Summary Austin’s Vanity Fair style and celebrity costars have you dazed beyond belief, so when he keeps the outfit from the interview you can’t wait to ruin him in it.
🔗Masterlist
❤️🔥Passionate Smut❤️🔥 Austin after his Vanity Fair interview • Austin cute • Austin sweet • Austin w mild insecurity • Austin proving his worth • Austin adores you •hand worship • sweet talk • praising •fingering • overstimulation •the outfit stays on • cock worship • bj • thigh grabbing • almost forcing Austin to come • switching positions • p in v • grabbed by the throat • orgasms • cream pie • aftercare •words of affirmation
The shoot wrapped hours ago, but Austin never changed. He’s still in that half-absurd, half-perfect outfit from Vanity Fair: a crisp black tuxedo jacket, satin bow tie, white dress shirt and a silk pocket square with an arrow pinned to his lapel.
The top half screams Hollywood elegance; while the bottom half is pure chaos: pale blue jeans so distressed they’re threaded in places, and polished black dress shoes that somehow look even more expensive under the wrecked denim.
You’re back at his place, relaxing in the cavernous living room lit by afternoon light, casually leaning over the marble countertop bar as you admire him.
His ridiculous orange-red velvet couch takes over half the space, and he’s claimed it like a throne: one foot propped on the coffee table, legs spread wide, looking every bit the movie star that wandered off the red carpet and decided to stay.
He watches you… his gaze wandering over your body until he catches the tiny tilt of your head, because you already know he’s choosing exactly where he wants you next.
He crooks a finger at you, grinning slow and lazy, the same way he does on set when he wants the camera closer.
You cross the room until you’re standing between his legs and he looks up at you, his lips parted just enough that you can see the tip of his tongue resting against his teeth.
You study his handsome face, still thinking about how unreal he looked filming his Vanity Fair interview.
“Watching you next to Michael B. Jordan and Paul Mescal today…you three looked like the most unfair lineup in the world.” you tease, tracing your fingertip along the satin knot of his bow tie.
He slides one hand up your thigh without hesitation, staring up at you with those ridiculous blue eyes.
“Unfair?” he says, his voice low and playful. “Baby, the way you kept staring… I thought you were gonna leave me for one of them right there on the soundstage.”
You smile before leaning down to kiss him, soft at first, letting him lean in to it, then taking him deeper as you whisper against his mouth… “You’re all I want.”
He answers with a low hum in his throat as he kisses you back, his thumb stroking your inner thigh before he pulls his lips from yours.
“Show me,” he says softly, and when you step closer, he slides one big hand between your thighs, his thumb testing the edge of your panties.
As you look at him he pushes the fabric aside and slips two fingers into you slow, careful, curling them exactly right until your knees buckle a little as his free hand grips your thigh to steady you.
“Fuck… listen to you,” he breathes, his eyes locked between your legs where his hand disappears beneath your skirt. His fingers move steady and deep through your slickness and your walls pulse faintly around them as you sigh. “Hear how sweet that sounds? All that… just for me.”
Your thighs shake slightly as he continues and you can’t help it, not with the way he’s thrusting his fingers inside you, watching your every reaction like it’s his favorite film.
“You’re gonna fall apart before I even start,” he breathes, his voice dropping lower almost reverent.
You gasp softly, your hips tilting forward into his hand chasing the pleasure knowing he’s right, and your fingers grip his shoulders for balance. He speeds up, thrusting faster like he’s waited long enough holding back for you, and the soft sounds become louder, wetter, obscene in the quiet room.
You gasp, fingers sliding into his curls as your breaths turn into soft, broken whimpers.
“Let me hear you baby” he says, lips parted in awe, blue eyes bright. “Louder, baby, I wanna hear how much you love it.”
You can’t hold the sounds anymore and they spill out higher, broken, desperate. Your thighs tense with every precise stroke of his fingers, and he groans like it’s his cock inside of you instead.
“You’re so gorgeous when you can’t take it,” he whispers, curling his fingers harder, watching your face like he’s memorizing exactly how you break. “Come baby, let me feel you fall apart right on my fingers...”
Your thighs squeeze together around his hand, voice breaking on his name as you come. He hums, low and reverent, pulling his soaked fingers to his mouth and inhaling your scent as he sucks them clean like he’s savoring the best taste in the world.
“Fuck, baby,” he says, low and rough and he pulls you forward, your knee landing on the couch between his thighs as he fists the front of your top yanking the neckline down. His mouth latches onto your breast warm and soft as he sucks with enough force to make you gasp.
He’s messy and needy, teeth grazing the peak as he pulls off with a wet pop that shoots right through your core. He switches to the other laving and pulling it into his mouth with a firm squeeze of his hand.
As he sucks your nipple, his other hand works his jeans; the urgent pop of a button, the clumsy rasp of his zipper, his breath hitching against your skin as he shoves his jeans down and his cock pushes up in his lap.
Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough for his head to tip back, and his mouth leaves your nipple as his breaths fans across your chest, his blue eyes wide as he looks up at you.
You kiss him heavily, lips and tongues sliding together until his breath catches, and you drop to your knees between his thighs.
He sighs a sound of disbelief as his hand settles on your head, fingertips stroking through your hair.
He’s hard and heavy against your palm as you take him into your mouth, slow at first, then deeper, wetter, letting the lewd sounds fill the room because you know he enjoys hearing how much you love it.
His hips jerk; his thighs tensing under the distressed denim, and you can feel the exact moment it tips from pleasure to overstimulation for him.
His breath stutters, legs twitching, hands flying from your hair to grip the couch like he’s holding on for dear life.
“Baby—fuck—” he cries, voice cracking, and you don’t stop, you suck around the head, then take him deeper, and his whole body locks up. A broken sound tears out of him, half-gasp, half-moan, like he can’t believe this is happening to him.
He gently grasps a fistfuls of your hair, eyes wild and glassy. “Baby get up—” he breathes almost begging.
You’re barely on your feet before he’s pulling you down beneath him. He shoves your skirt up, your legs high as he pulls off your panties, then he’s bracing over you lining himself up.
He pushes in with one slick thrust and the noise he makes is pure satisfaction as he groans like it’s exactly what he’s been waiting for.
He starts to thrust, fast and hard, groaning against your mouth every time you moan, one hand braced on the couch, the other sliding up to wrap gently around your throat.
"Look at me," he whispers, and when you do, he presses in just enough that your breath catches. The room narrows to his blue eyes his swollen lips and the way he thrusts hard and fast, hitting exactly where you need it, punching moans from your throat as you orgasm with his hand around your neck.
He follows right after, pressing his face to the side of yours neck laughing breathlessly like he can't believe his luck.
You stay like that, resting on the orange velvet couch, the fading after noon sun highlighting his ruined Vanity Fair look: bow tie loose, jacket hanging open, jeans low on his hips.
He kisses your shoulder then your neck, soft now, puppy-sweet again.
“I’m so glad you’re mine baby.” He says, lazy and satisfied.
You laugh, warm and breathless, sliding your hand into his hair. “I wouldn’t want to be anybody else’s, Austin.”
He grins, kissing along the line of your jaw as his nose brushes your cheek. “Good,” he says, slow and sure, his lips barely leaving your skin. “Keep reminding me, baby.”
Summary With Austin’s busy work schedule keeping him East Coast, you decide to spend the holidays away from home with him, venturing into his celebrity lifestyle and everything that comes with it.
🔗 Masterlist 🍁 Holiday Special 🍁
💝Romantic Smut💝 Austin x you • famous boyfriend • new relationship • celebrity x reader • semi secret relationship • soft launch w his famous friends • first major holiday together • holiday party • attentive boyfriend • warm and cozy • gentle protectiveness • cute couple moments • finally alone together • holiday hook up •“Be Quiet, They’ll Hear Us” • semi private sex • p in v • size kink • can’t stop moaning • orgasm • cream pie • aftercare
📖 Proofreader @purejasmine ✨ Inspo: first major holiday as a couple
Home Away
Thanksgiving is a rush this year. Austin is slammed with reshoots, interviews, and a dozen obligations that keep him pinned on the East Coast when every other year he’d be on a plane back to Los Angeles.
This time, there was no way.
So when one of his good friends (a director who throws the kind of low-key-but-actually-star-studded holiday parties that end up on Deuxmoi) texted, “Bring whoever you want, just come eat,” Austin looked over at you from across the kitchen island and said, “You’re coming with me.”
You grinned because you figured he was kidding.
He wasn’t.
So that’s how you’ve ended up in the passengers seat of his borrowed Range on Thanksgiving, wearing a cream cashmere sweater, pleated skirt and the nervous smile of someone who absolutely does not belong at a table with two Oscar winners, a Grammy-nominated musician, and whatever mysterious European model is currently orbiting the host.
Austin kept his hand on your thigh the entire way up the winding estate drive, his blue eyes glancing over at you every few seconds to see your reaction. He looks unfairly good in his white dress shirt loosened at the collar, his dark gray suit is immaculate as his thumb traced slow little circles on your thigh like he could tell you were spiraling.
Once inside the estate, it is warm and luxurious, wood beams overhead, flickering candles everywhere, the smell of sage, turkey, and some obscene truffle mac and cheese that makes you momentarily forget your own name when someone asks.
Austin introduces you around like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you’re not just some normal person he’s been quietly seeing for months
You drink old-fashioneds, play Cards Against Humanity, and at one point Austin pulls you into his lap on the large sectional couch. When everyone around begins to argue about whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie or Thanksgiving movie you just cuddle together amidst the chaos, blissful and warm as you watch the night unfold.
By 1 a.m. most people have Ubered home or passed out in one of the twelve guest rooms. The host waves you toward the east wing like it’s nothing. “Pick any room, towels and amenities are in the baskets… make yourselves at home… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he adds, and Austin just smirks pulling you gently down the hallway.
The room you claim has a massive four-poster bed and windows overlooking the estates autumn forest. Austin locks the door, leaning back against it, and gives you that slow, seductive smile that always ruins you.
“Finally,” he says quietly and you giggle already kicking off your boots.
He crosses the room in three steps, cupping you face, and kissing you soft at first…like he’s saying thank you for coming, thank you for staying, thank you for making this weird, uprooted holiday still feel normal. Then his kiss turns heavier, because it’s Austin and the man kisses like he’s always trying to win something.
Clothes came off in that clumsy, laughing way that happens when you’re trying to be quiet. Your sweater gets stuck on his watch, his belt buckle clanks too loudly against the wood floor, and you both freeze, giggling into each other’s necks.
“Shh,” he breathes against your ear, but his hands are already sliding up your sides thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, and he leans in to kiss each one, making you sigh as you arch into him.
He walks you backward until your knees hit the bed, then eases you down onto your back. His mouth never leaves yours as his fingers hook the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs in one slow pull and tossing them aside.
You reach for him, fumbling with the button of his slacks, and he helps, popping it open, and dragging the zipper down with a quiet rasp that feels deafening in the silent house. You ease his black boxers down just enough, and he shoves them off the rest of the way, climbing over you in nothing but his unbuttoned white dress shirt hanging open, framing everything you’ve been thinking about all night.
His hands slide up your legs, slowly spreading you open as he settles between your thighs. He presses the head of his cock to your slick entrance, coating himself in your wetness, and then he’s pushing in hot and hard, sliding all the way in until his chest presses yours.
His lips find yours instantly, and with one slow roll of his hips you’re already moaning into his mouth.
He kisses you deeply because every time he thrusts in you want to moan his name loud enough to wake the whole house.
He keeps shushing you, his forehead pressed to yours his voice wrecked.
“Baby, you gotta…keep—quiet, they’re right down the hall… everyones, gonna hear us…”
You nod as he angles his hips just right, and a soft moan slips from your lips, then another, your nails grasping into his shoulders as he groans low and filthy, kissing you to silence the sounds.
He stops being gentle and starts thrusting into you with meaning, like you’d been teasing each other all night across that crowded dinner table, like every time his fingers brushed yours reaching for a dish had been foreplay.
The headboard taps the wall, once, twice, and he reaches up without breaking rhythm wedging a pillow between the wall and the wood like he’s done this before (rude, but efficient).
You are close, so close, whispering please please please against his mouth, and when you finally orgasm.. it hits hard, so hard you can’t stop the moans rising out of you, high, shaky, and unmistakable in the estate filled with sleeping celebrities.
Austin’s hand clamps over your mouth instantly, his eyes wide and delighted as his cock thrusts in slow and deep dragging it out, and you whimper into his palm, thighs trembling as he groans quietly like your orgasm is killing him in the best way.
He snaps his hips harder, faster chasing his own release, his cock hitting so deep you feel it in your spine, and his eyes lock onto yours, lips parting in a silent moan as he drives into you with several more punishing thrusts.
He pushes in as deep as he can get and comes with a hushed, desperate sound, his breaths shuddering as you feel the hot rush of him pulsing inside of you.
When you can both breathe again, he collapses halfway onto you, both of you shaking with silent laughter.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers, tracing lazy circles on your hip, “if anyone says they heard something, I’m telling them you were having nightmares.”
You laugh still wrecked and starry-eyed.
“Tell them I was having dreams,” you whisper thumb brushing his jaw. “Really, really good ones.” You add breathlessly.
He grins as you smile up at him, and he kisses you slow and sweet, tasting of gratitude, bourbon and the undeniable attraction you have for each other on your first holiday away from home.
Summary Watching Austin doing stunt work for his latest Variety Magazine shoot, gives you a promiscuous idea you can’t wait to try out with him.
🔗Masterlist
❤️🔥Passionate Smut❤️🔥 Austin x You• Austin at work •hot without trying• can’t keep your eyes off of him • the lasso is doing things• teasing •edging • rope kink • caught by Austin’s lasso • nipple play• dirty talk• the clothes stay on• sex tied up • size kink • overstimulation • orgasm • after care
💭via @aust-een ✨Inspo via DMs
Lasso Me
You’re standing just off set, arms folded tightly across your chest so no one sees how affected you are beneath your thin sundress. The crew moves around you in a blur, but you barely register any of it, because the only thing you’re looking at is Austin.
Every time your eyes land on him… his strength, his grace, the way he moves so naturally…it makes your thoughts scatter.
He’s completely unaware of the pull he creates around him, and the longer you stare, the warmer you get beneath your sundress, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up.
It’s the Vanity Fair shoot, and he’s paired with Andrew Garfield for a stunt portion, the two of them absolutely ridiculous together.
Andrew throws an arm around Austin’s neck in a playful headlock for a take, ruffling that perfect sandy-brown hair as Austin laughs struggling to wrestle him off.
Austin retaliates with a sharp fake punch to Andrew’s jaw, making him reel back like he’s been fatally wounded… and both of them crack up like they’re twelve.
The chemistry is stupidly hot… all that easy trust and rough affection making Austin look even more irresistible.
His first stunt is the glass punch.
Austin rolls his shoulders and locks in, driving his fist straight through the sugar pane as it explodes like ice shattering to the ground.
He doesn’t even flinch…he just stands there in those high-waisted jeans and half-unbuttoned gray shirt, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, like he already knows exactly what he’s doing to you as they yell cut.
His second stunt is the lasso.
He steps into frame with the rope spinning slow at his side, tongue dragging across his lower lip right before he throws. One smooth flick and the rope sails out, catching the post dead-center, the sharp sound of the snap when he pulls it tight hitting you straight between the legs.
His third stunt is a fall.
Andrew throws a fake uppercut and Austin sells it like he was born doing stunts, falling back, arms windmilling, then dropping hard onto the crash mat.
His arms are flung wide, legs spread open, chest rising under his loosely buttoned shirt…and the position is obscene… his hips tilting just enough that the denim pulls tight across his cock, your thighs pressing together instantly to stifle yourself from making a sound.
He’s such a fucking star… so agile, so captivating… and all you can think about is how he’s yours….and you can’t wait to get him home.
The drive is torture in the sweetest way. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around yours, lifting your fingers one by one just to play with them.
He keeps glancing at you with that quiet, satisfied smile that he gets after a good day on set.
“You were watching me so intently while I was doing stunts, baby,” he says softly, not even bothering to hide the grin in his voice.
You smirk, pretending to look out the window. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“Mm.” He hums, his thumb sliding up the inside of your wrist, warm and teasing. “I saw your face when I threw that rope.”
Your thighs press together instantly.
“I thought it was hot,” you admit with a grin.
He laughs under his breath, deep and cocky.
“You thought it was hot,” he repeats, glancing over with that lazy smirk that always ruins you.
You swallow. “Fine… it did things to me.”
He looks at you again, slower. “You were staring at me like you wanted me to tie you up right then and there. Andrew kept asking why you looked so out of it.”
Your eyes widen. “He did not.”
“Oh, he did.” Austin says, lifting your hand to his mouth, kissing your fingertips one by one. “I told him you were just watching for continuity.”
You grin, voice dropping suggestively. “Yeah… that’s not what I was doing.”
“Oh, I know.” He teases, his fingers trailing down to your thigh, tracing circles that make your stomach flutter.
“For the record… if you did tie me up?….I wouldn’t fight you.” You breathe out softly.
He exhales slowly, eyes dropping straight to where his hand is sliding up your thigh. “Yeah. I know what gets you.”
“Austin…” You shift in your seat as his fingers slip under the hem of your sundress, and your eyes squeeze shut for a second as you inhale, trying to steady yourself.
He gives your thigh a slow, deliberate squeeze, his voice dropping even lower. “Tell me what you need when we get home baby.”
You look over at him, already completely undone, and he steals a quick glance at you before his eyes drift back to the road… releasing your thigh like he knows exactly what he’s leaving you with.
By the time he pulls into the driveway, your breath is unsteady, the sundress doing little to hide what he’s already done to you without even trying.
He gets out and comes around to your side, opening the door to hold your hand, guiding you through the house and straight into the backyard.
He walks to the out door bar and pours two glasses of brandy like his day on set was nothing, but as he hands you your drink his pupils are still wide with adrenaline.
You sink down onto the outdoor couch watching him eye you in your little sundress as he takes his time… because he knows exactly what seeing him work does to you.
You swirl your glass slowly, letting the ice clink, letting him watch your fingers curl around the rim. “You always been that good with a rope Austin…” You ask, heat rising up your chest. “You think you could you actually lasso me with it?”
His eyes snap to yours, dark, sharp, already intrigued as a slow grin forms on his lips.
“You really want me chasing you across the yard in that tight little dress?” he asks, his voice lower.
You bite your lip as you look at him through your lashes….and that’s all it takes.
Without breaking eye contact, he sets his glass down… then steps off the patio heading straight for the out door shed.
You watch him walk inside for a moment, hearing the faint clatter of hooks and when he steps back out, he’s adjusting the length of a rope, tying it tight, testing the weight of it with one practiced flick of his wrist.
You squeal, half delighted, half pure need as you lift from the couch and run across the backyard, sundress fluttering at your thighs.
“Baby I don’t wanna hurt you,” he calls after you, laughter and concern threaded through. “You can’t outrun rope, sweetheart. You know that.”
You’re giggling, breathless, heart hammering as you wait, and he slows to a prowl, spinning the rope faster.
“Hold still for me.” He instructs.
You freeze in the middle of the yard, chest heaving as you watch his eyes narrow, pupils swallowing the blue, tongue wetting his bottom lip.
The rope whistles once overhead, and then swoop. The loop drops clean over your shoulders and snaps tight beneath your breasts. One sharp yank and your arms are pinned to your sides, the rope dragging deliciously across your nipples through the thin cotton.
You close your eyes because it’s the hottest thing he’s done….probably for the tenth time today.
He reels you in hand over hand until you’re chest to chest, the thick ridge of his cock nudging hard against you through his jeans.
“Got you,” he grins like he’s won a prize, and you squirm, testing the rope, the friction on your nipples pulling a whimper out of you.
He dips his head as he smiles against your ear, giving the rope one quick tug that saws the rope over your breasts pulling a broken moan straight from your throat.
“Been wanting you like this ever since you stood there biting that lip, watching me on set.” he confesses, pressing the thick line of his cock against you.
He starts walking you backward, tugging the rope just enough to keep you off balance, your tits bouncing with every step. Your knees hit the edge of the outdoor couch and you fall down together, him landing heavy and perfect between your thighs, caging you in.
The rope keeps your arms trapped; the sundress already bunched high on your waist, and he slides one rough palm up your thigh, thumb tracing the crease where leg meets hip, stopping just shy of where you need him most.
You arch, panting. “Austin, please—”and he pulls back just enough to watch you writhe.
“Please what, baby?” He says, his hand sliding under the hem of your panties, two fingers gliding through your slick.
“Please fuck you while you’re all tied up and helpless?”
You nod frantically, and he grins as he sits up on his knees, yanking his belt open with one sharp tug. He shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock— thick, hard, already slick at the tip, as he hooks your panties aside dragging the head through your folds until you’re trembling.
“Beg me pretty.” he says.
“Please, Austin, need you so bad, you looked so fucking hot today, please—”
He grins, filthy and fond, and brings your thighs over his waist keeping you pinned beneath him on the couch looking up into his blue eyes.
He lines himself up and guides his cock in slow, inch by inch, letting you feel every bit of his size until you’re whimpering, clenching, trying to pull him deeper.
He thrusts in fully and you moan, back bowing off the cushions, the rope biting deliciously into your skin as he sets a quick pace right from the start. He grinds in deep strokes on every thrust, and his thumb finds your clit circling relentlessly.
The rope drags across your nipples with every bounce of your tits, and it’s perfect, overwhelming.
“Love how you take me baby.” he pants, voice wrecked. “These pretty tits bouncing every time I thrust—fuck—”
You’re moaning his name, babbling praise and filth, saying anything to keep him moving, and his hips rut hard between your thighs as his cock nudges every sensitive spot within you.
He keeps you there forever, teasing, edging, fucking you open and helpless, tugging the rope to rub your nipples raw, his thumb never letting up on your clit. You’re panting, begging, and it feels so good you can’t form words, just broken pleas and his name over and over.
He slows suddenly, rolling his hips in deep lazy circles that make you sob, thumb working your clit in tight, perfect strokes.
“Come for me baby,” he finally says, voice cracking, thumb pressing hard. “Come on my cock while you’re tied up like my pretty little prize.”
You orgasm instantly clenching so hard around him he groans your name like it hurts, hips stuttering. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep and spilling hot inside of you breathing. “I love you, fuck, I love you.”
You’re both panting when he collapses over you, kissing you slow and soft, his nose nudging yours.
You smile, breathless and sated. “Untie me.” you whisper.
He smirks, eyes still black with lust, and gives the rope another lazy tug so it rubs your nipples as you gasp, oversensitive.
“Ask me nicely’,” he says, his hand sliding up to cup your breasts, squeezing hard, his thumbs circling the stiff peak until you’re arching into him again.
“Please Aus, untie me” you plead, feigning helpless.
“Are you sure?” He asks, placing breathy kisses across your chest. “because I’ve got a lot more rope where this came from.”
You grin as he looks up at you, the rope marks blooming red across your skin… and you already know you’ll let him have you all over again, because you love being caught in his lasso.
Apologies for the delay! I wasn’t able to write/post due to constant irl unavoidable events 🥹. Missed you all so much here! Completing several fics & for a surprise check this post again as I plan to post hidden bonus fics. 💕 tysm for your patience DMs/tags/reqs
Upcoming fics
🔗 All Mine Available 11.21 🔗 Lasso Me Available 11.21
Currently Finalizing:
Concepts I tried (& I Wish I Could Write)
Requests Postponed (Time Lapse of Event? LMK)
🔗 After Party 🔗 Untitled 🔗 Off Campus
Links/ Responses
Summary You and Benny are slowly becoming an item until your jealousy streak flares making you question if he’s really all yours.
🔗 New Neighbor Part 1
❤️🔥Passionate Smut ❤️🔥 Benny as your lover • catching feelings • promiscuous girl • unsure of Bennys intentions • seeing red • jealousy • possessive over Benny • manhandled by Benny • make up sex •dirty talk• size kink• nipple play • clit play •pinned missionary • rendered senseless • claimed thorough by Benny • multiple orgasms • after care
📖 Proofreader @purejasmine 🔗 Masterlist
All Mine
The days after your new neighbor Benny moves in blur into a haze of stolen glances and lingering touches.
Every time you catch sight of him straddling his Harley, muscles flexing under a tight tee, or leaning against his porch with that damn smirk on his handsome face, you feel a heat in you.
He’s got you hooked, and by the way his blue eyes track you’re every move..he knows it too.
The man’s a walking sin, and you’re more than willing to burn.
You’ve been over to his place nearly every night, the two of you tangled in sheets, his hands gripping your hips, his mouth claiming every inch of you until you’re a trembling, moaning mess.
He takes you like he’s staking a claim, each thrust a promise, each groan a vow, and you give right back, riding him until he’s the one gasping your name, the one unraveling under your touch.
It’s a game of power and surrender…and you’re both winning.
But tonight, something’s off.
You’re at your kitchen window, sipping lemonade, when you spot a sleek black muscle car parked outside Benny’s place.
A woman steps out, tall, brunette, with legs for days and a leather jacket that screams trouble.
She’s got that same rough-around-the-edges look as Benny, and when she knocks on his door, he opens it with a grin, pulling her into a quick hug before they disappear inside.
Your stomach twits as a sharp pang of jealousy slices through your heart. Who the hell is she? And why’s she at his house looking so damn comfortable?
You try to shake it off. Maybe she’s a friend, an ex..hell, maybe she’s just dropping off a package. But the way her hand lingered on his firm arm, the way he greeted her, it’s eating you alive.
You’re not the jealous type…but the thought of Benny with anyone else…his hands on her…his mouth whispering the same dirty praises he gives you…
It’s enough to make your blood boil.
The next morning, you’re outside watering your plants, intentionally ignoring the rumble of his Harley as he pulls up.
You feel his eyes on you, but you keep your back turned, your jaw tight.
Let him stew.
If he’s playing games, you’re not about to make it easy for him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls, his voice that low, gravelly drawl that usually eases you. “You gonna pretend I don’t exist all day?”
You glance over your shoulder, feigning interest, your expression cold.
“Didn’t think you’d notice, Benny. Looked like you had plenty of company last night.”
His smirk falters, and he swings a leg over his bike, striding toward you with that easy, confident strut that makes your traitorous heart skip.
“What’s got you all prickly?” he asks, stopping close enough that you can smell the leather and smoke clinging to him. “…You saw Angie.”
“Angie,” you repeat, her name bitter on your tongue. “She your type?”
He chuckles, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s annoyed you’re not falling for his charms.
“Angie’s just a friend. One of the guys’ old ladies. She was dropping off something for me from the club. What’ you really think I’m out here messing around with what we’ve been doing?”
You quickly look away, pulse hammering as you water your plants. “Didn’t look like ‘just friends’ from where I was standing.” you admit.
He steps closer, his shadow falling over you as his voice drops lower. “You’re jealous.” He says smoothly.
It’s not a question, and the amusement in his tone makes you want to slap that smirk right off of his face…or kiss it…..or both.
“C’mon, sweetheart. You think I’d look at anyone else when I’ve got you bouncing on my cock every night, moaning my name like it’s the only word you know?”
Your face heats as your pulse rises, but you don’t back down. “Maybe I’m not convinced,” you say, setting the watering can down to face him. “Maybe you need to prove it to me Benny….” you say sternly, looking deep into his blue eyes as you challenge him.
His grin turns wicked, and before you can blink, he’s got you by the wrist. “Oh, I’m gonna prove it,” he says, his grip firm as he pulls you with him to his place. “Gonna make you forget every damn thought in that pretty head of yours.”
You let him take you inside, your heart pounding in anticipation, and the door barely shuts before he’s on you, his mouth crashing against yours, all heat and need. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting into his shirt as a low moan rises in his chest.
“Bedroom,” he mutters against your lips, his hands skimming your body, squeezing your ass through your tiny shorts. “Now.”
You don’t need to be told twice.
You’re almost to the doorway when he spins you around, pinning you against the wall, his hard body against yours.
His lips trail down your neck, sucking at a sensitive spot that makes you gasp, and his hands slide under your shirt, his calloused fingers grazing your soft skin.
“Benny,” you breathe, your fingers tangling in his hair as he nips at your collarbone. “You better mean it.”
He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes blazing with something fierce. “Every inch of me is yours, sweetheart,” he says, his voice rough with promise. “Swear it. This cock—” he grinds against you, making you moan—“is all for you. Say it.”
You bite your lip, your body aching for him, “Prove it to me” you whisper, your voice shaking.
He doesn’t hesitate, unbuttoning your shorts and pulling them with your panties to the floor. Your shirt is yanked over your head in a hurry, his thumb flicking off your bra and he’s snatching his own tee off as his hard muscles flex with every movement.
He lifts you like you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom, tossing you down onto the bed.
Your eyes trail over the hard ridges of his abs until they reach his jeans, and he’s already straining against the denim. When his thumb flicks unbuttoning them, his cock springs out, thick and hard, the sheer size of him making your core ache in anticipation.
He climbs over you, guiding you higher onto the bed, his broad chest pressing flush against you, and the weight of his body pins you beneath him as he settles between your thighs.
“Swear it,” you demand, nails digging into his shoulders as the head of his cock teases your slick heat. “Swear you’re mine, Benny Cross.”
“I’m yours,” he rasps, his hands gripping your hips, guiding himself into you. “I swear it. All for you, baby. Fuck—take me.”
You don’t need more convincing as he sinks in, gasping as his cock stretches you wide, filling you so deep it takes your breath away.
He’s big, much bigger than you should handle, but you take him, inch by inch, until he’s buried inside you, his groan of satisfaction vibrating through his chest.
“Fuck, you feel s’good,” he rasps, his hands roaming up your body, squeezing your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until you’re arching into him. “Fuck sweetheart. Show me you believe me.”
You nod overwhelmed as you brace your hands on his chest, your hips rolling as you take him, each movement sending sparks of pleasure through your veins.
He meets you thrust for thrust, his hands gripping your ass, pulling you harder, deeper, until you’re moaning uncontrollably, the room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, with his praises and curses.
You gasp as you clench around his cock, your body trembling on the edge. “You’re mine, Benny Cross.” You moan voice breaking.
“Fuck yes,” he grunts, his eyes locked on yours, his voice raw. “All yours. I swear it, baby. Every fucking inch.”
He lifts from your chest suddenly, making you gasp, and he looms over you, his biceps flexing as he holds himself up. He thrusts into you, hard and deep, every snap of his hips driving you closer to the edge.
His hand finds your clit, his fingers rough but precise, circling until you’re crying out, your body arching off the bed.
“Come for me,” he demands, his voice thick with need. “Show me you’re all mine, sweetheart.”
You shatter, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls clenching around him as you scream his name. He doesn’t stop, he keeps fucking you through it, his thrusts relentless the headboard hitting the wall until you’re a moaning mess beneath him.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he groans, his jaw tight, his eyes burning into yours. “I want you to be my girl sweetheart. Say you’ll be mine.”
“Yes!” you pant, your body still shaking, your heart pounding as you search his face.
He groans, his thrusts deep and hard, each one a claim. “I want it official. I want you.” He breaths.
Your hands pull him down into a kiss, your body arching to meet him. “I’m yours, Benny Cross,” you whisper against his lips. “All yours.”
He groans, his control snapping as he buries himself deep, his release pulsing through him as he comes, his hips jerking hard between yours. The intensity of him steals your breath, the heat of him filling you up as you cling to him, both of you lost in each other.
He’s groaning hard as he finally pulls out his body shivering as collapses beside you, and he pulls you to his chest, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat.
He kisses you, slow and deep, his hand cupping your face like you’re something precious.
“Mean it,” he vows, his voice rough but soft. “You’re my girl now.”
“Good.” You grin, tracing the lines of his jaw with your fingertips.. “Cause I don’t share, Benny.”
He laughs, the sound low and warm as he pulls you closer. “Neither do I, sweetheart.” He says cupping your jaw and placing a firm kiss. “Neither do I.”
Summary Feyd Rautha has captured you from your home world keeping you as his prized possession. His depravity has no bounds until a fateful event forces him to realize how special you are to him.
🎃October Special Fic List 🎃 6 of 6 🔗 Masterlist
🔗 Feyd-Rautha Portait-in cover art fic mention- permission/commissioned by @yayeett123 🏆
⚠️Hardcore Smut⚠️ Feyd Rauthas favorite • Feyd obsessed • dark romance • his chosen one • vying for Feyd’s attention • hidden competition • constant claiming • power play • Feyd dominant • “perfect pet” • restraints • pleasure training • oral sex fetish• clit play • clit device • size kink • praise kink • Dune style sex toys• orgasm control • orgasm control with device • orgasm denial• implanted with a foreign object • double penetration /w implantation • overstimulation • near death experience • medical revival • multiple orgasms in a row • cream pie • after are • eternal vow • elevation in status
📖 Proofreader @purejasmine @butdaddyilovehim99 ✨ inspo via request 🎃 💕
Special Attention
The fortress of House Harkonnen on Giedi Prime seems like a scar against the planet’s blackened horizon, its spires clawing at the ashen sky.
Inside, the air is heavy, laced with the metallic bite of industrial fumes and the faint, sweetness of incense, a hallmark of Harkonnen decadence.
You navigate the labyrinthine of corridors, your footsteps softened by the polished obsidian floors that reflect your silhouette in distorted fragments.
The walls pulse faintly with conduits, their rhythmic sound a constant reminder of the fortress’s artificial life.
You are no stranger to these halls, as Feyd-Rautha’s favorite, you’ve learned to move with purpose, to keep your head low and your senses sharp.
The na-Baron’s favor is a double-edged sword, privilege laced with peril. You’ve seen others fall from his grace, their fates whispered in the shadowed corners of the fortress: some cast out from his bridal court reputations tarnished, others returned to their home planets permanently altered.
Yet you’ve endured, rising to be kept as his favorite, a position that grants you luxuries beyond your wildest dreams, but demands everything in return.
Today, the summons came at dawn, delivered by a silent, black-clad servant who pressed a data-slate case into your hands.
Your pulse quickened as you read it, a mix of dread and anticipation coiling in your chest.
You pressed the case open already knowing what awaited inside.
Four cuffs, synthetic and unbreakable, embedded with neural sensors, a gift from Feyd- Rautha, a symbol of his claim.
You wear them now concealed beneath the flowing sleeves and floor length hem of your gossamer robe, their cool weight a constant reminder of what awaits.
The fortress seemed silent with muted tension as you prepared. In the bathing chamber, you rinsed in a pool of mineral-rich water, its surface shimmering with iridescent oils.
The heat soothed you, but your mind raced. Feyd’s moods are unpredictable, sometimes cruel, sometimes almost tender, but always insatiable.
Tonight, you sense, will test your limits.
You anointed your skin with a fragrance distilled from Arrakeen flora, its soft notes designed to please Feyd’s heightened senses, and your hair is left loose, without constraint, as he prefers.
The robe you wear is a diaphanous veil, its fabric clinging to your curves, and beneath it the cuffs gleam faintly, their sensors dormant but ready to sync with whatever devices Feyd has prepared.
You’ve learned to expect the unexpected, his chambers are a gallery of perverse ingenuity, filled with devices and tools that blur the line between pleasure and pain.
As you leave the seraglio, a guard escorts you through the fortress’s upper levels. The corridors grow darker, the air colder, as you approach Feyd’s private wing.
The guard halts at a massive door of black alloy, its surface etched with the Harkonnen crest. He inputs a code, and the doors hiss open, revealing a dimly lit antechamber.
“He waits within,” the guard announces, then retreats, leaving you alone.
You step inside, the door sealing shut behind you. The antechamber is sparse, its walls bare save for a single holo-portrait of Feyd in the arena, his pale, muscular form stoic after a kill, his blade covered in blood, his tongue licking the edge in victory.
The image sends a shiver down your spine, not from fear but from the raw power he exudes. You’ve seen that expression in person, felt its weight when he pins you beneath him, his raspy voice whispering promises and threats.
A second door opens, and Feyd’s voice cuts through the silence. “Come, pet.” It’s a command, low and gravelly, laced with an intensity that makes your knees weak.
You obey, stepping into the main chamber, the same obsidian-slabbed room as the previous, except with biotech panels and a raised dais in the center, like a stage set for a performance only you and he will share.
The air is colder here, heavy with the scent of incense and something sharper, like the sky before a storm.
Feyd stands at the room’s center, his back to you, his muscles gleaming under the bluish glow as he adjusts settings on the biotech panel platform.
He’s shirtless, his physique sculpted by years of combat and cruelty: broad shoulders, narrow waist, hard muscles defined to perfection.
His slacks, black and form-fitting, do little to hide how substantial he is, and the sight of his size sends a pulse of heat through you.
He turns slightly, his blue eyes locking onto yours, and his black teeth flash as he smiles, like a predator sizing up his prey.
“You’re late,” he says, though there’s no real anger in his tone, only a teasing edge that promises retribution.
He strides toward you, his movements fluid, intentional, like a panther stalking its kill.
You hold your ground, though every instinct screams to kneel, submit.
He stops inches away, his heat radiating against your skin, his scent, leather, metal, and something uniquely him, filling your lungs.
“I wasn’t,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest.
Defiance, however small, is part of what keeps you in his favor. He likes the challenge, the spark of resistance he can bend but never fully break.
His smirk widens, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing the edge of your robe.
“Cunning,” he rasps, his voice a low sound that vibrates through you. “I will savor dismantling that.”
His hand closes around the fabric at your chest, and with a single, sharp pull, he tears it away, leaving you exposed in only your cuffs.
The cool air touches your skin, raising goosebumps, and your nipples harden under his gaze. His eyes darken, pupils dilating with lust, and you can feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch.
He circles you, his fingers trailing over your shoulders, your spine, your hips, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
Each touch is intentional, testing your reactions, mapping your body like territory he’s claimed countless times before,but never tires of exploring.
Your breath catches as he pauses behind you, his hand sliding up to grip your throat.
His thumb strokes the pulse point beneath your jaw, and you know he can feel your heart racing.
“You’re shivering,” he grins, his full lips brushing your ear, his black teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Is it fear? Or need?” He rasps.
His other hand slips between your thighs, not touching your core but hovering close enough to make you flinch.
Your body betrays you, a soft sigh escaping your lips and a low, satisfied hum rises from his chest.
“Need,” he discerns his voice barely a breath, and his grip on your throat tightens briefly, a silent approval.
“Good pet,” he says, releasing your throat and stepping back. He gestures to the obsidian dais at the room’s center, its surface draped in black silk. “Lie down. Spread yourself for me.”
Your heart pounds as you obey, climbing onto the dais and positioning yourself as he commanded. The silk is cool against your overheated skin, a stark contrast to the fire in your veins.
You spread your thighs, exposing yourself fully, and the cuffs activate, their neural sensors linking with the dais restraints. They lock, anchoring your wrists and ankles down, leaving you trapped and vulnerable with anticipation
Feyd watches you, his expression dark with satisfaction, his cock already straining against his slacks. He approaches, his hands steady as he reaches for the table’s devices: vials, toys, remotes…things that will soon push you to the edge of oblivion.
“Tonight,” he says, his voice a raspy promise, “I am feeling especially generous.” He discerns, his eyes dark fathomless voids as they rake over your body.
You shiver, knowing this is the moment you become his canvas, his obsession…how you earn the position of his favorite…
You lie there, bound by the cuffs anchoring your wrists and ankles to the edges of the dais, your body splayed for his attention.
His pale, muscular form is a vision of brutal beauty, his skin smooth like polished marble, stretched over ridges that shift with every movement. His black teeth glint in the low light as he smirks, savoring you, his voice raspy and low, cutting through the silence.
“Such a good pet,” he praises, his voice filled with feral delight as he reaches between your spread thighs, his hands gripping into the soft flesh with enough force to bruise.
“Already weeping for your na-Baron’s blade,” he says, his fingers lowering to slide through your slick folds, teasing your clit as it throbs, feeling a desperate ache blooming under his touch.
He reaches for a small, metallic device on the nearby table, a slender, curved phallus designed to fit inside you, attached with two black tiny nodes at the top. He coats it in a shimmering lubricant, the liquid tingling against your skin as he presses it slowly into your entrance.
Your hips push up involuntarily, but he pins them down with his other hand, his strength overwhelming. “Patience, pet,” he soothes, continuing to glide it in.
The stretch is immediate, the phallus filling you deeply, its nodes pulsing faintly against your inner walls.
You wince as your core tightens around it, and Feyd’s eyes darken with lust as he retrieves the phallus, pulling it from your body with the nodes now gone, already lodged deep inside of you.
“This,” he instructs, holding up a small spheroid, his thumb hovering on its sleek button. “Will make you come for me on command.”He says, his other hand lowering the fabric down his waist as his pale cock juts out proud and vicious, the thick veins pulsing beneath pale skin.
The head is flushed a deep rouge, and he wraps his long fingers around the shaft, stroking himself with slow pulls, the motion making the ridges along his cock flex under the low light, and with groan of anticipation, he presses the button.
The nodes surge to life inside of you, a relentless vibration that targets your core and sends shockwaves through your body.
Your back arches, a strangled moan escaping your lips as your walls clench and throb around nothing.
The pleasure is overwhelming, a white-hot current that drowns out everything else.
Your clit pulses in time with the vibrations, and you’re already moaning, body tensing, teetering on the edge of oblivion.
Feyd watches, his thick, pale cock already leaking with precum, twitching against his strokes.
“Not yet,” he taunts, and shuts off the nodes just as your orgasm begins. The sudden absence of sensation is agonizing, leaving you panting, your body trembling with unspent need.
Feyds eyes darken with desire as he sees the slick forming along your folds, and he places the spheroid down on the dias, lowering himself between your thighs feral for it.
His tongue delves in deep, savage and unrestrained, devouring every drop with guttural groans that vibrate against your sensitive skin.
He sucks and licks at your clit with primal fury, his black teeth grazing your inner lips and he buries his face deeper, inhaling your scent like it’s a drug.
You are shivering as his hand digs into your inner thigh, holding you open wider, and your already sensitive clit is pinched between his fingers, rolled and tugged with a precision that makes your hips twitch.
Each twist sends a jolt straight to your core, your body jerking against the restraints as he lowers his mouth again, black teeth grazing your clit before he sucks hard, the wet heat of his flicking tongue exquisite torture as your nerves pulse in pleasure.
You moan until your voice is hoarse, until weak, broken cries spill from your lips, making him groan with a low, animalistic sound that vibrates through your core.
He thrusts his tongue in, just enough to make you come, and as you twitch and writhe in pleasure, he soothes you with slow, soft licks.
Your body is in overstimulation, every touch amplifying the ache deep within, and he pulls back, his hands trailing down your stomach to your clit and spreading your folds with his fingers, exposing the swollen bud.
You feel the cool kiss of another device, a small suction cup that he fits over your clit, and you tremble as you down look at it.
“This will latch on and never let go,” he says, his voice a dark promise as the device forms a soft white halo beneath its translucent shell. “It will kiss you deeper than my mouth ever could.” he reveals, as it begins to glow in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
It pulses gently at first, a teasing pressure that makes your hips writhe, but when it activates fully…it’s like a supernova.
The suction becomes firmer, drawing a pulse to the surface of your clit, making it throb with an intensity that borders on overwhelming.
Your whimpers turn to cries, your body tensing as the first orgasm rises through you, your walls spasming around the nodes still lodged inside.
“My perfect pet.” He says, watching you moaning his name in exquisite bliss, and he presses the spheroid, making the internal nodes vibrate in sync with the clit device, prolonging your climax until your body is rocking against the table, your hips grinding as if fucking an invisible force.
But he’s far from done.
He climbs over you on the dais, his muscular frame blocking the light as he aligns his cock with your entrance. The nodes are still inside as he pushes in alongside them, the added fullness taking you over the limit.
He groans, his jaw clenching, the exquisite pleasure extending to him as the vibrations hum against the thick length of his cock.
He loses himself, his face softened in ecstasy, his eyes fluttering in bliss as he grinds the head of his cock against the nodes, his cock twitching at the dual sensations.
The overstimulation morphs into a deep, throbbing pressure as he thrusts, groaning deeply in his throat. His cock slides slickly in and out, dragging against the vibrating nodes with every powerful thrust of his hips, until his voice fractures in pleasure.
“Made for my blade…made for me,” he rasps, his hands gripping your thighs, as he begins pounding into you. Each thrust drives the nodes deeper, the vibrations syncing with his rhythm, and your walls milk him with every pulse.
He leans down, his full lips brushing your neck, your jaw, his black teeth nipping your skin. “My favorite pet” he praises, groaning as his cock twitches inside of you. “You break so beautifully, clenching around me like you’ll never let go…..None of the others endure like you.”
Your gaze up at him, your moans lost in the overload of sensation. Every time he thrusts, he pushes the nodes as they slip around his cock, and you want to cry it feels so good, you want to scream but your body can’t react as you drown in the abyss of overstimulation.
He reaches for a vial on the dais, a shimmering, iridescent liquid that he uncorks with his teeth. He tilts your chin back, lining it to your open mouth, and pours the liquid onto your tongue.
It’s sharp, like spiced wine, and within seconds, a warm, euphoric haze spreads through your body, heightening your senses, every touch magnified, every thrust amplified. The drug extends your climax, keeping you teetering in oblivion, your body writhing beneath him in unbridled ecstasy.
Time loses meaning under his relentless attention, and he uses the spheroid, pressing it to trigger orgasm after orgasm, each one more intense than the last, until your body is a quivering mess.
Your heart pounds erratically, your breaths shallow, and suddenly, a sharp pain lances through your chest.
Your vision darkens, your body seizing as cardiac arrest grips you. The sensors monitoring your heart rate in the cuffs go off, and Feyd’s eyes narrow as he looks up at the biotech panels with a flicker of anger.
He tsks, quickly reaching for a small, patch-shaped device, its surface etched with metallic glowing patterns. He presses it to your chest, directly over your heart, and a jolt of energy surges through you. Your body arches, gasps tearing from your throat as your heart stutters back to life.
The medical patch stabilizes your cardiac rhythm, and Feyd watches, his expression unreadable. “I’m not done with you yet,” he says, almost tenderly, his hand stroking your sweat-soaked hair.
His thrusts are slower, savoring the way your overstimulated body reacts, your walls fluttering around him, your body leaking sweat, tears, slick; every inch of you exhausted, spent beyond endurance.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he groans, a deep, guttural sound, and spills inside of you, his cock pulsing as he rides out his release.
When he pulls out, he brings the phallus to your slick entrance and clicks a button as the nodes slip free, attaching to it, leaving you empty and aching.
He leans over you, pressing slow kisses on your chest before licking a stripe up your neck. His tongue seeks entry to your mouth, and as you accept, he swirls it against yours as he cups your face.
“My chosen one,” he whispers, his voice a soft rasp as he lowers his fingers to your clit, “I would never let anything take you from me.” He vows removing the suction device, and he presses a hand to your pelvis in a rare moment of gentleness.
“The agony I would feel without you by my side,” he breathes, his nose brushing along your jaw, the admission pulled from somewhere deep and unguarded, the thought of almost losing you lingering in his voice.
“I will have you as my only one,” he whispers against your skin, his fingers circling the steady beat of your heart. “I will breed you, fill you with my heirs,” he says, his hand sliding over your stomach. “I will arrange our union under the Baron, my uncle’s blessing to bind you to me eternally.”
You blink up at him, voice heavy with exhaustion and awe. “You would….have me as your Baroness?”
His hand lifts to your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip with quiet possession. “My days as a playboy are over,” he says, studying your face as if committing the moment to memory. “You are my endless satisfaction.” He confesses.
He presses a button to release the cuffs, and you immediately cling to him, your body aching and sore, your mind drifting off in a haze, the patch still attached to your chest, the aftershocks of his touch lingering like a brand.
“You are mine now…title and soul”…he says, claiming you completely, his chosen one, his baroness, every pulse of your heart,and every part of your flesh, bound to his special attention. “forever.”
Summary As an up-and-coming celebrity, you only had a fleeting moment with Austin Butler, but the attraction was instant. Weeks later, at a glittering masquerade ball, you find yourself drawn to a handsome stranger who feels achingly familiar, and take a chance to find out just how deep his attraction goes.
🎃October Special Fic List 🎃 5 of 6 🔗 Masterlist
❤️🔥Passionate Smut❤️🔥 Austin x forbidden romance • masquerade meet cute • secret encounter • masquerade ball • strangers to lovers • reckless desire • anonymity kink • semi public sex • mask kink • oral sex • fingering • clit play • edging • orgasm denial • desperate sex • the clothes stay on • corset kink • passionate encounter • praise kink • dirty talk • begging • size kink • protection • multiple orgasms • aftercare
📖 Proofreader @purejasmine ✨ inspo via request 🎃 💕
Masquerade
The first time you meet Austin, it feels like time stands still in the middle of a crowded room.
The connection is instant… undeniable.
You are at the peak of your career, a singer with your name covering billboards, whispered in tabloids, your song even playing over the speakers in the venue. Yet meeting him, you don’t feel like a celebrity at all.
You are just… you.
You’re at an after-party in for an awards ceremony in the hills, velvet ropes and glittering chandeliers reflecting light off glass and silver. Cameras flash, agents and producers cluster in sleek suits, designer gowns graze across polished marble.
Everyone is performing importance.
Until you see him.
He’s across the room, tall, commanding, the sharp cut of his jaw beneath tousled sandy-brown hair. His eyes meet yours, blue and steady… and he doesn’t look away.
He’s magnetic, still, quiet, the kind of man who never needs to chase attention to own it, and your lips curve into a half-smile as everything inside of you stills.
Before you can process it, your assistant steps in, following your gaze with sharp instinct, her voice dropping already disapproving.
“Oh no. No no. Not him. Not with your touring schedule. Single sells, remember?”
You keep your eyes on him anyway, your heartbeat betraying you. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You already are just by staring at him,” she mutters. “Look away.”
But you don’t, because he’s already moving toward you… slow, casual, inevitable.
Neither of you wants to seem obvious… but neither of you can look away.
Cameras catch it first, a subtle flash just as he steps in front of you, his eyes seeming to see right through your carefully crafted persona.
“Hi,” he says, his voice low and private despite the noise.
“Hi.” You respond, and your smile threatens to become real, not staged, and you fight it.
“I’m Austin Butler.” He says taking your hand, and he shakes it warm and sure. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
He studies you, present and unhurried, as though you are the only one in the room.
“I am a huge admirer of your music, your voice… I actually went to one of your concerts.” He confesses.
Your eyes brighten before you can stop them. “You did?”
He nods, a shy grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah. You were incredible up there. I danced all night.” His words make you soften, caught off guard by how sincere he is.
He’s handsome in his films, but up close he’s even more captivating … and there’s a gravity to him that pulls you in completely.
“You look even better in person,” you say before you can think, your gaze sweeping down the length of him.
His smile deepens, almost bashful, and his voice drops. “Hearing that from you… I am flattered. Very flattered.”
He has you, and it feels easy… effortless… like you could stand here with him forever.
Your assistant clears her throat with pointed urgency. “We have three stops to make. Now.”
At the same moment, his manager appears behind him, his voice firm but polite. “Austin, press photos. They’re waiting.”
Two teams, two schedules, two careers designed to keep anything uncontrollable from happening.
You lose your chance…
He leans in slightly, his eyes filled with quiet conviction. “I hope we meet again.” He says with sincerity.
“I hope so too.” You reply, the smile on your lips genuine.
Then… he’s gone, led away by his team into the night.
October arrives, and you’re invited to the annual Halloween masquerade at a sprawling Beverly Hills mansion, filled with industry icons, celebrities, legends in costume.
The theme is decadence: lace, secrets, …sin.
Your team spends hours perfecting your look, a deep emerald corset dress that sculpts your curves, the boning pushing up with every breath.
They pair it with a black lace mask that hides half your face, leaving only your lips and eyes exposed.
The anonymity makes you feel bold…untouchable…dangerous….like stepping into a fantasy where you could be anyone… or no one at all.
The mansion is a world of excess, chandeliers shimmering with crystals, candlelight flickering against gold-trimmed walls.
The air is filled with perfume, champagne, and something unspoken…anticipation.
You mingle, network, smile…..say all the right things to all the right people.
But your mind is on something else… or rather, on someone else. Behind the mask and the laughter, you’re secretly searching the crowd, quietly hoping he’s here.
After your second drink, something crisp and citrusy served in a crystal flute, you find yourself locked in conversation with a small circle of A-listers.
A producer you once worked with, an actor whose face is on every upcoming movie marquee, and a fashion icon complimenting your corset and asking about your upcoming album.
You nod, laugh, toss out a few flirty teases about studio dates and vocal arrangements… but your attention falls away when you finally see him.
Across the room, tall, broad-shouldered, in a tailored black tuxedo and a sleek gold mask, that reveals just enough: his full lips, his eyes.
Those eyes.
Intense, watchful, unforgettable, and the inviting smirk that forms on his lips when he sees you…
You know it’s him, and before your mind can even keep up, you’re moving toward him as he’s heading toward you.
Your corset makes every move intentional, your breaths shallow, your hips swaying with each step.
You stop just in front of each other, unable to hide the excitement in your voice.
“Hi.” You greet him softly, like a shared secret between you as you hold his gaze.
“Hi.” His says In return, his voice velvet, his smile unmistakable, and he admires you… like he’s been anticipating this moment all night.
You glance toward your assistant… occupied.
He checks for his manager… busy.
“Dance with me,” you say, low and teasing, claiming the moment you were denied.
His lips curve into a grin, slow and certain. “For you?” He extends a hand, his palm warm as he takes yours. “All night.”
The music shifts into something slower as he leads you onto the dance floor, and his hands settle lightly on your waist, pulling you close enough that your bodies touch with every sway.
You move together like this is the only chance you’ll have … but your bodies recognize the lasting connection long before your minds can keep up.
Your palms glide up the firm planes of his chest and down his waist as his fingertips trace the curve of your hips, the space between you intimate, simmering.
You stare at each other in your masks and it feels forbidden, impossible….and that only makes it sweeter.
There’s something thrilling in the way you both hold back, in the way you try to maintain composure knowing it’s inevitable.
“This would never work,” you say staring up at him, and you have to bite your lip to keep focus as his hands slide up our corset squeezing slightly.
“We’re both far too busy,” he says with a teasing grin, and you smile softly.
“Tour dates, film shoots… when would we even have the time?” you ask, your fingers sliding up behind his neck, brushing the curls at his nape.
He leans in, his face unfairly handsome, and your heart races as he looks into your eyes.
“We’d have to plan every minute together,” he says, his voice smooth and sure, his hands gliding up your arms until his thumbs rests at your wrists on his shoulders.
You exhale slowly. “Or just… take the opportune moment,” you whisper your lips grazing the edge of his jaw, just enough that he almost closes the distance.
As the song ends, neither of you lets go, the masks doing nothing to hide the desire in your eyes.
Your aching for him, breathes unsteady, every thought on his hands, his mouth his heat.
He’s polite, afraid to cross the line.
But you’re not… you want him now.
You lace your fingers through his and lead him through the crowd from the dance floor, grinning as you make it unchecked into the grand hallway.
As soon as you clear it without being caught you start to run with him laughing as the swish of your dress whispers with every breath.
Your heart hammers, your pulse a drumbeat against your ribs as you make it to the end of another hall.
You push open a heavy door to find an empty drawing room, quiet, opulent, candlelit. Two tall windows cast moonlight over the centered brocade pattern chaise in front of a fireplace, and with him inside, you lock the door shut behind you.
You face each other and he doesn’t move, neither do you, both of you standing there, grinning masked, heavily breathing.
Your pulse races, the silence holding you both captive.
You’ve commanded studio sessions, owned red carpets, performed on stage at stadiums, and yet have never felt this out of control.
There is something in him that pulls you in willingly, something quiet and steady that cuts through noise and ego of your career like it’s nothing.
You feel reckless in a way fame stole from you years ago.
“I thought I imagined you that night,” he says, his voice low, hesitat, trying to hold his composure. “Your eyes… the way you looked at me….It didn’t feel real.”
Your lips form a smile. “I tried to get to you.”
“You did.” He says, his tone softer, the admission intimate, a secret pulling you closer without even touching you. “I should have stayed… I should’ve taken the chance… I never stopped thinking about that.”
Heat rises in your chest and you can feel it under the lace of the corset, forcing every shallow breath, knowing your first encounter with him never left you either.
“I lost my chance then,” he confesses, his voice low, steady. “I’m not losing it again.”
He closes the distance and your body reacts, head tilting up, breath catching, wanting him to touch you everywhere without demanding it. His eyes trace your face, full of want, his lips parting as if being with you is the most natural thing in the world.
You reach for him, your hand sliding around the back of his neck, and when your lips softly touch, a low sound escapes him, deep and satisfied, his mouth pressing harder, firmer, his kiss overtaking yours.
He deepens it, your tongues teasing as your lips move together, his chest pressed so close you can feel his breaths shaking with anticipation, his face consumed with an aching need for you, like holding back is agony.
You reach down your side, fingers easing your dress up your thigh just enough to show your intentions, and when he pulls back to look, his blue eyes darken, a small sound escaping him.
His fingertips trail up your thigh as he shudders with restraint, fighting not to push you to the wall and take you standing.
“You want me right here?” he asks, his voice soft, shaky like he can’t hold back another second.
You nod, your hand pulling his between your legs, and he makes a sound, low and rough, his brows knitting as he feels the heat of you through the fabric.
“Say it,” he breathes, voice trembling, barely holding on.
“I want you,” you whisper, pulling your dress higher just to see how his pupils widen, his lips reddened and swollen from your kiss parting in disbelief.
His fingertips trail lower inching closer until he teases the middle of your panties, and his breath shudders playing with your clit through the fabric.
You push into his hand, “more,” you whisper and he kisses you, soft and slow it’s like it’s tearing him apart to hear you beg for it.
He kisses you with more passion, aching and soft, a sigh escaping as he backs you against the wall.
He kisses down your jaw as he pulls the band of your panties aside, his fingers barely dipping in, and he’s shivering, lips brushing yours like he can’t believe the moment is real.
His fingers tease your clit until it’s throbbing, your head tipping back against the wall, hips pushing forward. “I need you please,” you whisper, and he finally slips his fingers along your folds as your breath catches in your throat.
“I never thought…I’d have you like this,” he says near your ear, his voice in disbelief with much you want him as he thrusts his finger in, and your gasp fills the air.
His chest presses against yours, his lips trailing down your neck, his breaths uneven against your skin, the masks transforming everything
You’re anonymous and exposed all at once, every touch amplified, unable to see his face entirely, but you can feel him… the tension in his jaw, the restraint in his fingers as they thrust inside of you.
You cling to him, legs trembling, nails pressing into the fabric of his tux as his lips ghost over your throat, your collarbone, unguarded and urgent like something conjured out of a dream you didn’t know you’d had.
His fingers are wet and slippery as your walls flutter around them, already feeling the edge as you gaze at up him, overwhelmed by how much pleasure he’s giving you. His fingers are long and precise, thrusting faster, the slick sounds smacking between your thighs as you begin to let go.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasps, as he presses his lips against your jaw, “tell me to stop and I will.”
“Don’t you dare,” you breathe.
That’s all the permission he needs.
He slips his fingers out and you choke back a sob from the denial, his movements determined as he guides you to the wide brocade-patterned chaise by the fireplace.
He lays you down like you’re something precious, fragile… then immediately proves you’re not.
He drops to his knees between your legs, pushing the emerald silk of your gown up to your hips, the air cool against your skin as his hands slide your panties down your thighs.
His mouth is warm as it follows, kissing a slow, path up the inside of your thighs, and you’re already trembling, slick and aching from his fingers, but this….this is worship.
He looks up at you, eyes dark, reverent, desperate, and then his tongue finds you.
You cry out, hips bucking up and he pins them down, one strong hand splayed across your corset, the other sliding two fingers back inside of you, curling them just right.
His rhythm is merciless, slow licks, deep strokes, with the press of his mouth against sensitive skin. You fist his hair, holding him there, chasing the edge he’s dragging you toward. You ride his mouth, hips moving with his fingers, holding his face between your legs as he flicks and sucks at your clit.
Your head tips back, breaths shallow and shaky, hips bucking faster as the pleasure coils tighter and you start to come.
Your orgasm is sudden and blinding, a white-hot wave that leaves you gasping his name like a prayer.
He doesn’t give you time to come back down. He’s on his feet, unzipping and unbuttoning his dress pants with impatient efficiency letting you see him fully.
He’s completely undone, lips swollen, hair tousled, cock hard and heavy as he pulls it out in his grasp.
He strokes himself once, twice, as you stare at how thick and hard it is, how big he is, as he lowers himself, parting your thighs.
“Condom,” you manage, voice rushed.
“Wallet,” he says, and you softly grin, breathless and delirious as he pulls one out, tearing the foil open. You watch him roll it on, his fingers sure as he slides it all the way down the base, then he’s pushing your knees apart, settling between them.
The head of his cock nudges your entrance and you both still, breathing hard.
“Look at me,” he whispers and you do, your eyes locked on his as he pushes in, inch by torturous inch, stretching you, filling you until you’re clawing at his tux jacket. When he’s fully inside he pauses, eyes fixed on you in awe, giving you a second to adjust.
You don’t want a second, and you roll your hips, urging him on, and he takes the hint.
He starts with slow, deep, thrusts that have your whole body tensing. But as his breaths come faster, feeling how perfectly you take him, he unleashes, his hips snapping with precision as he drives into you, your moans echoing off the high vaulted ceilings.
“Please… just like that… do not stop…” you whisper the words barely forming, and you hook your leg over his waist, the angle forcing him against that spot that makes you see stars.
He watches the way your moans break for him, and his hand slips between you, his thumb circling your clit in time with every stroke until the pleasure peaks again, faster this time, and your helpless against it.
“I’m so close,” you gasp feeling the chills expand across your skin.
“Come with me,” he breathes, his voice hushed as he lays thrusts in that rock your body, his thumb circling your clit until it’s throbbing.
You moan high and soft, shattering around him, clenching tight, dragging him over the edge with you. He buries his face in your neck, groaning your name as he pulses inside of you, hips jerking through the aftershocks.
You stay like that as he stills, breathless, the fire crackling softly beside you.
He lifts his head, slowly sliding the mask from his face, and he is so handsome that your hands instinctively trail along his temple. He removes your mask too, his smile deepening when he sees you, and he leans in to kiss you, slow and deep.
“Next time,” he say, his hand stroking your jaw as he looks at you with adoration, “I’m taking you on a date. No masks. No hiding. No running away from our teams.” he says staring in your eyes with conviction “I want it real.”
You tilt your face up to his. “Next time?” you say softly, your hand sliding up his neck to his jaw, thumb tracing over his lower lip, “…tonight’s not even over.”
His grin turns wicked, his eyes mischievous.
“Give me ten minutes.”
Summary Austin doesn’t want to go out on Halloween night, wanting to stay home and watch scary movies with you instead. But when you show up wearing your naughty Bunny costume it’s an unexpected treat he more than willing to take.
🎃October Special Fic List 🎃 4 of 6
🔗 Masterlist
❤️🔥Passionate Smut❤️🔥 Austin Butler x you • new relationship • famous boyfriend • excitable vs mature • outfit mismatch • overdressed • movie night fluff • fear lust • making out • Austin having a sexy bunny fantasy • costume fetish • pantyhose fetish • lap sitting • straddling • no panties? • the costume stays on• neck biting • marking • claiming • nipple play • latching • less experienced reader• size kink •switching positions • simultaneous orgasms • cream pie • aftercare
📝 💭 Co-writer/ Plot Consultant @butdaddyilovehim99 ✨Inspo via request
Honey Bunny
The night air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves as you stand at Austin’s front door, your heart fluttering with excitement. Your pink high-cut leotard accentuates every curve, the fabric shimmering under the soft glow of his porch lights.
Your sparkle glitter fishnet tights catch the light with every subtle movement, and your pink satin gloves, adorned with delicate fur trim, grasp a bag of assorted candy you brought for trick-or-treaters.
White bunny ears with matching pink inlay are perched in your hair, and your fluffy bunny tail is pinned perfectly in place as you adjust your stance in your pink heels.
You’re all smiles and joy, feeling cute and festive, excited to celebrate Halloween with your boyfriend Austin.
He’s famous, having his fair share of clubbing and costume parties, so when he opted to chill and watch movies instead you completely understood, though part of you still wanted to get in the holiday spirit.
You press the doorbell and the chime echoes throughout Austin’s sprawling secluded estate. A moment later the door swings open, golden light spilling out, and there he stands, tall, broad-shouldered and impossibly handsome.
Austin Butler.
He’s relaxed in a casual dark gray tee and jeans, his sandy-brown hair tousled perfectly.
His blue eyes go wide, then drop quickly and helplessly down the length of you, choking back his words, as he stares at you, utterly stunned.
You beam at him, bouncing in your heels.
“Happy Halloween!” You greet, stepping forward and planting a quick kiss on his cheek as you pass him into the house.
“Hey, baby…” he manages, his voice low and a little hoarse, like he’s still trying to process what he’s seeing, and his throat bobs as he shuts the door, his mind scrambling as he follows you inside.
His eyes are glued to the sway of your ass, the fluffy bunny tail perched so high and sweet, your voice bright and bubbly as you head toward the kitchen.
“This is gonna be so fun! I can’t wait to see all the costumes tonight, I brought so much candy for the trick-or-treaters!” You exclaim your bunny tail swaying with each step.
Austin’s eyes are glued on you, the high-cut pink leotard leaving little to the imagination, his mind is in a haze as he follows you, trying to remember what he was going to say.
You set the candy bag on the sleek marble counter in his expensive kitchen, chattering about the Snickers and Reese’s you picked. Austin blinks a few times, his gaze lingering on your legs in the glittery fishnets sparkling under the soft lighting.
Finally he clears his throat, his voice slow as he manages to find words . “Uh, baby, there’s no trick-or-treaters up here. The neighborhood it’s … gated.”
You turn to face him, head tilting slightly your lips forming the perfect little “o” as disappointment flickers across your face.
His heart aches just looking at you, and his eyes dip traitorous low to the cleavage spilling from your plunging neckline. He quickly tears his gaze back up trying to be a gentleman and keep his eyes on your face.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he says, his voice softer with reassurance. “We’ll have fun tonight just like we planned,” he says, and you smile at him, wondering about all the years of wild Hollywood Halloween parties he’s been to.
As he gets to work making popcorn, you watch him finding it sweet now that at this stage in his life, he just wants to stay in and cozy up in his massive mansion enjoying a quiet movie with you.
He pulls a bottle of expensive red wine from the wine room and pours two ample glasses.
“Ever seen Poltergeist?” he asks, his tone casual as he hands you a glass.
“Nope!” you grin, taking a sip of the wine, expecting something light and fun like Hocus Pocus.
“It’s one of my favorites,” he says, glancing back at you as he leads you deeper into the house, balancing the popcorn bowl and bottle of wine with ease as you follow him.
You settle into his enormous living room, the flickering fireplace casting warm shadows across the space.
You kick off your pink heels, tucking your legs beneath you on the plush sectional, the wineglass cradled in your satin-gloved hands.
Austin sits beside you, smiling as he drapes his arm along the back of the couch, keeping you close.
The opening credits of Poltergeist roll, and you’re already feeling a little nervous. It doesn’t look like the cute Halloween movie you had in mind, but you don’t say anything, hoping it won’t be too scary.
Within 30 minutes, you’re clutching the wineglass like a lifeline, downing it in a few quick gulps and setting it on the table as the tension on screen builds.
When the first jump scare hits, you yelp, burying your face right into Austin’s neck, your body sprawled across his lap as he laughs, his voice slow and soft.
“What’s wrong, honey bunny?” he teases, his long fingers finding the bunny tail, playing with the softness before trailing over the curves of your ass, squeezing against the glittery fishnets that disappear into the leotard.
“Is it too scary for you?” he whispers, his voice low and warm against your ear as you straddle his lap, face buried under his chin.
“I thought we were doing soft spooky…” you admit hands sliding up his chest arms draping over his shoulders. “Cuddles and candy.” You whisper pressing closer, and he reaches for the remote to turn off the TV.
When the screen goes dark, you pull back just enough to meet his gaze.
“Cuddles and candy huh,” he says, his blue eyes darkening as he studies your face, and then he leans gently kissing you.
His lips are warm and soft against yours, and your satin-gloved hands slide up his neck as he deepens the kiss, the taste of wine lingering between you.
It’s slow and hazy, your lips moving together like you’re drunk on each other, until your head tips back as you grin, feeling his hands roam down your costume squeezing your hips over the fishnets.
“Baby… you look so fucking sexy in this little outfit,” he whispers, thumbs tracing slow, teasing lines up and down your inner thighs.
“Dressed up as such a pretty bunny for me,” he praises, and his lips trail kisses down your chest, tongue licking across the swell of your cleavage like he’s been starving for you.
His hands slide up your back, holding you close, and you can feel the thick press of his cock straining against you through his jeans.
Your thighs shift forward, body acting on instinct, and he drags his tongue in a slow, wet line up the valley of your breasts, kissing the spot above your racing heart, blue eyes locked on yours.
“You want more than cuddles and candy…” he says, against your skin, looking at you with a teasing smile on his full lips.
“Yeah…Aus please…” you breathe, and his fingers find the simple zipper at the back of your leotard, peeling it down and exposing your breasts as he groans at the sight.
His large hand cups one possessively, and he lowers his head, sucking your nipple into his mouth, his warm tongue swirling over the sensitive peak.
You gasp, satin-gloved hands sliding through his hair as you feel the hot pull of his tongue, the graze of his teeth making your whole body weak, your voice breaking with a half-dizzy moan of “Austin…”
He hums against your skin, the vibration making you shiver, his mouth claiming your other nipple with a slow reverent pull, each suck leaving you trembling in his grasp.
His hand lowers between your legs, pulling the fabric aside, and he releases your nipple with a wet pop as he glances down, seeing the glittery fishnets shimmering against your bare skin with nothing underneath.
“Baby……you’re not wearing any panties” he says, his voice hushed, almost desperate, his eyes snapping up to meet yours.
“It would… ruin the look..…” you admit, breathless, and his blue eyes darken with a dangerous edge.
Before you can say another word, his fingers hook into the middle seam, and tear the fishnets apart with a sharp rip, the sound echoing the quiet room.
You gasp, your body trembling as he lifts you effortlessly to your knees, his hands steady as he unzips his jeans, lowering them as he pulls his cock out, thick and heavy, the flushed tip glistening as he looks up at you.
“C’mere, sweet bunny,” he whispers, guiding you slowly down onto his cock, and you moan unrestrained as he fills you up.
You pant as your walls adjust to his size, and he becomes lost in his own desire, his voice rough and he incoherent as he whispers. “My sweet little bunny, caught in a trap.”
His lips find your neck, sucking and biting softly, his teeth grazing your skin as his groans deepen. He cups your breasts, sucking each one, and you’re moaning, soft, sweet sounds spilling from your lips as you bounce up and down, his cock thrusting in and out, making your clit pulse each time.
His hands slide down to grip your hips, urging you faster but your thighs burn with effort, a shaky whimper slipping out as your rhythm falters. “Aus..I can’t….” you gasp.
He takes over in an instant, flipping you onto the couch, the room spinning as he lays you down, spreading your legs.
He thrusts back in slow and deep, his grip tightening on your thighs as he drives into you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.
Your moans rise in your throat, soft and breathless, his pace increasing as the slick sounds echo between your bodies.
“So perfect… I don’t want to stop,” he rasps, his voice filled with lust as he lowers his chest to yours. His mouth is everywhere, biting your neck, nipping at your shoulder, marking you as he thrusts into you.
His hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease, circling slowly at first, then faster, pressing in just right until your back arches off the couch.
Your voice is high and shaky as he groans against your ear feeling you milking him with every stroke. “Fuck, you feel so good… you’re gonna make me come,” he rasps.
Your thighs shake, pleasure rising fast until it overtakes you and you start to orgasm, your walls fluttering tightly around his cock as soft cries escape your lips.
His hands lock on your hips, his thrusts relentless as he follows, groaning your name as he spills inside of you, his heavy breaths filling the quiet space.
You’re both panting, the movie long forgotten as you glance down at yourself, assessing the damage.
Your leotard is half-off, the fishnets ripped clean open at the crotch, and reaching up you feel your bunny ears barely on your head.
You giggle, the sound rising light and airy as you slowly regain your senses. “Austin, you owe me a new costume,” you tease.
He smiles, his nose brushing against yours in a soft, affectionate nuzzle. “As long as you wear it for me.” he says, his voice warm and full of promise.
Summary Halloween in New York is a chaotic mess, crowds, costumes, and noise you’d rather dodge. But when Hank calls you out, you figure it just might be worth enduring the night for him.
🎃October Special Fic List 🎃 3 of 6
🔗 Masterlist 🧢 Hank Thompson Master List
❤️🔥Passionate Smut❤️🔥 Your Hank Thompson • persuasive • cocky but cute • charmer • teasing flirt • attentive •sweet talk • dirty talk •semi-public claiming • female pining • body worship • edging • nipple play • latching • clit play • the costume stays on• size kink • begging for it • rough but gentle • p in v • multiple orgasms • simultaneous climax • cream pie • after care
📖Proof reader @butdaddyilovehim99 ✨Inspo Hank on Halloween 🎃
Worth It
The neon glow of the city blurs past the cab windows as it crawls through New York cities crowded streets.
It’s Halloween night, and the neighborhood is alive with chaos, costumed patrons spilling out of bars, laughter and bass thumping like a heartbeat.
Hank’s apartment sits right in the middle of it, a gritty walk-up near the edge of the boroughs where the crowd thins out.
You’re already in a mood, pessimism clinging to you like cigarette smoke. You pulled together a lazy black cat costume, short black skirt and a long v-neck tee.
Because Hank loves his cat Bud sooo much, you figured it was the least you could do, rolling your eyes as you placed the cat ears on your head.
Why even bother with this holiday chaos?
Because Hank had insisted over the phone, his voice low and promising. “It’ll be worth it.”
You knock on his front door, and when he opens it your heart fucking stops.
Hank Thompson is dressed as a real San Francisco Giants player, slugger and all.
The crisp white uniform enhances every inch of him, the fabric fit over his firm biceps, buttoned up against his broad chest and shoulders, and damn, is it criminal, how well it stretches tight across his crotch and thighs.
His sandy blonde hair is tucked behind his ears under his black giants cap that frames those pretty blue eyes, and his full lips curve into a knowing grin.
He raises the bat, placing it behind his head and across his broad shoulders, easing into a casual stance like he’s ready to swing for the fences.
“Nice costume,” he says, his voice smooth sending a shiver down your spine as his eyes flick down to your outfit.
You’re too stunned, eyes tracing him from head to toe, your heart aching in that familiar way, thinking about what he could’ve been…. if his baseball dreams hadn’t been shattered by that injury he never talks about…
Tonight, it’s as if his dreams of being in the major leagues has come true, and he’s exuding confidence, his effortless allure pulling you in like gravity, and you want him all over you.
“Hank… you look incredible,” you manage, voice breathy. “This uniform…”
He grins, that teasing, seductive one that makes your knees weak, and he lifts the bat, bringing it behind your shoulders. He grips both ends as the wood presses lightly across your back and he uses it to pull you closer.
Your hands slide up his chest from the proximity, fingers tracing the firm muscles beneath his Giants baseball uniform as you gaze into his eyes.
He looks so damn good.
“You ready to go out baby?” he asks, his voice smooth as his hand drifts lower to your ass, squeezing just firmly enough to steal your breath.
You want to say no.
You want to drag him right back inside and rip that uniform right off of him… or even better…keep it on, and let him fuck you senseless against the nearest wall.
But the words die in you throat as he leans in, lips brushing your ear.
“Come on, baby. Let me show you off before I ruin you later.”
You don’t waste any time.
The most popular spot in the neighborhood is only a few blocks away, a dive bar with strong liquor, good music, and a Halloween crowd packed wall-to-wall.
You push through the doors into a haze of costumes and excitement, the room filled with laughter and bass, Hank’s hand firm on the small of your back, guiding you through like he owns the place.
“Two shots vodka,” he orders at the bar, his voice cutting through the noise. The bartender slides them over, and Hank hands you one, his eyes locking on to yours with that secretive mischief. “To a night we’ll remember…or forget, depending on how many of these we take.”
You clink glasses, grinning as you watch him take a shot, his head tossing back in one smooth motion.
Fuck… he looks sexy like that, throat exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing, the lights catching the sheen on his skin, and you want to mark up that pretty neck, sink your teeth in and claim him right there.
His confidence is already growing as he looks over at you, the Giants cap shading his eyes, his cocky grin sharpening with the burn of alcohol.
“Another round,” you flirt, your fingers brushing his firm bicep under his uniform sleeve. “You handle it so well.”
He smirks as his hand slides down your thigh under the bar, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp. “I handle a lot of things well,” he says, and the secret claim has you squirming.
You stay there for hours, cheering shots over blaring music, your eyes meeting in heated glances. The more he drinks, the bolder he gets, his laughs deeper, his touches longer.
“C’mere,” he whispers against your ear after the sixth round, his strong hands pulling you over to a dim corner booth.
The bar spins around you, but all you feel is him, his solid muscles, biceps flexing under your palms as you slide your hands down his narrow waist to his firm ass, squeezing possessively.
He grins naughtily, full lips parting as he presses his bulge against you, hard and insistent in his baseball uniform.
“You ready to get out of here,” he whispers, his voice edged with lust as he lowers his head kissing along your neck.
Well-endowed doesn’t even cover it; his cock is thick, heavy, and it makes your core ache as his he pushes it against you.
“Yeah,” you whisper back, dragging your fingers along his waistband, and you tilt your head back as you kiss him under the brim of his cap, your hands reaching to his jaw as your mouths move together, tongues meeting, wet and urgent.
His hands roam over you, grasping your ass like he’s marking his territory, and your palms slide down his chest, feeling the fabric tight across his muscles.
“Hank,” you breathe between kisses, “you’re driving me fucking crazy in this uniform.”
He gently nips at your lower lip as he grins.
“Good,” he says, his voice low and full of promise. “Because you’re taking it off me later.”
The walk home is torture, stumbling through the crowded streets, with costumes and laughter blurring around you.
Hanks arm is draped over your shoulder, and you can’t keep your hands off him, your fingers sliding over his chest across the Giants logo, whispering filthy promises into his ear.
“I want you so much, it’s stupid Hank,” you whisper, your voice sweetness and sin, hand lowering to his belt. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I know what I’m doing to you,” he grins, teasing, as his grip lowers to your waist. “Just a few more steps till we’re home, baby…”
By the time you burst into his apartment, everything is a blur, and Bud the cat darts across the living room, startled by the chaos.
You’re panting, your core throbbing with need as the door slams shut behind you, the chaos outside fading into nothing as Hank backs you against the living room wall, his mouth devouring yours.
“Strip for me,” he breathes, stepping back, his blue eyes dark with want.
You don’t hesitate, peeling off your costume, grinning as you toss your cat ears aside and shimmy out of your black skirt.
His hands are back on you in an instant, sliding your panties down your hips and lifting your shirt off, his blue eyes raking over your body, filled with lust.
“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” he breathes, leaning in kissing down your neck, his lips trailing heat along your collarbone.
His uniform stays on …mostly, his shirt unbuttoned as he shrugs it down his broad shoulders, his toned chest exposed as you kiss him, pulling him toward the bedroom.
“Keep the hat on, fuck, Hank, keep it all on…you look so good like this,” you whisper, your hands roaming his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of his abs down to his white baseball pants.
You unbuckle his black belt, slipping it out and tossing it aside, your nails grazing his tan skin as you unbutton the waistband.
In the dim light of the bedroom, you tumble onto the bed, and he settles on top of you, spreading your legs. He hovers over you, head lowering as he sucks your tits, his full lips latching with a hungry pull.
You gasp as your hands slide to the back of his neck, grasping into the curls at his nape, the pleasure so intense it sends pulses of heat through your body, pinned beneath his weight.
You want to see everything and turn his Giants cap backward, watching as his tongue flicks softly over your nipples, his full lips parting as he sucks and pulls off each one, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
Your body tingles as his large hands cup them, squeezing them together, and he sucks deeply, making your nipples sensitive and stiff, sending jolts straight to your core.
“Hank…fuck,” you pant, arching up, wet and needy, your thighs spreading wider as he slowly grinds between them, his cock pressing against your slick heat through the fabric, edging you as your eyes flutter, seeking even more.
“Hank, please,” you beg breathlessly, your hips pushing up. “Fuck Hank please I need you inside me.”
He eases open his uniform pants just enough, the waistband shoved down to free his hard cock, thick and heavy, already flushed pink at the tip. “Say it again,” he whispers, positioning himself at your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts that don’t push in.
Your back arches from the contact. “Hank, fuck, I need you,” you gasp, grasping at his back. “Hank, fuck, please…”
With a groan, he sinks in deep, filling you entirely, your eyes rolling back as your bodies slam together in a rhythm that has you choking back moans. His muscles flex under your hands, biceps tensing, as his hips thrust between your legs and he drives into you hard.
“Hank, yes…yes,” you moan, your voice turning into shaky whimpers as he cups your tits, sucking each one. He releases one with a wet pop, his large hand squeezing the peak, but you’re already too far gone.
He can see it in your eyes and he begins to dominate you with every thrust, whispering dirty praises. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good, don’t stop me, baby.” He whispers.
His hips slam between yours, relentless and heavy, your body jolting from the force, your hands shaking as they slide from his broad shoulders down his back, feeling the heft and weight of him.
Every movement drives home just how strong and solid he is, and you can’t resist lowering your hands, gripping his waist, smacking his ass with one hand just to feel the bounce of it under your palm.
“You’re obsessed with that,” he grits out, thrusting harder as you grip a handful.
“Because it’s perfect,” you pant, nails digging in, and he groans, snapping his hips with extra force, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Keep talking like that, and you’ll never get me off you,” he whispers, and you moan as your hands pull him deeper, your body trembling as the pleasure builds tight in your core.
“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” you pant, your eyes locking with his, those piercing blues filled with desire, your Hank Thompson, who’s got you hooked heart and soul, and your body starts fading into the pleasure, your clit throbbing with every grind of his pelvis against you.
You’re close, so close, your breath hitches as an involuntary moans spill from your lips. “Hank…oh…Hank,” you whimper, your voice fading off as a shiver runs through your body.
The pleasure takes over as your hips meet his thrusts, your hands gripping him tight as your body starts to unravel, a delicious chill spreading from your core outward.
He feels it, senses it, and his grunts turn desperate, full lips panting as he leans down, pressing kisses to yours. “That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his thrusts deepening, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur. “Let me make you come.”
Your moans grow louder, your body moving on instinct, hips rolling, thighs trembling, your nails raking down his back as the pleasure crashes over you. “Hank, I’m—”
Your words dissolve into a cry as your orgasm hits, your clit pulsing, your walls clenching around his cock, your whole body shaking as the full force of your release leaves you gasping.
He doesn’t stop, riding out your orgasm with steady, powerful thrusts, his own breaths shallow, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. “Goddamn, you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he praises, his voice breaking with need.
His groan is almost painful as he picks up the pace, hips snapping with a purpose that makes the bedframe shake. He leans down capturing your lips in a messy, hungry kiss, his tongue claiming you as thoroughly as his body.
The intensity builds until you lose yourselves in each other, vivid, raw, chaotic, the ache of his heavy thrusts blending with the ecstasy until you come together.
His broken moan tears free as his lips part, and he comes inside you, surrendering as your core throbs around him. His abs twitch in intervals with every pulse, and his body shudders against yours as the moment seizes you both, leaving you panting and spent, lying in a heap on the bed.
“So good, Hank… fuck, you’re everything…” you pant, kissing his neck until he lowers his head.
He smiles down at you, his eyes soft as you reach up, pulling his backward cap off, letting his sandy blonde hair fall forward.
He pushes it back with one hand, and you slowly pull him down, kissing his soft, full lips as he grins between kisses.
“Was it worth it, baby?” he whispers against your mouth, his voice rough and warm, kissing you back deeply.
“Yeah… Hank, it definitely was,” you breathe, kissing him softer, slower, losing yourselves in each other all over again, knowing it was definitely more than worth it.
