, none of it’s enough, the sharp digging feeling of nails in your skin makes you nearly vomit as if it is injecting more unfulfilled hunger into your body.

“I need to ride you,” you pant, pushing him over.

You’re moving, coming down on him as hard as you can, your eyes squeezed shut and making uncontrollable noises, mounted at the altar of your desire. You have to fall forward and stabilize yourself over him, until you realize he’s giving you that intense, slightly amused gaze, and you yelp and push yourself upwards again. Nothing you can do is nearly enough to satisfy yourself.

The look on his face is quite pleasantly dirty, his eyes following you as you bounce up and down, inhaling sharply, mouth ajar. He’s so in awe of you, to the point that one may consider his expression amateur, if there wasn’t the overt presence of the look of a wonderful man deeply in love right along with it.

“Romance,” He says.

He brings himself up into a sitting position, because he loves to hold you and stare up at you while you work, nipples, though clothed this time, to his face. His eyes get all big with wonder as he watches you, switching to grinding now, and yet they’re dark and shadowed. “I love you. I love watching you use me to make yourself feel good. You’re extraordinary. I love you.”

‘Use me’ is the most arousing and filthy thing he could have ever said. No matter how commanding Viktor could hope to make himself seem, he simply saw you as something of another world, ‘divine power,’ if he was being sentimental, and your stimulation would forever be his muse.

You extort his promise from before. “What do you love about me?”

“Your hugs,” he teases, so you fuck him harder, reaching behind and under your ass and gently fondling his balls.

He groans and his thumb burrows into the seal created between your stomachs to rub your clit, causing you to whine happily. “Can’t you say something nice back?” He frowns and chides at the same instant.

“That wasn’t— fine. I love that you’d let me keep this apartment after you bewilderingly get struck by a rogue missile.” But you can’t even keep the act up, laughing softly, pausing and kissing him tenderly, running your fingertips up and down his spine.

“You are so undeniably mine,” he grins, but his eyes are genuine.

“I am so helplessly yours. Poor, unfortunate soul.” You tut, smiling.

“Unfortunate?” He’s teasing you with a suggestive undertone, but kissing you so caringly, slender fingers leaving your core to trace down your jaw. “Need I remind you just how fortunate you are?”

“Hmm?” You push, curious.

It’s almost like he’s pleading retroactively, lamenting the loss of time spent fruitfully, face between your legs. “This is what happens when you don’t let me lick you… You forget. C’mere.” He coaxes you off of him, sliding to the edge of the bed, propping pillows up against the headboard and leaning against them.

You can’t help but glance at the state of his dick, and it’s bashfully adorned with you. It makes you shiver gently. He looks so pretty there, so dashing, his arms stretched out for you, his expression tender. He takes off his shirt, for good measure. “Please?”

You crawl over, and his fingers rotates your hips, turning you around and pulling your back to his chest, in between his bent legs. You instinctively grab a spare pillow and slip it in between the knee-armpit of his bad leg for support.

“Thank you,” he hums warmly, meltingly appreciative of your attention to make sure he’s comfortable amidst such… demanding activities. He lifts your hips on top of him, sliding down against the headboard ever so slightly more, adjusting himself.

He wraps his arms around your waist, fingers splaying flat on your stomach, prepared, like a small militia standing at the head of a clearing, ready to thunder towards opposing forces. He nuzzles behind your ear, humming and moaning softly as he kisses down the tendon in your neck. “I adore you, you know. Help me out and put it in for me, love?”

You inhale sharply at the words, the simultaneous honeyed and dirtiness of the request, shaken out of basking in his affection. So you do, and it pops in, and you both sigh and settle against one another. He rocks his hips upwards slowly, and you reach over your shoulder and caress his cheek, hearing little flighty breaths of concentration, as you watch him sliding in and out, transfixed. You turn his chin towards you, leaning back, kissing and moaning in rhythm with his thrusts, growing increasingly aware of his fingers moving, beginning their pursuit of victory down your skin, and it’s nearly monumentous. He runs a fingertip over your clit in little circles, the other hand moving to caress one of your breasts under your shirt.

You whine, and he shoots you a knowing smile. You stare at him, letting him see you, see all of you, eyes locked on his as he looks down your body and then back at you. He gives your lips little kisses, ever the caretaker, ever the reassurer when you needed it, when you weren’t foraging for war.

“I’m very lucky,” and you don’t say it like you’re conceding or letting him win, you’re unabashedly surrendering. “I love you more than anything.” You’re cut off by your own sharp gasp and moan as his fingers find the perfect pace between your legs. “And I think I’m going to finish soon,” you add.

His hand leaves your breast, pinching the hem of your shirt folding it upon itself, back towards your face. You bite onto it, holding it in your mouth, exposing your breasts and abdomen, groaning through fabric and gritted teeth.

“How are you real,” he deliberates earnestly, breathlessly, his hand returning to your breast, unable to stifle his own groans and whimpers as he begins to fuck you with more rigor.

You protestingly move his hand from your nipple to your trachea, giving him something else to squeeze. You feel him staring down at what the two of your bodies are doing together, and you follow suit, moans and the smell of sex filling the air. The heat is rushing to your face, and now you’re completely held in place, as if natural disaster was on the horizon and you were rendered completely motionless to watch it all.

“Come for me, my love. Do it, if you’re going to, let me feel it.”

Those words are so atrociously sexy wearing his accent. You knot your eyebrows together, your nose involuntarily wrinkling, as your head falls back, trying to keep your eyes open, figuring he wants to look into them— You like looking into his when he comes for you. And it seems like it’ll be a full sweep of success for the two of you, because his “feel it” came out much more strained than the rest.

It’s too intense: the contact, the position, his hands, the one on your neck which has now returned to your stomach, adding slight pressure there, as his other fingers— and dick, works you feverishly a mere few inches south.

He pressed his forehead to yours, face scrunching, suddenly frantic and needy for your orgasm, as he always becomes. His breathes are hitching and his noises are becoming higher and more erratic as he nears his own edge, and that’s enough to send you tumbling off of your own.

“Viktor,” you despair, your lips inches away from his, to which he responds with a desperate whimper of your name, nodding his head rapidly against yours.

“I know, love. Just.. use me, please,” he repeats, nearly anguished, and you’ve finally broken his proud act for good, regressing back to the devotedly impoverished man that he always becomes when you undress for him.

The moment it happens, your eyes shoot open, drowning in the amber in front of you, you yelp and verbally tremble, your body suddenly straining away, but he holds you in place. The resistance of his dick, blocking the full range of motion of your pulsations, makes you gasp louder, and it takes approximately two pumps of him feeling this to go spiraling as well, gasping and groaning while your bodies exchanging kisses from the inside, so profound that it is devout.

Your fingertips rest against his neck, feeling his slowing pulse as you stare past your stilling thighs to the edge of the bed, completely dumbfounded and strewn out.

After a moment of regaining breaths, he wraps his arms around you with a loving tenderness, nuzzling your cheek. Your hand treks upwards, past the backside of his ear to offer his scalp reassuring scratches while pulling him closer, until you tilt your face and give him a million little pecks where ever you could reach, finally settling against his mouth, salty with sweat. He licks the beads of liquid settling in your cupid’s bow playfully, before leaving a trail of kisses down your nose.

“My world,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek.

“I’m yours, eternally,” you whisper back.

The redness of your little faces is adorable, and you’re just appreciating how it compliments his pale cheekbones as he lets out a wry chuckle.

“‘Natural disaster?’”

“What?” You’re wrenched out of the your flagrant daze of adoration.

“Your words, not mine. A bit of a peculiar selection, but I appreciate the broadcast warning,” he teases, and you grow increasingly aware of two things: Viktor has achieved the ability to fuck the balance of your internal and external dialogue into a permeable mess, and the mattress below the two of you is, well, soaked.

You writhe under his touch and spin around, facing him, as he falls out of you with a little satisfied gasp. He’s all splayed out before you, flushed and worn out and so beautiful that you wonder if he’s merely something your mind had just thought up. You, on the other hand, currently look like a disheveled feline, about to hiss and claw.

“It’s funny,” he coos with distinct entertainment.

You grow sheepish, wrestling with your overt defensiveness. “That was an inside thought. Or— it was supposed to be.”

He shakes his head, blinking slowly, all of the adoration swelling in his eyes. “You’re quite cute. And odd.”

You sigh, giving in, letting him pull you against him once more, kissing his neck loyally. Slender fingers rub your back, a sharp chin resting on the crown of your head, interrupted periodically to leave a kiss in your matted hair, and you feel yourself melt further into his chest, fingertips softly counting the little constellations of moles on his skin.

“We can’t sleep on this,” you say after awhile, referencing the incriminatingly expansive wet spot.

He grumbles in protest. “I’m wrecked, my love. I can’t be bothered to deal with wrestling a fitted sheet right now.”

No, he was absolutely correct, the task of a new fitted sheet was unimaginable in your current state.

You crane your neck up at him. “Couch?” You offer weakly.

“Couch.”

He reaches for his cane and swings himself off the bed, one limb at a time. You grab a lone towel draped over the back of an armchair, happy to be put to use after its abandonment as lovingly wipe down any perspiration off of him, and then yourself. It’s a sad, unbecoming attempt to clean yourselves up, but the exhaustion tugging at your eyelids seems to justify it. You scrub at his hair playfully, until his hands bat yours away with a chuckle, the terry cloth withdrawing and exposing a freshly perplexed mess of chocolate brown chaos.

You hold him close for a second, flush against his skin, staring up at him. He returns your gaze, intoxicatingly enamored with one another. The moment is objective perfection, other than—

“We’re gross right now,” you observe.

He twists his face. “You couldn’t ever dream to be gross.”

As he trudges out of the bedroom, supported by his cane, you stifle a empathetic giggle, swearing that his limp was slightly worse in the aftermath. You, yourself, were definitely walking wonky. You grab some pillows from the bed and find him in front of the green couch, unfolding a blanket for you, his movements drunkenly slow in the moonlight. You lean past him and prop the pillows up for optimal comfort. You stand side by side and admire your makeshift sleeping arrangement.

“Who’s taking the bottom?” He asks, looking enticed by the comfy set up.

“You can,” you smile softly.

So he lays down before you, handing you his cane to place on the coffee table for easy access. He half pretends to pull the blanket over him and seal himself away from you mockingly, greedily settling into the couch for himself, but is too weary to truly commit to the joke, abandoning it quickly, easily defeated by the energy it took to maintain such humor. He reaches out an arm for you, amber eyes entrancingly inviting, fingers wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

“Ridiculous,” you muse, lowering yourself onto his chest again, his arms pulling you tight against his skin once more, legs tangling together and feet caressing one another leisurely.

He ‘hmmphs’ contentedly in response.

“‘Natural disaster’ was precisely correct, you know,” you mumble pointedly through the pull of looming unconsciousness. “And by definition, we’ve been displaced.”

He pulls you closer, caressing careful, tentative fingers around the tangles in your hair. You can hear the surrendering smile in his voice, lilting drowsily through the dark.

“Better a flood than a projectile.”

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