#tppkinktober2022

[twistnet]

do not touch [ stephen strange ]

⋯ KINKTOBER PROMPT ; day 25 [ sex pollen ]

⋯ WARNINGS ; gn!reader, smut [ sex pollen -- from a weird artifact, oral sex -- gn terms used rough sex, multiple orgasms, cum ] + mature language 

⋯ NOTE ; this content is strictly for those 18+ ; any minors // ageless // blank blogs interacting with this post // masterlist will be blocked

there were many things in the sanctum that were simply off-limits. that’s what Stephen had told you when you had first come to live with him. and while you were free to roam around the sanctum and no real room was off-limits, he had told you not to touch anything as he was still learning what everything did.

you had been constantly reminded of this rule during your first month of your living there, but stephen had stepped back after awhile and nothing had been mentioned since.

your regular routine was to make a cup of tea, and walk around the sanctum to enjoy the peace and quiet as stephen worked in the other room. you had made it up to the floor that housed a lot of the older artifacts that had been collected over centuries.

and while you were usually very careful, it seemed that it wasn’t in your favor today. starting with how the pocket of your knit pants had managed to catch the edge of one of the tables, jerking you back and causing the table to shake harshly. in turn, sending a few items to the ground with a loud crash.

you had cursed loudly, dropping your mug to the edge of the time before dropping to the ground in a mad scramble to gather up the broken pieces of the artifacts. there was the vague sound of stephen’s voice trailing up the stairs as he questioned on what had happened. followed seconds later with scrambling feet as he made his way upstairs.

“i thought i told you not to touch.” his voice sounded from the doorway, and you could hear the annoyance lacing his tone, “what broke?”

“firstly, i didn’t touch anything. my pocket caught the edge of the table and sent things flying. and secondly, it just looks like some old vase with some powder in it is the only thing that managed to brake into a million pieces.” you state, glaring up at him as you attempted to scrape the powder back into the broke pieces of vase -- as if somehow it was going to make the situation any better.

stephen sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “just... leave it. i’ll clean it up. why don’t you pick a book and find some other place to occupy yourself? for my sanity, please?” he picks up on the discontented sigh, but shoots you a kind smile as you pass him towards the library. 

you had done as told, finding a slightly interesting book and settling yourself into one of the large armchairs that littered the room. and slowly, you began flipping through the pages. only getting through the first chapter when Stephen entered the library with an almost frightened expression, “did you touch the powder that was in that vase?!”

“uh... yes?!” you exclaim, worried now about why he was worrying so heavy about some artifact and then an odd feeling settled into your stomach as you slowly realized that you probably were playing with some ashes of an old sorcerer, “was it someone’s ashes?”

stephen scoffs, shaking his head, “no! it’s not that! did any of the powder get on your hands? face?” he questions, looking at you with wild eyes as you shrug, “i don’t know! i was just trying to clean it up! what’s the big deal anyway?!”

the only answer you get is a heavy sigh, and with a wave of his hands, books begin flying from their spots and spinning around the sorcerer as he begins to scan different texts, “stephen, you’re scaring me. what’s going on?”

“i believe the artifact you broke was used as an ancient aphrodisiac. the only thing is, i can’t decipher what effects it is going to have on you. have you... experienced anything different?”

“no, i feel fine.” stephen nods, humming to himself as he continues to scan the texts in front of him, “if anything changes, let me know immediately. i could try to compare any symptoms you feel to the ones listed through out this book and see if we can’t fix it from there.”

you nod softly, settling back into the armchair with a heavy sigh. this wasn’t the greatest thing, and now you were stuck in the care of stephen for possibly the rest of the afternoon -- and god, it was starting to get hot in here.

“what’s the temperature outside?” you question, glancing out the wind to see the sun shining brightly, thinking maybe that’s why you feel so hot. stephen glances at you curiously, “uh, the weather stated there was going to be a high of thirty-seven today. why do you ask?”

“cause it’s fucking hot in here. did you turn the heat on full blast or something?” you state, slowly fanning yourself with the book in your hands. “i didn’t turn on the heat...”

that’s when the realization hits the both of you and stephen quickly scrambles through the book he’s reading to compare what you’re experiencing. all the while, the heat has increased to the point it’s hard to think.

blinking and widening your eyes a little, you glance down back at the book in your hands. attempting to read the words on the page, but they just end up being words -- nothing quite making the connection.

with a sigh, you drop the book to your lap, angling your face up closer to the coolness radiating from the large window behind you, letting it cool your face. sagging back into the chair as your hand drops to your lap and -- jesus christ.

your leg jerks a little as you register the sensation of your fingers on your clothed inner thigh. its a nice sensation, one that has you gliding your fingers over your leg again and causes your stomach muscles to tighten. it had felt good.

“stephen...” you choke out, nearly out of breath at your ministrations and the man in question snaps his head to you, “are you alright?”

you shake your head, “no... fuck... i don’t know.” you whimper softly, hand rubbing slowly along your inner thigh, the pressure in your stomach steadily increasing with each pass. 

“tell me what you’re feeling.” stephen almost demands, crossing the room to stand over you -- and finally noticing the beads of sweat collecting on your forehead as you look up at him with hazy eyes, “i feel... good. really good, but not quite good enough...” the words are slightly slurred, and stephen’s head drops as he curses.

he was desperately hoping that the aphrodisiac you had come in contact with wasn’t that one. as the reversal for it wasn’t the best option, and leaving you be was only going to make things worse for you.

stephen catches the movement of your hands attempting to dip below the waistband of your knitted pants, and he quickly snatches up your hands before you can venture any further, “stephen...!”

“you can’t do that, honey. i’m sorry.” he apologizes, heart nearly breaking as your bottom lip quivers and tears gather in your eyes, “but it hurts, stephen...”

“i know... but you’re fingers aren’t going to help you. it will only help for a little bit and then it won’t be enough the next time. you have to trust me on this...” he pleads with you, the words seemingly getting somewhere as you nod, “so, what’s going to happen now?”

stephen sucks in a breath, “i’m going to help you, but please know, this isn’t the way i wanted it to be. but before we... start, i want to know that you’re okay with this.”

it nearly scares him how quickly you agree to what he’s offering, nearly tearing you pants and underwear down to your ankles in anticipation. but stephen can curse at himself about this later, right now, you needed him to help you. and that’s what he was going to do.

your legs are already spread for him, each one hooked over the armrest of the chair, giving him a view of your already soaked and leaking hole as you press yourself back into the cushions, “please stephen...”

he hums, before leaning forward and hooking his arms under each of your thighs. you’re breathing picks and with the blood rushing in your ears, you barely register what stephen is doing until he presses an absolutely filthy kiss to your slick hole.

stephen chases the taste of you, nearly growling as more slick coats his tongue and makes a mess of his face. he withdraws slightly, teases his tongue along to relish the way it makes your keen loudly. and then he gets into a rhythm of circling and probing, to savor the different tune of panting and gasping, listening intently as it gets harder and harder for you to keep still as you chase after your first orgasm.

it gushes over stephan’s tongue, something he happily laps up before pulling back from you entirely to wipe his face with the bak of his sleeve. you’re panting heavily, only slightly worn out from your orgasm and only seconds away from pawing at him again. in need of something more.

stephen is quick to shuck his pants and briefs downward, letting them rest around his thighs as he gathers you up, and pulls you into a more comfortable position with your chest resting against the top of the table nearest to you. your legs spread in the slightest, inviting him in as he steps between you legs and presses his cock into your hole. taking a moment to pause and catch his breath, to get one hand on your shoulder to brace him and the other on your ass, squeezing and spreading in turns to watch your hole twitch around him.

“fuck me, please baby, fuck me.” you nearly sob, as stephen’s head tilts back to sharply breathe in under the onslaught of your pleas, and then he snaps his hips forward, then again, again and again with relentless focus.

you wail loudly, hips immediately rolling back with the rhythmic force of stephen’s thrusts. he’s pistoning right into that spot that makes your eyes roll back and your hole squelch as stephen stretches you open again and again.

noises roll from your lips, a mixture of gasping and whining with each movement. stephen can feel you tightening around his cock, and it makes his blood run impossibly hotter. your breath eventually catches and holds, and stephen feels the unfathomable pleasure of feeling you tighten around his cock so strongly that he has to still for a moment and just watch as the orgasm ripples across your body. your thighs shuddering seemingly outward and then going completely lax as you gasps in lungfuls of air.

you’re still clenched tightly around him, and while all attempts to keep himself from cumming inside you, it turns fruitless as he lets himself go. pumping into you heavily with a deep groan. stephen sighs, gently patting your hip as he calls your name, concern dropping over his voice when you don’t response for a few seconds.

until you do, calling his name weakly as he gathers you in his arms and presses a soft kiss to your temple, “let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” and with you nod, he guides you towards the bathroom.

blog navigation ⇢ [ kinktober masterlist ]

[moralesispunk]

His Turn // Din Djarin

Kinktober Masterlist / Part One

Warnings: female reader, still a voice kink in there somewhere, masterbation 

Word Count: 800

“My turn.”

You’re left panting on the bed, your weight resting back on your elbows and your legs still spread wide open as Din’s deft fingers work open his belt and he pulls out his cock.

It’s heavy and leaking, resting against his stomach where his undershirt has risen enough for you to see the trail of blank ink that covers him from his neck to knees.

His hand, free from its glove, wraps around his length and he squeezes the base.

“Tell me what you want to see.” Your bottom lip falls free from where your teeth had been digging into it, your gasp echoing around the room as his visor continues to stare into your eyes. You don’t say anything until he says your name in a low, commanding tone that makes your body erupt in goosebumps. “Tell me,” he repeats.

“Stroke your cock,” you whisper, your voice raw and rasping from how much you didn’t realize this is what you wanted until now.

His hand moves slowly up and down his length, his weight sinking further back as his body relaxes from the first release of tension. You spend a moment just watching, his hand staying at the same pace, and the only sound in the room comes from your labored breathing mixed with the sound of his palm running up and down his cock.

“Wait.” He stops at your word, the thrill of being in charge running up your spine as you hold your hand out and wait for him to release his cock and slide his palm into yours.

Turning his hand over so it rests palm up you bring it to your mouth, parting your lips and dragging your tongue from the base of his hand to the tips of his fingers, flicking your eyes up to his visor when a low growl comes from his chest. When you let his hand go you nod towards him, watching as his fingers wrap back around his length and he starts the almost torturously slow movements as you shuffle to rest your head back on the pillows and he kneels between your spread thighs.

“Faster,” you pant in a breathy whisper and he follows the command, the sound of wet skin against wet skin following his movement.

His other hand comes to rest on your thigh, the rough skin slowly dragging up your hip and side until his fingers pinch and twist your nipples, moving back and forth between them, as his movements grow sloppy and his chest heaves with breathy groans that are coming from beneath the helmet.

His broad body blocks out most of the light of the room, one that is coming from candles on the wall and the setting sun behind the open window. He’s all shoulders and chest, strong from years of physical labor, and a belly that is still strong but softening with age.

Lifting your hands, you drag your nails across his hips, inching his shirt higher to see the scattering of hair above his cock and the black ink that bleeds into a wider story of warriors that maps across his body. His whole body shivers, stomach tensing with every rake of your nails against his skin, and his hand moves faster as he brings himself closer and closer to the edge. 

“Din.” His head lifts from where he had been watching the way his hand moves across your body and he stares into your eyes. “I want you to come over me.”

He groans loudly, his hand dropping from your body and falling against the mattress by your hip closed in a fist as he holds his weight up. He strokes his cock quickly, his head thrown back and an inch of tan skin being revealed around his neck as a groan of your name echoes around the room and he paints your skin.

His whole body is rigid as he comes, the head of his cock dragging through the mess until his body collapses onto shaky arms and he barely holds his weight off of you. Your lips catch the skin of his neck that is still on show, kisses pressed to the salty skin as his arms completely give out and the cool helmet presses into your neck.

The only sounds he makes are quiet murmurings of your name, his hands pressing under your back and lifting you into his arms as he rolls onto his side, holding you tucked beneath his chin as he turns the lights back off and slips his helmet from his head.

“I like being in charge,” you mumble into his chest and he laughs, his palm pressing to the back of your neck and holding you against him.

“Don’t get too used to it,” he mutters against your temple, his soft smile soon following.

[scaliespe]

Crusch Lulu Kinktober - Day 28: Formal Wear (OK LAST ONE)

Crusch Lulu Kinktober - Day 28: Formal Wear Ok... one more alt! A friend requested this version, and I was feeling in a generous mood. No lewds here, just cute. Deal with it 😎 --> https://linktr.ee/scaliespe <--

Posted using PostyBirb

[the-hidden-pages]

I posted 157 times in 2022

That's 104 more posts than 2021!

51 posts created (32%)

106 posts reblogged (68%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@nbraraeaves

@gaybybirth

@myguiltypleasures21

@itsmissnancy

I tagged 30 of my posts in 2022

#adrian chase - 11 posts

#vigilante - 9 posts

#vigilante x reader - 8 posts

#x reader - 8 posts

#adrian chase x reader - 8 posts

#vigilante smut - 6 posts

#adrian chase smut - 6 posts

#vigilante peacemaker - 6 posts

#x reader smut - 5 posts

#tppkinktober2022 - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 121 characters

#conceptually riddlers always been my favourite i just never cared much for the batman universe as a whole until that show

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Emerald Eyes and a Blood-Stained Ring: Adrian Chase/Vigilante X Reader

Note: One of my first non-smuts in a while. I just have severe Adrian Chase brainrot and wanted to write something fluffy. 

This hasn’t been proofread. I just have a lot of feelings and needed to post this.

Synopsis: Adrian proposes in his own bloody way.

Warnings: None, beyond Adrian being Adrian, and mentions of blood.

You had never really figured out if your relationship could be called strange, or perfect.

Maybe it had always been a strange combination of both.

At the start, you didn’t even know who Adrian Chase was. Back then, he was only Vigilante. You were just yourself, going about your business, when you stumbled across the masked man bleeding heavily in an alleyway.

In a stroke of insanity, or perhaps guided by fate, you brought the unknown killer into your home and patched him up. That one incident set off a domino effect, creating an endless cycle that often had this wanted criminal bleeding out in your kitchen.

Somehow, you never seemed to mind.

It took two years of this masked man being in your life before you finally got to see his face.

That said, you fell in love with him after only one.

Vigilante had been your protector long before Adrian Chase became your lover. If you thought you couldn’t fall harder for the bloodthirsty man that was a complete nerd and goofball, you were proven utterly wrong the moment green eyes met yours.

He had always been perfect to you. Vigilante, consistently showing up with new scars and wounds, swearing that he would never remove his mask to protect you from knowing his secret identity, dropping everything in a heartbeat if he thought you were in trouble. Adrian Chase, talking a mile a minute, gushing about any topic he loved, enthusiastic about anything in your life, barely making ends meet with a low-wage job yet still greeting every day with a grin.

You loved him to death.

And you knew he loved you too.

Despite countless people accusing him of not understanding emotions, he himself was an open book. When he was hurt, he would whine. When he was tired, he passed out. When he was bored, he’d make it very well known. So, the moment he felt love for you, pure and true love, you knew immediately.

It was shown every day when he protected you so viciously. It was clear in his eyes every minute he looked at you, sappy grin on his face. It was apparent in every hand-picked gift and every gesture.

And that was that.

He was yours and you were his.

It went on that way for another year.

You couldn’t say it was all sunshine and rainbows. There were moments, of course, where Adrian would find your emotions hard to read, and react inappropriately. There were days where he would come home, beyond bloody and bruised from his night job, and you’d lose your cool, upset by the harm that had come to him.

But you two had always walked it off, always stuck it out.

And so, nothing struck you as odd the night he once again stumbled into your shared apartment, Vigilante suit torn to shreds, mask off in his hands as he gasped for air, bracing himself on the wall.

“Hi honey,” the green-eyed man grunted out, grin on his face despite the clear pain in his eyes. “I’m home.”

“And what sort of time do you call this?” you play along, gently guiding him to the kitchen in your normal routine.

“Work kept me late,” he huffed, thumping down in one of two wooden chairs. A gloved and bloodied hand reached up to cup your cheek, and he pulled you forward into a chaste kiss. You only give in for a moment, before backing away.

“Where’d you get got?”

Adrian speaks through his pout. “Knife slashed my side, that’s all.”

“That’s all, he says,” you mutter, walking to the counter to grab a damp cloth and some gauze. “Armor off, please, and spare me the jokes about me wanting you naked.”

See the full post

365 notes - Posted March 7, 2022

#4

Throw Me Instead - Earth-2 Harrison Wells x Fem!Reader SMUT

Oops here comes another one, I have a thing for the Earth-2 DILF who would’ve guessed?  Happy 2022 all, and sorry if you’re waiting on an Arcane fic, this one was sitting half-finished in my drafts since early November.

Word Count: 3000+

Synopsis: It wasn’t uncommon for you to tease. It wasn’t uncommon for Harry to rage. One day, however, the combination of your two personalities clashed.

Warnings: NSFW, Lab Sex, Wall Sex, Desk Sex, Light Exhibitionism, Angry Sex, Possessiveness, Choking, Unprotected Sex, Dirty Talk, Use of Sir/Princess

It wasn’t uncommon for you to tease. In fact, if you weren’t throwing flirtatious or sexual remarks at the team, they’d often wonder if something was wrong.

Harry took note of your antics rather quickly.

The first time he noticed it, you had hit Cisco with the line “Your hair looks great today! You mind if I pull it?” The younger man had laughed off the proposition, instead gushing with you for a few moments about the ridiculously perfect hair day he was having. Harry had wondered if you two were a couple, or perhaps dancing around the matter, before brushing it off.

The next time, it was a comment towards Caitlin, promptly after you had been injured in a meta fight. You had asked her if she was going to enjoy playing doctor with you, right before you passed out due to pain.

Next it was Iris, who had walked into the Cortex in a stunning dress and heels. She had asked you if she could borrow a necklace from you, to which you had informed her that she could do anything to you, wearing that dress.

Nearly every time a remark came out of your mouth, no one commented or looked remotely upset. Most had accepted that your flirting was how you showed your friends love and took it as such.

Nearly every time.

The first day you flirted with Harry, quite some time after he had joined the team, you were delivering an order of Big Belly Burger to the certified genius. Bag in hand and precariously balancing two milkshakes in the other, you drop most of it in front of the man.

Sipping from your shake, you look the man up and down as he continues to work, not acknowledging your existence. The moment allows you to fully take him in, appreciating the way he filled out his black t-shirt and pants, the messy hair that had clearly not been combed in some time. Then you notice something new, something he wasn’t wearing when he arrived.

“Damn, Hare,” you grin, straw between your teeth as you caught his attention. “You should keep those on. Glasses add a whole new layer of sex appeal to ya.”

You whirl around, not bothering to stay as Harry fumbles with the tool he’s holding.

After the first encounter, you had begun to flirt with him more. Harry couldn’t tell if you were doing so more with him than the others – after all, he didn’t make it a habit to “hang around” the others, as they so put it – but he could determine one thing.

He hated it.

He hated that you were flirting.

He hated that you were flirting with him the same way you did with everyone else.

Everything about you just…infuriated him.

The ease of which you communicated. How everyone seemed to like you. How you could give affection to everyone in a heartbeat. How effectively you seemed to get through to him.

You were a distraction, he told himself.

A kind, sweet, infectious distraction.

A distraction with more kindness than he had any right to, with more patience than he could ask for.

A distraction with a ridiculously beautiful smile, stunning eyes.

And your ass -

Harry shook his head at that. He couldn’t afford to be thinking like that, not with Zoom still on the loose.

You’re a distraction.

That’s all there was to it.

See the full post

379 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

#3

Kinktober Day 1 - Dirty Talk - Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Disclaimers: I’ve never done a Kinktober. These pieces are rushed. As a result they may be poorly written and OOC. Apologies in advance.

Summary: On a job, through an earpiece, Tangerine learns how easily influenced you are by his words. 

Warnings: NSFW, Dirty Talk, no actual smut though.

There was the odd job that The Twins would be assigned that they couldn’t do alone.

Specifically, any infiltration that required a woman’s touch, or a job that required 3 parties. Not to mention, the odd time where one of the twins were ill or recovering from a wound.

The Twins may be some of the bests in the business, but even they had to outsource sometimes, all for the sake of a job well done.

So, on those rare occasions, The Twins would outsource to you.

The third fruit, Lemon would excitedly say.

You were quite endeared to The Twins – a fact that was rather dangerous, given your respective lines of work. But the moment you met the pair, your heart warmed as you listened to Lemon excitedly talk over his brother.

“I’m not quite sure who you are yet – could be a Daisy, sweet and reliable that one…”    

 “Lemon.”

“Or an Annie, can’t forget about her.”

“Lemon.”

“Mind, there’s no reason you couldn’t be a male train – sexist of me, I’m sorry bruv –“

“Lemon!” Tangerine snapped, whacking his arm.

“Oi! What, mate?”

“Much as I’d love to go on about which fuckin’ Thomas the Train she is, we have precious little time before she needs to make a move. So –“

“It’s Thomas the Tank Engine,” you interject.

Tangerine paused for a moment before turning to you, eyes widened ever-so-slightly.

“What?”

“It’s not Thomas the Train, it’s Thomas the Tank.”

Lemon laughed excitedly as Tangerine attempted to collect himself.

“It doesn’t bloody matter, does it? Now, did you read the briefing I sent ya?”

“Oh, was I supposed to? I thought you’d just explain on the way.”

A heavy silence hung over the group.

“We should call her Lime.”

“Lemon!”

Despite the annoyance that radiated off of Tangerine in that moment, a strange partnership had formed. You and Lemon got along swimmingly, and you thrived on getting under Tangerine’s skin.

A completely healthy office relationship, you would chuckle to yourself.

See the full post

645 notes - Posted October 1, 2022

#2

Peeping Tom: Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Fem!Reader SMUT

I’ve seen a couple of fics now touching on Adrian being a bit of a voyeur. I’d like to first agree with you all, but raise you that the Reader is also a complete exhibitionist. Again, a bit darker then I’m used to writing for, but it seems this dork is bringing out a lot of my hidden interests.

I’d also like to apologize for any errors that may exist, this fic was primarily written with wine in my system, likely explaining how horny it it. Very much self-indulgent, not at all a real-world scenario, just pure filth that smut fics are meant to be.

Enjoy 4.9k+ words of my mind being horny for this moron.

Synopsis: After meeting a customer in Fennel Fields, Adrian follows her home, struck by her obvious perfection. Obsessed, he continues to stalk her as Vigilante. Until one night, the tables turn, and he receives a little more than he bargains for.

Warnings: NSFW. Unprotected Sex. Clear Obsession. Bondage. Stalker!Adrian. Voyeurism. In a turn of events, Exhibitionist Reader! Consensual Non-Consent (Adrian definitely non-consensually watching her, but Reader doesn’t end up minding and sort of knows, so, use your better judgment there). Adrian being Adrian.

It started innocent; Adrian swears it to this day. An innocent crush, that’s all it was. He had been working another dull shift at Fennel Fields, mind in a haze of daydreams, old D&D plots he had never fully worked out back in his prime of playing, and work that had to be done that night as Vigilante. There was also music playing in the back of his mind. Crab Rave. He hadn’t been able to shake it all day. Then you had walked in, and it was like the record player that was his mind came to a screeching halt.

You were perfect.

Everything about you. Your eyes drew him right in when they met his. Your hair looked soft, touchable. Your skin, funnily enough, also looked touchable. Your neck looked markable. Your lips looked kissable. You sat at a booth alone, and he worried for a moment that someone would be joining you. A date, a partner. But then you pulled out your laptop and his heart sung – you were there to work. You’d be staying. He noticed the stickers on your computer – icons from classic video games, an N64 controller, a D20, a Pokémon (was it your favourite, he wondered?), a skull.

You were perfect.

His thoughts were of you his entire shift. He snuck a glance as often as he could when his coworkers weren’t looking, when he was certain you were focused on your computer. Adrian wondered what you were doing, your fingers typing so quickly, your eyes never leaving the screen even as you shovelled forkfuls of food into your mouth.  It couldn’t be something illegal, could it? Planning a drug exchange, stealing personal data, plotting a heist? No, you couldn’t do that. You were perfect. But he had to check.

Luckily, he had the excuse. On one of his rounds, he stopped at your table, gesturing to your now empty plate. “Can I clear this for you?” You looked up quickly, eyes filled with surprise for a moment, before filling with kindness. Adrian wondered what those eyes would look like full of gratitude, of love, of lust. Pleading, begging, crying, rolled to the back of your head – “I’d appreciate that, thank you,” you sigh, flopping back in the booth with your arm coming up to rest along the back of it. Adrian reached for the plate, wondering what your arm would feel like holding him, wrapped around him in ecstasy. How would they look, tied above your head? “You know much about writing there…ah…?” You were looking at him expectantly, waiting for something. Maybe his name? “Adrian?” “Adrian,” you repeat it back warmly. He repressed a shudder. Your lips formed around his name so nicely. How would it sound whispered lovingly, screaming in pleasurable agony – “You know much about writing, Adrian?” He shrugged, shifting the weight of the basket of dirty dishes he was carrying slightly. “Not much officially. I mean, I watch movies, everyone watches movies. Played a lot of D&D back in the day, but it wasn’t exactly a writing career.” You smile fondly. Adrian wants to see that smile forever. “I used to play a lot too. Haven’t had the time much these days. Campaigns used to really get the creative juices flowing…but now…” you gesture to your screen. “The one minute I get to write anything for myself, and I’m stuck with three shitty lines. It’s just not coming, y’know?” All I know is I’d like to see you cumming, preferably on my cock. Adrian didn’t notice that he hadn’t responded until you gave a small, shy laugh, and shook your head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t keep you from your job. You’re not paid to hear my writer’s block.” “I don’t mind,” Adrian supplied quickly, eyes wide. You wanted to stop talking to him. “I just, ah, don’t really have good advice. Maybe, watch some stupid movies? It’ll give your head a break and give you an excuse to write stupid shit. Not that I think your shit is stupid! I’m sure it’s very smart shit. But sometimes what stops us from taking a shit is the fear that our shit will be stupid. So just shitting at all is half the battle!” He ended cheerfully. You were looking at him curiously, and for a moment he wondered if he had royally fucked up. But then a wide smile split across your face, and a giggle escaped you. “Adrian, was it? I think you’ve just inspired something, Adrian. Thank you.” Your hands posed over your keyboard then, and Adrian nodded, grinning. He spun around and resisted the urge to skip away. He inspired you. The sexy, nerdy girl in the restaurant was inspired by him. He hummed an aimless tune for the rest of his shift. You really were perfect.

This really started innocent, but you were just so perfect he couldn’t let you slip away. You had stuck around for the duration of his shift. By the time the restaurant closed, he was able to clock out. It wasn’t like he had planned to follow you home, Adrian rationalized as he crept behind you, a block or so between you, just out of sight. He didn’t plan it at all. But you two left at the same time, and you were walking alone at night! As Vigilante, he had to protect you. It was his job! That night, he found your house. It was completely innocent as he burned the address into his mind. Completely innocent as he noticed that you evidently lived alone. Completely innocent when he noticed that you kept a spare key inside a potted plant hanging outside the door. He would’ve left it at that, he really would have. Turned around and left your perfect self to the realm of his fantasies.

But on his return home, curiosity had him exploring the perimeter of your home. You had a backyard, he noticed. A small enclosure, contained within a fence (a fence easily scaled by him, but of course not by others). He peeked around, noticing the beginnings of a small garden (were you new to town?) and an old tree standing tall and proud. The backyard looked in on a couple of glass doors, leading into what he guessed was the kitchen. You even had a small hot tub, and Adrian grinned. He was impressed at what you could afford. You were smart. You could look after yourself. Of course you could, you were perfect.

When Adrian eventually left, he swore that he wouldn’t go back. The resolve lasted for roughly 3 days. 3 days of his mind being consumed by this beautiful stranger. Fantasies of tying you down and tormenting you as Vigilante. Fantasies of you taking care of him as Adrian. He wanted to know everything about you. So really, what was the harm in going back? He wouldn’t hurt you, he rationalized. He only wanted to watch, to learn. He climbed carefully, he had to. You couldn’t know he was there. But when he reached high enough, he could’ve fallen right out.

The tree overlooked your room. Your curtains were open – hell, they had every reason to be. No one should be in the tree enclosed within your garden, and that was really the only way anyone could ever see in. The opened curtains and soft reading lamp, however, gave Adrian clear view into your bedroom. Absentmindedly, Adrian vowed that he would kill anyone else who dared to climb this tree with his bare hands. There was plenty for him to notice about your personal space. Books scattered about, a dresser half-open and overflowing with clothes, some tapestries on the walls. But his eyes were fixed on key details, pivotal details, important details. There was a large bed in the centre of your room. Queen sized, maybe King. He could only imagine how nice it would be to fuck you on it, to hold you afterwards, to wake up in it. But there, on the plush, dark sheets, was you. Stripped down to nothing but a black lace bra and panty set. Adrian could have died then, happily. You were sipping on a glass of wine, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Adrian’s mind couldn’t help but wander as he noticed the red stain of wine on your lips. How would that red look elsewhere? Wine dripping between your cleavage, staining as it goes. A red that looked so much like blood. He could see himself approaching you after a tough mission, covered in blood of those he had killed. You wouldn’t flinch away, you’d just approach him, hold him, tear the mask off his face and kiss him. You’d pull away, that blood red coating parts of you now. Unfazed, you’d pull him to your bed. He breathed sharply as the brief scene ended in his mind. He shifted his weight, only to realize the growing discomfort between his legs.

Fuck, he was already hard.

He was going to leave, he really was. The image of you lying there was already more than enough fuel for the fire. He was ready to leave, to jerk one out when he got home, to use the thoughts to keep him going for another week or so, before another visit to your home.

But then…

Then…

A droplet of wine escaped from the glass, landing on your upper left breast, before trailing down between your cleavage. Adrian froze. He couldn’t hear you, but he could see the annoyed sigh in your movements as you set the glass and your phone aside. Carelessly, mindlessly, you dip your finger between your boobs and trace the line of red, scooping the stray wine up and sucking it off your finger. All Adrian can do is look in awe as you wrap your wine-stained lips around that finger, lingering there for a little too long. His hand finds its way to the front of his pants, attempting to relieve some pressure as he observes. You’re so sexy. You’re perfect. You’re made for him, it’s like you could read his mind – You seem to sigh again, only this time, you reach your hand behind you and unclasp your bra, removing and tossing the garment to the side of the room. The last small, rational part of Adrian’s brain wonders if you had gotten wine on the fabric. But the rest of him is screaming that this is a show made just for him.

And you’re so perfect, so wonderful, because you prove him right.

Your hands come up, first to touch where the wine had touched you, but soon choosing to wander, gently cupping each breast, squeezing, and kneading. You lean back on the bed, thighs clenched as you work, and Adrian notices how they tighten and how your hips start to twitch upward slightly as you begin toying with your nipples. “Oh, fuck,” Adrian groans quietly, immediately going to lower his pants, hand wrapping around his throbbing cock. Your mouth seems to part in a moan, and the man curses that he can’t hear the sound. He freezes briefly when your eyes wander right past the tree where he’s hiding, over to just beside the window. You seem to be staring, and by the way your legs spread, and your hand moves to rub over the lace, you seem to be getting more worked up. Adrian wonders what’s there. There’s no light to indicate a TV or porn. Maybe a poster? Or maybe it was a mirror. That had to be it, he decided, as you shifted in what seemed to be a method of posing yourself. You had to be watching yourself. He could��ve laughed. You were perfect. You liked being watched. He wondered if you’d like to know you were putting on such a good show for him. You shifted once again, now moving too slowly, teasingly pull the black lace down your legs. Rolling over, you reached for the drawer beside your bed. Adrian pulled his eyes away from the glimpse of your wet folds to focus on what you were pulling out. There, from your drawer, was a large purple vibrator. His hand worked faster as his imagination conjured up ideas of what else could be hidden in that drawer. Vibrators, dildos. Maybe you had handcuffs, a blindfold. A whip? A knife?

Fuck, how perfect could you be?

He watched intently as you moved the toy slowly, not to your cunt, but to your mouth. He could’ve drooled as your perfect lips spread, purple silicone sliding between them as you began to suck, coating the toy with spit. Adrian’s hand slowed, and he whimpered, matching your pace as you slowly fucked your own mouth with the toy. Soon, you moved it again, and he could see the tell-tale light of the toy indicating that it was on. You trailed it down your body slowly, but picking up speed, clearly growing tired of your own teasing. Adrian wouldn’t let you get away with it that easily, he thought. He’d make you work for it, make you cry for it. He wasn’t too disappointed that you picked up the speed though – after all, this is what he wanted to see. When the vibrator finally reached your clit, your head tilted back, and he could see your eyes roll closed. Your hips jerked in uneven patterns against the toy, hand moving in tandem as you attempted to find the rhythm that would get you there. Hand pumping faster, Adrian leaned forward as far as he could. Your hand blocked most of your pussy, but he could still see your breasts bounce, your gaping mouth, your clear ecstasy. He wanted to be the one that caused that face, those sounds he imagined. Watching intently, he saw your free hand move up your body. He thought nothing of it, waiting for it to curve around your tit, the ones he so badly wanted to touch.

Instead, your hand curled around your own throat, and visibly tightened.

Adrian groaned sharply, a series of “fucks” escaping him as he spilled ropes of cum into his own hands. His eyes screwed shut, forever burning the memory of you choking yourself into his mind.

Even he will admit that after that night, it was no longer innocent. Every night that he could spare, he was at your window. Watching you exist, watching you dance around your kitchen, watching you touch yourself at night. He began to learn your schedule. What times you’d leave for groceries when you’d disappear for a walk to clear your head. When you were in a real rut after a rough day, maybe after a meeting gone wrong or a bad case of writer’s block, you’d disappear for nearly two hours, walking aimlessly through Evergreen’s streets. Adrian would follow you those days. Protecting you. Other days, however, he wouldn’t follow. He’d watch keenly as you’d lock the door behind you, cloth grocery bags under your arm, and wait for you to be out of sight of your home.

The first day he took the spare key from the plant pot and unlocked your door, his hands were shaking. But he had to know more. And so, he entered, exploring your home with wide, eager eyes. It didn’t take him long to make his way to your room. First, he laid down on your bed, inhaling deeply at the scent of you that was embedded within the sheets. Then, he glanced around the room, taking in the large mirror that sat beside the window he so frequently watched you from. So, you were watching yourself, he noted with a grin. Knowing he didn’t likely have much time, he stood up, fixing the bed quickly, before preparing to leave your home. That was, until he noticed a stray pair of panties lying on the top of a pile of likely dirty clothes.

He wasn’t going to take them.

See the full post

1,545 notes - Posted February 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Masked: Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Fem!Reader SMUT

This funky little murderer really got my heart. This one’s really self-indulgent, but I can’t believe that Adrian isn’t soft as hell and Vigilante is a kinky shit.

Enjoy 4.6k words of some uneditted soft followed by pure filth, ya sinners.

Synopsis: After dating Adrian Chase for some time, you eventually find out that your sweet, mildly eccentric boyfriend is a masked vigilante with a hard-on for killing criminals. And you don’t have a problem with it - well, you do have one. You like it. You like it a little too much.

Warnings: NSFW, Consensual Non-Consent. Weapons Kink. Fucking in a Forest. The Mask Stays On. Criminal/Anti-Hero Roleplay. Dirty Talk. Established Relationship.

You hadn’t been seeing Adrian Chase for years and years, but you felt you had a solid understanding of who your boyfriend was as a person.

Your sweet boy was a little odd, for sure. Eccentric and all over the place, with the energy of a young puppy. His jokes would sometimes not land in certain crowds, but the pure joy he got out of even telling them would always bring a smile to your face. And despite being a bit off, he would always take time to make sure that you were okay, that you were looked after, that you were feeling loved.

He was a warm ray of sunshine, plain and simple.

But there had always been something…off. More off than his occasionally odd mannerisms or poorly timed jokes. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it felt like there was a layer you weren’t seeing clearly, something hidden behind his warm smiles and bright eyes.

A darkness festering.

You never called him out on it. You figured that in time, it would reveal itself. Adrian was always good at talking with you, so you had no doubt that with a little time, intentionally or not, he might slip up and confess what it was.

It was just another night when the confession came, albeit in a very unplanned way.

You had spent the night at Adrian’s, as you had been doing more and more frequently. A quiet, soft morning of cuddling and kissing your partner had been cut short, however, when a call came in, the sounds of Aqua interrupting your serene moment.

Short words were exchanged, and by the time the phone was hung up a hint of frustration and malice burned behind the emerald eyes you were falling in love with.

You sit up slowly, the blankets shifting down to reveal the shirt you had stolen from him – the heart eyes Adrian gave you when you exited his bathroom in only a black D20 shirt and panties would live in your mind forever – and you reach forward slowly to wrap an arm around him. Your lips pepper kisses onto his bare shoulder, taking a moment to (once again) marvel at how unexpectedly toned he was.

“Everything okay?” you mumble against his skin, looking up at him.

He tilts his head down to face you, malice turning to wonder in his eyes. You really could stare at them forever, behind those dorky frames that were really starting to grow on you.

“Work needs an extra guy,” he answered, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before standing up.

You groaned, lying back on his pillows, and watching as his muscles flex, pulling on his shirt.

“But it’s our day off!” you whine, curling back up in the bed.

Adrian turns back towards you, curls messy and glasses askew from putting on his shirt. He quickly straightened his frames and walked back over to you leaning down to place a lingering kiss on your lips.

“Stay here as long as you want, I don’t want to ruin your day off. I don’t know when I’ll be back, so don’t wait around, but maybe we can do something tonight?”

You groan again, winding your arm around his neck to pull him down to your lips again. Your hand grasps his hair, not hard enough to pull, but enough that you could feel Adrian’s breathe stutter against you.

“I can’t convince you to say fuck it?” you mumble against his lips.

It was his turn to groan.

“I want to, fuck I really want to.” Emerald eyes meet yours, filled with regret as he pulls away, running a hand through his hair. “I need to go, though.”

“Mmm, fine.  I’m going back to sleep,” you sigh, lying down more comfortably and closing your eyes.

Adrian pauses in the doorway and leans against it, a goofy smile plastered on his face as he watches you.

“What?” you mumble, face half-smushed in the pillow, sensing him looking.

He shrugs, turning to leave. “I like that you’re comfy here. You’re cute, surrounded by my stuff.”

See the full post

1,638 notes - Posted February 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[tropes-and-tales]

Take Care of You

Day 6:  C*ckwarming (Steven Grant and Marc Spector x F!Reader)

(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen​​.  The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW:  Dub-con (technically); light angst; smut (c*ckwarming; PiV, unprotected; shades of dominance).  18+ only.

Word Count:  3786

He can never tell what is real and what’s not.  What’s a dream and what is reality.

He wakes up every morning feeling like he’s been hit by a bus.  Days slip past him with no recollection; he feels like a stranger in his own life.  Sometimes he feels as though he’s not in control of his body—he wakes up with bruises he can’t explain, cuts he can’t explain.  

Once, he wakes up with a dislocated shoulder.  That was a tough day, trying to convince the doctor in the A&E why he didn’t have a convincing reason as to why his shoulder was out of joint.

He can’t tell what is real and what is not…save for one thing.

You.

He had seen you around the museum—you worked with the coins and medals.  He saw you at the café all the time.  You had the same hollow-eyed, slightly desperate look of a fellow insomniac, and you’d even made eye contact a few times, nodded at him and offered a shy smile.

Steven never once spoke to you, that he could recall.  Yet…months after noticing you, you stopped by the gift shop and spoke to him.  Asked him if the two of you were still on for dinner the next night.

He had been absolutely flummoxed.  He never asked you out, and he opened his mouth to tell you so, tell you that he had no memory of even speaking to you, let alone asking you out on a date.

It was like someone else answered for him in that moment.

“Absolutely,” his mouth said.

That was months ago.  An awkward first date:  him bumbling, you shy.  You were both earnest, though, both lonely and sweet, and the second date was less awkward.  The third even less so.  He opened up over time about his sleep issues, about how he lost time and struggled to feel tethered to this reality.  You opened up too—you had your own issues with insomnia, with sleep paralysis and sleep walking.  You made him feel less alone, less like a freak.  

And now here you were:  grounding him better than any line of sand around his bed, better than any ankle restraint.

“I’ve lost days again,” he whispers in the dark of his room.  He knows you hear him:  you pause as you undress.  

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Steven shakes his head.  He feels the salt of tears stinging his eyes.  He hates whatever is wrong with him.  Hates losing time, losing days.  Losing his mind.

“What can I do to help you?”

He’s so tired.  He’s exhausted to the very core of himself.  It’s not just a body tiredness:  it’s his soul, his spirit, that is fatigued too.  He wants nothing more than to curl up and sleep for days, yet he’s lost days and hasn’t seen you.  He also wants nothing more than to curl up with you, lose himself in you.

He tells you so.  He tells you that he’s so tired, but he hasn’t seen you for days.  You hum thoughtfully at that, and there’s a lot going on in that hum, but Steven doesn’t have the energy to explore it…and you don’t expound whatever you are thinking.

“Let me take care of you,” you finally say, and in the darkness of the room, he feels the mattress dip down as you crawl into bed.  He feels your hands on him—gently taking the hem of his t-shirt and urging him to sit up so you can remove it.  Then the same with his sleep pants—the way you tug at the drawstring at his waist, then tap his thigh for him to lift his hips.

“I don’t think I can—” he starts to protest weakly, but you shush him softly.

“Let me take care of you,” you repeat.  Your warm hand is on him, grasping him lightly, and he’s already growing hard even from such a tame touch.  “Will you let me do this for you, Steven?”

He gulps, nods.  He feels a queasiness in his stomach—he hates to disappoint you in bed, hates to think he takes more than he gives, but he knows he doesn’t have the energy to do much other than lie there.

Still, you’ve never held it against him before, the other times he’s fell short to the task.  The times he came too soon, or fell asleep while making out…or the times he’s stood you up, lost track of days…

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers in the darkness, and you lean down to kiss him.  It’s sweet, gentle.  There’s no heat to it.  It’s a sweet kiss, a grounding one.

“You can worry about that another day.”  One hand is stroking him lightly, but the other reaches up and brushes the hair off of his forehead, and you kiss him there, just above his furrowed eyebrows.  Then a second and a third until he relaxes and the furrows smooth out.

Steven takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, through his nose, as he was taught to help himself relax.  He pushes as many of his worries aside for later, and it’s easier because his focus is on your hand, the light grip you have on him.  

His lust notches up a degree at a time, and it’s still something of a foreign feeling.  He had little experience before you, had always thought himself a romantic first and foremost…but he finds that he craves these moments with in you the darkness of his bedroom.  He craves the intimacy of your body, the way you touch him, the way the two of you fit together so well.

“Is this okay?” you ask him, and he nods eagerly.  Breathes out that yes, it is, and when you release him and straddle him, when he feels the slick heat of you…

“P-please, love,” he stutters, even though he knows he can’t offer you much, that you’ll have to do all the work…

It always bowls him over when he’s inside you.  When he pushes into you, when you mount him, the way your molten heat envelopes him.  You go slow now, take him bit by bit, and when he’s fully seated in you, he huffs out the breath he is holding.

“You feel amazing,” he whispers.  You lean down, press another sweet kiss to his mouth, and tell him the same.

Steven expects you to start moving, but you don’t.  You stay still aside from the gentle kisses you press to him:  to his mouth, to his cheeks and forehead.  To the spot under his ear and the sides of his neck.  And then you nestle your head against his chest, right under his chin…and you just lie there.

You must feel his confusion.  You whisper in the darkness, “does this feel okay?”

“Y-yeah.”  It does feel okay.  No, it feels great.  Just…different.  Without any motion, suddenly he feels more sensitive than ever.  He swears he can feel his heartbeat—or maybe it’s yours, or maybe your heartbeats are in sync—where you are joined.  He can feel your slick arousal coating him, pooling at the base of him, and every so often you twitch against his length, making him bite back a groan.

“Let’s stay like this, okay?”

“Y-yeah.  Okay.  Okay, yeah.”

“Think you can fall asleep like this?”

“Maybe.”  He turns his head a little and buries his nose in the crown of your head, takes a deep breath of your hair.  You use a lavender shampoo, a soft floral that soothes him.  He can feel himself calming already, despite the situation:  his heartbeat slows, like it’s synced with yours.  His breathing syncs with yours too.  You’ve grounded him, and Steven shifts his head enough to kiss your temple.  He wraps his arms around you, strokes your bare back.

You’re better than any ankle restraint.  Better than a line of sand around his bed.  You ground him, weigh him down, and Steven relaxes.  In his mind, he starts to slip off into sleep, but in reality…

He gives control over to another.

*****

Marc tries so hard to protect Steven.

He keeps up with the ruse of the gift shop job.  He feeds his goldfish.  He sends postcards from his “mother,” maintains that lie to cover the painful truth.

When Steven spends months pining over the same woman with dark circles under her eyes—Marc recognizes a fellow insomniac when he sees one—Marc handles that too.

He puts on his best attempt at Steven’s accent.  He tries to act like Steven:  stutters and stammers and trips over his own feet when he asks you out.

Asking you out isn’t protecting Steven, though.  It’s something else entirely.

Marc wants Steven to be happy.  To not just survive but to thrive.

Sometimes Steven gives up control and Marc has to play along.  The first time you and Steven made love, for example:  Steven fell asleep, Marc woke up beside you.  The time you made a date to ride the London Eye:  Steven with his fear of heights slipped off, Marc had to step in.

Marc does it because he wants Steven to be happy.  Not because he has any feelings for you.  You’re not especially his type, too milquetoast, too boring, and Marc watches from the shadows as you and Steven go through your boring courtship.

Until…

Until you start to grow on him too.

For Steven, it was love at first sight.  For Marc, it was a slower thing.

You take good care of Steven, and Marc loves you for it.  You are gracious in understanding his flakiness, even if you don’t understand what causes it.  You are kind and gentle with him, patient with his fumbling, patient with his low self-esteem.  You tease him gently; you encourage his interests.  You learn to cook vegan meals for him.  You spend entire evenings listening to his excited ravings about Egyptian mythology and gods and goddesses.

But there’s a sensual side to you too.  A slightly darker side that tests boundaries (the night you talked Steven into using the ankle restraints on you, for example).  It’s nothing extreme, but it’s a bit of shading that gives Marc a better understanding of you.  

Like tonight, the feeling of you enveloping him.  Steven is grounded by it; it relaxes him and calms his racing thoughts, calms his racing pulse.  Marc feels the moment that Steven starts to cede control, and he takes it happily.  Takes control a little greedily, because while it was a slower thing to fall for you, Marc is selfish with these rare moments he gets to be with you.

He thinks you’re asleep.  You’re a heavy weight on him—the heavy weight of a lax body made soft with sleep.  Your cunt feels heavenly, gripping him like a velvety fist, your arousal mingling with his own pre-cum and sliding out of you to pool on his groin.

Marc is selfishly glad that Steven was too tired to spur you on for more.  He wants just a little for himself, just to spend some time inside you, to feel the soft flutters of you against him.

The thought makes a spear of guilt lance through him.  Steven deserves this and more:  he deserves you.  You make him happy, and Steven is such an innocent walking through the world.  Marc keeps him safe, but you make him happy.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your hair.  He breathes out the words quiet so he won’t wake you.  “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”

He realizes too late that he’s blundered.  Your sleep is always thin, fragile.  You stir against him, your breath tickling against the side of his neck.  

“Take care of who?” you mumble.

“Me,” he whispers back, slipping into his best approximation of Steven’s accent.  “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“’Course.”  You turn your head, kiss his throat.  It’s sweetness like this, your gentle kisses that Marc would have scoffed at even a year ago.  That saccharine bullshit that Steven laps up, that Marc is too good for…usually.  Usually.

Usually he’s too good for it, but Marc Spector is lonely.  He carries the burden of Steven, carries the burden of all those memories.  He carries the burden of the reality of their lives.  He carries the mantel of Khonshu’s justice.  And usually he’s fine, he’s strong.  

But sometimes he’s lonely.

So sometimes he slips on Steven’s accent like a too-tight coat.  .

He pretends he’s Steven because you love Steven.  Marc wants to feel that, even for a moment, even if he can’t quite admit it to himself.  

“Still can’t sleep then?” you ask, your voice a husky whisper in the darkness.

“No.”

“Did this make it better or worse?”  Marc can hear the smile in your words, the playful lilt.

“Kinda hard to fall asleep like this, innit?” he replies in Steven’s accent.

“Hmmm.”  You kiss his throat again, your petal-soft lips ghosting over his pulse point.  “Seems that I miscalculated.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Pretty rude of me,” you continue, not acknowledging him.  Another kiss to his throat, then you shift your head and kiss him below his ear where he—and Steven—are both ticklish.  He squirms under you, and he feels the huff of your silent laughter.

“Rude of me to not let you sleep,” you add.  You whisper in his ear, let your breath ghost over him, and he breaks out into goosebumps.  “Should I…”

You trail off, leave the question unfinished.  The meaning is clear, though.  You raise yourself a fraction off of him, and he reaches out quick, his mercenary skills giving him that lightning-fast reflex as he grabs you around the waist.  He resettles you against him—bites back a groan at the bit of friction as you slide back onto him.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

“Don’t you dare,” you echo back, mimicking him.  “Did you know you sometimes talk with an American accent when you’re riled up?”

Marc ignores the icy shard of fear that lances through him.  He’s always so close to get caught, especially in these moments.  It’s easy to pretend to be Steven for the boring shit—the gift shop job, picking up take-away from the vegan place—but it’s so hard not to be fully and completely Marc right now.

So he embraces it.  Doesn’t bother to pull on Steven’s accent when he growls in your ear again.  “Why am I bothering to talk then?”

His hands still on your waist, he rolls over with you, steadies you and rolls you with him.  It’s a move that Steven would never even consider, not understanding that he even has the strength for it, but in a split second Marc has you on your back.  He is still buried in you; he’s arched over you, and when you gasp at the sudden motion—when you gasp out the wrong name, squeal out Steven!—he dips his head and kisses you hard.

He’d never consider fucking you like this if he hadn’t watched all those times through Steven’s eyes:  all the times you took a sweet moment and shaded it just a bit darker.  The times you’ve used the ankle restraints.  The time you convinced Steven to deal you a few light swats to your ass.  The time you visited Steven when he was working in the gift shop, brushed a sweet kiss to his cheek and then slid your panties into his pocket on the sly.

You shade those sweet moments with the barest bit of darkness, and Marc wonders if you can take more.

He pushes his tongue into your mouth, insistent, and he smiles inwardly at how eagerly you press back against him, tasting him just as fiercely.  He doesn’t move inside you.  He just stays buried, still just letting you cockwarm him, but you twitch against him, and his resolve steadily weakens.

“You want this?” he whispers in the darkness.  He can just make out your face:  the whites of your eyes, the pouting lower lip as you take hitching breaths.

“Y-yes.”

He nips at the side of your neck, then bites you firmer, presses his teeth into your soft skin until you whine.  Fuck, you whine so goddamned pretty.  He’s never heard it before.  You’re usually the one gently coaxing Steven out of his shell, such soft, quiet words and tones for him, but your whine has a thread of need in it.  There’s a pitch to it that sounds needy and wrecked.

“You think you can handle it?”  He shifts his head, bites the other side of your neck.  Gives you a matching mark to the other, then soothes it with the tip of his tongue.

“Yes.  Please.”

You whine so prettily.  You beg so prettily.  Marc obliges.

He reaches down and hooks a hand under your knee, hauls your leg up until it is over his shoulder.  He repeats the motion, pushes your other leg over his other shoulder until you’re practically folded underneath him, the toes of your feet pressing against the wall behind the headboard.

He never knew you were this flexible.  You’re completely vulnerable.  Completely exposed.  He can look down and see where he disappears into your heavenly cunt, and his hips stutter forward.  He presses himself deeper, buries himself as deep as he can, and you cry out at the feeling of him.

“Too much?” he asks darkly.  “Can’t take it?”

“I can,” you breathe out.  There’s a ragged edge to your breath, harsh.  “Please don’t stop.”

“Beg me for it.”

“Please.  P-please!”

Marc lowers his head, presses a soft kiss to your pouting mouth.  “Such a needy little thing,” he murmurs against your lips.  “This how you saw the night going, teasing me with that sweet pussy and not expecting me to use it?”

“I…I w-wasn’t trying to tease you,” you whisper back.  Your eyes are wide in the dark, and Marc realizes he’s overplayed his hand just a bit.  Just a little.  He has to channel Steven at least a little bit.

“I know,” he replies, and he kisses you again, even softer this time.  “You take good care of…me.”  He almost slips up, says him again.

“I try,” you agree, nodding.  “I love you, Steven.  I just want to take care of you.”

Marc tacitly ignore the I love you, ignores the painful twist in his chest when he hears it.  You don’t know he’s not Steven, and he doesn’t have the heart to break the situation to you right now.

He doesn’t have the heart to end these moments either.  These stolen moments where he takes over for Steven and gets to be with you too.

“Let me take care of you,” he replies, and he kisses you again before he starts to fuck you in earnest.  He planned on being rougher, faster, but he slows the moment down.  Keeps his thrusts slow and deep, draws almost all the way out of your tight heat before he pushes back into you.  Pushes and pushes until he is flush against you, until every blessed inch of him is buried in you.  He’s so deep that he can barely feel where the two of you are joined, where he disappears and you begin.  

Like the two of you are one.

Schmaltzy shit like that…that’s Steven’s thinking.  That walks a dangerous line to romantic bullshit.

In this position, you can’t move much.  You reach out with your hands, grip his biceps as he pushes you closer and closer to your climax.  He can always see it when you’re with Steven, a silent voyeur sharing a body with his alter, but these rare moments he can feel it too.  He can see the way your face tenses up, the way your breathing gets erratic.  But he can feel you, and it’s so much better:  the dull bite of your fingernails in his arm as you grip him, the way your skin heats up.  The way your cunt tightens, flutters along his length, coats him in your own slick cum.

“Come for me,” he orders.  “Let me feel you coming all over this cock.”

You do—his words set you over the edge, and you shudder beneath him.  You cry out, and he feels the way you grip him so hard, making it difficult for him to keep the slow, deep thrusts going.  So he sinks into you as far as he can, stills.  Feels every twitch and spasm of your orgasm.  

He had the idea of drawing it out, of being more dominant.  Giving you what he thinks you want, all the ways you play around with submission with Steven.  He had the idea to make you come over and over, pulling them out of you, ordering you to come again and again until you are exhausted.  He doesn’t realize that deep down, he—Marc Spector, not Steven Grant—is trying to take care of you, in his own way.

You are an insomniac, after all.  He sees all the ways you take care of Steven.  Even if he can’t admit it or even really see it, Marc wants to take care of you.  Wants to exhaust you, body and mind.  Wants you to curl up against him and get good sleep, restful sleep.

His plan falls apart.  Still inside you, feeling your orgasm along every inch of him, it takes him right to the edge.  He manages a few more thrusts then feels the tight coil of his own tension snap.  He comes inside you, deep, and something about the sensation pulls a second, weaker orgasm from you.

-----

Even if he doesn’t exhaust you with some dominance display, you still fall asleep.  Marc has no idea if it’s restful or how long it will last, but after the two of you clean up (and after you sweetly put the ankle restraint back on him, as if that would solve anything), you nod right off against him.

Not before you mumble another I love you to him.

Marc is still in control.  He’s still running the show.  He rubs your back, presses a kiss to your forehead.  He waits until your breathing evens out and deepens.

He waits until you’re asleep before he says it back to you.  “I love you too,” he whispers, so low that he won’t wake you from your thin sleep.  He can’t admit it any other time, can barely even admit it to himself most times, but right now—sated from the sex, sad to know that you thought it was Steven the whole time—he can admit it.

[chemicalalice]

Fic: Stars in Your Eyes - Kinktober Day 21

Title: Stars in Your Eyes

Summary: Rhett is a good man. It is about time someone told him so.

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x female!Reader

Warnings: unprotected PinV sex, swearing, praise kink. Please be mindful of yourself and do not read if this content bothers you. 18+ only!

Word count: 2042

AN: Ooops I forgot to post this on time.

You looked up from the papers spread across the desk when you heard the soft knock on your office door. They may call you the Ice Queen in the office because you were so focused and no-nonsense when it came to work, but the sight before you had a giant smile spreading across your lips.

Rhett Abbott stood there, shoulders hunched, the saddest looking bunch of already wilting wildflowers clutched in one hand, and a small, hesitant grin on his face, like a dog preparing for a smack in the face from a newspaper should his presence be unwelcome. You couldn't think of a single scenario in which the sight of him wouldn't be a good thing.

You glanced at clock and winced. You were supposed to meet him outside 20 minutes ago. You stood and began shuffling the papers spread across your desk into a disorderly pile. "I am so sorry Rhett! I lost track of time!"

He gave a small shrug. "It's fine, I figured. I tried calling but it went straight to voicemail."

You snatched at the phone laying half hidden under a file folder. Two missed calls. The phone somehow on 'do not disturb' mode. "Shit. I'm really sor-"

"Its completely fine," he cut in, smile growing slightly. "I know this case has had you pretty distracted."

You sighed, shoulders dropping. You knew he wasn't going to hold it against you, but you still felt bad. You turned to resume gathering your things but took a moment to take a better look at him. He was still hovering in your doorway, the hand not holding the flowers shoved awkwardly in his jacket pocket. He looked uncomfortable and you realized how out of place he must feel; scuffed boots, beat up ball cap, and stained Carhartt jacket in a sea of manicures, suits, stilettos and ties.

The thing you two had going was still early days, but you knew he was harboring some severe insecurities about his perceived worth when it came to relationships. You had grown up in the same town, attended the same school, but you came from money and had always rubbed shoulders with the likes of the Tillerson's and other well off ranching families. You had actually even dated Luke for a period, before you both went off to college, him for business and you for law.

Rhett, on the other hand, hadn't ever had a steady relationship during school. And while he had no problems pulling girls now, they were just buckle bunnies; more interested in hooking up with a bull rider, any bull rider, than they actually were in Rhett himself. You sensed that despite his nonchalance towards that lifestyle, that it wasn't actually what he wanted at all.

Perhaps the biggest blow to Rhett's self esteem was Maria. She had toyed with him in school, and she had toyed with him again, worse, when she had returned to Wabang. She had looked down on Rhett for never getting out of Wabang, and yet she hadn't either. Not really. A few failed years in college and she was back as well. Rhett didn't see that, though. He just saw her scorn.

To those who wanted big city living, Wabang may have seen like just another podunk town. But the truth was, there was a lot of money in Amelia county; some of the largest ranches in the States were headquartered near there. You may have been fresh out of college, but representing those ranchers' business interests already had you pulling in six figures a year. So no, you didn't think living there was a failure at all. But you would have come back regardless; there was no peace for you in the city. It was pollution and noise and crowds. True happiness lived on the wide open planes, up the mountains, and amongst the pine. And you couldn't put a price on that.

But Maria's words had wormed their way deep into Rhett. His self-depreciating comments passed off as jokes made it clear that he thought a girl like you belong with a college educated, Rolex wearing, rich guy who maybe owned a ranch but never had to spend a single day working it. Not a family rancher with a beat up truck like him and only a mediocre rodeo career to offer. The only thing he had to his name was that truck and he still lived at home. It bugged him.

When you finished packing your stuff you clicked your desk lights off and crossed the office to where Rhett stood. Your heel almost made you level with Rhett, but you still had to lean up a few centimeters for your lips to meet. The kiss was soft, but lingering; right in the middle of all those guys Rhett thought were a better match for you. You hated that he thought that way, but you were happy to shut that voice up inside of him whenever could.

When you pulled back you reached for your bouquet, giving him your hand to hold instead. "Let's get out of here."

His cheeks were tinged pink but he was smiling as you led him out of the building hand in hand

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had convinced Rhett to skip the fancy dinner the two of you had previously planned and got fries and burgers to go at the diner instead. You wanted him to take you out stargazing.

Rhett, as you pleasantly discovered, was very knowledgeable about the night sky, and laying out, having him point out the various planets and constellations, was one of your favorite things to do with him. The nights were starting to get cold, and you figured this would be one of the last night you could star gaze with him comfortably.

When he found a spot he liked and turned off the truck you reached over and put a hand on his leg to keep him from climbing out.

"Hold on a minute," you said, giving him a tug so that he would slide over and meet you half way on the bench seat of the truck. You didn't want the steering wheel in the way of what you had planned.

When you had him where you wanted, you rose up and climbed on top of him, straddling him. His hands landed on your knees instinctively, but they quickly slide up under your skirt to rest on your upper thighs. "I think I like where this is going," he murmured, voice low and soft, that heart stopping grin one again stretching across his face, showing how pleased he was with the turn of events. You loved his voice, they way he talked, and his words caused that delicious tingle in-between you legs to flare to life.

You pushed his hat off his head before tangling your arms around his neck, neither one of you paying any attention as it hit the seat and slipped to the floor. Your face dipped to his, lips pressing together hotly. Beneath you, you felt him instantly harden at the contact, and you rocked down slightly, causing him to groan against your lips.

You laughed and leaned back, arms unwinding from his neck to pull your shirt over you head and tossing it to the floor of the cab. "I do want to look at the stars with you. But first, I want you to fuck me," you told him.

He sat up, nodding eagerly and hands falling to his belt buckle, which he began to unfasten. "Yeah, baby, I can do that."

You hesitate slightly, nothing Rhett would even notice, as small seed of doubt blooms in your belly at what you are going to do next, but then you lean in. "Good boy. Such a good boy for me," you purr, letting your lips graze across his cheek, and Rhett freezes, whole body tensing up before releasing with a full body shudder and a barely audible moan. Time stops, for a movement, but then he moves, avoiding looking at you as he resumes removing his jeans. You didn't need to see the look in his eyes to have your suspicions confirmed. You let him focus on his pants as you press an open mouthed kiss to his neck, tongue darting out to trace along the muscle where his neck met his shoulders. Rhett was the best man you had ever known, and you were going to give him what he so obviously craved and never got.

When his pants and underwear had finally been shoved down to his knees and your skirt was bunched up around your waist, he hooked a finger in the crotch of your panties and pulled them to the side, allowing you to hold his cock steady at your soaking entrance as your sunk down on him.

You both moaned at the sensation of your cunt, wet and hot, stretching around him. His head dropped to your shoulder and his arms came up to circle around you. You only stayed still for a moment, and then you began to move, hips rocking gently.

"God, you feel so good in me, Rhett. You make me feel so, so good." He shuddered again.

Your movements were slow and steady, unhurried. You wanted to take your time with him tonight. Make him feel just as good, as loved, as he always made you feel. Neither one of you had said it yet, but it was there; you both knew it, but insecurities from past relationships on both sides held it back. You were going to change that tonight.

Rhett reached up to unclasp your bra, and you wound your fingers in his hair, tugging with a gasp as his mouth latched on to one nipple, biting teasingly before tonguing the flesh to stiffness.

"You are so fucking handsome," your voice was breathy as you spoke. Rhett's hands had fallen to your hips, helping the rise and fall of your body and you could feel your pleasure bringing to grow. "So fucking sexy. And so, so good to me."

His switched to your other breast and you moaned. Fingers tightening in his hair, wanting to pull him closer and simultaneously push him away, your nipples becoming overly sensitive to his touch.

You rolled your hips, feeling the beginning sparks of your orgasm, and he fell away from you with a gasp.

"Please! Please don't stop," he gasped, not sure what he was even asking for. The need to come? Or for you to say more? Your eyes prickled at the raw vulnerability in his expression; the desperation there, begging silently for your words to be what your truly felt, and not just pillow talk.

"You are such a good man, baby. I am so lucky to have you. So proud to call you mine." You felt him trembling and knew it wasn't just from the orgasm that was rushing to overtake you both.

You made sure he was looking you directly in the eye when you moaned out your next words. "I love you, Rhett."

He was cursing, fingers digging into your hips as he forced you down on his cock and held you there as he exploded inside you. His face was pressed into your neck, but you could still make out the words he was gasping out with every hot pulse of cum. I love, I love you, fucking christ, I love you. You felt his teeth close around your collar bone and it was all to much, your orgasm sparked up your spine and you came so hard the world faded black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterward, when heart rates returned to normal you and we're both laughing and smiling as you messily detangled your bodies, Rhett spread a blanket in the bed of his truck and you settled in close to him to gaze up and the endless expanse of stars above you.

"I love you, baby," Rhett said again, words soft but the emotion behind them filling the space around you.

You pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "I love you too, cowboy."

Your relationship was still early days, but you already knew this was the man you want to spend the rest of your life with.

[misspearly1]

Day Two: Thigh Riding - Arthur Morgan

Kinktober22 List

Part Two For This Story

WC: 3.5k Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Jealously. Mutual Pining. POV switches. Arthur assumes the reader is a virgin (she isn't). Age gap. Thigh Riding + Praise Kink (Again with the praise kink, this ones on me - I can't help myself lmao). AN: This one right here was fun as hell to right. Missed our boy Arthur, enjoy my loves!

-

Why do I even bother? You question with your inner voice after overhearing Jenny and the guys’ conversation, feeling the sharp sting of that metaphorical knife stabbing you in the back. They were talking about a job, one that you found and shared in confidence with Jenny, but she now has stolen the idea from you and took all the credit for herself. 

Walking away, more like stomping away, you fight the urge to scream like a little spoiled child upon hearing Jenny receive praise after praise from Dutch, Hosea and most importantly, Arthur.

If there is anyone in this camp that you’d like to hear a ‘good job’ from, then that person would be Mr. Morgan - the most feared, loyal, trusted and sexiest male member of the Van Der Linde Gang, and who happens to be your first, real, crush. 

Three years ago, a fine talking fellow named Hosea Matthews came across you living in the streets with dirty clothes on your back and only a piece of lint in your pockets. Initially, you weren’t so willing to follow him back to his camp and trust his word that he’ll keep you safe, until he brought Susan Grimshaw and John Marston along.

When you look back on it now, it was the presence of another female that swayed you and boy are you glad that she was there to make you more trusting, otherwise you may have never joined the gang - joined the family. A couple of days under Susan's care is all it took for you to finally believe Hosea's word. You quickly settled in and found your place.

The following fortnight, Dutch and Arthur returned from their job and you fell for him instantly. Formal introductions were made of course, you had your first ten minute long speech from Dutch while Arthur made some jokes under his breath, which made you fall for him even more. His rugged good looks caught your attention first, then his humour, and lastly, his personality overall.

You liked Arthur right off the bat, there was no doubt about it, but you’ve kept that to yourself for the longest time and valued your growing bond with the man a whole lot more. He, just like the rest of the gang, welcomed you in with open arms and so many others too. In the very beginning it was just Hosea, Dutch and Arthur, but over time, more and more people joined. 

Jenny however, is fairly new around here, therefore you think she stole your job to build a good rapport with the higher-ups and if it were any other occasion, you would just brush it off and give her this one, but it’s because of what the job requires that bothers you so much. You know that Arthur likes to dress up, to put on a ruse and get into character, and that’s exactly what you had planned to do with him tomorrow in some fancy saloon while someone else cracks the safe hidden away in the cellar. 

You were so excited about this job because you know Arthur would have been so excited about it too. Just hearing Arthur, Hosea and Jenny laugh about how much they're going to fool people tomorrow night made you even more angry. That should be you going with them, not her, and you couldn’t stand to hear them talk about it any longer, hence why you’re now going to move even further away from camp.

Sitting on the edge isn’t far enough, you need a quiet and secluded spot to calm down in peace because all you feel like doing right now is either crying or yelling. Walking deeper into the woods, you could already feel a positive effect of the distance you were putting between you and Jenny. You felt better, relaxed, and it's exactly what you needed.

After approaching a clearing and finding a nice spot on the edge of a cliff, you sat down and dangled your legs over the side, basking in the warm night breeze. The sun disappeared just an hour ago, leaving a colourful gradient in the sky before darkness settles in. 

You always enjoyed nature, enjoyed the peacefulness of it, the sound of birds chirping, trees blowing with the wind or a distant animal mating call, but not the sound of a twig snapping from someone's boot doing a terrible job at sneaking up on you. “Nice try, Arthur.” You snicker, knowing damn well that it is him behind you. 

“Dammit woman.” Sighing, he slaps his thigh and totally abandons his attempt to sneak up on you. “How do ya do that?” He asks, then takes up the empty spot beside you, dangling his legs over the edge just like you were.

“I used to live on the streets, Arthur.” You roll your eyes at him playfully, then poke fun at him. “And besides, you’re not very good at sneaking up on people. It’s those darn feet of yours, they’re too big and heavy.” 

“Ah, well, you know what they say about big feet, huh?” He retorts, nudging your side with a chuckle. 

“What do you mean?” You shrug, playing innocent like a pro that works a charm on Arthur. It always does. Blushing red, he quickly stumbles through an explanation until you burst into a fit of giggles, striking the man with awareness. The sound of your amusement quickly brings him up to speed that you were just messing around, thus causing him to sigh relief before laughing about it too.

Arthur is older than you and he thinks you're innocent, but you’re not. The age gap between you and him is the reason why you won’t admit your crush besides lack of confidence. You’re in your early twenties, he is mid-way through his thirties and age gaps aren’t uncommon, but you notice the way Arthur looks at you compared to the other women in camp and it’s very different. 

He probably thinks you’re naïve, gullible and…a virgin, but you’re none of those things. You’re no harlot, nor do you have any ill opinions of women who like to sleep around, but you do have experience and know enough about sex, however he, of course, doesn’t know that. And this is why you play innocent around Arthur, to get a laugh by making him uncomfortable.

It’s amusing, just light-hearted, humorous fun between friends, though you really wish he could see that you’re not so innocent after all because you shouldn’t pleasure yourself within the privacy of your tent thinking about your ‘friend’. You are actually sinful and scandalous, cumming on your own fingers multiple times a week just wishing that it was Arthur between your legs instead. 

“What’s on your mind?” The man asks, and with impeccable timing too. Breaking the silence after spending too long thinking about your shameful activities in your tent, your cheeks now blossom a rosy red in colour, feeling like he could see directly into your mind. He couldn’t obviously, he’s just making conversation because you’re quiet, which is unusual for you.

“A few things, but I don’t wish to talk about them.” Answering his question, though sharing very little about what's on your mind, you turn to look at Arthur and smile. “I already know what your next question is going to be, and yes, I am okay - just needed a moment to myself.” You explain.

“Well…” He begins, but pauses immediately because you are right, he was about to ask if you were okay. You know him too well and answered that already, so instead, he takes a brief pause to think of something else, something that he’s sure will cheer you up. “Wanna play blackjack? I’ll throw in some money and make it more interesting for ya?” He suggests, hoping it will help with whatever is bothering you. 

Arthur then relaxes his shoulders and softens with your bright beaming smile. You nod to him excitedly, then move away from the cliff edge to find a safer spot to lay the cards out. Following you to a nice spot by the treeline, he sits down on the grass with you and digs into his satchel for his cards. He’s always kept them close after learning how much you enjoy playing blackjack. 

There’s a lot of little details about you that Arthur held onto; at first, he didn’t understand why he held onto those small details, until one day he passed a lily in the grass and instantly picked it up, thinking about how much you would like it - and that’s when it struck him that he was attracted to you. And still is. 

Arthur remembered the very first time he met you, about how you wore a lily in your hair just above your ear and how beautiful you looked. Over time, his attraction has bloomed uncontrollably but there are too many factors preventing him from admitting his crush on you.

First and foremost, you’re ten years younger than he is, therefore you won’t even be interested in an older man like him, and secondly, you are too innocent and are most likely a virgin. He doesn’t care that you are, but he doesn’t see himself worthy of being your first. 

There’s a long list of reasons why Arthur will never admit that he’s attracted to you, so instead, he will just be your friend, even though there is guilt residing in the pit of his stomach that grows each and every time he thinks about you late at night in his tent, hand wrapped around his cock, wishing it was your burning heat. 

The man hates himself for fucking his fist while picturing you, but it’s the only thing that gives him relief. Nothing else works, not even other women. He’s tried and every single time, he hasn’t managed to take off his pants. In some weird, subconscious way, it’s like he’s saving himself for you - for you to just suddenly develop a crush on him, which will likely never happen. 

“What’s on your mind?” You ask, breaking his silence after staring at his pack of cards for too long. “Do we both have a few things bothering us tonight?” You laugh, assuming his moment of deep thinking as a simple trance. Arthur chuckles with you, laughing it off as nothing, but wishes he could tell you everything. 

“Alright, we ready?” Asking rhetorically, he knows you're ready because you sat before him with your hands held out waiting for him to dish the cards, but you nod nonetheless and he begins serving.

After seeing you cross your fingers, his heart beats a little faster with a warmth spreading across his chest, and he, too, is crossing his fingers on the inside, hoping that you win. The money Arthur put down was a fifty dollar bill fold and even if you don’t win, he would just give you it anyways. Starting off strong with a total of fifteen, Arthur waits for your call and when you ask for a hit, the next card he lays out for you is a Jack, which now tally's your cards up to twenty-five, therefore it's a bust.

“God dammit.” You tut while shaking your head, the image making him smile. You get so invested with Blackjack, not with money, but with your own belief in luck and he thinks it’s cute when you get frustrated. You're a smart girl not to play with money, but he has enough to share and doesn’t mind waiting around until you win. 

However, after going bust another two times, you dig into the pockets on your skirt and lay down a couple dollars beside his fold of bills. “This is the one. I know it.” You say to him with a sure tone of voice. Arthur then tilts his head, narrowing his eyes playfully as he asks. “Are you sure now, girl? What did I tell ya about Blackjack?” 

“That if you don't win the first time, fuck the game and steal the money?” You retort, making the man laugh as he shakes his head. “No, not that, the other thing I told you.” Laughing with him, you nod and answer properly this time. “Don’t mix up belief with desperation, otherwise you will lose every single time.” 

“That’s right, good girl.” Arthur nods, pausing before he dishes out your next set of cards. “I’ll ask one more time, are you sure sweetheart?”

“Um - yes, I'm sure.” You whisper with a look of uncertainty on your face. Arthur knows a couple of dollar bills won’t be a big loss for you, but he doesn’t want you getting a taste for gambling and becoming addicted like he has done in the past many times now. You don’t look too convinced that you’re going to win. You just keep fidgeting with your hands, moving around as if you were uncomfortable and staring up into his eyes while anxiously biting your lip. 

“Cross your fingers, darlin’.” Arthur requests and when you do, he begins dishing out the cards with a hopeful wish in mind. Your first card is a seven, the second is a queen and the third is still in the deck, waiting for your call. Looking at him with big doe eyes, the man’s heart melts as he nods, believing that it’s going to be a win and that you should take a chance. 

“Hit.” You say softly while biting your lip again, but this time with a smile. Your call for another card brings out a four, making the total land on a perfect twenty-one. “Holy shit!” Gasping loudly, you hold a hand over your mouth and muffle your screams of joy. Arthur barks out a few belly laughs, hearty and deep, a victorious laugh for you when suddenly, you lunge across and wrap your arms around his neck. “Arthur! I fucking won! Omg! I actually won! Can you believe it?" You babbled excitedly.

“I sure can.” He replies, dropping the cards to wrap his arms around your lower back with a congratulating squeeze. “You’re a damn lucky girl, sweetheart. Good job.”

Upon feeling your body slump with a heavy sigh, Arthur worries over your silence and duration of your hug. You’ve hugged him plenty of times before, but nothing like this. It feels like you needed it, like your muscles relaxed and your tensions slowly disappeared. “Are ya okay, there?” He questions, rubbing a hand up and down your back reassuringly. 

“Mhm.” You nod into his neck, then hold him a little tighter, as if telling him to not let go just yet. Arthur didn’t know what is bothering you so much tonight that makes you need this hug, but he’s more than willing to provide it for you - only you. “C’mere sweetheart.” Tutting after hearing you sniffle, he pulls you closer to sit on his lap and cups the back of your head. “I didn’t wanna ask earlier, but I am now - what's bothering ya?” 

Silence. Silence is what you gave him while shaking your head into his neck. You still don’t want to talk about it, and he won’t pry it out of you, but Arthur can’t help thinking of the worst. Who? Is what he asks himself. Who has hurt you?

The man can’t even stand to think that’s what’s wrong and that thought alone was enough for him to hold you tighter, burying his chin in your neck with a soothing shush against your skin, however when he readjusts his legs beneath you, the sound he hears next isn't what he was expecting. You moaned.

Softly and quietly, you moaned into his neck and he felt you clenching around nothing directly above his thigh. You still were clenching around nothing, he could feel your heat pulsing and it was making a part of him twitch. “Um… Y/N.” Arthur manages to clear his throat then thinks about what he can say to get you off his lap before he embarrasses himself, but you shake your head again, this time with a plea in your whisper. “Just a little longer. Please?”

“I-” He gulps, still feeling your warmth pulse above his thigh as you very, very carefully move your hips. Arthur would have been none the wiser if he did not clearly understand that you were feeling something pleasurable right now. He would have been oblivious if he couldn’t feel you clenching. You’re not sad - you’re aroused. Your sniffles are muffled, struggling breaths of air as you fight back your moans and you’re getting yourself off on his leg. 

“Darlin’, I don’t think you understand what you’re doing.” He tries to reason, to make sense of what you’re doing right now, but you cup the side of his face, fingers threading through his hair to grip the base of his neck with desperation. Your breathing became ragged now, your hips doing a lousy job at being subtle, but then… then you pulled your head back to look him in the eyes, and oh those pretty big doe eyes were glossy with lusty tears, not tears of sadness. 

“I do understand.” You whimper, fully whimper right in front of his face and press your forehead to his. “It’s you that doesn’t understand, Arthur.” 

“Jesus, don’t… don’t say shit ya don’t mean, sweetheart.” Arthur fights the strangled moan stuck in his throat, knowing damn well that he is one mistake away from losing your friendship all together, however you persist with a desperate plea. “I need you.”

Taking his hands and lowering them to your ass, he gasps from the action and shakes his head, still not believing himself worthy of taking your purity and innocence, until you wipe out his doubts completely. “Arthur, I’m not a virgin.” You blurt. 

“What?” He chokes, mouth falling open with surprise. He couldn't believe it at first, couldn't believe what you were telling him, though the moment was short lived as he suddenly became aware of every little detail he overlooked.

He was struck with a thousand memories of you and him in the past, where he now realizes it wasn’t innocent behaviour on your behalf, it was him assuming you were innocent and naïve when you were actually teasing him. All this time, Arthur had held himself back, believing you were a virgin, believing that you were just his friend, joking and messing around when it was actually flirting. Arthur realizes now, and he acts on it. 

“Fuck!” He grunts, puffing a heavy wanton breath of air across your face. He then grabs your hips with a bruising grip and drags you across his thigh, drawing out a pornographic moan from deep within your stomach. “Oh, Arthur. Yes, just like that.” Your reassurance pleases the man, pushes him to provide more pleasure. 

Bending his knee a little and causing you to lean into him, he digs the heel of his boot into the earth and watches you roll your hips back and forth, using the friction of his jean clad thigh to stimulate your most sensitive area.

Arthur tore his eyes away from your face momentarily and looks down to see a dampness beginning to form on his thigh. She must be soaked through, he thinks then looks back into your eyes, the irises expanding with ecstasy at your sexy torn expression.

“Arthur, I'm close.” You sob. Grabbing onto his muscular biceps to steady yourself, he fought the urge to move, fearing it would mess with your focus and ruin your orgasm. Instead, he opted to watch; watch and weep with bliss as you tipple over the edge and fall into the pools of euphoria, making the man groan with his own release just watching you unfold. 

Your pretty face contorts, brows pulling together with your gorgeous eyes struggling to stay open. Little whimpers and mewls slipping from your lips, your fingers dig into the flesh around his arm and your cunt squeezes tightly around nothing when suddenly, you stop moving all together. Arching your back with a ragged inhale, you breath out a long, satisfied moan of his name then slowly rotate your hips, stimulating yourself through your high. 

“Hm, that’s it darlin’.” He speaks with praise, cupping the side of your face while dragging his thumb across your beautiful lips. Lips that he's wanted to kiss for so many moons now. “Good girl.” He whispers, causing you to open your eyes to look at him, then open your mouth and take his thumb inside, humming contentedly like it felt good. It made Arthur’s whole-body shudder with desire, seeing you act so corrupt and provocative with his thumb in your mouth when it was only moments ago, he believed you had never been with a man before.

No longer did he feel that ball of guilt in his stomach for taking himself in hand many times while thinking about you, instead it was replaced with a raging fireball of primal instincts to bury his cock inside of your warmth, just like he’s dreamed to do. You look down to his pants, noticing the damp spot you created and the damp spot he had created in the crotch area. He came too, came with you, but if you thought Arthur Morgan was done, then you are sorely mistaken. 

Pulling back the waistband of his pants, he frees his cock from the confines of his clothes and wraps his fingers around the base, pumping twice. Your reaction to seeing his size for the very first time makes his chest swell with anticipation. You practically drooled at the sight of him, bushy, long and girthy with a sizable set of balls. You wanted to touch him, pleasure him, take him inside and squeeze so tight as you climax again, and again, and again - just like you've dreamed to.

Arthur didn’t need to see into your mind to know what you were thinking about, he could see it clearly written all over your face, however he’s far from done with you quiet yet. “Again.” He commands, lifting his leg as a signal for you to move while he begins jerking himself off.

“Be a good girl and ride my thigh again, Y/N.”

-

Perma Taglist (Everything): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20 @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @joelsrifle @swtaura @alexxavicry @boliv-jenta @dragonsondragons @practicalghost

All Arthur Morgan Content: @pale-gingerale @joelsflannel @readsalot73 @mooraakath @chxpsi @joelmillerscoffee @wordsfromshona @swtaura @sleepylunarwolf @faceache111 @kunakizen

Kinktober Tag: @scorpio-marionette

[corrodededdie]

Kinktober Day 2: Floor Sex with Eddie Munson

eddie munson x f!reader, minors dni! WOW this took me forever and a day to get out. i wasn’t feeling inspired but then i realized… eddie’s van has a floor! i still struggled with this one so it may be all over the place. also i know i’m a few days behind now but i’m just going at my own pace!

desperate reader, slightly dominant eddie, pinning wrists down, slight degradation

Somehow, Eddie always knew what you needed.

On days where you just needed to talk and complain to get your thoughts and feelings out of your head, he was there to listen. On days when you barely felt up to saying a few words, Eddie would fill the silence by rambling on about anything to give your head a break from thinking.

On days like this when you needed mindless, forget-about-everything-else sex, Eddie was more than happy to be there for you and do whatever you wanted.

“Can you like, pull over? Somewhere?” You asked, your knee bouncing up and down while you fidgeted in the passenger seat.

“That bad, huh?” Eddie asked, side-eyeing you as a smile came to his lips. You huffed and rolled your eyes but nodded regardless. Eddie laughed once and shook his head. “Wait like, three more minutes—“

“Eddie,” you whined to cut him off.

Eddie just raised an eyebrow and glanced at you amusedly.

“Like I was saying, just wait a few more minutes and I’ll park somewhere less conspicuous,” he said as he shook his head once more. “As metal as fucking on the side of the road is, I can’t afford another run in with a cop right now.”

You giggled and nodded along.

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically. “But hurry.”

Eddie glanced at you again as he turned onto a road you didn’t think you recognized.

“You sure you don’t wanna talk about—“

“Nope,” you cut Eddie off, not trying to be rude. You had a sweet smile on your face. When you saw the hidden concern in Eddie’s eyes, you sighed a little. “Maybe after you fuck my brains out.”

That got Eddie to laugh, and you laughed with him. You didn’t want him to worry about you. There was nothing really bad that had happened, it was just a lot. You were pent up and frustrated and sometimes, this was all you needed. Eddie already knew that, but you could tell he was less worried when one of his hands reached over and rested on your thigh.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said as his thumb swiped back and forth. “I got ya’.”

You smiled and felt your cheeks heat up, and you couldn’t help getting slightly distracted by Eddie’s hand on you. Distracted enough that you didn’t realize that Eddie had now parked somewhere— wherever you were. You didn’t notice that the van had stopped until you heard Eddie undo his seatbelt.

You jumped slightly and moved your eyes from his hand on your thigh to his face for a moment before you were on him.

You had practically ripped your seatbelt off and launched yourself at him, not caring about whatever parts of the car were in the way between you.

Eddie grabbed your hips to steady you as your lips met, hungrily and messy. Your hands wound up in his hair while he pulled you in closer. It was an awkward position, you leaned over the median of the van, half in Eddie’s lap while you greedily made out with him. And it wasn’t enough.

“Eddie,” you breathed out between kisses. “I need you.”

Eddie stifled a moan and nodded.

“Get in the back,” he said, pushing you back slightly. You nodded quickly and hastily moved yourself off of him and crawled into the back of the van.

There were a couple blankets and pillows thrown around the back, but you didn’t care about comfort at the moment. You just wanted Eddie.

Eddie followed behind you and you whined quietly as you laid back and looked up at him looming over you. Your hands went to your shirt and started to tug it up, but Eddie stopped you.

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” He asked as he took your hands and pinned them down next to either side of your head. You glared up at him and he smiled. “Impatient.”

You nodded and held your glare. Eddie smiled more and leaned down, just above your lips.

“Careful, princess,” he whispered. “I could tie you up back here and then drive you right back home without even touching you how you want me to.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head.

“No, please Eddie, don’t,” you said quickly. You were too riled up to really process that he wasn’t being serious.

Eddie laughed and kissed you while letting go of your hands. He moved his hands to the sides of your face and you whined at the touch. Just his bare hands on your skin seemed to add fuel to the fire.

“Eddie, please,” you panted as you arched your back to press yourself against him. “Now— I need it. Need you.”

Eddie groaned and gently bit your bottom lip, making you moan and squirm underneath him.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out as he pulled away slightly to look down at you. “Whatever’s bothering you so much has you acting like a bitch in heat.”

You moaned at his vulgar words and nodded your head. He wasn’t wrong, entirely. Your frustrations had built up over the week and you were at your limit. You just needed him to push you over the edge.

“You gonna do something about it, Eddie?” You teased, your voice raspier than normal. Eddie’s gaze on you darkened as he leaned back down and kissed you harder.

His hands left your face and traveled down to your hips, where he yanked your shirt up quickly, pushing it up over your breasts. He squeezed one of them, making you whimper against him before his hands traveled further down your body.

He was quick as he unbuttoned your pants and pulled the zipper down. He bit your bottom lip again as he shoved his hand in your pants, groaning when he found that you weren’t wearing any panties.

“Whore,” was all he breathed out as he ran his fingers up and down your already soaked cunt. Your words had spurred him on and he was being quicker and rougher than he usually was with you. At least, rougher than he usually was right away.

“How’s this for doin’ something about it?” Eddie asked as he shoved two of his fingers all the way inside you. You gasped and arched into the touch as Eddie started pumping his fingers in and out of you. The wet sounds coming from between your legs should have been humiliating, but it just turned you on more.

“Not enough,” you gambled with your words. You were walking in dangerous territory by taunting Eddie.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asked, an eyebrow raised. “That so?”

“Mhmm,” you moaned, still moving your hips in time with Eddie’s movements. “It’s not enou— ah!”

Eddie’s fingers suddenly curving and curling inside you, finding that sweet spot that only he could reach, made the words die on your tongue.

You squeezed your eyes shut and arched your back again, letting Eddie take the reigns and fuck you with his fingers as fast as he wanted to.

“Not enough, huh? Seems like that was a lie,” Eddie teased as he pulled back so he could look down at you. Your face was contorted in pleasure and he knew you were hurtling towards your first orgasm. He swore he could have cum right then and there, just from watching the pleasure on your face.

You were so close. So when Eddie abruptly pulled his fingers away from you, you couldn’t help the strangled cry that left your throat.

“What the fuck, Eddie?” You growled as you opened your eyes. Those same eyes widened when you saw Eddie reach into his back pocket and pull a condom out, ripping the top off with his teeth.

Eager as ever, you started to try and pull your pants off as Eddie undid his belt and unzipped his own jeans, not bothering to take them fully off as he pulled his cock out. But he stopped you from getting very far.

“I’m gonna have to pin you down while I fuck you since you can’t keep those pretty hands where they should be,” Eddie said as he tsked and shook his head. You whined and watched as he carefully slid the condom onto his cock, making sure it was on correctly. Something about even that always got you going too. Eddie moved his hands back to your hips and he smiled down at you, somewhat sinisterly.

“Because, like I said, this,” he said as he hooked his fingers into the loops of your pants and yanked them down roughly. “Is my job, isn’t it sweetheart?”

You had gasped at the sudden movements but you nodded your head quickly.

“Y-yes, Eddie, of course,” you whimpered, eagerly spreading your legs for him when he got your pants all the way off. Eddie sucked in a breath at the sight and smirked while shaking his head.

“You really are like a cute little bitch in heat tonight,” Eddie taunted as he brought his cock to your entrance, but didn’t push in yet. You nodded and whined again. Eddie dragged his cock up and down your slit, getting his cock completely soaked with you before moving the head to your entrance again.

“Please, Eddie,” you cried out when he didn’t start fucking you again. “Make it better, please, baby.”

The desperation in your voice broke Eddie’s resolve a bit. He took a breath and moved both of his hands so they were instead wrapping around both of your wrists, pinning them to the floor of his van yet again.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I got ya’” Eddie said for the second time that night, before he slowly pushed his cock inside of your cunt.

Finally getting what you had wanted all night, you cried out in pleasure and let your head fall back against the floor, squeezing your eyes shut as Eddie filled you. His hands tightened around your wrists as he bottomed out and groaned before pulling back out, almost all the way. He pumped back inside of you and you felt your cunt already squeezing his cock.

“Fuck,” you moaned and opened your eyes to look up at Eddie. His eyes were between your legs, watching as his cock kept disappearing inside you while he started gaining a faster pace. You couldn’t help another moan as he started fucking you just how you wanted it.

Eddie looked back up at you and smiled at the already fucked out look in your eyes as you moaned beneath him. He leaned down and kissed you hard, keeping up the pace as he thrust his cock in and out of you.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Eddie said against your lips. You whined and felt your pussy tighten at his praise. Eddie felt it too and groaned. “Always so pretty, but so. fuckin’. beautiful right now.”

Each word he punctuated by thrusting his cock deeper inside you, making you gasp each time he did so. Eddie bit his own bottom lip slightly as he moved your wrists above your head so he could hold them both down with just one hand instead. He used his free hand to hold your cheek for a moment before trailing down your neck and across your chest, tweaking your nipples between his fingers a few times each.

Your head tipped back and your eyes slid shut again from the pleasure between your legs, amplified by Eddie playing with your nipples. When he started pinching them harder, you cried out and felt yourself get that much closer to cumming right then and there.

“Eddie,” you whined, dragging his name out. Your voice went in and out with how he was thrusting into you and you whimpered. “I w-wanna cum.”

Eddie laughed from above you and you whined again.

“Don’t tease tonight, I just wanna—“

“Shh,” Eddie cut you off as his hand teasing your nipples traveled further down your body. He groaned as he squeezed your thigh once before bringing his fingers to your pussy again. When his fingertips began rubbing small circles into your clit, you were sure you saw stars behind your eyes as you cried out and started squirming beneath him. “Don’t hold back on me. I want to lose count of how many times this pussy cums on my cock.”

At Eddie’s words and permission, you lost your mind. You came almost immediately, writhing and struggling to move under Eddie’s grip on your wrists. Eddie fucked you through it, moaning and holding your wrists down tight as he fucked into you, feeling your warmth clench around him.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie said through gritted teeth as you came. “That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

You sobbed out a moan and nodded weakly, your head still in the clouds.

“Your girl,” you repeated back to him. Eddie smiled and released your wrists. You automatically wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss him as he continued to pump his cock into you. When you whimpered and dug your nails into his shoulders slightly, he started to pick his pace back up.

Now with two free hands, Eddie began playing with your nipples and your clit at the same time. You almost screamed and started pushing your hips up to meet his thrusts again.

“Fuck, Eddie!” You cried out as you felt yourself getting close again. “I’m gonna— I’m gonna!”

Eddie just nodded and shoved his cock all the way inside you and stopped while he rubbed your clit faster and started pinching the nipple he was playing with.

You thought you saw some kind of deity in the white hot pleasure that blinded you as you came.

Eddie was relentless as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from you, right on the floor of his van. He never let up or gave you any chance to catch your breath in between. He fucked you senseless— exactly how you had wanted him to.

You were barely aware of it when Eddie finally came, shoving his cock deep inside you while kissing you again. You moaned quietly and wrapped your arms back around his neck, keeping him there for a few moments.

You were both exhausted as you lazily kissed, Eddie’s cock still inside you as it slowly began to soften. You still loved the feeling. You just loved feeling him.

Eddie broke away from the kiss to push his head into the crook of your neck and kiss you there slowly.

You giggled and felt Eddie smile against your skin. He raised an eyebrow.

“What?” He asked, not moving from his spot in the crook of your neck. You giggled one more time and hummed.

“That was still pretty metal if you ask me,” you said quietly, still giggling slightly.

Eddie laughed and shook his head.

“Metal indeed, sweetheart.”

[twistnet]

in the dead of night [ ellie williams ]

⋯ KINKTOBER PROMPT ; day 24 [ outdoor sex ]

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, smut [ outdoor sex, wet dreams, vaginal fingering, marking, soft dirty talk ] + mature language 

⋯ NOTE ; this content is strictly for those 18+ ; any minors // ageless // blank blogs interacting with this post // masterlist will be blocked

shimmer made a noise from your right -- the horse happily grazing along the side of the desolate road without so much as a care in the world. ellie had de-saddled her, letting her rest for the night without the weight of your packs and saddle. however, she still kept the lead rope on just in case something were to happen.

the three of you had stopped after riding most of the day, stopping somewhere in idaho to make a camp and eat some of the food you had packed away. you and ellie sat mostly in silence, shoulders occasionally brushing against one another when either of you would giggle about something the other had said.

eventually, ellie stood from her spot, brushing her hands against her jeans before grabbing her rifle, “you sleep, i’ll take first watch.” it’s paired with a smile, and leaves no real room for argument as she walks a short distance to perch herself up to overlook the area the two of you were resting in.

with a slight huff, you pull your winter coat from your pack, tossing it around your shoulders before propping your pack up to function as a pillow for the night. there’s a quiet uttering of goodnight’s for the two of you, leaving you to roll over and finally get some shut eye.

until you were abruptly awoken from your sleep with ellie pushing roughly on your shoulder, “hey! you alright?” she questions concerned, eyes dragging down your form in search of any other signs of distress. you look up at her with tired eyes, “what’s wrong? is it time for my shift?” you slur slightly, voice still laced with sleep.

“no. it sounded like you were having a bad dream...” she whispers, thinking it had something to do with the ski house and having to walk in on the scene of joel and her on the floor. however, you seem to shy away as you break her gaze,  “i wasn’t having a bad dream...”

confusion draws across her features for a moment, before realization dawns on her and she shuffles back a little bit. heat immediately rushes to your face and just as you’re getting ready to state you’ll take over watch, a firm hand presses against your shoulder and pushes you back against the ground, “do you want me to help you?”

the words are uttered so quickly that you almost miss them, but you manage to catch every word nonetheless. your eyes widen, head snapping up towards her own as a look of surprise crosses your face. never in a million years would you have ever imagined getting to hear something like that come from her mouth. and yet, here she was.

wordlessly, you nod, and her hands drop to the waistband of your jeans to quickly undo them. then, she’s guiding your jeans and underwear down to the middle of your thighs, giving her enough room to slip her fingers through you glistening folds and circle your clit.

a low moan leaves your lips, which is immediately silenced by ellie’s lips pressing against your own. drawing back just a breath to murmur against your lips, “we’re still outside, don’t know what’s out there. so you need to be quiet, yeah?” the husky words only at fuel to fire, and while you worried about infected limping up to the two of you in such a vulnerable position, it all flew out the window when one of her fingers dipped into your cunt.

aided with her thumb pressed right against your clit, she prodded right against your sweet spot with each thrust of her finger. adding in another after a few strokes. her lips moving on to suck a few marks into your neck as you tried you best to keep yourself quiet as the coil in your stomach tightened.

ellie smiled to herself, teeth still grazing at the skin of your neck while she worked her fingers into you, “doing so good baby... clenching around my fingers so good.” she coos softly, moving to suck another mark at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

your hips buck up, thrusting back against her fingers as you chase your orgasm. falling over the edge seconds later with ellie’s lips muffling your moans.  she talks you gently through the aftershocks, gently caressing your face as your breathing slowly evens out and ellie helps you get your pants back in place.

she presses another kiss to your lips before dragging you up into a seated position, “it wouldn’t hurt for us to get a head start, but i’ll let you get situated before we get back on the road.”

blog navigation ⇢ [ kinktober masterlist ]

[moralesispunk]

All Tied Up // Marcus Pike

Kinktober Masterlist / Part 1 (though you don’t need to read it before this)

Warnings: female reader and gendered terms used, established relationship, overstimulation with sex toy, bondage, Marcus is a pleasure dom (I will, again, never think otherwise), unprotected sex

Word Count: 1.3k

A/n: I missed this man

The cuffs are secure around your ankles and wrists, the padding stopping the tightness from being painful but the tension stopping you from being able to move more than an inch or two any which way.

“Marcus,” you gasp his name as another vibration rocks through your body, your hips lifting towards him as much as they can before the way you are tied to the bed, as though it was a Saint Andrew's cross, halts your movements. “Please-”

He was kneeling between your thighs that were spread wide, still fully clothed minus his shoes that had been toed off at the door and the suit jacket that had been flung across the back of the chair in the corner of the bedroom as he began to roll up his sleeves and ordered you to the bed without so much a glance in your direction. In fact, he hadn’t turned to face you until his tie had been loosened and cufflinks placed on the dressing table when he finally looked into the mirror and nodded approvingly when he saw you lying, bare, spread out on the bed waiting for him.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about all day?” He asked, wrapping a cuff around one ankle before moving to the next. “I’ve been thinking about that toy.” He nodded his head towards your bedside table as he lifted your other foot, bending his head and pressing a kiss to your ankle before he wrapped it in the second cuff.

You didn’t have to ask to know what toy he was talking about.

Marcus doesn’t shy away from toys in the bedroom, in fact he leans in to whatever can help him make you feel any better in addition to his fingers, his tongue, and his cock. But this one toy, the one he had tortured you with for hours when you both worked from home together last week, has had his eyes casting glances to the drawer, not-so-subtly for an FBI agent, every time he steps foot inside your bedroom.

He had spent hours dragging out your pleasure before he finally gave in, letting it wreak havoc through you as you knelt by his side and he coaxed you till the very end, but tonight you think he has a different kind of torture in mind. 

One that may have you begging for the end.

He had carefully wrapped your wrists above your head, testing the cuffs to make sure they weren’t too tight and not too loose before he walked around the bed to the drawer, lifting out the toy and bringing it to your lips to coat in your spit before he slowly, slowly, worked you open around the silicon length.

When it was in place he spent his leisurely time spreading you with his fingers, taking in his handy work and nudging the toy ever so deeper inside you, until he was finally content to sit back and reach for the remote.

You’ve lost count from the amount of times he has made you come since you first lay on the bed, hours of pleasure making your head spin as he starts the vibrations again, waiting until you had calmed down enough from the last time but not so much that your body doesn’t cry out in sensitivity when it begins again.

“Please, what?” He asks, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh and giving it one short, sharp slap when you don’t answer.

“I can’t… not again,” you sob, turning your head enough to hide your face into the pillow before he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and he tilts you back up to look at him.

“You can,” he replies, bending his weight over you until the next words are brushed against your lips, “because you’re my good girl.”

Your whine is broken off by his lips pressing to yours, his body pressing against yours enough for you to feel for the first time just how hard he’s straining against his slacks. You’ve caught him, when you aren’t stuck somewhere between pleasure and pain as another orgasm tears through you, palming himself and giving himself a moment of reprieve from how badly he wants to tear the toy away and bury himself deep inside you in place of it.

He manages to hold up well, his cheeks flushed and his breathing more labored but overall being able to stay in control as he clicks the remote and the vibrations kick up again as he runs his fingers around where the toy spreads you open.

“One more for me,” he says over your moans, “one more and then I’ll fill that pretty pussy with my cock.”

You almost scream his name when he nudges the toy even deeper inside, your back arching as much as it can before he presses you back down against the mattress and barely lets you crest over the peak before pulling the toy out. 

He quickly pulls off his tie, unbuttoning his shirt and giving up before taking it all the way off as you lie still strapped to the bed and he pulls his cock free, the head red and leaking as he works his hand over the length twice before lining it up and pushing deep inside you in one slow thrust. He’s still almost fully dressed, his trousers pressing against your soft thighs as he reaches down and frees both of your ankles and wraps them around his waist as he continues to thrust into you.

His soft tummy and strong chest press against yours and his mouth meets your own in a bruising kiss, swallowing every moan as he pushes both of your bodies higher and higher on the bed until you’re almost bumping the headboard and only then do you feel him free your wrists.

Your hands fall to his shoulders and push back his shirt, working with him to shrug it off before throwing it off somewhere to the side and raking your nails between his shoulder blades as his whole body shivers on top of yours. 

In an instant he lifts both of your bodies from the mattress, your legs still wrapped around his waist and his weight resting back on his knees as he steadies you with a hand on your neck and the bottom of your back and he continues to fuck up into you. It always feels like more at this angle, every last inch of him buried deep inside, and your head falls to his neck as his lips press to your temple.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groans, his teeth dragging across your shoulder. “Let me feel you this time.”

It’s too much, with your orgasm that was barely over before he thrust into you quickly building into another, and you shatter around him with a moan pressed into his skin as he follows. His hand falls to the mattress by his knees, holding up both of you as he groans your name and fills you until it’s leaking past your thighs and the both of you fall back to the mattress.

You can barely keep your eyes open as his weight shuffles off of you and you don’t realize you’ve wordlessly protested, your hands reaching for him as you whimper, until his hand catches yours and he kisses across your knuckles.

“I’ll be right back.”

The dull thud of his trousers finally coming off and hitting the floor is followed by the bathroom tap turning on, the mattress dipping soon after as he softly, ever so softly, drags the warm cloth over you before bringing you into his arms.

“There you go,” he whispers, stroking your back and kissing your forehead. “You did go good for me, honey. So good.”

And you nuzzle closer into his chest, feeling his warmth surround you just as you drift off to sleep in his arms.

[the-purity-pen]

KINKTOBER 2022

HELLO EVERYONE!!!

It's that time of year again!! Kinktober is back, and by popular demand, I have created a new list for this year with some new options that last year didn't have.

For each day, there are two options, giving you optimal comfort level of creating! Or you can try something else and challenge yourself!

The image with the list, as well as a text version, is below the cut! I’ve also included a themed header if you’d like to post that along with your creations!

I’m so excited to see what you come up with! Any fandom! Any characters! Any creations!

Please tag my account (@the-purity-pen) and #tppkinktober2021 in your creations so I can see!

My only stipulation is to PLEASE be over the age of 18 in order to create for this event. Any minors participating and tagging me, will be blocked.

69 // Dirty Talk

A/B/O // Floor Sex

Anal // Glove Kink

Breath Play // Missionary

Breeding // Leather/Latex

Cockwarming // Morning Sex

Costumes // Sex Toys

Creampie // Voice Kink

Double Penetration // Stripping

Drunk Sex // Spanking

Erotic Photos // Rimming

Exhibitionism/Voyeurism // Hate/Angry Sex

Face Sitting/Fucking // Dry Humping

Fisting // Love Bites/Marks

Group Sex // Overstimulation

Bath/Shower Sex // Intercrural Sex

Licking // Pegging

Bondage // Lingerie

Boot Worship // Masturbation

Dirty Dancing // Mirror Sex

Nipple Play // Praise Kink

Object Insertion // Phone Sex

Food Play // Orgasm Denial

Outdoor Sex // Tender Sex

Pet Play // Sex Pollen

Sexting // Wax Play

Sensory Deprivation // Stockings

Formal Wear // Strap-Ons

Body Worship // Table Sex

Public Sex // Temperature Play

FREE CHOICE

[heresathreebee]

Eddie Munson | Stranger Things 4 || Face Sitting/ Fucking // Dry Humping

Eddie Lives AU/ Roommates; 2.8k words; NO BETA/ SELF-EDITED, Roommates (living with their older relatives), Swearing, Cramped Quarters, Sexual Frustration, Threat of Destruction of Property (poor Sweetheart the electric guitar, she’s done nothing wrong), Dry Humping, Magic Wand Vibrator, Slight Choking, Squirting

Previous | Masterlist | Next: Kurt Kunkle Love Bites/ Marks

You didn't hate him– you just hated everything around him. Living with Eddie Munson and his uncle Wayne meant less room in the trailer, more messes that you alone were expected to clean, and zero privacy. Your aunt originally invited Wayne and "his boy" as she called him to stay with you and her, but when an eviction notice came unexpectedly, the lot of you had been forced to return to Forest Hill for housing– right back into the infamous scene of Chrissy Cunningham's death. 

Some changes had been made– A loft was built on top of the trailer with enough room for one queen sized bed that your aunt and his uncle traded. Meanwhile, the actual trailer's only bedroom had been turned into two via a "privacy curtain" and downsized a lot of things to fit all of you in. Your room held a twin sized mattress and a chest of drawers you used as a desk, and Eddie’s room mirrored yours plus a stack of amps for his electric guitar. 

That damn guitar. If he's not jamming in his friends' garage or running D&D on Fridays with those high schoolers, he's strumming that fucking instrument and blasting (quietly if you ask) his music all night. At least he knocks on the privacy wall before he bothers you with something mundane when he can't entertain himself. 

Somewhere along the way, after months with no way to relieve your urges, you snapped. Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin when you throw the folding curtain aside and stomp into his space. 

"What'd I do? What'd I do?!" 

You grab his ankles and drag him down the bed and he gets lost in the blanket he was curled up in. You catch his guitar before it hits the dirty floor and hold it over your head much to Eddie's dismay. His eyes become saucers and his face gets stern. 

"Don't," he hisses with one hand out as if to placate a rabid animal. 

Unperturbed, you sneer. "It's Thursday. Don't you have somewhere else to be?!" 

Eddie shrugs. "We– I… one of my buddies was forced to go camping. We- we can't play without the drums." 

You grit your teeth, unsatisfied. "So do something else. Somewhere else!" 

"I-I-I," Eddie sputters as he watches your nails dig into his precious baby. "Like what? Where do you want me to go?!" 

"Outside, Eddie!," you scream. 

"Why?!" 

…you uh, don't know how to answer that. In fact, you were banking on simply scaring him so bad he left without question, yet here you are. He wasn't being loud today. He wasn't making a mess or bothering you for once. He was just there and he could hear everything, just like you could hear everything he does in his room– especially the private stuff. 

"Just– " you sigh and use your head to support the guitar you were holding as your arms grow tired. "An hour. I just want an hour alone. Is that too much to ask?" 

Eddie looks at you sympathetically. "... I wish I could, but uh… I actually can't just go outside and loiter like I used to..." 

Oh fuck, you forgot. Munson was legally cleared of murdering the cheerleader (you wouldn't have believed it anyway not since you met him, the scared little lay about) but that didn't mean their weren't people still hunting him. No other suspects were arrested for it, the cause of her death was still unknown. 

You tossed Eddie his guitar back and worried your lip trying to come up with an alternative. Maybe you could take your vibrator, a towel, and his van to an empty parking lot. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him but, you would be way more comfortable doing it at home. You can’t just ignore it anymore, it’s consuming your every thought and ruining your panties… 

“Is there… something else I can help you with?,” he asks warily. 

You know what he means– you know! But you can’t stop from shifting your feet and rubbing your thighs together just to provide some relief. You try glaring meanly at him but it feels a lot more sexually charged than it should be and unfortunately, Eddie looks like he’s catching on to your dilemma. 

“Oh,” he murmurs. “You want alone time to… oh!” 

You roll your eyes and turn to go back to your room but he stops you. "Hey wait! I could still… I could still help you with that too. If– if you want…" 

You look over Eddie. Before you busted down the wall between your rooms, he had been relaxing. His hair was tied up, wearing the gray shirt you were secretly obsessed with because it was Unnaturally Soft, and barefoot. You reach down to rip the blanket off him, revealing for a split second that he was only wearing boxers before he shielded his modesty with the base of his guitar. 

Well, he did look delectable like this. And you were desperate at this point. "There are going to be rules." 

Eddie furrows his brow as you disappear into your room, only to return a moment later wielding an object he had only seen in pornos and sex shops. "Rule one," you say as you point the vibrator at him menacingly, "never ever ever speak about this to anyone." 

"Done, our secret." Eddie's eyes follow you as you saunter towards him and swiftly straddle his hips. “Anything else?” 

You reach down and accidentally flash him your cleavage before jamming his guitar in his arms. “Rule two, don’t look at me and keep playing.” 

“Ok– UGM.” You sit on his hips and feel the hump of his ‘boy bits’ against your sex– both lightly clothed in cotton. “Any requests?” 

“Know anything with a semi-sensual bass line?,” your voice comes in a sigh as you rut against him, feeling yourself grow hotter as you finally feel the beginnings of your game coming to fruition. The first phrases he strums are intensely familiar. “Oh, House of the Rising Sun? You’ve been snooping through my things.”

Eddie shrugs and turns his eyes to the ceiling as per the second rule. “Hardly snooping if you leave your cassettes in my van.”  

He grunts and closes his eyes, his fingers skipping over a note as you rut again and set your vibrator to the lowest setting. You can feel his thighs stiffen under your ass as you pull the top of your dress down and bare your hardening nipples to tease them. 

Your eyes drift closed as you feel everything. “Fuck Eddie.” 

The man hums in response and you both hissed as the vibrator made contact with your clit and the base of his hardening cock. In an instant, two clammy hands grasp your hips and forced you up. 

"Stop," Eddie begged, "hang on, I need…" 

You catch yourself from falling on him with a hand on his pillow and pause. Eddie is panting as he reaches into his boxers (not minding a few wet spots) to settle his cock against his belly and hooking the waistband under his balls. Obediently, his hands return to his guitar and he nods at you. 

"Ok I'm good, you can–" 

You snapped his underwear back into its rightful place halfway up his cock and Eddie almost screamed, his eyes pricking with tears and veins bulging in his neck. He glares at you with more malice than you thought he was capable of and he forces you to sit down on his hips before returning his eyes to the ceiling. 

"Nice tits," he growls. 

"I know," you chuckle and resume your minstrations. 

Eddie's guitar picks up where he left off. You continue rocking your hips and return the bulky vibrating wand to stimulate your clit, even brushing the sensitive frenelum of Eddie’s cockhead with the wand and loving the way he bucks up into you. The coil in your gut tightens harshly and you feel something unexpected but exciting building with it. 

You hum long and low in your throat. "Keep playing, Eddie." 

"'M trying," he groans, "getting close." 

Your wand dies unexpectedly and you quickly toss it aside with a huff. "Just keep playing. Fuck, Eddie…" 

He loves the way his name sounds, and when you say it like that… he misses the E string again and holds his guitar up to his neck. The last thing he wants is to come all over his precious Sweetheart, even if it annoys you. He tries strumming the melody from up high. It sounds a little out of tune and he catches you smiling (your eyes are closed, or you'd scold him for breaking your rules). 

"Thought you said you learned Master of Puppets in 30 days," you tease, "but now you can't play four bars on repeat. S'matter, pussy too good?" 

Eddie grips his guitar roughly. "Can feel how wet you are…" and see your pretty chest swaying. He shuts his eyes tight. Your threats are rarely empty and he needs to come, he'll die if he doesn't. 

"Oh shhh–" 

Eddie hits himself in the face trying to thrust Sweetheart out of the splash zone. He growls as streams of pearly white fluid pools in his belly button and paint streaks across his shirt, even tiny droplets splash under his chin. Your movements milk every drop out of him, and as soon as he cracks an eye open, he sees you triumphantly admiring your handy work. 

"Fuck," Eddie hisses as his cock throbs one more time and everything starts to feel overly sensitive. "Too much, too much." 

Reluctantly, you stop rocking and stare down your nose at Eddie. He knows what you're thinking already and tries to dissuade you with a firm hand on your hips. 

"Just need to catch my breath," he pleads. "Why don't you take this off before it gets ruined?" 

His fingers gently tug on the sun dress pooling around your hips. In truth, he wants to be able to see more of you, and you oblige his suggestion with seductive grace. Now it's just you and two layers of cotton underwear sitting on his softening cock and empty sack. He sets his guitar just off the bed and helps you adjust your placement for better friction. 

"Pick that up," you command. "I didn't say you could stop playing." 

Eddie sighs, "yes ma'am." 

He folds his shirt in half to cover his mess and settles Sweetheart back in her place against his ribcage. He glances back at you again as he finally notices the vibrating wand has disappeared. 

"Look the other way." Your eyebrows are drawn together and you unconsciously cover your breasts with your hands until he obeys. 

It's weird to him that you choose to be shy at this moment. After all, you were downright prideful a moment ago, and he is the only one covered in cum right about now. 

"Any other requests? A different song perhaps?" 

"Sure…" 

Eddie tunes a string that sounded off and begins to play something a little less somber but with a heavy bassline. Sunshine of Your Love fills the space between you and he can hear you smiling through your praise. 

"I like this one," you chuckle and begin to rock your hips again, slower this time to build back the momentum you lost. 

He's less sensitive now and simply enjoying the feel of you, wanting to get you off like he said he would. Still, it's fun to hear you 1) laugh and 2) like his taste in music. If he could get hard again, he totally would. 

It's not long before he feels your warm hands come down on his shoulders for support and it takes every ounce of his control not to look at you. The gentle sighs that fall from your lips come in time with the rising speed of your thrusts against his flaccid junk. Eddie counts to four in his head, bends his knees, and bucks up in perfect time to help you get off. 

The prettiest filthiest sound pours out of you halfway between a sob and a sigh. You bite your tongue hard to stop yourself from saying his name again and scold yourself internally for even thinking about it. This isn't about Eddie, this is about getting off. But no matter how hard you try, you just can't seem to get there. Not without the wand and not without thinking of Eddie. 

"Fuck..." The curse is dripping with frustration and Eddie's heart pangs with sympathy. 

Eddie's had enough. You can't finish like this but you are too stubborn to help even yourself. It's time to take over. 

You gasp as you suddenly feel Eddie's fingers wrap around your throat. There's a dark look in his eye as he sits up on his elbow, guitar set aside again. It fills you with heat that pools in your gut. 

"Come on, princess," Eddie says, his voice low and gravelly, "what's the matter? You want to come, don't you?" 

"Ah! Eddie!" One second you're dry humping your roommate, and the next you find yourself on your back with said roommate hovering over you. His rough hand squeezes your wind pipe for a second causing stars to dance in your eyes and his hips press down, pushing your thighs wider to accommodate his width. You tell yourself you shouldn’t feel so aroused by this lazy nerd musician. 

“If you want me to stop, say the magic word. But before you do–” he tilts his head back and licks his lips. “Tell me this doesn’t feel good.” 

Eddie thrusts his hips once and you know you’re done for. He’s grown hard again that much is sure, and the way his cock is sandwiched between your soaked folds to brush your clit with his head is enough to make you cry. His thrusts are short and needy, but not because he is desperate– it’s because you are. You know if you asked him to fuck you like a toy, he would happily oblige and you have to bite your tongue to save you from yourself. 

“What’s that, baby?” Eddie smugly addresses the punchy whines escaping from you. “I can’t hear so good, did you say you want me to stop?” 

“No please!” You cry and dig your nails hard into the hand on your throat to keep him there. “Please don’t stop, Ed, please…” 

Satisfaction curls cat-like on his lips. “That’s what I thought you said, sweetheart. Now, who’s making you feel good, baby?” 

Oh this asshole, you think, I’m going to kill him someday. “...you are.” 

“And what’s my name, princess?”

You roll your eyes internally. “Eddie.” 

“Uh-HUH. Eddie who?” 

“Eddie fucking Munson!” The devil rewards you with a warm fingered pinch on your exposed bud. 

“That’s right! Good girl.” His rhythm is so perfect, you can count it– 120 beats per minute. “And who’s touch are you gonna beg for?” 

“Eddie Munson…” Your voice becomes airy and high. Every stroke building like water behind a dam and his toying with your chest sparks like magic. 

“And who’s the lucky son of a bitch who’s gonna make you come?”

He speeds up, anticipating your peak, the wall you keep hitting but couldn’t pull yourself over. Instead of answering him with his name, you scream under him and arch your back as stars explode outwards behind your eyes and deep in the pit of your stomach. Fire washes over your skin, then ice as the sweat on your body cools, and a comforting warmth returns as you feel Eddie’s chest covering yours and his head fall into the crook between your neck and your shoulder. 

It takes you a few minutes to feel your toes. You cradle the back of his neck craving his contact and forget you ever hated Eddie the freak Munson. 

“Thank you,” you whisper sheepishly. “Maybe this is an insane thing to ask but… do you know how fast you were going when you made me come?” 

“195,” he mutters matter-of-factly. 

The ticklish feeling causes you to laugh. “On a school night? Shame on you.” 

The way he nuzzles into your neck fills you with something sweet, until he speaks again with that trademark smugness. “And I made you do a lot more than come, baby.” 

You become very aware of the fact that your underwear and the bed beneath you is drenched, like genuinely soaked, swimming in liquid. Even the bottom half of Eddie’s shirt which slipped down while he was over you was wet as well as sticky where his cum was barely dried. You roll your eyes and promise to never let yourself do this again. 

Your vow lasts all of two hours.

Previous | Masterlist | Next: Kurt Kunkle Love Bite/ Marks

Using my roommate like a sex jukebox? Its more likely than you think!

[the-force-awakens]

help me slow it down

gender neutral reader, no pronouns used but coded language included throughout (reader has boobs). 18+ only, smut ahead. ~hand stuff, implied/referenced oral. more hurt/comfort than you'd expect from this description. written for day 21 of @the-purity-pen's 2022 kinktober event, based on the prompt: praise kink

You hate how tense Poe is when he comes out of the meeting, thumb sweeping up and down the side of his index finger in that nervous stim he has, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. 

His most recent mission had gone south, ending in a blazing skirmish between a squadron of TIEs. Poe (the sole Resistance combatant) survived, but he hadn't been able to retrieve the intel he'd been sent for — by the time the dog fight tapered off, the other ship made the jump to hyperspace. 

"It's not your fault," you tell him as you catch up to him. His legs are longer than yours, meaning his stride is too. "Leia knows that, so does the rest of command.”

He doesn't even spare a glance at you, which is indicative of his own spiraling mood. "I still failed, starlight. We needed that data -”

"And what good would it have done exactly?” You cut in, sidestepping around him and pressing your hand to his chest so he'll have to come to a full stop. “Would it have been any different to your last op with Kazuda? We know they're making weapons, a lot of them. Whatever intelligence we lost today, we'll find again. Or something even more valuable.”

You can tell that Poe isn't convinced by this, but you can also tell that your words are having an effect on him regardless, because his jaw has unclenched and his eyes are shifting to something softer, like part of him is warring with himself to believe you. 

So you tilt a little further into his space, pressing your fingers a little more firmly against his chest. “The First Order wasn't going to have the location of Supreme Leader Snoke on a rundown freighter, alright? We'll get better leads.” 

And it's here that the anger evaporates from Poe's face, but it's instantly replaced with a heart wrenching expression of disappointment. "I can't let them down. I'm not supposed to fail, it was a simple snatch and grab and it -” he sucks in a breath - "what if whatever was on that freighter was something valuable? That's on me. 'Cause I couldn't shake those TIEs, they got away.”

Your brow furrows, dropping your hand from his chest. Only Poe could blame himself for a mission going wrong because he had been focused on surviving it. And you can tell by the way his face is pinched that he's spiraling into a pit of self-loathing, questioning his own value to the Resistance — for someone so forgiving with everyone else, he sure held himself to impossible standards. 

So you grab him by the sleeve of his jacket and haul him into the nearest available private space, which happens to be a storage closet. 

The door snicks close behind the two of you, blanketing you both in darkness. Poe leans back against the wall, eyebrows half raised as he waits patiently for you to say your piece.

"You are more valuable than anything else on that mission,” you tell him, stressing your point by moving closer to him. "The fact that you survived, that you got back home to us, makes this mission a success.”

Something complicated plays across his face for a moment before he replies quietly, "I didn't say that made it a failure.”

Your eyes burn at that, at the softness of his voice and the worry that has his brow furrowing again from whatever he must read in your expression. You let the urge to cry pass before you reply with, "You didn't have to. I know you. You think anything that gets us ahead of the First Order is worth more than your life.”

"It is -”

"It isn't!” You all but shout, startling you both. You shrink in on yourself, guilt coursing through you for raising your voice at him, while Poe stares at you dumbfounded. “Nothing is worth more than your life, alright? There will be more assignments, ones where you'll get something that'll give us a real leg up on the First Order. Command knows that too, so does Leia. This was just one bad mission, Poe. That's all.”

You frame his face in your hands, leaning up on your tiptoes. Instinctually, he brings his up to curl around your wrists and you feel something settle behind your ribs, like you hadn't quite truly believed he was back until you felt him skin to skin. 

He nods a couple of times as he soaks in your words. "I want to believe you," he says and the earnesty in his voice makes your heart fracture because he does, he's trying, and that's all you could really ask for. "It's - you know I get my head stuck in the cockpit.”

You snort at that, a wet little thing, and it makes a smile flicker briefly across his face like a candle in the wind. “No, I know that you're harder on yourself than everyone else. And you shouldn't put yourself through that, baby, the galaxy will do it enough for you. Don't make it easier for them.”

Poe exhales shakily. "Alright.”

“Alright,” you repeat, letting your hands slide down to his neck before you press yourself against him. 

Instantly, Poe's arms are twining around you, pulling you impossibly closer and nothing, nothing in the galaxy is better than this. Sometimes you wish you could just tuck yourself into his chest or vice versa and never leave: he's a lighthouse in the dark, he's the warmth of a cozy bed on a cold morning, he's the jolt to hyperspace. You love him so fucking much, and it kills you that he can't see how wonderful he is. 

But maybe you could show him. 

You pull your head away from his chest, putting some space between your torsos but not moving your feet. You wet your lips and whisper, "You need some help getting out of your head?”

Nothing outwardly shifts about him, but a budding spark builds in his lovely brown eyes as Poe replies, "I dunno, starlight. What'd you have in mind?” 

A slow, dangerous smirk overtakes your face as you step back up on your tiptoes to ghost your lips against his jaw. Poe's breath catches like his stubble against your skin, and you feel a little of that same fire permeating in your veins. 

You move down, opening your mouth against his neck. When you pinch down hard enough to leave a bruise, Poe gasps and grips your waist tighter. 

“Little of this,” you tell him, soothing the sting with your tongue and he's melting against you already. Not that you're doing much better: tasting his skin, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, his hardening length pressing up into you — it's a dizzying cocktail you'll always get drunk on, want more of. 

It only worsens when you grind your hips against his, and Poe makes a strangled noise low in his throat, a ragged and harsh thing that you want to hear again and again. "And a little of that,” you finish, gripping his shirt to keep yourself standing. "You want that?”

Poe nods, tipping his head back against the wall. "Yeah. Yeah, works for me, darling - f-fuck -” he grunts again when you press into him once more, not entirely intentionally, your own body craving a little more friction. 

But despite the gathering wetness between your legs, this isn't about you and you don't have any plans on getting off right now. That could come later, if Poe wanted (or by yourself), right now you just want to make him feel good. 

So you shuffle back just far enough to undo his belt, unzipping his pants and immediately bypassing his underwear to touch his cock - and immediately have to lean in to press your mouth to Poe's to muffle the groan he makes at the direct contact. The closet door is thick, but it's by no means sound proof, and command was still convened not that far away.

The thought that he has to be quiet while you turn him into a shuddering mess, lest you both be caught, shouldn't be as much of a turn on as it is. 

You swallow hard, eyelids fluttering in a mirror to Poe's as you trail your fingers down the length of him and back up again - it's a tease, really, and you're nearly overwhelmed with the urge to get on your knees, to take him into your mouth and give him a real challenge to stay quiet. 

However, you're going to require your mouth for other things, so you file that desire away to be fulfilled a little while later. 

"You're so beautiful like this,“ you tell him, taking his dick more firmly into your hand. It's started to leak precum, so you gather it on your thumb and use it to glide your hand more easily across him. “You always are but I love seeing you this way -”

You make a point to emphasize your next words by twisting your hand and the gasp that bursts from Poe's mouth is music to your ears - "love that I'm the only one who gets to do this to you. You like when I get you off, pretty boy?”

Poe only manages a jerky nod in response, still making all sorts of lovely noises low in his throat, which is completely exposed to you and you have to tamp down the nearly overwhelming urge to continue what you started earlier when you'd kissed his neck. 

Your movement is unhurried, carrying him close to the edge and stopping for a few seconds to wait until his breathing almost evened out to pick up your ministrations. 

On the third time you stop before he comes, Poe actually whines and you silence him again, this kiss a little more apologetic. "You're so good, baby. You're doing so good, I love you so much, you're so good -” you close your eyes, unable to look at him as you continue your litany of praises, working your hand more quickly, until Poe is left a panting and whimpering mess, his hips bucking up into you, fucking himself on your hand, becoming more as more frenzied the more you talk - "you're so - hngh - wonderful and ridiculous and so good to me, I can't believe you're mine -”

At this point your words are practically nonsensical, your head swimming with desire but they seem to do the trick because Poe makes a devastating and ruinous noise, rocking into you one final time as he comes into your hand. 

He's struggling to suck in breath when you pull your sticky hand from his pants, but he stops altogether when you lick your fingers clean. You raise your eyebrows, pulling your index finger out of your mouth with a little pop, and ask innocently, "What?”

Before you can so much as blink, Poe has surged forward, capturing your mouth with his in a messy kiss, his tongue pressing against yours and it's a heady thing, especially when he palms your breast over your shirt and the sensation zips straight down between your legs. 

You gasp and that's when Poe breaks away from you, glancing briefly around you for a minute, before his eyes light up in the way you've both come to be wary of and adore. "You said I'm good to you, yeah? Lay down, I wanna remind you how good I can be.”

Your heart jackknifes behind your ribs and you have to grab onto him to keep from buckling right there. "Someone could walk in -”

"Didn't stop you from sticking your hands down my pants,” Poe reminds you, ducking in to nip down your neck and fuck he gives as good as he gets. “It's not gonna stop me from burying my face between your legs if you want that.”

You respond with a groan, and you can feel Poe's smile against your skin, proud of himself for being the cause of it. You break away from him, unbuckling your belt and tossing it away before scrambling down to the floor as he requested, pulling him down with you.

As Poe covers your body with his own, hands sliding up and under your shirt, his eyes sparkling with something deeper than just arousal, you can't help but be a little proud of yourself too for chasing away his shadows. 

[the-hidden-pages]

Kinktober Day 1 - Dirty Talk - Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Disclaimers: I’ve never done a Kinktober. These pieces are rushed. As a result they may be poorly written and OOC. Apologies in advance.

Summary: On a job, through an earpiece, Tangerine learns how easily influenced you are by his words. 

Warnings: NSFW, Dirty Talk, no actual smut though.

There was the odd job that The Twins would be assigned that they couldn’t do alone.

Specifically, any infiltration that required a woman’s touch, or a job that required 3 parties. Not to mention, the odd time where one of the twins were ill or recovering from a wound.

The Twins may be some of the bests in the business, but even they had to outsource sometimes, all for the sake of a job well done.

So, on those rare occasions, The Twins would outsource to you.

The third fruit, Lemon would excitedly say.

You were quite endeared to The Twins – a fact that was rather dangerous, given your respective lines of work. But the moment you met the pair, your heart warmed as you listened to Lemon excitedly talk over his brother.

“I’m not quite sure who you are yet – could be a Daisy, sweet and reliable that one…”    

 “Lemon.”

“Or an Annie, can’t forget about her.”

“Lemon.”

“Mind, there’s no reason you couldn’t be a male train – sexist of me, I’m sorry bruv –“

“Lemon!” Tangerine snapped, whacking his arm.

“Oi! What, mate?”

“Much as I’d love to go on about which fuckin’ Thomas the Train she is, we have precious little time before she needs to make a move. So –“

“It’s Thomas the Tank Engine,” you interject.

Tangerine paused for a moment before turning to you, eyes widened ever-so-slightly.

“What?”

“It’s not Thomas the Train, it’s Thomas the Tank.”

Lemon laughed excitedly as Tangerine attempted to collect himself.

“It doesn’t bloody matter, does it? Now, did you read the briefing I sent ya?”

“Oh, was I supposed to? I thought you’d just explain on the way.”

A heavy silence hung over the group.

“We should call her Lime.”

“Lemon!”

Despite the annoyance that radiated off of Tangerine in that moment, a strange partnership had formed. You and Lemon got along swimmingly, and you thrived on getting under Tangerine’s skin.

A completely healthy office relationship, you would chuckle to yourself.

Eventually, the boys called on you for help again.

Lemon was slowed down – after taking a couple of bullets to the leg, he was wrapped up and loopy on morphine. This didn’t stop Tangerine from accepting the next call that came in.

“It’s just a small job,” Tangerine explained you over the phone. “You’ll meet me in a small hotel. I’ll give you some equipment, you’ll pose as some rich man’s wife and go collect the briefcase that we need.  Easy.”

“And how do we know that they’ll believe I’m this rich man’s wife.”

“Mother of all coincidences, you look like the few photos that exist of her. The job was made for you love, and it’d be helping me and Lemon out a bunch.”

You paused.

“You’ll get a cut of the profits too, obviously.”

“No, of course,” you snap out of your stupor. “When do you need me?”

“I’ll get you a plane ticket to Monaco for tomorrow morning. Thanks, love.”

There it was again; you note as you hang up your phone.

The use of ‘love’.

You weren’t immune to Tangerine’s charms. Sure, he was a bit rough around the engines, swore like a sailor, and frequently let his anger take over. But he was also incredibly sweet when he needed to be, and wonderful at talking his way out of situation.

He was also wonderful at talking you in to situations.

At some point, your endearment to the twins had grown. You weren’t sure when you had begun to see Lemon as a brother, or when your crush on Tangerine had developed, but it had. Before you would carefully plan out when you were helping The Twins, rejecting several of their job offers if something better was on the horizon, or if their success wasn’t in your best interest.

And now you were hopping on a plane to Monaco, without a second thought.

When you arrived in the hotel, Tangerine was already waiting for you. He stood by the window in the same impeccable blue pinstriped suit he wore when he met you, typing away on his phone with a furrowed brow.

“How’s Lemon?” you question, setting your small suitcase down near the bed.

There’s only one bed, you notice. In your mind’s eye you shrug – a problem for later.

“He’s already trying to get up and about, even though he fuckin’ can’t move his leg and he’s textin’ like a fuckin’ 12 year old who jus’ opened their first bottle of tequila.”

His accent always gets thicker when he’s angry. It shouldn’t make you smile, but it does.

“12 seems a bit young for tequila. Mind, I started on rum when I was 14.”

Tangerine just sniffs, continuing to type what you now know is a long, angry scolding.

“And if I recall,” you wander over to the bed as you speak, poking through the supplies on it. “Trying to get you to sit still after you’ve been wounded is always a futile task too. You’re no better.”

That finally caused him to look up, glaring for a moment before he slid his phone into his pocket with a huff.

“Right then. Shall we?”

“Are you going to explain what this is about? You didn’t even send a briefing this time.”

“Not like you bloody well read ‘em, do ya now?”

You grin. “No, I guess I don’t.”

He strides towards you, picking a medium sized box off the bed and passing it to you. “Exactly. Go change, and I’ll explain after.”

You reach for the box, but when you go to pull away, you find Tangerine holding it too tightly.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, confused.

“It’s good to see you, love. Really.”

It takes every ounce of control you have to not wildly blush or stutter. Instead, you reach out to grab his arm lightly.

“Good to see you too, T.”

Taking the box, you make your way to the bathroom and quickly begin to undress. As you remove the lid, you can’t help but marvel at the dress inside.

Your job was so cool.

The silk was cool to the touch, and the deep blue dress would serve to highlight every curve you had. The matching silver heels and jewelry in the box served to add an extra layer of elegance to the ensemble.

Exiting the bathroom, you felt powerful, unstoppable. Your mind kept flashing back to James Bond movies, where the women were always goddesses, perfection.

And the way Tangerine’s eyes traversed your body only made you feel ten times stronger.

“Will I do?” you question, noticing the way he swallowed thickly.

“Quite nicely, love.”

He turned around to busy himself with the remaining items on the bed – a gun and a thigh holster for protection, a small purse, and –

“An earpiece, so I can fill you in as we go. Less conspicuous than having your phone to your ear all night.”

“Wow, you really are accepting that I don’t do my research beforehand.”

You take it, inserting it in your ear and hiding it with a few strands of hair.

Tangerine watches quietly as you slide the gun holster up your thigh, ensuring everything was tightly fastened and slipping a small pistol into it.

“Good. Now, here’s the plan…”

“This is a stupid plan,” you mutter, walking through the double doors to the blinding lights and deafening sounds of the casino.

“It’s a perfect plan love, come on now,” Tangerine muttered back.

If you weren’t as stressed, you might’ve shuddered at that. It was bad enough when he called you love, but when he did it right in your ear, you were just about done for.

Damn earpiece.

“Right, because I’m a dead ringer for some mobster’s wife, so I can march right up and –“

“How can I help you miss?”

At the counter, a cheerful bartender smiled at you.

“Yes. My husband sent me to collect a case. It should be waiting under the name Maroni.”

“Yes of course. It’ll just be a moment; can I get you a drink while you wait?”

“Gin martini, please.”

You sit up on a bar stool, crossing your legs. Within seconds a drink is in your hand, and you smile graciously.

Your smile fades quickly, however. “I feel like everyone can tell I’m a fraud,” you mumble into your drink.

Tangerine is quick to answer. “How do you mean?”

“They’re staring. They can tell.”            “Love, if they could tell there’d be guns pulled on ya in 5 seconds flat. They’re lookin’ at ya cause you’re gorgeous.”

“You think?”

“I think if you weren’t posing as the wife of a dangerous man, you’d have ‘em lined up trying to get the chance to rip that dress off of ya.”

You chuckle into your drink.

“Something funny, love?”

“No, it’s just. You can’t be whispering compliments into my ear when I’m supposed to be keeping a straight face. It’s not going to go well.”

You can hear a laugh. “No? You don’t want to hear that you’re a vision? That if I didn’t know better, I’d be one of them men lining up for a chance to even talk to ya?”

“Only if you mean it,” you tease lightly, taking another sip and scanning the room.

“Of course I mean it, darling.”

You feel your thighs inadvertently clench at the change in pet name.

“And what would you do? If we were strangers, meeting in a place like this.”

“I thought you wanted to focus on the job.”

“The job’ll get done. This’ll just make it way more fun.”

There’s a moment of silence on the line.

“You going to seduce me, Tangerine?”

“You want me to? Want me to whisper dirty little words in your ear until you’re fucking dripping for me, so I can pin you to the door the minute you’re back in this room with me?”

Fuck.

“Do your worst,” you mutter, finishing off your drink and smiling to the bartender.

“It’ll just be a moment more, ma’am. Another drink for your wait?”

“Please.”

Tangerine pipes up. “You really think you’re gonna last with this game, love? You think I don’t notice the way you blush anytime I call you love or darling?”

You feel your heart drop, but before you can respond he’s speaking again.

“Did you think I wasn’t interested? That I didn’t want to steal you away like one of my trinkets the minute I saw you?”

Your chest fills with hope as the bartender brings your second drink.

“I get so turned on every time I see you, love. And seeing you walking out of our bathroom dressed like that, I nearly didn’t let you leave the room. I could’a dropped to my knees then and there, let you make a real mess of my face. I’d eat you out ‘till you were crying for me to stop, love, you looked like a goddess, begging to be worshipped.”

You clear your throat and take a large swig of your drink, desperate to clear the lump that had formed.

“You flustered already, darlin’? Cause I’m not even done, not even close. See, once I hold you, love you, worship you properly, well…then I planned to ruin you, see. I plan to force you on your knees, watch you look up at me all pretty, tears running while you choke on me. I plan to hold you down and use you like a toy, make up for all the times you drove me insane on our jobs.”

“Miss? The case,”

You inhale sharply, smiling apologetically at the bartender who’s holding the case out for you.

“Sorry, I was in my own world. Everything is here?”

“Everything is there, as requested Mrs. Maroni.”

“Wonderful.”

You open your small clutch purse, pulling out a small wad of cash.

“For the service.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Have a good night.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you do,” Tangerine starts speaking again as you stand. Your face flushes as you notice the wetness between your thighs, and you pray it’s not visible on your dress. “I’ll give you so much pleasure you’re begging me to stop, love. Now we just got to get you home.”

“To a hotel room with one bed. What a coincidence.”

“A happy accident. But all I could think about when I saw was if I’d get lucky enough to have you in it.”

“Follow through on your words and you just might. Where’s my getaway car?”

“There ought to be a black Jaguar not too far from the exit.”

“Got it.”

“Do you remember that job the three of us took? Lemon was transporting the target in a different car, you and me were on the road. Took all my effort not to bring my hand up that gorgeous thigh of yours, slip a finger into that warm cunt, touch you until you were crying for me to pull over and fuck ya over the hood.”

“Shame you didn’t.”

“Oh, I plan to make up for lost time, love, don’t you worry. I’ll worship you like a queen, and when I’m done I’ll break you like a slut. And you’re gonna take every minute of it like a good little girl, tellin’ me how good I’m fuckin’ ya, that you don’t want anyone else. Can you do that for me, love?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

[dreamlandcreations]

Kinktober 2022 2023

18+ ONLY!! Adult content, language, explicit sexual content.

All prompts are taken from @the-purity-pen​‘s Kinktober List!

Note: I tried to pick prompts I didn't write about last year. Prompt 2, 3, 6, 20, 23, 27, and 31 are AUs including chef!Alfie, FO!Poe, biker!Boba, con artist!Aleksander, modern gangster!Alfie, werewolf!Billy) Also, I might not be able to write Eddie Munson smut, we’ll see ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Dirty Talk - Raymond Smith

Floor Sex - Alfie Solomons

Glove Kink - Poe Dameron

Missionary - Eddie Brock

Leather - Derek Hale

Cockwarming - Boba Fett

Costumes - Eddie Munson

Voice Kink - Max (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Double Penetration - Billy Russo x Frank Castle

Drunk Sex - Darkling

Erotic Photos (painting) - Brother Day

Exhibitionism/Voyeurism - Alfie Solomons

Dry Humping - Eddie Munson

Fisting - Alina (+Darkling x Mal)

Group Sex - Alfie Solomons x Tommy Shelby x May Carleton

Bath/Shower Sex - Boba Fett

Pegging - Billy Russo

Bondage - Billy Russo

Masturbation - Billy Russo

Mirror Sex - Aleksander Morozova (+Alina)

Praise Kink - Darkling

Object Insertion - Darkling

Food Play - Alfie Solomons

Tender Sex - James Delaney

Sex Pollen - James Delaney

Sexting - Elektra x Matt

Stockings - Alfie Solomons

Formal Wear - Billy Russo

Table Sex - Darkling

Public Sex - Boba Fett

FREE CHOICE - Billy Russo

[tropes-and-tales]

You’re the Mark

Day 3:  Glove Kink (Ray Merrimen x F!Reader)

(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen​​.  The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW:  Light angst (neglectful relationship); smut (fingering; shades of dominance).  18+ only.

Word Count:  3435

Requested by anonymous!

You aren’t subtle at all, and the guys notice it almost immediately.

Strike that:  most of the guys notice it almost immediately.  Bosco, Levoux.  They get back from a heist, this time at a poorly-guarded nightclub.  They immediately set into motion like clockwork:  start unpacking the money, dousing it for dye packs, microwaving it, counting it out.  They are still in their tactical gear, close-fitting black clothing, heavy boots, gloves.  

And most of them notice.  The guys watch you as you stare at Ray, the desire blatant in your expression.  You run the cash through the counting machine, but your eyes track Ray around the room while you do.

Bosco, Levoux—they notice.  

Ray does not.

No one would ever accuse Ray Merrimen of being a great boyfriend.  He’s not even a very good one:  his first love has always been the high of planning and executing a heist, and any woman has always been a distant second.  He’s a closed-off man; his stint in the Marines and then in prison has left him with little ability to grow connections beyond the fraternal ones with his MARSOC and heist buddies.

Somehow you wriggled your way into his life.  You have the everloving patience of a saint, always overlooking the benign neglect, overlooking when you come in a distant second to a new score.

Levoux and Bosco love Ray like a brother, so they help him out as best they can.  They both have families, loved ones.  They both know that having someone to go home to each night can help keep the demons at bay.

They also both know that even a woman like you, patient to a fault, will eventually grow weary and leave—so they help him out.

It’s Bosco who sidles over to Ray.  Ray is lost in his usual post-score audit, when he mentally walks through each step after the fact, looks for slip-ups or unforeseen snags.  It’s overkill.  It’s more work than is necessary, especially when there are better things to do.

“Hey,” Bosco says, his voice low.  “Why don’t you leave it?  We’re almost done here.”

Ray shakes his head.  “The diagrams were off.  They had HVAC work done that changed the schematics of the back office.”

“Doesn’t matter.  We got away clean.”

Ray opens his mouth to argue, but Bosco reaches past him, rolls up the diagrams of the club.  “Leave it, man.  Don’t you have better things to do?”

Ray shakes his head.  Bosco snorts in disgust, and he jerks his chin in your direction.

“C’mon, Ray.  Your girl has been eye-fucking you for the past half hour.  She came here all dolled up in that cute little dress, waiting for you.”  

Ray turns and glances over at you, catches your eye.  You gift him with a smile, then turn and run a new stack of money through the counter.

“When was the last time you spent any time with her, huh?” Bosco continues, quiet so you don’t hear him.  “We’re nearly done here.  Why don’t we roll out and let you have some alone time?”

*****

Ray knows he’s a shitty boyfriend.  He has analyzed it from all angles and has no fucking clue why you stick around.

In theory, he wants to be better.  In theory, he knows that you’re the best thing to happen to him I a long time, maybe in his whole life.  Levoux once pulled him aside at a cookout, gave him a speech about how rare a loyal woman was, how a guy had to hold onto a steadfast woman with both hands when he found her.

In practice, he has no experience in this sort of shit.  He’s had girlfriends, obviously.  He just always kept them at arm’s length, and it never hurt when they finally got tired and broke up with him.  Ray Merrimen keeps his inner self walled off from everyone, and that never was an issue until now.

For the first time, he thinks it might hurt.  If you got tired of his shitty boyfriend behavior and broke up to him, it might actually hurt him.

He keeps his inner self walled off, but you’ve breeched his defenses anyway.

He knows he absolutely has to do better.

The guys clear out, and it’s only you and Ray left in the garage.  You’re running through the final few bundles of cash.  He walks over to you, tosses his black beanie, his black leather gloves onto the table beside you.  You look up at him with that sunny smile of yours.  As if he hasn’t been neglecting you for weeks and weeks so that he could focus on this heist.

These stupid heists.  For the first time, Ray Merriment starts to think maybe there’s something beyond planning and executing perfect robberies.  

“You did really well,” you tell him.  You glance down at the running tally you’ve been keeping.  “Looks like you’ll come out to almost a half million, all told.  Seems like a lot for a night club.”

“We targeted that club because they were running drugs too.”

You laugh.  “Criminals stealing from criminals.  Doesn’t that cancel out the crime, like multiplying two negative numbers?”

“I don’t feel bad about it, stealing from those assholes.”

He watches as you finish up, as you bundle up the last batch of bills.  Bosco’s earlier comment is at the forefront of his mind, and Ray doesn’t miss the shy glances you give him out of the corner of your eye.  Shy glances, but laced with obvious heat—the way you catch your lower lip between your teeth as you watch him.

You finish, put the final bundles of cash in the non-descript toolbox that will be loaded into the work truck and transported to the guy who launders it for them.  Then you turn and fix him with that same smile.

“Ready to go?” you ask.

He shakes his head and stares back at you.  “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend, haven’t I?”

You sputter when you reply that no, he’s been fine…no, he’s been great, and Ray knows you’re being nice and lying to him.

“You can tell me the truth, you know.  I want you to.”

You shrug, embarrassed.  “I know you’ve been busy.  Preoccupied.  It’s fine.”

He shakes his head again.  “It’s not fine.  You deserve better.”

“I’m happy where I am, Ray.”

“You like waiting around on a career criminal who always puts you second?”  He stares at you hard, half-wants you to wise up right in front of him.  Dump him then and there and move on.  You do deserve so much better:  you are young and sunny and sweet and loyal, and anyone would be lucky to have you.

You cross your arms, and Ray is reminded that you are stubborn too—sweetly so.  

“I’m happy where I am, Ray,” you repeat.  “And I don’t mind waiting around for my career criminal boyfriend.”  You tilt your head, sweep your gaze up him:  from his combat boots to his short-cropped hair.  “I like the way you look in your tactical gear.”

The corner of his mouth twitches in his version of a smile.  “That so?”

“Yup.”

“You know, I’m a shitty boyfriend,” he says conversationally, and he turns back to the table where he tossed his gloves.  “But I’m a fucking great criminal.”

You hum in interest, and Ray glances at you as he picks up his leather gloves.  He pulls them on deliberately, one at a time.  

Bosco was right:  the lust in your expression is blatant.  Your eyes get a heavy-lidded quality, and instead of biting your lip as you did before, your lips are parted as your breathing quickens.  You watch his every move, watch his hands with obvious interest.

“The key to being a great criminal is intention.”  He keeps the casual tone, but he stalks around the table towards you with purpose.  Fixes you in his stare, and your breath hitches.

“It’s having a plan,” he adds.  He stops and stands inches from you:  he’s a full head taller, and he bends his head to look down at you.  “It’s having a clear vision of what you want to do and then executing it.”

“What…”  You stop, swallow audibly.  “What do you want to do?”

He chuckles, reaches out one gloved hand and lays it gently along the side of your neck.  “I can’t tell you.  You’re the mark in this situation.”

“Oh.”

“You just have to wait until I do it.”

“O-okay.”

“All you have to do, baby, is tell me if it’s too much.”  He lays his other hand on your waist.  “You tell me to stop and I’ll stop, got it?”

“Got it.”  Your voice is tight, strained.  Even through the glove, he swears he can feel your hammering pulse in the side of your neck.

He dips his head lower, murmurs low in your ear.  “Only problem is, I don’t have the schematics on you.  You gonna take what I give you like a good girl?  Or are you gonna be a problem?”

You breathe out unsteady, and he feels you shift against his light hold.  “I’ll be good,” you whisper, and this is all new—the two of you have never played at anything like this, but Ray falls into this dominant persona too easily…and the want is shimmering off of you like heat off of asphalt.  Being submissive must affect you similarly.

“What if it’s too much?”

“I’ll tell you to stop,” you answer.

“See?”  He bends his head to you, nips lightly at the side of your neck.  “Already doing so good for me.”

He moves the hand from your neck and puts it on your waist too, and then he turns you, walks you backwards until you bump into the table.  He taps your hip, signals for you to hop up, and he guides you to sit on the edge of the table.

“First thing any good criminal does is get the lay of the land,” he says.  “Learns the landscape.”  He lays a gloved hand on your bare knee, places the other hand on your other knee.  He presses on them, spreads your thighs and then slots himself between them.  

He shifts one hand to cup the back of your neck, bending over as he towers over you.  He steadies you, and he feels the barest bit of resistance against his hold.  He turns the hand on your knee inward, strokes along the apex of your knee with the supple leather.

“Still okay?” he asks.  He keeps his voice low, quiet.  It’s his heist-voice, the same one he uses once the situation is under control and he needs people to pay attention to what he’s saying.  “You gotta talk to me, baby.”

“Still okay.”  You nod against his hand.  

“You’ll tell me if you aren’t?”

“Yes.”

He wonders how it feels to you, the gloves touching you instead of his bare hands.  It’s a curious sensation for him:  desensitized to not feeling your soft skin, Ray is able to focus more on you.  He takes in the way your breathing picks up, but you seem to be trying to hide it, seem to be concentrating on keeping calm.

He alternates:  he skates his fingertips inch by inch against the inside of your thighs, switches from one leg to the other.  When your breath starts to get a ragged quality to it, when he gets close to the sweet spot, he pulls away and starts over, this time with a firmer pressure.  Then again, a third time, palming along your thighs, cupping the curves of your legs, letting you feel the seams of the leather.

“Seems like I’m taking too long, right?” he asks, still using his low heist-voice.  “Criminals who get caught don’t take their time.  They rush it.  They get sloppy and miss some important point.”

You reach up, hook a hand around his elbow of the arm holding the back of your neck.  “And you’ve not missed anything important?”

He hums in agreement.  “Learned a lot of valuable intel.”

“Like what?”

“Like that it tickles when I use my fingertips really lightly.  You want to jerk away but you stop yourself, because you are listening so well and being so good for me.  But when I put my whole hand on you, when I grip your thigh with my entire hand, you press into it.  You like that best.  Being manhandled.”

To demonstrate, Ray does that—spreads his fingers wide, grips the inside of your thigh firmly.  Presses that leg open wider, and he’s rewarded with your own fingers digging into his arm as you bite back a soft moan.

“Now, usually, I tell my marks to keep quiet.”  He glances down at you, but your head is bent.  He takes in the way your chest rises and falls, how hard you’re trying to keep your breathing even.  

“But here, I think I’d rather hear you,” he continues.  “Don’t you dare stop yourself from making noise.  I wanna hear you.”

“Ray—”

“Don’t hold back for me.  Got it?”

A beat, and he swears he can feel the heat rising from your face.  “I got it.”

He lets his hand drift higher and higher, and even through the leather of the glove, he can feel the heat of you.  He strokes you gently, the pad of his gloved hand rubbing you through the thin fabric of your panties as he cups your mound.  You moan again, and you don’t try to stifle the sound this time.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.  “You listen so well.”

He goes slow, leisurely.  Takes his time.  He owes you his time—this bit here and so much more—but this is where he can start.  After all the nights you went to bed alone, all the moments he missed because he was laser-focused on the club heist…he owes it to you, with interest.

Your other hand snakes out, lightly grips the bicep of the arm touching you so carefully.  He can feel your fingers circling him, the surprising strength in your grip.  A reminder that you’re soft and pretty and can play at these submissive games, but there’s a force hidden away in you, a secret reserve of strength that he rarely sees because he’s rarely around.

You’re also selfless to a fault.  Even now, neglected as you’ve been, you squeeze his bicep and whisper, voice ragged and hoarse, “what about you, Ray?”

“I don’t share details with the mark,” he replies with a smile.  “But you’ve been so good…I guess I can tell you.  You don’t worry about me at all.  You worry about yourself, okay?”

“But—”

“I’m running the show here, so you kinda have to listen,” he interrupts.

“Okay, but—”

He tsks in mock disappointment.  “And you were doing so well.”  A beat.  “I’m taking care of you right now.  I’m gonna make a mess of you, then I’m gonna take you home and clean you up.  And if you’re very, very good, I’ll make a mess of you again.”

You drop your head at that, breathe out a shaky sigh as you press your forehead to his chest.  He chuckles again, drops a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Still with me?”

“….yes.”

He shifts his hand between your legs.  He pushes the fabric of your panties aside, and he strokes his gloved finger through your folds, drawing a shaky groan from you.  He can feel your heat through the leather, but he can’t feel if you’re wet—but he can guess that you are, judging by how easily his fingertip slides against you.  

The thought of you soaking the black leather of his glove, your scent mingling with the faint smell of the cured leather…it makes him grow harder, his cock pressing against his pants.  Already his glove is rendered useless for future heists, covered in your DNA, and the thought of repurposing them for these sorts of games makes his own breathing quicken.

Already he can thinks of other things to repurpose.  An outfit of all black, the tactical gear that made you ogle him so openly.  Maybe a length of rope to bind your wrists….

Ray twists his hand and pushes his index finger into you, steady, until it’s buried in you.

“Oh, god,” you groan and you aren’t quiet at all.  Just as he told you.

He kisses the top of your head again.  He pulls his finger out, plunges it back into you.  Again and again, over and over.  

“Like that?  Fuck, I can hear how wet you are.  You like getting finger-fucked on my gloves?  Like soaking them?  Ruining them?”

He adds a second finger, pushes both into you.  He can feel how the gloves add the barest bit of girth to his fingers, make him just a shade bigger.  He can feel the stretch of your pussy accommodating him.  He stills for a moment, lets you adjust to him.  To the size of his fingers and the seams along the gloves, the unique sensation of something other than his bare skin inside you.

When your tight grip on his bicep loosens a little, he curls his fingers inside you.  It always takes him a moment, so he presses carefully, slowly.  Presses against the inner walls of your pussy, and he waits until he hears the sharp intake of breath, hears the whimper as you cry out, “right there, f-fuck, Ray, right there.”

“Knew I’d find it,” he smirks as he presses firmer, rubs you there.  “Even with the glove on.”

He can’t feel you the way he usually would.  Every other sense heightening in its absence:  the scent of your arousal, the sight of your head pressed against his chest.  He can hear how wet you are, but he can also hear the way you whine out his name, the little moans you give when he presses his thumb against your clit.  The way your breathing gets harsh, catching in your throat as he draws you closer and closer.

He can still feel some things, though.  He can feel your hands gripping his arms, can feel your feet when you lock your ankles around his legs.  He can also feel the subtle way you rock against the table, pushing back against his hand the barest little bit.  You stay in the submissive role mostly, but your hips move almost unconsciously, chasing his plunging fingers.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he whispers, and his own voice is hoarse now.  “You gonna ruin these gloves for good?  Make such a mess that I have to clean you up with my mouth when we get home?”

“S-so close,” you pant out.  “Feels so g-good, Ray.”

He presses his thumb against your clit, hard, and it pushes you over the edge.  His sensation is dulled by the leather of the glove, but he can feel your orgasm still:  the way your pussy grips him, ripples along the length of his fingers.  He swears he can feel the rush of your cum, feel it soaking through the seam of the well-made gloves, can feel the barest bit of your arousal against his skin.  

He releases his hold on the back of your neck and winds his arm around you.  He pulls you close as you tremble through your orgasm; he mutters against the top of your head how fucking good you’ve been, how hot you are, letting him fuck you with his gloved fingers.

You finally calm.  You unlock your ankles, you release his arms.  Ray slips his fingers out of you, and he bites back his own groan to see the mess you’ve made:  the black leather slick and shiny with your cum.  

But he puts his other hand on your shoulder, and he pushes you away from him enough to finally see your face:  it’s similarly wrecked—your eyes glassy, your lower lip shiny with spit where you’ve been worrying at it.  He smiles to see it, and he dips his head to kiss you.  

He tries to keep any heat out of it.  He tries to make it sweet.

You grin up at him when he breaks away.  “Good heist, Merrimen?”

“Got the goods, got away with it,” he replies, deadpan.  “Pretty good heist.”

“You are one of the best.”  You crane your head for another kiss, and he obliges, and he feels the heat behind it…

“But I believe you promised to clean up the mess you made,” you reply when you break away.  “So…”

“Home?” he asks.

“Home,” you agree.