pairing𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･. . . loser bf x cheerleader male reader
warnings⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆. . . himbo reader , you got big ass man titties , muscular kinks , scent kinks , skinny with a big dick combo , dumbification , drool , dacryphillia , being perverted , reader is a male cheerleader and wears things like jerseys and shirts during cheerings(sorry no skirt and stuff during actual cheers i wanted it to be accurate 😔) , slight stalking? , tit fucking , imma tell you rn i made reader REALLY fucking stupid , commiting to the himbo bit , stealing women's clothes for the plot , DICK RIDERRRR DICK RIDER DICK RIDER DICK RIDERRR , panty sniffing , jerking off in bathrooms
background knowledge‧₊ ̊🍹✩ ₊ ̊🍉⊹♡. . . you got with your bf just because you wanted to. people say he's weird but you don't get what they mean, he comes to all the games just to watch you cheer. isn't he the sweetest? though you're his only friend.
tag list 🏷️: @dearestlitteleaf
notes𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. . . y'all im back sorry for being gone. loser bf x cheerleader reader like i promised twin. this is a lil iffy cuz it's been a bit💔 i never proofread
god, he was obsessed. even as people scooted away from him on the bleachers, even as they plugged their noses (he didn't even smell that bad come on), even as they snickered he could only keep his eyes on you. watched the way you had that big smile on your face, beaming as you screamed the practiced cheers like they were words you lived by. the clap of your hands, the little waves you sneaked to him, the way your big hands closed around a girls narrow waist to throw her up in the air.
the girl was hot, sure as hell flashed everyone when her skirt twisted upwards and around. but lord, the way your arms flexed and the way your jersey lifted to show a peek of your v-line and those exact boxers he slipped off of your hips with his teeth just two nights ago. he truly understood why people were always all over you, and at times he caught himself asking why you were with him. now of course it was because you loved him that much was obvious.
but you were also stupid.
really
really
really stupid.
you didn't really grasp the fact you were popular, not at all. "oh, everyone at the school is just so nice!" you would always tell him that, and all he could do was nod his head while telling you. "mhm. real nice people babe."
he wasn't too surprised to learn you were a virgin at first. hell you cried when all he had ever done was tit fuck you. how could he ever resist it though? each shirt you wore was just so tight and fitting, your nipples soft yet pebbling through every single tee. and he could recall the night on how sensitive they were.
"oh— oh god- wa-wait i can't!" your pretty eyes overflowed with even prettier big tears, your lips wobbling as your hands trembled as they held your pecs together for him to have a tight space to fuck. you were gasping and hiccuping, face flushed hotly and your nipples fully erect buds had sweat beading over them.
his hips bucked and thrusted upwards, thick and long cock fucking your tits and occasionally purposely slipping out for his thick tip to graze over your sensitive nipples and glazing his leaking pre over them. fuck, he was gonna lose his mind. this is what he looked forward to every day after school. not just fucking your obscenely large "pectorals" as you liked to claim, no there were so many perverted things he could do to you and you would just bat your eyelashes and tilt your head like nothing.
like the time he stole the girls cheerleading outfit and bought you a pair of panties that you would wear for a time but then he would keep them afterwards.
"this is really tight.." you mumbled, looking down at the way it stretched around your figure and very clearly showed the fitted pink lace that portrayed the outline of your hard dick. good. now he knew you were just as turned on as he was. "oh c'mon babe, it's a perfect fit." he snickered as he pulled you in closer between his legs. he didn't notice the salivation in his mouth, it was just the way you hung onto him so pathetically.
he told you to ride him and you did as he was told. almost too damn well, he almost started crying too. "s-shit—" he winced, fingernails digging into your waist flesh with how hard and how fast you had been going. you were sucking him in only to pop him back out and plop back to his bony hips just as hard. you couldn't even answer him, couldn't hear his dirty words mixed with him telling you to slow down. you had been the entire definition of cock drunk, back bowed to an arch and your neck craned slightly as your head had been thrown back.
a high scream like moan tore from your throat, another load of cum squirting from your tip— landing onto his shirt and a little splattering onto his face. your skirt fluttered and flipped, panties still on but slightly tore and moved to the side so you could ride him proper. your words were incoherent if you were even trying to speak them, all he could ever get was 'yes' , 'so close' ''m gonna—'
at times he'd be so attached he would bring those exact panties to school, holding them to his face with his cock in his hand and pumping it like no one would notice his noises and squelches coming from the stall. he would remember all of it, the way your body glistened with sweat all from his doing, the constant moans never stopping, the bulge visible where your abs tightened at your stomach, your dick twitching and your balls clenching signalling another load of cum.
"fuck you're so.." he'd whimper to himself, wet hot liquid all over his fingers.
as of now he'd blinked, hearing your "baby!" and feeling your arms wrap around him tightly. he had been so caught up in his head he didn't notice you bolting up to the bleachers towards him. "did you see me! i did good, huh?" he laughed, an arm squirming it's way out to hug you back. "yeah, you did real good for me babe."
summary: You weren’t supposed to be seen. But one night, one dance, and one stolen look from a boy you didn’t know was a prince changes everything. Now the kingdom is looking for you—and you have to decide if you’re brave enough to be found.
pairing: prince charming! gojo saturo x cinderella! male reader
content warnings: 18+, romance, fluff, angst, smut (oral + p in a), bottom male reader, signs of abuse, reader has chronic back pain, rats.
word count: 9.0k --- spotify playlist
best viewed in dark mode
There’s a quiet to the attic that doesn’t exist anywhere else in the house.
It settles after midnight, when the girls are done with their games and their laughter has thinned to silence. When your stepfather’s footsteps stop echoing through the halls. When the fire burns low and the wine is gone, and there’s no one left to perform cruelty for.
It’s only then that the house exhales—and you can breathe.
You sit on the floorboards beside the bucket you haven’t emptied yet. The rag in your hands is damp, skin-roughening with soot. It’s not a real task, not something that anyone told you to do. You just needed something to keep your hands busy. Something that gives shape to the hours between darkness and dawn.
Your fingers are raw. Your knees ache. There’s ash on your sleeves and a splinter in your thumb, but you don’t mind. The attic is cold, yes, but it’s yours. Or at least—it's the one place no one else bothers to climb. That counts for something.
You glance toward the slanted window tucked beneath the roofline. The sky is silver. Cloudless. The moon stares back at you like it knows something you don’t.
You lower your eyes before it can say anything out loud.
⋆｡°✩
There are mice in the attic. They keep their distance.
You’ve never named them—not out loud—but they come and go often enough that you’ve started to recognise them. One of them is missing a patch of fur behind the ear. One always carries crumbs bigger than its body. One skitters in tight circles before settling, like it needs to outrun its own shadow.
You think they must be cold too. Winter came early this year, and the insulation in the upper floors is barely more than memory. The girls have fireplaces and velvet robes. You have a blanket that smells like dust and the long sleeves of your mother’s old shirt, which you’re not supposed to wear but do anyway, under your tunic. Hidden. Just for warmth.
Sometimes, the mice come closer when you hum under your breath. You pretend it’s a coincidence.
⋆｡°✩
The house used to be warm. You remember it that way—brief flashes of your mother’s hands kneading dough in the kitchen, her voice humming off-key while she watered the herb pots by the windows. Back then, the floors didn’t creak like they were grieving, and sunlight used to touch the corners of the room without shame.
Now, it’s Geto’s house. Not in name, maybe, but in power. His daughters move through the rooms like they were born from silk and contempt. They call you by your name when they need something scrubbed, but otherwise, you’re “him.” Or worse.
You used to try to win them over. You tried for a long time.
And then you stopped.
Now you keep your head down and your back straight. You work quickly, quietly. You sleep with your door locked. You speak only when spoken to, and not even always then.
There is safety in silence.
⋆｡°✩
The announcement comes over burnt toast and tea that tastes like bark.
You’re not meant to sit at the table, but Mimiko was too distracted by her own reflection this morning to complain, and Geto likes to pretend he doesn’t see you unless he’s scolding you. You’ve learned to drift along the edges of the room—quiet, invisible, but still useful.
“There’s to be a royal ball,” Geto says, flipping the parchment open with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Every eligible noble and commoner invited. Apparently, the prince is looking to marry.”
You don’t react. You butter the toast without looking up.
Nanako lets out a delighted gasp. “A royal ball! Father, we’ll go, won’t we? We’ll need gowns. Jewels. A carriage—”
“Slow down, sweetheart,” Geto replies, folding the parchment again. “There’ll be time.”
“He shouldn’t go,” Mimiko chimes in suddenly, her voice sickly sweet. “He’ll be there. Can you imagine?” She turns to you with a sharp smile. “You, in the presence of royalty? You’d embarrass the kingdom.”
There’s a pause. Just long enough for the moment to sting.
You don’t look at her. You nod, eyes fixed on your plate. You’ve become good at that—at swallowing down every little hurt before it blooms.
“That’s settled then,” Geto says, as if he were the one being mocked. “He stays home.”
You don’t ask who’ll clean the house before they leave. You already know.
⋆｡°✩
That night, you find yourself standing at the attic window again, forehead pressed to the glass.
It’s a habit you picked up as a child—watching the moonlight slip across the world while you imagined someone, anyone, looking back.
You used to tell yourself that one day, someone would. That someone would see you and know you. Not as a servant. Not as an afterthought. But as a person with a name, and a voice, and a heart that beats just as loudly as anyone else’s.
You don’t really believe that anymore.
But you watch the moon anyway.
Just in case.
The morning after the announcement, the house becomes unbearable.
There are fabric samples strewn across every chair. Shoeboxes lining the hallway. Perfumed letters arriving by raven—twice, even thrice a day. Mimiko and Nanako move through the rooms like glittering tornadoes, screeching over colour palettes and necklines, screaming at seamstresses who pretend not to flinch.
You scrub the floors while they argue about lace.
They barely notice you anymore. You’re just the shape that keeps the house polished. A pair of hands. A name they speak only when something’s spilt.
You try not to mind.
You’ve had practice.
⋆｡°✩
Geto brings in a mirror the size of a door and installs it in the dining room. “For fittings,” he says, waving off the servants as if he weren’t one once himself.
He stands behind his daughters as they twirl and pout, appraising them like fine art he expects someone else to purchase. He corrects posture. Adjusts wrists. Tells Mimiko she’s standing like a peasant. Tells Nanako she’s gaining weight.
You fold linens in the corner and try not to breathe too loudly.
He never looks at you. But you feel his disapproval anyway. It clings to your skin like ash.
⋆｡°✩
The day of the ball arrives like frost.
You wake before the sun, dress in silence, and sweep the staircases before anyone else opens their doors. There’s a rhythm to it now—scrub, rinse, repeat. The ache in your spine is familiar and comforting in its own small way. Pain, at least, is consistent.
By noon, the house smells like citrus oil and powdered sugar. The dresses are hung. The carriage is polished. Everything is perfect.
Except for you.
You stand by the front hall with the box of hairpins still in your hands as Geto makes his final inspection.
He nods once, satisfied. Then turns to you.
“You’ll stay here,” he says flatly. “Don’t open the windows. Don’t leave the house. And for heaven’s sake, stay out of sight.”
You nod. Of course.
The carriage pulls away.
And just like that—you’re alone again.
⋆｡°✩
You don’t cry.
You’re not a child anymore. You don’t believe in being rescued, and you don’t believe in magic. This world is a hard, cold thing, and there’s no use wishing it weren’t.
Still.
You wander through the empty rooms with the kind of quiet you imagine the dead must carry. Your hands drag across polished bannisters, past doorknobs and glass and velvet cushions that were never meant for you.
In the sitting room, a single slice of cake sits abandoned on a tray.
You don’t touch it.
Instead, you climb the stairs. Past the bedrooms. Past the locked study. All the way up to the top. To the attic. To the place you belong.
And when you close the door behind you, the weight settles over your shoulders like it always does—familiar and heavy.
But tonight, it feels just a little bit heavier.
Maybe because you let yourself imagine it.
Just for a moment.
⋆｡°✩
The sound comes just before nightfall.
A knocking—no, not quite. More like a sharp pop, a crack of air and wind and something older than both. It echoes, muffled, through the floorboards beneath your feet.
You freeze.
It happens again. Then silence.
You step cautiously toward the window, half expecting thunder, or maybe fireworks from the palace.
But the sky is clear. The world is still.
And the only thing staring back at you is the moon.
⋆｡°✩
The sound doesn’t come again.
You wait for it. Still, as the dust motes floated in the dying light. Ears strained. Eyes fixed on the floor, as if the silence might shift again, rupture again, give you some kind of sign.
But there’s nothing.
Just your own breath. Just the wind outside, curling soft fingers against the attic window. Just the ache in your knees, the sting in your wrists. The familiar weight of another evening with nowhere to go.
You stand there for a long time.
You think—maybe you imagined it.
Maybe that’s just what happens, when hope slips through the cracks of your ribs and you don’t catch it in time.
You move to sit down.
That’s when the second knock comes.
Not from below. Not from outside. But from within the attic.
From behind the wall.
You freeze.
Not a ghost. You don’t believe in those.
Not a thief. What kind of thief breaks into the attic?
There’s a creaking, low and almost…exhausted. Like the wood itself is trying to speak. Like something ancient is being disturbed, pulled awake by the wrong hands.
And then—
A sigh.
You swear you hear a sigh.
Soft. Dry. Slightly annoyed.
“Alright,” comes a voice. Flat. Unimpressed. “That’s enough dramatics. Move.”
You backpedal so fast you knock over the bucket.
The rag hits the floor with a slap. Water spills into the cracks between the boards. You don’t even look at it. You’re too busy staring at the corner of the attic that had definitely been empty before.
It isn’t empty now.
There’s a woman.
Or—at least you think she’s a woman. Her robes are a little too long and mismatched, and there’s a cigarette tucked between her fingers despite the fact that the chimney doesn’t reach this far. Her boots are muddy. Her expression is somewhere between world-weary and mildly inconvenienced.
She looks like she’s been late to every appointment she’s ever had and hasn’t felt guilty about a single one.
And she’s standing in your attic like she owns it.
You open your mouth to speak.
She beats you to it.
“Don’t scream,” she says, not unkindly. “You’ll scare the mice.”
You don’t scream.
You don’t move either.
Which is probably for the best, because she’s already walking toward you like this is normal. Like you’re the one intruding.
“I was aiming for the cellar,” she mutters. “But nooo, the magic said ‘aim for the heart of the house,’ and look where that got me. Dust in my lungs and you looking like you’ve seen a ghost.”
You finally manage to find your voice. Sort of.
“Who—”
“Shoko,” she says, waving a hand as if that answers anything. “Let’s skip the dramatic introductions, yeah? I’m on a deadline.”
You stare.
She exhales through her nose, then gives you the same look someone might give a plant that’s taking too long to grow.
“You’re him,” she says, lighting the cigarette with a flick of her fingers. No flint. No match. Just…fire, like it was waiting for her.
You don’t answer.
“Don’t do that,” she says. “Don’t look at me like you’ve never seen someone make a dramatic entrance before. I thought all you attic-dwelling waifs lived for theatrics.”
You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know who you are.”
Shoko tilts her head.
“Well, no,” she says. “Not yet.”
⋆｡°✩
“You’ve got the look,” she says, nudging a cobweb out of the way with the back of her hand. “The quiet sort. Watches windows. Hums to keep from screaming.”
You’re still not speaking.
She sits down without asking. Cross-legged right on the attic floor like she wasn’t conjured into existence five seconds ago. Her cigarette smoke spirals toward the beams and settles around her like a crown of ash.
“I know what this is,” you finally say, voice quiet. “You’re a dream.”
Shoko snorts. “God, I wish.”
You don’t answer. The bucket of water seeps closer to your heel, a cold bloom against the wood. You stare at it. At her.
She doesn’t blink.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” she says, softer now. Not gentle, but closer. Like she’s trying. “I’m here to help.”
You shift your weight. Not quite toward her. Not quite away.
“Why?”
She flicks ash from the tip of her cigarette. It disappears before it hits the ground.
“Because you deserve it.”
You blink.
She goes on. “I’m not saying that in the philosophical, vague-fairy-tale sense. I mean it in the plain, unromantic, real-world way. You’ve done the work. You’ve survived. You’ve kept your heart from going sour even when it would’ve been easier to let it rot.”
You laugh. It’s small and brittle.
“I don’t think anyone would call me kind.”
“I didn’t say kind,” she says. “I said whole. You still have a piece of yourself that no one’s broken. That’s more than most.”
She says it so casually that it takes you a second to understand she meant it as a compliment.
You don’t know what to do with that.
You sit, slowly. She watches, but doesn’t comment.
The floor creaks beneath you. The attic is very still.
She speaks again. “Do you want to leave?”
It’s such a simple question.
Do you want to leave?
You stare at her. Your tongue feels thick.
“I can’t.”
She shrugs. “Didn’t ask if you could.”
You swallow.
“I want—” you start, then stop. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Sure you do,” she says, ashing the cigarette onto nothing. “You’ve just been taught not to say it.”
Your hands twist in your lap. She waits.
You say it like it hurts.
“I want to go. Just once. I want to be in a room where no one looks at me like I’m something to step over. I want to be wanted, just for a night. I want to know what it feels like to be seen.”
Shoko nods.
You stare at her. “That’s stupid, isn’t it?”
“No,” she says. “That’s a wish.”
⋆｡°✩
The air shifts.
It’s subtle—but you feel it. Like the attic exhales again, but this time with purpose. Something loosens in the walls, in the dark, in the shadows that have been your only company for years.
Shoko stands.
She snuffs out her cigarette on her palm. No mark. No burn.
When she speaks again, her voice is something older.
Not louder. Not deeper. But ancient. Measured. Like the moment you speak it aloud, it’ll echo.
“Then let’s give you your night.”
⋆｡°✩
She doesn’t wave a wand.
There’s no burst of glitter, no chorus, no sudden wind that tosses your hair back and makes your heart race. Nothing theatrical. Nothing pretty.
Instead, Shoko simply raises one hand—palm open—and exhales.
And the attic breathes with her.
The shadows bend first. Not away from the light, but toward it, curling like they’re waking up from a long sleep. The corners of the room soften, then blur, then ripple like heat above flame. Your breath catches in your throat.
There’s a sound, like thread pulling from cloth. And then—
Light. Dim at first. Then rising, warm and heavy like honey poured slow over your skin.
You don’t flinch.
You can’t.
It wraps around you. Not tight. Not painful. But thorough. Like it’s measuring. Weighing. Choosing.
Your shirt dissolves at the cuffs. Not burns—dissolves, the fabric unspooling into the air like mist. You lift your hands, startled, and they don’t feel like your hands anymore.
Shoko hums. “You’re lucky. Some people resist it. You—you’re letting it in.”
You blink at her, mouth dry. “Letting what in?”
She looks at you then, really looks, and says:
“Yourself.”
⋆｡°✩
The clothes build themselves, stitch by stitch.
It starts at your collarbones—warmth, pressure, then silk. Deep charcoal, almost black, but edged in silver so fine it could be moonlight. It fits perfectly, even before it finishes forming. Like it knew the shape of you before you did.
The sleeves wrap next—long, smooth, elegant. A flash of something translucent near the cuffs. Not ruffles, but something more fluid, like smoke in fabric form.
A jacket follows. Trimmed with silver thread, small accents that catch the dying light from the attic window. The kind of detail no mirror would ever see, but someone who was looking at you—really looking—might.
Your boots reform around your feet. Soft. Sleek. Practical enough to run in, but elegant enough to be remembered.
You don’t know how to breathe.
Shoko watches.
The final piece is a brooch—small, just over your heart. A pin in the shape of a crescent moon. Not garish. Not royal. Just… honest.
“I don’t understand,” you murmur, voice catching.
She doesn’t smile, but her voice is kind when she answers. “You don’t have to. Just wear it like you do.”
⋆｡°✩
The light fades.
The attic returns.
But you don’t.
You’re still you, but taller somehow. Straighter. Shoulders set. Like the weight hasn’t disappeared—but you’ve finally grown strong enough to carry it.
Your hands shake.
You press them against your chest. The fabric beneath your fingertips is real.
“I’m not supposed to be there,” you whisper.
Shoko flicks her cigarette back into her fingers and lights it with a snap.
“You’re supposed to be wherever you want to be,” she replies. “And tonight? You’re going.”
⋆｡°✩
You turn toward the attic stairs.
“Wait,” she says, and you freeze.
She tosses something into your hands.
Shoes.
Polished leather. Silver-buckled. Sleek, precise. The kind of shoes made for palace floors, not soot-stained attics. You run your thumbs over them. They’re real. Solid. One is slightly warmer than the other, like it’s holding onto something the world hasn’t seen yet.
“Enchanted?” you ask softly.
Shoko exhales smoke through her nose. “One of them.”
You blink. “Just one?”
She shrugs. “You only need one to be remembered.”
⋆｡°✩
The carriage waits at the edge of the estate.
It wasn’t there before. You would’ve heard it. Seen it. But now it sits beneath the moonlight like it’s always belonged—quiet, waiting, wheels perfectly clean despite the muddy road.
You don’t ask questions.
Shoko didn’t explain where it came from, and you didn’t ask.
You step down from the attic, cross the now-silent halls in a suit that doesn’t touch the floor when you move. The house doesn’t know you anymore. The wallpaper doesn’t sneer. The stairs don’t groan in protest. Even the silence has changed—it watches you now, instead of swallowing you whole.
You don’t look back.
Not at the staircase. Not at Geto’s study. Not at the kitchen where you used to stand barefoot and bleeding. That life still lives here, but you’ve stepped out of its skin.
For one night.
The coachman doesn’t speak. He tips his hat. The door opens. You climb in.
And the wheels turn toward the palace.
It’s farther than you thought.
You’ve seen it only from a distance—sharp spires against the horizon, gold-glass windows catching the sun like a promise. But up close, it’s something else entirely. Too large. Too luminous. The kind of place that exists outside time.
You step out into torchlight and laughter.
Music filters through marble arches. Strings and woodwinds. A swell of something grand, something old. People in silks and satin flow up the staircase like water—gloved hands, high collars, laughter polished and practised.
You shouldn’t be here.
But you are.
And no one stops you.
⋆｡°✩
The ballroom doors are wide open.
No guards. No fanfare. Just an invitation in the shape of light.
You cross the threshold on steady legs.
The floor is mirrored marble. Chandeliers drip crystal firelight. The ceiling stretches into a painted sky—cherubs and constellations you don’t recognise.
No one looks at you.
And somehow, that’s worse than the mocking would’ve been.
You drift along the edges at first. One step. Then another. A glass in your hand that you didn’t ask for. A compliment tossed over someone’s shoulder, not meant for you but close enough to sting.
And then—
He enters.
⋆｡°✩
You don’t see his face at first.
Just the way the room bends.
People part. Eyes turn. Laughter softens into interest. Not fear. Not awe. Just something deeper. Like gravity. Like inevitability.
And then he steps forward, and you understand.
White hair, sharp-cut and careless. A smile that looks carved into something ancient and shining. His coat is midnight blue, collar open just enough to be casual, cuffs rolled as if he’s already done dancing and plans to do it again.
There are jewels on half the people here. Gold on everyone else.
But he doesn’t need either.
He is the light in the room.
You don’t know his name.
You don’t even realise he’s looking at you until it’s too late to look away.
⋆｡°✩
You try to look away first.
That’s your mistake.
Because now he knows.
You’re not sure how you know he knows—but you do. It's in the tilt of his head. The slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. Like your gaze didn’t just find him, but called him.
And he’s answering.
He moves through the crowd like it was always meant to part for him. Not fast. Not eager. Just easy. Certain. As if he’s done this a hundred times before and always ends up here.
At you.
Your throat is dry. Your hand tightens around the glass you never drank from.
He stops in front of you.
Up close, he’s worse. Or better. You can’t decide.
His eyes are bright—too bright. The kind of blue people write songs about and then spend the rest of their lives trying to forget. His hair is a mess of silver and moonlight, and his smile is almost too much. Like he knows it is, and uses it anyway.
He glances down at your untouched drink.
Then back up at you.
“Not your thing?” he asks, voice low, amused. Not mocking. Not yet.
You manage a reply. “Wasn’t thirsty.”
“Lucky me,” he says. “Neither was I.”
He reaches out. Takes the glass from your hand. Places it on a passing tray without looking.
Then he holds his hand out to you.
Just like that.
As if you’ve already said yes.
As if you’ve always said yes.
“Dance with me.”
Not a question. Not quite a command. Just an expectation. A possibility.
You stare at his hand. At the long fingers. The pale wrist. The soft flash of a silver cufflink shaped like a star.
“I don’t know how,” you say quietly.
He leans in, just slightly. Just enough to make your breath stutter.
“That’s alright,” he says. “I do.”
⋆｡°✩
The music isn’t loud.
It doesn’t need to be.
He walks you to the centre of the room like it’s normal. Like every person isn’t watching. Like the marble floor doesn’t ache under your feet, trying to whisper, this isn’t for you.
But he holds your hand like it is.
And when you move—when your feet remember how to follow, when your body remembers joy—he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t lead you like you’re fragile. He lets you catch up. Lets you breathe.
And when you do—
You start to smile.
Not wide. Not bright. Just a little. Just enough.
But he sees it.
His smile answers yours.
And the world keeps spinning.
⋆｡°✩
The music fades into something slower.
Your chest is still rising too fast, but his hand is steady at your back. He hasn’t let go. Not once.
Every step, every turn, he watches you like there’s no one else in the room. Like this isn’t a palace. Like this isn’t a dance among royals. Like you’re not somewhere you shouldn’t be.
Like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
“Still nervous?” he asks, voice low, just under the violin swell.
You glance up. His smile is soft now. Tilted. Familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.
“I didn’t know it would be this easy,” you say.
He raises a brow. “Dancing?”
“Being seen.”
He doesn't laugh. Doesn't look away. Instead, he slows you to a stop, right there in the middle of the floor.
His hand slips from your waist to your wrist.
“Come with me,” he says.
⋆｡°✩
He leads you out through the back hall, past open doors and gilded arches, until the palace swallows its own noise. The music fades behind columns. The warmth of the crowd falls away.
You step into a quiet corridor, and then—
A garden.
Not the one guests passed through. This is smaller. Older. Half-forgotten. Wild vines along the stone. A cracked marble bench. The scent of lavender and something sweeter underneath—like sugar left in the sun.
It’s moonlit and hidden and yours.
You inhale, and it fills your lungs like a prayer.
“Better?” he asks.
You nod.
He lets go of your wrist but stays close. Too close. You feel his breath near your temple. He’s taller than you’d realised on the dance floor.
“Do you bring all your dance partners here?” you ask, not meaning to sound like anything—but it comes out softer than expected. Curious.
His smile quirks, lazy and real. “Only the ones I want to keep a little longer.”
Your heart kicks once. Stupid thing.
“I’m not exactly... worth remembering.”
He looks at you then, full and unguarded.
“Funny,” he murmurs, “I was just thinking the opposite.”
You don’t know what to say to that.
So you don’t say anything.
His gaze drops to your mouth. Brief. Barely there.
But your breath stutters anyway.
You want to close the space between you.
He’s already leaning in.
His voice is barely a whisper now.
“What’s your name?”
You hesitate. You’d almost forgotten that you hadn’t given it.
“I—”
DING.
The first chime hits like a stone to the chest.
DONG.
You flinch.
He pulls back, startled.
DING.
“No,” you whisper.
The air shifts. Your jacket tightens. Something in the fabric shudders like it’s remembering itself.
You take a step back.
“I’m sorry.”
“Wait—” he starts, reaching for you.
DONG.
“I have to go,” you say, already turning.
“Wait! At least tell me who—”
DING.
You’re gone.
The night is breaking, and the magic is pulling you with it.
You run.
Not elegantly. Not the way you danced.
This is a stumble-sprint, half-flight down the corridor, heart pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to get back to him. The marble floors blur. Gold columns, oil paintings, half-turned faces in distant rooms—none of it matters now. Only the ache in your chest and the way the air grows heavier with every step.
The magic is unravelling.
You feel it in your sleeves first. The seams loosen. The silver edging at your cuffs begins to smoke and vanish, the way dew fades from a blade of grass. You press your hands to your chest like you can hold it all together—but the fabric keeps melting under your fingers.
The music is gone. The laughter behind you is too far to matter. All that exists is the echo of your boots—no, just one boot now—against the floor.
You don't remember when it happened.
Just that you turned a corner too sharp. That your foot slipped. That something caught for a second and then gave way.
You look down.
Your right foot is bare.
The enchanted shoe is gone.
You double back.
It’s lying on the stairs.
You don’t go back for it.
You can't.
DING.
The ninth chime.
The gold embroidery at your hem vanishes mid-step. The jacket fades, thread by thread, until all you’re left with is the thin, patched tunic underneath—too short now. Yours, but not yours anymore. The magic never fully disguised your body. It just made the weight feel lighter.
You grab the stair railing as the garden doors disappear behind you.
The tenth chime echoes off the stone.
You’re almost at the exit.
You think you hear your name.
Not your real name. Not the one Geto calls you with disdain. But yours. The one only someone who sees you might say.
But it’s too late.
You hit the gravel outside barefoot, panting, lungs burning with cold air and regret.
The eleventh chime splits the sky.
You don’t look back.
⋆｡°✩
Somewhere behind you, he stands at the top of the staircase. His gloves are in his pocket. His coat is unbuttoned. He’s not looking at the crowd.
He’s looking at the stairs.
And the single shoe left waiting.
⋆｡°✩
The twelfth and final chime rings out.
Midnight has come.
And you're already disappearing into the dark.
You wake before the sun.
You always do, but today it feels different.
Not because your body hurts—though it does. Not because the air is cold—though it bites.
But because something inside you is too quiet.
Like your chest has been scrubbed hollow.
The attic doesn’t look any different.
The boards still creak when you shift your weight. The frost still kisses the corners of the glass. The mice still rustle softly in the wall like they don’t know anything has changed.
But it has.
You sit up slowly, fingers curled in the edge of the blanket that isn’t warm enough. Your knees are sore. Your palms sting. The magic’s gone, and it didn’t leave anything for you to hold except—
Your breath catches.
You look down.
There it is.
Nestled at the foot of your bed.
One shoe.
Not both.
Just the right one.
Silver-buckled. Unscuffed. A quiet gleam to the leather that doesn’t belong to this world.
The matching pair had vanished with the rest of the suit. But this one stayed.
Of course it did.
You don’t touch it.
Not yet.
You just stare.
Your chest tightens slowly, like the ache has to rebuild itself from the edges in.
You replay the night in pieces.
The ballroom. The music. The boy with the moonlight grin and the storm in his eyes. The garden. His hand on your back. His voice, soft and certain, asking for your name like he’d keep it safe.
You wonder if he’s looking for you.
You wonder if he’s still at the top of those stairs.
You wonder if he’ll know you now, in patched sleeves and soot-stained soles.
If he’d want to.
You press the heel of your hand into your chest, hard.
Just to feel something.
⋆｡°✩
Far from the attic, in a palace where the candles never burn low, a king lies dying.
Not with drama. Not with blood or fury or breathless speeches. Just… slowly.
Quietly.
Gojo sits beside him.
He’s not dressed for grief. Still in the same half-wrinkled clothes from the night before—collar askew, hair a mess, the ghost of the ballroom clinging to his shoulders.
He hasn’t slept. Hasn’t moved since the garden emptied and the last guest was sent away.
He hasn’t spoken.
Not until now.
“I met someone,” he says softly.
The king doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth twitches. Barely there.
“A noble?” he rasps, voice like dry paper.
Gojo almost laughs. “Not even close.”
The king hums. A tiny sound. “Thank god.”
That earns a real smile. Faint. Brief.
Gojo leans forward, fingers curled tight over the blanket. “I didn’t get his name. Didn’t even ask. He ran. Lost a shoe.”
The king’s chest rises slowly. “Romantic.”
“Frustrating,” Gojo says. “He was real. Not… shiny. Not faked. I think he looked right through me and still stayed.”
The king doesn’t speak for a long time.
Then—
“Then go,” he says, hoarse but sure. “Go find the one who saw you.”
Gojo’s throat closes.
The king’s eyes stay shut.
“You’ve carried this crown too long,” he murmurs. “Go be loved, Satoru. Don’t let this place kill that part of you.”
There’s silence.
Then Gojo bows his head.
“I will.”
⋆｡°✩
The king dies two days later.
The mourning bells toll across the city. The gates are draped in black. The court dons solemn silks and speaks in hushed tones.
Gojo buries his father quietly.
No fanfare. No grand declarations. Just a hand pressed to the coffin and a whisper no one hears.
He returns to the throne room with quiet thunder.
No coronation. No applause. Just a man in mourning with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders and something softer clenched between his hands.
A single shoe.
Silver-buckled. Clean as memory. The only piece of the night that didn’t vanish.
The court hushes when he steps to the dais.
He speaks without ceremony.
“I’m not here to celebrate a title,” he says. “I’m here to honour a promise.”
A ripple of confusion passes through the crowd.
Gojo lifts the shoe for all to see.
“This,” he says, voice steady, “was left behind by the person I danced with at the royal ball.”
Murmurs rise. Names, questions, whispers like wind.
Gojo’s next words cut straight through.
“I don’t know their name. Or where they came from. But I know how I felt.”
Silence now. Even the courtiers lean forward.
He breathes in. Then:
“Find them.”
The prince’s men arrive two days later.
They come in pairs—one to carry the shoe, one to carry the threat of a sword.
Some houses greet them with fanfare. Others slam the door. But in every room, they kneel before the hopeful, the desperate, the delusional, and ask them to try it on.
None of them fit.
None of them feel right.
⋆｡°✩
Toji doesn’t really want to be here.
He’s already threatened to eat the shoe twice. Nanami pretends not to hear him.
“You’re not putting it in your mouth,” Nanami says flatly as they stand in front of a bakery.
“I wasn’t gonna put it in,” Toji replies. “Just, you know. Scare the kid a little.”
“No.”
“They’ve got sugar tarts in there.”
“We’re here for the shoe.”
“I can multitask.”
Nanami sighs and knocks.
⋆｡°✩
Three houses later:
“This is a waste of time,” Toji mutters.
“It’s a royal command,” Nanami answers, like that means anything.
They’re standing in front of a weeping blacksmith.
“I swore I saw the mystery person,” the blacksmith says, tears in his beard. “They were in my dream. Had wings. Glowed.”
Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose.
Toji offers him a handkerchief. “We’ll send word if we find them, yeah?”
The blacksmith sobs louder.
Toji pats him on the shoulder.
“You tried, champ.”
⋆｡°✩
Back at the estate, the air has changed.
You don't notice at first. You're doing laundry. Small, quiet motions. Wrists in soap, eyes on the window.
But when you climb back up to the attic, the door is open.
That’s not right.
You never leave it open.
You step inside.
Geto is waiting.
He’s holding something in his hand.
It takes you a moment to register it. To understand what you’re looking at. To realise it’s yours.
The other shoe.
The one the magic didn’t claim.
Geto doesn’t look angry.
Worse.
He looks resigned.
“I knew,” he says, voice low. “The night you came home. I knew it was you.”
You don’t speak.
There’s something brittle in your chest. Like glass.
Geto turns the shoe over in his hand. “It was supposed to be Mimiko or Nanako. Anyone else. Someone who could give this family something back. But you—”
He shakes his head.
“I married your mother for love, you know.”
You flinch.
“I was a servant. Just like you. She didn’t care. She saw me. She chose me. And then she died. And I got stuck. In this house. With bills, and mouths, and nothing to show for it but my hands and my daughters.”
He looks at you then, sharp and quiet.
“You think I hate you,” he says. “I don’t.”
You want to speak. You don’t know how.
“I envy you,” he finishes.
Then he drops the shoe.
And before you can move—before you can breathe—he steps on it.
It doesn’t break.
Of course it doesn’t.
The magic’s long gone.
So he picks it up instead.
And throws it out the window.
You hear it hit the gravel outside.
And then—
Click.
The door locks behind you.
Geto’s footsteps fade down the stairs.
And you’re alone again.
Trapped. Silenced.
But not invisible anymore.
⋆｡°✩
You don’t move right away.
You hear Geto’s footsteps fade, one by one, until the house swallows them whole. Until the only sound left is the wind against the glass, and the beat of your pulse behind your eyes.
The lock clicks again in your mind.
Sharp. Final.
And then—
Nothing.
Just quiet.
You sit.
Not gently. Not with grace.
You drop straight to the floor, legs folded awkwardly, palms flat on the cold wood. The air smells like old wood and soap. Like sorrow dried into the beams.
Your hands curl into the sleeves of your shirt. Not to hide. Just to feel something.
The window glows with late morning sun. Too bright to pretend it’s still night. Too soft to call this anything but cruel.
You swallow.
You whisper to no one, “It wasn’t supposed to matter.”
The words hang there.
And then—
A scritch.
Then another.
Soft and quick, like tiny feet against the baseboard.
You blink down.
Yuji, the one with the torn ear, darts into view. He stops near your feet. Sits up on his haunches like he’s checking on you.
You offer him your palm.
He noses it once. Then skitters away to the corner where Megumi and Nobara have already gathered.
There’s a scrap of ribbon there. Frayed. Half chewed.
And a single wooden spool.
You don’t know how they found it. Or why they’re bringing it to you.
But they do.
You exhale.
“I’m not making a new shoe,” you say quietly.
They freeze.
You soften. “...Thank you, though.”
Yuji does a little hop. You can almost hear him say you’re not done.
You lean back against the wall.
You look at the door.
The lock is still in place.
The window is still too small.
Your limbs are still tired.
But something in you is standing up.
You’ve never asked to be found before.
But now—
Now you know what it felt like to be seen.
And you’re not letting that disappear without a fight.
Bang bang bang.
Not a gentle knock.
Not the kind nobles use.
The door shakes in its frame.
Mimiko shrieks from somewhere down the hall, “Father—!”
“Coming,” Geto calls, voice too smooth, too fast.
He brushes dust from his sleeves and opens the door with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
Nanami doesn't smile back.
Toji doesn’t look like he’s ever smiled at all.
The taller one—Toji, in dark military trim and boots that leave real dirt on the clean floor—looks over Geto like he’s furniture. Nanami, perfectly pressed and sharply polite, holds a velvet-lined box in his hands.
Inside it, nestled like a relic, sits the shoe.
The room tightens.
“We’re here on royal command,” Nanami says, calm as a cut. “Every household within the capital must comply.”
Geto’s smile doesn’t falter. But his fingers twitch at his sides.
“Of course,” he says. “My daughters will be thrilled.”
⋆｡°✩
The twins are anything but.
They stumble into the drawing room in matching silks, half-dressed and sweating.
Mimiko tries to charm. Nanako tries to lie. Both try on the shoe.
The shoe does not fit either of them.
Not Mimiko, who tried to stuff her foot in sideways, biting her lip like pain might be mistaken for grace.
Not Nanako, who screamed at the guards and insisted it was her shoe—until Nanami calmly pointed out it would have to be her right shoe, and she’d shoved her left foot in.
Both of them are red-faced now. Geto looks pale.
Nanami closes the velvet box with finality.
“That’s all,” Geto says quickly, stepping between them and the door. “Thank you for your time, but as you can see—”
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Nanami says, already half-turned. “We’ll be on our way—”
And then—
CRASH.
Not subtle.
Not small.
Wood shatters. Something heavy hits the floor above. Then a thud. A clang. Another loud bang, like someone’s trying to tear a room apart.
Because one of the guards—the one who had been silent this entire time, helmet shadowing his face, standing too still in the corner—steps forward.
And removes his helmet.
White hair falls loose.
Eyes like the end of a sky.
It’s him.
The prince.
No coat. No crown. Just a low voice and a gaze that could slit a throat with kindness.
“Check the room,” Gojo says.
Toji doesn’t hesitate.
He moves toward the stairs.
And Geto?
Geto stops breathing.
⋆｡°✩
Meanwhile, upstairs—
You’ve already broken a chair.
The window’s too high, and the door won’t give, but fury moves faster than fear.
You threw the table against the wall. You shattered a glass jar. The room is in chaos.
Not because you thought someone would hear you.
But because if you’re going to be locked away again—this time, the walls will remember you were here.
And downstairs, they just did.
⋆｡°✩
The door gives way with a shudder and a kick.
Toji steps inside the attic like he’s seen a thousand rooms like this—and hates every one of them. He doesn’t speak at first. Just scans the broken chair, the shards of glass, the boy standing in the middle of it all like a storm passed through him and didn’t finish the job.
You square your shoulders, fists tight.
“I’m not going quietly,” you say.
Toji raises a brow.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Not until you try on the shoe.”
⋆｡°✩
You’re still stunned when you’re led down the stairs.
The house feels different now—seen, somehow. You don’t flinch when Geto glares. You don’t look at the twins when they hiss your name like it’s a curse.
Because all you see is him.
Gojo.
Not in a dream. Not behind a mask.
Just him.
And he’s looking at you like you invented music.
⋆｡°✩
“I didn’t know,” you say softly.
His smile curves at the edges. “Good.”
You blink. “What?”
“I wanted to be seen as me, not as—” He waves a hand. “Royal disaster. Golden boy. Walking headline.”
“You’re still ridiculous,” you mutter.
“Mm,” he says, “but you danced with me anyway.”
⋆｡°✩
Nanami brings the shoe.
It still gleams like it remembers the night better than you do.
You kneel.
Your fingers tremble.
You fit your foot inside.
It slides in like it never belonged anywhere else.
A quiet settles over the room.
Nanami exhales, almost like relief.
Toji nods once.
The twins make some sound between a gasp and a wail.
And Gojo?
He takes two steps forward.
Then drops to one knee.
No theatrics. No ceremony.
Just him.
And you.
And the weight of everything you both carried here.
“I don’t know your name,” he says. “But I’d like to learn it every day.”
You swallow.
His hand is warm.
“Will you marry me?”
You stare at him.
Then, slowly, like something new is blooming in your chest—
You smile.
And take his hand.
The palace feels warmer now.
Not because of the sun. Or the gilded windows. Or the three-tiered cake that someone dropped during the reception and tried to blame on the reindeer.
But because of him.
Gojo stands beside you on the balcony, arm loose around your waist, his thumb brushing idle circles against your side like he still can’t believe you’re real.
You’re both still in partial wedding attire—him with his jacket tossed over a chair somewhere, you barefoot, crown lopsided, shirt collar unbuttoned and clinging just a little to your throat. You should probably be inside. The court is probably looking for you.
But the garden below is quiet.
And the air tastes like late summer and the end of something you never thought would happen.
⋆｡°✩
“What happened to them?” you ask, leaning into him just enough to be smug about it.
He hums. “Geto’s under investigation for falsifying noble status. Pretty sure he’s banned from the capital for life. Last I heard, he’s trying to sell spiritual healing potions out of a cart in the countryside.”
You snort. “And the twins?”
“Assigned to community service. Fifteen years of it.”
You blink. “What do they do?”
“Paint fences. Clean royal kennels. Muck out stables.”
You try to look sympathetic.
You fail.
⋆｡°✩
The sky is peach-gold now.
You lean back against the railing, one hand braced behind you, and Gojo’s eyes trace the line of your neck like he’s memorising it.
“What?” you ask, smirking a little.
“You’re too pretty for this world,” he says easily. “I might have to exile you just to stop fights.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re not exiling me. You married me.”
He steps in closer.
“I did, didn’t I?”
His hand settles just under your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. His smile turns softer.
Hungrier.
“Wanna kiss your husband?”
You grin. “Maybe.”
He doesn’t wait for permission.
⋆｡°✩
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice like velvet warmed in sunlight.
You don’t answer. Just let your fingers trail down the line of his collarbone, slow and curious, feeling the heat beneath his skin. You’re still a little dazed from it all—the ceremony, the kiss, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the kingdom.
Maybe the world.
Gojo watches you with a softness that doesn’t match the grin tugging at his lips.
“Still thinking about saying yes?” he teases, tilting his head.
You hum. “I’m thinking I want to kiss you again.”
“Be my guest.”
You lean in. He meets you halfway.
The kiss starts gentle—lazy, even. But there’s something under it now. Something hot and restless curling between your ribs. Your fingers move to his jaw, then to the back of his neck, dragging him just a little closer. He obliges with a pleased sound, deepening the kiss, mouth parting just enough to catch your breath between his lips.
He tastes like sugared wine and strawberries, and you swear you could drown in him.
By the time you break apart, you’re breathing harder than you expected. Your eyes meet, close enough to feel the words before you say them.
“I want you,” you whisper.
It comes out raw. Honest.
Gojo stills. Just for a moment.
Then—
“Yeah?” His voice is lower now. Rougher around the edges. “You sure?”
You nod.
“Then come here.”
⋆｡°✩
He lifts you before you realize he’s moving. Hands strong, steady, one at your back, the other beneath your thighs. You yelp softly, laugh against his throat, and he huffs out a breathless chuckle that turns into something deeper.
The doors to your chambers are already cracked open. He kicks them wider.
The room beyond is quiet. Candlelit. Fresh linens, tossed shoes, and half a glass of wine still left untouched on the bedside table. You don’t see any of it.
Just him.
He sets you down gently, reverent in a way that makes your chest ache.
You sit on the edge of the bed as he leans in, hands braced on either side of your thighs, lips ghosting over your cheek, then your jaw.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, voice low and warm.
You reach up. Thread your fingers into his hair.
“Kiss me like you did that night,” you say. “And don’t stop.”
He grins against your mouth. “Gladly.”
And he does.
⋆｡°✩
The world falls away the second his lips meet yours again.
There’s no crowd here. No music. No kingdom watching. Just the sound of his breath and yours, the rustle of fabric as fingers drag slowly down your back, and the warm press of his palms against your skin like he’s memorising every inch of you.
You pull him closer. He goes willingly.
The kiss deepens. His mouth is hot and sure, moving with a rhythm that makes you dizzy. His tongue brushes yours, and you gasp into him—your fingers clutching the back of his shirt, your legs parting slightly as he slots himself between them.
He presses you gently back onto the bed.
The sheets shift beneath you—soft, crisp, faintly perfumed—and his weight follows, settling against you with a slowness that feels like worship.
His hand cradles your face as he kisses you again, slower now. Lingering. Like he has all the time in the world.
“Still sure?” he asks, voice hoarse at the edges, lips brushing your cheek.
You nod, breath caught in your throat. “I want you.”
Gojo exhales like he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life.
“Okay,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.”
⋆｡°✩
He doesn’t rush.
He undresses you carefully, easing your clothes from your body piece by piece, always watching, always touching, like he’s unwrapping something sacred. His hands trail down your arms, your ribs, your hips—every inch of your skin kissed, touched, praised.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, not like a compliment, but like a fact.
His own clothes fall away soon after, and when he kneels above you, bare in the candlelight, you forget how to breathe.
He’s strong. Slender. Scars across his stomach, down his hip—each one traced gently beneath your fingers. His eyes darken when you touch him, a low sound humming from his chest as you explore him with quiet wonder.
He kisses your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thigh. Each press of his mouth is tender, reverent. You shiver when his lips ghost lower—when he parts your legs with one slow sweep of his hand and settles between them like he was always meant to be there.
When his tongue touches you, your fingers curl in the sheets.
He’s slow. Gentle. Languid.
Learning you. Reading every twitch of your hips, every gasp, every whispered plea. He hums when you moan, the sound low and satisfied.
You arch when he wraps his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispers, voice rough and thick with want.
And he does.
With his mouth, his fingers, his voice—coaxing you open, unravelling you gently, turning heat into warmth into fire.
By the time you come undone, you’re panting, legs trembling, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.
He doesn’t leave you. Doesn’t pull away. Just presses slow kisses to your skin and climbs up to meet your mouth again, breath catching as he feels you cling to him.
You reach for him. Trace the line of his jaw.
“Take me,” you whisper.
And he does.
⋆｡°✩
He enters you slowly, carefully, stopping when you tense, kissing your throat until your body melts into his again. His hand finds yours against the pillow, lacing your fingers together as he presses deeper.
It’s intense. Full. Your breath stutters, and his does too.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
You nod.
He starts to move, and it’s overwhelming.
His weight on you, his breath on your neck, the way your bodies move together—every thrust angled with care, every sound he makes pressed against your ear like a secret. He moans when your hips rise to meet him. Groans when you say his name like you mean it.
He doesn’t look away. Watches you fall apart underneath him. Watches your lashes flutter, your mouth part, your breath hitch.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he says, voice wrecked.
You pull him down, kiss him hard, gasping against his lips as heat blooms low and deep in your core.
He speeds up—just enough.
The sound of skin on skin, the headboard creaking gently, the rhythm of his hips, your hands in his hair—it all builds into something slow and bright and utterly consuming.
You fall apart first, back arching, thighs clenching around his waist.
He follows with a gasp, pulling out just in time, his hand stroking you through it as he spills onto your stomach with a trembling groan.
⋆｡°✩
After, he’s quiet.
He wipes you down gently, kisses your chest, your temple, your knuckles.
Then he pulls you into his arms, your head tucked beneath his chin, his thumb stroking slow circles into your spine.
You’re half-asleep when he whispers, “I’m never letting you go.”
You smile.
“You better not.”
Later, as the sun dips below the rooftops, you’re sprawled together on the balcony, limbs tangled, cheeks flushed, breath finally slowing.
He presses his forehead to yours.
You close your eyes.
The world is quiet again.
Until—
Scurry scurry.
You open one eye.
Yuji. Then Megumi. Then Nobara.
The mice dash across the stone railing, tails twitching, feet fast, all three heading for the figure standing just beyond the edge of the light.
Shoko.
Still in her boots. Still in her long coat. Still impossibly cool.
She holds out one palm.
The mice leap into it without hesitation.
She glances at you and Gojo, sprawled out and glowing like kings in love.
“Cute,” she says.
You sit up. “You stayed?”
She lights a cigarette with a flick of her fingers.
“Nah,” she says. “I just came to collect my assistants.”
Gojo squints. “Assistants?”
“They picked you,” Shoko says, looking directly at you.
summary: you have always wanted to fuck a gladiator
pairing: emperor geta x male reader x lucius verus
word count: 2k
warning: male reader smut!
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You awoke to snakes of warmth slithering around your body. You soon realized that they were the limbs of countless naked men and women.
It was routinary for the new royalty of Rome to place feasts in times of great victory and conquest to expand the empire. In the morning, there would be feasts of the most exotic fruits and viands the colonies could produce, wine would flow down cups as if it were from the Nile.
At night, however, there would be the feasts of flesh. The most elite and expensive whores would be brought to the palace for a night full of sex and wine, a feast that you have frequented at the request of the Emperor.
The older emperor had always sought your company, especially during trying times. He would always look at you with his golden eyes. His pale hands are at your neck, and there are gold rings of many different colored jewels. He loved to use you, taking hours of thrusting and licking. You watched as his younger brother would go through many different men and women every night — but the older emperor took his time on using you, only you.
Many of the elite members of the parties would try to come to you, old greying men of the senate glancing at you as you rode the golden emperor. At times, they would try to touch you, tug on your arm or your hair. The emperor was quick to scold them, threatening their lives for even laying a finger on you. You felt special, like a hero from an old myth defending his muse.
You stood to see him near the window overlooking the Colosseum, sunlight casting a ray against his fiery hair. He was naked, his pale yet muscular body reflected light like quartz. He was much taller than his twin, and broader than the younger emperor who was scrawny. He flinched when he heard you come near.
“Did I startle you, sire?” you said. Wrapping a silk blanket around your body.
He shook his head, his eyes glazing down your frame. He gestured for you to come closer. He had always stood out from anyone in the room. His eyes were stained with red powder and his lips plump and pink. He took the robe off of you, his hand on your neck forcing you to look up at him.
“How many times have I spoken to you about covering yourself?” he said, his thumb rubbing on your lower lip. “Never be ashamed of your body my little dove.”
“Forgive me, sire—” you uttered before he pressed his lips on yours. It tasted of wine, his tongue toying with yours. His other hand snaked around your back before falling against your ass. His lips soon find your neck, each kiss deep and wet. You stare at the Colosseum behind him, in awe of its grand architecture.
Emperor Geta stopped his wet “trail against your skin. He followed your gaze, a smile forming against his lips. “Have you ever been with a gladiator, little dove?” he said.
“I have always been with you, sire,” you said. “but the idea does strike me.” you smiled.
“Then return to my chambers tonight,” he said, slipping a finger inside your mouth. He pressed against your shoulders forcing you down on your knees. You looked up at him with his erection teasing centimeters away from your lips. You licked his tip and slowly engulfed his hardness. He moaned and raked his hand through your hair. His little dove.
The night was cold and dry. A guard had led you to the Emperor’s chambers, a large room adorned with gold treasures. His bed was the biggest you have ever seen, draped in the whitest silks, and his nightstand was littered with coins and gold cups. Your eyes wandered to look for your golden emperor. He stood at the corner near the window, his shoulders draped in the finest toga.
“My little dove,” he said, his eyes gleaming. In his hands were two cups, one for himself and one he handed over to you. You took a sip and let the bitter red liquid drip down your throat. “I have a gift for you.”
“A gift? My sire, I am unworthy,” you said. He gestured for his guards. They brought in a man cloaked in a ragged robe, torn and dirty. He was large, larger than you and the emperor, his figure cast a shadow against the flames and candles.
“I have brought you,” he said, walking towards the man. “A gladiator.” He pulled off the hood to reveal a gladiator you have seen fight in the arena. He was tall and broad, more muscular than the emperor, his body was littered with cuts and scars, his chest more hairy and his beard unkempt. A red piece of cloth bound his eyes and wrists. He unrobed the man until he was wearing nothing but a piece of tunic and a blindfold. The man flinched, his breathing heavy.
Geta sat on a chair near the bed, legs crossed and cup still in hand. You inched near the gladiator, your hands touching his sun-kissed skin. It was warm, sweat dripping down his nape. He smelled of ash and smoke. “He was given wine sourced from Asia, they say that it is infused with flowers that would provide a person with intense lust—a madness that renders them more beast than man,” Geta said. “Go on, have your fill. I am only here to watch.”
“Fascinating,” you whispered. You gently pushed him on the bed before pulling the tunic, his cock standing tall and thick, the tip leaking. You went down on your knees to take it inside your mouth. Your jaw ached from the girth. He writhed and cursed before grabbing your head and pushing you down with force. You gagged from the sudden motion, your eyes tearing. He fucked your mouth like a raging animal, stroking his cock with your mouth. His grip on your hair was tight and painful.
“Take it, whore.” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.
Geta watched amused. His free hand toyed with the wine while another palmed his growing hardness. The gladiator let go of your head, and you gasped for air, drooling and panting. He rips off your tunic before pushing you down the bed. He spits on his hand before toying with your hole, he was rough and callous, a stark difference from the gentleness of the emperor. He pushed his thick cock deep into your hole, and you shouted from the stinging pain. He fucked you repeatedly until your knees and arms gave out. Soon, the thick manhood thrusting deep inside you brought pleasure throughout your body, you writhed and moaned, your cock rubbing against the silk.
You gripped the sheets so tightly you could feel the soft fabric rip. Strong blows of force slammed against your hips as you clamored for air and release. You looked up to gain sight of the emperor. He stared at you with eyes filled with wanton lust. He spat on his palm and continued to stroke his aching cock.
“Stop,” you hear the emperor's command. “Take your cock out, gladiator.”
The gladiator grunted, easing up and taking his hardness out of your hole. You collapsed on the mattress panting and tired. You feel Geta’s ringed fingers smooth your hair. He gestures for you to look up, his golden eyes are now large pits of black.
He bends down to kiss you, his tongue tastes of bitter wine. He gestures for the gladiator, he is glistening in sweat and smells like a day’s work. Geta grabs your hair and pushes it down the gladiator’s cock, pushing and pulling your head to stroke the warrior’s aching hardness. The emperor unclasped his tunic, and layers of gold cloth fell on the floor. You take his cock in your hands, stroking the pale cock while you sucked on the warrior.
You took turns sucking on their cocks. Geta taking a hand and endlessly slapping your ass till it turned red. “What a greedy slut you are, my little dove,” said Geta. “as if taking a royal cock was not enough, you had to turn yourself into a common whore for a gladiator.”
You hummed on their cocks, your mouth too filled taking each cock in alternate strokes to even say a word. “Go on then gladiator, take his ass and fuck your fill,” he said in a snobbish tone. The gladiator went to the bed to take his place, going down to lick your aching hole. His beard was rough against your cheeks, but the wet licks he left on your hole made your legs shake and go weak. His hands gripped your ass, kneading the fatty flesh as he lapped on the hole he was soon to fuck.
You soon felt the gladiator slowly sheath his big cock back into your hole. You wanted to gasp but Geta’s cock was still in your mouth. They both fucked into your holes, gaining some sort of non-verbal message to fuck you in the same rhythm. It was too much, you thought, your mouth and your ass getting fucked by large cocks. Your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, your knees weak while your shoulders trembled trying to have some balance.
“Fuck—I’m close,” Geta moaned. “Go on gladiator, fill that hole with your seed. I shall do the same to his mouth.”
The room was filled with symphonious moans and grunts accompanied by loud slaps of flesh. You could feel the gladiator's breath on your nape, his large arms hugging you as he thrust even more. He takes your leaking cock in his hands, the pre-cum dripping down your shaft providing enough lubrication to make his strokes slip.
Their breaths became labored, Geta whispered a thousand curses while the gladiator spoke in a language you could not understand. You were close, your climax teasing at your tip. Your whole body convulsed as you reached your high. Geta came into your mouth, leaving a loud grunt before pulling away. The gladiator hugged you tighter as he came, emptying his warmth inside you.
Geta called for a bath, leaving you and the gladiator in bed. You stared at his body in slumber. He was handsome, you thought, full brows, a Grecian nose, and a body packed with dense muscle. You tried to touch his chest before his hand swiftly caught it.
“I have no intention of hurting you,” you said. “Are you okay? Do you still feel feverish?
“I should be the one asking you that question,” he sat down on the bed, a piece of cloth covering his groin. “I didn’t know what came over me, I’m sorry.”
You chuckled, his face dumbfounded. “You think you’re the first person to fuck me like that?”
He chuckled as well, running a hand through his damp hair.
“And so the mighty gladiator laughs? I thought if you even smiled a little your face would crack,” you said, his smile dropped garnering a bigger laugh from you.
“Tease me again and I might just fuck that laugh away from you.”
“Yeah? Maybe I should tease you more then,” you said seductively before straddling his muscular thighs. You traced your hands on his muscles, his cock growing hard underneath you once more.
“I dare you,” he said, pressing his lips against yours.
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Trying on new merch brings out Johnny's possessive side.
Warning for bottom male reader, possessive behavior, and a special appearance from Johnny's tight white t-shirt that he wore in the movie. No spoilers for the new Fantastic Four movie.
“Babe? Babe!” You hear Johnny yell from your balcony.
In a panic, you ran into the room, already expecting the worst from his tone. After flinging open your bedroom door, you find Johnny floating above your balcony holding a box.
“What’s wrong?” You huff, heart pounding in your chest.
Johnny hovers the short distance inside, a bright smile on his face, “I brought you something,” he says excitedly.
“You couldn’t have knocked and brought it through the front door?” You ask, your hand over your racing heart.
“I was too excited to show you,” Johnny replies, his smile falling off his face as a pout sets in.
“Fine,” you reply, walking over to Johnny. Even if he did just scare you, you couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss him, “show me,” you said, a rush of affection running through your body when Johnny smiles from the kiss.
“We got new merchandise, baby!” Johnny says, rubbing his hands together.
Rolling your eyes, you watch as Johnny nearly tears the box in two to get its contents out. “How’d you get over here without burning the box?”
“I’ve been practicing,” Johnny answers, sending you a wink before he carefully begins to lay the items out on your bed.
“Are these all yours?” You ask, watching as the pile only gets bigger.
“What do you mean are these all mine?” Johnny asks, brows drawn together in confusion, “of course they’re mine,” he says like you just asked the dumbest question in the world.
“What if I wanted a,” you grab one of the objects, “Reed Richards mug?” You ask before setting it down a second later, “or a Ben Grimm action figure?” You ask, picking up the figure of Johnny.
“Oh really?” Johnny asks, “you want me to go grab you a box or two?” He asks, pointing a thumb behind his back in the direction of your balcony.
“I’m kidding!” You reply, grabbing Johnny’s arm when he begins to walk away, “I’m kidding,” you repeat, giving him another kiss.
Johnny pulls back from the kiss smiling, but it soon falls when he grabs the figure you’re holding, “they never get my hair right,” he sighs.
You reach up to smooth over the frown lines, “I think it looks handsome,” you say, grabbing the action figure and placing it on your shelf with the many other iterations Johnny has brought you in the past.
Walking back over to Johnny, you can’t help but notice how tight of a t-shirt he’s wearing, looking as if his toned chest wasn’t threatening to break free on every movement.
“What else did you bring me?” You ask, your eyes jerking away when Johnny looks up. You look away nervously, like Johnny wasn’t your boyfriend who loves when you look at him, making you feel silly.
“There’s a shirt like this one,” Johnny says, gesturing down to the one he has on, “which I think they got the sizing wrong.”
Whoever they are, you made a mental note to send them a thank you letter later. “I can tell,” you murmur, raising a hand to let your fingers brush across a nipple through his shirt, “is it cold in here?”
“Stop distracting me,” Johnny gripes, turning away as he continues to dig through the box.
Not wanting to let up, you let your hand fall and instead lean forward to press a kiss to Johnny’s cheek. He continues to rifle through the box as your lips travel lower. You have to bite back a smile when you hear Johnny’s movements pause when your lips brush against Johnny’s neck.
“I’m really excited to show you this,” Johnny groans, shifting closer, “and you won’t let me,” he complains breathlessly.
“Fine,” you grumble, pulling away, Johnny looping an arm around your waist when he decides you’re moving too far away.
“Finally!” Johnny says, pulling out a blue and white shirt. He turns it eagerly towards you, the shirt looking a lot like one of the suits you’ve seen him in.
“It looks like one of your suits,” you observe.
“That’s not the best part,” Johnny replies, flipping the shirt over, “I had to get it specially made. One of a kind,” he says, looking over the shirt.
It confuses you at first, but when you see the writing near the collar, you catch on. “Oh,” you say, a feeling of warmth settling deep within your gut. Storm the shirt says, right near the collar, like a jersey.
“Too much?” Johnny asks, pulling the shirt towards his chest.
“I-” you begin, going to grab the shirt, “I like it,” you whisper, running your fingers across his name on the back.
“Yeah?” Johnny whispers back. His hands fall to hang by his sides, his hands twitching like he’s aching to reach out and touch you. It isn’t like he can’t, but instead, he stands there confused as you pull your shirt off.
Once the other shirt is on, it’s your turn to question Johnny, “how does it look?”
“Good,” Johnny breathes, looking you over slowly.
“Just good?”
“Great,” Johnny corrects.
You shuck off your pants, biting back your smile when Johnny’s eyes widen momentarily a second later, “what about now?”
“Fuck,” Johnny breathes, closing the distance between your bodies by yanking you into his chest. The kiss steals your breath away, making you gasp, and Johnny, in turn, pushes his tongue into your mouth.
Johnny’s hands wrap tightly around your waist, giving you no chance to move as Johnny swallows the moan you let out at the feeling of his tongue meeting yours. His tongue is hot and wet in your mouth, mapping out a space he’s long grown familiar with.
The next article of clothing that comes off is by Johnny, his hands making their way into your underwear. He kneads the globes of your ass cheeks, using his hold to bring your hips together.
The kiss breaks, but not the space between your bodies, Johnny’s forehead coming to rest against yours. Johnny pushes your underwear down in a slow movement, falling onto his knees as the clothing comes down.
Johnny presses a kiss to each thigh as he gets your underwear off your ankles, tossing it away to an empty corner of the room. He looks up when you bury a hand in his blond hair, keeping eye contact as he runs his tongue along your cock from root to tip.
You’re the one to break eye contact, your head falling back when Johnny takes you into his hot mouth. You let Johnny make his own pace as he slowly takes you deeper, your cock grows harder along his tongue.
Your hand tightens in his hair when the head of your cock hits the back of his throat, Johnny gagging and his throat clenching around your cock. You moan at the feeling, even as your hand pushes Johnny off your cock.
You pull Johnny up onto his feet with a yank of his hair, Johnny moving obediently as you pull him into a kiss. You let out a soft noise into Johnny’s mouth at the hint of salt you can taste on his tongue.
Johnny pulls away from the kiss first so he can turn around. Thinking he’s about to take his clothes off, it startles you when Johnny swipes his arm along the bed, flinging everything off the bed and onto the floor.
“Hey! Don’t wreck my stuff!” You scold.
Johnny fixes you with a mischievous smile as he pulls off his clothes. Thinking he needs help, especially with how tight his shirt looks, you run your hands up his chest. As you work, so does Johnny, his hands already on his belt as he smirks.
“Someone’s eager,” Johnny notes, his arms going up momentarily as you pull his shirt off.
“Hurry up,” you respond, giggling as your lips come together.
Your hands move to Johnny’s shoulders as he gets his pants and underwear, your arms looping around his neck when Johnny surges back up into a kiss.
“Don’t you dare,” Johnny says possessively against your mouth when you try to take the shirt off. He licks into your mouth during the next kiss, his hands sneaking below the hem of the shirt to wrap around your hips. “Bed. Now.” Johnny commands after he pulls away.
But funnily enough, when you try to move, Johnny’s hands tighten around your hips, holding you in place. You stumble a few steps to the bed, Johnny making his way between your legs.
The next few kisses grow sloppy when Johnny brings your hips together over and over again. By the time Johnny rises up onto his forearms, his cock stands proud between his legs, while yours has left a wet spot on the shirt.
You let out a whine when Johnny leaves the bed, his lips coming back down onto yours softly to kiss you in apology, “be right back, baby,” he murmurs.
It almost made you feel proud to watch Johnny go exactly where he needs to go to grab the lube, the man returning to the bed with a look of satisfaction.
One of the best things about dating a flaming superhero meant no more cold lube. What once used to make you jump at the feeling, now left you sighing happily into Johnny’s kiss as he presses a slick finger into your hole.
“Let’s get you comfortable,” Johnny says after the kiss, his finger not even halfway inside before he’s pulling it out.
He pushes you up the bed with his clean hand into the pillows at the top of the bed. Johnny grabs one of the pillows beside you to get it underneath your hips before he leans back down into yet another kiss, “comfy?” He asks after pulling away.
You nod, trying to speak, but any words you try and let out make way for a gasp when Johnny’s finger makes its way back inside. “More,” you groan, clenching down on the single digit inside you.
Johnny lets out a laugh, “I just started,” he says, moving his finger in and out.
“Please,” you whine, trying to fuck yourself down onto his finger. Your whines only grow when Johnny’s finger brushes your prostate, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.
“Can never say no to you,” Johnny replies in a low voice as you feel another finger trace along your hole.
Your head falls back into the pillows as two fingers make their way inside. You barely have time to keep up as Johnny chases your mouth, moaning against his tongue as Johnny’s rubs against yours.
Johnny takes your bottom lip with him when he pulls back, the skin caught between Johnny’s teeth. The slight burn of it matches the burn in your body from Johnny’s fingers as he opens you up. You push through the burn, meeting Johnny’s fingers in the middle to get them back inside.
After two fingers have become three, you’re sweaty and practically thrashing on the bed. The heat of the single shirt left on your body nearly feels unbearable, but it doesn’t compare to how Johnny’s fingers feel inside, and how hot his lips feel on your neck.
“Johnny! Please!” You cry, eyes moving from Johnny’s hard cock between his legs to his face when he pulls away from your neck. You couldn’t imagine how he must feel, his cock red and angry.
Johnny licks his lips, seemingly satisfied by the mark you assume he’s left. If the dull pain radiating from your neck is anything to go by. “Okay,” he nods, pulling his fingers free slowly.
You gasp around the emptiness, your hole clenching around nothing now that the intrusion of Johnny’s fingers is gone. You watch Johnny’s eyes as he watches the pathetic movement of your hole, “fuck,” he breathes.
Your heart pounds in your chest, anticipation filling every fiber of your being when the wet press of the head of Johnny’s cock meets your hole. He practically bends you half to press his forehead to yours as you breath in each other’s air.
Your hand tangles into the hair on Johnny’s nape to pull him into a soft kiss, much softer than what the current situation calls for. One of your legs rests on Johnny’s shoulder, the other hangs on Johnny’s lower back, threatening to fall from the sweat on your skin.
“Ready?” Johnny asks quietly.
You give Johnny a nod, your leg momentarily tightening to push him forward. You both gasp when Johnny finally pushes in, his cock like a hot brand going deeper each second.
“So tight,” Johnny groans, a bead of sweat dripping down his nose, “always so tight,” he whines as he slowly bottoms out.
You force yourself to breathe when Johnny’s balls rest on your ass, his cock leaving you feeling full. You release the hold on Johnny’s hair to move your hand down Johnny’s chest, right over his racing heart.
“Breathe, baby,” you tell Johnny, smiling as his eyes come back into focus and meet yours.
Johnny falls on top of you with a soft laugh, his face resting in the crook of your neck. The movement jostles his cock inside you, stars bursting behind your eyes when it brushes your prostate.
“Sorry,” Johnny slurs into your neck as he circles his hips.
You clench down on Johnny’s cock in retaliation, smiling up at the ceiling when Johnny groans.
“Now you’re just teasing me,” he growls, biting into the skin below his lips. Likely left with another mark, Johnny pulls away from your neck as he brings himself up onto his forearms.
You let your other leg fall to wrap around Johnny’s hips to let him pull free, but not too far away. And with nowhere to go, Johnny can only drive his cock back inside.
The moan you let out, Johnny answers. His cock makes quick work of finding your prostate on each thrust, no doubt aided by the moans you let out in response.
Johnny ducks down for a kiss, if you can even call it that, messy and a mix of tongue and teeth. He pulls away with a moan, his hips moving faster as he fucks you into the sheets. The bed creaks to the rhythm of his thrusts, nearly drowning out the noise of your combined moans.
Hands move below your shirt, Johnny’s hands pressing your body into the bed as his hips smack against yours. He falters for just a second to roll his hips slowly, his cock pressed right against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“You look so good in my clothes,” Johnny breathes, leaving your shirt bunched on your collarbone. He leans down for a kiss as his fingers tweak your nipples, your back arching off the bed. His fingers pull away once your nipples are as hard as your cock, lying neglected against your stomach.
Johnny leans down to lick one nipple, soothing the sore skin with his warm, wet tongue. He moves to the other once it relaxes back down underneath his tongue, his cock throbbing deep inside you as he works.
You pull Johnny off with a tug to the back of his head, pulling the man up into a kiss. You whimper into his mouth at the feel of Johnny's hot spit cooling over your nipples, Johnny pulling the shirt down to cover your upper body back up.
He breaks the kiss and leans up onto his knees, bringing one of your legs with him to hook it over his shoulder. The other lies spread to the side, your foot hanging off the bed. He presses a kiss to your ankle before he begins thrusting once more.
As Johnny picks up the pace, his other hand wraps around your cock to move in time to his thrusts. Your orgasm builds, growing closer and closer on each slick pull of Johnny’s hand.
“I’m gonna cum,” you whine in warning, and moments later, your orgasm washes over you. Your back arches off the bed, your hands digging into the sheets like you’re fearful you’re about to float off the bed. Uncontrollable moans leave your lips as Johnny goes even faster, thrusting through the clench of your hole as it flutters around his cock.
Johnny fucks you through your orgasm and down into your aftershocks, Johnny holding your fucked out body in place as he takes what he wants. He pulls out with a loud groan and makes his way up your body, his knees coming to rest on either side of your neck.
Too much in a post-orgasm haze, your brain isn’t able to count how many pulls it takes for Johnny to cum. What it instead focuses on is the noise Johnny makes when he cums, and the feel of it splashing on your face.
You close your eyes and let the sounds of Johnny’s moan fill your ears, his burning hot cum staining your face in thick ropes. When it gets to the point that it feels as if it’s never going to end, you feel the bed dip on either side of your head as Johnny twitches through the aftershocks of his orgasm.
“Mine,” you hear Johnny whisper as he moves down your body. You feel the puff of his breath on your face as his weight settles over your body. He kisses you wetly, the salty taste of his spend on Johnny’s tongue.
You lick your lips when Johnny pulls away, wanting to taste even more of the mess he made on your face. You swallow the familiar taste down, Johnny’s cum still warm as it makes its way down your throat.
You feel the soft feel of a cloth wiping your face, “you’re not,” you start, a smile spreading over your lips when the cloth swipes over your lips, “using one of my new shirts to clean my face are you?”
“No,” Johnny responds quickly.
“Johnny!” you whine.
“I’m not!” Johnny responds, throwing what he was using away when you open your eyes. He flops down on top of you when you try to sit up and see which one he used. Johnny presses a kiss to your cheek, “don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Johnny says, hiding his smile into your neck.
You grumble out a response, but still can’t help but wrap your arms around Johnny, the man happily nuzzling his face into your neck in response.
pairing: clark kent x male reader
summary: your poor boyfriend accidentally eats aphrodisiac chocolates, now you have no choice but to help him
tags: smut (mdni), handjob, anal, riding, whiny clark, dom bottom reader, sub top clark
wordcount: 2.1k
you weren’t expecting much when you made your way back home from work. it had been one of those days, stressful, full of deadlines, and not enough time to think about anything else. you fumbled for your keys as you approached the door. the jingling of your keys was the only noise that filled the hallway. you turned the knob, stepping inside yours and clark’s shared apartment. the soft light of the kitchen cast a warm glow over everything, the kind of calm you’ve been craving for all day. you toed your off shoes and exhaled, already picturing yourself collapsing into bed.
“clark?” you called, voice low and rough from a day of talking. “in here.” came his reply, gentle but off. rough around the edges, like his voice had been dragged over gravel. you frowned, curiosity outweighing exhaustion. he was leaning against the kitchen counter when you found him, sleeves rolled to the elbows, shirt clinging a little too well to his shoulders. his hair was a mess, soft curls disheveled in a way that didn’t seem intentional. there was an open box on the counter, foil wrappers scattered like evidence.
you stopped short. “wait, oh no. please tell me you didn’t eat those.” he blinked, confusion flashing across his features. “the chocolates? yeah, i thought they were yours. you didn’t want them?” your stomach dropped. “clark. those were a gag gift from a coworker. they’re not… normal chocolates.” there was a pause, a beat of silence in which comprehension flickered and then bloomed into realization. “oh.” he straightened a little, voice dropping an octave. “that… explains some things.”, “some things?” you echoed. clark pushed a hand through his hair and let out a breath that sounded unsteady, maybe even pained. “i’ve been standing here for twenty minutes trying to figure out why everything feels so… intense. my heartbeat’s going wild, i can hear the electricity in the walls, and i can’t—” he faltered, catching himself. “i can’t focus on anything.” you crossed the distance between you quickly, concern overtaking embarrassment. up close, the change in him was obvious, his pupils blown wide, cheeks faintly pink, chest rising and falling too fast. you reached out instinctively, resting a hand on his arm. his skin was warm, hotter than usual even for him.
“clark, hey. look at me.” he did, and the look nearly knocked the breath out of you. there was a vulnerability there, something raw and desperate, tangled with the effort of holding himself back. his voice cracked when he spoke again. “i don’t know if i can—” he swallowed hard, throat bobbing. the chocolates, whatever the hell was in them, had his kryptonian metabolism humming, his body thrumming with an energy he couldn’t quite control. his skin felt too tight, his nerves alight with every brush of air. clark’s breath hitched when your fingers made contact with his forearm, his muscles tensing beneath the touch. he exhaled shakily, breath warm against your face.
clark’s teeth sank into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic tang grounding him for half a second. “fuck,” he breathed, voice raw. “please—” he didn’t even know what he was begging for. you came closer, your cologne, something dark and spiced, overwhelmed the wrecked man in front of you. “hey,” his chest heaved at your words, “you shouldn’t—” but it died in his throat as your bodies nearly flush. the heat between you was unbearable, threatening to short circuit what little was left of clark. his forehead dropped against your shoulder with a thud that should’ve hurt but all he felt was the dizzying rush of your breath against his ear, the way your fingers curled into the fabric of clark’s shirt, pulling him closer. the kryptonian’s body was a furnace, his skin practically vibrating with restrained energy, his muscles tensed like he was fighting against his own instincts.
“you’re cute like this,” your voice was low, rough, but there was no hesitation in the way your free hand slid up clark’s chest, nails scraping lightly over the fabric of his shirt. “very cute.” your own breath hitched when his hips jerked forward involuntarily, seeking friction. “p-please—” he was a wreck, his teeth grinding together as he fought to form words. his mouth opened to speak but he cut himself off with a sharp inhale as your palm pressed flat against his chest, right over his racing heart. his hips rolled again, helpless, his cock aching against the confines of his jeans. your lips curled into something dark, amused. “so what you’re telling me,” you murmured, fingers trailing down to the waistband of clark’s pants, “is that, you’re desperate.” the word sent a fresh wave of heat through his body, his cock still twitching painfully. “and you need help.” not a question. a statement. a promise.
clark’s breath stuttered. “i—i could hurt you. i’m not—” but the warning died as your hand dipped lower, palming him through his jeans with just enough pressure to make his vision whiten as the edges. “you won’t,” you breathed against his ear, voice a sinful purr. “but if you do…” your grip tightened, just for a second. “i’ll make sure you apologize properly later.” his fingers dug into the counter behind him, knuckles white. “y-yeah,” he managed, voice rough and desperate. “i—i need—” his hips jerked again, involuntarily. the heat between you was suffocating, his skin practically buzzing with unrestrained energy. he wasn’t thinking straight. he couldn’t. the chocolates had scrambled his senses, left him raw and needy, and now, with you pressing against him, teasing him, he was drowning in it.
his hands shot out, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers trembling. “i don’t—i can’t” his breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. “i need you to do something, or i’m gonna—please…” he was begging and he didn’t even care. not when you were looking at him like that, dark eyes gleaming with amusement and something far more dangerous. not when your hands were right there, your voice wrapping around him like a command. “i can’t think,” he whimpered, he was breaking. his dick throbbed, aching, his entire body wired and desperate for something, your touch, your mouth, anything to ground him before he lost what little control he had left.
you fish out his aching length from his pants, feeling the full heavy weight of it in your palm. the slit oozes out pre, giving you enough lubricant to stroke it up and down. you rub your thumb over the tip to tease clark more. “f-fuck, too good…” he tilts his head back, clearly overwhelmed with pleasure. his muscles coiled tight with restrained power. he could feel everything, every calloused ridge of your palm, the way your thumb pressed just right over the sensitive head, the way his pulse roared in his ears. his vision swam, his body burning with the need to move, to fuck into your hand, but he was terrified of hurting you. “i—i can’t—” his voice broke, his cock leaking more with every stroke. “i’m gonna—” he lets out a choked gasp, his fingers tightening on your shoulder. “gonna lose it…” his breath came in sharp, uneven pants, his body trembling on the edge.
you twisted your wrist just slightly, pressing down on the underside of his cock. “fuck!” his voice shattered, hips snapping forward as his orgasm slammed into him, his cock pulsing in your grip as he came hard, his release spilling over your fingers in thick, hot spurts. his entire body locked up, his muscles tensing as his vision whited out, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps. his chest rapidly rising up and down, sweat dripping down his brow. the sight was heaven to your eyes. clark’s body sagged against the counter, his muscles still trembling from the force of his release. his chest heaved, each breath ragged as he tried to regain some semblance of control. the sweat slicked his skin, his curls clinging to his forehead, his blue eyes slightly glazed as he looked at you.
“fuck,” he breathed out as you felt something poke at you. “s-shit, i didn’t mean to—” his hands scrambled to try and calm his cock. “you’re insatiable.” you smile. a breathless, embarrassed laugh escaped clark as he tried and failed to will his cock back down. “i-i can’t help it!” he whined, his face burning as he pressed a hand over himself, as if that could hide the way he was already hardening again. the chocolates were still coursing through his system, his kryptonian metabolism refusing to let the high fade. his skin was too hot, his pulse too fast, and the way you were looking at him wasn’t helping. “i swear, i’m not usually like this,” he muttered, desperate, needy, and unable to stop. “okay, maybe when i’m with you, b-but not this bad!” you laugh at his whining.
clark’s ears burned crimson at your teasing, his pout worsening as his cock kept twitching indignantly against his palm as if offended by your amusement. his free hand fluttered in the air between you, torn between reaching for you and covering his own face in shame. “stop laughing—hah, fuck—it’s not funny!” the last word cracked into a moan as you deliberately dragged your knuckles up his inner thigh. his legs nearly buckled, thighs flexing as he fought the impulse to rut against your hand like some desperate teenager. “don’t worry. i’ll take good, good care of you, clark.”
your hands find their way onto his collar as you pull him in for a kiss. your lips crashes onto the taller man before you pull his shirt off while clark does the same to you. you both find your way to the bedroom. pants, belts, and underwear carelessly thrown around the room. you push clark down onto the mattress. his back hitting the sheets as you climbed over him in one smooth motion. his heart pounded partly from the fall, mostly from the way you were looking at him. his cock twitched against his stomach, already aching again, the heat from the chocolates still thrumming under his skin.
“fuck!” clark’s entire body locked up as the scorching heat of you enveloped him, his back bowing off the mattress. his hands flew to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises as his cock pulsed inside you, the sensation overwhelming. the position of you on top had him buried deep, his thick length hitting places that made his vision whiten at the edges. “too—nngh—too good!” his hips stuttering up into you helplessly. every clench of your body around him sent jolts of pleasure straight to his nerves. his muscles trembled with the effort of holding back, his skin slick with sweat as he panted, “i c-can’t—’m gonna lose it.” his cock twitched inside you, pre leaking freely as he fought the urge to fuck up into you hard enough to break the bed. his blue eyes were blown wide, his usual control shattered under the weight of the high and the way you were riding him like this. his cock glistening with your slick heat.
clark’s body burned with the need to cum, to fill you up until you were both a wreck. his words dissolved into a choked groan as you rolled your hips just right, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you. his thighs trembled, abs clenching as he fought the building orgasm. “gonna—fuck—gonna cum!” his warning was a whine, his cock throbbing as his release coiled tight in his gut. “f-fuck, good boy.” you mutter as you continue to maneuver your hips up and down at a speeding rate. “good boy, wants to cum?” you felt the body beneath you jerk at your praise. “y-yes—!” his voice was wrecked as his hips were stuttering up into you. his fingers dug into your hips, his blunt nails leaving crescent marks as he fought to keep himself from fucking up into you like an animal.
his blue eyes were blown wide, his usual shyness gone, replaced by pure, needy, want. “please, i can’t hold back.” his voice cracked, his body trembled with the effort. “gonna—fuck—fucking fill you up!” his hands tightened on your body, his muscles tensed as his climax crested. his cock pulsed deep inside you as he spilled hot and thick, his release filling you up. the feeling of fullness sends you over the edge as you felt yourself cum at the same time. spurts of hot white cum streak all over clark’s body. your chest rose up and down as you tried to catch your breath. clark shook as he rode out the aftershocks, his cock twitching inside you. “t-too good—” he was wrecked. you watched as his chest heaved as he sagged back against the mattress, spent. you quickly got off of him and tried to find a rag or a tissue to clean both of you, but when you came back you found clark already hard again.
pairing: Ryomen Sukuna (as Micheal Myers) × male reader
synopsis: The shape moves in silence through the night, always just a shadow behind you. Every step you take, he’s there. When he catches you, there’s no mercy, only the slow, perfect filling that leaves you trembling and marked from the inside out.
content warnings: 18+, smut, stalking, toxic ex dynamics, bottom male reader, raw sex, breeding kink, filthy talk + creampie + cum stuffing, cum play, choking, biting, possessiveness, public danger setting, orgasm control/overstimulation.
word count: 1.2k words
Halloween had always been noisy in the city, too many strangers in cheap masks crowding the sidewalks, but tonight the noise blurred into something muffled, drowned beneath the weight of footsteps that weren’t your own. Every time you turned, you saw him—tall, broad, standing just close enough for him to be in your line of sight, his face hidden by a plain white mask that didn’t belong among the cheap plastic fangs and neon makeup. He never brushed shoulders, never touched, just lingered a few paces back like your shadow had stretched into something solid.
At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Too many drinks, too much smoke and laughter from the party clinging to your head, but the pit in your stomach didn’t ease. The streetlights flickered overhead. Every time you thought you’d shaken him off, he was there again. Watching.
By the time you cut into a narrow alley to lose him, your chest was already tight, sweat breaking beneath your collar. The brick wall at the dead end hit you like a slap—you’d trapped yourself without meaning to. And when you spun, he was already there, stepping closer, head tilted like he was amused by the panic rolling off you.
“Who the fuck are you?” Your voice cracked sharper than you wanted.
The man reached up, fingers dragging slow against the mask before tugging it free.
Your heart dropped into your stomach.
Sukuna.
The scars on his mouth twisted into that grin you knew too well, the kind that had once made you weak, the kind that still made heat crawl up your throat even now. He looked good in the worst way, like a wound you hadn’t let heal.
“Miss me?” His tone was casual, mocking, but his eyes burned. “Been a long time, huh? Didn’t think I’d just let you walk away.”
Your lips parted, but nothing came. Weeks of silence. Weeks of convincing yourself you’d done the right thing, leaving him behind, refusing to keep swallowing his chaos. And now here he was, like your thoughts had dragged him out of the dark.
“You’ve been—fuck, Sukuna, you’ve been following me?”
He chuckled, low, head dipping closer until you felt the warmth of his breath on your cheek. “Every night. You think I wouldn’t keep track of what’s mine? You thought you’d find someone else, let some other asshole touch what belongs to me? No chance.” His voice curled lower, taunting. “I know every step you’ve taken since you left. I know every person who’s looked at you. None of them deserve you. You’re mine.”
You hated how your body reacted, the shiver running down your spine, the way your thighs pressed together. Old habits, old memories—you could still feel the ghost of his hands on your skin, the stretch of him splitting you open, the way he never left you empty.
“You’re insane,” you spat, though it came out thinner than you meant.
He grinned wider, scarred mouth cruel and knowing. “And you’re still hard for me.”
Then his mouth was on yours, hard and taking, teeth scraping until your lips burned. You tried to push him away weakly, hands braced against his chest, but when his tongue shoved between your lips, your knees buckled. He swallowed the noise you made triumphantly, grinding you into the wall like the city outside didn’t exist.
When he pulled back, your chin was wet, your breath stolen. He looked feral.
“You taste the same,” he muttered, one hand sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing until you gasped. “Like you’ve been waiting for me to come back.”
The fight bled out of you when he spun you into the wall, pressing his chest to your back, rutting against you like he couldn’t hold back. His zipper dragged open and the hot weight of his cock pressed against your ass, thick and heavy, grinding until you whimpered.
“Sukuna—”
He cut you off with a growl. “Shut up. You wanted this. You wouldn’t be shaking like this if you didn’t.” His breath was sharp at your ear, his voice rough with need. “You think leaving me changed anything? This hole still belongs to me. Still begging to be filled.”
You gasped as he shoved your pants down, spitting into his hand before smearing it between your cheeks. There was no slow prep, no patience—just his cock nudging against your rim, the blunt head pushing until your body gave way with a sting that made you curse. The stretch was brutal, familiar in the worst way, every inch splitting you open until he was seated deep, groaning against your neck.
“Fuck—tight as ever. Clenching like you missed me.” His teeth scraped your skin, biting down until pain sparked hot. “Say it. Tell me you missed this cock splitting you open.”
You didn’t answer, too busy clawing at the brick for balance as he pulled back and slammed in again. The alley echoed with it—skin on skin, your muffled moans, his guttural groans. Each thrust was deeper, harder, grinding into the spot that had you seeing stars.
“You’re mine,” he growled, pace picking up, the sound of his balls slapping against you filthy in the night. “No one else gets to fuck you like this. No one else gets to stuff you full and keep you leaking. Gonna fuck my cum so deep it won’t leave for days.”
Your cock slapped against your stomach, dripping, untouched, every thrust jarring pleasure through you until you couldn’t hold back the noises spilling out. Shame burned your face, but your body was already betraying you—pushing back into him, desperate for more.
“That’s it,” Sukuna snarled, one hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision spark. “Take it. Take all of me. You’ll come untouched, won’t you? Just from being stuffed like my personal cocksleeve.”
You choked on a whimper, the heat in your abdomen snapping. You came hard, spilling against the wall, legs trembling as he held you steady and fucked you through it. The orgasm wrung you out, left you raw and shaking, but Sukuna wasn’t close to done.
“Pathetic,” he spat, hips slamming faster. “Already creaming around me, begging for more.” His hand pressed hard against your stomach, feeling the drag of his cock inside. “Gonna pump you full. Gonna breed you until your hole knows no one else but me.”
The words burned, filth coating every thrust, until his hips stuttered. He shoved in deep, grinding until you swore you could feel him in your throat, and then the heat flooded you. Thick, hot, spilling over as his cock throbbed inside you, filling you until it leaked down your thighs. He groaned against your neck, hips rocking, forcing it deeper, holding you there as though he could mold you to keep it all inside.
When he finally pulled out, cum spilled down your skin in messy rivulets, obscene in the glow of the streetlight. He laughed low, shoving two fingers into your hole, scooping the mess and pushing it back in while you whimpered.
“Not wasting a drop,” he said, smug. He licked the mess from his fingers, eyes locked on yours as he sucked them clean. “Tastes like mine. Always will.”
You sagged against the wall, legs barely holding, your head spinning with the smell of sweat and sex. Sukuna tugged his mask back on, still grinning like a psychopath.
“Next Halloween?” he mused, stepping back into the shadows. “Fuck that. I’m not waiting a year. You’re mine now, and I’m taking you whenever I want.”
The alley went silent when he vanished, but the ache between your legs and the cum dripping down your thighs was proof enough he’d been real. Proof you weren’t rid of him at all.
SUMMARY: it's has become a personal mission for yourself to see how long it will take you to break bob, whilst in the bedroom.
“Okay... and what's your safe word?” You ask him in a gentle tone as you lock the second pair of handcuffs to the bedframe as Bob just looks up at you with an excited smile, “dandelion” he mutters out and it's is very clear to you that he might be more excited about this than you are, which would be incredible hard because you've been dying for this.
You stand at the end of the bed as you stare down at Bob's restrained body. A small smirk appears on your face as you watch Bob's rock-hard cock twitch like it had a pulse, “big boy.” You coo out in a low tone as you strip off your clothes showing off your black thong that perfectly cups your growing bulge. Bob licks his lips at the sight of you.
You crawl onto the bed, getting between Bob's thighs, and you gently place a kiss on the top of his pre-cum soaked tip. You lick a wet strip across the whole tip as your tongue goes back and forth against the slit causing a shiver of pleasure to shoot up his body as he bucks his hips up towards your face, “b-baby!” He whines out wanting to feel the warmth of your mouth wrapped around his cock.
You continue placing kitten kisses along his shaft as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock and you begin pumping it up and down, creating a sensational amount of pleasure. Bob can't help but bite down on his lower lip, preventing his quiet whimpers from escaping. You pull away entirely from his cock until he feels you straddle his lap teasing his cock against your lube soaked hole.
You lay your body weight on top of his muscular one whilst you arch your back and feeling his cock slide right against your hole as you grind yourself back and forth. You place kisses along his chest, moving further up as you lick a wet strip from his collarbone all the way up his neck until you reach his mouth and he immediately slides his tongue into your mouth trying to fight for the only bit of dominance he could possible obtain. “Mhm...” he coos out as you gently bite his lower lip and tug on it, which makes his eyes widen with excitement.
You place your hands on either side of his face “Open wide.” You mumble out in a low whisper, and he obeys immediately sticking out his tongue and opening up his mouth as wide as he possibly could, all while you grind back and forth, feeling his cock twitch against your hole begging to be pushed inside of you, he wants the feel the warmth of your hole.
You spit in his mouth, and he laps it all up, “Are you my good boy?” You whisper in a seductive tone while making direct eye contact with him, “Y-Yes..” he clears his throat “I am. I'm your good boy, please, please, please let me fuck you.” he begs you in his whiney voice that you love so much. You hover you ignore his begs with a smirk plastered on your face as you continue teasing his cock by letting his pre-cum soaked tip coat your lubed hole up with his liquid.
This goes on for a while, ignoring his begs and just covering his neck in hickeys. You pull away, and without saying a word, you push yourself back onto your knees and directly trapping his cock between your cheeks as you slowly sit yourself down on his cock, feeling it push past your tight muscle ring and into the warmth of your hole. “Fuck!” he whines out but a smirk on relief grows on his face feeling your walls already contracting around his edged length.
“I know that it's your safe word... but shout dandelion when you're about to cum.” You whisper in his ear as you push yourself down entirely feeling his cock twitch inside of you, your walls have tightened around him so much that you can feel his cock pulsate with each twitch. Bob rapidly nods his head, “Yes-Yes! Whatever you want, please just ride me” he begs with you, and for once, you listen to his command, and you immediately start riding him at a fast pace.
You've been bouncing away at his cock for a while now, you watch as his hands pull at the handcuffs wanting to hold your hips to help you bounce. You bounce on his cock harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping against eachother was the only thing that could be heard in your bedroom bedside the obvious whines from Bob, whose eyes have filled up with tears from the blissful amount of pleasure that his coursing throughout his entire body.
“DANDELION! DANDELION.” Bob yells out as you come down against his hips one final time as he keeps his eyes open as they lock onto you as he watches you face as his load shoots all the way up inside of your asshole, you haven't touched your own cock this entire time and the moment his load hits your sweet spot your cock spurts out thick ropes of cum that coat his entire chest.
You continue bouncing throughout his entire orgasm and tears begin streaming down Bob's face, “D-DON'T STOP!” he grunts out as his eyes flutter back, and he has the biggest smile you've ever seen on his face. Once he has finished shooting his pent-up load inside of you, you collapse your body against his, and his chest rises and falls as he takes deep breaths.
“That...was fucking incredible.” he mumbles out as you unlock his handcuffs setting his hands free and he immediately wipes his tears away, “Fuck, that's never happened before...sorry about that.” he mumbles out and you can tell he's feeling embarrassed about that, “Don't be sorry, it was hot.” You smirk and he grabs your hips and pulls closer to him as he rolls you both over, “Round two?” he smirks as he holds up the handcuffs and your eyes just widen as you bite your lower lip hoping that his never ends.
A/N: this is just pure smut, y’all. Don’t read if you don’t like
Written for this request
Dividers by @/enchanthings
CW: explicit sexual content; smut; begging; top!Bob and bottom!Reader; Bob is more of a sub in this btw; missionary position; edging; biting; marking; penetrative sex; anal sex; slight hair pulling; daddy kink; breeding kink; mentions of babies; Reader calls Bob ‘baby’ and ‘pretty boy’; pain kink; biting hard enough to bleed; crying during sex; overstimulation; cuddling as grounding; blood kink; blood licking; mentioned multiple rounds; kissing; glimpses of Sentry; no mentioned aftercare; maybe ooc Bob?
540 words
“Please, please, please, please!” Bob moans. His thrusts get sloppy. His hips stuttering like he can’t hold back.
“Not yet, baby,” you gasp. “Just a little longer.”
You’re on your back; Bob above you. He’s nuzzling into your neck, nipping and biting and marking you to hell. And you love it.
Every one of his thrusts grinds his stomach against your achingly hard cock. Making you moan and whimper. Making you clench around Bob’s dick. Which makes him only whine even more pathetically.
“Please, please! I need— I gotta—“ His voice catches and you feel the tears against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder to muffle his whimpers, rutting harder into you.
“What do you need?” You tangle your fingers in his hair. Tugging just enough to make Bob moan. He lifts his head, eyes wet and oh so pretty.
“Need you,” he whines. Making his thrusts deeper. Slower. Making you gasp in pleasure as he hits that spot inside you.
“Need you, please!” He’s babbling now, eyes squeezed shut. “Please, daddy! Let me cum! Let me fill you up! Wanna give you so many babies!”
Daddy. That’s new. That’s… hot.
“Fuck! Okay, okay, baby,” you nod frantically. “You can cum. Cum for me, baby.”
His thrusts speed up again. His panting breaths getting rougher and more desperate. He bites down on your shoulder again, shuddering. A mewling, “please,” slipping from his lips
“It’s okay, baby,” you groan. “I’ve got you. Fill me up. Make me a daddy. Give me your babies, pretty boy.”
Bob’s hips stutter again. Sharp pain shoots through your shoulder, blurring with the pleasure. You arch, crying out as you cum hard.
Bob wails through his mouthful of your flesh, burying himself inside you as hot sticky cum fills you up. And still he keeps thrusting.
He’s babbling, whimpering. Fucking his cum deeper and deeper into you. He doesn’t let up; not until you’re squirming under him and he’s crying from overstimulation.
Only then does he pull out. He collapses against you, gasping and panting and shaking. His eyes glowing bright gold.
You pull him into your arms, rolling him over so you’re laying on top. Slowly but surely grounding him with your body weight until his eyes fade to speckled brown.
Your shoulder throbs with dull pain, hot blood dripping onto your sheets. You nuzzle into his neck, pressing soft kisses to his skin. “You alright, baby?”
He moans softly and nods. Head dipping down to lick at your bleeding wound. You groan low in your throat. “Bob— Fuck—“
You roll your hips against his, grinding your already hardening cock against his. “Don’t do that if you’re not ready for another round.”
“I can take it,” he mutters. Pulling back to gaze up at you. Lips all bloody and eyes all glazed and teary. He looks magnificent.
You kiss him hard. Nipping and licking and sucking on his lips. “You sure?”
“Yes,” he moans, trying to match your intensity. “I can do it.”
“Well then,” you murmur. Pulling back to gaze hungrily down at him. “How ‘bout we give your idea another go? Let’s make me into a daddy, Bob.”
His eyes glow gold again and he bares his teeth. “Oh, fuck yes.”
(Name) hated Geto. And he hardly hated most things. It was the day before December 24—a day that Geto will kiss the earth goodbye. But it didn’t matter right now. It’s not like he knew anyway.
“I didn’t say anything. Does my presence anger you that much?” Geto asked, eyeing the man in front of him. His scent was sour—due to Geto being in front of him.
(Name) rolled his eyes. “Knowing you’re still alive pisses me off. Now fuck off.” He said, turning to continue on his way home before he felt something behind him.
He panicked, which in hindsight was such a stupid plan of action, and he fell back onto the concrete. On his back, he stared straight up at Geto who looked at him with a simple smile. He wished he could just kick that smile off his face. But he knew his strength level.
No way in hell could he realistically fight against Geto and survive.
“You act like an omega.”
(Name) blinked before a growl left his throat. Being an omega wasn’t bad but it was certainly being used as an insult by Geto. He slowly stood up, wondering to himself if he should risk his life just to get a slap at Geto.
He decided against it and rolled his eyes. “Better an omega than a brainless alpha.” With that, he side stepped Geto and continued on.
But he didn’t get too far when he bumped into Geto.
“Oh for fuck sakes!” (Name) yelled, wishing he hadn’t taken that late night mission for a random curse. He was just about ready to push Geto but was quickly stopped by him.
Of course. How could he go against Geto with his noodle arms? (Name) stared at Geto, waiting for him to speak. Or possibly kill him. He wasn’t sure what was going on with Geto in the head these days.
He’s changed from high school.
“You’re not as smart as you seem.”
“Oh okay. If I wanted to get insulted I would’ve went to my mother. Thank you,” (Name) laughed bitterly before prying himself out of Geto’s grip. He was shocked, a bit scared really, at how easily he bruised from it.
Geto shook his head. “I like you.”
(Name) blinked. He stared.
And then he walked away.
What type of sick joke was that?!
“Hey!”
(Name), he would never admit this, shrieked when he was grabbed by his shoulders and shoved up against the nearby tree. Only the street lamp in the park illuminated the angry look on Geto’s face. He sighed softly before pulling at (Name)’s sweater, revealing his neck.
“Oi, what the—?!”
“You’re really dense.” Geto muttered. “Since my previous actions never worked—I’m trying something different.”
And then he bit him. (Name) choked, reaching up to grasp his shoulders but he didn’t push away. He was an alpha… but he liked this. It was going to leave a scar but he was into it. But he wasn’t about to get used by Geto for some quick sex.
(Name) moved his hand and scratched at Geto’s neck, causing him to pull away. He didn’t even show any ounce of pain. (Name) really was weak compared to him.
“I’m not some quick fuck. Especially if you’re trying out alphas. Go to Gojo if you want that.”
Something flickered in Geto’s eyes but it was gone in as fast as it came. He only chuckled.
“It’ll be fun.”
“Yeah, sure it will.”
“I mean, you’re a virgin. How could you know unless you tried?”
(Name) blinked.
“Okay, get the fuck off me.”
“I can easily change that.”
“I don’t want you near my ass.”
Geto smirked. “So you know I’ll fuck you?”
“If I let you fuck me will you leave me alone?”
A flicker of disappointment was on Geto’s face before he quickly hid it. “Yes. Are you sure you can handle an Alpha’s cock though?”
“I’m sure an alpha can handle another alpha,” (Name) rolled his eyes.
And how wrong he was…
ꕤ
“Do you think any of those monkeys could satisfy you like this?”
(Name) mewled in pain at the newly fresh bite on his neck. He hated how good this felt. The two of them got to (Name)’s apartment and Geto was on him as soon as the door closed. (Name) didn’t want to know why Geto was so experienced: easily tearing off his clothes and using the lube to open his ass.
It was certainly an odd experience. How could an omega actually like having a finger up their ass? (Name)’s cock was aching to release his knot but Geto would always squeeze it whenever he felt he was too close.
“You seem… nng, obsessed with those ‘monkeys’ you hate,” (Name) gasped at the squeeze on his knot. He muttered out an apology as Geto pulled out his fingers, licking them as (Name) watched in embarrassment.
“Disgusting…” (Name) muttered.
Geto simply hummed as he pulled down his pants, letting out his cock. (Name) blinked in fear. Holy shit. He was larger than him in every category. The knot, the length, the thickness.
How the fuck was that supposed to fit in his non-omega ass?!
“Don’t look so scared. You handled my fingers well—my knot should be easy.” Geto grinned.
(Name) was scared and he did not try to hard it as he watched Geto slowly push it inside of him. It was painful. He would not lie to himself that he felt like crying as his scent soured once more. Geto’s own scent was hardly there. It was never really there, even in the past.
He had said he just learned to hide his scent… But right now, like an omega, (Name) wanted to smell something calming that contrasted his own. But he didn’t want to ask that. It felt odd for an alpha to ask about something like that from another alpha.
(Name) gripped the bedsheets underneath him, hoping it would get easier soon. But his knot stopped him. Geto’s knot was too fucking big to fit inside of him. (Name) whined in embarrassment, ignoring the chuckle he got from Geto.
“You need to relax. It can’t go in if you’re tight.”
“Don’t talk about me like that…” (Name) muttered but tried to calm his nerves. It was hard but he tried to calm himself. An unknown smell began to intertwine with his own. It was Geto’s…
(Name) would never tell him, and he would never get to, that his scent was the most calming one he’s ever smelt. It was a basic vanilla swirled with cinnamon. He hated how his heart swelled and he wanted to smell this forever.
He wanted to be drenched in it. Could an alpha really like another alpha’s smell this much?
Before he could ask this question, he came. His orgasm was the most intense thing he had ever felt. Back arching and mouth opened wide in an open scream. And it all only happened because Geto’s cock was now fully inside of him.
(Name) didn’t dare look at Geto. He knew the little shit would be grinning like he won. (Name) could tell that his knot was still there. Despite him cumming, it still swelled, ready for release.
Geto leaned down and easily pushed (Name)’s legs up towards his head. A simple grin on his lips as he bit harshly on the fresh tanned skin beneath him. He wanted to make sure (Name) would wake up with these marks for weeks on end.
If only he was an omega he could mark as his forever.
He pushed it into the back of his mind as he began thrusting, enjoying the way (Name) tried his hardest to hide his moans. Each little thrust touched something deep inside of (Name) that he’s never touched before.
He remembered his alpha friends talking about it before but he never knew he was missing something this pleasurable. The sound of squelching from the copious amount of lube they had to use for a hole not made for penetration was taking over the room.
His bed squeaked as the thrusts got quicker. Geto’s unusual strength beginning to shine through with each particular thrust. The little moans coming out of his mouth was that similar to an omega.
It shouldn’t have turned him on but it did. He truly felt like he was becoming Geto’s.
Embarrassingly enough, the sex didn’t last long. Geto seemed ready to pop his knot much faster than (Name) anticipated. But he was glad, because he was holding in his knot so he wouldn’t embarrass himself cumming first.
“Are you ready for my knot?”
“Eh?” Was all (Name) could say before he felt the similar pulsating that he knows is a knot swelling into release. He whined in distress before being pulled into a surprise kiss. It stopped any sort of complaints on his lips as he, embarrassingly, returned the kiss in full.
He loved it. He wanted to stay like this with Geto. The feeling of his seed coating his inside as if he was an omega. The feeling of his lips on his as they kiss in the moonlight seeping from his closed curtains. The feeling of his hands on his body.
The warmth that they’ll no longer hold.
They pulled away from the kiss and stared at each other. There was no longer any words exchanged. It was silent. But that was all they needed.
But in the morning, he was gone.
ꕤ
It was a new year. (Name) still hated Geto. He also came to hate Gojo but it was for a silly reason.
(Name) cleaned off any dust he got from his recent fight and was ready to get home. The bite marks that Geto had once given him were beginning to fade and he wasn’t sure if he was sad or relieved he wouldn’t see them in the mirror anymore.
He yawned to himself and covered his katana with it’s usual bandage until he felt someone in the building with him.
He turned around quickly, aiming his katana at their chest, ready to cuss out whoever it was until his nose smelt something. Something he hadn’t smelled since a few weeks ago.
“Geto….?”
“Now you and I both know it’s no longer Geto in this body, (Name).”
Oh, he fucking hated Geto Suguru.
╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ
Requested by @xweirdo101x
This came out way more sad than I originally planned but I wanted to show off my angst chops!
Thanks for the request! My requests are open if interested!
Could you maybe write a Jealous!GhostxMaleReader...maybe Ghost gets jealous of Reader and Graves?? Dunno just want to see a jealous Ghost....I like how you write Ghost...it doesn't have to be Graves, it could be a member of Shadow Conpany...
- ☁️
Don't listen, I'm near 🔞
My first request, so I thought I would put a bit more effort into this fic than usual. It ended being written from Graves' POV? So I'm not sure if it's exactly what you wanted but I hope this is somewhere along the lines of the request :3
Relationships: Ghost x bottom!Male Reader
Synopsis: A jealous Ghost fucks you into oblivion and Graves hears every single bit of it. Contains gratituous smut.
A/N: NA
Master List
“Hey there, sweetheart, need a hand?”
Phillip Graves, that was his name, right? Commander of the Shadow soldiers currently milling about the base as part of a joint operation between the 141 and Shadow Company. You follow his eyes to the crates of beer in the storeroom.
“Oh, Graves, right? Yea sure!” You heave two crates of beer off the floor and Graves trails his eyes over your way your shirt exposes your chest and abdomen with each exertion of your body.
He is not salivating. He is just admiring another soldier preparing a feast as part of the collaboration, a dinner and night of celebrations. Nothing untoward and nothing scandalous. Your request for him to grab the drinks jolts him out of his naughty daydream and he nods with as much grace the Shadow is known for. That is, not much.
The men are gathered in the rec room when both you and Graves return with alcohol. Soap and Gaz help themselves to a bottle each before you can put the crates down. Graves imitates your actions and places his crates down.
Ghost is sitting in an armchair all by himself, while Grave’s soldiers are fanned out around the room. Some eating, some drinking, mostly engaged in conversation or tabletop games. You crack open a bottle and he has to resist grabbing choking that sinuous neck and the bobbing of your throat. Ghost is nowhere at his chair and once he reestablishes visual contact, Ghost is standing by your side.
“You want a bottle, Ghost?”
The masked freak shakes his head and the smile on your face makes him green with jealousy. He wishes it was him on the other side of the smile.
“Of course, the LT himself doesn’t drink beer.” You dug around your pockets and reveal a metal flask. “Bourbon, straight from Kentucky.”
Ghost rumbles something affectionate and takes the flask. The mask is raised up to his nose bridge and Graves catches a sight of the pink lips and perfect teeth.
“Thanks, corporal. Appreciate your efforts.”
“Anytime, LT. Anything for you.” The skeleton hand on your shoulder lingers for too long for Graves’ liking.
The man looks up from you to meet Grave’s gaze. Inside, he spots something feral and territorial curling in the lieutenant’s eyes.
Stay. Away.
---
The rest of the night goes smoothly. Graves gets to spend time with you on the dance floor and his hand even wrapped around your waist at one point. You don’t seem to be too phased by the close proximity to him and he flashes a grin, all teeth and vibes.
He catches the boring gaze of Ghost, intensifying each time he went anywhere near you. Fuck him, he doesn’t own you and Graves is free to flirt with whoever he wants. The skull man is free to kick rocks if he doesn’t like it. Eventually, you are too tired to continue partying and excuse yourself from the dance floor. Graves watches as you say something to the lieutenant and his eyes are overcame by something fond and soft before a pat by a skeleton hand sends you leaving the room.
It's boring without you on the dance floor and Graves leaves his men in favour of turning in for the night. The base is huge and Graves stumbles around, trying to find his room and it is just bad luck Ghost is who he sees first.
“Ah, lieutenant, mind showing me the way to my room?”
Ghost doesn’t seem to be too pleased to see him, judging by the arms crossed but mainly, the eyes give away his ire and displeasure at seeing the other man.
“Down the hallway. Room 103.”
Graves thanks the man not before he is slipped a radio.
“You left this at the party.”
Wait, what? The last time he checked, the radio was still affixed to the holster on his arm. Before he can object, Ghost is gone.
---
“Ah, faster! Michaelo!”
The room is dim and the man lying on the bed touches himself gently to the sounds of porn on his phone. Fuck, Graves swore when the woman in the video takes the monster dick fully. His dick is semi hard and his hand gently strokes the organ to nurse it to full hardness.
“Shit!” Graves takes off his headphones. That isn’t—
“Ngh! Fuck, it’s not—” His phone clatters onto the floor as he jumps off the bed in search for the source of the sound. Sounds of a man being pleasured are definitely not from the video he is watching. His search stops at the radio Ghost passed him earlier. The green light flashes periodically, a sign the radio is receiving a signal.
A moan.
Not just any, but yours. He rushes to the table and grabs the radio. Raspy moans of desire. There is no mistaking it, that is you on the other side of the radio. Who the fuck is doing this!
“Ah, ah! Fuck, slow down!”
If he closes his eyes, his mind fantasizes the scene. You are all drunk on pleasure, mouth open as a thin trail of drool slicks down your cheek. Someone, a mystery person, bringing you waves of pleasure. Their hands? Or their mouth?
It should be him. It’s all so wrong. He should be turning off the radio and reporting whoever was doing this. But his mind taunts him with finding out just who you were with.
Graves retreats to the bed and lies down. His hand creeps ever closer to his dick and your moans are there again. The radio is jammed against his ear and his dick jumps at the breathy and sinuous moan. It tortures his soul to hear it and not be the one eliciting it.
His hand is no longer under his control and starts stroking.
“Fuck! Shit, what has gotten into you!” Sounds of wet slapping noises punctuate your groans into pauses. The other person doesn’t say anything and Graves is so fucking turned on, it hurts. Pre is all over his hands and the sound of his hands are filthy, but not as much as those in the radio.
Then, he hears it. A whimper, all soft and delectable. His hand grips the base of his dick and arrests his building climax. Shit! His favourite porn didn’t come anywhere close to the performance you are putting on in a room somewhere.
He wants to cum just as you do with your mysterious partner.
“If you—ah!—keep doing this, I won’t LAST ah!” The duvet is in between his teeth as his hands are moving at a feverous pace against his morals.
“Have you learnt your lesson, yet?” Graves stills his hand. Mr mystery is speaking.
“Yes! Please, I will be your good boy! I—ngh—will stay away from him!”
“That’s a good boy. Taking me so perfectly; I can feel you spasming like a cheap whore. Are you close, pet?”
His traitorous mind paints a picture of another man railing you hard and fast, bitching you in the process into a mindless whore who lived for cock and cum. Who, dares, to claim you?
“Yes, I’m—so—fucking close! P-please!” He grunts at the desperation in your voice to climax.
His finger scrambles to turn the knob on the radio to max volume and then, he can hear so much more. The faint creaking of the bed under the powerful thrusts of your partner, the whines and whimpers escaping your mouth driving him crazy and the reserved grunts of the man. Wet sounds of slapping and something obscene fills the room and Graves thumbs his dick roughly. The burn is something real and he desperately wants to know just who it was.
Who was bringing you so much pleasure, dear cock addled slut?
“Say it. Say that you want to cum.”
“Mmmh! Please, let me cum! I want to cum!”
“Say that you are my little cum addict.”
“I’m—” A sharp thrust breaks your speech and you groan. “Y-your cum addict!”
“Good boy. This is what you wanted, right? Flirting with that poor excuse of a man to rile me up. Well, this is your reward, love.” And a sharp squeal at what Graves imagines to be a bite on the neck.
Flirting with him? Who can it be, to be upset at Graves?
“Yes! Yes, I-I am all yours! Yours to use, sir!”
Sir? His hands pause and grip his prick loosely. Was it a nickname, or something more?
“That’s what I like to hear. You need to be bitched more often, love.”
“Yes! Yes, I want to be bitched! Fuck, please, ah!”
The knot in his abdomen is tight and squirming as Graves lets himself imagine the mystery man to be him. Your tight ass squeezing him hungrily like a sleeve thirsting for cum and all he has to give. The pillow fluffs at the commander’s head falling back into it.
“So beautiful and all for me. Do it, cum for me, sweetheart.”
That’s the cue and Graves’ eyes are closed in a grimace as he times his finish with yours.
“Ah, yes sir! Thank you! I—fuck!—” And the noisy squeal and cries of a man drowning in orgasmic bliss spearheaded by his lover’s dick. Graves chokes a cry as he came with a shout and a spray of cum over his heaving chest.
The orgasm leaves him boneless and he struggles to collect his thoughts. The radio flops onto the bed as a sweaty arm rests on an equally sweated chest. The radio is silent and the light is extinguished; no more transmission by whoever is doing this. He won’t admit it, but this ranks high on his naughty escapades.
Fuck, he really shouldn’t have done this. The mess on his cooling chest is hardening into sludge and he swipes a finger through it. Grabbing a bathrobe, a shower is in order to get rid of the stains of his scandalous voyeurism.
---
He steps out of the room into an empty corridor and heads for the communal toilets. Pass room 120 and the door to the room opens without warning. Graves slows and Ghost steps out from the room still dressed in his combat fatigues. His gloves, however, are gone and Graves sneaks a look at the exposed hand. Black nails? Maybe the man truly was a freak. He looks closer and there’s something dripping? A viscous cloudy liquid coating the thick fingers and Graves can’t stop his mouth from running itself.
“Howdy, you’ve got something on your hand, lieutenant.”
Ghost’s eyes remain impassive and he raises his hands to look at them and back at Graves. A glint in his eyes is all the warning he gets and Ghost is breaking eye contact. Then, those hands are wiping against the dark fabric of his tactical jacket and—
White and milky liquid separate into strings upon contact as they stain the pristine clothing.
That is—
“You look shocked, commander Graves. Do you need a medic?”
“Is that … cum?”
Soap’s hearty greeting stumps Graves as the sergeant rounds the corner and he makes a face at the sight of the Shadow commander. Sidling up mischievously to the American, he lobs an arm around Graves and pulls him close under a gaze Graves would describe as victorious belonging to the masked man.
Like a roman victor on a pedestal while luxuriating in his opponent’s defeat.
Soap chuckles. “This is why we don’t mess with the LT’s property, Graves. Did you truly think the corporal would be interested in you?”
“In someone who can’t even use his dick right while LT can do it all with just his arm?”
Mortification and humiliation burns and scorches his face.
---
Ghost wasn’t truly worried when he saw Graves flirting with you all night. You smiled and assured him you could handle the grabby Shadow commander and your lover nods, trusting your judgement but still hanging around to intervene if the bastard tried anything. Your cheery disposition and innocence was a fire drawing in the moths of military men and Ghost stayed to keep an eye on the man.
---
Graves swallows and the taste in his mouth all night—he knows what it is now. Ghost pulls up his mask to lick a line across his still dirty fingers.
His mind conjures an image of you, a man in the throes of desire and thoroughly debauched by the fist in your ass and your dick, angry and leaking in protest. Why would a man be lost in the height of rapture ever be interested in him?
genre: mom’s boyfriend joel, no outbreak au, explicit, minors dni
prompt: taboo au + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into."
summary: your mom can’t seem to find where her boyfriend joel, has gone. and she can’t understand why your bedroom has so much weight on it
warnings: pwp, strong language, infidelity, joel is 43, reader is 22, unprotected P in A, choking, dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, creampies, fingering, spanking, joel being a cocky piece of shit
word count: 1.7k
a/n: read this, i have a mixed feeling about it! let me know what you guys think.
“Hey, Hon! Have you seen Joel? I tried to call him, but his phone must be off.”
You knew where Joel was, his exact location, time, and placement of where he was located in this moment and time.
It was approximately 8:15, the time your mom usually leaves for work. He was behind you, pants wrapped around his ankles — belt ripped off and thrown on your bed. His cock buried deep inside you, hands melted on your waist, hitting that spot repeatedly as you tried to answer your mom. It was as if Joel’s task was to get you both caught by your mom/his girlfriend.
His low grunts entering your ear and your panting escapes your lips as you try to act like nothing is wrong.
“Get rid of her,” Joel whispered, grunting in your ear.
“U-uh, mom. No, I haven't s-seen him. Is his truck still here?”
“It seems so. The neighbors said they hadn't seen his truck move since.”
You could feel Joel’s body press up against your back and his warm breath against your ear. His forearm wrapped around your neck. Your cock twitched against the wood in front of you. “If you don’t get her to leave, I will fuck you so hard on this door we will all hear those pretty little moans and how she can see how her son’s taking her boyfriend’s dick so well.”
“U-uh, mom. He probably went to get something. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” You grit. “I’ll let you know if he comes back looking for you.”
You hear your mom’s muffled chuckle on the other side of the door. “You're funny, baby. He will see my car gone in the driveway if anything, and won't want to bother you with your school work.”
A hard smack comes across your ass, and you almost yelp but stop yourself from making the loud sound.
“What was that?” Your mom asks.
You could hear a low chuckle escape from Joel’s lips into your ear. “It was me. I slapped my thigh,” You dismissed. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”
“What can they do? Fire me?” She chuckles. “Sweetie, are you okay? You sound a bit out of breath.”
“Well, no, because your boyfriend’s dick is currently inside of me, and he has no intention of stopping anytime soon,” You thought.
“I’m just a little bit of breath — I could be coming down with something,” You breathed.
“Oh goodness, do you need me to come in?”
“NO!” You exclaimed. “I-I mean, If I am coming down with something. I don't want to get you sick too.”
“Aw, you're so sweet.” She smiles. “You're the best son ever.”
You scoff. “I’m your only SON!” You gasped.
You look back toward Joel, and he has a scowl on his face. He was getting impatient.
“Are you sure you're alright, baby?”
“Yeah, are you, baby?” Joel gruffed.
“Yeah, now I just got a cramp in my leg — I’ll be okay, Mom. I promise. Please don't be late for work because of me. I’ll call you if anything happens,” You dismissed.
“Okay, baby. I’ll see you later. I love you.”
“See you later, bye,” You gritted, hoping she would leave.
“Nu-uh-uh-uh. Say it back.”
“Say what back?”
At this point, Joel was getting annoyed. He pulled your neck away from the door; your arms outstretched — fingerpads barely reaching the wood in front of you. You grip your hands on Joel’s forearm around your throat and look towards Joel.
“You know, I love you too,”
“Fuck me,” You muttered, directed to your mom's command.
“I’m already doin’ that baby,” Joel smirked.
You roll your eyes and look back to the wooden door before you.
“I love you too, Mom.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later.”
You hear her footsteps walk away from your bedroom door, down the hall, and the door closes behind her. Then suddenly, you hear the faint sound of her car starting.
You released a breath you didn't know that you were holding. Suddenly, You feel Joel pick you up and throw you over his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" You question.
He doesn't answer, and he starts to walk toward your bed.
You feel your body jerk up and land on your back — on your bed. You look towards Joel as he slides his pants off his ankles and onto the floor. He climbs into your bed and position himself between your legs.
"I grew impatient, now I want to hear those pretty moans," Joel smirked.
Joel stuck his pointer and middle fingers in your mouth. "Suck," Joel commanded.
You obliged and sucked on his fingers, and he quickly retracted his fingers from your mouth. Sliding his middle finger slowly inside you, you squirmed under his touch. You tried to stifle your moans; you didn't want to give Joel what he wanted. His finger slid inside you faster, and you bit your lip to hide your moans.
Joel slid a second finger in, and you rolled your head to the side and slammed your eyes shut. “Your pussy wraps around my fingers — so fuckin’ tight.”
Your lip almost bled from how hard you were biting your lip. You grit your teeth as you keep squirming. A hard slap to your balls made you stay still. “Stop squirmin’,” Joel commands.
“Can’t help it, don't — wanna moan,” You breathed. Joel slipped his finger out of you. Crawled up to you, his hand grips your throat.
“Is that right? Well, I guess we're gonna have to do this the hard way,” Joel smirked.
Joel pushes his cock inside you. You tried to yelp, but his hand, tight around your throat, forced you to stop. “Fff-uck, Joel!” You gasp.
“What that, baby? You like this big dick inside you?”
You nod with a look of pain and pleasure riding your face. Joel lets go of your throat, and you take deep breaths. While breathing, Joel lifts your legs and places them on his shoulders. His hips start slow and steady as you roll your head up — looking upside down at your headboard.
“Fuck! Baby! I might need to use your pussy more,” Joel breathed.
“So — good — fuck,” You grit.
“Baby… I haven't even gotten to the best part.” Joel leans down — resting his forehead on yours. Your noses were touching each other. Joel’s hips rock faster back and forth. Your breaths became hitched as Joel’s cock was stretching you out. You could feel his length inside you, pushing deep inside you. You loved every inch of him. Joel had filled you to the brim with satisfaction.
“You love this cock, don't you, baby?”
“Fuck, yes! Joel! I love it so much,” You whine.
“Your pussy, wraps around me so nicely, baby. I bet if I slip my cock out now,” Joel backs up from your face, slipping his cock out. “And then slip it back in,” Joel slips his cock back in. You meet the base of Joel’s cock so fast; you moan in retaliation.
“Just as I guessed, your pussy remembers my length so well, baby.”
Joel had wrapped your ankles in his giant, calloused palms. His grip was tight as his hips kept rocking into you, back and forth. Pre cum was leaking from the tip of your cock. You felt satisfied for the first time in a long time.
“You gonna cum soon, baby?” Joel questions.
“I-I think so,” You breathe.
“Cum for daddy, baby,” Joel starts. “You know you want to cum for me.”
“Fuck, daddy! Your cock is hitting so deep!” You groan.
Joel’s cock twitched when you called him daddy; that sensation felt incredible inside you. You felt your cock throb, the sensation cum was coming and the pain was unbearable.
“That’s so hot, baby,” Joel grunted. “Call me that again.”
“Daddy, you love this, don't you? Fucking the son of your girlfriend’s tight pussy, huh? You like this?”
“You makin’ fun of me?”
You weren't, but a smirk appeared on your face to insinuate that you were. “So what if I was? It’s just a simple question,” You grunt.
Joel’s thrusts became more vicious and destructive. Your pillow catches your moan as you roll your head to the side. “I fuckin’ love this, so fuckin’ perfect.”
“It’ll be our little secret,” You breathe in between breaths.
"I’ll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into,” Joel smirks.
Joel’s smirk turned into a scowl. Joel had a look of rage, and determination was written on his face now. Joel was on a mission with you directly, and you loved this feeling so much.
“I’m gonna cum soon, baby, deep inside that pussy of yours. I’m going to get you pregnant,” Joel grits.
“I’m going to cum too, daddy,” You moan.
“Cum for daddy, baby.”
You gripped your dick and started to stroke up and down. Your cock was filled with adrenaline, overstimulation, and overall satisfaction. With each of Joel’s thrusts, you could feel yourself on the brink of cumming anytime soon.
“I’m cumming, Daddy!” You exclaim as strings of cum coat your chest.
Joel grips your thighs as you stop stroking your cock. You place your hands on Joel’s thighs. “Fuck, baby! I’m cumming!” Joel hisses. With one — two final thrusts, Joel’s cum was swimming inside you. His grip on your thighs loosens, and he places his head near yours — hovering over yours.
You both are panting messes together, sweaty, satisfied messes. You close your eyes in pleasure and take a second to be in the moment. You had sex with your mom’s boyfriend, and you don’t feel guilty about it one bit, more accomplished than anything.
“Was that okay?” You question. Joel chuckles at your question and can't control himself as he kisses your forehead.
“It was fantastic, baby,” Joel gruffed.
Joel kisses your lips softly, and you grab his face in your hands as you flip him on his back — cock still inside you. His tongue licks your bottom lip as he slips his tongue inside your mouth. Tongues are sword-fighting each other in this passionate kiss. Joel’s hands planted on your back, — sliding down the curve of your back as you mess up his hair, sliding your hands on his curly locks. You break the kiss, backing up from Joel’s lips.
“Daddy, my mom doesn't come home until later; we could have some real fun around the house. If that’s okay with you?”
Joel gives it a thought and smirks at you. “Well, baby, Who am I to oblige such an amazin’ idea?” Joel chuckles.
genre: neighbor joel, no outbreak au, explicit, minors dni
summary: an opportunity to have a guy's night with your daughter’s best friend’s dad turns into a heart-to-heart into an unforgettable night to remember
warnings: strong language, infidelity, joel is 40, reader is 38, unprotected P in A, dirty talk, angsty thoughts, oral (m giving/m receiving), pet names, fingering, creampies,
word count: 4.9k
a/n: gif by @shirks-all-responsibilities
a/n: dividers by @firefly-graphics
a/n: italics = thoughts
official playlist
next chapter
YOUR DAUGHTER, MARIGOLD, WAS CLOSE TO SARAH, JOEL’S AND ADALINE’S DAUGHTER.
You remember the first time you met Sarah, it was a late night at work and you came home to see your daughter laughing at a TV Show that she and Sarah were both watching, and they were a little nervous and surprised to see you.
You reassured Sarah saying that your home is open to her.
You met Sarah’s parents; Joel and Adaline after Sarah invited them to have dinner with you, Marigold and Sarah. You remember that you noticed how distant/close Joel and Adaline were during the whole dinner.
It was like they weren’t present as a couple but as a couple of friends. Of course they did their best to hide it but sometimes they slipped through the cracks.
Later that night, you learned from your daughter, Marigold, that Joel and Adaline weren’t as close as they were before they were married — Adaline travels a lot for work, so the relationship wasn’t as strong as they hoped.
After that night, you noticed that inviting Joel and Adaline for hangouts, activities, game nights, and movie nights always had Joel come over with Sarah by himself, and Adaline always worked.
That concluded, you and Joel were always hanging out, drinking together while your daughters had their fun.
This was one of those nights where it would just be you and Joel at his house, with Sarah and Marigold hanging out at yours to have their privacy.
You bought a bottle of rum you were never gonna finish all by yourself and you thought this would be the best time to get rid of the bottle that's been eyeing you for the past 10 years.
You already knew the girls were over at your house. Marigold’s bedroom held the sound of giggling and hushed whispers. You shook your head as you had the neck of the rum bottle in your clammy palm.
You were walking across the cul-de-sac in the already warm orange sky to Joel’s front door, bringing your free hand and knocking on the wooden door in front of you.
You hear shuffling getting closer and closer to the door, and then Joel opens the door, and you smile, and Joel shoots one back.
“Hey, man, what’s our poison for tonight?” Joel asks, leaning on the doorframe.
You held the bottle in your hand and showed to Joel.
“A wedding gift that’s been sitting in my cabinet for ten years, she and me never opened it.”
Joel knew you were divorced but never knew the reason behind it. It wasn't like you never told him. He just never asked.
“You sure you wanna drink this, man?” Joel asks, taking the bottle from your hand.
“Wedding gifts are unique. I know you're divorced and everything but —”
“It's fine, It cluttered the cabinet. Good excuse to clean out my cabinet,” You shrugged.
“Okay, let's get to drinkin’,” Joel smirked, getting off the door frame.
You walked behind him and close the door behind you. You sit on the brown couch in front of the TV — seeing that it's on, you can't take your eyes away from the bright screen. It was a movie that Joel must have been watching before you knocked on the door.
Glancing towards the kitchen, you notice Joel walking back toward you with two glasses in his hands; you fix your position on the couch as Joel sits beside you.
“Here we go,” Joel states, handing you a glass.
“Thank you, cowboy,” You smile, taking the glass from Joel’s hand.
“I can't believe you call me that,” Joel chuckles.
“I’m just glad you don’t call me city boy.”
“I might have to start.”
You place the glass on Joel’s coffee table and unscrew the rum bottle cap, putting the bottle cap on the table.
“Let’s get to drinkin’ then.”
“Let’s get to drinking then,” You smile.
You grab your cup and pour some rum into Joel’s glass and then some into your glass, placing the glass bottle on the coffee table.
“To gettin’ drunk,” Joel nods, holding his rum-filled glass near you.
“We sound like alcoholics — but, to getting drunk,” You laugh.
You and Joel clink your glasses together, and you both knock back a sip of the rum before you start coughing.
The rum made your throat feel like it was burning, and it stayed for a couple of seconds while you were coughing; Joel couldn't help but start chuckling, watching your pain endure.
“Okay, you brought this, and your actin’ like it already killed you,” Joel laughed.
“Look, Mr. Drinker, I’m not much of a drinker; I only act like I am, so you don't judge, city boy, over here,” You countered.
“Aww, is city boy a baby?” Joel pouted.
You shove him. “You suck,” You laugh.
You and Joel probably drank ten or eleven drinks, but it was apparent; you both were drunk like never before. The night sky came rushing in through his large windows.
“Okay, wait, you and Tommy rode motorcycles for his birthday?” You laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, and it was so fuckin’ fun; the adrenaline rush was high that day; I miss it.”
You and Joel were laughing together like lifelong friends. Two dads who were just getting irresponsibly drunk while their daughters did their own thing.
Leaning your head on the backrest of the couch, from the corner of your eye, you can see Joel smiling and leaning back on the sofa, his arm outstretched on top of the couch.
You could tell Joel was hiding something behind that smile, though, as he was looking at the now-muted TV; you could tell something was on his mind.
“Joel,” You state, closing your eyes.
“Yeah, city boy?”
“I can tell something’s on your mind.”
“How? Your eyes are closed,” He reported.
You open your eyes slowly and turn your head to look at him. “Thanks for noticing, detective.”
He chuckled at that nickname.
“But, is there legitimately something on your mind?”
He took a long extended breath and spoke.
“Why did you get a divorce?”
You knew that question would come up eventually; you couldn't dodge the question any more than you wanted to. At this point, you felt like you could tell Joel the real reason.
It could have been the rum messing with your mind, but you acted like you knew Joel for more than ten years when in reality, you only knew him less than five months.
You inhaled and then exhaled before answering Joel.
“I’m gay, no other reason,” You spoke.
Joel couldn't tell where his emotions were in his drunken mind. He wanted to sympathize, comfort, and let you rant about what was on your mind. But in his drunk-filled head, he thought you needed a distraction.
“Do you wanna know how Adaline and I met?”
You nod your head slowly.
“Back in high school, I was this star athlete and shit. She was a wannabe journalist at that point,” Joel started.
“So she wants to interview me because I was this great athlete and shit, we go back to my house, my folks don't come home until later that night. As we're talking, I don't think she’s listening at this point — and she grabs my bulge.”
“What?” You question fixing your position.
“Yeah! I was surprised at it, too; she was now next to me, rubbing, then she unzips my fly, and she’s now rubbing my cock. Her hands are so fuckin’ warm, she’s rubbing and rubbing, and then she stops and walks out with my cock throbbing.”
You could tell with Joel’s feeble attempt at a distraction he was hard himself. He was rubbing his aching cock on top of his jeans.
He was breathing through his nose to the point you could hear every inhale and exhale coming from his nose.
“Your hard, aren't you?”
Joel was nodding his head in between breaths.
“Yeah,” Joel breathed.
Joel stopped rubbing his cock and placed his hands on the sides of him.
Sober, you would have just sat in the uncomfortable silence in the room, but drunk, you did something you would be scared to do if sober.
You place your hand over Joel’s cock; you can feel it throb in your palm.
“W-what are you doing?” Joel exclaimed.
“Helping you out,” You answered.
You knew that this was wrong to do this, your mind was screaming at you to stop, but your actions were speaking louder than your head.
You unzipped Joel’s jeans and placed your hand in between his zipper, and started rubbing his cock on top of his boxer-briefs.
He threw his head back in pleasure and lust.
“Damn, city boy, you know what you're doing,” Joel chuckles.
You didn't hear his statement, you were dick-whipped, and you wanted more. You unbuckled his belt and jeans; then you see his cock bounce up with his boxers, making a tent.
“My cock isn't gonna take care of itself, is it?”
You fix Joel’s cock so his cock can go through the hole in his boxers.
His thick cock was throbbing right before you as you took the tip of his dick in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the slit of his dick as he was moaning with pleasure.
“Oh — fuck, yes.” Joel moaned.
You wrapped your hand around his length as you were taking his size in your mouth.
He was throwing his head back and sucking his teeth as you were pleasuring him to the point that he would explode. Joel hadn't felt something this fantastic in so long; he had forgotten what it felt like.
This feeling he yearned for it once again after so many years; he missed it, the way his body betrayed him showing him that he was enjoying this too well.
The men you gave oral pleasure to in the past can never compare to Joel’s length, and you were addicted to him. You mouth was taking his length with anticipation like a prize you always wanted.
“Such a good fuckin’ cock sucker, city boy,” Joel grunted.
He places his hand onto your head ands pushing down as you were going down on his dick. He was making you speed up a bit.
But going your own pace, you knew he would enjoy it, his dick is sleek in your mouth, almost like a piece of ice in your mouth. You feel his thumb rubbing your head as you take his length.
You take your mouth away from his cock as his dick throbs like a spring.
A line of saliva connect from your mouth to Joel’s cock. Joel’s now having full body breathes, he can’t control the adrenaline and lust coursing through his entire body at this point.
Joel stands up and takes his pants off along with his boxers, you watch as he drops them around his ankle. You can tell Joel is writhing in anticipation, but he’s hiding it.
“Work your magic, city boy.”
With that, Joel shoots a wink as you slide off the couch and kneel on the wooden floor below you. He was standing — towering over you with his hands on his hips.
“No! What are you thinking? He’s married,” You thought.
Ignoring your head again, you take Joel’s cock in your mouth as moans escape his lips. He’s starting to tremble as your head moves, almost bobbing even. You take his cock out of your mouth, and you start stroking his thick, sleek cock. Looking up at him, he gives you an almost weak smile.
“How’s that?” You ask.
“Better — than I — could ever imagine.”
“Wait, he’s imagined this before — Stop! That does not excuse this!”
You place your tongue under his cock, at the base of his balls, and start licking and sucking on his balls.
Joel’s moans kept escaping his lips; it was like music to your ears. Your heart was pumping, hearing Joel moan like he didn't have a care in the world.
“Damn, baby. You so fuckin’ good at that,” Joel exclaimed.
He places his hand on the side of your head.
“Get on the fuckin’ couch,” Joel commands.
“What?” You ask, swallowing your spit.
“I said, take off your fuckin’ clothes and get on the damn couch; I’m going to fuck the shit out of you like no man has before,” Joel commanded.
You stood at the man before you, undoing your pants, taking your shoes off, leaving your socks on, and then taking your shirt off.
Joel had already tossed his boots, jeans, and boxers to the side, with his flannel unbuttoned but hanging on his shoulders. He was a mighty 6’2 compared to your height. You were intimidated a bit in your sober mind. But being drunk, you weren't scared; you were standing your ground.
“Look’s like your cock is happy to see me,” Joel breathed.
Before you can answer, Joel takes your cock in his hands and starts to stroke it; you gasp at his movement as you grip his shoulders to keep yourself from falling over.
You never received this type of pleasure from anyone else but yourself before. Joel stroking your cock made you replace your moans with breathing — heaving breathing. You didn't want to show Joel that you were touched-starved at this point.
“C’mon, city boy, if you can make me moan — I should return the favor at the least,” Joel grinned.
He was stroking your cock faster now, and you couldn't help but close your eyes and moan with pleasure. Your nails were going to make half-crescent moon shapes on Joel’s shoulders.
“Ack, Joel —breath— damn this, so fucking amazing,” You breathed.
Joel smiles as you moan his name like that; he can hear the lust radiating from your lips. He knew you were on the brink of feeling satisfaction just by him stroking you right here.
He knew he had to treat you right, he stopped stroking you, and you placed your head in the crook of his neck and acted breathless right there.
“It’s okay, baby,” Joel reassured.
“You need to stop now!”
You get away from the spot in Joel’s neck and back up from him. Joel smiles at you and sits down on the couch; he pats his thigh, indicating for you to ride him. It was intoxicating how he was manspreading and how he patted his thigh.
“You can walk out of here, grab your clothes and walk out!”
You straddle Joel wasting no time acting like he was going to run away.
You could feel the tip of his dick press up against your ass; Joel puts his fingers in your mouth as you drunkenly suck on them.
“Damn, baby, I don't need to tell you anything.”
He takes his fingers away from your mouth and fingers your ass with his spit-covered fingers.
You exclaim with a moan escaping your lips; your nails had dug into the couch material as Joel kept fingering you.
“So fuckin’ tight, baby boy. Have you ever been fingered before?” Joel questioned.
You shook your head and Joel gives you a smirk.
He was enjoying making you squirm under his intoxicating actions. Your moans became quick with efficiency, like you wanted him inside you already.
His fingers were sleek, going inside you and out fast; your knuckles were almost bone white at this point, and your moans kept passing through your teeth like water; Joel’s grin meant he was enjoying every sound you made for him.
He knew that these sounds for him could only be heard by him, considering he was the first person to make you feel this way: overstimulated.
“You like this, city boy?”
“Y-y-ye-yes,” You moaned.
His fingers slipped out of your, and his hands were on your ass.
“You want this cock inside you, baby boy?”
“No!”
“Yes,” You breathed.
“Yes, what?” Joel grunted, smacking your ass.
You yelped as he smacked your ass.
“Yes, Joel, I want your cock inside of me,” You groaned.
Joel’s shit-eating grin meant he’s heard what he’s always wanted to hear.
You waste no time having your ass hover over Joel’s aching cock, mentally preparing yourself, but your mind decides to take over.
“You seriously can not be thinking about doing this, right? What you are committing is an act in which you are going to lie to everyone about how horrible you felt when in reality, you enjoyed every minute of —”
Your mind goes blank as you feel Joel’s cock enter you slowly, intoxicating and rich but slow. You spat a moan out in retaliation for Joel’s dick inside you.
In those enticing, agonizing seconds, Your ass meets the base of his cock, and Joel’s hands make loud contact with your ass.
“God, damn, that's tight, city boy.”
His hands reach your hips like a puzzle piece you lost. Joel lifts you up and slowly goes back down; your moans escape your teeth, your clenched teeth, until Joel rocks his hips up and down. That's when you feel him hit that same spot.
Joel’s hands feel rough as they feel like they were sewn onto your waist, with how tight he grabbed you. His hips felt like they had a mind of their own.
His face had a look of rage and determination all in one; his breaths were quick and through his teeth as he pumped his cock inside you.
“Take this dick, city boy,”
“You know this is wrong. You can't keep doing this!” You thought.
You couldn't contain your moans with every pump Joel delivered; it was addicting.
“Fuck, Joel, I think you're gonna break me,” You exclaim.
“Not yet, baby, soon enough.”
Your hands were on the back of the couch, gripping the fabric. You could tear it off by how your hands were grabbing this.
You yelp again as his hands make contact — hard contact to your ass.
“You’re taking it like such a good boy, baby,” Joel grunted.
“Such a good boy.”
“No! No! No! You are not a good boy!”
Joel’s pace was so fast that his cock, slipped out of you.
Both of your breaths were heavy and difficult; you were looking into each other's eyes and saw the same thing: satisfaction.
“Holy shit, your tight little pussy, almost made me cum, city boy!” Joel chuckles.
“Turn around, baby.”
You complied with what Joel told you to do; you got off Joel’s lap and turned around; you didn't need to listen to your head right now. All you knew was that your ass was hovering over Joel’s thick, throbbing cock.
Joel grabbed the base of his cock and started slapping it against your ass. “You want this dick, city boy?” Joel questioned.
Surprising Joel, you shoved Joel’s cock inside your ass hole. Joel was taken aback.
“OOOOH, GOOD BOY!” Joel exclaimed.
You slowly started to fuck yourself on Joel’s cock. It was thrilling, adrenaline-inducing. You were on the brink of exploding.
“C’mere baby,” Joel stated.
Joel wrapped his arms around your body to bring you closest to his. His hips were rocking up and down, and his pace was fast. His hands were wrapped around your chest, feeling your body as he enjoyed bringing you immense pleasure.
Your feet were on Joel’s bare, sweaty knees. His was hitting your G-spot again, and it felt indescribable. The feeling you never felt before would go away soon, and you hated that, at this moment, you felt suitable for the first time in so long.
“Who’s my good boy?” Joel growls in your ear.
“Me, Joel. I AM,” You hiss between your teeth.
One of his hands found its way to your throat, lightly choking you.
“You love this big dick inside you? Huh, baby?”
“I love it so much, Joel.”
That's when Joel wanted to go rough with you some more. He removes his hand from your throat and grips your thighs, and lifts them so that your back connects with his slightly covered — sweaty chest.
His dick would hurt when you woke up in the morning, but for now, you were feeling pleasure.
Joel was rough, and he knew that your face was close to his, and you could see the rage and determination, and it turned you on even more.
Your cock was slapping against your navel, and your pre cum string was slapping against your stomach. Your left hand gripped Joel’s covered shoulder while your right hand was on the back of the couch.
You could feel Joel’s cock pulsating inside you. You could think that he was close.
“Your so needy, city boy, feelin’ my bulge like that,” Joel grunted.
“Shut up. . .” You thought
“You're taking this thick cock so well,” Joel growled.
“Please, Joel, stop talking; I won't control myself if you keep talking.”
“You love this cock inside of you, don't you?Pounding that tight little pussy of yours.
“YESSS,” You spat.
“You're a filthy whore!”
“Joel! JOEL!” You exclaimed.
“FILTHY WHORES NEED TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
That's when you listened to your head and did the unthinkable. You kissed Joel Miller.
A married Joel Miller, not a simple peck on this lips too—a sloppy, slobbery, open-mouth kiss. Joel slipped his tongue in your mouth as the kiss got rough and passionate. You can feel Joel pumping his cock inside of you faster as he takes his mouth off yours.
“Joel, you’re going to make me cum!” You moaned.
“Cum for me, baby!” Joel breathed.
Joel’s hands made your legs spread apart, and he was pumping his cock rough and slow.
“I’m going to cum, in that tight pussy of yours, city boy,” Joel growled.
“Yes, Joel, fuck —mpfm—, I want that load inside me!”
Joel started to get faster again. As he was, you were about to cum; Joel’s hips were on the brink of exploding if he didn't cum soon. This feeling, this experience, would end with a lust-filled bang.
“I’m cumming, I’M CUMMING!!” You exclaim as white lines of cum shoot out on your stomach.
“FFF— FUCK, ME TOO!” Joel growled.
You could feel his cum inside of you slowly start falling out of you, and Joel’s body started to jolt.
Joel kissed your lips with more passion than hunger like before. You both were drenched in sweat, spit, and now cum. This night was something you didn't want to forget.
You feel your body raised from Joel’s hard chest. Then you notice Joel is picking you up bridal style.
“Not yet, city boy, we’re not done yet,” Joel growled. His eyes turn dark as he walks upstairs with you in his arms.
Joel pushes the bedroom door with his foot; once he sees the bed, he places you down on the bed — on your back.
He’s in between your legs with a grin spread across his face, which shows he has more ways to pleasure you. With your ass hanging over the edge of the bed, Joel places tender kisses on your thighs.
Your spine shivered with how soft his kisses felt on your legs, your calves feeling cold to Joel’s warm lips kissing them. He trailed the kisses down towards the back of your knees, down to your thighs.
Your mind was going into shock at how soft Joel was being. A few minutes ago, he was fucking your brains out, and now he’s tenderly kissing your legs. And now you didn't know what to —
You gasped in awe and enjoyment as Joel’s mouth reached your hole. His tongue was swirling around like he was licking a lollipop. You gripped the gray bedsheets next to you and tried your best to hide your moans.
“Mmmhm, city boy, If I knew you’d tasted this good, I would’ve eaten you out sooner,” Joel exclaimed.
Your hands found their way to your face. You wanted to moan but this would validate that you were ready for him but you wanted to see what —
You yelped as a hard and fast slap came to your balls; you knew Joel was trying to force a moan out of you with his rules.
“C’mon, city boy, I can tell you're enjoying this. Moan for me, baby,” Joel breathed.
Your body betrayed you, and you moaned per Joel’s command. Your body was on overdrive, and it felt immensely addicting.
“That's right, baby; moan for me.”
Your moans kept slipping from your lips, and you enjoyed every second of it. Joel’s hands traveled all over your knees, thighs, and stomach.
His touch felt devilish, addicting. It felt like you depended on his hands, mouth, and cock to fill this overstimulating you had.
“You ready for this cock again, city boy?” Joel asked.
You nodded, and your breaths came out as moans prepared for his cock once again.
Joel stood up from his knees, and that's when you see Joel’s cock. Throbbing, pre cum leaking from the slit. Minutes ago, that cock had cum shooting inside you; it should’ve been soft at that moment.
But his cock looked like it was before the whole situation started; hard, throbbing, begging to cum.
Joel catches your eyes as your are shocked at his massive length.
“Impressive, huh?”
You reflexively nod your head in hunger, his cock will be inside you again, and you can't wait.
Joel lowers his face to kiss you. His hand travels to your throat as he lightly tightens his grip around your neck. You gasp, and Joel sticks his tongue in your mouth. Joel’s moans were quiet, but you could hear them, even with the shuffling of sheets.
“You ready for round two, city boy?”
He kisses you before you get to answer.
“Yes, yes, Joel, I am.”
Joel backs up from your face, and you crawl backward to have your head on top of the pillows below you.
Joel shrugs his flannel off his shoulder and crawls over you. His face inches from yours, his tanned bare chest hovering away from your bare chest.
He adjusts his cock, and you can feel it press up against your hole. Joel slowly slides his cock inside you. You exclaim in pain, but you can't help but feel pleasure all at the same time.
Your legs are over Joel’s shoulder as he starts slow and then goes faster. Your moans were bouncing over the bedroom that Joel and Adaline shared.
This feeling was unbearable, but you didn't care. The pleasure was worth it.
“How do you get so fuckin’ tight, baby boy,” Joel growled.
Joel’s eyes darkened; that same look of rage and determination was back on his face. Heavily breathing through his teeth and you gripping his shoulders so hard, you could make crescent moon shapes on his shoulders.
“Joel! Oh my fucking god, I love this so much!” You yelled.
“I love it when you talk dirty, city boy.”
“Your tight pussy doesn't want to let go of my cock. I’m fuckin’ obsessed with it,” Joel breathed.
Joel wraps his forearms around your legs, making your calves close to his ears. You exclaim in pleasure as he’s fucking you this rough again.
This feeling: It was more than an addiction, a sense; it was indescribable. This immense pleasure you’ve never felt before, and you loved everything.
“J-Joel, slow down; you not gonna last if you go so fast,” You breathed.
“I can't help it, city boy. This tight ass needs my cock. I can tell you need it; I’m going crazy, baby.”
“I- love it, Joel. Just slow down for a second.”
With that, Joel’s hips started to slow down, he was on the brink of coming, but he didn't care. He just wanted you to feel something: Good, lustful, ecstatic, wanted.
He closed his eyes and kissed you as he could feel your heart almost exploding. He let go of your calves as Joel’s hands were beside your head.
His hips started the pace again. He was pumping like he was on a mission. He didn't want to stop this time; he wanted to cum, inside you to show you that you were his, no one else's.
“Ugh, fuck Joel, your seriously going to break me!” You clenched your teeth.
“That’d be the idea, baby. Your mine, no one else’s,” Joel growled.
You couldn't tell if it was the alcohol in your system or just your mind, but you understood when Joel said you were his and no one else’s.
You hated/loved how much that turned you on.
“City boy, I’m going to cum, again. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Joel, pump your hot cum inside of me.”
Joel clenched his teeth so hard one could out from his gums. His hands were gripping your thighs; they could cause bruising.
Your mind was blanking out as Joel was speeding the pace in his hips even more.”
“Fuck, baby, I’m coming!” Joel yelled.
With one thrust, two, and three thrusts, Joel’s cum shot inside you again. You could feel the warm liquid sit inside you. Joel’s forehead had beads of sweat covering it. He leaned down and kissed your lips softly.
“You’re gonna stay the night, and I don't want anyone to see the pleasure I gave you tonight. That’s for my eyes only.”
You nodded, having no other words to say. Joel slips his cock out of you and lays down next to you, breathing heavily. Your head finds his chest, over his heart. You can hear how fast his heart is pumping. You were so exhausted that you fell asleep on Joel’s sweaty chest.
tags: @evans55 @odetodilfs @jrrmint <would lose it @groggygrogu @ihugpedro @strang3lov3 <would lose it
Could you write something with hate sex between Miguel and another spider reader? Reader is good at their job but constantly argues with Miguel so he decided to shut them up
AhhahahahMiguel is so based like I can imagine him and a stubborn but smart reader butting heads all the time- like the only time they get along is when they’re having sex, and even then it’s a competition- soooooo I felt like writing some like, mutual pining or crush situation or whatever, so I changed the base plot a little, to make it a liiiiitttle funnier.
NSFW Spiderman 2099 x Male Reader - I Love Hate You
Asks and Suggestions are open and encouraged!
Warnings: envenomation, hate sex, competitive sex???, Miguel and Reader are dumbasses, use of the word Pussy for Male Readers booty-hole<3.
You and Miguel were constantly butting heads. Whether it was task management, canon event cataloging and prevention, or just random opinions, you both always had to fight with the other. You both came up with the bright idea to fight physically, but it went on for hours with neither of you coming out on top, and a destroyed training room. So verbal abuse it was.
“You’re being childish Miguel. He’s a kid, you shouldn’t be so hard on him.” You scold, your condescending tone makes Miguel’s head hurt.
“He’s a mistake! He was never meant to be a Spiderman, and now, he’s gotten away.” He yells, baring his teeth as his fangs show.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a dick, he wouldn’t have ran!” You press, looking at him with those critical eyes.
“I’m doing my job! Maybe you should do yours! I doubt that calling your boss ‘a dick’ is helpful! Pendajo…” he says the last part under his breathe, his hands on his hips as his feet pick up the pace.
That was just one event, during meetings, ‘friendly’ conversations, stake outs, everything. You both just had to fight. Until Miguel had an epiphany of some kind. It was ridiculous, of course.
In the middle of another one of your fights, Miguel starting jabbing at your chest with one finger, and he let out a sentence that changes the entire mood.
“Why are you always dead-set on pissing me off? What? Do you want my attention that bad? Are you in love with me or something?!!!” The both of you froze, Miguel was even shocked at the words that came out of his mouth.
“H-huh?” You couldn’t even muster words, your face went red, and so did his, both of you just standing in a slightly horny silence. “I don’t. That’s stupid.” Your face is blushing like a tomato, and your tone isn’t convincing at all.
“Y-yes you do! You love me! Just admit it!” He yells back at you, his voice booming with embarrassment.
You scoff. “Well why do you want me to love you so bad! Are you in love with me?” You scream back at him, silence setting in again.
“…” Neither of you look at each other, instead stealing glances when you think the other isn’t looking, blushing when you inevitably make eye contact.
“W-well… one of us definitely loves the other. And it’s not me, s-so it’s you!” You yell at him, your face flushed.
“And how the hell do you suppose that!” He screams back, his fangs protruding from his mouth.
You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out, just a small squeak and you quickly close it. “…Then let’s do a test to see who loves who.” You say after a minute of silence. Miguel freezes, and so do you.
“…What would determine that?” He says, his voice cracking a little.
“…” You stay silent for a little longer, debating on whether or not you should share your great idea. “We could have, s-sex.” His eyes widen as yours look away, too embarrassed to see his reaction.
“T-that sounds… reasonable.” You look at him and now he looks away, the both of you blushing and angry. And now the both of you were awkwardly standing in the bedroom of his apartment, quickly taking of your clothes.
“I can’t believe you’re hard already! You must like me a lot, huh?” You jeer, knowing that you’re already twice as horny as he is. Oh shit, maybe you do like him.
“Cállete. This was your idea, maybe you only suggested that we have sex because you love me.”
Your eyes widen as you start to get defensive. “As if! You’re so difficult! And your voice gives me a headache! And-“
“I said shut up!” Miguel throws you onto the bed, and you yelp at the force. “Do I have to prep you?” He huffs, but you’re plenty soft, all you need is lube.
“…do you have lube?” He scoffs and lifts up your legs, revealing your eager hole to him. He spits on it, shoving a finger in it making you suck in a breathe and squeal.
“Good enough.” He brings your hips down and places the tip of his cock against it, pushing in slightly, moaning as your soft hole welcomes him. “Such a slutty pussy, and you say you don’t love me.” He groans as he pushes further inside of you, both of you moaning from the stretch.
Tears brim your eyes but you wipe them away, refusing to cry at the pleasure filling you. “Hah! You call this a cock? Y-you and your dick, are pathetic!” You spit out, your words laced with moans once you feel him bottom out.
“You’re the one getting impaled on this pathetic cock!” He roars and you can see saliva dripping from his mouth as he slams his cock into your hole. “Ay, fucking puta! Can’t help but clench around me!” His eyes are red and half lidded, his cheeks even redder.
You’re about to cum, and so is he, so you clench around him even harder, he was going to cum first. You were going to make him. Miguel had the same thought, he thrusts even faster, hitting all the spots you like as your toes curl and your insides spasm from pleasure. Both of your faces are red and sweaty, panting and moaning from over stimulation as you both cum, unfortunately, in unison. His load fills your insides to the brim, while you cum right on your stomach, covering yourself in white.
“Y-you… you definitely c-came first.” You stutter out, refusing to believe that Miguel could have possibly won.
“I think that’s a tie…” He says gruffly, panting and scowling as he tightens his already vice-like grip on your leg. “Guess this is a tie breaker.” He begins to thrust into you again, but you were far from ready.
Miguel thrusts into you, not hiding his anger. And neither are you, refusing to lose at whatever his ridiculous game was. You thrusted your hips into his, fucking yourself even harder on his cock, tightening as he batters your prostate with his stupidly huge cock. It’s thick and veiny, and it feels perfect inside of you, but you’ll never admit that.
“Do you seriously, think I’m going to cum… from that! Just cause you, got a big dick, doesn’t mean that you’re, good in bed!” You say between breathless moans, glaring at him while his cock slides in and out of you at a brutal pace, hammering your deepest parts until your vision goes white and you cum again. You lost, but neither of you think about that. Too focused on the sex to care anymore.
“You really, expect me to believe that, when you’re gaping around me like a whore?!” He yells, clearly trying to keep his moans under control while your insides flutter pleasurably around his length. He squeezes your legs, his claws digging into your calf as he thrusts harder, causing you to yell and moan from the over stimulation. You bounce into him harder, rolls your ass against his hips defiantly.
“Really? At least I’m a whore- you’re just a, a human dildo!” You choke and sputter, crying as you feel another orgasm wash through you, this time a clear liquid squirting out of your dick like a fountain. Miguel gnashes his teeth and thrusts into you even harder, and you can feel him fill you insides with another load. He groans as he twitches inside of you, visibly shaking as you keep rocking your hips into his, tightening your insides around his sensitive cock.
“Stop that! Puta dammit!” He digs his claws into your leg even harder before biting it harshly, pumping your leg full of his venom. “That should make you sit still, whore.” He spat out, glaring at the slight fear filling your face as you go slack in his arms. He keeps thrusting into you, his cum squelching out of your hole with every thrust, pushing it deeper inside of you until your stomach aches.
You choke on your own spit, trying desperately to simply breathe. The lack of oxygen has you clamping down on his cock, and he growls under the pressure. Snarling he grabs your throat with one of his hands and brings his mouth to yours, making sure you don’t go dying from lack of oxygen. That, and maybe he just wanted to kiss you. But he’d never admit that, because he loves hates you.
warnings: public sex, crossdressing, feminization, anal fingering, blowjob, slight sexual humiliation towards reader, light degradation, dacryphilia
in an attempt to win an argument with your boyfriend, you hit a few low blows but he bests you by bringing up how you sounded last night.
"God, it is freezing out there" A large hand brings you closer to Konig's side. He rubs your arm though the pressure is barely felt through the thick coat you wore but the gesture is sweet.
"I thought the Earth was supposed to get warmer, you know I'm starting to believe that that's just a scam" Konig chuckles. "You are just not built for this weather, babe" He teases as he slings a heavy arm around your shoulder to reach towards your covered face.
"Well, I'm sorry I'm not built to survive inhuman levels of temperature, I'm sorry only one of us can be an operator for a private military contractor — Mpfh!"
The same gloved hand that offered you comfort mere seconds ago was now planted over your face, tugging your knitted cap down and over your eyes in the process.
"Schatz", he warns. [Darling.]
His tone is still light despite it. The streets were more or less bare due to the weather but the shops were still aglow with lights. Those poor, poor, retail workers. The only thing staving off feeling completely guilty for stepping into one of the shops and making the already miserable worker have to work in horrid weather was the fact that due to Konig's work relocating the both of you here, your wardrobes were in desperate need of attention.
"Hey," He greets them with a nod, his eyes squishing in a façade of a grin. His face was hidden with a mask which he finds a lot of comfort in not only for the fact that he worries someone from work finds out about his face and finds him (or worse, you) but it was less straining to mask his expressions in a conversation.
You rip his hand away from your face with a huff, walking ahead of your boyfriend as a way to show your obvious displeasure. Konig just chuckles and follows along, grabbing a basket. The shop wasn't that big but the brand was a household favourite.
It was a little pricy but Konig had more money than he knew what to do with at times, he can indulge. Plus, the quality and longevity of the clothes were worth it — it was all ethically made as well!
A win in both of your books.
"Schatz, you can't be mad that I remind you not to speak of my work aloud" his accented voice chides as you look for the basics of a wardrobe. T-shirts in neutral colours, jeans, underwear, and a new winter jacket since yours was doing shit at keeping you warm.
"Yeah, yeah, because secret service assassins are constantly listening to you" An arched brow is thrown your way as your larger-than-life boyfriend shadows you.
A sigh escapes you and with a dramatic wave of your arm, you place the back of your hand on your forehead and bemoan; "You're so important, schnucki". [sweetie-pie]
"A real James Bond, I'm so lucky to be with you".
Konig bursts into laughter. The pop song playing on the speakers do little to cover how gleeful the sound was. You stubbornly look ahead, finding immense interest in the different shades of green the t-shirt was made in. He all but towers behind you as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pressing his covered nose to the top of your head as his chest rumbled with amusement.
"You're extremely silly, hübscher". [handsome]
"Compared to you? Everyone is, obviously" his eyes gleam and his arm squeezes you closer. It makes you halt your movement. That familiar pressure against you, the aura of heaviness suddenly draping over you.
Konig can't help but think of how truly lucky you are. How many soldiers, mercenaries, and lowly scum had he crushed with his bare hands just like this? Too many to even count. He preferred keeping his thoughts of work and you on very different sides of the fences but whenever you throw a silly fit he can't help but coo inwardly at it.
The blood he's knee-deep in, the strength in his sinewy muscles, and the rank he's earned by his sheer brutality and determination all purr in delight at your stubbornness.
At your brattiness.
You feel something poking at your back. A feat only Konig's cock could manage despite the thick coat you're wearing. Well, this wasn't a complete shock. After his return, the two of you would spend hours annoying your neighbours, however, your upheaval from your last house was made in haste.
Konig managed to squeeze in some frottaging in the shower last night but jetlag won over.
Perhaps that's why it took so little to rile Konig up.
He sways and you do too. Konig eyes his peripherals, noting the workers were pretending to look busy reorganizing some jewellery on a gondola so he leans down to whisper in your ear.
"Let's look in a different section," he knows you're about to retort so he grabs your chin and tilts your head backwards that way he can leer down at you.
"Command, not suggestion". He enjoys the way your eyes scan his. The flicker of emotions, the way you wet your lips and a hint of your teeth brushing over your lower lips. He knows the blood pooling around your cheeks isn't just from the cold. Your eyes flutter close then open and he grins behind his mask as he releases your chin/neck.
Konig guides you towards the women's section with a steady gait. A worker gives an apprehensive glance but admittingly got far too embarrassed to stare once you stopped in front of the more...sexy bedroom set display.
Silk lingerie didn't last long in your bedroom sessions with Konig. He's gentle when he wants to be — those lazy morning sex with his tongue working you open and his hands stroking your dick to completion until you're limp and boneless was bliss — but his fetish for dressing you up in delicate lingerie sets always ends with your legs and hips needing a few days to recuperate.
His size was another reason why sex with Konig was utterly satisfying and sore inducing but it's not like you dislike it (quite the opposite).
"Which one, hm?" This time his arms are circling your waist. It was a shame that he was so covered up because the sight of his veins across the back of his scarred, calloused, hands always made you shiver. God, you can practically see the way his biceps are flexing as he continues to sway again.
The silk clothes are all much too raunchy. Suddenly, it's too warm under your layers but that's not the exact reason you're squirming.
Most of them are cute. Feminine-cut clothes that would hang too low on your hips with thin straps that would slip down one shoulder.
The ones that weren't cute were the classic lingerie dresses. Their length is so short you knew it would tickle the back of your thighs and hide nothing once bent over. The way it was tailored to hug just under the breasts was meant to give it definition but seeing as you were lacking in that department you'd think Konig wouldn't be a big fan?
Wrong. He's as horny as an animal in heat when it came to you but he did have a thing for the way your "tits" couldn't fill out the certain clothes he got you. Maybe he just has a "thing" for you in general. He was insatiable.
Konig stops swaying. You snap back into the present and furrow your brows.
"Schatz", he purrs. "Yeah, yeah, I'm..." The black silk set catches your eye and you reach for it to feel the lace that lines the bottom hem. Pleased by your choice, Konig reaches for the hanger to pluck it from your hands and into the basket it goes.
"Changing room...Mein König?" [My King?]
His mask hides his sharp grin but his eyes darken from that warm coffee-coloured eyes to pools of sin.
The changing room was foreign. New country, new city, new surroundings. A sense of relief washed over you as you noted the wooden doors, glad they weren't just curtains held together by some loose velcro straps or hooked onto the opposite wall. The changing room hallway was dimmer than usual but once Konig had opened the doors to the room, it was clear why.
He let out a low whistle at the sight of the floor-to-ceiling windows backlit by LED strips. The dimension of the space was large enough to not feel too claustrophobic — those mirrors seemed to increase the space as well.
You shed your jacket, spotting a stool in one corner of the room meant to be a place to put your clothes, bags, or perhaps someone's horny partner to sit on as they look at you expectantly.
The sight of Konig sitting on the tiny seat was comical, you pursed your lips to stop laughing but it couldn't be helped. Konig took off his cap and mask, effortlessly reaching towards the hooks on the wall to hang them before he leans back and tilts his head at you. His long, toned, legs stretched out before him. It invades your space. Overwhelming the room with more of him until the giggles fade away.
Unwilling to accept his silence, you prod further.
"What? You look cute, okay. All awkward in the corner, is this how you were in high school? All limbs like a spider, bet you were an eye-catcher, baby" He doesn't seem phased by your teasing.
With his mask off, you can now ogle his face. That scar on the bridge of his aquiline nose, those strong jaws and sunken eye-sockets that give his eyelid a more hooded look. His top lip is thinner than his bottom, with a prominent cupid bow.
Feeling emboldened you shed your knitted cap then your jacket and let it drop to the floor. The scarf twirls around your wrist as you walk forward and bend over to level your eye line with Konig.
His downward-facing lashes almost always tickle his cheek — well, when they haven't been burnt off from his close proximity to explosives and fire. Thankfully, they're intact this time and you brush your thumb across his cheek, admiring their length.
"You're the cutest little boy, you know?" his eye twitches. Still, he does nothing. Konig simply keeps his eyes on your face. You lean in, breath ghosting along his lips while you grin.
"Come on, nothing to say, Mein König? Usually, you're the one that's so fucking loud, whimpering, growling, grunting —" Konig jerks forward. You hold your ground. His silence was both nerve-wracking and gratifying.
"Ausziehen. Na." [Strip. Now.]
He knows you know what he's saying. There's recognition in those perfectly shaped eyes. Leaning back, he adjusts his broad shoulders and eyes those shapely legs impatiently.
"Ich werde nicht zweimal fragen." [I will not ask twice.]
He likes this changing room. Not only could he see the expressions on your face as you strip, but he could also see the view from behind thanks to the mirrors. The lights cast you in an almost angelic glow, a rim lighting that makes your skin all but glimmer.
You're bent over, pulling your pants down, when the sounds of your moans fill the room. You nearly split your skull open in your haste to grab the phone from Konig's hand.
He lifts his leg and his boot pushes onto your stomach, knocking you back and making you stumble onto the floor. You're almost naked, completely defenceless. Konig does not stand. He simply sits and knocks the toe of his boot to your thigh and jerks his chin to the basket close to you.
Meanwhile, your moans are still playing. The wet noises of skin slapping against skin, the mattress creaking and the headboard slamming on the wall.
"Konig! That's way — That is way too loud!" He splits open your thighs with the same boot and you squeak as he applies pressure to your crotch. The icy coolness from the outside has you shivering as you clamp your thighs around his ankles but he simply presses.
Your high-pitched moan elicits a chuckle from Konig.
That motherfucker mimics your moan, his stoic face turning annoyingly expressive as he mocked yours.
His giddiness is hard to contain. He turns the screen to you and keeps on echoing the noises you're making.
"Oh, oh-oh! Oh fuck! Konig! Right there!"
"Point taken!" You plead, blindly reaching behind you to grab the silk dress. You hear the shuffle of feet in the changing room hallway, hushed whispers but Konig does not pause the video. He simply lets it play as you hurriedly slip on the outfit.
What a sight you were.
On the floor, pathetically slipping on a raunchy outfit while your crotch was still being stepped on.
The straps are falling off your shoulders and your flustered state does little to assist. Your hair is askew and your cheeks are warmer than the fucking sun. The video stops just as you reach your orgasm and Konig removes his boot.
"Strip. Fully."
He tosses the phone on the floor and leans forward. His elbows are on his knees and he gazes down upon you like a hungry wolf.
After an awkward shimmy, the only thing protecting you from the wooden floors of the changing room was the thin silk. Your cock was tenting the front and no amount of tugging the material down was going to help you.
"I think I may have been gone for too long, yes? My slut is much too disobedient as of late and getting more and more perverse. You're so hard after letting everyone in the store hear how pathetic you are when you take my cock, have you no shame?"
Konig clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth when you avert your gaze. When you meet eyes, he's unbuckling his belt with one hand.
"Do you even deserve to see my cock?"
You shake your head. No, no, of course, you don't! You're just a whore, a perverted boy who belongs to be on the floor. Even the lingerie you wore was too modest for you.
Konig could tell you were edging towards that cloudy state. His cheek twitches as he suppresses a knowing grin.
"That's right. You don't. But I'm allowing you to"
"Th-Thank you, Mein Konig"
He spreads his legs and pats his inner thigh after he had unzipped and pulled his heavy cock out. You gulp at the sight of it. It was damn near monstrous — a cock a few people could only ever see in pornography.
Crawling on all fours, you nuzzle his thigh as thanks before grabbing it by the base. God, it was so hefty. A delicious pink tip and a few delicate splatters of moles decorated Konig's cock. The mouthwatering veins were given kisses and yet Konig remains silent as he watches with rapt interest in how you worshipped his big dick.
"Perk your ass out. More" You're confused as to what he intends to do. Perhaps he wanted to see your asshole winking back at him in the mirror while you suck him off? That seems likely. You spread your knees and arch your back as you suck on his tip, loosening your jaw and covering your teeth as you close your eyes.
Konig removes his glove. It doesn't take long for you to start drooling. He swipes two fingers under his dick, around the ring of your mouth, then leans forward to slip them in. Your choked reply is ignored by Konig.
It's hard to breathe. You can feel his fingers scissor your muscles open all while he envelops you in his scent, his warmth, his everything. You feel like he's consuming your every being. His cock is halfway in, your jaw is aching and anyone unlucky enough to walk into the changing area would most definitely hear you gagging on it.
Your eyes are watering, huffing through your nose as you feel your hips jerk without any conscious thought behind it. He's fucking you open on his fingers and he knows where to aim to make you all but spineless. There's this distinct dick-shaped bump in your throat.
Konig is silent.
When he pulls out his fingers and cock you cough, cushioning your face on his thigh as you catch your breath.
One of the straps is falling off your shoulder and the dress hangs off your chest in a whorish display thanks to your flat chest. Konig's breathing is faster than usual but he is wordless as he grabs your wet chin.
"Kuh...Konig — Ngh!" You're looking at your reflection. Legs as wobbly as a newborn fawn as he holds you up. The dress is bunched over the curve of your ass. You're jerked forward until you slam into the mirror.
A pained whimper is replied with a harsh slap to the back of your thighs.
He uses his boots again. This time to kick your ankles apart. The fingers on your chin force you to look forward as Konig's heavy cock is placed on your back.
His face places itself on the crook of your shoulder. Those dark eyes swallow the lights from the mirror as he takes pleasure from your melted expression.
You still taste his precum on your tongue, jaws still slack and lungs still desperately trying to swallow air. His thumb on your hole can feel the way you clench around nothing and Konig finally breaks his silence.
"You are so filthy" You don't deny him of this fact. His cock pushes on the tight ring of muscles and you moan, fogging up the glass as he pushes, pushes, and pushes until he's inside and oh fuck.
Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. He fills you up so well. Every inch violated, comforted, by him. The pressure is so overwhelming but so familiar and you're getting on the tip of your toes to perk your ass out more. He watches the way your ass swallows inch after meaty inch.
"Mein Süßer" [My sweet one]
Konig groans into your ear. He's gripping onto your waist so tightly you know bruises will bloom and that thought alone makes you press your cheek on the mirror so you can look at him from over your shoulder.
"Mein Konig, please...please, please, please"
He's been far too mean and you're begging so sweetly.
Konig thrusts in and out of you so harshly that your breath is being knocked out of you. He's kissing you, you're barely there to reciprocate.
It's messy, it's hot, it's too much.
His hand thumps onto the mirror and the lights flicker but neither of you cares. He's fucking into you so good you can't think. Konig is mouthing your neck, one hand on your waist while the other is groping everywhere, anywhere — as long as it was you. That's all that mattered to Konig.
You're being far too loud. Both of you. There's no way no one knows what you're getting up to. Your breaths are fogging up the mirror and there's a ripping sound as Konig tugs on the strap too harshly.
"Buh-Baby!" he shushes you. "I'll pay, fuck, I'll pay for anything you want, this boypussy is worth it. So fucking good, so tight " he snaps his hips into you and you choke out a cry at his name.
"Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr?" [Feels good, doesn't it?]
Your chest is now in full view and so Konig grabs at it, twisting your nipples harshly. You're sobbing, tossing your head back as plead for him to slow down. Tears are now streaming down your face, lashes clumping together as you groan out, hand prints being left on the smooth surface as you desperately attempt to grasp at anything to ground yourself.
"So sehe ich Dich gerne". [I like seeing you this way.]
Konig grins wickedly. He knows you're close, he can feel it in the way you're tightening up around his cock. He's not that far behind and he was determined for the two of you to cum at the same time.
Thankfully, Konig knows just what to do to push you over the edge.
Not that it would take much. All that foreplay, that humiliation, already made you a stroke away from jizzing on the floor. His sharp canines sink into the juncture of your shoulder and neck and you yelp as you paint the floor and mirror with your cum.
"Ah, fuck!" you tightened around him like a vice and Konig stills as he empties his balls into you. His thighs twitch and his hips jerk a few times as he pants to catch his breath.
"Woah!" Konig holds you up, laughing breathlessly as he hugs you. Your head is lolling to the side so he gently leans your head back, stroking your neck and chest until you're able to sharpen your eyes back into focus.
"Are you alright, Schatz?" he's flattening his palm on your chest to feel the way your heart thuds against your ribcage. You nod, gulping and panting as you try to form sentences.
He's patient as he carefully maneuverers you to lean fully against him.
"Fuck, why'd you have to cum in my ass" Konig snorts as he lets you peel away to brace yourself on the mirror. He would say sorry but he's not. The sight of his cum dripping out of your hole has his cock twitching all over again. While you're catching your breath he reaches for his phone.
The sound of his camera going off makes you roll your eyes. He's always taking pictures or videos. Says it keeps him occupied when he misses you a bit too much while he's deployed.
Who are you to deny your boyfriend his needs?
Wordlessly, you jut your hips back and spread your ass for him.
He thanks you.
It was silent as you both clean up (as much as you could) and when everyone was dressed you try not to limp on your way out. The workers all avoid looking in your direction and you groan as you hide your face in Konig's side.
He simply tosses an arm around your shoulder, feeling smug despite the bashful blush under his facemask.
"We can never shop here again" you mutter "There are more shops" Konig comforts.
a/n: my take on the prompt "you wanna fuck louder than them to assert dominance."
masterlist | more moon knight
“They’re fucking killing me,” Marc said, his hand brushing through his greying hair. He was in the middle of doing research, his reading glasses hung low on his nose bridge. You were on the other side of the dining table, books all over. You were also doing some reading to help him out.
“Must be their honeymoon stage,” you said. For the past four weeks your neighbors have been fucking so loud it could probably be heard from across the street. It was a couple in their 20’s that moved next door recently. Ever since that day you’ve been hearing them fuck nonstop.
“Well I’m sick and tired of it,” he said, closing the laptop. He looks at you with his usual smolder, brows furrowed, eyes dark, and mouth on a frown. “Wanna fuck louder than them to assert dominance?”
You stare at him dumbfounded. “You want to do what?” you said. Your throat went dry.
“You heard me,” he said. His voice was stern.
“And what if we get a noise complaint?” you worried, but also quite intrigued with Marc’s invitation.
“Like they’ve done anything about the noise complaints on the couple next door,” he said. Marc was right, you’ve sent three complaints already and yet they’re still loud as ever.
“Fine,” you said, going to Marc. He pulled back his chair before you played with his curls and pressed a kiss on his forehead. You stretched your leg over his lap straddling him. His hands automatically go to your ass. With your hands cupping his face he pressed a fevered kiss on your lips.
Your hips bucked on his lap, you felt his dick stir. You kissed him back, the moans between you two were loud, the sounds of wet kisses filling the room. He starts to kiss your neck, his beard rough on your skin.
He starts to leave wet kisses while sucking on your skin in some places. Your hips thrusted in response, your ass rubbing on his growing erection. Marc felt the surge of pleasure from his sex, his teeth sinking to your skin while moan leaves your lips.
He then started to snake his hands underneath your shirt. Starting to toy with your nipples, he lifted your shirt to play with them using his lips. His movements were rough but still careful. He made sure his grip wasn’t too tight so that it became painful. You whined in response to his wet tongue on your nipple, his other twisting the other one. Your hand went to your mouth in an auto-response. He takes your wrist to kiss it, pushing it away from your mouth.
“Let it all out babe,” he coos.
He carries you quickly to the table, the books pushed aside falling on the floor with loud bangs. You could still hear the couple next door, their noise going more silent. Marc grunts as he sets you down. He unties the string on your shorts before pulling them down with your underwear.
With your ass on the hardwood table he sets both your legs on his broad shoulders. He looks up at you, his hair messy, eyes round and brown, his lips glistening underneath the soft light. He slowly puts his face to your hole, never leaving his gaze.
He starts to lick the rim, you shudder in response. He then spits on your hole, licking his two fingers after. He takes your hard cock and licks a stripe under it, his lips teasing the tip. He spits on your cock some more and takes it inside his mouth, simultaneously interesting his wet fingers.
“Fuck, Marc. You’re so good.”
You were a whimpering mess, your chest rising and falling as he sucked on your cock, his fingers curled up teasing you. You start to brush your hands through his hair, guiding his head. Your breath hitched when he deepthroated you, the tip hitting the back of his throat. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, pulling your legs to his shoulders.
“Wait, Marc,” you said, tapping on his hand on your thigh. He looks up at you, eyes watery, lips swollen and wet, saliva on his beard. He was breathtaking. He raised one of his thick brows. “My turn.” you said.
He stands up and you switch positions, removing his pants in the process. He sits back on the table. You give him a languid kiss before you trail kisses all over his body until you reach his waist. Your hands snake all over his body practically worshiping him. You give his aching cock a kiss, the tip leaking white.
You tasted the bitterness in his cock as you engulfed the shaft. It was thick and hard in your mouth, his hands gripping onto your hair. He groans from the sucking, his toes curling. “Come on baby you’re doing so well for me.” he cries.
You twist your hands on his shaft as you sucked on the head. Marc moans louder, almost growling. He takes your head and thrusts into your throat. You almost gag but you paced yourself, breathing in to calm your muscles.
He continues to fuck your throat, leaving your mouth for him to use. He growls some more saying your name over and over. He curses, his orgasm nearing. He eggs on you to stop and you release his cock with a pop. Your eyes water and your lips swollen.
“I’m so close, not yet,” he groans. “Come up here,” he pulls you up to a kiss, your mouths both bitter from the precum. “I need to fuck you now please baby I need it so bad,” he was a heaving. His smooth chest rising and falling.
You switch positions again, your palms on the table, ass perked up. He kneels behind you, his mouth back on your hole. His beard sends pinpricks on your bare skin. You could feel his wet tongue tickle at your entrance. Marc’s hands pull both of the lumps of fat a side splitting you open.
He stands up, his cock pointing north. His tip aching red with drips of pre cum on the slit. He grabs protection from the side. After he puts it on he slaps his cock heavy on your ass, one hand on your shoulder to stabilize. He inches the tip to the round muscle. The tip pushing on your tight hole made you bite your lip. He continues to insert his cock until it sheaths fully. You gasped from sudden fullness.
“It’s okay baby I got you,” he coos. He starts to fuck you in a slow pace. Gently going in and out his hands go to your hip. He thrusts more into you, his grunts turning into loud moans. He takes a hand to your neck to give your temples a kiss. He whispers curses to your ears while you cry out from the thrusting.
You begged him to go harder. He presses your back to the table, your cheek on the hardwood. He starts to fuck you harder, you feel the sudden thrust in your rear. You start to feel the table rock, the legs squeaking from the hard force.
“You think they hear us?” he says in between thrusts. You nod, he disagrees. “I don’t think so, moan louder for me.” He drives his cock into you with all the force he can give. You cry out when his tip hits your hole. Now he can hear your cries reach the other units on the floor. “Good boy.”
You hear your neighbors shout profanities from all the noise. You could care less, your partner was ramming his cock into you, your eyes rolling back from the pleasure. Your cheeks burn and your back aches. Your waist also started to sore from the constant hitting on the table.
Marc must have noticed because he picks you up and sets you on the table so you were sitting on it. He takes your legs to his side, stroking his cock to retain the hardness, not that he needed it. He gives you a kiss as he brings his cock back to your ass.
He hurdles your body to his, arms wrapped around your whole body hugging you. His face is buried in your shoulder while he plunges into you. He continues with the same hard pace. You thought you could’ve seen stars. The two of you are moaning and groaning, filling the whole floor with noise. The table creaked so much you felt like it was about to break.
“I need to cum,” you begged.
“Not yet, pretty, just a little bit more,” he said, his voice rough and exasperated. Your cock ached so hard you were shocked that it was so full without even being touched. The continuous force on your prostate gave you so much pleasure you felt dizzy just from the fucking. Your back falls back to the table. Matt joins you on top. His hands gripping so hard on the edge.
The two of you were laying on the table as if it were a bed. The surface rocking back and forth with you like a boat. “You ready?” he said. You nodded, your eyes closed so hard. “Open those eyes for me,” you open them to the most majestic sight. His hair tousled, his lips swollen and his body wet from sweat. He continues to pummel your hole, the tension inside rising to your cock.
You went to touch your cock as it erupted. You cried out much louder than before. This eggs Marc on to go harder, to make use of the euphoria from the climax. Ropes of cum shoot out of your cock as he pummels into you, the sounds of skin slapping on skin. The whole table was rocking, rocking to the point that its legs gave out with you.The table drops onto the floor with a loud bang, simultaneously as Marc climaxes. He cries out loud.
Matt collapses on you. His face is still buried in your shoulder. You hadn’t realized that the sound from the other room was gone, completely silent. You gently push Marc off of you. The two of you are laying on the broken table.
“Now they’ll finally shut up,” Marc said, still catching his breath.
“But the table—”
“I’ll just buy a new one, honey,” he said, giving your forehead a kiss. He carries you to the bath to get you both cleaned up. You looked up at him from the bath, your body soaked in warm soapy water. Your eyes were locked on each other as you kissed.
interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>
Like, I’m not a top by any means but he’d look so pretty begging. Wether it’s for me to move or for him to be allowed to move? Good lord…
And to have a hand wrapped around his neck while I’m chasing my own satisfaction? Or just to have some form of restriction on him while he’s begging me to touch him…
-🩵
Ugh yes..
Miguel cries so pretty too, doing his best to hold back the humiliating tears as you bounce up and down on his length. Eventually he can't hold back and the waterworks come, leaving him sobbing and begging for you to let him cum.
Add choking to the mix? He's a goner.. making soft gagging noises as you (safely 😠) squeeze the sides of his neck.
Furthermore, if you mock or tease him while he's like that.. he's nutting.. Hard.
"Look at you crying beneath me while I use you.."
"Such a messy little spider hm?"
"Your cock is such a good toy.. oh.. do you like being my little toy Miguel? Do you get off on me calling you names?"
Say anything along those lines and his back his arching off the sheets as he spills himself inside you with a tear-filled cry.
If he's being a brat, you can tie him up and ride him; dragging orgasm after orgasm out of him while you use him for your own pleasure. Slap him hard across the face when he cums and tell him what a slut he is. He FOLDS..
Pinch and play with his nipples after he comes down from his high, doesn't matter if you've milked him dry, he will whimper and get painfully hard again.
Of course when you're done with him, take care of him. Give him a long bath and lots of kisses. Tell him how much you adore him..
I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT THIS MAN IT'S NOT FUNNY
𝐼𝒩 𝒯𝐼𝑀𝐸 (𝒜𝐿𝐿 𝐹𝐿𝒪𝒲𝐸𝑅𝒮 𝐹𝒜𝒞𝐸 𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒮𝒰𝒩)— leon s. kennedy x male reader
w.c: ~5.2k
warning: pwp ( porn with plot ), jealousy, exes-to-lovers, oral, phone sex ( ? ), softdomtop!leon, subbottom!reader, re2r leon, dirtytalk, praise/degradation, spanking, fingering, amab reader, light feminization, riding, blowjobs, creampie, leon’s big but doesn’t know it, finger-sucking, finger-hooking, set after re2r n before re4r, krauser mentions, mentions of alcohol, throatpie, d/s dynamic, unprotected sex ( wear condoms! ), aftercare ! ♡
sonny says..: the urge to add a daddy kink to this was so. so very!! strong . had to stay focused.. this is already.. sovery.. self indulgent..
Confronting him was the hard part. It’d been a while since you’d seen Leon, your ex-boyfriend, and you couldn’t help but feel like there was something missing. It was him, you know now— you’ve always known — but you weren’t sure you had the heart to face him. It was you who ended it after all, you who’d sent him down a heartbreak and alcohol induced rabbit hole that could only be documented briefly through a few voicemails and delivered texts. Even after traveling all this way, burning your cash like it grew on trees, trudging through the rainy streets of this random city, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was the right decision.
You couldn’t take it. The voicemails, the messages, the audio messages full of incoherent sobs and pleads. Being away from him, the same man who’d left you jumping for joy. The same man who’d lit sparks in your chest and released butterflies in your stomach. The same man who’d smile at you in the dead of night, genuine and bright, as he told you he’d loved you a million times over. Leon, whose hands were soft and warm on your skin, so gentle and patient. Like no one you’ve ever met, your heart squeezes in your chest. Leon, Leon, Leon.
Was this out of line?
But it’s too late to turn back now, because your hand is curling into a tight fist as you knock on the fourth motel door all night. Once, twice, three times. You’re ready to back out, to run before whoever’s residing here can open the door and, most likely, slam the door in your face with a distasteful choice of words.
But the door opens.
“There’s an extra. . . Uh, umbrella by the mailbox. Looks like you could use it!” He starts, eyes sparkling despite the dim lighting and narrowed space they’re peeking from. It sounds almost rehearsed, like you’re not the first person to knock on his door tonight. And, for a reason you know all too well, the thought stings.
His eyelashes are just as long as you remember them, curled upward and batting against the thin layer of baby-fat adorning his cheeks in a way that looks dreamy and slow. Like he’s relaxed, or perhaps tired. Nonetheless, his pretty, round eyes are undeniably his and hard to miss, you find yourself at a loss for words. You’re lost in the deep pools of blue, bleeding indigo and inky black of his irises matching the recently done-over roadways in a way that feels just as fresh.
Leon looks reminiscent of a puppy, though he always has, with his thick brown eyebrows pinched at each beginning in a way that can only mimic confusion. Or concentration, even. Almost as if it’s detrimental to him that you know there’s an umbrella there for you, for anyone, who needs it. That it’s important you know— with him around— you’ll be safe. He’s barely changed since you’d last seen him in person, the moles on his cheeks and throat unmoved, soft tufts of brown hair swept to the side as normal, and pink, plump lips that curl upward in a way that’s so comforting you could cry. Leon, your Leon, who smiles warmly, lips pulled into a sweet and inviting grin as the apples of his cheeks round out. Your eyes travel to the dimple dead center of his chin, prominent and defining. The perfect place to slot your thumb, really, to hold his chin and lose yourself in his azure eyes.
Even with the pitter patter of rain soaking into your already soaked clothes, this is the warmest you’ve ever felt in the last few months. His presence keeps you warm. Kept you warm.
“Leon.” It’s all you can say, breathless as the air is snatched from your lungs and excuses die on your tongue. What could you even say? Sure, you’d practiced it all in your head before arriving— I’m sorry, I miss you, what happened to us? It’s all easier to piece together in your head in contrast to actually saying it.
There’s a routinely lean against the doorframe as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, and he’s truly looking at you now, opposed to the clear umbrella sat taut beneath his motel’s mailbox. With a flash of lightning he blinks, freckle and mole dusted cheeks set alight for just a mere second as his breath is caught in his closing throat.
“Oh. . . It’s you,” His sharp adam’s apple bobs with an even sharper swallow, and his pinched eyebrows go lax for a brief moment before tightening back up. “. . .Okay. Hi.”
“Hi, Lee.” You mimic, awkwardly shifting to the side. Still in his casual clothes, you presume, Leon looks comfortable as he sports baggy, blue jeans and a white tank top. Almost too comfortable, the fabric straining against his chest and only ever relaxing the closer it delves by his armpits, flowing despite being trapped beneath his wide ribcage and thick biceps. There’s a heavy vein cascading around it, disappearing under his skin only to reappear by his forearms and soft hands. With pink dusted fingertips, one hand is closed around the gold doorknob of his motel room.
You expect him to close it in your face. To slam the door after telling you to leave, with anger painting his soft, pretty features until they’ve hardened into cold stone. But he doesn’t. Instead, he’s opening it a bit wider, no longer leaning on the doorframe as he extends an arm to fully open the door. To fully see you, and you swear his posture is much more relaxed after his gaze has focused on your face.
“You look,” His gaze flickers from your lips to your eyes, and suddenly you’re failing to form vowels on your tongue. Either way you continue, “You look good,” stiffening as you gesture toward his general direction. “You always do. Anyway. . .”
“Thanks,” He’s much too sweet for your liking, smiling at you like you hadn’t broken his heart just a few months prior. His voice is breathy with upcoming laughter as he steps to the side and invites you in. “You too. Y’know, without the rain.”
You’re in over your head, shuffling inside the dimly lit room with heavy steps. The front door opens directly to the small living-room, a small carton of Chinese takeout resting beside a hearty sized weight on the coffee table. What now? You came into this hoping he’d yell at you— maybe give you a reason to turn around and never look back. But he’s not, he’s inviting you in like. . . Like an old friend. The door is shut and locked with a small click, Leon’s form moving from behind you with his large hand ghosting over your lower back.
A shockwave travels up your spine when his palm makes contact with your waist, only for a brief moment. You can’t think straight, watching the muscles in his back ripple and writhe through his shirt. Chocolate tufts of hair rest at the nape of his neck, short and soft. It’s like you were running your fingers through them just a week ago, blades of freshly trimmed hair tickling your fingertips. Right there, he’s so right there, but almost completely out of reach.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all you can say, over and over, until your nose begins to sting and your eyes grow glassy. Then it’s Leon’s turn to look apologetic, hair swaying as he fully turns to face you. Really, he has nothing to be sorry for. You’re so incredibly selfish.
“I can’t,” He pauses to take a breath, and you feel your heart splitting in two. But his tone is soft and warm, tilting with breathy and almost bitter laughter. “I can’t stay mad at you. And believe me, I tried.”
So he’s willing to talk about it. Your face visibly lights up before you can do anything to mask it, every word you’ve been trying to conjure up suddenly speeding past your tongue, “I want us to talk ab—”
“So,” Leon’s face contorts into something forlorn, like he’s weaving unsavory words together in his head. Words he’s never imagined himself saying. “Does he. . . Does he, uh, fuck you good?”
Huh.
“What?” The question falls flat and sour on your tongue, much more like a blank statement than a question. You’re not sure who ‘he’ is, let alone what led to the question in general, but you’re not exactly given much time to think about it either. The brunette steps forward, wide shoulders shifting with a heavy, clothed stride. His freshly bitten lips are released from his pearly teeth, plump and glossy. Closer now, Leon still smells reminiscent of woodsy lavender and minty mouthwash. Despite how faint it lingers in the air, it somehow manages to overwhelm your senses. He smells like home.
He doesn’t miss a beat this time, long eyelashes splayed out on his cheek as he stares down at your lips, eyebrows furrowed.
“Does he?” His head tilts to the side, questioning. You’d take it as an innocent question had it not been for his lips, pulled into a tight line that reeks of jealousy. His eyes have hardened, baby blue to gunmetal gray. His shoulders relax when you shake your head, hands suddenly restless by your side. “Use your words.”
It’s usually accompanied by a ‘please?’ or ‘for me?’
A whimper leaves your lips, soft and sweet and completely unwarranted. He softens.
“I know you can do it for me,” His eye contact is dangerous, relentless as he watches you stumble over your own whimpers and words. “Can’t you?”
“No,” You swallow hard, letting the brunette trap you in his heat. There is no ‘ he ’, no one taking Leon’s rightfully earned place by your side— whether it be in bed or not. That’s why you’ve come all this way, after all. But you play along anyway, desperate to be good. For Leon. “Not like you do, Lee.”
You’re whining now, tears bubbling in your eyes for so many reasons you can’t put together. Ultimately because you need him, because you feel bad for needing him— because maybe you don’t deserve the luxury of needing him. Apologies tumble into a tight ball of hiccups and sobs, and it’s only the thumbs rubbing away your tears that bring you back. Maybe you’re apologizing for fucking someone you haven’t, lost in the role he’s given you.
“I’m just glad to see you. Glad you’re here.” There’s so much he means to tell you, so much you haven’t heard. Raccoon city, the training program he’s been recruited into, why he’s even here in the first place. Sure, maybe he’s much too forgiving. But it’s you. And he’s not letting go again. But there’s more to it, there’s more you need. Venturing out here on your own, probably without letting anyone know, you’re reckless. Acting without thinking, and he can’t have that. He can’t turn you down, not when you’re so clearly in need of a gentle, guiding hand. Not when he misses you. Leon cuts off your apologies with a small kiss, gentle and sweet enough to have you chasing after his lips when he pulls away.
Your voice sounds needy and saccharine sweet as you lean forward, breathing in his airy scent with a wispy, “Leon. . .”
“What do you want, baby?” The nickname slips before he can catch it, but you don’t seem to mind. “What is it?”
“Want. . I want you.”
“But I’m right here? His laugh is genuine this time, lips splitting into a smile as his thumb rubs smooth circles across your cheekbone. “You have me.”
His hands are on you now, giving your body small squeezes of affirmation. Leon’s much bigger than he carries himself— big hands, wide shoulders, thick thighs, sturdy chest, heavy cock. Big all over, really, despite the way he’s able to run around and disappear like it’s nothing— despite how quickly he carries himself.
The thought as you reeling, choking on a sob that earns an immediate coo in response. There’s just so much, and it’s all piling up. But Leon’s here, he’s here like he always has been, he’s here to make it better. He’s always been so good at that. He takes you out of your head, turns it into mush while you float on a cloud and beg for more of. . . Well, you’re not too sure. But you know he can feel you throbbing against his thigh, hard and needy as he shakes his head with faux disapproval.
“That your phone in your pocket or are you just excited to see me?” It’s a stupid joke you both know the answer to, so he doesn’t waste any time laughing over it. You’re nodding anyway, bobbing your head up and down with wet eyelashes— you already look so ruined.
You’re wearing too much clothes, soaked and dripping onto his floor in a way that has the man grimacing as he peels it from your body. You’re much colder than you thought, too, goosebumps trailing down your skin as his big hands rub warm, soothing shapes into your forearm. Lee’s always been like that, the type to offer up his jacket on a rainy day, the type to give you his coat on a snowy one. And you know, undoubtedly, you’d do the very same for him.
“He couldn’t reach those spots, could he?” The question is emphasized by a hearty squeeze to your behind, Leon’s hands dipping beneath your wet pants slipping under the band of your briefs to knead the plump mound of your ass. He’s grabbing handfuls, squishing the skin between fingers and spreading you apart. “Not like I can, huh? Not deep enough?”
With a soft moan you’re discarded of your pants, fists curled into the crisp white of Leon’s wifebeater. You’ll take anything he gives you and love it, but it’s you who should be apologizing. You who should feel the weight of his cock heavy on your tongue. You want the head slipping and sliding down your throat, you want your face streaked in tears and snot by the time he’s done it’s you.
Oh, how you’ve missed this. Leon’s cock is thick and sticky, pre beading at the pretty, pink tip and dripping down it’s fat head. You watch it drip, slow and shiny as it trails down his pulsing shaft. Weeping, his cock twitches with each open breath you blow against it, jumping as his balls tighten. They’re pretty and round, symmetrical on both sides, but not nearly as pretty as his shaft. Thick and curving upwards past his belly button, Leon’s cock has a sensitive vein you want to run your tongue over, trailing up from his balls to the tip, collecting the sticky precum as it falls down into your mouth.
“Pleasepleaseplease…” You trail off, eyes focused solely on the pretty, shiny head of his dick.
“Don’t need to beg, I’ll give it to you. All you want,” You stick out your tongue, cute and pink as you’re ready to suckle along the head of his cock, but instead you’re met with the warmth of his big hand gripping your jaw. His thumb latches onto your bottom lip, rubbing the soft skin as he blinks down at you, his voice smooth and buttery as he commands, “Slow and steady.”
The tip is smeared along your lips, slowly tracing your cupid's bow and bottom lip until a thin layer of pre has them glazed over and sticky. Your lips part, carrying a thin trail between them, as you finally take his cock into your mouth. He’s salty and somewhat bitter, spreading heavy along your tongue, and you can’t help but swallow around the head. His thighs tense, muscles flexing and rippling as his twitching hand finds the back of your head.
“So. . . so wet,” He’s gasping before you can fully take in the stretch of his cock, hips twisting as his eyes flutter closed. It’s been a while, you can tell, with the way they’re clenched tight and his hand is morphing into a fist full of your hair. Your spit bubbles and pools around his cock, slick and wet, sliding between the seams of your lips and dripping down your throat, down your sternum. “Those. . noises. And you’re so.. cute.”
He offers a sharp thrust that has him disappearing down your tight throat, squeezing just right along his twitching shaft. Your jaw aches the further he’s pushed inside, until your nose is buried in his trimmed, gingerbread pubes. It’s obvious he’s trying to be gentle, with the way he lets out a hushed apology for fucking your throat so deep, with the way he’s whining out a constant stream of “You’re such a good boy.”
Praise. He’s so good at it, it’s got you absentmindedly drooling and gagging on his dick. You’re eager to drag out more, running your tongue along his big, veiny cock until Leon’s throwing his head back— adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a pleased moan. His cock is filling your empty mouth, using you like some sort of pre-lubed fleshlight with his balls slapping against your chin in wet plaps. Collecting drool, it froths between your lips and his cock, bubbly and white until it’s being rubbed along your cheeks.
“That’s it, good boy, just a little more. . .”
Gasping on his cock, Leon’s hand keeps you buried against his pubes until your throat is squeezing and contracting, milking his cock and wrapped plush around the thick head. You can feel it, each twitch and throb of his heavy cock, even when he’s cumming down your throat, sticky and thick ropes shooting down your tongue and sticking to the roof of your mouth. You want to show him. You’re marked for good, offering a few hollow sucks to his spasming cock before pulling off.
“Oh, baby,” Leon’s voice is just as hoarse as your own, eyes following the display of cum resting hot and sticky on your tongue. “Think you can do something for me?”
He leads you up with a gentle hand, wrapped around your throat until you’re sat taut in his lap, thighs on each side of his waist. Leon’s hands are impeccably soft, even as he’s pushing them past your lips and spreading the saltiness of them along your tongue with a gentle, “suck.” You’re eager to please, taking the warm digits in your mouth and separating them with your tongue. The squelches in return are loud and wet, a mixture of cum and drool leaving between the gaps of his fingers and your lips. Your eyelids feel heavy, brain foggy as he pushes them deeper into your mouth, just enough to have you gagging softly.
Then they’re gone.
In his own mouth now, he’s tasting remnants of his cum and pulling off his fingertips with a wet ‘pop!’while his free hand digs for the vanilla lube hidden somewhere in the couch.
“You’re gonna bounce on my fingers like a good boy,” both hands are at your briefs, tugging them down until there’s a loud ripping sound. Your eyes jet between Leon’s wide eyes and your tattered underwear, surprised. You’re not sure if he meant to do that, but it doesn’t matter, because your cock springs to life and jumps against your tummy. “Then my good boy’s gonna take it in his pussy. Okay?”
The question is barely registered but you’re nodding anyway, melting in the brunette’s strong embrace. His hands spread you open, one playing with the squishy flesh of your bum while the other’s slick fingers circle around your puckered entrance. With a wet ‘squilck’ the first finger is in, impossibly deep and hot as your gooey hole sucks it in further. You just can’t get enough, rocking your hips down to the last knuckle and grinding your cock against his own. There’s a sharp smack to your ass, the skin rippling under Leon’s quick palm as he groans, “Hnnh, so noisy n’ I barely started.”
His fingers have always been able to reach deeper than your own, sweet and tantalizing along your prostate as he finds it like he knows it, pressing and pressing and pressing until you’re seeing stars. He adds another, two in total, that slip past your velvety opening with almost no resistance. Usually you’d have to take a third, maybe, but he wants you to really feel it.
“Shh, sh. You hear it?” There’s another swat, stinging and loud as it hits the same exact spot. Your back arches beautifully, his fingers jolting deeper. You're quick to shake your head. “The dirty noises your hole’s makin’ while it takes my fingers?”
You’ll never get used to Leon’s cute face sputtering out such filthy words, it’s like whiplash. And you’re not entirely sure what he’s talking about, it’s hard to hear over the fog and sounds of your own babbling, but you can hear yourself answering anyway, “S’cause you fuck me so good.”
“Think it’ll be just as loud on my cock?”
“Even louder.” You whine, head falling forward into his thick shoulder as the head of his cock traces your slick, soft rim. There’s a cold trickle behind you, loud and squeaky— it’s more lube, enough to coat his cock, your ass, and then some. Enough to have the head of his cock catching on your entrance every time he slides it along your crack. There’s a soft kiss to your cheek, and a free hand creeps up your back to hold you there by the back of your head. You’re turning into a puddle, whining into the shell of Leon’s ear as his dick slides its first inch inside.
Your hole is so tiny. Even after being stretched full of his fingers, you’re gripping his cock like a vice. There’s a tiny, thin band where his head disappears into your warm hole, stretching and shining and sucking his dick further inside. You’re just so tight, sticky and inviting insides that feel like velvet around his thick, throbbing cock. Even as he tries to go slow, sucking in a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, Leon can’t get enough. His cheeks are flushed, deepening and blooming down his neck as he grips the globes of your ass and spreads them apart wide. Cold air runs along your hole, chilly enough to have you whining.
“F-hu-uuck, so tight,” He gasps, blinking rapidly as he watches your face fall into something floaty and, if he’s honest, cockdrunk. Twitching around him so much, you’re milking his cock for all it's got despite him barely being buried completely inside. Part of him wants to keep you on his tip, slipping it in and out your cute entrance until he’s shooting between the spheres of your ass, getting you sticky and hot with his cum. Marking you. “God, hhm, your pussy’s quivering around me so good…”
“Lee. . Leon, I can’t, want it so bad but I can’t. . .” You definitely can— in fact, you have. But he’s just so big, splitting you in two and whiting your brain out.
“Too much? Oh—haah— poor baby. Want me to stop?” He stills his hips, a breathless smile forming on his face when you try to take the reins. You lace your fingers with his own, squeezing hard as you rock your hips back and forth. “No? Then take it for me.”
Take it you do. Your body jerks as he fucks up into you, balls slapping against your ass and cock sliding against your prostate as sloppy, shallow sounds of your poor, drenched hole fill the room. Leon’s hair sticks to his forehead, stringy and disheveled as he whispers into your skin, grabbing handful after handful of your backside.
Beside you, his phone rings.
Leon nearly jumps out of his own skin, patting around the sofa to find his cell— trapped beneath a cushion. You don’t have time to read the Caller ID, something that begins with a ‘K’, but it’s clear he’s going to decline it. With the way he doesn’t spare a glance at you until after he’s got it in hand, and—
“Leon Kennedy.” His grip on your hips is enough to bruise, rocking your body down against his own. You can’t help but gasp, your thoughts spinning like clockwork in your head until your brain has gone light and airy like sugary, sweet cotton candy. All you can do is tighten around his dick, show Leon how much better you are than whoever’s on the phone. You can be good, you’re a good boy.
And you must’ve said it out loud, because he’s decided to busy your mouth with thick, sticky fingers. Even then, your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the wet squelching and slapping of skin against skin, his cock sliding in and out your puffy hole as lube gushes out around his dick in white ringlets. Like you’ve creamed on his cock, and if he looks close enough he can see it slip back inside with each thrust. You really are a good boy.
His fingers are hooked in your mouth, drawing pathetic sounds out of you until your eyes roll back into your skull and you can’t stop bouncing. Your thighs ache and burn but you want it so bad, your neglected cock stuttering along with your hips as he’s pushed deeper and deeper with every small ‘uh-huh!’ that leaves your lips.
“Yeah, that’s right,” He says into the phone, but it sounds more reserved for you. “Ah, yes sir. This job was. . . Christ, it was made for me!” He pulls the phone away for a brief moment. “This ass was made for me.”
His eyes are trained on you as he shoves his phone between his shoulder and ear, both hands on your hips to raise you on and off his cock. Your lip is bitten raw between your teeth, and you don’t realize he’s coaxing it free until he’s speaking, “Let ‘em hear who you belong to. Who’s that?”
“You! You, Leon. Leon.” Like a prayer, his name comes out slurred and crackly. An uninterrupted stream of titles and nicknames reserved just for him, your nails claw at his muscled back.
“That’s right, you’re mine,” There’s a hard, choppy thrust forward as he releases a hand to wrap it around your sensitive, weeping cock, “And this cock? This hole? Mine too.”
“Yeah, yeah, yours,” Clamping down on his shaft, your hand finds the small gap where his cock reappears. Your fingertips trace it, completely soaked but enough to have his balls tightening. “And you’re mine.”
“Fuckfuckfuck,” His phone falls to his side, hushed whines leaving the brunette’s strawberry lips. “All yours, whenever you want. Got that? My good boy gets to have his cock whenever he wants.”
His hand is fast and slick, his thumb running over your slit every so often just to watch the way your body convulses in response. But Leon’s sweet, he’s always been sweet to you, sweet enough to twist his fist the closer it gets to the tip. Sweet enough to tighten the grip he has around you when he gets to the base— when he can feel you’re about to cum.
“Oh, please!” With a dry sob you’re tugging at his wrist, wriggling your hips and falling back into his thick cock. “Wanna cum, Lee. Please let me cum, please.”
“Hey, hey. Don’t tap out now. You can cum for me when I say so, okay?” Your begging goes straight to his dick, pulsating and bullying the small bundle of nerves nestled in the heart shape of your ass. You can’t stop crying, handsome face covered in tears as you ride out the everlasting stretch of his cock forcing you open, just to leave you empty. Again, again, again.
You feel like molten lava, silky and warm as wet spurts of lube catch between the skin of your ass and his pelvis. He can’t take it, just as wrecked as you are when he feels his balls go rigid and impossibly full— he needs to claim you. Now.
His cum is warm— so thick and filling when he shoots right against your prostate. You’ve never felt more full in your life, your thighs lightly squeezing together in his lap as he releases your cock with one, two, three strokes. Your voice doesn’t sound like your own, loud squeals and cries of ‘Leon!’ as your cock twitches and pulses— cum leaking down his fingers as it catches along his fist. And he could be cruel, continuing to pump your cock past its limits. But instead he gauges your reaction with a few slow, experimental tugs— pulling away when your thighs start to shake a little too much.
“One more request for you, sweetheart.” He raises his hand, a slow drip of your own cum landing on his tummy. His hand is brought to your mouth, and Leon watches with an adoring coo as you lick it clean. It’s obvious you’re trying to stay present, trying not to sink too far deep into that sweet, mellow headspace he’s put you in.
“Thank you.” He says, though you’re much too tired to figure out just what he’s thanking you for. Leon pulls you off his cock despite your absentminded protests, blowing air through protruding cheeks when your rim is reluctant to let go.
“Mhm.” Your tongue is thick like molasses, eyes slowly blinking as you’re moved to sit beside him.
“Can I see, please?” He’s already maneuvering you onto your back and spreading your legs wide by your thighs and ankles, yet his pretty eyes flicker up to meet your face, almost as if he’s actually asking. They drastically brighten when you offer a tiny, well-fucked nod. His hands spread you open, watching his cum dribble from your used hole in collective globs. Makes you feel small and properly kept, you prop yourself up on your elbows as your pretty hole clenches around air.
Leon closes his eyes like he’s trying not to cream his (metaphorical) pants all over again, his thumb rubbing a sizable glob into your skin. Your legs close around his hand, holding him still as you whine.
“I know, I know. I’ll be gentle.” There’s a sweet, simple kiss placed to the back of your thigh before Leon stands, disappearing into what your lidded eyes can’t quite make out. But you know you’re whining, something about a ‘sorry’ or an ‘I made a mistake’ before his big, warm hands are back to hold onto your own.
Something wet and dripping— a cloth, is rubbed into your skin, slow and tender and later replaced by sprinkled kisses.
“Can I. . . stay, Lee?” You want to wince at the sound of your own voice, but you don’t think you have the energy to do so yet. You’re being pulled into his arms, sturdy and comforting— even with the faint smell of sex and musk damp on his skin.
“You’d be crazy to think I’m letting you go again.”
Male!Reader @devastatingbastard - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
