luxuria

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃: 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬 heyy i'm blue 💙 aka your local chris evans worshipper 😩 i write ✨unholy✨ fanfics that'll make ur soul leave ur body fr. 18+ ONLY - like seriously pls don't read if ur still watching disney channel!

[bittersuitee]

OKAY I NEED YOUR HELP!!!

🌟 OKAY BESTIES LISTEN 🌟

Soo… I actually ALREADY had a Wattpad account (surprise, lol), but I never properly screamed about it here— and since y’all are my chaos corner, I thought… why not? 👀

💌 What I write:

Chris Evans characters

Marvel one shots full of fangirl brainrot

Smuts that melts you, angst that destroys you...

Basically: if your fangirl heart ever screamed “what if this was me??” … that’s literally what I’m writing.

👉 And listen… if people actually want it (and if I see y’all in the comments 👀), I MIGHT even start writing Chris Hemsworth content too. Yes, the man himself. Yes, the god of thunder. Yes, I’m already weak.

🔗bornbluevans

REBLOGS / VOTES / COMMENTS are like oxygen to me 🥺 please support your local fangirl who is literally baring her soul in one shots 💖

[bittersuitee]

TINDER | HENRY CAVILL

Summary: A Tinder date with Henry Cavill ends with Eleanor too tired to wait until they get home. In the front seat of his Range Rover, she gives in to her hunger for him — worshipping his thick cock, hairy thighs, and that addictive masculine musk while he tries to focus on the road. Filthy, tired, scent-heavy oral in the car. Pure indulgent smut.

Rating: Explicit / NSFW
Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female OC (Eleanor)
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (male receiving) while driving, scent/musk kink, body hair kink, dirty talk, consensual but risky semi-public setting.

A/N: REQUESTS ARE OPEN BECAUSE I HAVE NO IDEA!!! You can give me any request be sure I’ll WRITE THEM!!

The city lights blurred past the windows of Henry Cavill’s sleek black Range Rover as he drove Eleanor back to her apartment. Their Tinder date had gone surprisingly well—dinner, drinks, laughter that turned flirtatious, and now this comfortable, charged silence between them. Eleanor, a 28-year-old graphic designer with messy waves of dark hair and tired eyes from a long week, sat in the passenger seat. The heels she’d worn all evening were kicked off, her dress riding up her thighs.

Henry’s large hand rested on her knee, thumb stroking lazily. “You look exhausted, love,” he said, his deep, velvety voice cutting through the low hum of the engine. “Long week?”

“Brutal,” she murmured, leaning her head against the headrest but turning to look at him. Even in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, he was ridiculously handsome—sharp jaw, those piercing blue eyes, and the faint shadow of stubble. “But worth it. You’re better in person than your photos.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Flattery will get you everywhere. We’re almost at your place… unless you want me to take the long way.”

Eleanor bit her lip, her gaze dropping to his lap. The bulge in his dark jeans was already obvious. She was tired, yes—bone-tired—but the thought of letting the night end without touching him felt impossible. “Pull over somewhere quiet for a minute?” she asked softly.

Henry’s grip on the wheel tightened, but he smirked. “Naughty girl. I was hoping you’d say that.” He took the next exit and found a dimly lit side street, parking the SUV in a shadowed spot away from streetlights. The engine stayed on, heater blowing warm air.

Before he could say another word, Eleanor unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned across the console. Her hands trembled slightly with fatigue and excitement as she worked open his belt and zipper. “God, Henry… I’ve been thinking about this since you picked me up.”

“Fuck, Eleanor,” he groaned as she freed his thick, heavy cock. It sprang out, already half-hard and veined, the head flushed dark. A strong, masculine musk hit her immediately—clean sweat from the warm car mixed with his natural scent, slightly salty, earthy, with a hint of the woody cologne he’d worn earlier. It made her dizzy in the best way.

She nuzzled her face against his thigh first, kissing the coarse dark hair that peeked from under the rolled-up cuff of his jeans. “Mmm… your legs are so hairy,” she whispered, almost shy. “I love it. Feels so… manly.”

Henry let out a surprised, pleased laugh, one big hand sliding into her hair. “Yeah? Most girls want me shaved smooth like some bloody model. You’re into the fur, huh?”

“Very into it,” she confessed, dragging her tongue along the thick muscle of his thigh, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the soft tickle of dark hair. She inhaled deeply, pressing her nose closer to where his thigh met his groin, breathing in that rich, heady scent—musky balls, a little damp from the long evening, pure Henry. “You smell so good… God, I’m tired but I want this so bad.”

“Then take it, darling,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave. His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding but not forcing. “Suck my cock like a good girl while I drive you home. Slowly. I want to feel that tired little mouth working me.”

Eleanor moaned at his words. She wrapped her hand around the thick base—he was big, girthy enough that her fingers didn’t meet—and gave the head a slow, lazy lick. The taste was intoxicating: salty pre-cum, skin, and that addictive masculine musk. She swirled her tongue around the head, then took him deeper, her movements languid and sleepy but eager.

“Fuuuck… just like that,” Henry hissed, starting the car again and pulling back onto the road. One hand stayed on the wheel, the other in her hair. “Look at you, sucking me while I drive. Such a filthy Tinder date.”

She hummed around his cock, the vibration making his hips twitch. “Mmmph… tastes so good,” she mumbled when she pulled off for a breath, strings of spit connecting her lips to his glistening shaft. She stroked him slowly, nuzzling back into his hairy thigh, kissing and licking the dark curls there. “Love how hairy you are everywhere. Your legs, your chest… I bet your balls are nice and furry too.”

Henry groaned, his voice strained as he tried to focus on the road. “They are. You want to taste them, baby? Go on. Bury your face in there.”

Eleanor eagerly shifted lower, pushing his jeans down further. She licked and sucked at his heavy balls, coated in soft dark hair, inhaling that deep, musky scent with every breath. It made her pussy throb. “Fuck, Henry… your smell is making me wet. So manly. I could stay down here all night.”

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he growled, his hand guiding her back to his cock. “Take me deeper. That’s it… good girl. Use that tired mouth on me.”

She obeyed, sliding her lips down as far as she could, cheeks hollowing. The car filled with wet, obscene sounds—her lazy, hungry sucking mixed with his low grunts and the occasional curse.

“Easy, love… we’re almost at yours,” he panted, though his hips rocked subtly. “You gonna swallow when I cum? Or do you want it on that pretty face?”

Eleanor pulled off just enough to answer, her voice hoarse and breathy. “Swallow. I want to taste all of you. Please, Henry… cum down my throat. I’m so tired but I need it.”

“Greedy little thing,” he chuckled darkly, but his breathing was ragged. “Keep going then. Fuck—your tongue feels incredible.”

She redoubled her efforts, head bobbing tiredly but steadily in his lap, one hand cupping his hairy balls while the other stroked what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. Henry’s groans grew deeper, his grip in her hair tighter.

“Eleanor—shit—I’m close. Swallow every drop like a good girl… fuck yes—”

He came with a deep, guttural moan, thick ropes of cum flooding her mouth. She swallowed greedily, humming at the taste, not letting a single drop escape. When he finally softened, she gently licked him clean, pressing soft kisses to his hairy thighs and spent cock.

Henry pulled into her apartment complex, breathing hard. He cupped her flushed face, thumb wiping a stray bit of spit from her lip. “That was incredible. You sure you’re too tired for me to come up? I’d love to return the favor… and show you the rest of this hairy body you seem to like so much.”

Eleanor smiled sleepily, voice raspy. “Maybe next time, Superman. But tonight… I’m going to fall asleep with your taste in my mouth and your scent still in my nose.”

He leaned down and kissed her deeply, tasting himself on her tongue. “Text me when you wake up, darling. This Tinder date isn’t over yet.”

[bittersuitee]

Requests Open! 💌

Hey everyone~

I’m opening my inbox for one-shot requests! I’ll write everything you want!!! — both smut and fluff (and anything in between).

Whether it’s a sweet coffee shop meet-cute, soft morning cuddles, or filthy car sex with body hair & scent kink… I’m down. Just tell me your fantasy.

No limits on how dirty or detailed you want it. Just throw your idea at me — the wilder the better. I’ll try to write as many as I can.

Drop your requests in my asks, replies, or DMs. Can’t wait to see what you come up with 😏

Let’s make some delicious stories together~

[bittersuitee]

MAJESTY | LOKI

Wattpad: bornbluevans

Pairing: Loki x oc

Rating: Explicit / NC-17

Warnings: Dubcon elements, rough sex, anal, double penetration, cloning kink, mid-air sex, dirty talk, villain smut, total power imbalance

Summary:

In a world conquered by Loki, the God of Mischief infiltrates the fallen Avengers Compound with the help of Bellatrix Lestrange, who betrayed the heroes. After a charged villainous dialogue filled with taunts, power play, and mutual dark desires, the two engage in intense, explicit hardcore sex. Loki takes Bellatrix roughly against the window, then levitates her for mid-air fucking. He creates two clones of himself, leading to a wild scene where all three Lokis simultaneously fuck her in every hole while floating in the air. The encounter is full of dirty talk, domination, multiple orgasms, and filthy betrayal kink, ending with them planning more depraved fun as rulers of the new world.

Loki stood atop the ruins of what was once Stark Tower, now rechristened as the Asgardian Spire, its gleaming emerald banners fluttering in the wind like triumphant serpents. The world was his. Cities bowed under the shadow of his illusions and the might of his Chitauri legions. The Avengers—those pathetic mortal heroes—had been scattered, broken, or imprisoned. But one final prize remained: their sanctum, the Avengers Compound, where the last remnants of resistance huddled like frightened mice.

A wicked smile curled his lips as a portal shimmered open before him. Out stepped Bellatrix Lestrange, her wild dark curls framing a face painted with manic delight, her tattered black robes swirling around her lithe, dangerous form. Her dark eyes burned with the fire of betrayal and lust for chaos.

“Loki,” she purred, her voice a sultry hiss as she approached, wand twirling between her fingers. “The Compound is yours. Those fools never suspected a thing. I whispered sweet lies into their ears—told them I was reforming, that I could help turn the tide against you. And they believed me. Pathetic.”

Loki descended the steps of his throne-like perch, his armor gleaming, horns casting long shadows. He circled her slowly, like a predator appraising prey that had willingly walked into his den. “Bellatrix, my darling viper. Your betrayal is as exquisite as it is expected. Tell me, did the great Captain America look into your eyes as you plunged the dagger? Did Stark’s wit fail him when you sealed the doors?”

She laughed, a high, mad cackle that echoed through the ruined skyline. “Oh, they begged, Loki. Rogers with his shield raised, babbling about duty and honor. I hexed him mid-speech—left him writhing. Stark tried his toys, but I shattered them with a flick of my wand. The Compound is empty now. Just you, me, and the echoes of their failure.”

Loki’s hand shot out, gripping her chin firmly, tilting her face up to meet his piercing gaze. “You’ve done well, witch. The world kneels before me, and now their precious fortress will witness my final conquest—of you.” His voice dropped to a velvet growl. “But first, let us savor this. Speak your darkest desires, Bellatrix. Why ally with a god when you could have groveled with mortals?”

Her breath hitched, excitement flashing in her eyes. She pressed closer, her body molding against his armored chest. “Because mortals are weak. Boring. You… you understand true power. The thrill of domination, the ecstasy of breaking everything they hold dear. I want to watch empires crumble at our feet. I want to fuck in the ashes of their heroes while they scream.” Her fingers traced the lines of his jaw. “Take me, Loki. Claim me as you claimed this wretched planet.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Such eloquence from a madwoman. Very well.” With a wave of his staff, the grand hall of the Avengers Compound materialized around them—reinforced glass walls overlooking the conquered city, shattered trophies of past victories littering the floor. He pulled her into a bruising kiss, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance. She moaned into his mouth, her nails raking down his back, drawing faint lines of blood that healed instantly under his magic.

They broke apart, panting. Loki’s eyes glowed with green fire. “On your knees, witch. Worship the god who owns you now.”

Bellatrix dropped gracefully, her robes pooling like spilled ink. “Yes, my King,” she whispered, her voice thick with lust. She freed his cock from his armor, thick and hard, pulsing with otherworldly energy. Her tongue darted out, tracing the underside before she took him deep into her throat, gagging eagerly as she bobbed her head. “Mmmph—fuck, you’re massive,” she gasped between sucks, saliva dripping down her chin. “Bigger than any mortal could dream.”

Loki threaded his fingers through her wild hair, guiding her roughly. “That’s it. Suck like the traitor slut you are. Betraying your allies for a taste of this.” His hips thrust forward, fucking her mouth with controlled power. She looked up at him with tear-streaked eyes full of adoration and filth.

After minutes of her fervent worship, he pulled her up and slammed her against the reinforced window. The city lights twinkled below like conquered stars. “Beg for it,” he commanded, hiking up her robes and ripping away her undergarments.

“Please, Loki! Fuck me hard. Ruin me like you ruined their world. I need your cock splitting me open—make me scream so the prisoners hear!”

With a savage thrust, he buried himself inside her wet, clenching heat. Bellatrix cried out, her walls gripping him like a vice. “Yes! Oh gods—deeper!” Loki pounded into her relentlessly, one hand around her throat, the other pinching her nipples through her torn dress. The glass vibrated with each brutal slap of skin on skin.

“You’re so tight for a deranged bitch,” he taunted, biting her neck hard enough to mark. “Did betraying them make you this wet? Answer me.”

“Yes! Fuck yes—it did! I came a little when Rogers fell,” she moaned, pushing back against him. “Harder, my god! Break me!”

Loki laughed darkly and lifted her off the ground with Asgardian strength, her legs wrapping around his waist. He levitated them both, hovering several feet in the air, still buried deep inside her. Gravity meant nothing as he fucked her mid-air, thrusting upward with powerful strokes. Bellatrix’s robes billowed around them like dark wings. “Feel that? No ground to anchor you. Just my cock and the fall if I let you go.”

She screamed in ecstasy, her body bouncing on his length. “Don’t stop—oh fuck, Loki! I’m yours! Destroy my cunt!” Her nails dug into his shoulders as she came hard, squirting around him, juices dripping down to the floor far below.

But Loki wasn’t done. With a mischievous grin, he whispered ancient words. Green light shimmered, and two identical clones of himself appeared—perfect duplicates, smirking with the same arrogant hunger. One positioned behind her, the other floating beside them, stroking his own cock.

“Three of me for one filthy traitor,” the original Loki growled. “Take us all.”

The clone behind her pressed against her ass, slicking himself with her arousal before pushing in. Bellatrix’s eyes rolled back. “Ahhh—too much! So full—yes, stretch me!” Double penetration in mid-air, the original pounding her pussy while the clone claimed her ass in rhythm. The third clone grabbed her hair, forcing his cock into her mouth.

“Mmmph! Mmmph!” she gurgled, drooling and choking happily as all three Lokis used her body. They rotated positions fluidly—flying higher, spinning slowly in the air like a depraved ballet. One Loki beneath her, thrusting up; another behind, slapping her ass red; the third in her mouth, face-fucking her without mercy.

“Look at you,” the original taunted between grunts. “The great Bellatrix Lestrange, reduced to a cock sleeve for a god and his duplicates. Does it feel good, witch? Three times the pleasure for your betrayal?”

She pulled off the cock in her mouth long enough to gasp, “Yes! More—clone more if you want! Fill every hole! I live for this—your cum, your power!” Another orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing between them.

The Lokis increased their pace, hands roaming, mouths sucking on her breasts, neck, and clit. The air filled with wet sounds, moans, and the slap of flesh. Finally, with a chorus of godly groans, they came. Hot, thick seed flooded her pussy, ass, and throat simultaneously. Excess dripped from her as they held her suspended, trembling.

The clones vanished in sparks of green light, leaving the original Loki to lower them gently to the floor. Bellatrix lay sprawled, covered in sweat, cum, and marks, a blissful, mad smile on her face.

Loki knelt beside her, tracing a finger through the mess on her thigh. “The world is mine, and now so are you. Ready for round two in the throne room, my queen of chaos?”

She laughed breathlessly, pulling him down for a messy kiss. “Always, my King. Let’s make the stars themselves jealous.”

Their night—and their reign—had only just begun.

[bittersuitee]

DRUNK ON YOU | spideypool

Spideypool: Drunk on You


WARNINGS: Explicit NSFW • 18+ only • Drunk sex • Costume kink • Dom!Wade • Loud & sloppy Peter • Dirty talk • Size kink • Breeding mention • Spanking • All consensual chaos 🕷️🗡️

The shitty Queens apartment still reeked of cheap tequila and cold pizza. Peter Parker was bent over the back of the couch, still fully in his Spider-Man suit — red and blue fabric stretched tight over his ass, the mask pushed up to his forehead, suit unzipped just enough from the front to let his hard cock hang out. He was drunk, giggly, and loud as hell.

“Wade… c’mon…” Peter slurred, pushing his ass back against the merc still fully geared up in his red-and-black Deadpool suit. The tactical fabric rubbed roughly against Peter’s thighs.

Wade grinned behind the mask, only the bottom half unzipped so his scarred mouth could smirk. His thick cock was already out through the suit’s fly, heavy and leaking as he rubbed it between Peter’s cheeks. “Look at you, Spidey. Still in your cute little hero suit, drunk off your ass, begging for Deadpool’s cock like a needy little slut.”

Peter moaned shamelessly, the sound wet and desperate. “Shut up and fuck me— please.”

Wade chuckled darkly, yanking the lower part of Peter’s suit down just enough to expose that tight hole. He spat on it messily, then poured lube straight from the bottle, letting it drip loudly down Peter’s thighs and soak into the blue fabric.

“Gonna ruin this suit, baby boy,” Wade growled, pushing two thick fingers in fast. The wet schlick-schlick sounds were obscene as he finger-fucked Peter roughly, curling hard against his prostate.

“Fuuuuck— Wade! Ah— ahh!” Peter cried out, voice cracking loudly. His gloved hands gripped the couch. “It’s so wet— I can hear it— more, please Daddy—”

“Yeah? Listen to that sloppy spider cunt,” Wade taunted, voice low and filthy through the mask. He scissored his fingers faster, making everything drip. “Still wearing your suit like a good little hero while I wreck you. So fucking cute.”

Peter was whimpering nonstop, drunk brain completely gone. “Need your cock— Wade please— I’m so empty, fuck me with the suit on, I want to feel it—”

Wade pulled his fingers out with a filthy pop and lined up. He grabbed Peter’s hips, the tactical gloves biting into the spandex, and slammed in deep in one brutal thrust.

“FUCK!” Peter screamed, back arching hard. The stretch was intense, Wade’s thick cock splitting him open while both of them were still mostly suited up. The fabric rubbed against sensitive skin with every move.

Wade didn’t hold back. He started pounding hard, hips snapping, the sound of suit fabric slapping wetly against suit fabric mixing with the loud squelching of lube and Peter’s moans.

“Goddamn, Petey,” Wade groaned, voice rough with lust. “Your suit’s getting soaked. Hear how fucking messy you are? Schlick schlick schlick — that’s all you, baby. Drunk spider taking my cock so loud.”

“Harder— Wade— fuck me harder!” Peter begged, voice breaking into high, shameless moans. “I’m yours— your hole— ruin me in the suit— ahhn!”

Wade laughed breathlessly and spanked Peter’s ass hard over the spandex, leaving red marks visible through the fabric. He pinned Peter down harder, one gloved hand wrapping around his throat from behind, the other reaching around to jerk Peter’s leaking cock through the open suit.

“You’re such a loud little cumslut tonight,” Wade growled right next to his ear. “Tell the neighbors who owns this drunk spider ass.”

“Deadpool! Wade owns it— fuck, I’m yours— don’t stop— it’s so deep, I’m so full and wet— gonna cum—!”

Wade angled perfectly and hammered Peter’s prostate mercilessly. Peter came first with a broken, loud wail, shooting all over the couch and dripping down his suit. His hole clenched tight around Wade’s cock.

“Fuck yes— milk me, Spidey!” Wade roared, pace turning brutal. He fucked Peter through his orgasm, chasing his own release. “Gonna breed this hero cunt. Fill you up until your suit’s leaking my cum for days.”

With a deep groan, Wade buried himself to the hilt and came hard, pumping thick ropes deep inside Peter. He kept grinding, pushing the mess deeper, making everything even sloppier. Cum and lube dripped down Peter’s thighs, staining the red-and-blue suit.

Wade stayed buried inside, collapsing over Peter’s back, still in full tactical gear. He kissed the back of Peter’s neck through the mask.

“Round two in five, web-head. You’re not sobering up until I’ve used every hole while we’re both still suited up. Maybe I’ll even web your hands with your own shooters next time.”

Peter, panting and blissed-out, laughed hoarsely. “You’re such a fucking menace… Don’t you dare stop.”

Requests are open!!

[bittersuitee]

Daddy | Pedro Pascal x Male

The door to suite 1427 opened with a slow, heavy creak as Pedro Pascal leaned against the frame, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, black button-down shirt soaked through with sweat and clinging to every ridge of muscle on his chest. The leather pants were still zipped tight, creaking faintly as he shifted his weight, the prominent bulge already thick and obvious from the booze and the long night. His dark eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide from too much whiskey and champagne, hair mussed and sticking to his forehead. He looked down at the young room service attendant—Liam, name tag gleaming under the hallway light—with a lazy, crooked smile that didn’t quite reach the predatory glint in his gaze. “Hey, kid. You’re a lifesaver. Come on in for a second, yeah? I can’t find my wallet and I wanna tip you properly. Just a minute, promise.”

Liam hesitated in the corridor, tray still balanced in his hands, cheeks already pink. The twenty-two-year-old was slim, toned from carrying trays and running stairs, brown hair falling into nervous green eyes. He glanced down the empty hallway, then back at Pedro—sweaty, disheveled, radiating heat and the sharp scent of leather and liquor. “Uh… I’m not really supposed to go into guest rooms, Mr. Pascal. I can just leave the tray here and—”

Pedro waved a large hand dismissively, swaying just a little as he stepped back to make space. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m not gonna bite. I just need to grab my cash. You’re not gonna make a drunk actor chase you down the hall for a twenty, right? Be a pal.” His voice was low, slurred around the edges, but still carried that warm, coaxing charm he used on red carpets and talk shows. He patted the side table just inside the door. “Set it down right there. One minute. Scout’s honor.”

Liam swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. He could smell the whiskey on Pedro’s breath even from two feet away. His heart was hammering—part nerves, part something hotter he didn’t want to name. “Okay… just for a second.” He stepped inside cautiously, setting the tray on the marble table near the door. The suite smelled like expensive cologne, leather, and man-sweat. The door clicked shut behind him—Pedro’s hand on the lock, casual, almost absentminded.

“Thanks, man.” Pedro turned, leaning his back against the door so Liam couldn’t easily step past him. He ran a hand through his damp hair, making the shirt ride up enough to show a strip of dark hair trailing down his abs. “You’re a fan, huh? Saw the way your eyes lit up when you recognized me. What’s your name?”

“Liam,” he answered quietly, hands clasped in front of him like he was trying to make himself smaller. “Yeah… I mean, yes sir. Huge fan. Mandalorian, Narcos, everything. But I really should get back—”

Pedro chuckled, low and rough. “Relax, Liam. Nobody’s gonna fire you for talking to me for two minutes. Sit down for a sec. Have a drink with me.” He gestured vaguely toward the couch, then picked up the bourbon bottle himself and poured two glasses without asking. “You look like you could use one after running around all night. Come on. Humor the drunk celebrity.”

Liam’s eyes flicked to the glass, then to Pedro’s face—flushed, handsome, dangerous in that hazy, intoxicated way. “I’m… I’m on shift. I can’t drink on the job.”

Pedro took a long swallow from his own glass, throat working visibly, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his neck and disappearing into the open collar of his shirt. “Then just sit. Keep me company while I sober up a little. You’re cute when you’re nervous, you know that?” He said it casually, like a throwaway line, but his gaze dropped deliberately to Liam’s mouth, then lower, lingering on the slight tent already forming in the front of the uniform pants.

Liam’s breath hitched. He took one small step back toward the door. “Mr. Pascal, I—I really appreciate it, but I should go. The photo would’ve been cool, but—”

Pedro pushed off the door and closed the distance in two slow strides, not touching him yet, just crowding him against the wall beside the entry table. The heat rolling off his body was overwhelming. “Photo’s still on the table, kid. But first… tell me something.” His voice dropped, slurring thicker now, eyes half-lidded. “You ever think about me when you’re alone? Jerking off in your little employee break room, picturing this—” He palmed the thick outline of his cock through the leather, squeezing once so the material creaked loudly. “—stretching that pretty mouth of yours?”

Liam’s face went scarlet. He pressed his back harder against the wall, eyes wide. “I… that’s—I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, Liam.” Pedro leaned in until their chests almost touched, breath hot against the boy’s ear. “I saw your dick twitch the second you looked at my bulge downstairs. You’re hard right now, aren’t you? Bet it’s leaking already.” He reached down, not quite touching, just hovering his hand over Liam’s crotch, feeling the heat through the fabric. “Tell Daddy the truth.”

Liam whimpered, a tiny, involuntary sound. “Please… don’t—”

Pedro’s other hand came up, cupping Liam’s jaw firmly, thumb pressing against his bottom lip until it parted. “Say it. Say ‘Yes, Daddy, I’m hard for you.’ Or I open this door and let you run back to your cart like a good little boy. Your choice.”

Tears of embarrassment pricked Liam’s eyes, but his hips jerked forward instinctively, seeking contact. “Yes… Daddy,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m hard for you.”

Pedro groaned, low and filthy, and spat a thick string of saliva directly onto Liam’s waiting tongue. “Good boy. Swallow.” Liam did, choking a little on the whiskey-tinged spit, cock throbbing visibly now. Pedro’s grin turned feral. “Now get on your fucking knees. Daddy’s gonna teach you how to worship properly.”

Liam sank slowly, knees hitting the carpet, face level with the massive leather-covered bulge. His hands shook as he looked up, eyes glassy. “Daddy… I’ve never—”

“Shhh.” Pedro threaded fingers through Liam’s hair, yanking his head back so he had to meet his gaze. “You’re gonna learn tonight. Spit on it first. Make Daddy’s cock nice and wet through the leather.” He hawked another glob of spit onto his own palm, then smeared it over the straining zipper. “Do it.”

Liam leaned forward hesitantly, letting a thin string of his own saliva drip onto the dark leather. The material glistened under the low lights. “Like that… Daddy?”

“More.” Pedro’s voice was rough. “Cover it. Then kiss it. Tell Daddy how bad you want what’s underneath.”

Liam obeyed, spitting again and again until the front of the pants was slick and shining, then pressed open-mouthed kisses along the thick ridge, moaning softly despite himself. “I want it so bad, Daddy… your cock looks huge. I can smell it—sweat and leather. Please let me see it.”

Pedro laughed drunkenly, swaying as he unzipped with one hand, the other still fisted in Liam’s hair. His thick, veiny cock sprang free—eight inches of flushed, heavy meat, head already dripping, balls low and sweaty. He spat directly onto the shaft, watching the saliva run down in thick rivulets. “Open wide, baby boy. Daddy’s gonna fuck that shy little throat until you’re crying.”

Liam parted his lips, tentative at first, but Pedro didn’t wait—thrust forward, burying half his length in one sloppy push. Spit bubbled immediately at the corners of Liam’s mouth as he gagged, tears spilling over. Pedro pulled back just enough to let him breathe, then spat again—straight down Liam’s throat. “Swallow Daddy’s spit and keep sucking. Say ‘Thank you, Daddy’ around my cock.”

Liam tried, voice muffled and wet. “Th-thank you… Daddy.”

Pedro groaned, hips rocking forward in shallow, drunken thrusts, fucking Liam’s face with messy, spit-soaked rhythm. Drool poured down the boy’s chin, soaking his uniform collar. “That’s it—choke on it. Your throat feels so fucking tight. Tell Daddy you love being his spit-slut.”

“I love it… Daddy,” Liam gasped when Pedro pulled out briefly, strings of saliva connecting them. “I’m your spit-slut.”

Hours blurred after that.

Pedro dragged him to the bed eventually, stripping him roughly, spitting on every inch of exposed skin—chest, nipples, inner thighs—before flipping him onto his stomach. “Spread those cheeks, boy. Show Daddy your tight little hole.” Liam reached back shyly, parting his firm cheeks to reveal the small, pink pucker, already clenching nervously under the scrutiny. Pedro hawked a massive glob directly onto it, watching the saliva slide over the wrinkled ring, making it glisten. “Look at that pretty pink asshole. So fucking tiny. Beg Daddy to open it up.”

“Please, Daddy… open my hole,” Liam whispered into the sheets, face burning.

Pedro dove in tongue-first, lapping messily at the spit-slicked pucker, pushing inside the resistant ring while spitting again and again, turning the area into a dripping, sloppy mess. “Tastes so clean and tight. Gonna stretch this little cunt wide.” He worked two fingers in alongside his tongue, scissoring roughly, more spit as lube until the hole gaped slightly when he pulled back—pink insides shiny and fluttering.

When he finally lined up his cock, slick with layers of spit, he pressed the fat head against the pucker and pushed in slow, watching the ring stretch obscenely around his girth. “Fuck—look how your hole swallows Daddy’s cock. So greedy even though you were shy ten minutes ago.” He bottomed out with a grunt, balls slapping wet skin, then started pounding—hard, sloppy, drunken thrusts that made the headboard slam.

“Take it, boy—milk Daddy’s fat dick with that tight ass. Say it: ‘Fuck me harder, Daddy’.”

“Fuck me harder, Daddy!” Liam cried, voice hoarse, hole clenching rhythmically as Pedro railed him mercilessly, spitting on the stretched rim mid-thrust to keep everything filthy and slick.

They fucked through multiple rounds—doggy, missionary with Liam’s legs over Pedro’s shoulders, riding reverse so Pedro could watch his own cock disappear into the now-puffy, gaping hole—until Liam came untouched, screaming “Daddy!” while his ass spasmed wildly. Pedro followed seconds later, flooding the wrecked pucker with thick, hot ropes of cum, pulling out to admire the gape before spitting one last thick glob inside the ruined hole.

He collapsed beside Liam, still half-hard, arm slung possessively over the boy’s waist. “You’re not going anywhere till morning, baby boy. Daddy’s not done with that pretty little ass yet.”

Liam, breathless and covered in spit and cum, managed a shy, wrecked whisper. “Yes… Daddy.”

End.

[bittersuitee]

Room Service | Chris Hemsworth +18

⚠️ 18+ ONLY – MINORS DNI ⚠️

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

This is dark, explicit, non-con/dub-con smut with extreme kinks.

Read at your own risk.

non-con/dub-con, age gap (42/18), size difference, forced oral, throat fucking, gagging/drooling/spit play, forced rimming, heavy degradation, objectification, belly bulge, cum inflation/breeding kink, creampie eating/cleanup, forced squirting, spanking, hair pulling, possessive/ownership talk, crying during sex, no aftercare, rough sex, gaping, messy/pussy-to-mouth, body betrayal arousal

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Chris paced the luxury hotel suite restlessly, his 6'3" muscular body casting long shadows under the dim city lights. The expensive scotch still burned hot in his veins and made his head spin with aggressive hunger. His white shirt hung open, revealing thick chest hair and carved abs, while his half-open pants barely contained the heavy bulge straining his boxers.

Sophie knocked softly on the door, her small 5'1" frame trembling slightly as she balanced the silver tray. At exactly 18 years old, she felt tiny and vulnerable serving such a famous guest this late at night. She adjusted her very short black skirt and entered cautiously when no immediate answer came.

Chris turned slowly, his bloodshot eyes locking onto her fragile body with predatory intensity. He stepped forward and blocked the doorway completely before she could leave. His voice came out low and rough, thick with whiskey. "Put the tray down right there on the table, little girl."

Sophie obeyed quickly, setting the champagne and glasses down with shaking hands. She tried to smile professionally but her voice cracked when she spoke. "Will that be all, sir?" She turned toward the door but his massive hand shot out and clamped around her childlike waist.

Chris pulled her hard against his broad chest, his long thick fingers nearly meeting around her tiny midsection. He inhaled her nervous scent deeply while his free hand tangled in her shoulder-length wavy dark chestnut hair. "You're not leaving yet, sweetheart. I've been waiting for a tiny little thing like you all night."

Sophie gasped sharply, her small hands pushing weakly at his hard chest. Tears already welled in her wide eyes as fear flooded through her. Her heart pounded violently while unwanted heat bloomed between her slim thighs.

He leaned down until his hot whiskey breath ghosted over her ear. "Look at how small you are compared to me. I could break you so easily." Chris squeezed her narrow waist harder, making her whimper. His cock twitched heavily against her flat stomach through his open pants.

Sophie whispered desperately, her voice trembling with terror. "Please sir, I need to get back to work." Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she tried to step back. But her nipples had already hardened into tight peaks under her thin white blouse.

Chris laughed darkly, the sound vibrating through his thick chest. He spun her around roughly and slammed her back against the wall. One huge hand pinned both her slim wrists above her head while the other slid down to grope her ass under the tiny skirt. "Work? You're my entertainment now, you filthy little waitress."

Sophie cried out softly as his rough fingers dug into her small ass cheek. Her sheer black thigh-high stockings offered no protection from his bruising grip. Shame burned hot in her chest because her pussy was already growing wet despite the fear.

He released her wrists only to grab her throat firmly. "On your knees right now." When she hesitated, he squeezed just enough to make her gasp for air. "Don't make me repeat myself, little slut."

Sophie sank down slowly onto the carpet, her legs shaking violently. Tears streamed down her face as she stared up at his towering frame. Her small hands rested nervously on her thighs while mascara began to run.

Chris shoved his pants and boxers down impatiently, freeing his massive 10-inch cock. The thick veined shaft bobbed heavily in front of her face, the mushroom head already leaking precum. He fisted her wavy hair tightly and slapped the heavy cock against her tear-streaked cheek.

"Open your mouth wide, sweetheart." He spat directly onto her lips, watching the saliva drip down her chin. "You're going to choke on every disgusting inch until I decide you've earned my cum."

Sophie parted her trembling lips reluctantly, sobbing quietly. He thrust forward brutally, stretching her small mouth painfully wide around his girth. The thick head hit the back of her throat instantly, making her gag hard and drool excessively.

Chris groaned with satisfaction as her throat bulged visibly from his intrusion. He fucked her face in short, ruthless strokes while more spit and tears ran down her chin onto her blouse. "That's it, gag on it you tiny whore. Look how your throat stretches for me."

Sophie choked and retched around his cock, excessive drool pouring from her stretched lips in messy strings. Her small hands clutched his thick thighs desperately but he only pushed deeper. The obscene glucking sounds filled the room as she struggled to breathe.

He pulled out briefly, strings of thick saliva connecting his cock to her gasping mouth. Chris spat again, this time directly into her open mouth. "Swallow my spit, little girl. Taste how much I own you already."

Sophie swallowed reflexively, shame flooding her as more wetness soaked her panties. Her small breasts heaved with each ragged breath while her pussy clenched emptily. She felt completely degraded yet her body kept betraying her.

Chris yanked her up by the hair and dragged her toward the bed. "Strip everything off except those slutty stockings." He watched hungrily as her fingers shook while removing her torn blouse and bra. Her small A-cup breasts bounced free, pink nipples stiff and aching.

Sophie hesitated at her tiny skirt but his glare made her unzip it quickly. She slid her soaked panties down her slim legs, exposing her smooth, glistening pussy. Her face burned crimson with humiliation as she stood naked except for the sheer thigh-highs and heels.

He shoved her backward onto the massive bed, spreading her thin legs wide. Chris climbed over her tiny body, caging her completely with his muscular frame. "Look how tiny your cunt is. I'm going to destroy it."

Sophie whimpered as he rubbed the fat head of his cock through her drenched folds. He spat on her pussy for extra lubrication before pushing inside. The stretch burned intensely as he forced half his length into her tight hole.

Chris pressed his huge palm flat on her flat stomach, feeling the immediate bulge forming. "Feel that, you filthy little cock sleeve? My dick is already bulging your tiny belly." He rocked his hips, sinking deeper while watching the obscene ridge rise under her skin.

Sophie screamed sharply, back arching off the bed from the brutal fullness. Pain mixed with shameful pleasure as her walls stretched impossibly around his girth. Her small hands clutched the sheets while tears poured down her flushed cheeks.

He started pounding her hard against the bed, each thrust making the belly bulge piston visibly. Wet slapping sounds echoed as her juices squirted around his thick shaft. "Your scared little pussy is creaming all over me. Disgusting how wet you get when I rape you."

Sophie came suddenly with a broken sob, her tiny body convulsing around him. She squirted messily onto his abs while shame consumed her. Chris laughed cruelly and kept thrusting through her orgasm.

He pulled out abruptly and flipped her onto her stomach. "Ass up, face down." Chris spanked her small pale cheeks hard until they glowed bright red. She counted each slap through her tears as he demanded.

Sophie presented her tiny ass high, wrists crossed behind her back as ordered. He slammed back inside her from behind, reaching around to press on the new belly bulge. The angle made him hit impossibly deep, forcing another unwilling orgasm from her.

Chris pulled her hair like reins while pounding relentlessly. "I'm going to breed this worthless little womb until it overflows." He reached lower and forced two fingers into her mouth, making her taste her own squirt. "Clean my fingers, slut."

Sophie sucked obediently, drool running down her chin again. Her pussy spasmed hard around him as another climax ripped through her. The continuous orgasms left her trembling and oversensitive.

He flipped her back onto her back and hooked her legs over his shoulders, folding her fragile body in half. Chris drove in deep and slow now, grinding his cock against her cervix. "Look at your belly, little girl. It's bloating from how deep I am."

Sophie stared down in horror at the pronounced bulge moving inside her. Chris pressed down hard on it, making her gasp. The pressure forced another gush of wetness from her abused hole.

He spat into her open mouth repeatedly while fucking her. "You're nothing but my personal cum dump now." Chris made her swallow every drop of his saliva before increasing his pace again.

Sophie came twice more in quick succession, her small breasts bouncing wildly. Her pussy gaped slightly each time he pulled back, pink and swollen. She felt completely ruined yet her hips still twitched upward seeking more.

Chris growled as his balls tightened. "Here it comes, sweetheart. Take every drop of my seed." He buried himself to the hilt and erupted, flooding her tiny womb with thick hot cum. The volume made her lower belly swell noticeably.

He stayed buried deep, pumping the last spurts while pressing on her bloated stomach. Cum leaked out around his shaft in messy white streams. Sophie whimpered as the warm fullness spread inside her.

Chris finally pulled out slowly, watching her stretched pussy gape open obscenely. Thick cum poured from her ruined hole onto the sheets. He scooped some up with two fingers and forced them into her mouth. "Clean it up, little whore. Taste your own creampie."

Sophie sucked his fingers clean, gagging on the salty taste but obeying. Her body trembled with exhaustion and overstimulation. Chris smirked down at her marked, cum-filled form.

He stood over her breathing heavily, cock still semi-hard and glistening. "You're not done yet, my tiny fucktoy." Chris grabbed her hair again and pulled her toward his heavy balls. "Lick them clean now."

Sophie extended her small tongue reluctantly, lapping at his balls while fresh tears fell. He pushed her lower until her tongue reached his ass. "Rim me properly, little girl. Show me how grateful you are."

She obeyed through sobs, circling his tight hole with her tongue while he groaned above her. The degrading act made her pussy clench again despite everything. Chris grew hard once more from her submission.

He dragged her up and impaled her on his cock again in one motion. Chris bounced her tiny body on his lap while pressing on her cum-bloated belly. "Feel how full you are with my load? I'm going to add more."

Sophie moaned brokenly as another forced orgasm crashed through her. Her small frame shook violently in his powerful arms. Cum from the first load squirted out around his thrusting cock.

Chris fucked her through three more orgasms before pulling out and painting her small breasts and face with his second load. Thick ropes of cum covered her flushed skin and dripped from her chin. He rubbed it into her skin possessively.

"You're mine now, sweetheart." Chris watched her lie there exhausted, skirt still bunched at her waist, stockings torn, body marked with spit, cum and handprints. "Rest while you can. I'll be using all your holes again soon."

End.

[bittersuitee]

Hey guys!! Smut or fluff requests are open! You can send me some request with your character, love you!!!!

[bittersuitee]

yes papi | Pedro Pascal +18

**Pairing:** Pedro Pascal x Lyla (RPF – Real Person Fiction)

**Summary:** Lyla, the horny-as-hell 18-year-old production assistant, has been eye-fucking her coworker Pedro for weeks on set. Today she corners him in his trailer during lunch break and finally gets that thick cock she’s been obsessing over. He’s shocked at first but quickly turns into the filthy, dominant papi she knew he could be. Rough, messy, public-risk trailer sex follows.

**Rating:** Explicit – 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI. This is straight-up filthy smut.

**Warnings/Content Notes:** Age gap (Lyla 18, Pedro in his 50s) • Rough sex, degradation mixed with praise • Heavy spit play (spitting in mouth, drooling, messy oral) • Face-fucking, deepthroating, gagging • Choking (light), hair pulling, spanking • Size difference kink • Public risk / semi-public (trailer on set, crew outside, risk of interruption) • Creampie, breeding talk • Very explicit dirty talk (heavy argo: “slut”, “whore”, “papi”, “cock-hungry”) • No condoms / unprotected sex • Consensual but extremely intense and filthy. If any of this is a trigger or squick for you, please scroll away.

**Word count:** ~2100

The desert sun was roasting the whole goddamn set, sweat pouring off everyone like cheap beer at a dive bar, and Lyla—eighteen, tiny as fuck, barely scraping five-two with that tight little body—was buzzing harder than the generators. She’d been eye-fucking Pedro Pascal for weeks now: that thick salt-and-pepper beard, those broad shoulders stretching every t-shirt he owned, the way his jeans hugged his ass and that obvious bulge when he sat down. They were “friends,” sure—sharing smokes behind trailers, bitching about the director, him calling her “kiddo” like she was some innocent baby sister. But Lyla wasn’t innocent anymore. She was soaked between her legs every time he towered over her, every time his big hand ruffled her hair or patted her shoulder like she was his little pet. Today she decided: fuck subtlety. She was gonna get railed in his trailer or die trying.

She grabbed his lunch tray—salad, green juice, whatever boring shit he ate—and marched straight to his karavan parked at the far end of the lot, semi-hidden by equipment trucks but still close enough that any PA or grip could bang on the door any second. She knocked twice, sharp. “Pedro, open up, it’s your favorite slut with your rabbit food.”

Door swung open. There he was—shirt damp with sweat, sleeves rolled up showing those veiny forearms, jeans slung low, looking tired but still stupidly hot. He smirked, stepping aside. “Jesus, Lyla, language today? What crawled up your tiny ass and died?” He took the tray, set it down, but his eyes were already scanning her: short denim skirt barely covering her ass, cropped tank top clinging to her small tits, no bra so her nipples were poking through like little bullets.

She kicked the door shut behind her, locked it with a loud click even though she secretly hoped someone would try to barge in. “Nothing crawled up my ass yet,” she said, stepping right into his space, craning her neck to look up at him. “But I’m hoping your fat cock will soon. Been dripping for you all morning, Pedro. Every time you bend over to pick up a prop I wanna climb you like a fucking tree.”

He froze for half a second, eyebrows shooting up, genuine shock flashing across his face. “Wait—what the fuck did you just say?” He laughed, disbelieving, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re serious? Little Lyla, the coffee runner, wants to get nasty with me? Thought you were just teasing to get tips or some shit.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down so their faces were inches apart. “I’m not teasing. I’m fucking horny. Been touching myself every night thinking about you choking me with that big dick while the whole crew’s ten feet away. So either you fuck me stupid right now or I go find some grip who’s less of a pussy.”

That did it. The surprise melted into something dark and hungry. Pedro’s big hand shot out, wrapped around her throat—not hard yet, just enough to feel her pulse hammering. “You got a filthy fucking mouth for such a small girl,” he growled, voice dropping low. “Alright, princesa. You want it rough and dirty? Bend over that couch. Now.”

Lyla grinned like she’d won the lottery, spun around, flipped her skirt up over her ass—no panties, of course—and braced her hands on the armrest. “Like this, papi? Come on, don’t make me beg… yet.”

Pedro groaned, already palming his cock through his jeans. “Fuckin’ hell. Look at that pretty little cunt—already glistening. You really are a desperate slut, huh?” He stepped up behind her, one huge hand spreading her ass cheeks wide so he could see everything. “Spread wider. Show me how bad you want it.”

She arched her back, pushed her hips back, practically presenting. “I want it so bad I’m shaking. Been clenching around nothing all day imagining you splitting me open. Fuck me like you hate me, Pedro. Make it hurt.”

He unzipped fast, yanked his jeans and boxers down just enough. His cock sprang out—thick, veiny, flushed dark, way bigger than her tiny hand could wrap around properly. He spat right onto her pussy, watched it drip down her folds, then rubbed the head against her clit rough enough to make her jolt.

“Beg for it properly,” he ordered, slapping her ass hard—once, twice, leaving red handprints. “Tell me what a cock-hungry whore you are.”

Lyla moaned loud—didn’t give a shit who heard. “Please, Pedro—fuck my tight little cunt. Stretch me till I can’t walk. Use me like your personal fucktoy. I’m your dirty little secret slut—own this pussy.”

That snapped whatever restraint he had left. He lined up and slammed in—one brutal thrust burying him balls-deep. Lyla screamed, half pain half pleasure, her walls clamping down like a vice. “Fuuuuck—too big—oh god—”

“Take it,” he snarled, gripping her hips so hard she’d bruise. “You wanted violent? This is violent.” He started pounding—hard, fast, no warmup, no mercy. The trailer rocked with every slam, couch creaking, her small body jolting forward. “Tight as fuck—gripping me like you never wanna let go, huh? Greedy little bitch.”

She was drooling already, spit running down her chin as she gasped, “Harder—choke me—pull my fucking hair—”

Pedro obliged. One hand fisted her ponytail, yanked her head back so her spine arched painfully. The other wrapped around her throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make her vision spotty. “Like that? Can’t breathe, can you? Good. Means I’m deep enough to rearrange your guts.”

Every thrust punched the air out of her lungs. She clawed at the couch fabric, babbling, “Yes—yes—fuck my throat next—wanna choke on your cock—wanna taste your cum—”

He pulled out suddenly, spun her around like she weighed nothing, shoved her to her knees. “Open that slut mouth. Wide.”

Lyla obeyed instantly, tongue out, eyes watering but eager. Pedro gripped her jaw, forced her mouth open wider, then spat straight onto her tongue—long, thick string of spit that she swallowed greedily. “More,” she begged. “Spit in my mouth again—make me messy.”

He did it twice more, slow and deliberate, watching the drool spill over her lips and drip onto her tits. Then he shoved his cock past her lips—no warning, straight to the back of her throat. She gagged hard, tears streaming, but he didn’t let up—fucked her face like a fleshlight, hips snapping forward. “That’s it—gag on it, choke, cry for me. Look so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat.”

Spit bubbled out around his shaft, running down her chin, soaking her shirt. She hollowed her cheeks, sucked sloppy and desperate, moaning around him. “Mmmph—fuck my face—use me—”

Outside, someone yelled, “Pascal! You’re up in ten!” Footsteps crunched close. Pedro didn’t stop—thrust deeper, making her nose press into his pubes. “Hear that? They’re looking for me while I’m balls-deep in your throat. You love the risk, don’t you, you filthy whore?”

She nodded frantically, gagging, drooling, pussy dripping onto the trailer floor.

He hauled her up by the hair, bent her over the table this time—food tray shoved aside, salad spilling everywhere. Spread her legs wide, slapped her clit hard enough to make her yelp, then slammed back inside her cunt. “Gonna fill this tight hole—breed you right here while the crew waits outside. You want my cum leaking out of you all afternoon?”

“Yes—fuck yes—pump me full—make me walk bow-legged—”

He fucked her mercilessly—deep, punishing strokes, one hand choking her again, the other rubbing furious circles on her clit. “Come on my cock, slut—squeeze me—milk every drop—”

Lyla shattered first—screaming his name, body convulsing, pussy spasming so hard he cursed. “Fuck—gonna come—take it all—”

He buried himself to the hilt, groaning loud as he unloaded—hot, thick spurts flooding her, so much it leaked out around his cock and dripped down her thighs. He kept thrusting through it, smearing it deeper, marking her inside.

When he finally pulled out, cum oozed out of her swollen pussy. He scooped some with two fingers, shoved them into her mouth. “Clean it up. Taste what a good little cumslut you are.”

Lyla sucked his fingers clean, eyes glazed, smiling like she’d just won an Oscar. “Worth every bruise.”

Pedro laughed, breathless, pulling her into a sloppy, sweaty kiss. “You’re fucking insane, you know that? My sweet little PA turned out to be the horniest bitch on set.”

She grinned against his lips. “And you love it. Tomorrow—your trailer again. Bring lube. I want you in my ass next.”

He groaned, already half-hard again. “Jesus Christ. Lock the door this time… or don’t. Your call, princesa.”

Outside, the AD yelled his name again. Pedro smirked, wiped his cock on her skirt like it was a rag, then zipped up. “Duty calls. Walk funny for me, yeah?”

Lyla stood on shaky legs, cum still trickling down her thigh, and winked. “Always do, papi.”

**end.**

[bittersuitee]

RAGE | STONY +18

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (Stony)

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.1k

Summary:

Gala night. Tony runs his mouth one time too many. Steve shuts him up by crushing his balls in public (barely hidden behind a pillar) until Tony’s vision whites out. What follows is a slow, filthy, tear-soaked claiming in the private elevator and penthouse. CEO-on-the-outside Tony turns into a shaking, begging, makeup-ruined twink the second Steve decides playtime is over.

Warnings (dead dove, read at own risk): Dead Dove: Do Not Eat | Extreme Dubious Consent | Ballbusting/CBT (literal near-rupture level) | Painplay | Humiliation | Crying Tony | Spit as Lube | Dry Anal | Face-Fucking | Bruising/Marking | Possessive Dark!Steve | Twink!Tony (looks dom in a suit, folds instantly) | Slow Burn Degradation | Untouched Orgasms | Ownership Kink | No Safeword Used (CNC framework) | Aftercare (but only after total destruction)

Additional Tags:

gala hate-sex, brat taming gone nuclear, power imbalance, suit kink (ripped to shreds), mirror scene, elevator smut, penthouse filth, Steve Rogers Has Zero Chill, Tony Stark Needs to Be Put in His Place and Begs For It, size difference, canon-divergent everybody lives, Marvel RPF no we don’t die here

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The gala smelled like money and desperation: hot orchids wilting under crystal chandeliers, champagne sweating in flutes, the metallic tang of camera flashes, and beneath it all the low thrum of a hundred egos trying to outshine one another. Tony Stark stood in the exact center of it, red suit jacket unbuttoned, black silk shirt open one button too far, the arc reactor glowing like a cold blue heart between his ribs. He was drunk, beautifully, viciously drunk, and Steve Rogers was the only thing in the room worth breaking.

Tony’s voice was velvet soaked in acid.

“You still think you’re the only adult in the building, don’t you, Rogers? The only one who gets to decide what’s right and wrong while the rest of us play in the dirt.” He stepped closer, close enough that the heat of his body pressed against Steve’s dress blues. “Tell me, Captain, when was the last time you let yourself want something ugly? Something that would make your precious 1940s ghost blush?”

Steve didn’t answer. His eyes were winter oceans, flat and depthless.

Tony leaned in until his lips almost brushed Steve’s ear. “You’re a fucking museum exhibit with a pulse. A relic who thinks silence equals strength. You don’t scare me. You don’t even bore me anymore. You just… disappoint me.”

The last word left Tony’s mouth like a slap.

Steve moved.

It wasn’t fast the way movies show it. It was precise. Surgical. His right hand slipped between them, past the tailored waistband, past the silk boxer-briefs, and closed around Tony’s balls with the slow, deliberate cruelty of a man turning a dial from zero to shatter. The pressure started low, almost gentle, then climbed in measured increments, crushing soft tissue against the unyielding cage of Tony’s own pelvis.

Tony’s insult fractured into a sound that wasn’t human: a high, wet inhale that never quite became a scream. His eyes flew open so wide the whites showed all around the irises. Every muscle in his body locked at once, spine bowing, toes curling inside thousand-dollar loafers.

Steve didn’t squeeze harder. He simply held that perfect, murderous pressure and waited.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Tony’s face drained of color, then flooded crimson as blood vessels burst beneath the skin. Tears welled instantly, spilled over, carved clean tracks through the subtle layer of gala makeup. His mouth opened and closed like a fish drowning in air.

Steve spoke against his temple, voice soft enough that only Tony could hear.

“Feel that, Tony? That’s the exact moment your body forgets every clever line you ever wrote for yourself. Another five pounds of pressure and the left one ruptures. Another ten and you’ll be pissing through a catheter for the rest of your genius life. Nod if you understand who owns you right now.”

Tony nodded. The movement was frantic, desperate, tears dripping off his jaw onto Steve’s polished shoes.

Steve eased off by a single degree. Just enough for Tony to drag in one ragged, sobbing breath.

“Good,” Steve whispered. “Now you’re going to walk. You’re going to smile. And when we get upstairs, you’re going to strip every lie off that body and kneel in the wreckage of who you pretend to be. Because if you make a single sound before I allow it, I will finish this in front of the entire press corps. I will make you come while you scream from a ruptured testicle, and I will smile for the cameras while you do. Do you believe me?”

Tony’s voice was barely a thread of air. “Yes, Captain. God, yes. Please.”

Steve released him.

Tony’s knees buckled so violently he would have hit the marble if Steve hadn’t caught him by the elbow, holding him upright like a ventriloquist working a broken puppet. To the crowd, it looked like concern. Like Captain America helping a tipsy teammate. No one saw Tony’s face, sheet-white, streaked with tears and snot, lips trembling around silent sobs.

Steve guided him through the side door, down the private corridor lit only by emergency strips that painted them both in blood-red shadows. Tony stumbled every third step, hands clenched between his legs, each breath a broken hiccup.

The elevator was mirrored on all sides. When the doors sealed, Tony collapsed.

He hit the floor hard, curling into a ball, forehead pressed to the cool marble, whole body shaking with aftershocks. The arc reactor cast a cold blue glow over the tears pooling beneath his cheek.

Steve stood over him, arms loose at his sides, watching.

Minutes passed. Five. Ten. The elevator didn’t move; Steve hadn’t pressed the button yet.

Tony’s voice was raw. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Steve, I didn’t mean—”

“Shh.” Steve crouched, gathered Tony’s hair gently, tilted his head back. Tony’s eyes were swollen, mascara running in black rivers down to his collar. “You don’t get to apologize with words tonight. You’re going to apologize with every hole in your body. Starting now.”

He unzipped slowly. The sound was obscene in the silence.

His cock was already heavy, flushed dark, the head slick and shining. He didn’t stroke himself. Just let it rest against Tony’s tear-stained cheek, smearing precum through the mess of makeup and saliva.

“Open.”

Tony’s lips parted instantly, trembling.

Steve fed himself in one inch at a time, watching Tony’s throat work, watching the tears spill faster as the stretch burned. When he hit resistance, he didn’t force it. He waited, letting Tony’s panic build, letting the lack of air turn his face purple again.

Then he pushed past.

Tony gagged, retched, body convulsing, but Steve held him there, nose buried in coarse blond hair, cutting off every route of oxygen.

Thirty seconds.

Forty.

Fifty.

Tony’s hands slapped weakly at Steve’s thighs, nails scraping, legs kicking. His eyes rolled back, fluttering shut.

Steve pulled out just before blackout.

Tony collapsed forward, coughing, vomiting strings of spit and bile onto the elevator floor. His whole body shook with dry heaves.

Steve gave him ten seconds. Then gripped his hair again.

“Again.”

The second throat-fucking was worse. Slower. More deliberate. Steve angled his hips to feel every spasm of Tony’s esophagus, every desperate swallow. Spit poured from the corners of Tony’s mouth, thick and foamy, dripping off his chin in long ropes that splattered his bare chest (his shirt had been torn open somewhere between the corridor and here).

When Steve finally pulled out, Tony couldn’t even cough. He just wheezed, face planted in the puddle of his own saliva, body twitching.

Steve stepped back, surveyed the wreckage: the ruined billionaire on his knees in a thousand-dollar suit, face destroyed, balls swollen to twice their size and bruising purple-black, cock shamefully hard and leaking against his thigh.

“Turn around. Forehead to the floor. Ass up.”

Tony obeyed with pathetic eagerness, scrambling into position, presenting himself like a bitch in heat. His hole was pink, untouched, clenching nervously on nothing.

Steve knelt behind him.

And did nothing.

For minute after minute, he just looked. Let the anticipation build until Tony was sobbing again, pushing back shamelessly, begging with his body.

Then Steve spat, one thick, deliberate glob that landed dead center on Tony’s hole and ran slowly down over bruised balls.

He watched it drip.

Watched Tony shudder.

Then leaned in and licked it back up in one slow, filthy stripe from balls to spine.

Tony screamed into the floor, the sound broken and raw.

Steve did it again. And again. Spitting, licking, spreading the mess with his tongue until Tony’s entire crack was soaked, until the saliva mixed with sweat and tears and the faint copper of blood where Steve’s teeth had grazed too hard.

Only then did Steve sit back on his heels.

“Beg.”

Tony’s voice was completely gone, just a ragged whisper. “Please, Steve. Please fuck me. Break me. I need it. I need you to ruin me so I remember who I belong to. Please, Captain, I’ll be so good—”

Steve lined up.

Entered him in one slow, inexorable push that never paused, never gave Tony time to adjust. The stretch was brutal, burning, no lube but spit and desperation and the slick of Tony’s own tears.

Tony screamed the entire way, fingers scrabbling at the marble, body bowing as Steve bottomed out, balls pressed flush against Tony’s bruised ones, grinding cruelly.

Then Steve started moving.

Slow. Deep. Agonizingly controlled strokes that dragged over Tony’s prostate on every pass, forcing pleasure through the pain whether Tony wanted it or not.

He kept it up for what felt like hours, whispering filth the entire time.

“You’re so pretty when you’re broken, Tony.”

“Look at you, taking every inch like you were born for it.”

“I should keep you plugged all week. Make you sit in board meetings with my cum leaking out of you.”

Tony came three times like that: untouched, sobbing, body seizing around Steve’s cock, oversensitive and wrecked.

The fourth time, Steve finally let himself go.

He slammed in deep, ground against Tony’s prostate, and unloaded with a low, animal growl, flooding Tony’s insides with pulse after pulse after pulse until it leaked out around his cock, running down Tony’s thighs in thick white rivers mixed with streaks of blood from the brutality of it all.

When he pulled out, Tony collapsed sideways into the mess on the floor, shaking, barely conscious.

Steve gathered him up, cradled him close, kissed the tears from his temples.

Tony clung to him like a child, face buried in Steve’s neck, whispering broken thank-yous and I love yous into sweat-slick skin.

Steve carried him to the bedroom, laid him on silk sheets that immediately soaked with cum and spit and tears.

Curled around him protectively.

“You did so well,” he murmured, stroking Tony’s hair. “My perfect, filthy boy.”

Tony slept instantly, wrecked and owned and, for the first time in months, utterly at peace.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

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[experienceandobservation]

Oscar Isaac | GQ Men of the Year | November 10, 2025 | 📷 Tyrell Hampton

[bittersuitee]

I'm wet.

[bittersuitee]

Aaron Taylor Johnson x Interview

Warning: sex, blowjob, hardcore, milking, unprotected fuck, almost public. +18

The studio lights were warm, almost too warm, the kind that made sweat bead at the small of your back if you weren’t careful. Cassie sat in the high-backed leather chair, legs crossed tightly, clipboard balanced on one thigh like a shield. Her navy dress clung to her curves in a way that had felt professional in the dressing room, but now, under the glare of the cameras, felt like a dare. She adjusted the microphone clipped to her collar for the third time, trying to steady her breathing. Aaron Taylor-Johnson was late, and the longer she waited, the more her pulse fluttered against her throat.

The side door opened with a soft click.

He stepped in like he owned the room (because, in a way, he did). Black suit, perfectly tailored, jacket open just enough to reveal the crisp white shirt stretched across his chest. The top two buttons were undone, a deliberate tease of tanned skin and the faint shadow of chest hair. His curls were tousled, longer than in the posters, falling over his forehead in a way that made you want to push them back. He smiled at the crew first, easy, charming, then turned that smile on her.

Cassie forgot how to speak for half a second.

“Hi, love,” he said, voice low and warm like whiskey poured over ice. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was murder.”

She stood too quickly, nearly knocking over her water glass. “No—no problem at all. We’re just glad you’re here.”

He crossed the space in three slow strides, hand extended. His palm was warm, fingers strong as they closed around hers. He didn’t shake; he held, just long enough for her to feel the calluses on his fingertips.

“You must be Cassie,” he said, eyes flicking down her body and back up, slow and approving. “They told me you were good. Didn’t say you were fucking gorgeous.”

Her cheeks burned. “Thank you. Please, sit.”

He did, sprawling back into the opposite chair like a king on a throne, one ankle crossed over his knee. The movement made his trousers pull tight across his thighs. Cassie sat back down, smoothing her skirt, trying not to stare at the way his sleeves strained when he rested his arms.

The red light on the camera blinked on.

She cleared her throat. “We’re rolling in five… four…”

Aaron leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, watching her with lazy amusement. “Relax, darling,” he murmured, just loud enough for her mic to catch. “I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.”

The floor director gave the signal.

Cassie smiled too brightly. “Welcome back to Spotlight Live, I’m Cassie Hart, and today I am beyond thrilled to be sitting down with Aaron Taylor-Johnson, star of the new psychological thriller ‘The Hunt’. Aaron, thank you so much for being here.”

He grinned, slow and crooked. “Thank you for having me, Cassie. Been looking forward to this all week.”

She glanced at her cards. “The film has been getting incredible early buzz. Critics are calling your performance ‘feral’, ‘primal’. How did you get into that headspace?”

Aaron tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. “Lots of running. Lots of growling in mirrors. Lots of… thinking about what it feels like to want something so badly you’d tear the world apart to get it.”

His voice dropped on the last words. Cassie’s pen slipped in her sweaty fingers.

She laughed nervously. “Well, it certainly comes across. There’s a scene in the trailer where you pin someone against a wall—”

“Love that scene,” he interrupted softly, biting his lower lip. “The way she breathes. The way she trembles. You feel like you’re watching something you shouldn’t.”

Cassie swallowed. “Yes, exactly. It’s… intense.”

He leaned closer, voice velvet. “You like intense, Cassie?”

Her laugh came out shaky. “I—uh—professionally, yes.”

“Only professionally?” His tongue touched the corner of his mouth, slow. “Shame.”

She fanned herself with the cards. “It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” he asked innocently. “I’m quite comfortable. Maybe it’s just you.”

Cassie shot him a look. He just smiled wider, all teeth.

She powered through the next few questions, voice getting breathier with each one. He answered easily, but his eyes stayed locked on her mouth, her throat, the way her chest rose too fast under the thin fabric of her dress.

At one point he stretched, arms high above his head, shirt pulling tight across his abs. Cassie’s question died halfway out.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“You alright, love?” he asked, voice dripping honey. “You look a little… flushed.”

“I’m fine,” she squeaked.

He chuckled, low in his throat. “Liar.”

The segment break came like a mercy. The floor director called for a quick reset.

Cassie sagged in her chair. “You’re evil.”

Aaron laughed, deep and rich. “I’m helping you relax. You were wound so tight I was worried you’d snap.”

She glared at him, but there was no heat in it. “You’re making it worse.”

“Am I?” He leaned over the arm of his chair, voice dropping. “Or am I making it better and you just don’t want to admit it?”

Cassie opened her mouth, closed it. He watched the war on her face with pure delight.

The director counted them back in.

She tried again. “So, Aaron, your character—Kraven—he’s very… dominant. Very in control. Is that something you relate to?”

He licked his bottom lip slowly. “In some ways, yeah. I like control. I like knowing exactly what someone needs… and giving it to them.”

Cassie’s thighs pressed together under the desk.

He noticed that too.

“Tell me, Cassie,” he said, voice silky. “Do you like giving up control? Or do you fight it?”

She laughed too loudly. “Next question.”

He grinned like a wolf. “That’s a yes.”

The interview went off the rails slowly, deliciously. Every question she asked, he turned back on her. Every time she tried to steer professional, he dragged her back into the heat.

At one point, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her cheek.

“You’ve got the prettiest blush,” he murmured. “Goes all the way down your neck. Wonder how far.”

She slapped his hand away, laughing despite herself. “Stop it.”

“Make me.”

The red light blinked off. Final segment break.

Cassie exhaled shakily. “Jesus Christ, Aaron.”

He stood, stretched again, then walked over to her side of the desk. Leaned down, hands braced on either side of her chair, caging her in.

“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly. “Say it and I will.”

She stared up at him, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

He waited.

She didn’t speak.

His smile was slow, filthy. “Good girl.”

He glanced at the camera. “We off air?”

The cameraman gave a thumbs up. “Live feed’s cut. Still recording though.”

Aaron’s grin turned feral. “Perfect.”

He looked back down at her, thumb brushing her lower lip. “You’ve been staring at my mouth for forty minutes, Cassie. Want a taste?”

She whimpered.

He laughed softly. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I want a taste.”

He straightened, eyes dark. “Then come get it.”

Cassie stood on shaky legs. He didn’t move back. Just watched her, predator-still.

She reached up, fingers curling into his shirt, and pulled him down.

The kiss was filthy from the start: open-mouthed, hungry, his tongue sliding against hers like he owned her. One hand fisted in her hair, the other sliding down to grip her ass hard.

When they broke apart, she was panting.

He licked into her mouth once more, then pulled back. “Look at you. Already wrecked.”

She moaned.

He glanced down at her dress, at the deep V of her neckline. “This dress,” he said roughly. “Been driving me insane. These tits—fuck. Been dying to get my mouth on them.”

Cassie’s hands flew to cover herself.

He caught her wrists, pinned them to her sides. “Don’t you dare. You’ve been teasing me all night. Now you take what you get.”

He leaned down, dragged his tongue up the swell of one breast, slow and wet.

She cried out.

He bit down lightly. “Quiet, baby. Crew’s still here. Unless you want them to watch?”

She shook her head frantically.

He chuckled. “Liar again.”

His hand slid to his belt. The clink of the buckle made her knees buckle.

He looked down at her, eyes heavy-lidded. “On your knees, Cassie.”

She dropped like she was born for it.

He cupped her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek. “Such a pretty little thing. Been thinking about this mouth since I walked in.”

He unbuttoned his trousers slowly, deliberately. The zipper came down with a soft rasp.

Cassie’s breath hitched as he pulled himself free.

He was thick, heavy in his hand, flushed dark. The head already slick.

His shadow fell over her face as he stepped closer.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “On your knees for me like a good girl.”

He tapped the head against her lips once, twice. “Open.”

She did.

He fed himself in slowly, groaning low as her lips stretched around him.

“Fuck, yes. Take it deeper, baby. That’s it.”

She gagged softly when he hit the back of her throat.

He pulled back, let her breathe, then pushed in again. “Relax your throat. You can take more. I know you can.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she nodded, eager.

He started to move: slow, filthy thrusts, hand tangled in her hair.

“Look at me,” he growled. “Want to see those pretty eyes while you choke on my cock.”

She looked up, mascara already smudging.

He cursed under his breath. “Fucking perfect.”

He fucked her mouth deeper, faster, spit slicking her chin.

“You love this, don’t you?” he rasped. “Love being my little slut on camera.”

She moaned around him.

He pulled out suddenly, slapped her cheek lightly with his wet cock. “Answer me.”

“Yes, daddy,” she whimpered.

His eyes flashed. “Again.”

“Yes, daddy. I love it.”

He growled, shoved back in, hips snapping.

After long, filthy minutes, he pulled out, breathing hard.

“Up,” he ordered.

She stood on shaky legs.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, set her on the desk, shoved her dress up to her waist.

“Tits out,” he demanded.

She scrambled to pull the top down. Her breasts spilled free, nipples hard and dark.

He groaned. “Fuck. Look at these.”

He bent, sucked one nipple into his mouth hard.

She cried out, fingers digging into his hair.

He bit down, soothed with his tongue, then moved to the other.

When he pulled back, his lips were wet.

“Bend over,” he said roughly. “Want that pussy now.”

She turned, braced her hands on the desk, ass in the air.

He kicked her legs wider, lined up, and slammed in with one brutal thrust.

She screamed.

He didn’t stop. Just gripped her hips and fucked her like an animal: hard, deep, relentless.

The desk rocked with every thrust.

He slapped her ass hard. “Quiet, baby. Or they’ll all hear what a needy little whore you are.”

She bit her lip until it bled.

He reached around, found her clit, rubbed rough circles.

“Come on my cock,” he growled. “Want to feel you milk me.”

She shattered, sobbing his name.

He didn’t stop. Just fucked her through it, harder, meaner.

He wrapped a hand around her throat from behind, pulled her up so her back arched.

“Look at the camera,” he snarled in her ear. “Wave hello.”

Tears streaming, she lifted one trembling hand and waved.

He laughed, dark and filthy. “Good girl.”

He shoved her back down, gripped her hips bruisingly.

“Gonna fill you up,” he grunted. “Gonna breed this little pussy.”

She moaned, pushing back.

He bent over her, sucked a nipple back into his mouth as he pounded.

Then it happened.

Warm liquid flooded his mouth.

He froze for half a second, then groaned like he was dying.

“Fuck—Cassie—you’re lactating?”

She whimpered, mortified.

He pulled out, spun her around, stared at her swollen, leaking breasts.

“You’ve got a kid?” he rasped.

She nodded, tears in her eyes.

He cursed viciously, then latched onto her nipple again, sucking hard.

Milk flooded his mouth.

He swallowed, groaning, eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, baby—so sweet.”

He drank from her like a starving man, cock jerking against her thigh.

Then he lost it.

With a broken growl, he shoved back inside her and came: hard, deep, pulsing ropes of cum flooding her.

He kept thrusting through it, milking every drop.

When he finally stilled, he was shaking.

He pulled out slowly, watched his cum drip down her thighs.

Looked at the mess they’d made: her dress ruined, milk and cum and spit everywhere.

He laughed, breathless. “Fuck. That was…”

She looked up at him, wrecked and glowing.

He cupped her face, kissed her soft and slow.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered.

Then he looked at the camera, grinned, and flipped it off.

“Show’s over, lads.”

[bittersuitee]

Three Deadly Sins I Reverend Drew Devlin x whores

Rating: Explicit (18+, EXTREMELY HARDCORE)

Pairing: Reverend Drew Devlin/Original Female Characters (Brandy & Tessa)

Fandom**: Honey Don’t (2025)

Summary: Reverend Drew Devlin, the sadistic cult leader, traps Brandy and Tessa in a brutal, degrading threesome, using his gun, abusive toys, and vile words to crush their resistance and claim their bodies in a relentless display of dominance.

Warnings/Tags: Noncon, extreme violence (slapping, choking, beating), gun play (explicit and prolonged), toy play (abusive), spitting, possession/ownership kink, breeding kink, crying, psychological manipulation, degrading and disturbing dirty talk, subtle god complex, hardcore, NSFW, *extremely disturbing content, proceed with extreme caution*.

Reverend Drew Devlin lounged in his velvet throne, his torn white shirt hanging open, his chiseled chest slick with sweat, his piercing blue eyes burning with a depraved, commanding hunger. The air in the dimly lit chamber was thick with the stench of fear and submission. Brandy, her blonde hair matted with sweat and blood, straddled his left thigh, her naked body quaking as she forced herself to bounce on his cock, her movements slow and reluctant, driven by raw terror. Tessa, her brunette locks tangled and damp, perched on his right thigh, her hips grinding with jerky, hesitant motions, her pale face streaked with tears and smeared mascara, her eyes wide with dread. Their whimpers were broken, pained, devoid of pleasure, their bodies moving under the crushing weight of Drew’s sadistic control.

“Move, you worthless fucking sluts,” Drew snarled, his voice a vicious lash, dripping with contempt. His right hand gripped a sleek black handgun, the barrel jammed brutally against Brandy’s temple, the metal cutting into her skin, drawing a thin trickle of blood that slid down her cheek. “You think you can disobey me? You think you’re worth a damn if you don’t serve?” His left hand swung out, delivering a savage slap across Brandy’s face, the crack echoing like a whip, her head snapping to the side as a sharp cry tore from her throat, her lip splitting, blood dripping onto her chin.

Brandy’s sob was raw, her tears mixing with the blood on her face, her body trembling as she tried to obey, her thighs quaking with exhaustion and fear. “Please, Reverend… I’m doing my best…” she stammered, her voice fractured, barely audible over her sobs. “Don’t… don’t do this…” Her movements were jerky, her body clenching around him in a desperate attempt to appease him, the gun’s pressure making her flinch with every forced thrust, her skin bruised and raw where the barrel dug in.

Tessa’s breath hitched, her hands clutching weakly at Drew’s shoulders, her nails barely grazing his skin as she forced herself to move, her eyes squeezed shut to block out the horror. “We’re trying… please, let us stop…” she whispered, her voice trembling with terror, her body stiff with resistance. Her words were cut off by Drew’s hand grabbing her throat, his fingers digging into her flesh with crushing force, squeezing until her face flushed red, her gasps shallow and panicked, her eyes bulging with fear.

“You don’t get to ask for anything,” Drew spat, his voice thick with venom as he tightened his grip, cutting off Tessa’s air until her lips trembled. “You’re nothing but my holes to break.” He leaned forward and spat into her face, the saliva dripping down her cheek, mixing with her tears as she choked on a sob, her body shuddering as she tried to keep moving, her reluctance palpable. “Swallow it, you pathetic bitch,” he growled, and she did, gagging as she forced it down, her sobs growing louder, her body shaking violently.

Brandy’s cries were shrill, her body shaking as she forced herself to bounce harder, her face stinging from the slap, her tears and blood mixing on her cheek. “I don’t want to die…” she whimpered, her voice cracking, her eyes pleading as the gun slid down her face, the barrel scraping her skin, leaving a red trail. “I’ll try harder… please, Reverend…” Her words were desperate, her body trembling as she fought to obey, her fear drowning out any trace of will.

Drew’s grin was cruel, his ego swelling as he watched them crumble under his control. “You’re nothing,” he snarled, yanking the gun from Brandy’s face and shoving it under her chin, forcing her head up until her neck strained. “Just filthy whores who exist for my pleasure.” His free hand swung out again, this time striking Tessa’s face with a vicious backhand, the force sending her head reeling, blood trickling from her nose as she cried out, her body jerking as she fought to keep moving.

Tessa’s sob was raw, her face burning as she tried to obey, her body shaking with every forced thrust. “I’ll do what you want…” she gasped, her voice barely audible, her tears streaming as she ground against him, her movements mechanical, driven by survival. “Please… don’t hit me again…” Her words were cut off by another slap, this one harder, splitting her lip, blood dripping down her chin as she sobbed, her body trembling violently.

“You don’t get to beg,” Drew growled, his hand leaving Tessa’s throat to grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back until her scalp burned. “You’re mine to destroy, and you’ll thank me for it.” He spat into her open mouth, the act brutal and degrading, and she coughed, her body shuddering as she forced herself to swallow, her sobs growing louder, her eyes glassy with fear.

Brandy’s movements faltered, her body trembling as she tried to keep up, her face a mess of tears, blood, and spit. “I’ll be good… I swear…” she sobbed, her voice wrecked, her body clenching around him as she fought to obey, the gun now pressed against her lips, forcing them open. “Please… I’ll do anything…” Her words were desperate, her body shaking as the barrel shoved past her lips, gagging her, the cold metal scraping her tongue.

“Suck it like you suck my cock,” Drew ordered, his voice thick with sadistic glee as he thrust his hips up, driving himself deeper into her trembling body. “Prove you’re worth keeping alive, you useless slut.” Brandy’s muffled sob vibrated around the gun, her tears streaming as she obeyed, her tongue shaking against the steel, her body wracked with pain and fear, her gagging noises filling the room.

Tessa’s cries were a constant whimper now, her body shaking as she ground against him, her face pale and streaked with blood and tears. “I don’t want this… but I’ll obey…” she whispered, her voice trembling with terror, her eyes avoiding his as she forced herself to keep moving, her reluctance clear in every tense muscle. “Please… just make it quick…” Her words were cut off by Drew’s hand swinging out, striking her ass with a brutal slap, the force leaving a red welt as she screamed, her body jolting forward.

“You don’t decide how this goes,” Drew snarled, spitting into Brandy’s face, the saliva dripping down her chin as she sobbed, her body trembling violently. “You’ll take my seed, or I’ll carve you open.” He reached to the side, grabbing a thick, black dildo from a nearby table, its surface glinting in the candlelight. Without warning, he shoved it against Tessa’s lips, forcing it into her mouth. “Get it wet, you filthy bitch,” he growled, his voice dripping with malice. “Or I’ll make it hurt worse.”

Tessa gagged around the toy, her sobs muffled as she obeyed, her tears falling faster as the dildo filled her mouth, her body shaking as she tried to keep grinding on him. Drew’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with depraved satisfaction as he pulled the gun from Brandy’s mouth and pressed it against Tessa’s throat, the barrel digging into her skin, bruising it red. “You’re nothing but my playthings,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Holes to fill, bodies to break.”

Brandy’s sobs grew shrill, her body convulsing as she forced herself to ride him, her face stinging from the earlier slaps, her tears and blood mixing on her cheek. “I’ll do it… I’ll take it…” she cried, her voice raw and broken, her body trembling as she fought to obey, the gun’s threat making her shake. “Please… I don’t want to die…” Her words were desperate, her body clenching around him as she tried to appease him, her fear overwhelming.

Drew’s hand swung out again, striking Brandy’s face with a vicious slap, her head snapping to the side as she screamed, fresh blood trickling from her lip. “You don’t get to whine,” he growled, shoving the dildo into Brandy’s mouth now, forcing it deep until she gagged, her sobs muffled as she choked on it. “You’ll take what I give you, or I’ll make you bleed until you do.” He pulled the dildo out, slick with her saliva, and shoved it against her entrance, forcing it inside alongside his cock, stretching her painfully.

Brandy’s scream was piercing, her body convulsing as she sobbed, her tears falling faster as the toy and his cock filled her, the pain unbearable. “It hurts… please, stop…” she begged, her voice breaking, but Drew only laughed, his thrusts brutal as he drove himself and the dildo deeper, her body trembling violently under the assault.

Tessa’s body shook violently, her orgasm forced out of her by sheer pressure, her scream raw and pained as she collapsed against him, her tears soaking his chest. “I’ll obey… I’ll be yours…” she sobbed, her voice wrecked, her body trembling as she clung to him, the gun pressed against her temple now, the dildo still in her mouth, her gagging noises filling the room. Her resistance was fading, her words shifting to submission as the fear broke her.

Drew pulled the dildo from Tessa’s mouth, slick with her saliva, and shoved it into Brandy’s entrance alongside the first, stretching her even further, her scream a wail of agony as her body convulsed. “You’re mine to ruin,” he snarled, spitting into Tessa’s face again, then Brandy’s, their sobs blending into a chorus of broken submission. “You’ll take my seed, or I’ll put a bullet in your skulls.” He pressed the gun harder against Tessa’s throat, the barrel bruising her skin, then swung it to Brandy’s cheek, smacking her with the flat of the barrel, drawing another cry.

Brandy’s cries were a constant wail now, her body trembling as she forced herself to ride him, her face a mess of tears, blood, and spit. “I’m yours… I’ll carry your seed…” she whimpered, her voice shifting to reluctant submission, her body marked by his brutality and the dildos stretching her painfully. “Please… I’ll do anything for you…” Her words were broken, her spirit crumbling under his relentless abuse.

Tessa’s whimpers were softer now, her body shaking as she leaned into him, her eyes glassy with terror and resignation. “I belong to you…” she murmured, her voice trembling, her body trembling as she surrendered completely, her resistance shattered. “I’ll take it… I’ll be your vessel…” Her words were a quiet surrender, her body moving with forced compliance, her spirit broken.

Drew’s thrusts grew brutal, his cock and the dildos pulsing inside them as he drove himself deeper, his grip on the gun unwavering. “You’re nothing but my breeders,” he growled, his voice thick with dominance, spitting into Tessa’s face again, then Brandy’s, their sobs a testament to his control. “You’ll carry my legacy, or I’ll tear you apart.” He slapped Tessa’s ass hard, leaving a welt, her cry sharp as she jolted forward, her body clenching around him.

Brandy’s body convulsed, her orgasm forced out of her by sheer pressure, her scream raw and pained as she collapsed against him, her tears soaking his chest. “I’m yours… I’ll bear your child…” she sobbed, her voice wrecked, her body trembling as the dildos and his cock tore through her, her submission complete despite the pain.

Tessa followed, her cry a broken wail as her body shook, her orgasm reluctant and agonizing, her eyes squeezing shut as she came, her tears and blood mixing on her face. “I’m your vessel…” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and surrender, her body limp as she gave in to his cruelty, her will shattered.

Drew’s hand swung out one final time, striking Brandy’s face with a brutal slap, her head snapping to the side as she screamed, fresh blood trickling from her mouth. “You’re mine,” he roared, his voice a thunderous command, the gun pressed against Tessa’s temple, then Brandy’s, as he spilled into them, his thrusts unrelenting as he filled them with his seed, the dildos still stretching them painfully. “My whores. My vessels. You exist for me.”

Brandy’s sobs were barely audible now, her body trembling as she collapsed against him, her face streaked with tears, blood, and spit. “I’m yours…” she whispered, her voice wrecked, her body broken by his cruelty and the toys inside her, her submission absolute.

Tessa’s cries were silent, her body shaking as she leaned into him, her eyes empty with terror and surrender. “I belong to you…” she murmured, her voice barely audible, her body marked by his violence and her forced compliance, her spirit utterly broken.

Drew leaned back, his chest heaving, the gun still in his hand as he surveyed his conquest, his eyes gleaming with sadistic triumph. “You’ll carry my legacy,” he said, his voice low and menacing, spitting into Brandy’s face one last time, then Tessa’s. “Or I’ll break you until there’s nothing left to break.”

A/N: hope u like it, you request from multifandom men, if i know it and love it, I'll write it. Marvels, Chris evans character's etc.

Wattpad: bornbluevans

[bittersuitee]

Boy Of Your Dreams | John Walker X Bob Reynolds

Top!dominant!john walker x bottom!bob reynolds

Fandom: MCU, Thunderbolts

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Summary: John dominates Bob in a ruined prison, pushing the Sentry’s limits until his power explodes, freeing them both.

Warnings/Tags: Dubcon, daddy kink, explicit sexual content, violence, psychological manipulation, power dynamics, NSFW.

The air in the abandoned prison was thick with damp rot and the faint metallic tang of rusted iron. The flickering light from a single, half-dead bulb cast jagged shadows across the concrete walls, carving out the silhouettes of two men trapped in this forsaken hellhole. John Walker, his jaw clenched tight, paced the narrow cell like a caged predator, his boots echoing with deliberate menace. Across from him, Bob Reynolds sat slumped against the wall, his golden hair dulled by the grime of their confinement, his eyes fixed on the cracked floor as if it held answers he couldn’t grasp.

“You think this is a game, Reynolds?” John’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and venomous. He stopped pacing, turning to face Bob, his broad frame looming in the dim light. “You think you can just sit there, all high and mighty, pretending you’re above this?”

Bob didn’t look up. His fingers twitched slightly, curled into loose fists on his knees, but he stayed silent. The weight of John’s stare pressed into him, heavy and unrelenting.

“I’m talking to you, golden boy.” John took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “The great Sentry, huh? The guy who could rip this place apart with a flick of his wrist. So why are we still here? Why am I stuck in this shithole with you?”

Bob’s lips parted, but no sound came out. His shoulders hunched slightly, as if trying to make himself smaller. John’s eyes narrowed, catching the movement, and a cruel smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” John stepped closer, his boots scuffing against the gritty floor. “Or maybe those powers of yours are just a myth. Maybe you’re nothing but a fraud.”

Bob’s head tilted slightly, his gaze still glued to the floor. “It’s not like that,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, frayed at the edges. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand plenty,” John snapped, his voice rising. He closed the distance between them, towering over Bob now, his shadow swallowing the smaller man. “You’re supposed to be a god, right? So where’s all that power now? Where’s the big, bad Sentry when we’re rotting in this cage?”

Bob’s fingers tightened into fists, his knuckles whitening. “I can’t… I can’t always control it,” he said, his voice strained, like he was forcing the words through a cracked dam. “It’s not something I can just turn on.”

John let out a harsh laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls like a gunshot. “Can’t control it? That’s your excuse?” He crouched down, bringing his face level with Bob’s, his eyes burning with contempt. “You’re pathetic, Reynolds. All that power, and you’re sitting here like a kicked dog.”

Bob flinched, his jaw tightening, but he still wouldn’t meet John’s gaze. His breathing was shallow, uneven, like he was trying to hold something back—something massive, something dangerous.

“Look at me,” John barked, his voice a whipcrack. When Bob didn’t move, John’s hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Bob’s tattered shirt and yanking him forward. “I said, look at me.”

Bob’s head jerked up, his blue eyes wide and unsteady, finally locking with John’s. There was something raw in them, something fractured, like a man staring into a void he couldn’t escape. John’s grip tightened, the fabric straining in his fist.

“You’re nothing,” John hissed, his face inches from Bob’s. “You hear me? Nothing. All that talk about being a god, and you’re just a weak little man who can’t even save himself.”

Bob’s breath hitched, his eyes flickering with something—fear, shame, or maybe something darker. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You don’t know what’s inside me.”

John’s smirk widened, predatory. “Oh, I know exactly what’s inside you. A coward.” He shoved Bob back, hard, pinning him against the cold concrete wall. The impact sent a dull thud echoing through the cell, and a faint crack spiderwebbed across the wall behind Bob’s head.

“Get off me,” Bob said, his voice low but shaking, his hands pushing weakly at John’s chest. There was no strength behind it, no fire, just a man crumbling under the weight of his own existence.

“Make me,” John taunted, leaning in closer, his breath hot against Bob’s face. “Come on, Sentry. Show me those powers. Rip this place apart. Or are they gone? Did they disappear when you decided to be a spineless nobody?”

Bob’s eyes darted away, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I told you, I can’t… I can’t just make it happen,” he said, his voice breaking. “It’s not that simple.”

“Not that simple?” John’s laugh was bitter, cutting. He grabbed Bob by the collar again, yanking him forward before slamming him back against the wall, harder this time. The crack in the concrete widened, dust trickling down like ash. “You’re full of shit, Reynolds. You’re just too weak to do anything about it.”

Bob’s hands scrabbled at John’s wrists, but there was no real fight in him. His eyes were wide, glistening with something that looked dangerously close to tears. “Stop it,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “Please.”

“Please?” John mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. He leaned in, his lips curling into a sneer. “You think begging’s gonna get you out of this? You think I’m gonna let you sit there and play the victim?”

Bob’s head dropped, his gaze falling back to the floor. His whole body seemed to shrink, as if he could disappear into the concrete if he tried hard enough. “You don’t understand,” he mumbled again, his voice hollow. “You don’t know what it’s like to have this… this thing inside you.”

John’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something hungry. “Oh, I know all about things inside,” he said, his voice low and menacing. He pressed himself closer, his body pinning Bob’s against the wall, their chests nearly touching. “And I know how to bring ‘em out.”

Bob’s breath caught, his eyes flickering up to meet John’s for a split second before darting away again. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, laced with panic.

John’s hand shot up, grabbing Bob’s jaw and forcing his head back against the wall. “I’m gonna make you feel something, Reynolds,” he growled, his fingers digging into Bob’s skin. “I’m gonna make you remember who you’re supposed to be.”

Bob’s eyes widened, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “John, don’t—” he started, but the words died in his throat as John’s other hand moved, swift and brutal, grabbing Bob’s crotch with a vice-like grip, fingers clamping down hard on his cock and balls.

Bob let out a strangled cry, a raw mix of pain and something else—something primal, something that sent a shiver through the air. His body arched against the wall, his hands scrabbling at John’s arm, but there was no strength in his grip, no real resistance. His eyes, though—his eyes began to glow, a faint golden light pulsing in their depths, like a storm waking up.

John’s laugh was low, cruel, reverberating through the cell. “There it is,” he said, his voice thick with triumph. He tightened his grip, twisting slightly, and Bob’s cry turned into a desperate, shuddering moan, his body trembling under the onslaught of pain and twisted pleasure. “Look at that. Your powers aren’t gone, are they? They’re right there, just waiting for someone to drag ‘em out of you.”

Bob’s head fell back against the wall, his glowing eyes half-lidded, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. “Stop,” he gasped, but the word was weak, almost lost in the heat of the moment. His hands clutched at John’s arm, but they didn’t push him away—not really.

John leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Bob’s ear as he spoke, his voice a dark, mocking whisper. “You like this, don’t you?” he said, his hand moving now, stroking Bob’s balls with a deliberate, punishing rhythm. “You’re falling apart, and you love it.”

Bob’s moan was louder this time, raw and broken, his body shaking as the golden glow in his eyes flared brighter, casting eerie light across John’s face. “I… I can’t…” he stammered, his voice a wrecked mess of pain and desire, his hips twitching involuntarily against John’s grip.

John’s grin was feral, his eyes locked on Bob’s glowing ones. “Oh, you can,” he said, his hand moving faster, harder, relentless. “And I’m gonna make sure you do.”

Bob’s moans grew shakier, his voice trembling like a frayed wire as he tried to form words, but they came out fractured, barely coherent. “John… please…” His breath hitched, the golden glow in his eyes flickering wildly, casting erratic shadows across the grimy cell walls. His body shuddered against the cracked concrete, pinned by John’s unyielding grip, his hips twitching despite himself.

John’s eyes glinted with a savage kind of glee as he felt the unmistakable hardening under his hand, Bob’s cock stirring beneath the brutal pressure of his fingers. A low, mocking chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Well, well, what’s this?” he taunted, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. “Getting hard for me, Reynolds? You enjoying this a little too much?”

Bob’s face flushed, a mix of shame and something deeper, his eyes squeezing shut as if he could block out John’s words. His voice, when it came, was a broken whisper, trembling with every syllable. “It’s not… I’m not…” But the words faltered, swallowed by another sharp gasp as John’s grip tightened, teasing the sensitive flesh with deliberate cruelty.

“Not what?” John leaned in closer, his breath hot against Bob’s flushed cheek, his voice a venomous purr. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna deny it now. Look at you, falling apart under my hand.” His fingers moved with purpose, stroking Bob’s hardening cock through the fabric, slow and taunting. “What’s the matter, golden boy? You gay or something?”

Bob’s breath caught, his trembling hands clawing weakly at the wall behind him, searching for something to ground himself. “N-no,” he stammered, his voice barely audible, shaking so hard it sounded like it might shatter. “It’s not like that… you don’t—” His words cut off with a choked moan as John’s hand twisted, sending a jolt of pain and twisted pleasure through him.

“Oh, it’s exactly like that,” John sneered, his eyes blazing now, a manic intensity burning in their depths. The thrill of it—the raw power of breaking Bob down, of dragging that godlike strength out of him—set his pulse racing, his own excitement evident in the tightening of his jaw, the way his pupils dilated. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? Big, powerful Sentry, reduced to a whimpering mess. Bet you’d love it if a big, strong guy like me fucked you right now, huh?”

Bob’s eyes snapped open, the golden glow flaring brighter, almost blinding in the dim cell, but his expression was a wreck of conflict—pain, shame, and something dangerously close to surrender. “Stop it,” he gasped, his voice trembling so violently it cracked. “You… you don’t know what you’re doing…”

John’s laugh was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” he said, his hand never slowing, never easing up, each stroke calculated to push Bob further into that fractured edge. “I’m waking you up, Reynolds. Bringing that power out. And you’re gonna thank me for it.”

Bob’s body shook, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his hands scrabbling uselessly against the wall. “I can’t… I can’t control it…” he whispered, his voice a trembling plea, but there was no conviction left in it, only raw, exposed vulnerability.

John’s eyes gleamed brighter, the thrill of dominance coursing through him like a drug. He could feel it—the shift in the air, the crackle of something immense stirring inside Bob, teetering on the edge of release. “You don’t need to control it,” he growled, his voice thick with exhilaration. “I’m doing that for you.”

In a sudden, bold move, John grabbed Bob’s trembling hand, yanking it from the wall and forcing it down to his own crotch, pressing Bob’s palm against the hard bulge straining against his pants. “Feel that,” John hissed, his voice low and commanding, his eyes locked on Bob’s glowing ones. “That’s what you’re doing to me, golden boy. You’re not the only one losing control.”

Bob’s hand shook violently against John’s cock, his fingers twitching as if caught between pulling away and giving in. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, his eyes wide and unseeing, the golden light pulsing erratically. “John…” he whispered, his voice so fragile it barely carried, trembling with a mix of fear and something hotter, something that made his whole body quiver.

“Shut up,” John snapped, his hand tightening on Bob’s cock, stroking harder, more deliberately, relishing the way Bob’s moans grew louder, more broken. “You feel that power coming back, don’t you? You feel it waking up.” His own voice was rough now, edged with the thrill of it, the realization that he was pulling something primal out of Bob, something unstoppable.

Bob’s head fell back against the wall, a low, shuddering moan escaping his lips as his glowing eyes flickered, the light surging brighter with every punishing stroke of John’s hand. “I… I can’t stop it…” he gasped, his trembling hand still pressed against John’s hardness, his fingers twitching but not pulling away.

“Good,” John growled, his eyes blazing with triumph, his own arousal evident in the way his breath hitched, the way his body pressed closer, pinning Bob even harder against the wall. “Let it out, Reynolds. Let me see it.” His hand moved faster, merciless, pushing Bob toward a breaking point neither of them could predict.

Bob’s moans grew louder, raw and unrestrained, spilling from his lips in broken, shuddering waves. His eyes rolled back, the golden glow flickering wildly, like a dying star on the verge of collapse. His entire body trembled, muscles twitching uncontrollably as he sagged against the cracked concrete wall, pinned by John’s relentless presence. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, each one laced with a mix of pain, shame, and undeniable need.

John’s lips curled into a wicked grin, his eyes blazing with a predatory intensity that seemed to drink in Bob’s unraveling. “Look at you,” he sneered, his voice thick with cruel satisfaction. “Falling apart like this. You’re a fucking mess, Reynolds.” He leaned in closer, his face inches from Bob’s, and without warning, he spat directly into Bob’s open, gasping mouth, the act raw and degrading.

Bob flinched, a choked whimper escaping him, but his trembling body didn’t pull away. His glowing eyes fluttered, half-lidded, as the humiliation sank into him, mingling with the heat pooling in his core. Before he could react, John’s mouth crashed against his, rough and possessive, his tongue forcing its way past Bob’s lips. John kissed him like he was claiming territory, his tongue thrusting deep, fucking Bob’s mouth with a brutal, unrelenting rhythm.

Bob’s moan vibrated against John’s lips, his body going slack as he surrendered, helpless under the onslaught. His trembling hands clutched weakly at John’s shoulders, not to push him away but to hold on, as if John was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. His mind screamed to resist, but his body betrayed him, melting into the heat of John’s dominance.

“John…” Bob’s voice was a wrecked whisper, barely audible between the gasps and moans as John pulled back just enough to let him breathe. His eyes, still glowing faintly, were glazed with desperation. “Please… I… I want you to…” He swallowed hard, his voice shaking as he forced the words out. “I want you to fuck me.”

John’s laugh was low, triumphant, his ego swelling like a storm cloud ready to burst. “Hear that, golden boy?” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “The mighty Sentry, begging for me. You think you’re worthy of me?” He leaned in close again, his breath hot against Bob’s ear. “I’m John fucking Walker. The man who breaks gods. You’re nothing compared to me.”

Bob’s trembling intensified, his body quaking under the weight of John’s words, his cock throbbing painfully under John’s unrelenting grip. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, his moans spilling out in a continuous, broken stream as he clung to John, his surrender complete.

John’s eyes gleamed with sadistic delight, his hand still pressed against Bob’s cock through the thin fabric of his pants. “Not yet,” he growled, his voice thick with control. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Reynolds. Not until you’re really begging for it. Not until you’re screaming my name like the pathetic little thing you are.”

With a sudden, rough movement, John’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of Bob’s tattered sweatpants, his fingers brushing against the heated skin of Bob’s cock. He paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build, then spat into his palm, the wet sound echoing in the cell. His hand wrapped around Bob’s throbbing length, slick with spit, and he began to stroke, slow and deliberate, each movement calculated to drive Bob to the edge.

“Look at you, baby,” John purred, his voice dropping to a dark, mocking drawl as he leaned in close, his lips brushing Bob’s ear. “You like it when Daddy takes care of you, don’t you?” His hand moved faster, his grip tight and unrelenting, jerking Bob off with a rhythm that was both punishing and intoxicating.

Bob’s moans turned into desperate, keening cries, his body arching into John’s touch despite himself. “Y-yes…” he gasped, his voice trembling so violently it barely held together. “Daddy… please…” The word slipped out, raw and unfiltered, and his face burned with shame, but he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the way his body responded to John’s cruel dominance.

John’s grin widened, his ego soaring as he heard the word fall from Bob’s lips. “That’s right,” he growled, his hand working Bob’s cock with ruthless precision, his spit-slick fingers gliding over the sensitive skin. “Say it again. Tell Daddy how much you need this.”

Bob’s head fell back against the wall, his glowing eyes rolling back again as his body shook uncontrollably. “Daddy…” he whimpered, his voice a broken sob, his hips bucking involuntarily into John’s hand. “I… I need it… please…”

John’s laugh was dark, victorious, his eyes burning with the thrill of absolute control. “Good boy,” he said, his voice low and dripping with condescension. “Look at you, falling apart for Daddy. You’re mine now, Reynolds.” His hand moved faster, harder, pushing Bob closer to the edge, each stroke a reminder of who was in charge.

Bob’s moans grew louder, more desperate, his body trembling so violently it seemed like he might shatter. His glowing eyes flickered, the light surging and fading in time with John’s punishing rhythm, his entire being reduced to the sensations John was forcing on him. “Daddy… I can’t…” he gasped, his voice a wrecked, trembling mess.

“You can,” John snarled, his hand relentless, his eyes locked on Bob’s glowing ones. “You’re gonna come for Daddy, aren’t you? Gonna show me just how weak you are.” His strokes were merciless now, driving Bob toward a breaking point, his spit-slick hand working Bob’s cock with a cruel, unrelenting intensity.

Bob’s cries filled the cell, raw and primal, his body quaking as he teetered on the edge of release, his glowing eyes blazing brighter than ever. “Daddy… please…” he sobbed, his voice trembling with a mix of pain, shame, and searing desire, his entire being surrendered to John’s control.

Bob’s cries reached a fever pitch, raw and guttural, his trembling body pushed beyond its limits. His glowing eyes flared brighter, the golden light pulsing erratically, like a star about to go supernova. His hips bucked wildly into John’s spit-slick hand, his moans fracturing into desperate, incoherent sobs. “Daddy… I—I can’t—” he gasped, his voice a shattered whisper, trembling with the weight of his surrender.

John’s grin was feral, his eyes burning with sadistic triumph as he felt Bob’s cock throb harder under his grip. “That’s it, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with dominance. “Come for Daddy. Show me how fucking weak you are.” His hand moved faster, relentless, stroking Bob with a cruel precision that left no room for resistance.

Bob’s body convulsed, his head slamming back against the cracked concrete wall as a final, broken moan tore from his throat. His glowing eyes blazed with blinding intensity, and in that moment, something snapped inside him. His orgasm hit like a tidal wave, his cock pulsing in John’s hand, but it was more than just release—it was a surge, a raw, uncontainable flood of power rushing through his veins. The golden light in his eyes exploded outward, flooding the cell with a radiant, searing glow.

“Fuck—” John’s curse was cut off as the energy erupted from Bob’s body, a shockwave of pure, godlike force that hit like a bomb. The concrete walls of the cell shattered, cracks splintering outward in a deafening roar as the entire structure buckled. The ground shook violently, metal bars twisting like paper, and the air itself seemed to scream with the unleashed power of the Sentry.

John was thrown back, his body slamming into the opposite wall with a grunt, his grip on Bob ripped away by the sheer force of the blast. Dust and debris rained down, the flickering bulb above exploding in a shower of sparks. The prison, already crumbling from neglect, began to collapse in on itself, chunks of concrete and steel crashing to the ground as the shockwave tore through the facility.

Bob staggered forward, his body still trembling, his glowing eyes wide and unfocused, the golden light slowly fading but leaving an afterimage burned into the air. His chest heaved, his breath ragged, as the last of his release left him shaking, his sweatpants clinging to his thighs, slick with his own cum. But he was free—*they* were free. The cell was gone, reduced to rubble, the walls blown apart to reveal the dark, open sky beyond.

John coughed, pushing himself up from the debris, his uniform torn and his face streaked with dust. His eyes locked on Bob, a mix of awe and lingering arrogance flickering in them. “Well, damn, golden boy,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but still carrying that mocking edge. “Guess you had it in you after all.”

Bob’s legs buckled, and he sank to his knees in the wreckage, his hands trembling as they pressed against the broken ground. His voice was barely a whisper, still shaking from the intensity of what had just happened. “I… I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, his glowing eyes dimming, his body spent from the surge of power that had torn through him.

John staggered to his feet, brushing off the dust, his ego still intact despite the chaos. “Don’t go soft on me now, Reynolds,” he said, his voice regaining its sharp edge as he stepped over the rubble toward Bob. “You just blew this place to hell. That’s the Sentry I was looking for.” His lips curled into a smirk, his eyes glinting with a twisted kind of pride. “Daddy’s proud of you.”

Bob’s head jerked up, his face flushing with a mix of shame and exhaustion, but he couldn’t meet John’s gaze. The golden light in his eyes had faded to a faint glimmer, leaving him looking more human, more broken, than ever before. “We’re… we’re out,” he whispered, his voice trembling, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

John glanced around at the ruined prison, the shattered walls and twisted metal, then back at Bob. “Yeah, we’re out,” he said, his tone almost casual, but his eyes burned with the thrill of what he’d unleashed. “And you’re gonna remember who got you there, aren’t you, baby?”

Bob didn’t answer, his trembling hands curling into fists as he stared at the ground, the weight of his power—and what it had cost him—settling into his bones. The night air was cold against his skin, but the heat of John’s presence still lingered, a reminder of the line they’d crossed and the freedom it had bought them.

Author’s Note: OMG, y’all, I’m SCREAMING writing this John Walker/Bob Reynolds chaos! This one-shot is pure, unhinged tension—hope you’re as feral for their toxic vibes as I am! Drop a comment if you’re obsessed, I need to yell about this with you!

Wattpad: bornbluevans.

[bittersuitee]

Husband | Sebastian Stan x reader

Summary: Your husband Sebastian comes home tired and late, and punishes you with his dick for not serving him as your wife.

Warnings: Explicit smut, M/F, dom/sub dynamics, rough oral sex, spanking, spit kink, precum play, gagging with clothing, alcohol use, smoking, possessive language, 18+ only.

Wattpad: bornbluevans

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside, the distant honk of a car cutting through the evening stillness. The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting shadows across the worn leather couch and the cluttered coffee table. The air carried a faint trace of lavender from a candle you’d lit earlier, but it was quickly overtaken by the sharp, unmistakable scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke as the front door swung open. Sebastian Stan stumbled in, his broad frame filling the doorway, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his leather jacket hanging loosely over a black t-shirt. His blue eyes, usually sharp and playful, were glazed, a telltale sign he’d had a few drinks after the long day on set.

He kicked the door shut behind him, the sound echoing in the small space, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he tossed his keys onto the counter with a clatter. His voice was rough, tinged with exhaustion and the slight slur of alcohol. He leaned against the wall, his tall frame slouching slightly, his eyes scanning the apartment before landing on you, curled up on the couch with a book.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, carrying a mix of irritation and expectation. “You got anything to eat? I’m fuckin’ starving.” His words were sharp, his Brooklyn accent thicker than usual, the alcohol loosening his tongue.

You looked up, your heart giving a small lurch at the sight of him—rugged, a little rough around the edges, the faint scent of smoke clinging to him like a second skin. “I… I didn’t get a chance to make anything,” you admitted, your voice soft, hesitant. “It’s been a long day, Seb. I was going to order something, but—”

“Order something?” he cut you off, his voice rising, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You’ve been home all fuckin’ day, and you couldn’t even cook for your husband?” He straightened, his eyes narrowing, a mix of frustration and intoxication sharpening his tone. “I’m out there bustin’ my ass on set, dealin’ with directors who don’t know shit, and you can’t even throw together a damn meal?”

Your cheeks flushed, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. You set the book down, standing to meet his gaze, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “Seb, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice steady but soft, trying to diffuse the tension. “I got caught up with some things. Let me make it up to you, okay? Come sit down, you look exhausted.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking over you, assessing, the alcohol making his temper flare but also softening his edges. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ exhausted,” he muttered, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. “Fine. Whatever.” He moved toward the couch, his steps heavy, his body radiating a restless energy as he dropped onto the cushions, spreading his legs wide, his hands resting on his thighs.

You hesitated, then stepped closer, your voice gentle. “Let me help you relax, okay? You’ve had a rough day.” You reached out, your hand brushing his arm, but he caught your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, his eyes locking onto yours with a dark, commanding intensity.

“Relax, huh?” he said, his voice low, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You wanna make it up to me, babe? Then do somethin’ useful.” He leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours, the alcohol making his words bolder, rougher. “Take my boots off. My feet are fuckin’ killing me. Do it.”

Your breath caught, a flush creeping up your neck at the authority in his tone. You nodded, swallowing hard, and knelt in front of him, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for his boots. The leather was worn, scuffed from the day’s work, and you carefully unlaced them, pulling them off one by one, setting them aside. His socks followed, revealing his feet, and you glanced up, catching the way he watched you, his gaze heavy, possessive.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his smirk widening as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Now get some warm water. You’re gonna massage my feet. Show your husband some goddamn service for once.”

Your heart raced, a mix of nerves and something warmer stirring in your chest at his commanding tone. “Okay, Seb,” you said softly, standing to fetch a bowl from the kitchen. You filled it with warm water, grabbing a towel and a bottle of scented oil, your hands shaking slightly as you returned. He was still sprawled on the couch, his eyes tracking your every move, a cigarette dangling unlit between his fingers, the faint scent of tobacco lingering.

You knelt again, setting the bowl at his feet, dipping the towel into the warm water. “Here,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, your hands reaching for his feet, guiding them into the bowl. The water sloshed gently, the heat easing the tension in his muscles as you began to rub, your fingers tentative at first, pressing against his arches.

Sebastian let out a low groan, his head tipping back, his eyes half-closing. “Fuck, that’s better,” he muttered, his voice rough, the alcohol softening his edges but not his dominance. “So, tell me, babe—what’d you do all day while I was out there dealin’ with a shitshow?”

You swallowed, your fingers working the oil into his skin, massaging slowly, carefully. “Just… errands, mostly,” you said, your voice soft, your eyes flicking up to meet his. “Cleaned a bit, read some. Nothing exciting. How was your day, Seb? You sound… stressed.”

“Stressed?” he scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping as he lit the cigarette, taking a drag and exhaling a plume of smoke that curled in the dim light. “Fuckin’ understatement. Director’s an asshole, kept reshootin’ the same scene ‘cause he couldn’t make up his damn mind. Crew’s runnin’ around like headless chickens, and I’m stuck in a fuckin’ trailer for hours, waitin’ for ‘em to figure their shit out.” He took another drag, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at you, his voice dropping. “You’re doin’ it too soft, babe. Put some fuckin’ effort into it. Make it feel good.”

You nodded quickly, your hands pressing harder, kneading his feet with more force, the warm water sloshing slightly. “Sorry, Seb,” you murmured, your fingers digging into his arches, working the tension out. “Like this?”

He groaned again, deeper this time, his head tipping back as he took another drag, the cigarette glowing faintly. “Yeah, like that,” he said, his voice rough but approving, his eyes flicking down to you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Fuck, you look good down there, babe. On your knees for your husband. Should’ve had you like this all day.”

Your cheeks flushed, your hands faltering for a moment before you resumed, pressing harder, your fingers slick with oil. His words sent a shiver through you, a mix of embarrassment and heat pooling in your core. “Seb…” you murmured, your voice shy, your eyes darting up to meet his, catching the dark, hungry look in them.

“Don’t ‘Seb’ me,” he said, his voice low, commanding, his smirk widening as he leaned forward, his cigarette dangling between his fingers. “You didn’t cook for me, so you’re gonna make it up another way. Keep goin’. Harder.” His eyes locked onto yours, his gaze intense, dominant, making your heart race.

You obeyed, your hands working with more intensity, kneading the muscles of his feet, the warm water and oil making your fingers glide smoothly. He let out another groan, his lips parting, his teeth grazing his lower lip as he watched you, his eyes glinting with approval. “Fuck, yeah, that’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek, his thumb lingering on your skin. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your breath hitched, the praise sending a wave of heat through you, your hands trembling slightly as you continued, your fingers pressing deeper. His foot flexed under your touch, his toes curling, and you glanced up, catching the way his eyes darkened, his lips parting as he bit them, his gaze never leaving you.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice rough, his hand dropping to his lap, his fingers brushing the bulge in his jeans, the fabric straining. “You’re gettin’ me hard just sittin’ there, babe. Look at you, all sweet and obedient.” His hand moved to his zipper, the sound slow, deliberate, as he pulled it down, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to look away.

You froze, your hands stilling on his feet, your eyes widening as he freed himself, his cock springing free, thick and hard, the tip glistening with precum. He wrapped his hand around it, stroking slowly, his smirk widening as he watched your reaction. “Keep goin’,” he ordered, his voice a low growl. “Don’t stop massagin’. You’re doin’ good.”

Your heart pounded, your hands resuming their work, your fingers trembling as you kneaded his feet, your eyes darting between his face and the slow, deliberate strokes of his hand. “Seb…” you whispered, your voice shaky, a mix of nerves and heat coursing through you.

“Shut up,” he said, his voice sharp but laced with amusement, his hand moving faster, his eyes burning into yours. “You didn’t make me dinner, babe. You’re gonna make it up to me.” He leaned forward, his free hand gripping your chin, tilting your face up. “Get over here. Now.”

Your breath caught, your hands falling from his feet as he tugged you closer, the bowl of water sloshing slightly. You shuffled forward on your knees, your heart racing as he guided you between his legs, his cock inches from your face, his hand still stroking slowly, deliberately. “You fucked up, babe,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, his smirk dark. “No dinner for your husband? You’re gonna pay for that.”

“Seb, I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice trembling, your hands resting on his thighs, feeling the heat of his skin through his jeans. “Let me make it right…”

“Oh, you will,” he growled, his hand tightening on your chin, his thumb brushing your lips, parting them. “You’re gonna make it real fuckin’ right. Open your mouth.” His eyes were dark, commanding, his dominance overwhelming as he guided his cock to your lips, the tip brushing against them, slick with precum.

You hesitated, your cheeks flushing, but his grip on your chin tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t make me ask twice,” he said, his voice a low snarl, his hand stroking himself faster, the sight making your core clench. “Suck it, babe. Show your husband you’re sorry.”

You obeyed, your lips parting, taking him into your mouth, the taste of him sharp, salty, mixed with the faint bitterness of whiskey. He groaned, his head tipping back, his hand sliding to your hair, gripping tightly as you moved, your tongue swirling around the tip, your hands gripping his thighs for balance.

“Fuck, yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough, his hips bucking slightly, pushing himself deeper. “That’s it, babe. Take it all. Show me you’re mine.” His hand tightened in your hair, guiding your movements, his dominance absolute as he watched you, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

You moaned softly, the sound muffled, your tongue working him, your lips stretching around his thickness. His groans grew louder, his hand tugging your hair, setting a rhythm that was both punishing and needy. “Goddamn, you look good like this,” he growled, his voice thick with lust, his cigarette forgotten on the coffee table, the smoke curling lazily in the air. “On your knees, suckin’ your husband’s cock. Should’ve had you like this all fuckin’ day.”

Your cheeks burned, the heat between your legs growing as his words washed over you, his dominance making your body respond despite the shame. You moved faster, your tongue teasing the underside, your hands sliding up his thighs, feeling the tension in his muscles.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice rough, his hand tightening in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp around him. “But you can do better. Deeper, babe. Take it all.” He thrust forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, your eyes watering as you struggled to take him.

He groaned, his hips rocking, his hand holding you in place as he fucked your mouth, slow but relentless. “That’s it,” he growled, his voice thick, his eyes locked on yours, watching the tears spill down your cheeks. “Fuckin’ take it. You owe me, babe. No dinner? This is your punishment.”

You whimpered, the sound muffled, your hands gripping his thighs tighter, your body trembling with a mix of submission and desire. His dominance was overwhelming, his voice, his touch, his scent—all of it consuming you as you worked to please him, your lips and tongue moving faster, desperate to make him feel good.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice breaking, his hips bucking harder, his cock throbbing in your mouth. “You’re fuckin’ perfect like this. My good little wife, makin’ up for her fuck-up.” His hand slid to your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear, his touch both possessive and mocking. “Keep goin’. Don’t stop ‘til I tell you.”

You nodded as best you could, your mouth full, your eyes locked on his, the intensity of his gaze making your core ache. His groans grew louder, his hips moving faster, the rhythm punishing, his dominance absolute as he claimed your mouth, his pleasure building with every stroke.

“Fuck, babe,” he growled, his voice raw, his hand tightening in your hair, pulling you closer, his cock hitting the back of your throat again. “You’re gonna make me come like this. You want that? Want your husband’s cum down your throat?”

You moaned, the sound vibrating around him, your hands gripping his thighs, your body trembling with need. His words, his dominance, his roughness—it was all too much, pushing you to the edge without him even touching you. You moved faster, your tongue swirling, your lips tight, desperate to please him, to make up for your mistake.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his hips bucking hard, his release crashing through him. He held you in place, his cock pulsing in your mouth, his cum hot and thick as it spilled down your throat, his groans filling the room, raw and unfiltered. “Swallow it,” he ordered, his voice a low snarl, his hand tightening in your hair. “Every fuckin’ drop.”

You obeyed, swallowing hard, your eyes watering, your body trembling as you took everything he gave you. He groaned again, his hips slowing, his hand loosening in your hair, his touch softening as he watched you, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough but approving, his hand sliding to your cheek, his thumb brushing your lips, smearing the remnants of his cum. “Fuck, you did good, babe. Real fuckin’ good.” He leaned back, his chest heaving, his eyes never leaving yours, the cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air.

You sat back on your heels, your breath ragged, your cheeks flushed, your body buzzing with a mix of shame and desire. “Seb…” you murmured, your voice shaky, your hands resting on your thighs, unsure what to do next.

He smirked, his eyes dark, still heavy with the afterglow. “Don’t think you’re done, babe,” he said, his voice low, teasing, but laced with that same commanding edge. “You still owe me for that dinner. Get up here.” He patted his lap, his smirk widening, his dominance unshaken.

You hesitated, your heart racing, but his gaze was unrelenting, pulling you in. You stood, your legs shaky, and climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your hands resting on his shoulders. His hands slid to your hips, gripping hard, his eyes locking onto yours, his smirk dark and possessive.

“You’re mine, babe,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. “No more fuckin’ up, you hear me? You take care of your husband.” His lips brushed yours, a teasing, possessive kiss, his hands tightening on your hips, making you gasp.

“I will,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your body pressed against his, the heat of him overwhelming. “I’m sorry, Seb. I’ll make it right.”

“Damn right you will,” he growled, his lips crashing against yours, the kiss hard, claiming, his hands roaming your body, possessive and unrelenting. “You’re gonna make it up to me all fuckin’ night.”

His hands slid under your shirt, pulling it up, his fingers brushing your skin, sending shivers through you. “Get this off,” he ordered, his voice a low snarl, his eyes burning into yours. “I wanna see you, babe. All of you.”

You obeyed, pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, your breath hitching as his hands roamed your bare skin, his touch rough but deliberate, his eyes dark with want. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice thick, his hands sliding to your bra, unclasping it with a flick of his fingers, letting it fall.

His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing your nipples, making you gasp, your body arching into his touch. “You like that, huh?” he taunted, his voice rough, his lips curling into a smirk. “My good little wife, gettin’ all worked up for her husband.”

“Seb…” you moaned, your voice soft, your hands gripping his shoulders, your body trembling under his touch. His dominance, his roughness, his words—they were all consuming you, making your core ache with need.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips brushing your neck, his teeth grazing the skin, marking you. “You’re gonna take what I give you, babe. Every fuckin’ thing.” His hands slid to your pants, unbuttoning them, pushing them down, his touch possessive, claiming.

You whimpered, your body responding to his every touch, your hips rocking against him, desperate for more. “Please, Seb…” you whispered, your voice breaking, your hands sliding to his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the strength beneath.

He growled, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer, his cock hardening again against your thigh, the heat of it making you gasp. “You want it?” he taunted, his voice a low snarl, his lips brushing yours. “Beg for it, babe. Tell your husband how bad you need him.”

“Please, Seb,” you moaned, your voice desperate, your body trembling with need. “I need you… need you so bad…”

“Fuck, that’s what I like to hear,” he growled, his hands sliding to your ass, gripping hard, pulling you against him. “You’re mine, babe. All fuckin’ mine.” His lips crashed against yours, the kiss hard, hungry, his dominance absolute as he claimed you, body and soul, in the dim light of the apartment, the scent of whiskey and smoke lingering in the air.

Sebastian’s lips curled into a dark, possessive smirk as he held you on his lap, your body trembling against his, bare and vulnerable in the dim glow of the lamp-lit apartment. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey, cigarette smoke, and the raw musk of desire, the city’s distant hum a faint backdrop to the charged silence between you. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin, bruising, claiming, his cock hard against your thigh, the heat of it sending shivers through you. His blue eyes, still glazed from the alcohol, burned with a mix of lust and dominance, his breath heavy, ragged, as he leaned closer, his lips brushing yours in a teasing, taunting kiss.

“Fuck, you’re perfect like this,” he growled, his voice rough, thick with want, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. “All mine, babe. My good little wife, ready to make it up to me.” He spat, the warm saliva landing on your chest, dripping down between your breasts, the act degrading but igniting a fire in your core. “You’re gonna serve your husband right, aren’t you?”

You nodded, your breath hitching, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. “Yes, Seb,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your body arching into his touch, desperate for more despite the shame burning in your chest. “I’ll do anything… I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you are,” he snarled, his hands cupping your breasts, squeezing hard, his thumbs circling your nipples with a deliberate roughness that made you gasp. “No fuckin’ dinner? You’re gonna pay for that, babe.” He spat again, the saliva hitting your nipple, slick and warm, his fingers pinching the sensitive bud, twisting just enough to make you whimper, the pain mingling with pleasure. “Say it. Say you’re my good little wife.”

“I’m your good little wife,” you moaned, your voice breaking, your body trembling under his touch, his dominance overwhelming. “I’m yours, Seb… please…”

He chuckled, dark and low, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Not good enough,” he growled, his fingers tightening on your nipples, pulling, making you cry out, your body arching against him. “Say you’ll serve me. Say you’ll do whatever your husband wants.”

“I’ll serve you,” you gasped, your voice desperate, your hands clawing at his shoulders, the pain from his fingers shooting through you, making your core clench. “I’ll do whatever you want, Seb… I’m yours.”

“Fuck, yeah, you are,” he murmured, his voice thick with approval, his hands relentless, pinching and twisting your nipples, the pain sharp but pushing you closer to the edge. He spat again, the saliva landing on your other breast, dripping down, his fingers smearing it across your skin, marking you. “Gonna make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

Your whimpers grew louder, your body trembling, your hips rocking against him, the heat of his cock against your thigh unbearable. “Seb… please…” you moaned, your voice raw, your eyes locked on his, pleading for relief, for more.

He smirked, his hands sliding to your hips, lifting you slightly, positioning you over his cock, the tip brushing your entrance, slick with precum and his spit. “You want this?” he taunted, his voice a low snarl, his eyes burning into yours. “You want your husband’s cock, babe? Beg for it.”

“Please, Seb,” you whimpered, your voice breaking, your hands gripping his shoulders, your body trembling with need. “I need you… need your cock… please, fuck me…”

“Fuck, that’s what I like to hear,” he growled, his hands tightening on your hips, pulling you down hard, impaling you on his cock in one brutal thrust. You cried out, your body jolting, the stretch overwhelming, the pleasure and pain colliding as he filled you completely. “Bounce, babe,” he ordered, his voice rough, his hands guiding your hips. “Ride your husband’s cock like you fuckin’ mean it.”

You obeyed, your hips moving, bouncing on his cock, the rhythm fast, desperate, the sound of skin against skin filling the apartment, raw and unfiltered. His hands gripped your hips, bruising, controlling your movements, his eyes locked on yours, dark with lust. He spat again, the saliva hitting your chest, dripping down, his hands sliding back to your breasts, pinching your nipples hard, making you cry out, your body trembling.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, his voice thick, his hands relentless, twisting and pulling your nipples, the pain sharp, pushing you closer to the edge. “Bouncin’ on my cock, takin’ it so good. Say it again, babe. Tell me you’re my good little wife.”

“I’m your good little wife,” you moaned, your voice hoarse, your hips moving faster, his cock hitting deep, the pleasure overwhelming. “I’m yours, Seb… all yours…”

He groaned, his hands tightening on your breasts, his fingers pinching harder, the pain making you gasp, your body trembling. “Fuckin’ right you are,” he snarled, spitting again, the saliva landing on your neck, dripping down, his hands smearing it across your skin, marking you as his. “Keep bouncin’, babe. Show me you’re sorry.”

You whimpered, your hips moving faster, your body rocking on his cock, the pleasure building, unstoppable. His hands were relentless, torturing your breasts, pinching and twisting, the pain mixing with the pleasure of his cock inside you, driving you to the edge. “Seb… fuck, it’s too much…” you moaned, your voice breaking, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in.

“Too much?” he taunted, his voice a low growl, his hands not letting up, his fingers pinching your nipples harder, making you cry out. “You don’t get to say that, babe. You didn’t make dinner, so you take what I give you.” He spat again, the saliva hitting your cheek, his hand smearing it across your face, the act degrading but making your core clench tighter around him.

“Say you love it,” he ordered, his voice rough, his hands relentless, his cock thrusting up to meet your movements, the rhythm brutal, punishing. “Say you love servin’ your husband.”

“I love it,” you gasped, your voice desperate, your body trembling, your hips bouncing harder, his cock hitting deep, the pleasure overwhelming. “I love servin’ you, Seb… love bein’ yours…”

“Fuck, yeah,” he growled, his hands sliding to your hips, guiding you faster, his cock throbbing inside you, his eyes burning with dominance. “You’re mine, babe. My perfect little wife, takin’ my cock like you were made for it.” He spat again, the saliva landing on your chest, dripping down, his hands smearing it across your breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples again, making you scream.

Your body trembled, the pain and pleasure colliding, your climax building, unstoppable. “Seb… fuck, I’m gonna…” you moaned, your voice hoarse, your hips moving faster, desperate, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you.

“Not yet,” he snarled, his hands tightening on your hips, his fingers digging in, bruising. “You come when I say, babe. Not before.” He spat again, the saliva hitting your neck, his hand smearing it across your skin, his dominance absolute. “Say you’re my good little slut.”

“I’m your good little slut,” you moaned, your voice breaking, your body trembling, your hips bouncing on his cock, the pleasure overwhelming, his words pushing you closer to the edge. “I’m yours, Seb… please…”

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, his hands sliding back to your breasts, pinching your nipples hard, twisting, the pain sharp, making you cry out. “Keep sayin’ it, babe. Tell me you’re my slut while you ride my cock.”

“I’m your slut,” you gasped, your voice desperate, your body shaking, your hips moving faster, his cock hitting deep, the pleasure consuming you. “I’m your good little slut, Seb… all yours…”

He groaned, his hands relentless, torturing your breasts, his fingers pinching and twisting, the pain pushing you to the edge. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick, his cock throbbing inside you, his hips thrusting up to meet your movements. “Gonna make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

You whimpered, your body trembling, your climax so close you could barely breathe. “Seb… please…” you moaned, your voice raw, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in, your body desperate for release.

He spat again, the saliva landing on your chest, dripping down, his hands smearing it across your skin, marking you as his. “You wanna come?” he taunted, his voice a low snarl, his hands relentless, pinching your nipples harder, making you scream. “Beg for it, babe. Beg your husband to let you come.”

“Please, Seb,” you moaned, your voice desperate, your hips bouncing harder, his cock hitting deep, the pleasure overwhelming. “Please let me come… I need it… I’m yours…”

“Fuck, yeah,” he growled, his hands tightening on your hips, guiding you faster, his cock throbbing inside you, his eyes burning with dominance. “Come for me, babe. Come on your husband’s cock.”

Your climax hit hard, a raw scream tearing from your throat as your body convulsed, your core clenching around him, the pleasure consuming you. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, your body trembling as you rode out the waves, his cock still thrusting inside you, relentless.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his hands sliding to your ass, gripping hard, smacking the flesh, the sound echoing in the apartment. “My good little wife, comin’ so fuckin’ hard for me.” He spat again, the saliva landing on your neck, his hand smearing it across your skin, his dominance unyielding.

You whimpered, your body oversensitive, your hips slowing, but he didn’t let up, his hands guiding you, making you bounce faster, his cock hitting deep, the rhythm punishing. “You’re not done,” he growled, his voice rough, his hands smacking your ass again, the sting making you gasp. “Gonna fuck you ‘til I’m ready, babe.”

“Seb…” you moaned, your voice weak, your body trembling, the pleasure and pain overwhelming. “I can’t… it’s too much…”

“Too much?” he taunted, his voice a low snarl, his hands gripping your hips, lifting you, making you bounce harder. “You don’t get to decide, babe. You’re mine. You take what I give you.” He spat again, the saliva hitting your chest, dripping down, his hands smearing it across your breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples again, making you cry out.

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice rough, his cock thrusting up to meet your movements, the rhythm brutal, punishing. “Say you’re my good little slut, and you’ll take anything I give you.”

“I’m your good little slut,” you moaned, your voice desperate, your body trembling, your hips bouncing on his cock, the pleasure consuming you. “I’ll take anything you give me, Seb… anything…”

“Fuck, yeah,” he growled, his hands relentless, torturing your breasts, pinching and twisting, the pain pushing you to the edge again. “Gonna make you mine in every fuckin’ way, babe.” He spat again, the saliva landing on your cheek, his hand smearing it across your face, the act degrading but making your core clench tighter around him.

Your body trembled, another climax building, the intensity overwhelming, his cock hitting deep, his hands punishing your breasts, his dominance consuming you. “Seb… fuck, I’m gonna…” you moaned, your voice breaking, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in.

“Come again,” he ordered, his voice a low snarl, his hands tightening on your hips, guiding you faster, his cock throbbing inside you. “Come on my cock, babe. Show me you’re mine.”

Your climax hit again, a raw cry escaping your lips as your body convulsed, your core clenching around him, the pleasure overwhelming. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body trembling, your hips slowing as you rode out the waves, his cock still thrusting inside you, relentless.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his hands sliding to your ass, gripping hard, smacking the flesh again, the sound echoing in the apartment. “My perfect little wife, takin’ my cock like you were made for it.”

He spat again, the saliva landing on your chest, dripping down, his hands smearing it across your skin, marking you as his. “Gonna fill you up, babe,” he growled, his voice thick, his hips thrusting harder, his cock throbbing inside you. “Gonna fuck a baby into you. Make sure you’re mine forever.”

Your breath caught, your body trembling, the thought of him claiming you so completely sending a shiver through you. “Seb… fuck…” you moaned, your voice weak, your body oversensitive but responding to his words, his dominance.

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice a low snarl, his hands gripping your hips, making you bounce harder, his cock hitting deep. “Say you want my baby. Say you want me to fill you up.”

“I want your baby,” you moaned, your voice desperate, your body trembling, your hips moving faster, his cock driving deep, the pleasure consuming you. “Fill me up, Seb… please…”

“Fuck, yeah,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his thrusts growing erratic, his hands gripping your hips, bruising, claiming. “Gonna come inside you, babe. Gonna make you mine.” He spat one last time, the saliva landing on your neck, his hand smearing it across your skin, his dominance absolute as he thrust hard, his cock pulsing inside you.

His release hit hard, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep, his cum hot and thick, filling you completely. Your body trembled, your core clenching around him, milking every drop, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he rode out his climax, his groans filling the apartment, raw and unfiltered.

“Fuck, babe,” he murmured, his voice rough, his chest heaving, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you against him, your bodies pressed together, slick with sweat and spit. “You’re mine. All fuckin’ mine.”

You collapsed against him, your breath ragged, your body trembling, the intensity of it all overwhelming. “Seb…” you whispered, your voice weak, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart.

He smirked, his hands sliding to your face, cupping your cheeks, his thumb brushing your lips, smearing the remnants of his spit and cum. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft but still commanding, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “You served your husband right.”

You nodded, your body still trembling, your core aching with the aftershocks of your climaxes. “I’m yours,” you whispered, your voice raw, your eyes locked on his, the intensity of his gaze grounding you.

“Damn right you are,” he growled, his lips brushing yours, a soft, possessive kiss, his hands tightening on your hips. “And you’re gonna keep servin’ me, babe. Every fuckin’ day.”

The apartment was quiet again, the city’s distant hum a faint backdrop, the scent of whiskey, smoke, and sex lingering in the air. You stayed on his lap, your bodies entwined, his hands still possessive, his dominance unshaken, your love a fierce, consuming fire that burned in the shadows of the night.

If you like it, please let me know. You can write your requests from the fandom in my request box. I'll write them, no matter how wild they are. I'm here to make your fantasies come true.

Wattpad: bornbluevans.

[bittersuitee]

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐎𝐅𝐂

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃: 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Reverend Drew Devlin, the manipulative cult leader from *Honey Don’t*, lures Emma into his secluded house under the guise of salvation after a fiery sermon condemning lust. What begins as a plea for guidance turns into a depraved, hardcore encounter where Drew unleashes his sadistic fantasies. With his belt, spit, and relentless dominance, he breaks Emma down, claiming her body and soul in a night of raw, unapologetic sin. This one-shot dives deep into Drew’s twisted desires, blending power, degradation, and raw lust.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: This one-shot contains explicit sexual content, including graphic depictions of rough penetrative sex, oral sex, spitting, belt-whipping leaving welts, and intense degradation with crude language like “slut” and “whore.” It features Drew’s sadistic dominance, including pinning, hair-pulling, slapping, and orgasm control, alongside a stark power imbalance and manipulative, non-consensual undertones due to his cult-leader status. The scene includes detailed descriptions of bodily fluids (saliva, cum, arousal), physical marks, and a dark, predatory tone. This is strictly 18+ content and may be disturbing for readers sensitive to extreme kink, abuse, or religious manipulation themes.

The sky was a bruised purple as the last rays of sunlight bled out over the Four-Way Temple’s sprawling compound. Reverend Drew Devlin stood at the pulpit, his tailored black suit hugging his muscular frame, his piercing blue eyes glinting with a predatory edge. The air inside the temple was thick with the cloying scent of incense, the pews packed with his congregation—mostly women, their faces upturned, drinking in his every word like it was gospel. Drew’s lips curled into a smug, charismatic grin as he gripped the microphone, his voice a velvet blade slicing through the reverent silence.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, his tone rich with theatrical venom, “we’re drowning in a cesspool of sin! This world’s gone rotten, infected by the filth of lust that’s got our daughters, our sisters, our wives spreading their legs for the devil himself!” His words dripped with disgust, but his eyes betrayed a twisted thrill as the crowd murmured their fervent agreement.

He strutted across the stage, his polished shoes clicking sharply. “Look around you! Women parading their bodies like whores in a brothel, their cunts wet with desire, their souls screaming for salvation!” The vulgarity hung in the air, and the congregation gasped, some clutching their hymnals, others nodding as if his words were divine truth. Drew’s gaze lingered on a young woman in the front row, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted in awe.

“They’re lost, my flock,” he continued, his voice dropping to a lascivious growl. “They’re out there, fucking their way to damnation, begging for a man to put them back in their place. And I’m that man!” His hands gripped the pulpit, veins bulging, as if he were restraining himself from leaping into the crowd.

“Carnality’s a disease,” he spat, his eyes gleaming with perverse delight. “I’ve seen these girls, barely women, throwing themselves at anything that moves, their tits out, their asses swaying, desperate for cock. They need a firm hand, a righteous hand, to beat the sin out of them!” The crowd erupted in “Amens,” their voices a frenzied wave, blind to the way his lips twitched with self-satisfied amusement.

Drew leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve watched them, writhing in their beds, touching themselves, thinking they’re alone. But God sees, and so do I. I’ll drag them back to purity, one by one, till they’re on their knees, begging for my mercy!” The room vibrated with their cheers, and he soaked it in, his ego swelling.

As the sermon ended, Drew raised his arms, his suit jacket straining against his broad shoulders. “Go forth and fight the devil’s temptations! But if you fall, know I’m here, your shepherd, ready to rip that sin right out of you!” The congregation surged to their feet, clapping and shouting praises as he stepped back, basking in their blind devotion.

He lingered on the stage, his eyes scanning the crowd for any lingering glances, any flicker of vulnerability he could exploit. Satisfied, he adjusted his tie and sauntered down the steps, his strides arrogant, predatory. The temple doors swung open, and he stepped into the cool night air, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Fucking idiots,” he muttered under his breath, pulling a cigarette from his pocket as he crossed the lot to his sleek black Cadillac. “Swallowing every word like it’s cum.” He flicked his Zippo open, the flame illuminating his chiseled jaw as he lit the cigarette, exhaling a thick plume of smoke with a low chuckle. The congregation’s cheers still echoed faintly behind him, and he shook his head. “Bunch of brainless sheep.”

He was halfway to his car when a voice cut through the darkness, soft but desperate. “Reverend Devlin, sir!” it called, formal and trembling with reverence. Drew paused, cigarette dangling from his lips, and turned slowly. A young woman stood near the edge of the lot, her silhouette framed by the dim streetlamp. She was petite, her modest dress doing little to hide the curves that caught his eye instantly.

He took a long drag, his gaze raking over her like she was prey. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice thick with sleaze. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here, calling me ‘sir’ like you’re already on your knees?”

She stepped closer, her hands twisting nervously. “Reverend Devlin, sir, I need your guidance,” she said, her voice quivering with a mix of fear and adoration. “Your sermon... it spoke to me. I’m one of those lost souls you mentioned.”

Drew’s lips curled into a vile grin, his cigarette glowing as he inhaled deeply. “Is that right?” he said, flicking ash to the ground. “What’s your name, sweetheart? And don’t give me some church-girl bullshit. I want the truth.”

“Emma, sir,” she whispered, her eyes wide, almost pleading. “I’ve been struggling with... with the sins you talked about. The impure ones.”

He stepped closer, towering over her, his shadow swallowing her small frame. “Impure, huh?” he said, his voice a low, guttural purr. “You mean you’ve been touching that sweet little pussy of yours, thinking about things you shouldn’t?”

Emma gasped, her cheeks flaming, but she didn’t retreat. “Yes, sir,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “I can’t stop. I need help.”

Drew chuckled, a dark, filthy sound that made her flinch. “Oh, you’re in deep, aren’t you, Emma? Bet you’re wet right now, just standing here, talking to me.” He took another drag, blowing smoke in her direction, watching her cough lightly. “Tell me, how bad is it? You been fucking yourself silly, imagining some guy bending you over?”

Her eyes darted away, but she nodded, her voice trembling. “Yes, sir. I... I don’t know how to stop.”

He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the smoke and bourbon on his breath. “Good girl, confessing like that,” he said, his hand brushing her arm, his touch lingering. “But words ain’t enough. You need real salvation. The kind only I can give.”

Emma swallowed hard, her body trembling under his gaze. “What do I do, sir?” she asked, her voice desperate.

Drew’s grin was pure sin. “You come with me,” he said, his hand sliding to her lower back, guiding her toward his car. “I’m gonna fuck the sin right out of you, darlin’. You’ll be screaming for Jesus by the time I’m done.”

She hesitated, her eyes wide with fear and something else—something that made his cock twitch in his pants. “I... I just thought you’d pray with me, sir,” she stammered.

“Pray?” he barked a laugh, opening the passenger door of his Cadillac. “Prayer’s for the weak, Emma. You need a man to show you what’s what. Get in.”

She froze for a moment, then nodded, sliding into the leather seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Drew slammed the door shut, circling to the driver’s side with a swagger that oozed dominance. He settled in, glancing at her with a leer. “You ever been fucked in a preacher’s car, Emma?” he asked, starting the engine.

“No, sir,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

He grinned, pulling out of the lot, the tires crunching gravel. “Well, you’re about to learn what salvation really feels like,” he said, his hand resting on the gearshift, inches from her thigh. “Tell me, Emma, how many times you make yourself come, thinking about a man like me?”

She blushed, her voice trembling. “I... I don’t count, sir. It’s too many.”

Drew laughed, a low, dirty sound. “Fuck, you’re a mess, aren’t you? Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m gonna clean you up real good.” His hand slid to her knee, squeezing possessively as they drove into the night.

The road to his secluded house was dark, the only sound the rumble of the engine and Emma’s uneven breathing. “You know what I do with girls like you?” he said, his voice thick with intent. “I break ‘em. Strip ‘em down till there’s nothing left but obedience. You ready for that?”

Emma’s eyes were fixed on the road, her voice a whisper. “I don’t know, sir. I just want to be saved.”

“Saved?” he sneered, his hand sliding higher up her thigh, his fingers brushing the hem of her dress. “I’ll save you, alright. But it’s gonna hurt before it feels good.”

They pulled up to his sprawling house, the windows dark, the air heavy with the scent of pine and something faintly chemical—his side business, no doubt. Drew stepped out, circling to open her door, his cigarette still smoldering between his fingers. “Get out, darlin’,” he said, his voice a command wrapped in charm. “Time to confess properly.”

Emma obeyed, her steps hesitant as he led her inside, his hand firm on her back. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing her fate in the dimly lit house of a man who preached salvation but craved corruption.

The foyer was dimly lit, the air heavy with the stench of bourbon, cigarette smoke, and the faint chemical tang of his drug trade. Emma stood trembling, her modest dress clinging to her petite frame, her eyes wide with a mix of reverence and dread. Reverend Drew Devlin, his tailored suit jacket already unbuttoned to reveal a glimpse of his sculpted chest, tossed his cigarette butt into an ashtray and turned to her, his blue eyes glinting with a sadistic hunger. His lips curled into a grin that was equal parts charm and menace, a predator sizing up his prey.

“Welcome to my church, Emma,” he drawled, his voice a low, guttural growl that made her skin prickle. “No crosses, no hymns—just you, me, and the kind of salvation that leaves marks.” He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over her, his fingers twitching with anticipation.

Emma’s hands twisted together, her voice quivering as she addressed him formally. “Reverend Devlin, sir, I... I came for your guidance,” she whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the opulent, unsettling space.

Drew laughed, a filthy, mocking sound that echoed off the walls. “Guidance? Sweetheart, you’re here to get fucked back to purity.” He grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I can smell the sin on you, darlin’. That pussy’s been aching for me, hasn’t it? Wet and ready for your preacher to tear it apart.”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and she tried to step back, only to find the wall behind her. “Sir, I just... I wanted to be saved,” she stammered, her voice breaking under his intensity.

“Saved?” he sneered, his hand sliding down to grip her throat, not choking but holding her firmly in place. “You don’t get saved by praying, you little slut. You get saved by taking my cock and begging for mercy.” His thumb brushed her lips, prying them open. “Open that mouth. Let’s see how much sin we can spit out of you.”

Emma’s eyes widened, but before she could protest, Drew leaned in and spat directly into her mouth, his saliva hitting her tongue with a wet smack. “Swallow it,” he ordered, his voice a low snarl. “Taste your shepherd’s blessing.”

She whimpered, her body trembling as she obeyed, swallowing with a visible shudder. “Sir, please,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I... I don’t know if I can do this.”

Drew’s grin was pure venom. “Oh, you’ll do it, Emma. You’ll do every fucking thing I tell you.” He released her throat, stepping back to unbuckle his belt with a slow, deliberate snap of leather. The sound made her flinch, and his eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. “You ever been whipped, darlin’? Ever felt a man’s belt kiss that pretty ass of yours?”

Emma shook her head, her breath hitching. “No, sir,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the belt dangling from his hand.

“Well, you’re about to,” he said, looping the leather around his fist. “Turn around. Bend over that table.” He gestured to a heavy mahogany table in the foyer, its surface gleaming under the dim light.

Emma hesitated, her body trembling, but the weight of his gaze pushed her forward. She turned, bending over the table, her hands gripping the edge as her dress rode up, exposing her thighs. “Please, sir,” she whispered, “don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” Drew chuckled, stepping behind her and yanking her dress up to her waist, revealing her lace panties. “This ain’t about hurt, sweetheart. It’s about teaching you your place.” He hooked his fingers into her panties, ripping them off with a savage tug, the fabric tearing apart like paper.

She gasped, her body jerking, but Drew’s hand pressed down on her lower back, pinning her to the table. “Stay still,” he growled, raising the belt. The first strike landed with a sharp crack across her ass, leaving a red welt that made her cry out. “That’s for all those dirty thoughts you’ve been having,” he said, his voice thick with lust.

Emma whimpered, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the table. “Sir, I’m sorry!” she cried, her voice breaking.

“Sorry ain’t enough,” he said, delivering another lash, the leather biting into her skin. “You gotta feel the sin burn out of you.” He struck again, harder this time, and she screamed, her body trembling under the assault. Her ass was already glowing red, each welt a testament to his dominance.

Drew leaned over her, his lips brushing her ear as he spat again, this time letting his saliva drip onto her cheek. “You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, smearing it across her face with his thumb. “You’re a filthy little thing, getting wet from a whipping.”

Emma moaned, her body betraying her as her thighs pressed together. “Please, sir,” she gasped, “I... I can’t help it.”

He laughed, tossing the belt aside and grabbing her hips, pulling her ass back against his straining erection. “Fuck, you’re dripping,” he growled, his fingers sliding between her legs, finding her slick and ready. “This cunt’s begging for me, isn’t it? Begging for your preacher’s cock.”

“Yes, sir,” she sobbed, her voice a mix of shame and need. “I want it. Please.”

Drew unbuttoned his pants, freeing his thick, throbbing cock, the tip glistening with precum. “You’re gonna take every inch,” he said, spitting into his hand and slicking himself up, the act crude and deliberate. “But first, you’re gonna taste me.”

He grabbed her hair, pulling her up and spinning her around to face him. “On your knees,” he ordered, his voice a low snarl. “Show me how much you worship your shepherd.”

Emma sank to her knees, her dress bunched around her waist, her ass still stinging from the belt. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and submission. “It’s so big, sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at his cock.

“Damn right it is,” Drew said, grabbing the base and slapping it against her cheek, leaving a wet smear. “Open that mouth, you little whore. Let’s see how deep you can take it.”

She parted her lips, and he thrust forward, filling her mouth with his cock, the taste of his spit and precum overwhelming her senses. Emma gagged, her hands gripping his thighs, but Drew held her head, forcing her to take more. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, his hips rocking. “Choke on it. Show me you’re worth saving.”

Her moans vibrated against him, saliva dripping down her chin as she struggled to please him. Drew’s eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure, his hand tightening in her hair. “You’re a mess, aren’t you? Drooling all over my cock like a good little slut.”

He pulled out abruptly, leaving her gasping, and yanked her to her feet. “Enough of that,” he said, spinning her back around and bending her over the table again. “I’m gonna fuck you now, Emma. Gonna fuck the devil right out of you.”

She cried out as he spat on her pussy, his saliva mixing with her arousal before he thrust into her, hard and deep, stretching her painfully. “Oh God, sir!” she screamed, her hands scrabbling at the table.

“God’s not here,” Drew snarled, his hips slamming into her with brutal force, each thrust shaking her body. “It’s just me, owning this tight little cunt.” His hand came down on her ass again, not with the belt but with his palm, the slap echoing in the foyer.

Emma’s moans turned to sobs, her body trembling as he pounded into her, his cock relentless. “Please, sir,” she gasped, “it’s too much.”

“Too much?” he laughed, spitting on her back and watching it slide down her spine. “You’re gonna take it all, you filthy bitch.” He grabbed her hair, yanking her head back as he fucked her harder, his other hand reaching around to rub her clit roughly.

She screamed, her orgasm building, but Drew clamped down on her clit, pinching it hard. “Not yet,” he growled. “You come when I fucking say, understand?”

“Yes, sir!” she sobbed, her body shaking with the effort to obey, her ass red and raw from his slaps and the earlier whipping.

Drew leaned over her, his teeth grazing her shoulder as he spat again, this time into her hair, the act degrading and possessive. “You’re mine, Emma,” he growled, his thrusts growing erratic. “This cunt, this body, this soul—it’s all mine.”

She moaned, her voice breaking as she begged, “Please, sir, let me come. I can’t hold it.”

He slapped her ass again, hard enough to make her cry out, then rubbed her clit with brutal precision. “Now,” he commanded, and Emma’s body convulsed, her orgasm ripping through her as she screamed, her juices gushing down her thighs, soaking his cock and the table beneath her.

Drew didn’t stop, his thrusts savage as he chased his own release. “Fuck, you’re tight when you come,” he groaned, spitting on her ass and watching it glisten on her welts. With a final, brutal thrust, he came hard, spilling deep inside her, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his seed.

He pulled out, watching as his cum dripped from her swollen pussy, mixing with her arousal and his spit. “Look at that,” he said, smearing it across her thigh with his fingers. “That’s your salvation, darlin’. A preacher’s blessing.”

Emma collapsed against the table, her body limp, her breath ragged. Drew lit another cigarette, exhaling smoke as he looked down at her, his grin cruel. “Get on your knees,” he ordered. “Thank me properly.”

She obeyed, her voice a broken whisper. “Thank you, sir."

He took a drag, his eyes cold and triumphant. “good girl."

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CHRIS EVANS Honey Don't (2025) | dir. Ethan Coen

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