#tags-and-cw ★ NSFW! AFAB!READER DRABBLE. . . intimatacy rules, small banter, he's insatiable, you're both in your late 30's to early 40's, erectile overfunction (he has it BAD), he has body hair 'cause duhhh, established relationship (u guys are married here), i love casual intimacy, this is just sweet vanilla sex (dont expect anything kinky).
another late night where your beloved came home late. stacks upon stacks of paperwork had kept him long past sunset again, and by the time he finally stumbled into your arms he was little more than a walking corpse.
you would often find him passed out on the couch the next morning — an empty mug of beer still loosely clutched in his hand, snoring loud enough it could replace your alarm.
after a hearty meal he’d always claim he was only going to take a short nap.
twenty minutes, he’d say.
those twenty minutes inevitably turned into eight hours.
the next morning he’d whine about it, voice rough with sleep, insisting he had an awful night because your warmth wasn’t beside him.
(as if he hadn’t been drooling all over the damn couch.)
“insufferable,” you’d mutter, an exasperated scowl on your face.
varka would only laugh at that — loud, bright, utterly unashamed, 'cause of course he is, he's varka for archons' sake.
“but still yours, no?”
which was, (un)fortunately, true.
even if he gave you migraines on the daily. even if he was utterly unbearable sometimes.
varka was yours, as much as you're his.
decades of marriage had taught you many things about the man you loved. some grand, some small, some hidden in the quiet habits he didn’t even realize he had.
but you'd see them all, no mattter how miniscule they may seem.
you knew the way exhaustion settled into his shoulders after long days, knew the look of him when he walked through the door.
dim ocean blues, a crooked, tired smile, muscles aching beneath his coat.
these days he would simply press a quick kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom to wash the grime off his skin then spare a few minutes for mantaining his swords, talking about the day with you as he wipes and polishes them to perfection.
and inevitably, after a meal, he'd end up passing out just about anywhere but your shared bed.
you knew your husband very well.
which is why the moment he steps through the door tonight, you kmow something is different.
his eyes meet yours.
and the fire burning in them — sharp, bright, dangerously familiar — sends a shiver down your spine.
“i’m home,” varka whispers, boots heavy against the wooden floorboards as he crosses the room.
tonight he isn’t wearing his usual coat, nor the small pieces of armor that usually cling to him like a second skin. they’re nowhere to be seen. instead, he’s dressed only in a black shirt — the top buttons carelessly left undone.
half of his chest is exposed through the open buttons — scarred skin, a faint trail of blonde hair, and the familiar wolf-tooth necklace swaying faintly with each step he takes.
yet somehow, tonight, everything about him feels. . . different.
"sorry if i've kept you waiting," he places a light peck on the side of your lips, eyes gazing straight at you as he does.
predatory.
that was the gaze of someone who wanted to devour something — or in this case, someone.
warm, large palms rest just above the side of your hips, and you can feel the way he presses slightly, inching your body closer to his.
"no 'welcome home, honey' for me?" a deep chuckle spilled from him, soft with fondness, "finally got tired of your husband, hm?"
his eyes gleam with a certain hunger, tracing over the shape of your lips to the half-exposed cleavage of your dress.
varka does not lighten his grip, eventually pushing you further and further until your back hits the wall. leaning over until he's got you trapped between his frame and the wood now, faces mere inches apart.
you could hear the sound of his heartbeat, loud yet steady.
gulping the sudden nervousness, you were about to welcome him home as you usually did.
before you could speak, he captures you in a deep kiss, discarding whatever restraint he has. varka places a hand behind your head, softly caressing, before forcing your face closer into his waiting mouth.
he can barely keep it together, chest heaving with every rhythmic dance of his lips on yours.
"welcome—mmph—" kiss. "ahhn, home. . ." kiss.
you whine at his desperation, "varka—"
he groans into your mouth at the mere mention of his name, lips turning even more desperate. the sound rattles your bones, making you squirm against him.
and with how large the knight is, you're practically engulfed in his arms, body pressing onto the flimsy fabric of your dress until you eventually mold into one, until you eventualy feel it —
your face goes red immediately, and you hopelessly try to hold onto his biceps as he grinds the very obvious bulge against you.
you can hear every wet smack of his lips on yours, the lecherous sound bouncing off the sides of your throat into your ear. he's practically devouring you by this point, panting into the wet cavern of your mouth.
there’s a hunger in the way he looks at you, not for anything fleeting, but for the entirety of you — your voice, your laughter, the way you carry yourself
he needs you so bad that it's breaking him apart.
a small yelp escapes you when varka suddenly lifts you into his arms.
the motion pulls your lips from his, the kiss breaking too soon. he doesn’t go far, though — only tilts his head forward until his forehead rests against yours, breath warm against your skin.
your hands fumble to rest at his shoulders, steadying yourself in his arms.
"yeah, much better," he laughs, bright as ever, "my back was killin' me, leaned over too much."
varka's moved the both of you to the living room now, hs probably knocked into a few things on the way but the two of you are much too distracted to care.
"it's not my fault you're built like a hilichurl tower." you quip, looking to the sides so you can avoid his peering eyes.
he flashes you a fond, crooked grin, resting his face on your chest. "hilichurl tower? surely, there are better structures to describe someone like me."
"like what, grandmaster?"
"a guizhong ballista?"
". . . i have no idea what that is."
varka lingers dangerously near your throat, warm breath brushing your skin.
"hah, don't worry, love— you'll find out soon."
you're sitting on his lap now, directly over the twitching bulge of his cock. your thighs flinch at every shift of his hips, feeling it brush over your warmth.
he's nipping at your exposed neck, leaving faint marks that you'll scold him for in the morning. though, varka could care less about the scolding he'll get when he has you exactly how he wants you:
flushed, trembling, and soaking wet.
the strap of your dress starts to fall off your shoulder, revealing the rest of your cleavage for him to stare at. he's mesmerized at how beautiful you look, finding it hard to believe he has you all for himself.
"have i ever told you how beautiful you are?" he rasps, unzipping your dress from behind. maybe it's because of the way he's speaking to you in that tone, looking at you with that gaze, but you suddenly feel like putty in his hands.
"many times, i believe you say it everyday."
he chuckles, "really?" pulling the dress down further until it's bunched at your hips. "s'pose i can't really help it when you make me hard every damn time i walk into this house."
you feel him lick and suck bruises into your skin, each mark blooming red and pink across the canvas of your flesh — a vivid display of his relentless desire for you.
"aren't you embarrassed being this shameless at your big age?"
even well past thirty, there’s still that same restless hunger in the way he looks at you, the same eagerness in the way his hands find yours. time may have carved new lines into his face and scattered scars across his body, but it has never managed to dull the way he wants you.
varka makes a show of caressing your thighs, pushing your skirt along with it, "shameless? i'm just being honest, don't you like an honest man?"
he sneaks a glimpse at the cotton underwear hidden beneath, swallowing the urge to push them aside and take you already.
"maybe if this honest man stopped seducing me everytime he came home, i'll like him better." you huff, carding your fingers through his disheveled hair.
he looks back up at you.
"oh?" varka smiles toothily, amusement rolling off him in waves, "so the lady screamin' for more last night was just a figment of my imagination then? the very same lady who rode me so well she—"
memories of last night started flowing into your head, causing you to fluster.
your hands immediately fly to his mouth, shutting him up for good, "okay! i get it, that's enough!"
you hear his muffled laughter through the gaps of your palms, his eyes crinkling with shameless amusement.
meanwhile you’re left flushed and needy beneath him.
it’s terribly unfair.
for all the years you’ve had this man wrapped around your finger, not once have you felt undesired.
if anything, there were moments you felt too desired.
his appetite for you was relentless — rivaled only by his well-known love for alcohol.
passion has never dimmed in your marriage,. you were in an eternal state of the so-called 'honeymoon phase' where the two of you fucked like rabbits and slobbered over each other anytime you can.
that never changed, even as varka traded the reckless, stubborn youth he once was for the measured, commanding man worthy of the grandmaster’s position.
you actually found it quite funny that the young boy who used to cause a ruckus everyday for valentine would mellow down into this boisterous but dependable leader.
he's changed so much over the years, turning into the pillar of strength in mondstadt — a legend among men.
and even so, he still acted the same with you, as if he was that same bumbling fool who professed his love to anyone who would listen.
varka might have changed — in ways that might seem inconsequential to anyone else — but deep down, he was still the same man you married all those years ago.
even down to that insatiable hunger he always carried for you.
your husband has you laid out on the sofa, legs wrapped around his waist — though they never quite meet around him, his broad frame simply too large, pressing you close in all the ways you’ve grown to know and crave.
"is it too much, hun?" varka asks, combing a hand through his hair to keep it away from his eyes, all so he could stare at the way your face scrunched up for him, kiss-swollen lips trembling from the stretch.
"need me to slow down a li'l?"
you vigorously shake your head, clutching at the large palm softly caressing your cheek, "no, no, keep going, please—"
varka laughs at your desperate cries, pushing a bit further into your warmth. it's always been necessary to prep you for hours before you could take him without much pain, and varka doesn't mind the extra work – he quite enjoys it actually.
but you don't have that patience, too needy and wanting to feel him inside you as soon as possible. he finds it very cute by the way, seeing you beg for it always gets blood rushing to his nether regions in no time.
"taking me so well," he whispers, kissing your forehead, "just a bit more, mhm? be a good girl f'me."
you whimper, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he starts to slowly thrust back and forth, and it immediately makes you even wetter, soaking him in your juices.
varka lets out a lengthy groan, throwing his head back when he feels you clench around him.
“fuck,” his brows pull together, beads of sweat trailing down the hairs of his chest. “relax a bit. . . gonna break me at this rate.”
varka chuckles lowly, an obscene grin curling across his lips.
"s-sorry. . . " you say, clinging to his arms like it's the only thing anchoring you to reality.
his wolf-tooth pendant sway with every delicious roll of his hips, nailing you to the cushion, the metal glinting under the dim-lighting of your home.
your eyes linger on the many scars along his chest and arms, each one waz a testament to the battles he’s survived — a symbol of courage, of years spent facing danger without hesitation for the sake of his lobed ones.
and yet it’s the very same body he uses to carry you to bed, careful hands far gentler than anyone could imagine.
the same arms that once raised a blade now wrap around you with an ease that feels almost tender, as if the weight of war and bloodshed melts away the moment you’re in them.
it always amazes you — how a man built for battle can hold you like something precious.
varka's lips found its way to the dip of your neck, licking anywhere he could while his hips gain a steady rhythm for the both of you.
and soon enough, you start to see blurry white stars along the edges of your vision.
decades may have passed between the two of you, yet varka’s desire has never learned how to calm itself. age has softened many things in life, but not this — not the way his hands still find you with the same urgency, thee same hunger as it did all those years ago.
time may wear down mountains, but it has never managed to wear down the fire he carries for you.
"still, ah, with me?" varka asks, face still buried in the crook of your neck. his voice a soft and warm thing, contrasting the way his hips viciously slam against your soaking heat.
you could barely even garble an answer, moaning and whimpering his name at every hard thrust.
varka gently pushes your knees toward your chest, holding you close as he leans over you, his presence overwhelming in the small space between you.
you could feel every vein and throb of his thick cock, the way he stretches you out sooo good that it leaves you limbless.
he's got an arm under both of knees, locking them together, and pushing them to the side of his waist.
"take a deep breath for me," varka warns you, chuckling at the way your pussy seems to respond instead, pulsing around him with need.
he fucks you roughly, frantically pushing in and pulling out. bright red marks start to form on your ass, his pelvis repeatedly hitting against it.
every loud slap of skin makes you go dizzy, mind turning into mush as you let yourself get lost into the throes of pleasure.
your neighbors could probably hear you by now, moaning so loud that the sound bounces off the walls. varka could care less, more than happy to let you disturb the ones nextdoors — what are they gonna do? complain to the knights of favonius?
plus, hearing you sing his name like this, talking about how good everything feels and how he's 'too big' just pushes him off the edge.
he leans over to lick your lips, fingers brushing onto the side of your face.
"too much, hngh. . . "
varka laughs quietly against your ear, the sound deep and gravelly, “oh, but you love it rough. don’t you, pretty?”
your nearly roll to the back of your head, a line of drool slipping past your parted lips, "yes, i do! love it s'much—"
"really?" varka teases, voice low with desire. he wipes the drool with his thumb before bringing it back to your lips, "tell me how good it is then, c'mon, cry for me."
cry for me.
this is the only time varka would let tears run down your face willingly. he loves seeing how good he makes you feel, especially through the soft cries of his name.
"i love you! i love you!" you wail, feeling him speed up, the sounds of skin against skin getting louder. "ah! varka—"
he’s practically buzzing with adoration, every muscle taut and alive with each “i love you” that slips from your lips. even now, his heart leaps every time you praise him — a feeling that has never waned, no matter how many years have passed.
he bites his lip, letting his hips do the talking.
the sofa shakes with every brutal thrust, wood creaking under his weìght and strength.
he laughs, a low rumbling thing that makes your cunt throb, "fucking gorgeous, could never get tired of this pussy—hah, shit."
"could never, ever, get tired of you."
a mixture of sweat, drool, and cum is splattered across his meaty thighs and sticking to the trail of hair along his navel.
varka loves it when you make a mess — whether it’s around the house or on his cock. to him, it simply means his wife feels comfortable enough to let herself go around him.
and he loves it the most when you arch so beautifully in his arms, cunt clamping hard on him as you cum — you could call it an addiction with the way he groans at the way your eyes cross, whimpering his name.
"i love you too," varka whispers into your ear, leaving small butterfly kisses along the shell of it, "gonna—ugh—cum." he stutters, a low exhale leaving his lips.
your nails scratch down along his shoulders, leaving bright red marks but the pain doesn't register for him, too busy chasing his release.
not that something as small as a scratch could ever faze him.
his eyes never leave yours, following every tremble, every small gasp, as if he could memorize you whole. varka’s expression stays gentle, even as his hands leave indents on your skin — a silent tether, a promise you’re not going anywhere.
even through overestimated tears, you manage to see the silhouette of his face, desperate in a way he shouldn't be. after all, he had you nearly everyday, so why is it that he always fucks you as if it's your last?
varka presses down on you — hard. putting most of his weight onto you while you keen, cumming for a second time.
his hips goes completely still, filling you to the brim with all of his length.
all while he crashes his lips into yours — hungry, desperate, and all consuming, moaning into the kiss while your tears fall from overwhelming pleasure.
"sorry, honey. . . i don't think i'll be able to hold back tonight."
"ugh, maybe i should just go ahead and get married too. . . " one of the junior knight sighs dreamily, looking at the grandmaster's bright grin as he steps into the favonius headquarters.
his partner looks at him with a confused expression, "hah? what brought this on?"
the junior knight, palez, points over to varka, "the grandmaster gets to come home to a sweet, loving wife and a warm meal. . . that's why he's always smiley like that, look at how much he's glowing!"
"are you mentally ill?"
a suave voice cuts in, "oh dear, gossiping about the grandmaster's love life in such an open space, getting a little too chummy are we?"
kaeya and rosaria look at the two knights, and an air of chill sweeps through making them shiver. when put together, these two are no joke (outside of a tavern).
"s-sorry! captain kaeya, sister rosaria! it won't happen again." the two frantically salute, palms already getting sweaty.
kaeya laughs lightly, saluting half-heartedly as he walks away. rosaria follows right behind, her expression as icy as ever.
step.
step.
step.
". . . ."
"you think she's alright?" kaeya whispers, cringing at the thought of you being bedridden again.
rosaria can only scoff, massaging her temples as if talking about it was already giving her a migraine, "likely not. she hasn't gone to good hunter all morning which means she's. . ."
"especially since he's looking so refreshed then she's probably. . . " kaeya trails off, silently praying for your recovery.
speak of the devil.
kaeya straightens up, smiling like normal. rosaria rolls her eyes, wincing at the loud voice.
"oh, hey— it's you two! thank barbatos! mind doin' me a small favor?" varka greets them with an enthusiastic wave, a bright, boyish grin on his face.
and he shall appear.
"jean's gonna tie me to the desk at this rate," varka grumbles, "so i was hoping you two could drop this off for me—"
he shoves them something warm wrapped in cloth, rosaria takes it and perks up at the familiar smell of food — it's your favorite dish from good hunter.
kaeya shares a look with her, looking back up at varka with a sly grin, "of course, leave it to us."
.
.
.
it's just another day at mondstadt.
oddly enough, you woke up that morning with your stomach feeling warmer than usual.
it's probably nothing.
#it's-your-captain-ari-speaking ☆ i was listening to sade while scrolling on twitter dot come when i suddenly came across such a golden tweet that inspired me to immediately open my tumblr drafts to goonwrite.
I KNOWW ITS ASS...im sorry i just wrote this in between other longfics.....just...take rhis for now...ill edit it when i have time
btw just a funny thing i added but he laughs/chuckles a lot in this fic, this is bcs i went through his voicelines and istg — this guy always has to let out a "AHAHAHAHAHA!" or "hahahaha. . . " or even a small "heh." like omg shuuut up....he just be hootin' and hollerin' all over mondstadt bro 😭😭 he is soo happy to be alive.
i asked the gc for a title, and 8 out of 11 people voted for "AITA for fucking my wife too often??" while the rest either voted/recommended "a case of erectile overfunction" or "HOPPIN' DIH DIH DIH" which cracks me up a bit.
anyways brought to you by this #truthnuke of a tweet lol:
varka brain rot! cw deep throating, praisekink, gagging and mild asphyxiation.
varka covers his mouth with a hand and quivers when you try to fit his entire length into your mouth, groaning when the tip of his hot curved head touches the back of your throat, "fuuuck.." varka breathes, guiding his fingers into your hair when you choke around his heavy cock, his weighty balls slapping your chin. he smirks when he sees your tear stained face, taking the side of your cheek and coaxing you to breathe through your nose. "you're doing so, so good..."
a little more, he thrusts slowly into your tight little throat, savoring in the way you gagged and smothered his entire length up to the base, your nose hitting the faint blonde hairs of his pelvis.
a little goes a long way when he feels you hollow your cheeks and he groans, hips lifting off the leather chair he sits on, trying to chase that hot heat of your velvet mouth.
"almost there...hah..dirty whore..ah.." he seethed, his hand gripping your hair tighter as you whine with need, your thighs squeezing together at the sounds that leave his mouth.
your fingers dig into his thighs , the sheer pressure of his loaded cock smothering your mouth has you crying. varka holds your head firmer as he continues to piston his hips faster, driving his cock deeper into your spasming fuck hole.
"just..like that. ahh.. shit-" varka could finally feel his climax building, "not gonna last darling-" with a gutteral moan, he slams his hips forward hard, burying himself to the hilt of your throat, filling your warm mouth with his hot seed.
"greedy little cum slut," varka gasped between spurts, "milking my cock like you're starving for it." he releases a short laugh.
you try to release his cock from your mouth, before his fingers find your jaw and grips it, "uh uh, swallow." a small embarrassed whine left you before you diligently gulp his spunk.
ꕤ You managed to get both the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide and the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius wrapped around your finger. . . Certainly, you can't have both?
ꕤ Author's note: seeing a nauseating lack of wrio and varka fics so i had to take matters into my own hands lol. im awfully out of commission when it comes to graphic smut (and using tumblr), but i did my best and i'm hoping to post a more refined version on ao3 at some point (saying this very loosely) :) username there same as here!!
ꕤ Warnings: nsfw, f!reader, threesome, praise kink, slight asphyxiation?, creampie, piv, oral f!receiving, oral m!receiving (wrio), handcuffs, implied age gap but it's not dwelled on, semi-public smut, wrio likes to bite, some fluff cuz i couldn't resist, i suppose there is a fair amount of plot, lots of uses of "good girl"
Word Count: around 7k
Varka’s stop in Fontaine was a shocker. The Grand Master was such a busy man, whether he was offering help all around Teyvat on expeditions or slumped in Mondstadt with mountains of paperwork, he rarely got time to sleep, nevermind take a vacation.
But, it was a tame time of year, and you’ll never forget the first time you saw him, walking around the place you’d grown up, getting a tour around The Court of Fontaine. Everything about him drew you in. His tall height, ever so slightly aged features, tousled blonde hair, every scar that was a beautiful reminder of the battles in which he rose victorious.
And those kinds of scars—Well, you knew them all too well. Not from your own body, no.
From the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide.
How you’d gotten tangled up with him was a mystery to even yourself. An old tale of someone you once held close getting locked up in the warden’s quarters, and for every visit, you found yourself less excited to see them, and instead, Wriothesley was the face you anticipated seeing within those cold, metal walls.
He took quite the liking to you himself. Eventually, you only started showing up for him. And he’d keep you held beside, beneath, or on top of him until the sun came up. Until his name was one you could remember better than your own, and only then would he let up, hold your face in his calloused hand and plant firm kisses all over the surface of your spent body until he soothed you to a much-needed sleep.
The things that initially drew you to him, you saw in Varka, too. The selflessness. The subtle longing in his eyes, one that can only come from prolonged hope held tight even after a life filled with betrayal. A look you wanted to mend. A hope you wanted to fuel.
Then there was the shape of him, the sheer mass of his biceps, a physical strength sculpted beautifully from battle. Broad shoulders, sharp expression, rough hands with the shocking ability to be so gentle when they want to be. When you thought of him, sometimes it was hard to remember who it was on your mind.
Varka or Wriothesley.
You made the most of Varka’s visit. You spoke to him whenever you got the chance, and every so often, something would slip past his lips that sounded an awful lot like flirting, but he’d always cover it up with a cough, a lighthearted joke, or blame it on his habit of day-drinking. He was a gentleman, after all.
For weeks, you were caught between your exploratory conversations, vivid fantasies, and suggestive encounters with Varka during the day, and your deep talks, mind-shattering sex, and worshiping touches with Wriothesley at night.
Guilt caught up fast. Were you betraying your established-non-established relationship with Wriothesley by letting someone else infiltrate your thoughts in the most improper of ways? If Varka lost his self control, finally took your shorter skirts or sultry looks as an invitation to let up the gentleman act for one night, would you even be able to face Wriothesley again after?
Maybe he’d never have to find out. Varka surely had no clue that no matter how much he got you worked up during your interactions, you were getting more than adequately taken care of either way. If you got the chance to have your way with Varka during his visit, it could be your one moment of selfishness. He would have to return home eventually, anyway…
The idea seemed a lot more probable when you were sure they would never cross paths. Varka had no business in the prison, and Wriothesley rarely had reasons to come above the surface. You always went to him, besides the occasional date he’d take you on in The Court of Fontaine, none of which had overlapped with Varka’s vacation so far.
Until you were getting coffee with Varka early one morning, and you were both handed your own respective invitations to a grand party taking place the next night, the event planned by Miss Furina herself, with assistance from the Iudex.
Your heart dropped when you realized who else would 100% be getting an invite, even more when Varka invited you as his date, even more when you said yes, and as if it couldn’t get worse, Wriothesley wasn’t one to give you a break from his antics in public places.
“Shit.”
-----
“Might I say, you look beautiful tonight.” Varka compliments, offering you his arm when the two of you step onto the venue’s property. You scan the area before taking him up on his offer, hand wrapping around his bicep. “Not that you don’t always.”
You smile, letting him guide you up the stone walkway leading up to the stairs. Music blasts from inside, and every familiar face makes you swallow a gasp, though none have been who you’re worried about thus far.
Maybe Wriothesley wouldn’t care. It’s not as if you two had conversations about exclusivity. For all you know, he could have other partners. Plenty of them. He could be with one right now.
It, so selfishly, makes your heart drop to imagine that might be true.
“Maybe you’ve never been this sober looking at me before,” You joke, which makes Varka cough out a laugh that heats your skin with a warmth you’ve known about once before this moment.
“Well, booze makes you have more of an appetite. Perhaps we wouldn’t have spent so many lunches together otherwise.” He peers down at you as you two walk along, neater than usual blonde locks falling in front of his forehead. You urge to lift a hand, gently swiping it away, and then you imagine tenderly rubbing your thumb over the X-shaped scar on his cheek.
The same way you do to the scar under Wriothesley’s eye...
You clear your throat. “That would’ve been quite the shame.”
“I’d say so.”
Varka opens the door for you, mumbling something about knightly-duties, and you step into the venue.
The world stops spinning, and your throat goes dry.
You spot him. Well, his back. The Duke is talking to some people you barely recognize as guards who work at the Fortress, his hip against an unoccupied table and a glass of some alcohol you’re sure he doesn’t enjoy planted in his left hand.
“Hey, you okay?”
You turn your head so fast you almost get whiplash, forcing a smile when you see Varka’s concerned face, one of his hands pressed against your lower back. “Yeah, I’m fine. We should…”
You pause, stealing another glance in Wriothesley’s direction, and you grip Varka’s wrist hard the moment you see him start to turn around. “Go! Let’s go!”
You drag him to the left, ducking behind a large group of people to hopefully conceal yourself from the Duke’s view. Varka chuckles from behind you, planting a hand on your hip and helping you navigate the crowd in the direction of the bar. “Someone’s real excited to get me drunk.”
“I could give you every ounce of alcohol in here twice and you’d barely be tipsy, Mister Grand Master.”
He groans. “You and the formalities.” You reach the bar, and you swing your head back to try and spot where Wriothesley was while Varka takes a seat on a stool. “And you underestimate a knight’s tolerance. Three times, at least, if you want to see me tipsy.”
You spot him. You can see his side profile from this angle, in the same spot as before, talking to one of his guards with a half-smile planted across his handsome features. Varka being dressed the most formally you’d seen from him, that was no surprise. But the Duke—He cleans up nice for such a high-profile event.
Gods, you wanted to take that suit right off…
You turn back to Varka. You’re standing close enough to his seated body that he could easily take you by the hips and drag you between his knees.
“And if I want to see you drunk?” You answer finally, teasing.
He smirks, and like you have some kind of third eye, he takes your body between his hands and pulls you between his spread legs. “Ah, well, a man can get drunk off a lot of things.”
As if your heart wasn’t beating fast enough, it speeds up even more, and you flatten your palms against his chest. You peer down at him, and the lust in his eyes is contained very poorly, like he’s in a fight with himself still trying be a gentleman.
You hum. “And what’s your tolerance in that territory, Sir Varka?”
He takes a deep breath, his voice coming out deep and tortured. “For you, I might already be too far gone.”
You’re so close now that you can feel his breath on your lips, and your surroundings seem to fade into nothingness for a moment. Your palms are pressed against his shoulders now, but his heart is still pounding enough that you’re counting the beats in your head.
His mouth ghosts over yours, and right when you think he might finally snap, a booming voice snaps you right out of it.
“Hey, I had no idea you would be here!”
Your head flies up.
Wriothesley is about six feet away from you, squeezing through the crowd to get to the bar. However, his eyes aren’t on you. You’re not sure he even notices you—He’s walking right up to the bartender.
Oh shit.
“Ah, Your Grace!” The bartender greets, and Wriothesley takes a seat at one of the stools with a growing smile. “It’s nice to see you above the surface.”
“You too.” The Duke retorts politely. The bartender must have been an inmate at Meropide at some point. The conversations drags on, but you’ve ducked down enough so Varka’s seated form can conceal you from the only other man that has ever had the effect on you that has currently caused a noticeable dampness beneath your dress.
Varka’s breath hitches before falling into a low laugh. “Scandalous. However, I don’t think—”
“I’m not—” You quickly confirm, heat overtaking your cheeks. You are technically knelt in front of his lap right now. In public. With people everywhere. One of the closest being the last person who needs to find you in this incriminating position. You straighten up a bit. “I have to run to the bathroom.”
“Do you want me to come with—”
“No, no. That’s alright. I’ll be quick.” You swiftly shoot down, still needing him to be a human shield as you turn towards the bathroom sign found in the far left corner of the venue. You stay as low as you can without looking crazy, and you slip into the hallway and out of sight.
You raise a hand to clutch the chain of your necklace, leaning your back against the wall and using the empty space to catch your breath. Varka and Wriothesley are currently seated about five feet away from each other. How are you supposed to return and not get both of their attentions? You told Wriothesley you weren’t even going to this thing, because you knew he’d ask you to join him, and this predicament is complicated enough.
You hoped he wouldn’t go without you as a date, but date or no date, he showed.
Perfect.
You’re suddenly terrified of hurting him. For him to have to find out you not only lied about not coming, but you also came with another man…
You truly like him so much. Everything about him has enchanted you since the very first time his icy blue eyes met yours, the first time you heard his voice, the way he would laugh and mutter out half-hearted apologies when you scolded his common jokes about his own mortality or his past. A past he opened up to you about with a vulnerability you had only seen before in yourself, and that was when you were with him.
You never wanted to hurt him, but Varka… You like him too. So much, and every bone in your body wants to see where this thing with him goes. And it’s stupid that you got yourself in this situation, that you weren’t transparent with both of them ever since Varka arrived in Fontaine.
Now look where you are.
“Fuck,” You curse, putting your hands on your forehead. “Archons.”
You turn, using the wall for support and slipping into one of the single-person bathrooms. You turn the lock, taking quick steps over to the sink and putting your hands under the tap, letting the warmth soak into you and calm your nerves a bit. You dry your hands, fix your hair, and try to think of a way to get out of this.
You could sneak over and very quickly pull Varka back into the crowd, and bring him somewhere you can only hope Wriothesley has no business being. You could seduce him, convince him to get you out of here as soon as possible so…
So much for calming down. You pick at the fabric of your dress, feeling the way your panties have suctioned to your cunt from all the places your mind has gone tonight.
You unlock the bathroom door, slipping back into the hallway. Maybe you could find a familiar face and have them talk to Varka for you, have him join you somewhere else?
That could work. You slip out of the hallway, back into the main part of the venue, and you spot Varka at the bar. His head pops up, and he locks eyes with you.
Wriothesley isn’t behind him. You didn’t anticipate him moving spots.
Varka nods. Oh Gods, is he gesturing you over? You—
Something wraps around your wrists, and before you can react, you hear it.
Click.
You’re tugged back into the hallway as you gasp out, the front of your body being pressed flush against the cold wall, and something, someone, is pressing against your back, your cuffed hands pinned under them.
“Adultery might not be a crime, but it is very, very, frowned upon.” The warmth against the shell of your ear comes before the voice.
“Wriothesley,” You whisper, breathlessly. “I—Adultery?” Is he serious? “We’re—”
He shushes you. “However…” A beat passes, just long enough for one of his hands to slide to your hip and squeeze hard. “Lying to law enforcement, that is a crime.” His head drops, his breath now ghosting over your exposed shoulder. "You said you weren't coming."
Your stomach churns. “I—I didn’t… I’m sorry…”
“How well do you think sorry holds up in court, baby?”
Your eyes flutter closed, forehead pressed against the wall. “Not well.”
“Clever girl,” He praises, and your hips press back against his almost instinctively. All it would take is one person to round the corner, and he could be locked up in his own prison for public indecency.
That’s when you remember.
Varka. He was standing right there, he probably saw—
You’re swiftly tugged off the wall, forcing you out of your head. Wriothesley keeps his hands just above your elbows, your wrists still bound behind your back, and he leads you all the way to the end of the hallway toward a staircase you didn’t notice before.
“I could bring you to get checked in,” He speaks, his otherwise rushed movements more careful as he guides you up the stairs. “Keep you locked up in the Fortress with me. Wouldn’t that be fun, baby? Just me and you, all the time?”
Yes.
You reach the top of the stairs, and he’s not done speaking as he continues to pull you along. “I would never have to be done with you. But the Fortress, I think I like you too much to stick you there.”
Huh?
“But what kind of warden would I be if I didn’t punish those who have done wrong?”
Oh.
“Have you done wrong, baby?”
“Yes,” You gasp out.
As Wriothesley drags you along, he sticks a hand out to check every door. Most are locked, but finally, he comes across one that isn’t.
You’re pushed through the doorway, and an arm wrapping around your waist catches you before you fall forward. Wriothesley pulls you to a couch off to the side of the room, which appears to be someone’s office, and sits you down on his lap. Your back to his front.
With your hands still pinned behind your back from the handcuffs, you manage to find and palm his bulge through his slacks. He groans, his feet snaking between yours before spreading, forcing your legs open wide.
You gasp, and one of his hands grip your chin to force your mouth to his, swallowing the sound. You whimper, hips grinding against nothing as he leaves his free arm swung over the front of your body.
You moan his name, desperately, urging him to touch you as you’re left completely at his disposal.
He grins against your mouth, and just then, you jump at the sound of the door creaking open and slamming shut.
We’re caught, you think, snapping your head forward, expecting to see the panicked, mortified eyes of one of the other guests, likely whoever this office belongs to.
The blue hues staring back at you are far from what you expected.
Your throat goes dry. “Varka.”
He shrugs his suit jacket off, slowly stalking over to the couch. Wriothesley’s hand is still wrapped around your chin, and he forces your head back to press his mouth to your ear.
“What was the plan? You were going to hide from me all night?”
“And I was your shield of choice?” Varka continues, the smirk on his face and the tone of Wriothesley’s voice suggesting neither them are as upset as you feared they would be. No, this, what they’re actually feeling, didn’t even cross your mind.
They must’ve spoken when you ran off to the bathroom. Surely Wriothesley spotted you all cozied up between Varka’s knees, and used the bartender as an excuse to get close enough to confirm his suspicions. You storming off was the perfect opportunity for him to figure out what was going on.
Honestly, you couldn’t be happier.
You shudder, Wriothesley’s hand that isn’t gripping your face moving to your hip. He pulls your dress up, scrunching it around your waist, leaving your soaked panties on display. You whine, and his thumb circles your hipbone in a comforting, encouraging, gesture.
“I didn’t think you’d show,” You mumble, talking to Wriothesley.
He chuckles. “You bet a lot on that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, baby.” He shoots down, his lips finding your neck, and you moan when he bites down. “But you could’ve just told me.”
Your eyes find Varka as he drops his suit jacket on the armrest of the couch, and the lust he was working so hard to keep control of earlier, he seems to have fully let loose now. The look in his gaze is so maddeningly erotic that you try to snap your legs closed just to get some friction, but Wriothesley’s feet keep you spread.
Your eyes fall closed, head tipping back against Wriothesley's shoulder. “I didn’t want you to be upset.”
He laughs once. “I might’ve been a little upset.”
You lean up enough to be able to crane your neck to see him.
“But I’m not,” He finishes quickly. “Not now.”
You turn to Varka.
He smiles. “Neither am I.”
You slowly relax against Wriothesley’s chest again, rolling your bottom lip into your mouth and biting down. He hums approvingly, and your eyes trail Varka’s movements as he approaches you.
He drops to his knees between your legs.
You gasp, and Wriothesley is quick to steady you with one hand on your hip, the other resting gently around your throat.
You understand their plan now.
Varka’s hands find each of your exposed legs, rubbing up and down the warmed skin like he’s committing the feeling of you to memory. You wonder if he does this a lot. He has quite a few years on you, more than Wriothesley does, but the stories he loves to tell you always suggested a lack of time to get laid.
“You alright?” Varka mumbles, dropping his head to kiss up your inner thigh, approaching the apex that is in desperate need of either his or Wriothesley’s attention.
You nod. Part of you wants to stop him just to have him tell you exactly what conversation led to him and Wriothesley coming to this consensus, but, you know how to pick your battles, and staying silent feels like a notable win.
You moan when he presses feather-light kisses against you through the embarrassingly soaked fabric of your underwear, his tongue darting out to apply gentle pressure to your clit. You choke out his name, bucking your hips and dropping your head back. Every movement is curious as he learns the workings of your body in the presence of someone who probably knows how to get you off better than you do.
“So greedy,” Wriothesley murmurs, biting your earlobe. “Wanting both of us so badly. Was I not filling you up well enough, baby? Is that it?”
You rapidly shake your head, which makes him laugh lowly.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
Varka’s fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, and Wriothesley frees one of your feet just so Varka can tug them off before holding you open again. Your hands start to work at his bulge again, even though the pressure of being pinned between two bodies is starting to be numbing. He groans, pressing his face against your neck, and before you can relish in the sound, Varka is pressing his face against your bare cunt.
You moan out, back arching as he quickly begins to lap up at the arousal the two of them have already contributed to. One hand rests on your thigh, and the other holds down the hip that Wriothesley isn’t already attending to. You’re completely vulnerable to both of their pleasurable antics, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Varka,” You nearly cry, and Wriothesley is quick to swallow the sound with his own mouth. You can barely reciprocate when Varka wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently, but the Duke doesn’t seem to have any complaints, greedily drinking up every sound that emerges from your throat.
“Shh…” Wriothesley coaxes. “Don’t want anyone to hear you, do you, baby?”
“Mmm… No.”
“That’s right,” He praises, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and biting gently. “That’s a good girl.”
You whine, forcing your mouth against his again to try and muffle your sounds as Varka hungrily eats you out. His tongue swipes over your fluttering hole before dipping inside, making you choke. Wriothesley’s calloused hand is now wrapped firmly around your throat, holding you in place.
You’re so overwhelmed with the sensations, the shock, the reality of the situation. You went into tonight anxious that these two men would come within 20 feet of each other, and now they’re both eagerly pleasuring you with no signs of anger or sadness. If anything, the thought of working together to make you come apart seems to be spurring them on, Wriothesley’s cock hardening beneath you every time Varka elicits a high-pitched moan from deep in your chest, and Varka working more tirelessly at your pussy when he catches a glimpse of Wriothesley’s hand clutching your throat.
Whether its competitiveness or something else entirely, it’s working out in your favour.
Varka’s hand retreats from your thigh, and you gasp when his rough fingertips trail over your hole, clenching around nothing. He sucks and nips at your clit with less fervor as his eyes flit up to watch your face when he dips his middle finger inside of you.
“Oh,” You exhale, barely getting the word out as Wriothesley’s hand tightens around your throat. He cranes his neck to watch your face, studying your reactions.
Varka’s finger drags along the inside of your cunt, in and out, his tongue still lazily circling your nerves. You whine, hungry for more, and he picks up on that quickly, a second finger pressing into you.
Your back arches again, your position shifting as your bound wrists lift to rest somewhere higher, and you now have the option to shamelessly grind back against Wriothesley’s cock.
And you do.
The thrust of Varka’s digits are slow and experimental at first, his eyes still pinned on you, the heat of his gaze urging you to press back against Wriothesley’s crotch. The Duke’s hand that was on your hip travels to fully wrap around your waist, helping you along as he gasps and groans right in your ear. Varka chases the desperate movements of your hips with newfound vigor, curling his fingers against your spongy walls and flattening his tongue against your clit.
Wriothesley’s tongue dips out to drag along the shell of your ear. “Close, baby?”
You nod, chasing Varka’s mouth and arching your neck enough that the top of your head grazes the fabric of the couch Wriothesley sits on. A lewd mixture of both their names keeps emerging from your throat, like your mind can't register which one of them to thank for this feeling.
The pads of Varka’s fingers find the perfect spot inside of you, abusing the patch of nerves until you’re gushing around his fingers, hips retreating and grinding firmly against Wriothesley, who nearly chokes.
Varka keeps lapping at your clit through your orgasm, only pulling away when you whine and squirm at the overstimulation. He’s quick to resort to trailing kisses upwards, to the hem of your dress which is still bunched around your waist.
“Uncuff her.”
Wriothesley grunts. “Sit up for me.”
You do, panting, leaning forward enough that Wriothesley can access your cuffed wrists. Varka takes this as an opportunity to steal his very first kiss from you, and you hum at the taste of yourself on his lips.
His hand grips the back of your neck, still on his knees in front of you, and you feel like you’re being worshiped as his tongue desperately dances with yours. You hear the soft click from earlier again, and Wriothesley tosses the cuffs aside before gently massaging your wrists until the numbness subsides. He leans forward enough to gently bite your shoulder.
“You okay?” He mumbles, one of his hands finding your clothed ribcage and resting it there comfortingly.
You nod, pulling back from Varka, a string of saliva connecting your lips. He groans loudly at the sight, reaching down to adjust the crotch of his slacks. You lick your lips.
“Good,” Wriothesley says, sliding his hands under your dress to tug it the rest of the way off. You put your hands up to assist him, and he throws the garment over the arm rest to join Varka’s coat. “Because you’re not done yet.”
Thank the gods.
Wriothesley tugs you to your feet, and you barely even have time to process the change of position before your chest is pressed flush against the cold wood of the desk.
“Careful,” Varka scolds lightheartedly, coming up beside the desk to tenderly stroke your hair. You angle your head to look up at him, his knuckles grazing the soft skin on your cheek. He looks utterly enchanted by the fucked-out expression on your face. It’s the same way he looked at you when he came to get you at the start of the night and saw you all dolled up for him.
“I know what she likes,” Wriothesley remarks.
Competitiveness.
You can’t pretend you don’t find it really hot.
Varka barks out a laugh, flattening his palm over your head, sliding down your back and snapping open your bra clasp with skill. Guess that rules out your virgin theory, though you were already skeptical about that. Like, look at him. “And what does she like?”
Wriothesley grabs your waist, lifting you enough that Varka can pull off your bra. The second it’s off, each of them are palming one of your breasts with an equal amount of need. “She likes to be a real good girl,” He answers, taking your nipple between two of his fingers and exhaling shakily at the way you whine his name. “She likes to take everything I give her. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” You moan out.
He rests you down again, his palm pressing against the middle of your back to urge you to arch it. He kicks your ankles, opening your legs.
“Might as well demonstrate.”
The familiar sound of his belt unbuckling makes your knees weak, and Wriothesley continues to shrug his slacks off one-handed so he can steady your hips with the other. You're sure the desk beneath you is already majorly coated with your sweat, and you're so aroused that the evidence of such must be dripping.
Varka’s heavy footsteps circle the desk, and you turn your head to watch him as he drops down in the desk chair. You whine, grabbing the side of the desk closest to him, and he smirks before reaching out to engulf your hand in his large one, rubbing your pulse point with his thumb.
You hear Wriothesley’s slacks hit the ground, and then you feel the head of his cock nudging your cunt, and you already greedily try to suck him in by pressing your hips back.
“So needy,” Wriothesley scolds, but there’s no real distaste in his voice. You know he wants it just as bad as you.
“Yes,” You agree shamelessly. “Please.”
He bends over your back to trail kisses down your spine. “This is supposed to be a punishment, mind you.”
You desperately try to push your hips back again. “This feels plenty punishing, Your Grace.”
Wriothesley laughs at that, leaning off of you, and you can feel him line his cock up with you again.
“I think she’s been very remorseful,” Varka adds, voice thick with his own arousal.
You nod in agreement.
Wriothesley sighs, one hand on your hip and the other sliding up to your shoulder.
“Very well.”
He presses half his length into you in one firm thrust.
You sob, squeezing Varka’s hand and pressing your forehead to the desk. You’ve taken him so many times, plenty just like this, bent over his desk at Meropide, but he’s just so thick that you’re not sure your body will ever fully adjust to the sheer size of him.
Wriothesley shushes you, leaning down to kiss your shoulder as he slowly begins to slide further in, inch by inch. “There—Fuck.” His head falls forward. “Taking me so well. So good, baby.”
You clench around him at the praise, and he grunts before bottoming out in one more fell swoop.
His weight is relieved off your back, just for his hand that was previously on your shoulder to tangle up in your hair and tug your head back. You moan, ass grinding back.
“Greedy,” He notes again.
Hell yeah, you were.
He pulls nearly all the way out, until just the tip is left inside of you, and then he presses all the way back in to the hilt.
You nearly scream, biting down on your lip to muffle yourself. You’re suddenly aware of all the voices floating into the room from downstairs, the event still roaring with life, and how the shaking desk along with your desperate moans might quickly paint a very clear picture of what’s going on in here.
As if reading your mind, Varka unwraps his hand from yours and instead grips your chin, his thumb pressing against your lips. You take it in your mouth, closing your teeth around it and swirling your tongue. He grunts at the sight, and you catch a glimpse of him palming himself through his pants.
The effect you have on him makes your body greedily clench around Wriothesley’s cock, and the sensation urges him to begin thrusting inside of you. He sets a steady pace, every ridge of his cock dragging against you in the best of ways.
You cry out his name, muffled by Varka’s thumb shoved in your mouth. One of your palms press flat against the wood as you arch your back to accommodate the Duke’s deep thrusts, and the other wraps around Varka’s wrist.
Wriothesley uses his grips on your hip and hair to repeatedly pull you to meet his thrusts with force, and every nudge of his cock deep inside your cunt makes you see stars behind your eyelids. He chokes out small praises, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you are for him, his own way of reminding you how much it matters to him that you let him have you like this. Even with his rough treatment, he's always made sure you know that you're the only person who could ever get him worked up like this.
And you thought, for even a second, that he could’ve been fucking someone else. You would laugh if you hadn’t lost the ability to do anything except murmur pleas incoherently.
You’re a complete mess, and the sight of you coming undone is something unlike anything either men have known before. The way Wriothesley fucks you has you convinced you’re going to fuse with the desk, and seeing how needy and pliant you have already grown for when Varka gets his turn with you… His cock is begging to be freed from his slacks, and if he weren’t brought up with the selfless and patient values of a knight, he would’ve shoved Wriothesley clean out of the way if it meant getting inside you sooner.
Wriothesley angles his thrusts to hit that spot inside of you he knows gets you, and the way you’re drooling and mumbling around Varka’s thumb has him even closer to tipping over the edge with you. His hand drops from your hair, circling your stomach, and his forehead drops to your shoulder as his thrusts stutter. His grunts are desperate, and the occasional needy whimper-like sound that you evoke from him makes your nerves feel like fucking fireworks.
“Good girl,” He gasps out, his hand around your body sliding down to circle your swollen clit with two fingers. You choke, tilting your head back, wanting the closeness, and he picks up on that when he smears kisses across your shoulder, your cheek, a lewd yet tender action as he spills inside of you at the same time you gush around his cock, screaming against Varka’s hand.
He fucks you through your orgasm, panting heavily against your skin.
Varka gently pulls his thumb from your mouth, letting you slacken against the desk.
“Wriothesley,” You murmur.
He leans off of you. “You did so well.” His palm rubs up and down your spine in a comforting gesture. “You’re such a good girl, baby.”
You manage a lazy smile as he slowly pulls his length from inside of you, cursing at the way his release immediately begins to spill out. You suppose you would’ve had to bring that up to Varka before the two of you had sex either way, that you and Wriothesley rarely bothered with protection.
You were sure he could tell now.
Wriothesley pulls you up, spinning you to face him and cupping your face. He kisses you tenderly, and you grip his arms and hum.
“Okay,” He says gently, pressing a few more kisses to your collarbone and chest. You watch as he redresses his boxers and slacks, and then he spins you towards an inviting face.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
You approach him on wobbly legs, and Varka brings you down to straddle his lap when you reach him. You clutch the neckline of his dress shirt, and he kisses you slow, eyes half lidded, like he’s analyzing you again.
“Tired?” He teases.
“Drunk?” You retort.
“You think I’ve had time for booze?”
You slide your hands down to rest on his sides. “The other drunk.”
“Oh—Fuck, sweetheart, I’m wasted.”
You grin, and then you reach down to start undoing his belt. He grunts, letting you unbuckle it and pull it out of the loops. Wriothesley leans against the wall next to the chair, and he just watches you.
The look on his face, you're sure he’ll be up for another go once Varka is done with you.
You're never getting out of this office.
You toss the belt aside as Varka hastily lifts his hips to tug his pants and briefs down. His cock stands at attention, precum dripping from the tip that you so desperately want to lap up. It’s definitely a little bigger than anything you’ve taken before, but you anticipated that. Wriothesley was the biggest man you’d ever seen in your life until you saw Varka.
“You sure?” He murmurs, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “If you’re tired, sweetheart…”
“Quit being such a knight,” You mumble.
“Yeah. You’re making me look bad.”
You glare at Wriothesley, and you can only guess that the smirk that appears on his face is because of how non-threatening you look right now. Fucked-out, tired, and still desperate for more.
You push up on your knees, taking the base of Varka’s cock in your palm and pumping him slowly. His hands squeeze your hips, grunting and thrusting up into your hand. You bite your lip.
You position yourself above his throbbing erection, and you gasp when his tip gets caught in your oversensitive cunt. You’re so overwhelmed already, not sure how much more you can take, but the Grand Master seems to be an impressively patient man.
He slowly helps you lower yourself down, every inch of him stretching you open with such a good ache. Your hands grip his shoulders, and you feel Wriothesley’s eyes on you… You might pass out.
Varka’s hands on your hips guide his cock deeper into you until you’re seated, taking all of him.
“Good girl.” He cups your face, forcing your gaze to meet his. His blue eyes are glossed over and so full of need, and you want to give him everything he seems so depraved of. “Just take it easy for me, sweetheart.”
You nod, lifting one of your hands and gently touching the scar on his face with the tips of your fingers. His eyes are locked on your face, your parted lips, your half-lidded eyes, the absolute fucking mess of your hair…
“Fuck.”
His fists close around your hips hard enough to bruise, and then he’s lifting you up just to force you back down on his cock. You sob, falling forward, and all you can do is cling to him as he starts to bounce you up and down. His groans and your moans blend together, and you thank the gods that his knightly patience finally snapped.
He ruts up into you, chasing a high he’s been craving ever since he first saw you. You try to keep your face buried in his neck, but you’re abruptly pulled back by a hand in your hair.
When your eyes fade back into focus, Wriothesley’s cock is in front of your face.
So, like a good girl, you drop your jaw.
He curses, using his grip on your hair to push your mouth halfway down on his cock, and he eagerly strokes the base with his free hand. You suck around him, moaning and drooling to create a view that might be doing more for him than anything else.
Varka steadies your hips, instead just thrusting up into you instead of bouncing you up and down. You try to focus on getting Wriothesley off, too, but when Varka’s thumb pokes out to rub your clit, you’re immediately a goner.
You go mindless, just a crying, moaning mess as you get fucked through your third orgasm. Soon enough, Varka’s head falls back against the chair with a heavy groan, releasing inside of you to join what was left of Wriothesley’s seed. Speaking of which, only a few more pumps have Wriothesley coming in your mouth, and with the last of your strength, you seal your lips around him and greedily drink it all down.
“Shit.” Wriothesley pulls from your mouth with a pop, and you fall against Varka’s chest with heavy breaths. Varka uses his hold on your hips to gently lift you off his cock, pulling just his boxers back on before settling you more comfortably against him.
Your cheek rests against his shoulder, face turned toward his chest, and he strokes your back.
Wriothesley gets redressed before coming up beside you and tucking your sweaty hair behind your ear. He nods to Varka.
“How close to here are you staying?”
Varka’s arms wrap around you, and he sits up a bit. “Let’s go. Grab her dress.”
---
The next time you feel even slightly awake, you’re lying down in the middle of a double-bed. The sheets beneath you smell like a newly familiar scent, and the large shirt thrown over your body smells like one you’ve known for months.
You sit up, wiping your eyes and yawning.
“Hey, lay back down.” The mattress dips to your right, and you look down to see Wriothesley, settling next to you and pulling the covers over you both.
You obey without hassle, tiredness still pulling at your limbs, and a dull ache resting between your legs. You know you aren’t doing anything tomorrow. Or today?
“Varka cleaned you up, you’re all good, baby.”
You hum, curling into his chest contently. Just then, the mattress dips again on your left.
“She awake?”
“Not anymore, I don’t think.”
You’re too exhausted to share the state of your semi-consciousness, especially when another comforting warmth presses against your back, and you're now sandwiched between two soothing forms.
#tags-and-cw ★ NSFW! AFAB!READER DRABBLE. . . intimatacy rules, small banter, he's insatiable, you're both in your late 30's to early 40's, erectile overfunction (he has it BAD), he has body hair 'cause duhhh, established relationship (u guys are married here), i love casual intimacy, this is just sweet vanilla sex (dont expect anything kinky).
another late night where your beloved came home late. stacks upon stacks of paperwork had kept him long past sunset again, and by the time he finally stumbled into your arms he was little more than a walking corpse.
you would often find him passed out on the couch the next morning — an empty mug of beer still loosely clutched in his hand, snoring loud enough it could replace your alarm.
after a hearty meal he’d always claim he was only going to take a short nap.
twenty minutes, he’d say.
those twenty minutes inevitably turned into eight hours.
the next morning he’d whine about it, voice rough with sleep, insisting he had an awful night because your warmth wasn’t beside him.
(as if he hadn’t been drooling all over the damn couch.)
“insufferable,” you’d mutter, an exasperated scowl on your face.
varka would only laugh at that — loud, bright, utterly unashamed, 'cause of course he is, he's varka for archons' sake.
“but still yours, no?”
which was, (un)fortunately, true.
even if he gave you migraines on the daily. even if he was utterly unbearable sometimes.
varka was yours, as much as you're his.
decades of marriage had taught you many things about the man you loved. some grand, some small, some hidden in the quiet habits he didn’t even realize he had.
but you'd see them all, no mattter how miniscule they may seem.
you knew the way exhaustion settled into his shoulders after long days, knew the look of him when he walked through the door.
dim ocean blues, a crooked, tired smile, muscles aching beneath his coat.
these days he would simply press a quick kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom to wash the grime off his skin then spare a few minutes for mantaining his swords, talking about the day with you as he wipes and polishes them to perfection.
and inevitably, after a meal, he'd end up passing out just about anywhere but your shared bed.
you knew your husband very well.
which is why the moment he steps through the door tonight, you kmow something is different.
his eyes meet yours.
and the fire burning in them — sharp, bright, dangerously familiar — sends a shiver down your spine.
“i’m home,” varka whispers, boots heavy against the wooden floorboards as he crosses the room.
tonight he isn’t wearing his usual coat, nor the small pieces of armor that usually cling to him like a second skin. they’re nowhere to be seen. instead, he’s dressed only in a black shirt — the top buttons carelessly left undone.
half of his chest is exposed through the open buttons — scarred skin, a faint trail of blonde hair, and the familiar wolf-tooth necklace swaying faintly with each step he takes.
yet somehow, tonight, everything about him feels. . . different.
"sorry if i've kept you waiting," he places a light peck on the side of your lips, eyes gazing straight at you as he does.
predatory.
that was the gaze of someone who wanted to devour something — or in this case, someone.
warm, large palms rest just above the side of your hips, and you can feel the way he presses slightly, inching your body closer to his.
"no 'welcome home, honey' for me?" a deep chuckle spilled from him, soft with fondness, "finally got tired of your husband, hm?"
his eyes gleam with a certain hunger, tracing over the shape of your lips to the half-exposed cleavage of your dress.
varka does not lighten his grip, eventually pushing you further and further until your back hits the wall. leaning over until he's got you trapped between his frame and the wood now, faces mere inches apart.
you could hear the sound of his heartbeat, loud yet steady.
gulping the sudden nervousness, you were about to welcome him home as you usually did.
before you could speak, he captures you in a deep kiss, discarding whatever restraint he has. varka places a hand behind your head, softly caressing, before forcing your face closer into his waiting mouth.
he can barely keep it together, chest heaving with every rhythmic dance of his lips on yours.
"welcome—mmph—" kiss. "ahhn, home. . ." kiss.
you whine at his desperation, "varka—"
he groans into your mouth at the mere mention of his name, lips turning even more desperate. the sound rattles your bones, making you squirm against him.
and with how large the knight is, you're practically engulfed in his arms, body pressing onto the flimsy fabric of your dress until you eventually mold into one, until you eventualy feel it —
your face goes red immediately, and you hopelessly try to hold onto his biceps as he grinds the very obvious bulge against you.
you can hear every wet smack of his lips on yours, the lecherous sound bouncing off the sides of your throat into your ear. he's practically devouring you by this point, panting into the wet cavern of your mouth.
there’s a hunger in the way he looks at you, not for anything fleeting, but for the entirety of you — your voice, your laughter, the way you carry yourself
he needs you so bad that it's breaking him apart.
a small yelp escapes you when varka suddenly lifts you into his arms.
the motion pulls your lips from his, the kiss breaking too soon. he doesn’t go far, though — only tilts his head forward until his forehead rests against yours, breath warm against your skin.
your hands fumble to rest at his shoulders, steadying yourself in his arms.
"yeah, much better," he laughs, bright as ever, "my back was killin' me, leaned over too much."
varka's moved the both of you to the living room now, hs probably knocked into a few things on the way but the two of you are much too distracted to care.
"it's not my fault you're built like a hilichurl tower." you quip, looking to the sides so you can avoid his peering eyes.
he flashes you a fond, crooked grin, resting his face on your chest. "hilichurl tower? surely, there are better structures to describe someone like me."
"like what, grandmaster?"
"a guizhong ballista?"
". . . i have no idea what that is."
varka lingers dangerously near your throat, warm breath brushing your skin.
"hah, don't worry, love— you'll find out soon."
you're sitting on his lap now, directly over the twitching bulge of his cock. your thighs flinch at every shift of his hips, feeling it brush over your warmth.
he's nipping at your exposed neck, leaving faint marks that you'll scold him for in the morning. though, varka could care less about the scolding he'll get when he has you exactly how he wants you:
flushed, trembling, and soaking wet.
the strap of your dress starts to fall off your shoulder, revealing the rest of your cleavage for him to stare at. he's mesmerized at how beautiful you look, finding it hard to believe he has you all for himself.
"have i ever told you how beautiful you are?" he rasps, unzipping your dress from behind. maybe it's because of the way he's speaking to you in that tone, looking at you with that gaze, but you suddenly feel like putty in his hands.
"many times, i believe you say it everyday."
he chuckles, "really?" pulling the dress down further until it's bunched at your hips. "s'pose i can't really help it when you make me hard every damn time i walk into this house."
you feel him lick and suck bruises into your skin, each mark blooming red and pink across the canvas of your flesh — a vivid display of his relentless desire for you.
"aren't you embarrassed being this shameless at your big age?"
even well past thirty, there’s still that same restless hunger in the way he looks at you, the same eagerness in the way his hands find yours. time may have carved new lines into his face and scattered scars across his body, but it has never managed to dull the way he wants you.
varka makes a show of caressing your thighs, pushing your skirt along with it, "shameless? i'm just being honest, don't you like an honest man?"
he sneaks a glimpse at the cotton underwear hidden beneath, swallowing the urge to push them aside and take you already.
"maybe if this honest man stopped seducing me everytime he came home, i'll like him better." you huff, carding your fingers through his disheveled hair.
he looks back up at you.
"oh?" varka smiles toothily, amusement rolling off him in waves, "so the lady screamin' for more last night was just a figment of my imagination then? the very same lady who rode me so well she—"
memories of last night started flowing into your head, causing you to fluster.
your hands immediately fly to his mouth, shutting him up for good, "okay! i get it, that's enough!"
you hear his muffled laughter through the gaps of your palms, his eyes crinkling with shameless amusement.
meanwhile you’re left flushed and needy beneath him.
it’s terribly unfair.
for all the years you’ve had this man wrapped around your finger, not once have you felt undesired.
if anything, there were moments you felt too desired.
his appetite for you was relentless — rivaled only by his well-known love for alcohol.
passion has never dimmed in your marriage,. you were in an eternal state of the so-called 'honeymoon phase' where the two of you fucked like rabbits and slobbered over each other anytime you can.
that never changed, even as varka traded the reckless, stubborn youth he once was for the measured, commanding man worthy of the grandmaster’s position.
you actually found it quite funny that the young boy who used to cause a ruckus everyday for valentine would mellow down into this boisterous but dependable leader.
he's changed so much over the years, turning into the pillar of strength in mondstadt — a legend among men.
and even so, he still acted the same with you, as if he was that same bumbling fool who professed his love to anyone who would listen.
varka might have changed — in ways that might seem inconsequential to anyone else — but deep down, he was still the same man you married all those years ago.
even down to that insatiable hunger he always carried for you.
your husband has you laid out on the sofa, legs wrapped around his waist — though they never quite meet around him, his broad frame simply too large, pressing you close in all the ways you’ve grown to know and crave.
"is it too much, hun?" varka asks, combing a hand through his hair to keep it away from his eyes, all so he could stare at the way your face scrunched up for him, kiss-swollen lips trembling from the stretch.
"need me to slow down a li'l?"
you vigorously shake your head, clutching at the large palm softly caressing your cheek, "no, no, keep going, please—"
varka laughs at your desperate cries, pushing a bit further into your warmth. it's always been necessary to prep you for hours before you could take him without much pain, and varka doesn't mind the extra work – he quite enjoys it actually.
but you don't have that patience, too needy and wanting to feel him inside you as soon as possible. he finds it very cute by the way, seeing you beg for it always gets blood rushing to his nether regions in no time.
"taking me so well," he whispers, kissing your forehead, "just a bit more, mhm? be a good girl f'me."
you whimper, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he starts to slowly thrust back and forth, and it immediately makes you even wetter, soaking him in your juices.
varka lets out a lengthy groan, throwing his head back when he feels you clench around him.
“fuck,” his brows pull together, beads of sweat trailing down the hairs of his chest. “relax a bit. . . gonna break me at this rate.”
varka chuckles lowly, an obscene grin curling across his lips.
"s-sorry. . . " you say, clinging to his arms like it's the only thing anchoring you to reality.
his wolf-tooth pendant sway with every delicious roll of his hips, nailing you to the cushion, the metal glinting under the dim-lighting of your home.
your eyes linger on the many scars along his chest and arms, each one waz a testament to the battles he’s survived — a symbol of courage, of years spent facing danger without hesitation for the sake of his lobed ones.
and yet it’s the very same body he uses to carry you to bed, careful hands far gentler than anyone could imagine.
the same arms that once raised a blade now wrap around you with an ease that feels almost tender, as if the weight of war and bloodshed melts away the moment you’re in them.
it always amazes you — how a man built for battle can hold you like something precious.
varka's lips found its way to the dip of your neck, licking anywhere he could while his hips gain a steady rhythm for the both of you.
and soon enough, you start to see blurry white stars along the edges of your vision.
decades may have passed between the two of you, yet varka’s desire has never learned how to calm itself. age has softened many things in life, but not this — not the way his hands still find you with the same urgency, thee same hunger as it did all those years ago.
time may wear down mountains, but it has never managed to wear down the fire he carries for you.
"still, ah, with me?" varka asks, face still buried in the crook of your neck. his voice a soft and warm thing, contrasting the way his hips viciously slam against your soaking heat.
you could barely even garble an answer, moaning and whimpering his name at every hard thrust.
varka gently pushes your knees toward your chest, holding you close as he leans over you, his presence overwhelming in the small space between you.
you could feel every vein and throb of his thick cock, the way he stretches you out sooo good that it leaves you limbless.
he's got an arm under both of knees, locking them together, and pushing them to the side of his waist.
"take a deep breath for me," varka warns you, chuckling at the way your pussy seems to respond instead, pulsing around him with need.
he fucks you roughly, frantically pushing in and pulling out. bright red marks start to form on your ass, his pelvis repeatedly hitting against it.
every loud slap of skin makes you go dizzy, mind turning into mush as you let yourself get lost into the throes of pleasure.
your neighbors could probably hear you by now, moaning so loud that the sound bounces off the walls. varka could care less, more than happy to let you disturb the ones nextdoors — what are they gonna do? complain to the knights of favonius?
plus, hearing you sing his name like this, talking about how good everything feels and how he's 'too big' just pushes him off the edge.
he leans over to lick your lips, fingers brushing onto the side of your face.
"too much, hngh. . . "
varka laughs quietly against your ear, the sound deep and gravelly, “oh, but you love it rough. don’t you, pretty?”
your nearly roll to the back of your head, a line of drool slipping past your parted lips, "yes, i do! love it s'much—"
"really?" varka teases, voice low with desire. he wipes the drool with his thumb before bringing it back to your lips, "tell me how good it is then, c'mon, cry for me."
cry for me.
this is the only time varka would let tears run down your face willingly. he loves seeing how good he makes you feel, especially through the soft cries of his name.
"i love you! i love you!" you wail, feeling him speed up, the sounds of skin against skin getting louder. "ah! varka—"
he’s practically buzzing with adoration, every muscle taut and alive with each “i love you” that slips from your lips. even now, his heart leaps every time you praise him — a feeling that has never waned, no matter how many years have passed.
he bites his lip, letting his hips do the talking.
the sofa shakes with every brutal thrust, wood creaking under his weìght and strength.
he laughs, a low rumbling thing that makes your cunt throb, "fucking gorgeous, could never get tired of this pussy—hah, shit."
"could never, ever, get tired of you."
a mixture of sweat, drool, and cum is splattered across his meaty thighs and sticking to the trail of hair along his navel.
varka loves it when you make a mess — whether it’s around the house or on his cock. to him, it simply means his wife feels comfortable enough to let herself go around him.
and he loves it the most when you arch so beautifully in his arms, cunt clamping hard on him as you cum — you could call it an addiction with the way he groans at the way your eyes cross, whimpering his name.
"i love you too," varka whispers into your ear, leaving small butterfly kisses along the shell of it, "gonna—ugh—cum." he stutters, a low exhale leaving his lips.
your nails scratch down along his shoulders, leaving bright red marks but the pain doesn't register for him, too busy chasing his release.
not that something as small as a scratch could ever faze him.
his eyes never leave yours, following every tremble, every small gasp, as if he could memorize you whole. varka’s expression stays gentle, even as his hands leave indents on your skin — a silent tether, a promise you’re not going anywhere.
even through overestimated tears, you manage to see the silhouette of his face, desperate in a way he shouldn't be. after all, he had you nearly everyday, so why is it that he always fucks you as if it's your last?
varka presses down on you — hard. putting most of his weight onto you while you keen, cumming for a second time.
his hips goes completely still, filling you to the brim with all of his length.
all while he crashes his lips into yours — hungry, desperate, and all consuming, moaning into the kiss while your tears fall from overwhelming pleasure.
"sorry, honey. . . i don't think i'll be able to hold back tonight."
"ugh, maybe i should just go ahead and get married too. . . " one of the junior knight sighs dreamily, looking at the grandmaster's bright grin as he steps into the favonius headquarters.
his partner looks at him with a confused expression, "hah? what brought this on?"
the junior knight, palez, points over to varka, "the grandmaster gets to come home to a sweet, loving wife and a warm meal. . . that's why he's always smiley like that, look at how much he's glowing!"
"are you mentally ill?"
a suave voice cuts in, "oh dear, gossiping about the grandmaster's love life in such an open space, getting a little too chummy are we?"
kaeya and rosaria look at the two knights, and an air of chill sweeps through making them shiver. when put together, these two are no joke (outside of a tavern).
"s-sorry! captain kaeya, sister rosaria! it won't happen again." the two frantically salute, palms already getting sweaty.
kaeya laughs lightly, saluting half-heartedly as he walks away. rosaria follows right behind, her expression as icy as ever.
step.
step.
step.
". . . ."
"you think she's alright?" kaeya whispers, cringing at the thought of you being bedridden again.
rosaria can only scoff, massaging her temples as if talking about it was already giving her a migraine, "likely not. she hasn't gone to good hunter all morning which means she's. . ."
"especially since he's looking so refreshed then she's probably. . . " kaeya trails off, silently praying for your recovery.
speak of the devil.
kaeya straightens up, smiling like normal. rosaria rolls her eyes, wincing at the loud voice.
"oh, hey— it's you two! thank barbatos! mind doin' me a small favor?" varka greets them with an enthusiastic wave, a bright, boyish grin on his face.
and he shall appear.
"jean's gonna tie me to the desk at this rate," varka grumbles, "so i was hoping you two could drop this off for me—"
he shoves them something warm wrapped in cloth, rosaria takes it and perks up at the familiar smell of food — it's your favorite dish from good hunter.
kaeya shares a look with her, looking back up at varka with a sly grin, "of course, leave it to us."
.
.
.
it's just another day at mondstadt.
oddly enough, you woke up that morning with your stomach feeling warmer than usual.
it's probably nothing.
#it's-your-captain-ari-speaking ☆ i was listening to sade while scrolling on twitter dot come when i suddenly came across such a golden tweet that inspired me to immediately open my tumblr drafts to goonwrite.
I KNOWW ITS ASS...im sorry i just wrote this in between other longfics.....just...take rhis for now...ill edit it when i have time
btw just a funny thing i added but he laughs/chuckles a lot in this fic, this is bcs i went through his voicelines and istg — this guy always has to let out a "AHAHAHAHAHA!" or "hahahaha. . . " or even a small "heh." like omg shuuut up....he just be hootin' and hollerin' all over mondstadt bro 😭😭 he is soo happy to be alive.
i asked the gc for a title, and 8 out of 11 people voted for "AITA for fucking my wife too often??" while the rest either voted/recommended "a case of erectile overfunction" or "HOPPIN' DIH DIH DIH" which cracks me up a bit.
anyways brought to you by this #truthnuke of a tweet lol:
syn: After revealing his hero identity to his long time gf, who is also a giant fan of Iron Fist, Lin treats her with reenacting her wettest, wildest, Iron Fist dreams.
tgs: cunnilingus (male + fem recieving), bdsm, powerplay, degrading kink, erotic asphyxiation, minor breeding kink, throat fucking, role-playing in bed, command play, sweet fluff, Iron fist x reader
an: this might be the best thing I've ever written. it definitely is the longest now. ofc i had to sprinkle a lil AuDHD spec on the reader, its a great fic. Barely beta read
4.8K words
You're pulled gruffly into Iron Fist's lap, your hands cupping his face with a fiendish whine. He grinds deep against you, his bulge making sweet music against your crotch, the friction making you whimper.
You were impossibly impossible. Impossibly horny, impossibly hard to figure out, impossibly stubborn, impossibly silly, and impossobly wild. But you continued to be the impossible, as Lin, your Iron Fist, made it possible for you to be yourself with him.
So you showed him all of your weird colors.
Your weirdest, being how sensitive you were to sexual stimulation, despite the years spent together.
You were quivering now, as he tongued you down in his Super suit. An act you begged him to do once you found out your boyfriend of 2 years was the handsome superhero you had a major crush on. It's worse that he chose to tell you in your room, that was adored with figures and merchandise dedicated to him. Even worse, as, they day you met, you were drunkenly being carried from the bar by Lin, babbling on and on about your one-side sexual pursuit of Iron Fist.
A very dedicated, gorey, and lengthy conversation that he remembers in full, as not a single droplet of alcohol was in his system.
Funny, he left his number on a sticky note before leaving, simply saying that you were "too cute." Or now, now that you know that he is the newest Iron Fist, he simply wanted to toy with you. Fuck, even as your boyfriend, he enabled you so damn hard with your obsession, buying you the first Iron Fist Merch as it dropped, sometimes "pulling strings" and getting them early. Watching every Iron Fist movie, comic, and even taking you to "see him" in person on occasion.
Hell that's not even counting the times Iron Fist saved you from mortal danger, flirting with you until you had to bark him off. Despite your attraction to him, you were loved and was loyal to Lin Lie before anyone else. But still Iron Fist wouldn't give up. You were shocked to note, on a star-stricken patrol that you ran into him, that he remembered your name.
Worst of all, you remember for your most recent birthday, Lin bought a cheap Iron Fist costume and wore it. And let's just say one thing led to another. Despite seeing how similar Lin was to Iron Fist, you literally didn't see the connection of him actually being Iron Fist. Afterall, you had been obsessed with Iron Fist for years, it only makes sense for you to fall maddening in love with a guy who looks and sounds just like him.
Lin loved to tease you about it too, he said the same thing!
But fuck.
It finally all clicked together.
Lin Lie, Iron Fist, was toying with you.
You were too humiliated to look at Lin for a week after learning it all.
So when you finally got back to normal, and all the emotions died down, buried sexual desire crawled out the belly of the deep. Sexual desire for Iron Fist. Sexual desire for Lin Lie. Sexual desire that the only two men you've ever loved were the same. Then came your ovulation week, and it was like the flood gates opened up. Literally and figuratively.
You were dripping wet.
There you are, sitting in Lin's lap in your bedroom. He sat in your chair by your desk, a cool breeze flowing in from the window left open by you. The night air was cool and crisp, the crickets singing their night song, as the blurr of warm city lights melted in from it. You'd been wanting to kiss Iron Fist for a while. Though now that you're here, you can feel how achingly different this was over the cheap costume.
Back then you were fucking Lin Lie as Iron Fist.
Now you're fucking The Iron Fist.
But you have to stop and recall how all of this started.
Iron Fist had knocked on your window, just minutes prior to sending your boyfriend off to sleep. So you can imagine the conflicting surprise that bubbled in you. Even worse, Iron Fist didn't acknowledge that he was Lin Lie. Even worser, he played as if they were too different people.
"Hey, doll. You'll let me in, hmm?"
"L-Lin," you stammered, your heart pounding, your eyes unable to believe what was there before you. The Iron Fist was-- Fuck wait no your boyfriend in--?? Iron Fist? Your Lin was dress-- Ah your brain couldn't come to a conclusion, but what you saw was the impossibly impossible Iron Fist, standing on your fire escape, pushing your window open and stepping into your room.
You weren't used to it. You've only seen the real Iron Fist as Lin Lie-- Or Lin Lie as the real Iron Fist(?) Once and it send you catatonic for weeks. Now he's here again, toying with you.
"Lin? That's your boyfriend, huh? Don't worry, he doesn't have to know," Iron Fist grins, those deliciously plump lips of his a sweet pink. You fall back on your bed, paralyzed in aw, sitting on the edge as you watched The Iron Fist parade around your room. He looked at all your figures, your carpet, the merch hanging on your walls.
Your hand trembled over your heart.
This was different than the cheap costume. He had the aura, the capacity. He stood so tall, he walked with zealous fire beneath his feet, his movement precise and serious. It was the suffocatingly strong presence, those ripped muscles out on display, and in that professionally crafted suit that drove you mad. A mask with eyes that moved. His suit wasn't laughable and plastic-y the way Lin's was, it was pressed, it was hand stitched, the patterns on them glew, glew like the bandages restraining those dangerous fits.
"Wow, you are a really big fan. I'm flattered. Thanks for the support," he hushes slyly.
This was something you've never told your boyfriend before (oh but you have, the day you met him), but you liked to imagine Iron Fist could hurt you with those hands. Not that he does, but just knowing that in one small move, he could completely injure you turned you on. Your legs quivered, your brain frying. He hushes, "Does your boyfriend know?"
Now that you know that is Lin, you didn't feel the need to shoo him or protect yourself from his bewitching gaze.
You ask, "K-Know what?" You're slowly coming to, blinking as you finally process his words.
Iron Fist turns to you and grins worse, "That I'm in here."
He steps booming steps toward you, you flinch your eyes closed, your breath hitching. Your eyes take in the sound of his breath, the sound of his chuckles as large hands dust under your chin. As a thumb steals it, and pulls your gaze up. You hesitantly open your eyes, admiring how close he was, admiring his mask, and how real he felt. God, your head was spinning.
"Hehe... Good girl," he whispers.
You reach to grab purchase of his forearm, but he pulls away. You blink in disbelief, your finger tips ghosting over your chin. But all that is brought away from you as you hear Lin Lie smack his thigh.
Your eyes whip to him, his hands patting him, legs spread out in your chair. He had pulled the arm rests up, giving him all the room to spread.
He looked so sexy, you swallowed thickly. You stood, not needing any further information, and sat down in his spread legs, your core directly on him. Iron Fist grunts briefly, his strong hands building up your waist and feeling your hips.
You short circuit again, eyes wide and lips agape, just admiring with your hands stuck to your chest. "You can touch me too, ya'know. Here, come feel me," he speaks. Iron Fist gently grabs your hand, and lays it assertively on the middle of his broad chest. He's warm, you can feel his slow heart beat, as he guides your hand up and down his broad body.
He soon leaves you there, as your other hand joins in replacement. You stroke up his red and yellow dragon logo, his chest is so large, so strong. Your hands continue up to those burly shoulders of his, feeling how hard they were like stones, before dragging your hands up his neck. You muttered, "Lin," a soft smile dusting your face as you gaze up yo stare deep into his eyes.
Iron Fist's face cracks for a moment before throwing on a smile. His hands trail up your back as he hushes, "He won't know. I won't tell him."
You grin, shaking your head in disbelief, hands falling back to his chest. Iron Fist leans up, his hand stealing the back of your head as he pulls you into a kiss. His touch is sturdy, trapping you to his lips, as his tongue inflirates your mouth. You slurp it up, gripping the edges of his uniform. You moan out, "Iron Fist." And his other hand slips from your hips to grip your ass as a reward. You moan into his lips again.
You're sat in your hero's lap, straddling his body and feeling his heat against you. Your core is pressed against his half hard cock, your hands trailing up to cup beneath his ears as he took you through it. He pushed and pulled the kiss, carrying you in it like the tides chasing the shores. Your eyes were shut close, your heart beat paced, your finger tips familiarizing yourself with the pulse from beneath his warm skin.
When you broke away, grunts and pants fell the air, needy and desperate.
"Mmh, (y/n)," Iron Fist hums, still holding your ass cheek in one hand, "say my name again." It's a deathly command, almost sing sung like a deep growl. Your eyes romantically search his, wide and glossy, as a fond smile braced your face.
You spoke, "Iron Fist..."
"Fuck... Yeah, good girl," he whispers.
He steals back your lips more passionately this time, his plump lips soft like heaven, his tongue hot and wet, desperately licking you through like candy. And you slurped him up as he came in. He started to grind against you, your hands gripping him a bit tighter in shock. You gasp absurdly, throwing your head back. You mewled, "Iron Fist," sensitivity crawling up your body.
Iron Fist smirks, "Shhh, can't be too loud. He'll wake." He reaches up, trailing his hands up your stomach and to grope your breasts, adoring how soft they felt beneath his hands. His hand slips under your shirt, feeling up your hot skin, before unclipping your bra and caressing your breast freely. You moan, the slow friction driving you crazy. You grinded down on him,feeling his clothed shaft brush over your clothed hole. You puckered aggressively and swallowed thick.
Iron Fist pinched your nipples beneath his thumb and index, you shiver softly.
You gasp, "Aah... Iron Fist... I'm your biggest faan," your brain clouds over, "my boyfriend gets me all your merchandise... He even gets them- ooh... Mmng, months earlier than their market release..." It's the truth, the truth that Iron Fist didn't know, only Lin Lie.
He cackles, his sharp, pearly teeth twinkling behind his plump, pink lips. They were so perfect. Your fingers crawled up and ran over them gently as he spoke again, "You'll have ta' thank him for me, bunny." He softly bites your fingertips, hearing you cry out in response.
His hands pull your shirt off your body, you easily help him do so, and then your bra is next to fly off. He takes in the sight with a deep sigh, his hands running over your ribcage soothingly. All that fades, as he slaps your ass hard, hard enough for you to yelp.
He commands, "Get down." Those ferocious hands of his slide away, as you quickly stand. You drop down to your knees in front of him, crawling in deep to his spread legs, and running your hands along his inner thigh. You rest your cheek against one of his thighs, staring at him with big eyes as he fishes out his big cock.
It's eight whole inches, thick and stocky, burly but as pink as the tip of his nose. His head is wide, and he's wider towards the middle of his dick than anywhere else. An amazing cock you familiarized yourself with as your boyfriend Lin's. You giggle at it, scooping up the monstrosity with both hands. You gaze up at him teasingly, "Iron Fist-," you can here Lin sigh wistfully at the name, "Are you sure this is okay? What if the media learns about this... It'll be a big scandal," you whimper as you lean in to pepper kisses on his shaft.
He laughs, "Just giving my biggest fan the attention she deserves." His hands scoop up a fist full of your hair. "Now suck it. Show your hero how much I really mean to you," he spits it with degrading venom, making your eyes shut tight.
His grip is so strong, he's got you locked in his powerful hands. Hands he's seen destroy villians with time and time again. He's restricting you, guiding your lips to bump against his tip. You spread your lips obediently, ogling up at the sight of Iron Fist, legs spread, and mouth agape in desire. He fucks your face down on his fat dick, a quarter of his burly dick fits in your mouth before it hits the back of your throat. You moan on it, the vibrations causing him to hiss out.
You wrap a hand around his base and suck, hollowing out your cheeks and protecting him from your front teeth with your lips. You bob and slurp up whatever could fit in your mouth, the rest massaged by both of your hands. Iron Fist groans breathlessly, "so beautiful."
He was entranced by the sweet sight that was you descending on his cock. He watched as one of your hand briefly left him to trail up his turquoise super suit, pressing deep against his abdomen before sliding back down. You never fled his stare for a second, sucking him so geninuely, so innocently.
He'd been wanting to fuck you like this for so long. He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry with how loyal you were to his real self, Lin Lie. Just once, he wanted a sneaky rendezvous, just to play with your mind and really role-play that high. The high of fucking someone's (his) girlfriend as a superhero. Letting loose and doing whatever the fuck he wanted. He wasn't that kind of person, but when he saved you that one day, your head resting in his lap, stating up at him with glossy beady eyes. God, the fantasy sprung up too much to control.
He started teasing you not for the fun, but thrill of seeing if you'd ever cave. You didn't so, tonight he had planned to make it all happen.
His legs tense as he moans out, your tongue swirling around him, and you bobbed your head. He wasn't much of a head reciever. He liked the power that came with it, but most of the time, more than half of him was left hanging out. Besides, he couldn't fuck rough the way he loved to while receiving. But you liked to do it, so he let you. He'd be lying to say it wasn't good though.
You always pushed yourself to take in more. "Yeah, that's it," he whispered. He pushed more of himself deeper in your mouth, cooing sweet nothings, and slowly thrusting into you. The sounds you made were delicious, as you gagged and huffed, tears panging your eyes. "Take in all of Iron Fist's cock, slut," he cackles, you wince in delight.
He pushes in further, hearing you gag, and feeling his head slip into the back of your throat. Despite face fucking you, he was cautiously slow. His grip on you had lessened, even shook at some of your gags, as if he were nervous. You would giggle if you could, after all, only your Lin would be so worried.
Your hands had moved off to stroke his clothed, turqoise inner thighs, trying to keep your breathing steady through your nose as he pushed in. He kept going all the way until your lips brushed his abdomen, your chin brushing against his balls. He groaned out, "Ffuck, bunny. 'M all the way in your mouth," a strung of mandarin curses flew out his mouth, the sound of it making you flinch and moan, your legs clenching together.
His eyebrows quirks under the mask, "Oh? Nǐ xǐhuān wǒ zhèyàng shuōhuà ma," he hushes out. You grip his thigh more in despair, grunting out as he guides your face up and down his shaft. "Hmm? Tù tù? Aah... Nǐ kàn qǐlái hěn piàoliang... Tù tù," not understanding any of it all, you recognized "Tù tù" as some sort of nickname by how affectionate his voice seemed to turn.
Oh? You like when I talk this way? Hmm? Bunny? Aah, You're too beautiful, bunny.
You slurp your tongue around him, using your hand to lightly smack his forearm away. Despite feeling like nothing to him, it flies from your hair, and you place both hands on his abdomen. You bob down, gagging but taking his cock down in, before jerking your head back up, his dick was covered in spit and drool, the sight so sinful, he bucks into you. You huff deeply from your nose, but he doesn't stop thrusting forward into you, much quicker than before too.
In fact, his glowing hands grab your head again, pushing you down deep against his cock, you pull at his pants. He growls out, "Nǐ bù zhīdào wǒ zài shuō shénme, nǐ bù zhīdào wǒ néng duì nǐ zuò shénme. Dàn nǐ xǐhuān zhèyàng, nǐ fēicháng xǐhuān tā. Bùshì ma, Tù tù?" His tone is so degrading, so harsh and aggressive, ans under the relentless thrusts into the back of your throat, you cry out helplessly.
You don't know what I'm saying, you don't know what I'll do to you. But that's what you like, you love it. Don't you?
"You love feeling so fucking helpless, huh," he spits out in English, and your hands slips down into your underwear to retaliate. Your fingers press and fidget with your swollen, sticky digit, your other hand keeping purchase on his thigh. "Take this cock, Biǎo zǐ... Your Iron Fist's bitch now," he moans.
bitch/whore
Your fingers frantically fuck into yourself, wrist ans shoulder aching and struggling in the restrictions, but you couldn't care less. Manically, you felt and curved your walls, toes clenching as you ride off this high. You want to mewl and cry out his name so bad, it's pathetic how you still tried, and ruptured in nothing but unrecognizable mumbles. More vibrations to send to his high.
"I'm cumming," he pants, thrusting into you a for the last time before pulling out and shooting loads all over your face. You obediently close your eyes, feeling his hot load dribble down your face. "Shit, bunny," he sighs, watching you sweetly open your eyes. He reaches forward, wiping his cum off with his thumb, his free hand stroking his half soft dick. He sits up right, leaning forward and smearing his cumm off on your tits while you cough.
"Ha-ah... Iron Fist," you try to speak but he cuts you off.
"Go lay down, bunny," he says ever so affectionately. Lin was sneaking out again.
"No, Iron Fist," you whisper.
He asks, "Yeah, bunny?"
"Mmh," you pull your fingers out of you, and hold them up for him to see, "I came," you sighed. Your fingers were prune, dribbling in thick white fluids.
Iron Fist's eyes twitch for a moment, a steady groan smoothing out his lips. He grabs you by the neck, you gasp in surpise, "Stand up," he commands. You meekly stand with him, trying your best not to trip over his feet. He walks you back to the bed and drops you on it, your legs flying up in the calamity.
You mewl, "Ooh!" Your hands rushing to feel your neck as he shreds your clothes off you like butter. He grabs your legs, pushing them up against your chest, and moves you up higher on the bed, crawling in after you.
He hushes, "Does your boyfriend fuck you in this bed," his hand clamps around your neck again, his free hand slipping two fat digits in your body, fucking you with them briskly. You gasp at the question, and choke up even more at the sudden speed. "Huh? Answer, Biǎo zǐ."
bitch/whore
You shake your head, your toes curling up your hands gripped tight around his forearm. You squeak, "Mmyes! H-He does!"
"He spent all that effort and money on you, and look at you now. Drooling on my cock, clenching around my fingers... Buying you my shit to satisfy your hunger for me," he cackles, plunging out and twisting his fingers so his thumb could bump your clit whike he thrusted, "Doesn't even know Im fucking you in his sleep. How unfortunate, haah... Mmh, what a good little fan you are, keeping your hero happy, bunny," he hisses spitefully.
Humiliation makes your face grow hot, but he continues his thrusts just as you open your mouth, "L-Lin? Aah--"
"Iron Fist. Call me it, Tù tù," he groans wistfully, trying his hardest not to smile.
You quickly catch the hint, shutting your eyes and moaning out, "Iron Fist-- Iron Aah." You tighten your grip on his forearm, and following your command, he tightens his grip on your neck. You hiss out, "Fuck me please-suh. Please Iron Fist. F-Fuck mee!"
"Holy shit," he moans, slipping his finger out. It takes two milliseconds before he's onto of you, pulling your butt closer to him, as he uses his free hands to aline up with your sloppy hole. He slips a few times, "Shit-shit," but quickly, he glides right into your sweet walls.
You both moan out in unison. You watch IronFist's head sling back, a mantra of mandarin curses slipping off his tongue. His free hand slips down to join the other around your neck, beginning to thrust rough. Hard smacks echo across the space, forcing you to groan out, nails digging into his bandages' arms. He was so beefy, so large, so in control as he glides almost all the way out and slammed back in. Your walls seem to flutter and purr in delight, the slick sounds coating his bare dick in watery drool.
The addictive feeling of Lin Li-- Iron Fist's dick thrusting in and out was mind-killing. His enlarged, thick dick was stretching out your walls. Each full thrust ringing against your cervix, deep into you to stimulate all of you. Not a part of you wasn't buzzing with his piping hot, hard dick. It pillaged it's way through you, opening you up so hot you could feel him press around in your stomach, your bladder pushed and rubbed against. He was so hard but deliciously soft and squishable, the sharpness foreign and erotic, but the velvety softness was easy on your sensitive walls. You felt so full, so completed despite the slow, aggresive thrusts.
The precision on his thrusts kept him hammering the same spot. The wind up of him slowly pulling out, making your breath hitch delectably right before being rewarded with a stimulating slam. Your mind had shut off by then, your face outfucked, mouth agape half sure there's drool dribbling out the corners of your mouth. Your moans are giggly and amused, his name, "I-Iron-- Fist! Ooh! Aah... Iron-- Fist! Mhm," being the only thing you know to say. You break it up everytime, crying out Iron seconds before he slams in, and crying out Fist as the high pangs your body.
Lin's brain too shut off, almost like a dog or an ape, he's fucking you just to hear your sounds. He loves how you wrap around him, how hot you are, both literally and physically. Off in your own world while he pummels you. Both hands on your neck were just for thrust control, but damn, he liked the subtle rasp it added to your voice. You were so sweet, the way you changed his name, it made his eyes haze over, and his cock to twitch deep inside you. He loved you too much. Way too much.
It was in the middle of your chant that he suddenly began to speed up. His pace ferocious, as he leaned his weight down and dropped his head, fucking you just to get off now. You had your fun, he was getting tired. His head was spinning way too much, his dick screaming to buss a load deep within you. The urge was so overcoming, so primal. It rang throughout him, especially when your cervix sweetly kissed him. He loved the way your lips spread around his dick, how your folds hung around him like a coat. How you were enjoying yourself so much.
God he was obsessed with you.
Your moans spiraled out of control, your hands now gripping his meaty upper arms, your chin caught open and familiarizing itself with his thumbs. You were wild, beautiful.
Shit he was going to cum.
He slammed deep inside you, shooting out his ribbons into your cervix, pushing you down into him just as much as he slammed up, grunting and groaning, his voice breathy and strained. He came for so long, his cum sucked up by your womb, the hot sensation making your eyes curl back. "Ff-uck... Oough, Ff-- Shiiit," he groaned out. And when he shot his last, he ripped out of you.
You were a mumbling mess, teary eyed as you desperately tried to exclaim, "Iron... I-Iron fi..ist... Aah mmfist... My- ah... mmy cliitt," your brain was failing you, your hands smacking his arm. He was built like a stone, so it felt like nothing to him.
"Ah," it clicked, "Sorry, bunny," he laughed. He sunk downwards, half resting against the bed and the floor for a second, before sucking in your (now) engorged muscle. You cried out in overstimulation, gripping maddening chunks of jet black hair. He forced your legs open with his hands, knowing damn well you just wanted him to help you out, give you a few twirls so you could cum too. But that wasn't as fun.
You were really crying by now the sound was so sadistically sweet in this context. Your words were nothing but babbles, sentences starting somehow ans ending up nowhere. The only thing he could make out was begging, you begging so hard as your body raised and arched. You arched off the bed, pretty tits flying up in the air. And with one giant gasp, you groaned deep into the air, the sound long and strained.
He licked you so peacefully slow during your climax, eyes gleaming with affection. And as you fell back against the bed, he stood up, tucking his soft penis back in his pants. He stroked your belly with his hand, his other hand caressing your raised knee. There's this stupidly soft smile on his face, laced with goofy admiration. That was totally your Lin Lie, not that you could really focus anyway, you panted hard, your brain completely shut off.
"Well, bunny... Let's do this again, yeah? I've got lives to save," He leans down, kissing your neck slowly and smooth. He leaves one final kiss on your forehead before diving into your lips, "Mmbye," he sings, have of his words stopped by your lips.
You watch almost helplessly, as Iron Fist escapes out the window he came in from. Throwing you one final look before shutting the window, and disappearing into the night. You sat blankly, blinking in confusion, feeling as cum dribbled out of your pussy uncomfortably and ran down your ass crack.
Did he seriously just--
Within seconds, your door flies open. Lin, hapzardly dressed in a tossed on pj's and disheveled hair, stood panting heavily, a warm wet towel in his hands. "B-Buh... Haa," he panted roughly, "B-Baby your clothes... If you uh-- Were needy you've c-couldve told me I wouldn't have went to bed," he heaves. You can't help but laugh, his sweet black eyes narrowing in on your affectionately, his face flushed with a stupid smile.
He rushes over to you and frantically cleans you up, infected by your giggles.
He squeaks, "W-Whoa, bunn-- Uh!"
You laugh worsens, his eyes bulges out.
"Baby! B-Baby, you really did a uhhh... Ah fuck it. Holy shit, come here," he gives up quickly, sinking into his laughing girl, trapping his hands around your head.
He dribbles kisses all over you.
"Did you like it? Were you okay," he whispers into your skin.
"Mmhm... Iron Fist was great," you sigh.
He pulls you with him futher on the bed, laying you on his chest, you can hear how intense his heartbeat was.
lin purses his lips in a thin line, cursing himself as he fists his own cock. it's wet, loud— and his ears are ringing. you're stuck in his head, his brain stuck on earlier in the day when he walked in on you in the shower, well, you coming out the shower.
thick drops of water traveling down the valley of your boobs, swaying down your stomach and dripping from your hair. he moans, pupils dilated and blown out as he whispers your name into the empty air of his room. his hand slows around his tip, curling— similar to what he's seen in porn. he's sort of innocent in the sex department, but he's always been awfully sexually driven.
this is the third time he's jerked himself to the thought of you.
he's not bold enough to ever say what he is, which is in love. but he is bold enough to thrust his hips up into his fist and moan shamelessly into his room. his eyes squeeze shut as he imagines your beautiful lips wrapped around his cock— sucking— your eyes pleading for him to cum in your mouth.
syn: once a month on the full moon, shao lao possesses your club member, lin lie. on a uni camping trip, you get chased through the forests and pinned down by lin; whose fuelled with the fires of shao lao. his only desire? to fill you with the seed of god's and men's
tgs: bdsm, powerplay, hunter/prey, cunnilingus (fem reciving), breeding kink, oviposition, laying an egg, dubcon(?), brat/brat tamer dynamics, possesion, lin physically over powers reader, p n v, freaky and cringe
an: after days of trying to figure out a new, unique lin lie fic w a fresh story (that was different from the others), I finally found it. the Adam warlock fic is becoming my longest one yet, it's a enemies to lovers slow burn and it's taking some time to cook up!! so I thought in the mean time I'd drop another lin fic for the covettes (if ur waiting for the Adam fic ur gonna have to wait longer!!) yes this is inspired by the nessa barrett pornstar edit of lin on tiktok BARELY PROOF READ
5.6K WORDS (ESTI)
Your university's Mythology club put together a fun camping trip. There were 16 of you in total in the club, split between 9 women and 7 men. You knew that one of the members, Lin Lie, had a crush on you. It was obvious from the longing gazes he threw your way when he thought you weren't looking, or how the cute brunette would come up to talk to you after club meetings, running hands through his soft black hair, staring at you with those sweet brown eyes.
He was so handsome, you'd admit. He was large and muscular, though he tried to hide it under various dark sweaters. His hands were about as big as your head. His presence was strong, secure, and safe. You always let out a relaxed sigh whenever he was around. Uni is borderline hectic. All these kids start off their lives as fresh "adults" lacking the maturity of middle schoolers. Or at least, that's how you'd describe the men.
Lin Lie was a breath of fresh air. He was responsible, protective, and incredibly aware of his surroundings and social standing. He was the guy you'd flock to find at a frat party, and even if you didn't talk to him at it, you always made sure you were in his line of sight. You had no time for childish men, or any sort of relationship at all. You had a Bachelors to earn.
But still, you let the handsome Chinese man in your class talk you up. He was flirty and confident at times, unearthing a side of him you didn't know out side of the quiet, responsible one. There was something wild flickering behind his eyes. And you let him entertain you with it. It got to the point where you started getting giddy whenever he was around, already knowing what he was preparing to say, and how he would lean in close to say it.
So when this trip came around, you and many women of the club almost said no to going. That was the case, until Lin Lie decided to come along. That's when all 16 members decided to pitch in, instead of the original 6 that were planning to go. Being the woods with a bunch of nerdy uni boys sounded ass. Being in the woods with uni boys and the strong, masculine Lin Lie? Hell, that scale balanced over quick.
Lin Lie was popular.
Not that he'd agree. He was one of the popular loners, mysterious and incredibly fine, living a quiet and busy lifestyle. You similarly fit the description, but that's only because you were in so many clubs.
You remember the drive there, your club leader, Peter Parker, Lin's closet friend, had rented a bus for everyone to take everyone to the camping grounds. Oddly, as you got on the bus, you were hoping for Lin to sit next to you, but he didn't. In fact, he didn't even look at you. Unlike him, he sat all the way in the far back, his navy colored hood resting high down on his forehead. He looked pale, and he almost immediately fell asleep at the back.
You hummed. You leaned forward to the seats next to you, tapping your clubmate on the head. The blonde turned around, his honey golden eyes flickering with annoyance. You spoke, "Hey... What's up with Lin today? Doesn't he seem... kind of sad?"
"I dunno. Peter said something about him being ill..." He murmured.
"Aw damn. If he was sick, he should've stayed at the dorms... Poor guy," you whispered.
Another clubmate chimed, shaking his head, "Hell no. Lin can't stay home cause then the girls wouldn't wanna go."
The blonde classmate chuckled, "Yeah! I swear if the girls bailed I'd strange, em."
As if he could.
You couldn't careless about their convo after that, softly glazing back at his groggy form, how his arm twitched in his sleep. Your eyes softened, sadness dwelling in your body as you stared at soft eyebags under his eyes. Still you couldn't crack a tender smile. "Responsible as ever, Lin... You always sacrifice yourself for others," your heart grows warm.
Maybe if he keeps it up, you might fall for him. You chuckle sadistically to yourself, turning back around and plugging in headphones. Preparing yourself for the rest of the trip.
The view of the countryside from the windows were gorgeous, as you followed from the busy city to endless rolling hills to dense greenery with the charmastic, singing crickets. When the bus stopped at the campsite. You found yourself engulfed in fallen autumn leaves, orange and green leaves singing in the lulling wind, as the middle of autumn was quickly approaching. The sun was low in the sky, as the club quickly set up camp for the night.
After dinner, poorly made steak and salad by the guys (food you noticed Lin did not eat), Peter gathered us all up by the fireplace. He grinned with an ecstatic expression, "Myth-busters!" The shoddy name Peter made for the club, "As you all know, for the past weeks, we have been going over Greek Mythology. Now, today we are here because this is the perfect season to view Ursa Major! Ursa Major heavily conmected to the Greek myth, associated with the story of Callisto, a nymph transformed into a bear by the great and powerful Zeus," He called on.
The club cheered and dummed excitedly, and you too couldn't help but be swayed by his words. The sun was beginning to set. Peter pointed to the mountain behind us, "That mountain leads to a cliff clearing where we can see the beautiful constellation in full. We're gonna hike there."
The club was a mixed group of cheers and boos, but Peter paid no mind. "Here's the deal. We're going to split into pairs. We're gonna need a pair system to make sure all of us are heading up! It's gonna get dark out here, so there's no way in hell I'd let any of you get injured," he huffed. "So everyone, let's pack up our gear and get into groups," he cheered.
You stood along with the buzzing crowd, already giggling as you exchanged looks with a few clubmates. You already knew you wanted Lin. You nonchalantly rushed on over to him, your hands behind your back as you cleared your throat. "Hey, Lin. Why don't we be buddies," you asked.
He flinched at the sound of your voice, never turning around to face you. He stood there silently for a second, his shoulders tense, his hand grabbing onto his wrist. He cleared his throat, his voice gravelly and cold, "No. Someone's gotta watch the setup... Peter chose me."
"A-Ah," even you couldn't bear the sudden ice he was throwing your way. You almost dreaded the words, as you knew he didn't want to talk anymore, "You okay... Lin?"
He winces, "Just a cold."
"Ah... Hah. Well... Get well soon?" Your confusion is imminent as you rejoin the group.
Everyone had already split into groups, save Peter, who was the hike guide. And with the odd number now that Lin's out, you were all alone. Peter noticed the mellow aura about you, as his eyes nervously flickered from Lin to you. He had this knowing look on his face. He gulped with a nervous laugh, patting your shoulder, "He gets moody when he's really sick! Ah, the g-guy... You know, always want to protect people... Even when he's in pain, he thinks not showing it is uhm... N-Not uh," Peter was oddly nervous.
Well. Peter was always a little socially awkward.
But this? You narrowed eyes on him.
He knew something and was trying to hide it. Peter awkwardly squeaked under your glare, dropping a hand from your shoulder and clapping instead. "Well! Y-You can um... Be the backline watch! Make sure nobody strays from the path, and keep an eye out on... The-uh," he turns away from you, gathering the club with a clap, "Alright, everyone, let's go!" He didn't even stay long, as your glare got too suspicious. Too tense.
Something was up. Still, you followed up the trail, beginning your way up the mountains, the campsite slowly beginning to disappear behind trees, the sun almost set behind the horizons.
Something really wasn't right.
Your gut burned.
Instincts screamed at you to stay with Lin. He's never sick, and when he is, he's never so... Brooding, so dog tired, so growlish and cold. No way. You at least need to glance to see if he's okay. You cave in, giving the campsite and Lin one last glance as it begins to disappear behind trees up the path.
That's when you saw an odd beam of green light. It was bright and quick, the odd color was a neon teal, the kind present on digital ads, not in the wild. It shot like a beadon high into air before it was swallows quickly up by foliage. A strong urge of wind flew up from the direction. What the fuck was that? You stop dead in your tracks.
You blink.
The forest was normal, the chittering of cicadas and the singing of crickets. Nothing was out of place.
You're not crazy are you?
You blink again.
No you definitely saw something!
You begin to sneak down the path, catching the smallest glimpse of the campsite, with Lin no where to be found. It was weird as you tried to duck around to see if the trees gave way to more glimpses of him on the campsite, but it didn't.
A hand clamps on your shoulder, you gasp, as you hear Peter speak, "(y/n)."
You whip around. The whole club's stopped and staring at you. You gulp in embarrassment.
Peter's eyes become serious, as if warning you with them, "(Y/n) let's stay on the path. Lin will be fine. We don't need to go back to the campsite." His grip on your shoulder is so foreboding. Foreboding also, was the aura that surrounded you in this moment.
You didn't understand it. But you shut up quickly.
This was. A little scary.
"Trust me, Lin's gonna be okay. I'm his best friend, you know," Peter tries to get all cheery as he holds your hand and brings you back up the mountain with the rest. "You know what, guys, let's make smores when we get up there!" He says to the group as he slips back up to the top, and the line starts moving.
You stare blankly down at the ground, your grip on your electric lamp tight.
"Hey, (y/n)... You okay?" You hear MJ ask, her brown eyes melting with concern.
You shake your head, "Must worried about Lin... I hope he'll be okay by himself."
She smiles at you, tucking her wild brown curls behind her ear, "Yeah... Lin's strong. Don't worry."
Don't worry was what you told yourself when you made it to the cliff clearing. Don't worry, was what you told yourself when you helped set up the fire. Don't worry is what you told yourself as you mingled with the group. Don't worry is what you told yourself when Peter put out the fire so we could all see the constellation.
It was beautiful but.
You looked back at the pitch black, foreboding forest behind you.
That mysterious light.
You blink.
You've gotta check it out.
You glanced back at the club. Everyone was relaxed, drinking hot cocoa and enjoying their stores. All pre-occupied with drinking in the moment. Best of all, Peter was snugging up with MJ at the front of it all, lost in the sauce. If there was one thing you learned about Peter, was than when he was with MJ, he saw nothing else.
Neither did he, or anyone else who cared, as a few frats saw you sneak off, catch you dip away back down the trail.
This was so damn stupid of you. But you always trusted your institution. Something was wrong with Lin.
You can't help but think of the worst as you rush down the path. It's about a ten minute walk back to the campsite, but you're booking it like a mad woman, your heart about to erupt in your chest. You can cut the time in half if you go fast enough.
So many horrible anxieties rush your mind as you follow down the path, jumping over stones and missing entire flights of the steps entirely. But you're moving at a rapid, steady pace, a treat from the sports clubs you've joined to make your uni-life more memorable. You can't help but think, with a racing heart and panting lips, about Lin collapsing somewhere - somehow, unable to call for help.
And that green light. What the fuck was that green light?
RROOOOOUGHH
An earspliting growl ruptured your eardrums. It's sound was chasmic and ferocious, animalistic-- yet deathly uncanny. It stopped your heart dead in your chest, slowed time, caught you off guard as your head turned to where the sound came from, your foot in the air as you were caught in the middle of a jump.
The roar was animalistic. But it didn't sound like an animal.
It sounded like...
Just as your eyes turned, in this slowed moment, you saw a flicker of flowing green, unnatural as it warped behind a shady, black figure. It was human, glowing, setting two black eyes on you from the dark.
You screamed, missing your landing, your ankle rolling in distress as it collided unnaturally with the ground. Unnatural, as you slipped down the paths stairs, unnatural as you rolled down the steps and cried. Unnatural, as a firehouse gusto of wind overcame you, unnatural, as you felt terrifying arms encapsule your body. Unnatural, as with a hearty crunch of leavs and sticks, you found yourself pinned to the ground before the giant bone fire your club lit back at the campsite.
Unnatural as you peeked your eyes open to find... Lin Lie?
Lin stared down at you with dark, unreadable eyes, his lips downturn, both of your hands captured above your head with a single palm. You were breatheless. There was this teal aura whipping and flickering in the air around him. You watched it leak out of his skin like sweat and take flight like whimsical plasma. How his face was still cast in a dark, heavy shadow despite the glow of the fireplace. How his hoodie was torn poorly off his body, ripped in devilish places as the fabric stringed about like a useless accessory.
His body was glistening with sweat, and you could finally see how broad and muscular he was. He was cosmic, built like a Greek god, chiseled finely in some holy defile of purity, as you clenched in your panties immediately. His scent was strong as it floated with his aura, the smell of these odd, almost pheromone like scents dripping off his body. It made you squint and shudder off a breath.
But you couldn't look away from those broad shoulders, that barn-like chest, how his arms carried all the force and the raw powerful to put you out of your pitiful misery.
Aderaline was losing in you body, as you could suddenly feel how fucking badly your ankle burned. "A-Ahh," you whimpered out, breathless and afraid.
All of Lin Lie's body helped him push out of a deathly, terrorizing grunt, it spilled out of the bowels of hell, trilling with an animalistic flare.
You whimpered even more, unaware of how your eyes began to water. You squirmed helplessly, flinching to not upset up, as you mustered up all of your courage to cry, "Luh... L-Lin... What's gotten into you," you wailed.
He growled over uou again, sinking his head closer. You squeaked and flinched away, shutting your eyes deathly tight. Your breath was sucked out of your body as you felt him suck in a strong gust of air. It blew cold against your neck, a direct contract to the deep huff that he released on your neck, it was hot enough to burn your skin. It sent tingles of fire down your body where it met you, as when you looked down at it, surges of green plasma flowed down the waves of your body.
"Unngh haa--" it drew out your voice, the surge of energy forcing a vulnerable whimper out into the air. He breathed deep and doggishly against you like this, each time making your knees rattle, your thighs lock themselves tight.
Your head tilts back at the bonfire, your body drowning in the passionate plasma. It made your neurons fire, your pussy to throb, combined eith the raw smell of him, your mind was becoming hazy. "L-Lin! Get off muh-- me," you gasped out, feeling ever the more light headed.
Lin opened his mouth, but a fire of passionate mandarin slew out his lips. "Zhū shén fā, wǒ wúfǎ tíng xiàlái... Zhū shén fāshì, wǒ kěwàng nǐ."
by the gods, I cannot stop. by the gods, I long for you.
He boomed it in your ears, his voice deep and chasmic, it withered and hissed, echoed twice within itself, present with a glorious entity. Something straight out of a cheesey c-drama, yet it flickered devilishly before your eyes. He boomed with authority in thus moment Whatever it is that he said, your sanity was taken with it. You gasped erotically, sickeningly.
He boomed.
As if he were a god.
You lost it, tears flying out of your eyes, drowning in an array of endless desire, letting those sweet plasmas to caress your skin, letting yourself give way to that holy voice, letting your body limp like the helpless ragdoll you were. You were set aflame everywhere, the fear of his strength made you impossibly wet. This was something you didn't even know about yourself.
Lin's powerful hands rolled you onto your side by your hips. You slumped over, sliding your knee up, hiking your ass up in the process. You tried to pick your body up, with your hands, but you felt him sink onto his forearm behind you, his other hand cupping your chin.
You sniffled and whimpered in his warm palm, as it slipped up to hold your face, his large thumb wiping your under eyes.
His body was so close to yours. His face and lips so dear to your skin. You could feel his heat, feel it as he tilted his head, voice deep in your ears. He hushes, "Nǐ chàndǒu ba, wǒ de tùzǐ……wǒ xià dào nǐle ma? Wǒ xiǎng hé nǐ zuò'ài……wǒ xiǎng zài nǐ de zǐgōng lǐ bō xià yī kē shén de zhǒngzǐ..."
You're trembling, my rabbit... Did I scare you? I want to make love to you... I want to plant a god's seed in your womb.
You shake, slobbering out, "I-I... I want to... Please... I want to see Lin... What-- What have you done to Lin-- please... Lin.. Let me see your face." Your run down of mythology helped you deduce some god had possessed Lin. But you couldn't exactly figure out which one. Chinese Mythology was what got you to join this club. Lin himself hosted it, and it was filled with wonder.
But your brain was foggy with needy trembles and whims of sex and fear. You could feel Lin's broad chest against your side. The god turns your head to face him, and from the shadows of his face, you see Lin's hooded eyes glimmer with untapped zeal.
"For I am Lin,"
"Yīnwèi wǒ shì Lín,"
"And Shao Lao, who has saved this body,"
"For I have reborn him, and given him life. Therefore, once a full moon, Shao Lao owns it."
"This vessel hungers for you. My Lin.. I, Lin Lie, hunger to drop seed in you. The seed of gods and men,"
His voice echoes, two voices pouring out at once. One was the roar of a dragon, hissing in mighty mandarin, the other was Lin's, booming with prowess and power. Every word, it doubled like so.
Your hips buckled, your eyes heavy.
"S-Shao Lao," your memory flickered from Lin's passionate teachings, "The Dragon god slain by K'un-L'un, walking the earth without a heart-- resurrected by Yu-Ti, t-trialed to die again and again at the hands of t-the Iron Fists? That they may gain p-power through your deaths?" You spit out, trembling under the dragon's stare. It cackles delightfully at your words, well pleased as it leans down to rub it's nose against your neck.
Despite it being Lin, insides it's body, you can feel it's cosmic shift, noting that in this second, it was fully Shao Lao. You moan out, and it takes a deep sniff in the crook of your neck. He can smell how horny you are. Your panties are wet with slick, drenched to uselessly stick to your pussy like a wet bathing suit. Shao Lao is pleased by the scent, releasing deep, strained breaths.
"Yes, little one."
"B-But... What does a such a god want with me? Come now, S-Shao Lao... Breed me tomorrow, or the next day, where I will be ready to take care of you," you manage out, sweaty in his embrace.
The Dragon cackles, slipping a hand up your tank top, hot fingers trailing up your stomach and pushing up your bra, cupping your breast. Your nipple is hard already. He simply pulls and teases it.
"Wise, hare. The full moon will not arrive tomorrow or the next night. Neither would it any night but tonight. You cannot trick me. This vessel cries for your womb. And I, I am delighted by your wisdom and beauty. You have sealed your fate, you have interested me more. Behold, your your trickery has planted you in deep water,"
He growls out. Hearing Lin and the mandarin dragon echo such words in unison had your eyes rolling back, mouth agape. The dragon played with your nipples, squeezing them between rough fingers, dragging a hot, fiery tongue up your neck. You shudder and mewl out, your eyes already dancing between the clouds.
The dragon hums, a pleased trill escaping Lin's plump, sweet lips.
"Amuse me, rabbit. Why do you resist when your body aches with need? What do you gain except frustration?"
You giggle, gulping, "I waste a god's time and gain his fury..."
You hear a fiery rattle burn through the dragon's throat.
"Then shall I meet you with a heavy hand."
The Dragon scoops you up into Lin's gorgeous biceps, the crackling shadows around his face just hazy enough for you to see the face eating grin the dragon bares. You shudder, as it carries you into his den, or more commonly known as Lin's tent. He pitched his closest to the bus and farthest from everyone else, the rest of the tents in his circle were MJ's and Peter's.
The Dragon carries you into the teal tent, where you see shredded rope and mountains of bottled water stacked on the side. His tent was in utter disarray, but the Dragon pays it no mind as he drops you down on the plush sleeping bag. He undresses, and your eyes behold the gorgeous stature of Lin's bare body. He's wonderfully built, stockier than a barn, a giant powerhouse of pure muscle with a small waist. His cock is glorious, eight inches with a fat tip, his thickness stocky and grand. Your mouth watered.
Shao Lao kicks some of discarded rope, laughing,
"This vessel believed it could restrain me, prevent me from hunting you... Indeed, it is true that I would have not taken you. But you came down the mountain for him, did you not? It was you who sold this fate..."
You gasp in disbelief, but it doesn't fester as the dragon pulls your shirt from over your head, watching your breasts as unlatches your bra. Your pretty titties fly out, and you watch as a pink tongue emerges from the hazy black fog.
"You do, wish to be devoured, little human?"
You look away, "Is Lin okay?"
"This vessel only wishes for your safety."
"Ah... Then... Breed me, Shao Lao."
Behind the smoke, you can see the dragon's eyes widen. But something about it was so uncharacteristic for the proud serpent. Was it? Lin? You blink in surprise. Just as you notice the change, it disappears.
Shao Lao undresses you briskly, picking you up when he needs to, and you help him by kicking off your panties and pants when he drags them down. The dragon bares a deep, pleased sigh at the sight of you, admiring the way your body ebbs and flows, the softness of your skin, adoring your shape. He parts your legs with rough hands, you brace yourself as Shao Lao, in Lin's heavenly body, dives into your neck.
The Dragon nips and suckles your neck, using Lin's whole tongue to do so. Adverse to the way a human would do it. It's such a small detail you notice that makes your mind hazy, a reminder that a true god is trying to fuck you. He cups the other side of your neck tightly, forcing you into his sharp love bites and vigorous slurps.
He does so hungrily, diving out with unsatisfied huff.
"This is not enough,"
He hisses with all of his belly.
He drags all of his tongue down your collarbone and to your breasts, slurping one of your nipples up. It suckles and twirls it's blazing hot tongue around it, letting go with a pop as it swells around the underside, sucking you in fill his mouth, all while his freehand squeezes and teases your other.
You shiver and whimper, feeling his teeth against your skin. His jaw restricts, threatening to bite you. You know that if he did, you'd be disfigured. "Mm-aah," your pussy throbs.
He grunts worser, releasing you. His grunt is filled with pure agitation, his shadowy eyes darkened in a crazied haze.
"This human body restricts me... This is not enough."
It puff and heaves with anger, and with a strong vigor, the dragon slides his tongue down the valleys of your breast, down your ribcage, down your belly, over your womb, through your hair. And as he grabs your thighs, pulling them up in ease with thick hands, the dragon eats up your cunny in one full lick.
You whine as he uses all of Lin's tongue to part open your labia. The hot, fat muscle is fully flat against your hymen before it slides up and trills against your clit. You buck up into it with a cry, "S-Shao Lao!"
The Dragon hisses gleefully like a snake. It vibrates its tongue with ease against you, trilling up with a vigor as if it were merely rolling an 'r'. You jerk with all of you, as you reach and grab chunks of Lin's short raven locks. For a moment, sweet eyes gaze lovingly at you, but you fail to see it before it's overriden.
The Dragon licks up your clit with all of its tongue, the flatliness bigger than your clit as it strokes you once then twice, before he pulls a little away to speak.
"Tender, sweet, and juicy..."
Shao Lao burries his nose into your pussy, taking a deep sniff. The green energy sends tingles against your body. The dragon leans up, rolling out his tongue with a soft gag, there, from the midst of the smoke, you can see something round and orange glow, slipping out from the back of his throat. It slides down his tongue, revealing itself to be a little glowing orb, as it's guided right into your hole. The dragon leans forward, digging into your cunt as it forces it deep into your walls.
It sets you aflame, you grow impossibly more wet, drowning our from the magic of whatever it was that was placed within you. Your cervix sucks it up into your womb. And in awe, you can see it glow beneath your skin.
The Dragon laughs,
"I can perform much greater trembles than this in my original, blessed body. You truly are one graced human. You do not know the merit you are being bestowed, if you did, you would be worshiping me now... Paying hom--"
You pull Lin's hair, shoving your cunny back in the dragon's face, watching it disappear beneath the shadows. It narrows dangerous eyes on you. You only return with a grin.
The Dragon reaches, grabbing your wrist with a crushing pressure. You wince, pitifully letting go. As Shao Lao sits up, broad chest flexed forward with prestige. His darkened eyes glimmer with ferocity. Eyes that read, "you should not have done that".
Shao Lao drops your wrists, using Lin's mighty and quick hands to grab both of your ankles. He stands up with them, and with a scated cry, your body jerks forward, your legs held up in the air. He pulls higher, higher until your neck is the only thing keeping you on the ground. "Aah! Shao Lao! I'm so--" you can't even get a chance to speak, as Shao wraps his bulging biceps around your hips, dropping you in the candlestick pose, except your knees rest your legs on his shoulders, your hands shaking, helplessly grabbing chunks of raven locks.
With a deep, burling growl, Shao Lao buries himself into your cunny, trilling against your clit at an unforgiving pace, rippling his tongue against you in a fluttering frenzy, your throbbing clit swelling under the abuse. You cry out, saliva spat out in the intensity, as the way he's forced you down, you can't do much but claw at the dragon's biceps, or tug at his hair.
"S-suh-- Ahh! Shao L-lao! Ooh," you cry, your legs shooting up with an electric spark before slopping back down. Your toes arch, your breathing is constricted, overstimulated tears prick your eyes.
He'll only stop his devious defilement to suck and slurp up your clit in intervals between flickering his speedy tongue against it. The abuse complimented by Lin's fat juicy lips as the insides of them run over your clit inbetween slurps. He'll pull back to run a flat tongue side to side vigorously on your clit, only to slurp it up, suck on it, and smooth right back into flickering.
You yank intensely on Lin's hair, weak tears streaming down your face as your thrust into an intense orgasm. You legs jerk and fly up into the air, kicking at nothing before shooting straight up and flexing, flexing as you curse out into the sky. They never meet back down, as after your orgasm, Shao Lao is still on you just as intensely, not allowing you a break for your high. Your moans turn into frantic, pant-filled wails, slobbering sobs dribbling down your forehead and into your hair.
You rut into his tongue over and over again, trying to squirm but your hips are locked in place by meaty biceps. You're forced to look at the shadowed over pink-tipped nose Lin was always equipped with, buried into your vulva. You're bullied into another orgasm, cumming with all of your body again, he doesn't rest while you ride out your high.
You plead, while you cum hard, barreling out like a frantic shout, "G-Grace-cious-- Shao Lao pleas-suhh! Please forgive m-me! P-Please-- M-Mighty-- gaw--"
You can't continue as you groan out, finally feeling that fat tongue stop, laying flat against you. You sigh out, feeling your neck ache, and your senses return, your legs sag forward to your head.
"Mmuh! Sh-Shao Lao... I beg... aah... Please... forgive me-- I'm so... so aah... sorry... I'm sorry, S-Shao," you slur out, already fucked out of your mind.
By the grace of god, he releases your hips, slowly guiding you back onto the floor. You can feel your spine cry out with glee, your eyes rolling back with relief. Shao kneels between your legs still, biceps meaty and glowing, his arms folded forbidden, glaring down at you with serious eyes. Ever the reminiscent of Lin's face scolding and disappointed stare, shaming you of your very existence.
The god is still not settled.
You meekly reach and touch his elbow with the tip of your fingers.
"My god... My Shao Lao, please don't let this offend you... Remember your selfishless desire to bless me with the seed of a god's... Show me your true self, your kindness... Please take me another way to subside your rage... S-Show me... Show me who you are," you whisper-mewl, a whorish expression of need overtaking your face.
Shao grins.
He slams his large palms on either side of your head, your flinch, the ground shakes beneath you. Your body is sent aflame in shivers, excitement dribbling throughout your body. Your hands greedily trace down Lin's gorgeous body, feeling his gorgeous chest, it's bouncy and built. You moan out under Shao's stare. He's not moving again.
You whimper, "God hurry up Shao."
He laughs, finally taking in your sweet lips, slurping up your tongue, burning with passionate friction. He leans upright as you melt into the kiss, slapping down your titties, your nipples arching into them. He sits you up with ease, grabbing your ass, kissing your neck as he commands, "Turn around, bunny."
Your eyebrows quirked, too fucked out of your mind as you obeyed, slipping back to turn around, your ass popped back for him to enjoy. You sprawl out almost immediately, doing the cat yoga stretch, arms out infront of you, palms against the floor, ass up and perked.
You can hear Lin hum deliciously, his voice ebbing with lust.
Something's off.
You ask, "My dragon, does this pose please you?"
"It does, my bunny," speaks, rubbing your ass with both hands.
You grin, "Does it please your vessel as well?"
He pauses, then speaks again, "It pleases Lin greatly."
Lin Lie.
That was you wasn't it?
Did Shao switch so he could have this?
You stay quiet with your knowledge, a purr of excitement building up. The knowlege intensifies the feeling of Lin's fat tip kissing your entrance. You moan in anticipation, rocking against it, as he grabs full control of your hips. He waists no time to plunge in, his hard, fat cock slips right in from how wet you are. It doesn't even hurt either, as you bottom out eight inches of burly, stocky thickness in milliseconds.
You wail, toes and fingers curling up. He pulls back even a little a slips right out of you, releasing a charmastic laugh. Lin... It really was you wasn't it. He slips in, your walls expanding in fullness, the feeling enlarging and all compassing. Your hymen muscles burn and enjoy the stretch, both loving and hating it, blending into a delicious mixture as he slowly thrusts in and out.
The plunge is deep into your walls, stimulating the farthetes depths of you with a fat thickness. It's a sultry sensation, as your jaw slacks, as a marvelous gasp whines out of you.
"Mmh, you like that? Shao Lao's fiery cock," he hisses out.
You giggle, "Yes, m-mighty Shao Lao."
He starts to fuck into you now, speeding up with a haste precision. You moan, but it's interrupted as Lin slaps a heavy hand against your ass. The stung is sharp, burns with a hiss before it's washed away with the tides of pleasure. "I'll show you, Shao Lao's fury," he moans out.
With one hand he grips your hip in a vice, the other comes crashing down on your red cheek as he fucks hard and deep into you. His hard, hot rod slices you open, as you stretch and flex about him. He can feel your pulse when he digs in deep, how your pussy squeezes vice around him. "Aah-- Fuck, r-rabbit," he's trying so hard to keep up the facade. But you already know if Shao Lao was here, he'd slam into you relentlessly, not caring if your knees gave out; without moaning once, as he fucked you into the ground.
That's not to say Lin isn't doing you justice right now. You can barely handle this speed, as you whine and cry, as he penetrates your poor pussy, fucking into it with barely any care, slipping around and enjoying the clap of your pretty ass. He cracks a punishing blow against your already red and bruised cheek, enjoying the way you welp.
"Aah-- Mm- Come take this God's cock," he grabs you with both hips and slams you back into him. You jerk onto your palms with a breathy mewl, as he begins to pump you on his dick like a fleshlight.
"Fuck-fuck-- Lin!" You cry out, your orgasm surprising you. What sent you prematurely was how his tip slammed your cervix, the sensation painfully delicious, it sent you into a frenzy.
He didn't give in, as he dropped his head back, using his pumping biceps to pull you all the way off, just to carelessly slam you back down. "Gimme' your damn hands," Lin hisses, ans obediently you give him one at a time. He grabs your wrists, pulling you back, forcing all your weight to be dependent on him.
You jerked about like a ragdoll, overstimulation riddled in your body. Despite this being Lin, you could still feel his energetic plasma flicker around. He was supercharged and boundless.
Lin started to precisely bump his tip down against your g-spot on his way to your cervix, fucking up into you to meet in the middle, loving the way your walls spasmed from the aftermath of your orgasm. Your moans were useless screams by now, the sensation of your speedy abuse complimented the pusles from your swollen, defeated clit.
You whine, "'M cummin' M-- Cumming!!"
"S-shi-- (Y/nn)," he whines.
With one satisfying slam, Lin shoots hot rods of cum into your womb right as you splatter, coating the orange orb in your body with your cum, as it sucks up Lin's. You feel the orb vibrate in your womb and it glides down to your cervix, feeling it push back against Lin's cock.
You gasp, "L-Lin! Pull out!"
He obediently listens, laying you down and slipping right off. With a heavy grunt, your push the growing orb out your body, as it expands in your vagina, before slipping out the size of a large duck egg. You frantically look back, eyes wide in shock.
Right between your legs is a duck egg sized, orange orb.
Your eyes flicker up at Lin, his eyes are darkened and hazed over.
"S-Shao Lao," you cry out in fear.
He crashes as strong hand against your ass. You yelp, but he smooths it over with the carress of his palm.
"Why are you surprised, my hare? Have I not fulfilled my blessing?"
"I'm-- I'm on birth control! That's the only reason I said yes, I can't raise a baby," you huff.
"Not a human child. You will hatch another god. She will know her purpose the moment she hatches, and will take flight to it... We dragon's do not dwell on sentimentality the way humans do... Our affection for our birth is shown in our magic and prowess... Not hanging around as useless, crying, flesh... Your daughter will bless you, much like Lin as the Iron Fist."
Your eyes widening in shock, unable to process which sentence was crazier than the last.
"What the fuck are you talking about!"
"You are immortal now, (Y/n) (L/n). Your have bore the seed of the next generationg of gods."
"What!"
You heard the voices warp, as Lin speaks, "(Y/n) I didn't know this would happen."
"What... The fuck... " you whisper, blinking, "so do I sit on it until then- o-or?" A humiliated flush covers your cheeks as your turn back slowly, carefully sitting down on your sore, stretched out ass.
"I will guide her in the realm of the gods. She cannot stay here on Earth. But she will return to grant you one blessing, before she starts her eternal journey at home... Where she belongs. We dragon's are not meant to be bound to humans... But I am. For the--"
You gasp, "Wait!"
"Yes, my hare?"
You point at Lin's body, "He's The Immortal Iron Fist?"
"Yes. He is my vessel."
Your slaw lacks.
"Your friends will be arriving soon. I must take my leave, my hare. I will breed you again, for I must spread my seed--"
"What!"
"Until then, I implore you to enjoy my vessel..."
The smoke and plasma mix together spining above Lin's head, and out of it comes a glorious dragon. Heat surges the room, as the flying serpent is made of pure fire, it swallows the egg up in an instant, turning back from wince it came and descending into the cloud of smoke into Lin's body.
You watch Lin surge and gasp, no longer drowned in a shadow haze. His skin flushed and bright, his lips bright red and bruised, the taste of pussy still lingering on his taste buds. You watch his shaggy, sweaty hair lean down over his raven locks, his sweet eyes wide with shock.
No one says a word.
You slowly drop your head down onto the sleeping bag.
"What the fuck just happened?"
There's a this guilty look on his face as he sits next to your feet. "I'm sorry about that I-- Trust me, (Y/n), I did everything in my power to stop that. Shit, once Shao Lao learned I like you... In that way... He sort of... Listen I'll tell him off, me or him, we won't ever see you again. This will not happen again I will assure you."
You pause, quietly staring at the top of the tent. "Nah," is all you whisper.
He perks up, "What?"
"Don't go away... I sort of... I like you Lin... I tried to deny it, but I do. I was so worried about you, you know... I'm sorry for... My part in this... If I said no then we wouldn't be here," you sigh.
He gasps, "Oh god, no, I should be apologizing.. No matter what I'm the one who should've--"
"I'm not mad, Lin," you flush.
"I yet you're saying that now but--"
You wince, "For fucks sake, Lin! I'm saying--" you stop, watching as he leans forward, eyes plagued with worry. You pause and correct your tone, "I'm saying I liked it... I liked it. I mean its kind of an honor to be fucked by Shao Lao... I wanted it, and I don't really care about the damn dragon god baby- if its anything like its father it'll fuck off and be conceited-- I just... I want my bachelors, and... I don't mind... Seeing you, m-more after this."
Lin stares at you with bewilderment.
You squeak ans hide underneath your palms, "God this is too surreal."
He gulps, "W-Welcome to the superhero squad?" He tries to be funny.
"Fuck you," you're mad, but, a grin splits your face open, man your pussy feels good. You were stunning in the after glow. You'd do it again, with Shao Lao. And as you glance up at Lin, who flashes an amazed smile at you. You'd do it again with Lin too
He lays down next to you, folding his arms on his chest. "You're pretty kinky, (Y/n). You always seemed so regal," he whispers it. His face bright red.
"I can't believe you're Iron Fist," you mumble. You look over at him, he joins you. "You think my dragon'll grant me with riches," you blink.
"Mm," he looks up in thought, "Maybe. They usually gift items. Like my family's heritage is a sword. Maybe... Maybe you'll get a lucky necklace that makes extra money grativate in your life." He blinks at you.
"Mm... Maybe that's shallow thing to ask," you sigh
"Nothin' wrong with money. I like money," Lin speaks. "Besides, you can ask for something else after the second dragon you make," he giggles, leaning up and wrapping arms around you.
"Yeah I could-- Hey! S-Second," you whisper, laying hands on his broad shoulders.
He chuckles heartily, caressing your face with his thumb. "You okay? How's your body?"
"It's fine actually, it doesn't hurt surprisingly? Maybe the egg's got something to do with it," you whisper.
He sighs, "Good. I'm glad you're safe." You relax with Lin, as he drops his forehead down against yours, releasing a relieved sigh. You revel in the soft tranquility, its a great contrast to the endless brutality of Shao Lao.
God what the is your life going to be like now with these two. Or well one, who knows if Shao'll be back next full moon. He's got a baby to take care of. Lin helps you onto your side and spoons you, wrapping a warm hand around you, cupping a titty while he's there. He buries himself into your shoulder, running his nose along your edges. You flush.
You squeak out, "Why's this more embarrassing than the..." Although you can't finish your sentence, he chuckles, but he doesn't flee from giving you affection.
"Actually--"
"(Y/n)! (Y/n)," You hear Peter shriek from distance.
The two of you shout, "Oh fuck!"
You scramble to get dressed, but you're too weak to stand. He ushers you into the sleeping bag once his pants are back on, and he tries to wipe away the cum stains with his shredded hoodie. When the flurry of voices searching for you get closer.
Lin frantically unzips the tent,sticking his arm out as he waves bashfully to everyone. He's mer with a flashlight the the face. "She's fine! She's here! She-- uh... Ran back to," he doesn't have to finish it. Everyone can get the vibe from here.
Afterall Lin's disheveled, sweaty, and shirtless. It's MJ who laughs first, mostly in a mixture of pure horror and relief. Then the rest of the club follows short, but Peter's quick to dismiss everyone.
"Alright! Shows over go off to bed guys," he cries. MJ slicks off into Peter's tent, and Peter's takes the time to frantically rush over to Lin. His eyes are bulged out, terror in his voice, "Dude? Does she know? Is she okay? Did Shao do anything?"
Lin shushes him, glancing back you with a reassuring smile before whispering, "She knows I'm IronFist, and it's a crazy story that I'll tell you later - But Pete' she's immortal now too."
tw: afab reader, p links, rough sex, dp, threesomes, oral (fem and male receiving), size kink, anal, breeding, toys, monsterfucking(?), general horniness
! rivals women p links here !
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ADAM WARLOCK
↪ adam loooooves taking it slow, not even bothering to slip you out of your panties, rubbing himself against your puffy clit. your slick heavily coats his tip, and he indulges you by putting just a little bit of his dick in shallow stokes before pulling out, just to do it all over again.
BLACK PANTHER
↪ it’s like a symphony in t’challa’s ears – the rhythmic clapping of your ass alongside your deliciously sweet moans. the man owns an intergalactic empire, and yet his favorite place ever is right under your body where he can plunge deep into your cute holes while holding you tight.
BLADE
↪ when you feel like taking charge, eric just lays back and enjoys the view. your confident smirk hovering over his face while you set your own pace – slow and deep, just like he likes it. it’s even better when you reach a hand down to help your pussy out in stroking his fat dick.
BRUCE BANNER
↪ bruce is the definition of a munch. this man will press your legs against your stomach and bury his face in your pussy without you uttering so much as a word. lapping at your leaking hole, drooling on your sensitive clit, there’s no doubt he’s in this for the love of the game.
CAPTAIN AMERICA
↪ steve’s entire body underwent a massive upgrade thanks to the super soldier serum, and his dick was no exception. it’s so hard for him to get past the tip inside you despite how badly he wants it :( next time you better slobber over it some more before trying to take on his monster.
CLOAK (+ BONUS DAGGER)
↪ you can’t have tyrone without tandy, whether anyone would want to or not, so why not make the most out of it? you and tandy take turns on his cock, helping each other take as much as you can, the sight of both your faces enough to help him release a thick, gooey load into your mouth.
DAREDEVIL
↪ patroling the streets is hard work, please let matt use your body to take out his frustration! it’s hard enough dealing with the evil in hell’s kitchen, he just wants to have some semblance of control. let him drive his cock deep into you and fuck you stupid so he can feel like he’s doing something right.
DOCTOR STRANGE
↪ stephen still knows how to use his fingers juuuust right when it comes to bringing you pleasure. two digits are all he needs to stretch you out, readying you for his thick aching dick. he uses his magic to create a makeshift cockring that is snug enough to swell his already large member that stuffs you full.
GAMBIT
↪ remy is a kinky motherfucker – sex is always something new with him. recently, he discovered just how much you moan and babble nonsense when he charges a bit of kinetic energy into his cock and drives it into your puckered asshole. a few thrusts in and you’re already begging him to let you cum.
HAWKEYE
↪ as much as he loves the act itself, clint gets a special kind of pleasure right after sex, when he pulls his dick out and finds his cum leaking out of you. he helps you clean up your messy pussy by pushing the mess running down your ass back up to your clit, giving it another little rub with his tip.
HUMAN TORCH
↪ even with all his experience, johnny still finds himself learning about what women like. ever since he found out how quickly you cum when he kisses you during missionary, it’s become like an addiction for him to lean down and make out with you while he drives his cock in and out of your sweet cunt.
IRON FIST
↪ lin is always so eager to do anything with you. sit on his face, rub him with your thighs, take his energetic thursts like a good girl and he’ll make you see stars. it’s not his fault you’re so soft and that your walls squeeze so tight around him every time that he always thinks he’lll cum too fast :(
IRON MAN
↪ only you knew how nasty tony could be. he’d already cum a couple of times, stuffing you full of his thick loads and soiling the sheets. the sight of your cunt taking him completely from behind, cum leaking and lube shining only makes him thrust harder and deeper to see how much bigger of a mess he could make.
LOKI
↪ what good are loki’s clones if he doesn’t use them on his pretty girl? it may take a lot of work to prep you every time to make sure you can take him in your ass and your pussy, sure, but it’s worth it when you moan like a pornstar every time he “accidentally” stuffs two dicks in one hole.
MAGNETO
↪ erik has some tolerance for your bratty behavior, but it sometimes gets to a point where he needs to shut you up the best way he can: using his large size to get on top of you and fuck your body into submission, just rough enough for you to stop your whining and start begging him to cum inside you.
MISTER FANTASTIC
↪ reed is one of the smartest men alive, and he uses this feat to analyze your reactions whenever he fucks you. he memorized the exact spot deep inside you that makes you moan the loudest and let out the most obscenities, focusing that one spot to drill into and overstimulate you.
MOON KNIGHT
↪ marc gets too into his head sometimes, often resulting in him muttering sweet praises in your ear while he continuously digs his cock deep into your cunt, far after you have already come twice. he doesn’t notice your fucked-out face or the fact that you’ve stopped responding coherently to his mumbling until after he’s buried a load inside you.
NAMOR
↪ namor is used to the royalty treatment as the king of the seas, and his authority extends to his favorite plaything: you. guiding your head down on his cock and stroking it against your cheek, he doesn’t miss an opportunity to remind you of your place and making sure you understand he owns you.
SPIDER-MAN
↪ peter may be too shy to admit it, but his favorite way to cum is after you’ve teased him to hell and back, stroking his cock and praising him for being such a gooood boy. he gets too loud, so be sure to put a hand on his mouth or stick your tongue down his throat to quiet his needy moans while his cum spurts out, tainting your hands.
STAR-LORD
↪ peter fucks you on the pilot seat of the guardians’ ship every time you ask him to. with the way you’re dripping at the thought of possibly getting caught and the quiet, shallow moans you let out as he moves your body up and down on his cock until you cum multiple times, how could he say no?
THE PUNISHER
↪ frank makes love to you in all kinds of different positions, but he always has his thick hands on you. he needs to feel you, to get as close as possible to you during this most vulnerable act to show you what he cannot always do with words: that he fucking loves you and the tight squeezing of your pussy as you milk him dry.
THE THING
↪ ben is HUGE. there’s no way to sugarcoat it, but the already large hunk of a man was only made larger after his transformation. thanks to reed and a specialized condom he designed for your pleasure, you and ben have been at it like horny teenagers every chance you get, making sure all you can think about is your lover’s thick cock splitting you open.
THOR
↪ size queens beware! thor has such a big, heavy cock that you can’t help but put it in your moth first thing when he takes it out his pants. his godliness shows in the way it hangs due to its own weight, like a trophy on display. don’t forget to play with his balls, hot and heavy, prepping the god-sized loads to come.
ULTRON
↪ ultron’s dislike of humanity comes through when he’s playing with you. he’s mean; he uses toys on you before he even thinks about letting you fuck him. hours go by with the vibrations on your clit pushing you to the edge of ecstasy until he takes the toy away completely, reveling in the way your tears flow down your face as you beg him to let you cum.
VENOM
↪ eddie tries his best to be gentle with you, but it’s so hard when he’s got you pinned down, balls deep in your warm holes. despite your incessant cries of pleasure, all he can hear in his head is the voice of a certain alien demanding him to breed her, breed her, breed her. we are insatiable.
WINTER SOLDIER
↪ bucky has been through so much that you take it upon yourself to take care of him. you eagerly do all the work, rhythmically fucking back into his dick with enough force to send ripples through the skin of your ass. he thinks you’re spoiling him with the way you focus on his pleasure first.
WOLVERINE
↪ when logan puts his mind to something, there’s no stopping him. that includes when he sets his mind to your pussy and demands you drop everything to sit on his face that instant. you leak your juices all over his jaw and hands as he alternates between prodding his tongue into your hole or curling his fingers into your soft spot.
a/n:
yeahhh I'm a huge pervert <3 i've been a fan of marvel in general for forever but there's something about the rivals' versions of these characters that make me feral
Pairing: Matt Murdock x depressed!fem!Reader Word Count: 4.5k
Warnings/tags: 18+; depiction of depression, suicidal ideation if you squint, confession of feelings, and angst with a hopeful ending [please don't read if any of this could be triggering]
Summary: It's been weeks that you've just been going through the motions day by day. But when you decline yet another invitation to Josie’s with your friends, a worried Matt takes it upon himself to check up on you.
a/n: This one is a little bit depressing because I've been going through some things and have been craving angst, but I promise the ending is hopeful. As mentioned in the tags, please don't read if you believe it might be triggering. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
Unsure how long you'd been sitting there entranced by the snow steadily accumulating along the tops of the parked cars lining the street below, you stared at the flurry of snowflakes blowing outside of the window. Tonight Hell's Kitchen was set afire by the orange glow of its street lights, the haunting warmth of them reflecting off of the snow banks. A few cars were carefully making their way through the mess of slush and ice along the road, otherwise it seemed bleak and lifeless in the city this evening.
Personally you’d always hated how little sunlight there was during the winter months. On weekdays you rose in the mornings to get ready for work before the sun had even risen. By the time you'd even managed to leave the office after work, the sun had already set. For you, most days this time of year passed by with you barely seeing more than a sliver of sunlight–because your small cubicle certainly didn't have any windows. And it wasn't likely that you would ever find yourself working anywhere with an actual view.
Resting your forehead against the chilled glass of your living room window, you released a nearly inaudible sigh as you stared out into the blackness of the night. You probably should have been doing a number of other things right now–cleaning up the dishes that had piled in your sink, taking your growing load of laundry to the laundromat a block over, or even compiling a grocery list to stock your empty fridge. But instead you just sat there leaning over the armrest of your couch, losing count of how many taxis you'd seen skid across the icy road while imagining what it might feel like if one of them just lost control and careened straight into you on the crosswalk below.
You were so far tucked into your mind that when a dark shape dropped down onto your fire escape mere inches from your face, you had barely even reacted. Instead your eyes slowly rose up, your gaze gradually trailing its way up along the black-clad figure. Though you didn't need to see the mask covering the man's face to know who'd just landed on your fire escape. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen–or rather, one of your best friends and the subject of your unrequited affections, Matthew Murdock.
“Do you mind?” Matt's muffled voice came from outside, a hand gesturing to the window. “It's kind of cold out here.”
Pushing yourself away from the glass, you rose from the couch and stepped over to the window, reaching up and unlatching the locks. You began to slide the window up as high as it could go before stepping aside to let Matt in. A frigid gust of air and a flutter of snowflakes followed behind him as he slipped through the opening.
Sinking back into the same spot on your couch without a word, you watched as Matt turned and shut the window after himself. A dusting of snow sat along his muscular shoulders, the white a sharp contrast to all of his black. For a moment all you could do was stare at the little flecks of white, watching as they slowly began to disappear, melting into the darkness.
The sound of Matt clearing his throat broke through your daze, pulling you back to reality. He looked good standing in your living room wearing his makeshift vigilante costume. Honestly a part of you hated whenever he stopped by your apartment dressed like this solely for that reason. Because it physically pained you to look at him, especially as you watched him reach a gloved hand up to remove the mask from off of his head, the cloth giving way to reveal his face.
He was still the most beautiful thing in your life.
“Hey,” Matt greeted, sounding slightly winded. He tossed his mask onto your coffee table, running a hand through his mussed hair as he strode towards the couch to take a seat beside you. “We missed you at Josie’s tonight.”
You fought down the doubtful scoff at his comment. It seemed highly unlikely that Matt, Karen, and Foggy had truly missed your melancholic presence at the bar tonight. The three of them could often hold full conversations before they even remembered you were silently sitting at the table with them. Which was partly why you hadn't felt like meeting them again tonight for drinks, because you were tired of feeling like the often forgotten fourth wheel of the group.
You shrugged weakly. “Wasn't in the mood for Josie’s,” you simply said.
“Seems you haven't been in the mood for Josie’s for awhile,” Matt gently pointed out. “It's been weeks since you last joined us there.”
“Oh,” you replied.
Truthfully you didn't know exactly how long it had been since you'd last met them all there for drinks after work. The days had all blurred together lately. Maybe that explained why Matt had been so persistent on the phone when he'd called after work and continued to try and convince you to join them. But even he didn't succeed.
“Is everything alright with you?” Matt asked, his brows creasing together as his eyes fixed somewhere around your chin. “Because you seem…distant lately. Quieter than usual.”
“I'm always quiet,” you countered.
“Yes, well,” Matt said, shooting you one of his charming smiles meant to ease the tension in the room. “You seem like you're even more lost in thought than usual.”
You shrugged again before slumping back into the couch cushions. “Is that so wrong?”
The frown on Matt's mouth deepend further. “Depends,” he answered.
“On what?” you asked.
You noticed his brief hesitation, the slight pause as his head titled just a bit to the side. His eyes were scanning you now, traveling around the space you occupied beside him.
You knew what he was doing. Reading you. Reading your body with his senses in a way that only he could. Usually that made you uncomfortable whenever you caught him doing it because you were uncertain what he might learn–like your feelings for him. So generally you called him out on it. But not tonight. Tonight you just…didn't have the energy for it.
“It depends on what you're thinking about,” Matt finally answered.
“Nothing really,” you told him.
Matt's shoulders dropped at your response, the corners of his lips twitching downwards. You caught the way his eyes tightened in something akin to frustration. It was obvious what was coming next–the patented Matthew Murdock attempt to pry too hard for answers. Though fortunately for you he wouldn't be using his fists to get them.
“Talk to me,” Matt ordered, shifting on the couch to face you more fully. “What's going on? Why are you shutting yourself off from everyone?”
You pulled a face at the accusation. “That’s not what I’m doing,” you argued. “Besides, isn’t that the kettle calling the pot black or something?”
“You've been avoiding all of us for weeks,” Matt pointed out, ignoring your attempt to divert his attention. “Always making some excuse not to come out, or that you’re too tired for anyone to stop over. And you've been ignoring all of our calls.”
“I have not,” you disagreed. “I spoke to you on the phone earlier tonight.”
“Yeah,” Matt swiftly agreed with a nod. “But that was only because I called you about eight times before you finally answered.”
His lips pursed tight together, looking as if he was internally conflicted for a second like there was more he wanted to say. You wondered why he’d even hesitated because in all the time you’d known Matt, he wasn’t usually the type to hold his tongue.
“I've noticed you're always in your bed when I pass by at night,” he finally said. “Earlier than when you’d usually go to sleep. And I know you're not actually sleeping.”
Your chest tightened at the knowledge that Matt had been checking in on you in the evenings without you knowing. How much had he overheard while you’d been in your apartment?
Eyes dropping down to your hands, you began to nervously pick at your fingernails. “I have a hard time falling asleep,” you mumbled.
“I can smell the tears,” Matt told you. “Even from outside your apartment. You can't hide them from me. For weeks now I've noticed you lying in bed just crying at night.” He paused, shaking his head and briefly wincing before he continued. “Something is going on and you're shutting us out. I'm not stupid. I know what you're doing. So just–just tell me what's going on. Please.”
You contemplated lying even though you knew he'd be able to tell. Then you contemplated making up something just to get him to stop asking questions. You even contemplated telling him off for eavesdropping before cursing him out for invading your privacy. But what surprised you was how you felt compelled to just tell him the truth. Because you were just too damn tired to do anything else.
“Why?” you asked weakly. “Why do you want to know?”
Matt’s entire face tightened, looking as if he was offended you'd even asked him that. Then seconds later his expression abruptly shifted to irritation and you braced yourself at the sight of it.
“Because I care about you!” he snapped, his frustration finally coming out. “We all do! And we're concerned about you! How do you not get that?”
You flinched at the volume of his voice, shrinking in on yourself on the couch. Matt had never spoken to you like that before and it had taken you by surprise. Clenching your jaw tighter, you began to pick faster at your nails. Beside you Matt released a sigh, his head dropping down towards his chest as one of his gloved hands reached up, the heel of it rubbing at his temple.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’m just worried, okay? I didn’t mean to yell. I just want to help.”
“Sometimes you can’t.”
The words had slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. Like a knee-jerk reaction. Out of your peripheral you saw Matt’s head raise up again, his eyes landing near you on the couch. You froze, your fingers halting their fidgeting.
“What?” he asked softly.
“Sometimes you can’t,” you repeated. “Sometimes there's people you can’t help, Matt.”
His eyes narrowed back at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tongue feeling heavy in your mouth as you tried to swallow back the lump forming in your throat, you knew there was no turning back now. He’d only pry harder if you tried to push him away at this point. Being as stubborn as Matt was, you wouldn’t put it past him to sit on your couch until the sun came up waiting for you to tell him what he wanted.
So with a heavy sigh, you finally gave in.
“Do you ever feel like you're just…making it?” you hesitantly asked Matt.
Finally tearing your eyes from your hands, you looked in his direction, though your gaze didn't quite land on him. Rather it hovered somewhere just over his shoulder as you stared at a patched over spot on the wall. Ever since you'd moved here you’d often wondered how it had gotten there.
“How so?” he questioned.
“Like you're just getting by–day to day, week to week?” you explained. “As if your life isn't actually going anywhere? Like you're barely holding it together and you're just one little thing from it completely falling apart? And maybe you’ve finally just, I don’t know, become numb to the fear of that happening? Because who cares, really. What does it matter?”
Matt shifted a bit closer to you on the couch, moving slow and careful like he didn’t want to startle you. “Is that how you’ve been feeling? Like things don’t matter?”
Your eyes slid over from the patched up space on the wall and finally landed back on Matt’s face. You recognized the look there instantly. Genuine concern was written in the way his eyes were pinched tight and fixed along your chest; the firm set of his lips as his head tilted marginally to the side proving how gravely invested he was in the conversation. It was the same way he looked whenever he was intensely focused on someone out in Hell's Kitchen in need of help. You’d seen it on his face in the past when he was here as the Devil, right before he’d jump out of your window to go find whoever it was that needed him.
But right now he was using that look on you. The gravity of it had you sitting there with your lips parted feeling like you were on the verge of either fully opening up or completely closing yourself off to him.
And then, somehow all at once, everything poured forth from you like a teetering cup finally spilling over.
“I mean I get up, brush my teeth, get ready for work, see all the neverending and overwhelming terrible shit on the news in the morning like that's normal while I drink down a massive coffee just to survive the day. Then I go to work, smile at all the right moments, make inane small talk while feeling utterly invisible busting my ass knowing that I'm never getting that damn promotion let alone a pay raise just so I can afford to actually live out here,” you continued, everything you'd been holding back just falling out of you in a rush of words. “Then I what? Go home and cook and eat and wash the dishes and go to bed? Except going to sleep is a chore. Trying to quiet my mind is exhausting. Facing the same demons in my sleep night after night is too much. And then,” you said, aware that Matt's face had fallen, his hands gently gripping your knees even though you hadn't felt when he'd actually grabbed them, “the morning comes.”
When you didn't elaborate further Matt's head curiously tilted to the side.
“Isn't that good?” he questioned.
“Is it?” you asked in return.
There was a long pause, a silence filled with so many unspoken words. As you sat there staring at Matt, you could see the thoughts racing in his mind. You kept quiet as you wondered which one would eventually win out. Because you knew Matt. You knew he'd have something to say. But for some reason that also scared you a little.
When he finally spoke he said your name, the sound of it different than usual as it rolled off of his tongue–somehow tender and delicate. It took you entirely off guard, something stirring within you at the way he'd spoken it. There was an emotion struggling to break past the dam that had been staving your feelings off for weeks now, but you chose to push it back down in the moment. With your own mind spiraling, you continued on.
“There’s like this–this emptiness,” you confessed. “It’s heavy but it feels like nothing at all. You know? And it just sits right here–” You laid a hand flat across your chest, noticing the tears building in Matt’s eyes as they followed the movement. “It’s like there’s a hole. Like a blackhole just sucking everything into it lately. Everything . And I can’t do anything about it. Do you know what I mean? It’s just there .”
You paused, licking your lips as you felt the heaviness of that metaphorical blackhole in your chest weighing you down even now. It wasn’t until Matt’s hands gripped your knees tighter that you remembered he was still touching you.
“It’s just always there,” you said, slowly losing momentum. “And I’m just left wondering how far does that emptiness go? Does it ever end?”
A long, heavy silence filled the room when you’d finally quieted. Gaze dropping down to Matt’s gloved hands still gripping your knees, you suddenly found yourself feeling ridiculous for having spilled all of that to him. You’d never gotten that personal with Matt before, certainly not about your struggles with depression. And now here you’d just dumped it on him all at once.
“I'm sorry,” you blurted, shaking your head. “That was–”
“Stop,” he ordered.
Mouth still hanging open, you stared back at him dumbfounded. He was sitting there on the couch with tears brimming in his eyes, his lips quivering as if he was struggling not to start crying himself. You felt horrible for having unloaded on him like that, for making him feel like he currently felt.
“I’m sor–”
“ Stop ,” he repeated.
Matt's hands released your knees, sliding up the outside of your thighs so carefully before they made their way towards your back. Before you'd known what was even happening, he was pulling you straight into himself on the couch, drawing you right into his chest. You didn’t fight him, not even as his strong arms encircled your waist and held you tight. Your own arms remained at your side, your cheek pressed right up against Matt’s firm shoulder as you sat there uncertain how to react.
“I didn’t know,” Matt whispered.
You frowned, shaking your head against his shoulder. “It wasn’t on you to know, Matt,” you replied. “I didn’t want anyone to know. That was the point.”
“Yes, but I’d heard you crying for weeks now–”
“Probably shouldn’t be eavesdropping then,” you muttered.
“–and I didn’t piece anything together,” he continued. “I figured maybe you were going through a breakup or something. From one of those dating app things you use. I didn’t know it was something much more serious.”
“I’m fine ,” you assured him.
“No, you’re not,” he countered, his arms holding you even tighter to the front of himself as if that alone could keep you from falling apart. “You’re not, not if you feel like that. And maybe–maybe you should talk to someone,” he suggested carefully. “Because you know it's okay if you need to. There's nothing wrong with seeking help.”
“What do you mean?” you asked. “Like a therapist?”
“If that's what would help, yes,” he answered. “But you know you're not alone, right? I'm always here. Always . So are Karen and Fog. You can talk to us, too.”
Turning your head, you attempted to hide your face against his shoulder. With your nose pressed against his spandex shirt, you could easily smell his sweat from his evening running around the city. The scent of it surrounding you felt both oddly comforting and strangely intimate.
“I don't want to put this on any of you,” you mumbled into his shirt.
“You know,” Matt began slowly, resting his chin lightly atop your head, “it's okay to let other people in. You don't have to keep everyone at a distance like you usually do. Some of us want to get closer to you.”
“Not to this part of me,” you whispered. “Not to this…dark part of me.”
“I let you into mine,” Matt quietly pointed out. “You might have accidentally discovered I was the Man in Black, but the rest of it? The heightened senses? The night I started going out like this? My childhood?” He shifted above you, turning his face so he could bury it against the top of your head. “I showed you the darker parts of me. I let you in.”
You knew he was right the moment he'd said it. Matt had told you so much about himself after you'd accidentally uncovered his big secret. He'd revealed so much about his dad's passing and the pain of his mentor, Stick, disappearing on him. He'd told you about his struggles hearing the people of Hell’s Kitchen in need of help and how he just couldn't ignore it any longer. He'd even told you about his ex, Elektra, and how she'd abandoned him like so many others in his life. But you'd never understood why he had.
“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “You did. Though I've never understood why you let me in like you did. Because you definitely don't let others in, either, Matt. Foggy doesn't even know most of what you've told me.”
Above you Matt shifted, turning to rest his cheek against the top of your head. You sat in his embrace with your arms awkwardly at your side, that strange feeling he'd stirred awake in you just minutes ago steadily demanding to be felt.
“I thought it would have been obvious,” Matt began. “Because I'm always stopping by to see you here when I'm out. Always calling and inviting you out to Josie’s because I want you there. Letting you see all of me when I don't show anyone else.”
Your face scrunched up at his words, uncertain if he was getting at what you thought he might be getting at. Bottom lip rolling between your teeth, you began to nervously gnaw at it as you felt one of his hands begin to absently rub a soothing circle on your back.
“I care about you,” he confessed. “As more than a friend. I have for a long time.”
You nearly stopped breathing at his surprising admission, your body going still in his arms. This was not how you saw the evening going when he appeared on your fire escape.
“I always just figured the whole Man in Black thing was too much for you,” he continued. “So I never said anything. But I always thought you knew that's how I felt.”
“I–I didn't,” you whispered, still stunned.
Matt cleared his throat, his hand stopping its absent movement on your back. You missed the comfort of it immediately.
“I'm sorry, this isn't the time or place for this conversation,” Matt apologized. “I just…always thought you knew.”
Your own arms hesitantly found their way around Matt’s waist, finally hugging him in return. Somehow you felt his hold on you tighten further in response, a small smile slipping onto your face.
“You're right, it's not the time,” you agreed. “But for the record, I've always cared about you as more than a friend, too. I just figured you didn't feel the same or were just too busy to, you know, want something more.”
Another silence fell between the pair of you as you sat there curled around each other on your couch. Your eyes closed when his hands once more began their comforting movements along your back, your own hands fisting around the material of his shirt. For the first time in a long time you didn't feel so alone. For once you felt seen.
“You know something,” you whispered, breaking the stillness of your apartment.
“What?” Matt whispered against your hair.
“I get it,” you told him. Shifting in his arms, you unburied your face from its place against him, once more resting your cheek against his shoulder instead as you spoke. “I get why you do it. Why you go out at night like this,” you told him. “Because of the pain raging inside of you–the same thing I feel sometimes. And because of how it feels like the world is sometimes falling apart around us. Because it's hard to just sit back and feel like there's nothing you can do, nothing you can change.”
You paused, your own arms holding onto him a little tighter. Matt had gone still though, as if he was intensely focused on everything you were saying.
“If I could go out and save a life, or stop a mugging, or save a child from their parents’ abuse, or rescue a young woman from an assault, I would.” A tear slipped out of your eye as you paused to exhale a shuddering breath. “And if I could hear so many others in pain, I would be going out and doing something about it, too. So I get it, Matt. Why you do what you do. And I honestly don't think that's dark at all despite how you often talk about it.”
“No?” he whispered.
“No,” you replied. “I think it's admirable. I've always thought that.”
At first Matt didn't respond, and as the silence grew around the pair of you, you wondered if you'd finally said too much tonight. Gone too far. But then you felt something gently fall into your hair, and then another and another. It took a moment before you realized they were droplets of tears.
Crying. Matt was crying.
“I'm sorry,” you apologized automatically, your arms attempting to unwrap from around him as you tried to pull away. “I'm so sor–”
“I said stop,” he croaked out, his arms still encircled around you, keeping you in place against his chest. “Stop apologizing.”
“I–I don't–” you stammered in confusion. “I didn't mean to upset you, Matt.”
“I'm not upset,” he explained, removing his face from where it had been pressed to the top of your head. “It's just hearing that from you,” he began slowly, “it…means more than you know. Because I–I have always thought there was something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Matt,” you immediately assured him.
“Well there's nothing wrong with you, either,” he told you.
Tears brimmed in your eyes instantly. The dam that had felt like it was holding back all of your feelings lately–the dam that had been keeping you numb–suddenly felt as if it had finally broken as the first few tears slipped down your cheeks.
“Like I said, I know this isn't exactly the time for this conversation, but I just wanted you to know that you matter to someone,” Matt confessed. “Because you matter to me.”
Hands gripping firmly onto Matt as if he was grounding you as all your emotions came surging forth, your tears continuing to fall, you whispered back, “You matter to me, too.”
You felt Matt's mouth lightly press a kiss to the top of your head. As his lips lingered, an unexplainable weightlessness filled you.
“And while I don't have an answer for how you're feeling,” he said softly, “I want you to know that I'm here. Whenever you need me. However you need me. Okay? Because you're not alone. You're never alone.”
Eyes slowly closing as you began to finally relax in his embrace, you felt the tears spill in steady streams down your cheeks. Maybe not everything was quite as bleak as your mind had led you to believe lately. Maybe there was still some good in the world to be grateful for. And maybe you did need to finally reach out and get some help.
But for now, you just liked the idea of not crying alone in your bed again.
“Is it too much to ask you to stay with me for a bit?” you asked hopefully. “I wouldn't mind having some company tonight.”
Matt placed another soft kiss into your hair. “I'll stay as long as you want, sweetheart,” he promised.
in the afterglow
jason todd x reader ⋆˚࿔ fluff, suggestive
You barely finish stretching before Jason’s arm hooks around your waist and drags you back against his chest. He’s six feet tall and built like he could break you in half (and he basically just did), but right now he’s all slow kisses and sleepy weight, his body warm and heavy behind you.
"Where d'you think you're going?" His voice is rough, still catching on the edges of breathlessness.
"To the bathroom," you laugh. "I need to pee."
He shifts his weight more fully on top of you, tangling his legs with yours. One hand splays possessively across your ribs, right where he can feel you breathe. “In a minute.” His fingers wander, lazy and unhurried, tracing patterns along your hip, your stomach—anywhere he can reach—as if committing you to memory all over again.
When you finally manage to slip free, Jason's quick to raid the kitchen. He beats you back to bed, and you return to find him waiting with your favorite snacks spread around him, sharp eyes gone hazy and fond as they follow you. He's all lean muscle and messy dark hair, scars mapping stories across his skin. The shadowed line of hair from his navel disappears beneath the sheets, and your gaze lingers there long enough for warmth to pool low in your belly all over again.
The second you're within reach, he pulls you into his lap and lights up. He feeds you a bite, then presses the warm joint to your lips. The rhythm comes easy between you: his thumb brushes crumbs from your cheek before he steals smoky kisses between drags—your neck, your shoulder, the soft spot behind your ear—like restraint simply isn’t an option.
"Clingy," you tease.
“Yeah.” His arm tightens instinctively around you. “Problem?”
You shake your head. Of course there isn’t one. Not when he’s close and yours like this, his fingers in your hair and his heartbeat under your palm. Not when he murmurs sweet nothings against your skin about how good you are, how perfect, how he’s never letting you go. Not when he's settled in a way he rarely allows himself to be.
The rest of the night blurs soft—snacks forgotten, smoke dissipating—and he keeps you close as you both grow drowsy and sated, wrapped up so completely in each other that you can't tell where you end and he begins.
synopsis: reader is a freak for some stinky and beat up men <33 who can blame her!
warnings: nsfw content, messy, sweaty, and bloody/injured men (wrio and varka), reader is wearing a dress in all three parts + is described as being shorter (dilucs), reader referred to as a lady, little miss, baby, darling, technically outdoor/public sex because of the locations, wound tending my beloved, lots of cum and sweat n blood mentioned throughout! there is also like no dialogue here just horny IM SORRY LOL. 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐊/𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈
The uncrowned king of Mondstadt is a gentleman, a pointed and slight bow of his head to those who pass by him on his way to the tavern for an evening shift, opening doors for ladies always, offering his arm to the elderly when they’re trying to shuffle down the stairs in the towns main square. It’s simple, despite Diluc’s more grand and elegant presence from being a man of stature, he is awfully gallant.
So when you approach him as he’s in the middle of one of his strenuous training sessions with his claymore at the Winery, he does believe there should be a semblance of modesty for a ladies sake, and reaches for his shirt despite the hot sun beaming onto his broad, freckled shoulders. But your dainty hand stops him, eyeing his bare heaving chest and the sweat that slowly glides down the tantalizing planes of his abdomen with fluttering lashes. Diluc looks to you with a questioning brow, adams apple bobbing as your manicured fingers slowly walk themselves up his forearm where the veins twitch and bulge, until you gently cup his jaw with a little smile, leaning up on your toes to steal a kiss. He hesitates.
“I’m very sweaty, darling, you should let me wash up before I kiss you.” he murmurs, heart hammering in his chest the closer you get to his glistening body.
“But….I quite like you this way ‘luc.” you promise, eyes flashing with sweet, pawing little hands that pin such a strong and powerful man such as Diluc right where he is, yearning and leaning into your touch.
Your hand wrapped around his cock is a sight, fat and throbbing and leaking rivulets or precum that bead down your knuckles as Diluc lets out short puffs of heated breath. Your name is warbled in his throat as he twitches against your palm, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours. You don’t mind in the least the sensation of his wet musk being smudged across your face, or the loud wet plaps of your fist gently smacking down against his sweaty thatch of pubic hair as you continue to stroke him while his hulking form hunches over you where you both find cover against the side of a tree. The cool breeze that shuffles softly through the leaves, and your eyes that shimmer with giddy pleasure and stay focused on him are the only things keeping Diluc from blacking out from the overwhelming bliss. For such a sweet little thing, Diluc is always surprised by how you sometimes are so very wanting of him in every state he’s shown you. Though he supposes he does appreciate it, selfishly and tenderly his jaw drops at your little kisses and mewls of praise to his chin that drips with sweat and plops onto your cleavage, sliding down between your breasts. His eyes burn and his cock kicks in your hand, losing his grip on his usual level headed posture as he groans deeply, moving his head down to your shoulder where he bites down softly and you gasp in response.
He’s just so wet, your other hand nearly slipping from his tightly wound shoulders as you hug him closer to you, your dress sticky with his sweat while he presses himself further into your loving touch. You know that he’s already apologizing to you in his head for how messy he’s making you, for how wrecked he is, but you only coo his name into his hair.
He can’t do anything except smear a desperate kiss to your neck as he lurches forward in your hold with a rasp. He would’ve nearly knocked you over with how hard his orgasm hit him had your back not been against the sturdiness of the tree, quickly holding himself up by slamming his forearm over your head against the trunk as he bites out a curse and the thick ropes of his release paint over your hand and up your arm. Blearily opening his eyes to see you peeking up at him you thread your fingers through his sweaty locks that stick to his neck, your arm and the front of your dress sodden with his release.
“I….you’re quite the mess now my love. It was not my intention to ruin your dress…though I will add that it was due to your impatience.” he remarks through a slightly shaky chuckle, “I will buy you a new one.” he adds breathlessly as his fingers move to hold your wrist where he swipes softly at the thick seed dribbling down your skin. You hum, allowing your dearest to bring his thumb to your lips where you suckle the salty substance away, eyes sweetly flickering up to his where he swallows down the vivacious want to suddenly have his way with you now.
Diluc is such a gentleman, yes, but admittedly you bring out such filthy desires from him that he cannot refuse.
He’s been used to this for awhile, patching himself up after his matches in the pankration ring. Wriothesley is used to the slices on his cheek that he applies salve to, to sucking the blood from his bottom lip between his teeth, to placing bandages across his bruised abdomen with a low hiss in the dim light of his office. He knows that Sigewinne would gladly (and has done so many times in the past) lend him a helping hand but Wriothesley insists to not be burdensome and that he’s capable of taking care of himself at his age.
You however, do not listen to his qualms about this. You’re all over him, stuffing yourself between his spread thick thighs to fuss over every cut and bruise that decorates his already rough and scarred skin, pink bandages being pressed to his scrapes that you swear you didn’t get from a certain melusine but was purchased yourself, special for your dear Duke.
Tonight he’s especially in need of your touch, he may be slow to admit that his opponent had quite the hands on him. Wriothesley won of course, an undefeated champion, but the generous combination of foamy spit and blood he just spat onto the concrete floor is just one way of telling you that this match was a close one. He looks at you only a little deliriously, one icy blue eye nearly swollen shut from the elbow he took to the eyebrow. You hum with gentle worry, no matter how many times you watch him fight it always sends waves of conflicting feelings through you. Arousal, fear, pride, anxiety, hopefulness, and more.
He’s looking at you a bit intently, like he’s going to insist that you don’t need to see him looking so rough and bloodied up, a little miss like yourself doesn’t need to be around this kind of scene. Around him.
You scoff, “I love you. No matter how messy.” you murmur, holding his face in your hands and knowing your palms will come away bloody and dirty. You kiss him and without hesitation your tongue glides into his mouth, tasting the copper of his bleeding lip.
He groans deeply, intoxicatingly, moving his bandaged hands to your hips to push your closer, then down to your ass to bunch up your dress and to squeeze the globes of your butt until you squeak against his mouth.
When you break the kiss, you’re surprised to see the pinky red tinged drool that strings between your lips and his, only breaking when you lick them curiously. Your mouth is stained red and Wriothesley fights with himself for a moment at the sight, you’re too sweet to look this way all for him. You however, pull him back in for another kiss and he grunts as he pulls you into his arms as all of his strength suddenly returns to him.
Your pussy splits for him, it always does as he works himself inside and you and the adrenaline from his match has him moaning deep and rumbling as he takes you right there on the boxing ring where blood still is spattered across the floor from the fight. His body covers yours as he kisses you and down your chest, lips leaving painted light red streaks along your heaving tits and his hips buck into you with the kind of adrenaline driven strength that has your blissed out wails echoing off the walls along with the sounds of your sopping hole sucking in his thick cock again and again, his body still soaked with sweat and it splatters up your belly every time he’s fully to the hilt in you. You look as wrecked but not as much as he does, your eyes rolling into your head as he sucks at your throat. The stinging pain of his still fresh bruises and scrapes have faded to a dull ache, now the roar of needing to fuck you full consuming the man who is so inclined to push down his heart and his wants, only wants you. You promise through a tiny hiccup that you’ll clean him up better, after this.
He only grins, red still on his teeth and he sucks them clean, stuffing you until he’s moaning with a rugged voice that you’re his prize, his reason for fighting, and you kiss him again, swallowing down the blood you taste on his mouth.
A man seasoned in battle, in things being rough and bleak but ever remaining with a fighting spirit and a brave heart, Varka has his moments when even his best attempts at finding the silver lining are tested. Still, he keeps up with his striving for things to feel like they’re on the path to victory, even after years of fighting. Although, one could say he has a weakness, and it’s admitted only to you, and against your smiling mouth when he’s kissing you.
You’re patient while you wait at the secret base, sitting up on one of the tables and swinging your feet, feeling the chill that you’re used to while staying in Nod Krai but also that you’re able to battle when Varka is curled against you and keeping you warm.
You hear a telltale clatter at the entrance, and hope that it is indeed your lover crossing the threshold. You’re already smiling as he rounds the corner but it drops when you make eye contact with him and Varka of all people gives you a half weary smile. He’s injured, not badly but it’s enough to make him groan and haphazardly drop his claymore against the wall instead of properly stored. You almost jump up to run to him but he approaches you with long legs and a state of sureness that he tends to carry with him, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his head on your shoulder. He exhales against your skin, smelling of dirt and dried blood, the familiar leather and musky notes underneath in your nose as he groans in your arms.
“I’m alright, I promise.” he utters with a chuckle, leaning up to kiss your lips. You look at him a bit accusingly.
“You’re hurt, Varka.”
“I’m just an old man, baby” he quips, kissing you again, this time with his wide palms that are dirty, prominent and bloodied knuckles are now squeezing your waist. Perhaps that’s partially true, and you start to inspect him a bit more, shoving his coat off his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt while he winces. You discover a modest sized wound on his side, bruised all around it and he grumbles that you should see the other guy. Your fingers glide down his abdomen towards his dark blonde happy trail, feeling his skin prickle at your touch.
“I’m filthy, yknow that right?” he breathes, quirking an eyebrow at you. You hum with a small smile, gently pulling him closer to you with spread legs as the hem of your dress is pushed up your thighs.
You glance at his wound, the gauze now wrapped tightly enough around his waist and the smell of the balm that you smeared across it before bandaging it, it’s doing well enough to aid in healing - but his heavy and frantic movements have you wondering if he might injure himself further.
He nudges your cheek with his nose, nipping at you to make you gasp and bring your full attention back to his cock punching at your most delicate and sensitive inner spots, pussy spasming at the sheer girth of him plunging in and out of you without any sign of slowing down as the table you’re still seated on rocks and rattles in the silence of the room. His biceps bulge as his arms lock under your knees to spread you wider, sweat beading on his temple and sliding down his jaw despite the chill of the nation that permeates everywhere. You gasp at the way he shoves himself deeper, your tummy clenching and pussy fluttering as he rocks into you harder. Your arms wind around his neck which only folds you up tighter in his hold, open mouthed kissing at his jaw between whiny panting and tasting the heavy musk of his previous strenuous fighting. Dirt and blood and sweat and you can’t bring yourself to care about the tinge of it all that covers your tongue when he’s fucking you so hard your eyes nearly cross. He grins at your body trembling for him, sucking his cock in hard while your nails slip and slide across his back to try and ground yourself before you cream around his unrelenting shaft, before he fills you so much it spurts out the sides of your pussy and dibbles onto the floor in a sticky, milky puddle.
Varka wont say he has a weakness to just anyone, but when you’re crying his name and kissing him even while beaten and bruised and sodden with sweat that ruins your dress, he grunts against your lips that you truly are his only one.
♡ reblogs and feedback very appreciated if you enjoyed!
A quiet Christmas night in Jason’s cabin safehouse turns anything but gentle when both of you give in to something messy, desperate, and entirely your own—just you, him, and the fire bearing witness.
Tags/CW: 18+, MDNI, Jason x fem!reader, smut, oral (f! receiving), Jason kisses his meal before he eats it, p in v, unprotected sex, making out (too much too sloppy), creampies, cuddling, estab!relationship.
Jason’s arms have always been big. Big enough to wrap around you and blot out the rest of the world, rough enough to feel real when everything else slips. They’ve always made you feel like you could hide there—press your forehead to the crook of his neck and just disappear.
Now that there’s no noise to hear other than the soft cracking noise of wood burning in the flames, you realise, looking back in sprinkles of past thoughts, you’ve always wanted this.
The couches on either side of you remain forgotten, eerily still in the passage of time, they don’t have dents of conjoined body weight that strains their velvety pillows. All the hand woven throws on them, untouched, un-crinkled. No sign of them thrown off in a lazy sprawl.
You and Jason didn’t even look at them when you arrived at his safehouse cabin, having been drawn to the front of the fireplace, like moths to bright light —precious floor time, as you had called it earlier— you drifted fast to create your makeshift fortress.
And now here you are. His shoulder brushed against yours. His thigh warm where it rests beside your knee. The futon he insisted on bringing—because you mentioned, half-laughing, that hardwood floors would murder his spine—unfolded beneath you like he’d known you’d end up here.
Jason shifts beside you, slow and easy, enough that the futon dips and your hip nudges into his. He doesn’t move away—he never does. Instead, his arm settles behind you, brushing your back with that familiar, grounding warmth that always makes your shoulders drop a little.
The fire cracks softly, and the glow spilling over him feels unfair. All warm golds and long shadows, softening a man who spends the rest of the world hard-edged. Here, he’s just Jason. Your Jason. The one who always looks back at you like you’re the only steady thing he’s got.
You lean into him without thinking, letting your head rest against his shoulder. He shifts just the tiniest bit, settling you closer, like he was waiting for you to do exactly that and you coo into his warmth.
His fingers find your thigh in patterns of absentminded, lazy little circles that make it very hard to pretend you’re not melting. Not because it’s new, but because it’s him. Because somehow no amount of time together has made this feeling normal enough so that your heart doesn’t want to jump out of your chest.
The silence between you is thick but silky, like the blanket you’re both wrapped under. Not awkward. Not anticipatory. Just full of everything that doesn’t need to be spoken for you to feel it humming between your ribs.
Your hand drifts toward his on instinct, brushing across his knuckles before you weave your fingers through. Jason’s chest rises in slow, quiet breaths, the kind he only ever takes when he’s fully, privately at ease.
And then he hums, low in his throat—almost a laugh, almost a sigh.
“Y’know…” he murmurs, tilting his head just enough that his cheek grazes your hair, then your temple, “we’ve got two perfectly good couches behind us.”
You smile in his chest without lifting your head. “And?”
Jason’s thumb strokes along your thigh, slow enough to feel intentional.
“And we still end up right here.” He leans down just slightly, voice brushing your ear like a secret. “Pressed up against each other on the floor like teenagers.”
He pauses, warm lips grazing your temple.
“Not that I’m complaining. Just saying… there’s gotta be a reason.”
Jason shifts just enough for his nose to skim your hair, his voice dipping into that gravelly, amused tone he saves for when he’s about to get under your skin.
“‘Cause if I didn’t know any better…” his fingers slide a little higher on your thigh, just enough to make you breathe in, “I’d think you drag me down here on purpose.”
You pull back half an inch to give him a look, but he catches your chin lightly between two fingers, smirking.
“Mmhm,” he hums, eyes half-lidded, way too pleased with himself.
It earns him a chuckle from the depths of your throat.
“Act innocent all you want.” You tell him “Every damn time we’ve got a surface to lay down, a blanket, and five minutes alone? You end up glued to my side.”
He scoffs—mostly because you’re right.
“And what about you?” He mumbles.
“Must you need the confirmation?”
Jason nods, then laughs under his breath, warm and low. He presses his forehead to yours, grin softening into something deeper.
“Baby,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your jaw, “you think I’d sit anywhere else when I could have you right here? Not a chance.”
His lips hover a breath above yours before he adds, teasing but honest enough to crack you open a little
“Besides… you get real cuddly on the floor. Kinda my weakness.”
You don’t even try to hide your smile this time—it just blooms, warm and helpless, because he’s doing that thing again. That thing where he teases you until you’re flustered, then softens at the last second like he can’t help giving you the truth underneath.
“Your weakness, huh?” you whisper, lips brushing his.
Jason’s smirk tilts, lazy and fond. “Mm. Big one.”
And then he kisses you.
Not hungrily. Just slow—achingly slow—like he’s got all night and wants to savor every second of it. His hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you in, and your fingers curl into the front of his shirt without thinking. The fire pops behind you, sending a warm ripple across your skin, but Jason is warmer, deeper, steadier.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to nudge his nose against yours. “See?” he murmurs, breath ghosting your mouth. “Floor time makes you sweet.”
You shove him lightly in the chest, mostly to hide the way your heart just stuttered, but he only laughs, low and amused, and pulls you straight back into him. This time he lies back on the futon, tugging you with him until you end up half sprawled across his chest.
“‘M always sweet you asshole.”
“Aha, indeed.”
His arm wraps around your waist. Solid muscle, heat, that quiet strength you never have to ask for. You settle into him, your cheek pressed to the spot just over his heartbeat, and he exhales like you’ve put him exactly where he’s meant to be.
The firelight dances across the room. His fingers trace lazy patterns up and down your spine.
After a minute, he speaks again—soft, teasing, but quieter, like he’s letting his guard slip a little.
“Gotta admit…” he murmurs into your hair, “I like when you curl up on me like this.”
You tilt your head up, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”
He looks down at you, eyes warm enough to ruin you.
“Yeah,” he says, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Makes me feel like I’m… I don’t know, needed!? Yours...”
Your breath catches—so subtle you’re not sure he noticed.
But he did. And his hand stills on your back, fingertips sinking in just slightly.
“Jay..”
“’Cause I am,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “You know that, right?”
Jason’s words are still hanging in the air when you shift on him—slowly, like you’re sliding into a better position without any particular intention.
But he knows better.
Your leg drapes across his waist. Just a little weight. Just enough to make his breath catch. Barely.
You pretend not to notice.
Instead, you nuzzle into the warm column of his throat, lips brushing the skin there like an accident. A soft, lingering accident. Jason’s hand on your back flexes, fingertips digging in for half a second before he catches himself.
Good.
You let your nose trail up the line of his neck, lazy, innocent, torturously tender. His pulse jumps under your mouth—fast, but ever so contained. He’s trying so hard to be unbothered.
You’re not done with him however.
Your palm slides across his chest, slow enough that you can feel each breath he’s trying to regulate. He’s solid under your hand, warm, muscles going tight one at a time like he’s bracing for something he doesn’t want to admit he wants.
Still you say nothing.
You just shift again. Just enough that your hips settle a little closer over his. Not grinding. Not obvious. Just aligned. A feather-light tease that sends a hot, invisible jolt through him. You feel it. You feel everything.
Jason exhales, a quiet, shaky thing he tries to turn into a laugh.
It does not sound like a laugh.
You bite back a smile and press your lips to his stubbled jaw—soft, slow, completely devastating. He tilts into it instinctively before he forces himself still.
His fingers slide lower on your back.
You don’t give him what he wants.
Instead, you kiss the corner of his mouth—barely there, a whisper of warmth—and pull back before he can quite chase you. His eyes crack open, dark and unfocused, a little ruined around the edges.
You settle your head back on his chest like nothing happened at all.
He makes a noise in his throat. Frustrated. Fond. Helpless. His heartbeat is thunder under your ear now.
“I know you’re mine,” you whisper.
You shift one last time, just a tiny roll of your hips as you get ‘comfortable,’ and Jason’s arm tightens around you—reflexive, full-body, soft growl stuck in his chest.
He mutters something incoherent into your hair.
You smile smugly into his shirt.
Jason is officially in hell and he’s loving every second of it.
“And I’m yours.”
Jason lasts all of—what—another eight seconds? Maybe ten, if you’re too generous.
Because you stay exactly where you are, pretending to be oh-so-innocently settled on top of him, and then you do it—that move. That tiny, absentminded roll of your hips like you’re just adjusting your weight.
It’s not even a grind. It’s not even purposeful.
But Jason’s whole body reacts—hips jerk the slightest bit under you, all blood rushing suddenly to his cock, breath punching out of him like you knocked it loose. His hand, the one resting on your lower back, spasms and grabs a handful of your shirt.
“Jesus—” he breathes, barely audible.
You smile into his chest wickedly. He knows you do. He feels it.
And that’s the moment he officially cracks.
One second you’re lying on him, all soft and innocent, the next—
His hands slide down to your hips, grip tightening, and he flips you onto your back in one fluid, pissed-off-but-turned-on-as-hell motion. The futon dips beneath the sudden shift, and you gasp more from the shock than the force.
Jason hovers above you, breath unsteady, hair falling into his eyes like he lost it somewhere in the movement.
And he looks beautifully wrecked.
Flushed pink. Jaw tight. Pupils blown wide. The thin veneer of “I can handle this” absolutely torched in flames.
He braces one forearm beside your head, the other still clamped around your hip like he’s anchoring himself. It slips away only for a moment’s time, to adjust his bulge inside his pants.
“You think you’re funny,” he growls—quiet, deep, breath warm against your lips.
You grin up at him, soft and taunting. “A little.”
Jason’s eyes flick down your body, then back to your smile, and he huffs out a broken laugh.
His lips pepper kisses across your face and jawline, each one of them sloppy and slow.
“Yeah?” He says between kisses. His thumb strokes along your hip, possessive, hungry, already losing any attempt at patience. “You’re lucky I love you.”
You tug lightly on the collar of his shirt. “Do something about it then.”
That’s it. That’s the actual kill shot.
Jason lets out a sound—somewhere between a groan and a surrender—and crashes his mouth directly to yours, all heat and pent-up frustration and relief. His hand grips your thigh and pulls you flush against him, no space left, no guessing.
Jason’s kiss is hot enough to dizzy you—deep, and hungry, coating the skin around your mouth with saliva, like he’s been trying not to do this for the past thirty minutes and you finally snapped the last thread holding him together. His hand slides under your thigh as his tongue touches yours, tugging you up to meet his hips and the low sound he makes when your bodies line up is downright sinful.
He bucks his hips directly into yours eliciting a small moan out of you when your clit rubs perfectly on the seam of your pants.
You pull him closer by the front of his shirt, kissing him back just as fiercely—teeth catching his bottom lip and pulling it into your mouth, fingers threading into his hair. You can feel him melt into it, lose the last scraps of restraint, push his weight down over you like he wants you under him, wrapped around him, nowhere else.
But there’s no way you’re letting him win that easily.
Mid-kiss, you twist your grip in his shirt and roll your hips slow and steady, with cocky intention this time. Jason’s breath stutters; he breaks the kiss with a sharp inhale right against your mouth.
“Oh, you’re—” he starts, but you don’t give him the chance.
You use his moment of shock to flip him.
You hook your leg around his waist, shift your weight, and suddenly he’s the one on his back and you’re straddling his hips. The futon dips under you both, the fire crackles, and Jason just freezes.
Not in fear, but in awe.
His hands fall to your thighs like gravity dragged them there, fingers spreading over your skin, squeezing like he needs the reassurance you’re real.
You lean down, kiss him slow—slow enough to make him chase the end of it when you pull back half an inch.
He exhales shakily.
“Baby,” he warns, voice shredded down to something deep and ruined, “don’t start something you can’t finish.”
You smirk, shifting your weight deliberately over him, drawing a curse out of his throat.
“Who says I’m not finishing it?”
Jason’s head falls back with a low groan, his hands tightening on your hips—possessive, helpless, gone.
That’s when he moves.
One sharp thrust of his hips up into yours—enough to knock a gasp out of you and make your hands slap against his chest for balance. He grins up at you, wild and triumphant.
“Got you.”
You glare at him, breath uneven. “Cheater.”
“Survivor,” he counters, grabbing your waist and dragging you down again so your faces nearly touch. “And if you keep teasing me—”
He flips you back.
Fast.
Effortless.
Like you weigh nothing.
Your back hits the futon again and he cages you in with his body, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours. His lips ghost along your jaw, down to your neck, warm and maddeningly slow.
“You gonna behave now?” he murmurs against your skin, voice barely holding together.
You curl your fingers into his hair and tug just enough to make him curse under his breath.
“No.”
Jason laughs—breathless, disbelieving, insanely turned on.
“Good,” he growls, dragging your hips up against his again, “’cause neither am I.”
He kisses you again—deeper, dirtier, more desperate—and this time neither of you hold back. Smooching sounds fill the room and Jason’s scent mingles with your own, so much, you don’t know where he starts and you begin.
His hands fly to the button of your jeans, the pads of his fingers fiddling with it.
The button pops with a sharp, silver click, but Jason doesn't rush to strip you. Instead, he pauses, his large hand splayed flat against the heat of your stomach, his thumb hooked just inside the waistband. He’s looking at you with such intensity that feels heavier than his actual weight.
Jason’s kisses turn hungry fast — the kind that steals the air from your lungs and gives it back to you warmer. You arch up into him, not consciously, not even teasing this time, just responding to the heat of him pressed fully against you.
He moans, low and helpless, the sound punching out of his chest like he’s been holding it back for weeks.
Your fingers tangle in his shirt. You tug hard and he jerks a little, hips pressing into yours with absolutely zero finesse. He bites down on a laugh, breath hot against the wet patches his lips have left on your throat.
“That’s… not fair,” he manages when you palm him through his pants, voice tight, breath shaking.
You drag your nails lightly down the back of his neck.
“Who said I was playing fair?”
He loses it for a second. His hand grips your thigh, hauling it up around his waist like he needs you anchored there or he’ll come apart. His body settles deeper against yours, chest to chest, hips locked to your hips, the futon creasing under the weight of both of you pressing together like there’s not a single inch you can spare.
Your shirt rides up, you don’t even know when, and his hand slides under the fabric, warm, broad, rough in that way that makes your breath catch. He strokes up your side slowly, until his fingers shimmy inside your bra from the front and begin to flick at one of your nipples.
Your own hands slip beneath his shirt, feeling the heat of him, the solid muscle, the way he tenses the second your fingertips skim the edge of his ribs. He shudders and you feel it all the way down to your pussy.
“That’s it,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours, eyes blown wide and dark. “God, you drive me—”
His voice breaks.
You kiss him before he can recover.
It gets messier than before, very very fast.
His mouth is open against yours, desperate, almost clumsy in the way he chases you. He drags you up into him, half-guided, half-grabbed, bodies tangling as hands roam and clothing shifts, little gasps slipping between kisses. You’re barely aware of what’s moving where or how clothes are stripped messily off you — just skin, heat, the wet drag of his breath against your cheek, the way he sounds when you touch him just right through his pants.
He pulls back only long enough to look at you — really look at how beautiful you look with just your underwear— chest heaving, lips red from kissing you stupid, a string of saliva connecting your faces.
“You’re not getting away from me tonight,” you murmur, voice like spice and honey all at once.
You wrap your arms around his neck, tug him down on you again.
“Didn’t plan on it, princess” he mumbles, the word vibrating against your collarbone. His smile is downright sinful.
He pulls back just enough to meet your half lidded gaze, his eyes roaming over your face like he’s trying to memorize the exact shade of you.
His hand slides up, disappearing beneath the curve of your back, his rough palms dragging over your scorching skin. He finds the strap of your bra and undoes it with a soft click. He lets his thumb trace the curve of you, over and over, until you’re arching off the futon just to meet the pressure.
“Jason,” you breathe, half-plea and half-complaint.
“What—I’m just lookin’,” he grunts, a slow, predatory smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I’m takin’ my time. You’re the one who wanted to play games, baby. Now you gotta sit with the consequences.”
He leans down, but he doesn't kiss you. Instead, he brushes his lips against the sensitive hollow behind your ear, inhaling deeply. His beard scruff burns against your skin, a delicious friction that makes you shiver. He moves lower, his tongue darting out to lick a slow, wet stripe down the side of your neck, stopping right where your pulse is thrumming like a trapped bird.
His other hand finds your inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft skin there. He doesn't go for the center—not yet. He just kneads the muscle, his touch possessive and grounding, reminding you of exactly how much stronger he is than you.
Jason knows how much you love it when he pins you down just like this.
“You’re shaking,” he observes when your legs decide to give out, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that vibrates right through your chest.
He shifts, dragging his body up yours until his nose nudges yours. He stays there, breathing your air, his hand finally sliding up, up, until the heel of his palm brushes against the damp patch of your underwear. He doesn't move. He just applies pressure on your clit with his pointer finger—steady, delicious pressure—and watches your eyes blow wide in pleasure.
Before he moves further, he gives your clit a fast flick.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, his voice a rough velvet when he circles a finger at your entrance, feeling how sticky you are. “Me making a mess of you on the floor?”
You can’t even answer; you just nod, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, trying to pull him lower.
Jason chuckles, a dark, low sound. He finally relents, his fingers slipping beneath the lace of your panties, finding you already slick and hot and achingly pulsing for him. He doesn't rush. He circles the hood of your clit with agonizing slowness, his touch light as a feather one second and firm the next, mocking the way you’ve been teasing him all night.
He watches your face the whole time, tracking every hitch in your breath, every little broken sound that leaves your throat, looking entirely too smug for a man whose own heart is trying to beat out of his ribs.
Jason’s fingers continue that torturous slow-motion circling, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s reading you like a map, noting the exact second your pupils dilate or the way your hips stutter upward when his thumb find a specific, sensitive ridge.
You don’t even have time to whine at the loss of friction when he moves to completely take off your panties, because he’s back to you inhumanly fast.
His fingers spread your puffy folds apart and he rubs from your sopping hole to your poor clit, with two of his fingers, up and down again and again, so achingly slow that you can’t help but chase it with your hips.
He’s being deliberate. It’s his revenge for the way you played him earlier—an undoing that leaves you grasping at the fabric of his shirt just to stay tethered to the room.
“You’re so loud for me,” he says, his voice thick with a dark sort of pride. “Even when you’re trying to be quiet, your body’s fucking screaming.”
He dips a finger inside you, shallow and testing, and the sound that breaks out of you is high and thin. He swallows it with a kiss, his tongue mimicking the slow intrusion of his hand. It’s too much—the heat of the fire on your side on your skin, the weight of him on your chest, and the slick, sliding friction of his fingers fucking themselves inside your squelching pussy.
Just as he adds a second finger, stretching you open with a scissoring motion a groan of his own, a loud —crack— echoes through the room.
A cedar log in the fireplace decides to give up, snapping in half and sending a violent spray of orange sparks against the mesh screen. The sudden noise is like a bucket of cold water in the middle of a fever dream.
You jump, your back arching off the futon, and Jason’s head snaps toward the hearth, his shoulders tensing instinctively as if his bodyguard reflex kicks in for a split second.
The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the frantic thumping of two hearts trying to find their rhythm again, pulsing in both of your ears.
Jason looks back at you, a single stray spark reflected in his dark eyes. He’s still hovering over you, his fingers still buried in you, but the spell of the ‘perfect moment’ has a tiny, jagged crack in it.
Bent on not letting this destroy the moment completely, Jason takes a beat and continues sliding his fingers inside you ever so slowly.
He huffs out a breath when you mewl, a lock of black hair falling over his forehead.
“Scared the hell outta me, shit” he whispers, though he doesn’t move an inch away.
You let out a shaky, breathless laugh, your hands sliding from his hair to his cheeks. “The ah—floor is a dangerous place, Jay. Hazards everywhere.”
Jason’s gaze teasingly drops to your lips, then down to where his hand is still hidden away between your thighs, feeling the way you’re pulsing around him. The smirk from earlier returns, slower this time, more dangerous.
“Right. Hazards,” he repeats, his voice dropping an octave. He leans back in, his nose brushing yours, the playful banter dying a quick death as he replaces it with raw intent. “In that case, I better finish this quick before the house burns down, huh?”
Your lips purse in dissatisfaction at that, your eyes squinting. Solemnly, you shake your head at him.
“What?” Jason teases, smirking ever so slightly “want me to take my time instead?”
He doesn't wait for a comeback, for he knows your answer. He just hooks his other hand under your knee, dragging your leg up and over his shoulder, exposing you completely to the firelight and his hungrily wrecked expression.
Jason watches you for a heartbeat, his chest heaving as he takes in the sight of you—disheveled, legs draped over him, skin glowing with a sheer coat of sweat like polished amber in the firelight, your pussy glistening in need for him. His playfulness is still there, dancing in the corners of his mouth, but it’s being rapidly overtaken by a hunger that looks almost painful.
“Right,” he mutters, more to himself than you, patting down his body. “Clothes. These have gotta go.”
He sits back on his heels, a move that feels like a physical loss the moment his heat leaves your skin. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he reaches for the hem of his shirt, his knuckles grazing the jacked ridges of his stomach. In one fluid, impatient motion, he yanks the fabric over his head and tosses it somewhere toward the dark kitchen on the left.
The firelight catches on the broad expanse of his chest; the scars that map out his life of vigilance, the heavy, tensed muscles of his arms. Seeing him like this—bare and braced for you—always makes the air feel a little too thin to breathe.
Fuck—even every vein that props over his muscles sent you into a frenzy.
He makes quick work of his belt, the leather creaking in the quiet room. When he finally shucks his pants, the futon groans under his shifting weight. He’s back over you in nanoseconds, but he doesn't go for the kill. Not yet.
He settles between your knees, his large hands sliding up your inner thighs, spreading you wider until you feel the cool air of the room hit your skin—and then the scorching heat of his gaze.
“Jason…” you murmur, reaching for him, but he catches your wrists and pins them gently above your head.
“Uh-uh,” he rumbles, his voice a low, warning vibration. “You spent all that time teasing me. Now you’re gonna stay right there and take it.”
He leans down, but instead of kissing your mouth, he starts at your knee. His tongue traces a slow, wet line up the sensitive skin of your thigh as his lips wrap around patches of your skin, his beard scruff nuzzling to you sending fresh jolts of electricity through your nerves. You writhe under him, but his grip on your wrists is like iron—steady and grounding.
And fuck, you love it when he bends you in half like this. Even if by the time he reaches the glossy center of you, you’re breathless and your head is tossing back against the futon.
Jason pauses, his hot breath ghosting over your folds, making you shiver. He looks up at you, a wicked, ruined sort of grin on his face.
“You wanted floor time,” he whispers against your throbbing slit. “I’m gonna give you floor time you’re never gonna forget.”
Then, he dips his head.
The first lick of his tongue on your slit is broad and slow, catching every bit of your sticky slick. You let out a broken, jagged sound, your hips jerking upward instinctively. He groans into you at the taste, his tongue finding your clit and swirling around it with a rhythmic pressure with the tip of his tongue that makes your vision go white at the edges.
He’s not rushing. He’s savoring you, his fingers letting go of your wrists only to dive into the futon on either side of your hips, bracing himself as he drinks you in. Every time you try to close your legs, his shoulders act as a wedge, keeping you open, keeping you vulnerable, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
The sound of the fire is a distant hum compared to the rushing blood in your ears. Every muscle in your body is wound tight, vibrating like a live wire snapped in half as Jason continues eating you out.
He’s using his tongue with a terrifying level of focus, swirling, flicking, and then applying the flat of it all over your slit, before his lips lock around your clit and suck, ever so gently. It makes your heels dig into the futon and your hands find his hair, pulling him closer even as you try to escape the sheer intensity of it.
“Jay—please,” you gasp, the words breaking apart as he finds that one specific spot that makes you see stars and keeps abusing it with his tongue.
He doesn’t stop. If anything, he gets more aggressive with it, his hands sliding under your glutes to tilt you further up, until you’re bent upwards, meeting every one of his wet laps with a desperate tilt of your hips.
The friction is perfect, agonizingly so. It’s a building pressure behind your ribs, a tightening in your stomach that feels like a spring being coiled tighter and tighter until something has to snap.
“Baby…Look at me,” he pleads against your skin, eyes all soft when he pulls back for air, his voice muffled as he leaves open mother kisses all over your pussy, then some smaller, more focused in your clit. His tongue is darting out to place small kitten licks on your sensitive bundle of nerves.
His hand plucks one of yours away from his hair and comes to interlace with it onto your stomach tenderly.
You force your eyes open, your breath coming in short hitches. You see the top of his head, his dark hair messy and wild between your fingers, and the way his broad shoulders are bunched with the effort of holding himself back. The dimples on his biceps flex when his palms force your legs open, so he can keep licking, keep sucking.
Then, he does it. He uses his thumb to pin your clit in place while his tongue sweeps over it in long, firm strokes.
That’s it for you.
Your world narrows down to a single, blinding white light. You cry out, a raw, high pitched sound that is lost in the crackle of the wood, as the first wave of your orgasm slams into you.
Your walls clench desperately around nothing, pulsing in a frantic rhythm that matches the thumping of your heart. Jason doesn’t pull away; he drinks in every shutter, every twitch of your thighs, his own breathing ragged and harsh.
He stays there, giving your clit small and pointed licks and tiny kisses until the last of the tremors fade into a heavy, boneless warmth.
You’re floating, your limbs feeling like lead, your chest heaving as you try to remember how to breathe. Jason finally lifts his head, his chin, dripping, slick with your juices and cheeks red, looking like he’s just survived a fight.
He doesn't give you a second to recover, however.
He crawls up your body, his skin sliding against yours in a delicious, heavy drag of heat. He hovers over you, bracing his weight on his forearms, his eyes dark with a hunger that hasn't been even slightly sated by your release.
“Love it when you come on my tongue. Oh shiiit.” he rasps, his voice a ruined growl.
He reaches down, guiding his hand across his length, giving it a few twisted jerks before lining it up to your entrance—still wet and sensitive from his tongue—and pushes inside.
He goes slow at first, catching all your wetness with the fat tip of his cock, letting you stretch and flutter around him, a guttural moan escaping his throat as he feels how tight you still are, how much you're still humming from your climax.
He sinks in until he’s buried to the hilt and you’re molded perfectly to shape of his dick, his forehead dropping to yours as he just breathes you in for a second, his heart hammering against your chest.
Your pussy clenches desperately around him, sopping all around his entire length.
“God, you’re… you’re perfect,” he murmurs.
His hips begin slow; a soul-crushing grind that tells you the real ‘floor time’ you so desperately wanted, has only just begun.
The hardwood floor groans beneath the futon, a rhythmic creak that underscores every heavy thrust Jason makes to drill into you.
He isn't rushing either; he’s taking his sweet time and up all the space you gave him, fucking you with a slow, agonizing friction that feels like it’s peeling back every intimate layer of you.
The heat from the fireplace is a constant presence against your side, scorching you with kisses of fire’s warmth, but it’s still nothing compared to the furnace of Jason’s skin and the pace of his hips.
He’s solid, crushing weight above you, his arm muscles roping and snapping under your touch as he anchors himself. His hands find yours, lacing your fingers together and pinning them to the floor beside your head. Because he has to, and because he wants to feel the way your knuckles knock against the wood when he hits the right depth inside you. When he hits all the spots that make your eyes roll back.
“Floor’s too hard, huh?” he grunts, his jaw tight as he pulls back almost entirely before sinking in again, faster this time, hips stuttering with bullet like strength. The friction is excruciatingly good and you’re feeling so full that your eyes water.
The way he’s picking up the pace makes your toes curl into the folds of the throw blanket before you wrap them around his waist to guide him into you further.
You remember to shake your head in response to him, your hair fanning out across the futon like a halo. “Don't... don't stop. Go harder. Jason puhleasee.”
“Wasn't plannin' on it,” he breaths out, a jagged, broken sound.
He shifts his angle, his hips tilting for his cock to catch that spongy spot his fingers had already teased into a raw, pulsing ache.
The impact sends a jolt through you that feels like a spark from the fire—sharp, hot, and impossible to ignore. Every time his weight comes down so he can fuck his mushroom tip inside you, the futon dips, your skin slaps frantically and the shadows of your joined bodies dance wildly against the ceiling in the orange glow.
He starts to pick up the pave even more, the movements turning from a grind into something more urgent, even more primal. The sound of his thighs slapping against your ass is wet and rhythmic, a counterpoint to the messy mewls you’re making into the crook of his neck or into his mouth.
It’s a sticky mess, really. Spit everywhere, your thighs and his coated with your sleek.
Jason’s breathing is a series of harsh hitches now. He’s already losing that "hard-edged" control he prides himself on on his best days, his movements becoming less calculated and even more desperate to chase his own release. He buries his face in the space between your neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that’s just shy of a bite.
“You’re so wet,” he mutters, the words nearly lost to the friction. “So damn wet for me. I keep sliding out.”
It’s like he’s going insane afterwards; he’s kissing you one second and the other he’s got a nipple in his mouth to lick and suck onto, and the next one he’s biting down the flesh of your chest, like he could chomp a piece of you and eat you.
In a frenzy of touches, he releases your hands, his palms sliding down to grip the edges of the futon, his arms caging you in as he drives into you with everything he has. The floor vibrates and creaks with the force of it, a dull thudding that resonates in your very bones.
It’s messy, it’s loud, and it’s perfectly, quintessentially him—taking the rough, unyielding reality of the world and turning it into something that belongs only to the two of you.
Suddenly you are so glad the two of you came to this random safehouse of his in the middle of the snowy woods for Christmas. You get to have him all to yourself like this, anywhere, anytime.
Just the two of you and no one else, trying to swallow each other’s tongues.
Only the fire can hear your squealing moans tonight, and if you made a hole through the floor right now with the force Jason is fucking into you, it wouldn't even matter.
You’d love it, even in the afterglow.
Just the thought of it makes you even wetter.
Jason’s movements slowly lose their drilling edge, replaced by a desperate series of bucks that tell you he’s right on the brink of coming too.
His pace slows down, a fraction of what it was before, his face pulling away from yours so he can look at you with those lust blown green eyes. His hips buck upwards, hitting the spot that makes you lose it—
“Yeah, that’s right,” he tries to say, though he slurs his words out of gritted teeth and hisses of pleasure “yeah baby I’ll give it to you slow, shh—fuck—I gotchu.”
His fingers dig into the padding of the futon, then your hips, just to make you match his own rhythm, knuckles white. He drives into you with bruising force that it doesn’t even matter if he’s been pretending to go slow.
You’re both spent, moving with hurried twitches, chasing each other’s release; you by locking your feet behind Jason’s ass and forcing him to be rougher, maybe a little faster too since his pace is downright torture. Him by slamming your hips into his while his hands leave bruises on you.
Every swallow thrust is pure collision, a shatter wreck of skin and friction. You can feel the tension coiling in his thighs as they go taut, the way his entire body has gone rigid like a bowstring about to snap.
“Baby,” he chokes out, his voice completely shredded and high pitched. He lifts his head, and for a second, the mask of lust is totally gone.
His eyes are blown wide, dark and vulnerable and so glossy, searching yours for that one final bit of permission to let go. His lips are parted perfectly, with that beautiful crease down the middle of the bottom one, his jawline sharp as the light hits him. “Look at me—can I come inside? Y’r pussy feels like heaven.”
You wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling him in, your heels hooking into the small of his back to bridge the last microscopic gap between you. His fucking stutters in a white-hot roar now, eclipsing the crackle of the wood, a building pressure that demands everything you have left in you to give him.
“Dun’ wanna pull out.”
“Fuck yeah, Jas—Jason,” you sob against his lips. “Make ah—a mess.”
He lets out a sound that is half-growl, half-shatter. His hips jerk in a final, deep surge, burying himself to the hilt as his own climax slams into him. He goes still, his head falling back, the cords of his neck standing out in sharp relief under the firelight. You’re right there with him, your body clenching around him in a frantic pulsing that feels like it’s shaking your very soul loose, your inner walls are painted in streaks of white, hot cum, and he bucks his hips devastatingly into yours so he can fuck his own release even deeper into you.
For a long, suspended moment, the only sound in the room is the overlapping gasps of two spent bodies who have run out of all air.
Jason collapses forward, his weight pinning you deep into the futon, his heart thundering against your ribs like a captured drum.
He’s truly shaking; his forehead pressed into the crook of your neck as he tries to regulate a breath that still won’t come. He feels massive, heavy and so very tender in your arms. You coo into him too, wrapping your arms completely around his back to pull him in closer into you.
He can’t suffocate you if you’ve already run out of breath, but even if he did, you’d adore him still.
Slowly, the world starts to bleed back in again; the smell of woodsmoke, the fading warmth of the embers, and the dull ache of the floorboards on your back that Jason warned you about earlier.
Jason makes a low, tired noise in his throat—a sound of pure contentment—and nuzzles his nose into your skin, his hair, damp with beads of sweat sticking to your temple.
“Told you,” he murmurs, his voice a gravelly ghost of itself. “Floor time... dangerous.”
You let out a weak, shaky laugh, your fingers tracing the dip of his spine. “Shut up, Jason.”
“Make me,” he huffs against your lips, sucking your bottom one into his mouth, but he doesn't move. He just settles deeper into you, his arm wrapping around your waist to anchor you both to the spot, right there in the glow of the fireplace.
You feel him harden up inside you again and oh fuck— it’s time to have him on his back.
You’re gonna show him just how bad hardwood is for his back.
~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work //
A/N: hiii, merry Christmas everyone! This is my gift for all of you, I know it took me so long to get this out but work is kicking my butt. Also this is SO self indulgent, im so sorry I just need him like this right now😭
Taglist: @starfiremylove @vanillacici
Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but if you you liked this you can let me know in the comments <3
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