Hi anon!!! Thank you so much for sending me this fun prompt!!
finally getting to it and in the spirit of Simon's birthday month we're having another Simon POV ficlet. I diiiid twist the prompt around a little bit, but I hope you end up liking what I did with it 👀💜💜💜
cw: nfsw; to set the scene: they never got back together, but meet again a little later in life and a... not quite friends with benefits situation ensues; exes to lovers possibly maybe <3
Simon is going to lose his mind. He hangs his head and groans in frustration when Wille still doesn't fucking make a move.
He's starting to get antsy, fingers digging into the thin sheets he's resting on. Wille gets like this sometimes, takes out the speed when they could be fucking going further already, and Simon can't stand it, wants him to finally come closer and wants them to do what they do best. Simon doesn't like the waiting, doesn't like the getting to think when he knows that thinking about what they're doing here is going to lead him down a complicated path.
Bad enough that he has to think of excuses to tell his friends and roommate for why he can't join their game night, bad enough that he has to think of excuses when someone catches him afterwards, tangled up hair and hot cheeks. Simon comes here to stop thinking for a little while, comes here to pretend, for a small period of time, that he can have it all.
Wille's hand just moves up and over his back, warm and light and leaving goosebumps in its wake, while the other, fingers slick, holds him open for a moment that lasts too long for Simon to handle. Because he's thinking again, still, and he can't afford to think about the way Wille touches him.
"Wille... ," he whines, the audible impatience making him want to bury his face in Wille's pillow. He shuffles back a few centimeters in hopes that Wille will finally just fucking get it.
But no such luck.
Simon gasps involuntarily when Wille's fingertips brush over his hole again, too soft to be doing anything, entirely unnecessary because he's ready, has been for minutes.
A dangerous cocktail of arousal and embarrassment pools in his stomach when another gentle, gentle, gentle brush of Wille's fingers over where he's exposed and slick and waiting desperately rips a moan from his throat.
"Wille," he tries, once he's recovered, more sternly now. All he gets in response is a hum. And fingers that are too soft, are too light, are too slow trailing up the top of his spine, over the line of his shoulder.
He lets out a long, frustrated noise, fighting through the heady feelings, fighting back that silly, stupid, no good small voice in the back of his mind that tells him to lean into it. Like it doesn't know that he can't get used to this, can't get attached again.
"Wille, can't you just-"
Simon's complaint is cut short when Wille's hands suddenly land on his hips, firm and determined and warm. Wille shuffles closer, slots his body against Simon's in a way that makes Simon's heart plummet.
He forgets how to breathe for a moment, too caught up in the sudden proximity, the weight of Wille's frame, the warmth, the nagging little feeling of something like comfort trying to force its way to the forefront of his mind.
Wille's body moves against his when Wille sighs deeply, and Simon quickly sucks in a deep breath.
Kneeling in front of Wille, exposed and waiting and being touched all-too-gently was bad, but this might be worse. Because Wille is so close that Simon is briefly scared that he could hear one of Simon's ridiculous thoughts. Like the realization that... this... whatever it may be, cuddling maybe, being held, feels so familiar that it cuts right into Simon's heart.
Every breath he tries to get into his lungs, tries to make his ribcage expand with, only brings their bodies closer, only makes him painfully, achingly aware of every part of Wille that is touching a part of him. The soft skin of his chest to Simon's back, the warm muscles of his legs against Simon's thighs, the hard line of his cock against the cleft of Simon's ass.
Simon feels Wille's breath, the movement of his mouth, before he hears his words, mumbled into the skin of his shoulder, as if it's something he doesn't really want Simon to hear.
"Why do we always have to rush?"
It punches every last, desperately worked for breath out of Simon's lungs. His arms suddenly feel too weak to hold himself up.
As if he's sensing it, Wille shifts his weight, rests less of it on Simon. Simon wants to beg him to stay, but quickly scolds himself for it.
But even with less of Wille's weight on him, Simon doesn't have an answer. Not one that doesn't make him sound pathetic and bitter and vengeful and like an asshole.
There's no good reason for them to rush through this every time, for Simon to rip Wille's clothes off as soon as he walks in, for Simon to rush to get back into his own as soon as his breathing has somewhat normalized. There's no good reason for him to withhold what their younger selves were so desperate for, but never really got enough of, no reason to cut the after and the before and the during as short as they do.
Simon grips the fabric more tightly, knuckles turning white, desperately trying to keep himself from saying something stupid.
"I...," he starts, but stops immediately, embarrassed of the waver in his voice. "Don't know," he says then, like that means anything at all.
He feels Wille nod against his shoulder blade, feels a line of kisses pressed up his spine. Despite himself, he leans into it, curves his back to get closer to Wille. To this stupidly gentle man that has always been so tied up in Simon's heartbreak and so tied up in his love that, maybe, he never really fully managed to move on.
Maybe this isn't Simon trying to and failing not to fall back into old patterns that will inevitably get him hurt. Maybe it's never been gone. Maybe the ache and the want and the love are all one. One messy, ugly, beautiful, warm, fuzzy concoction that is making it so hard to tear himself away each time.
Simon swallows hard.
Wille moves his hands, gently tracing the lines of Simon's waist, stroking up and down his sides. He lets out another sigh, so beaten down that Simon wants to turn around and wrap him in his arms and never let him go again. Fuck.
"Can I... I mean, I don't know..." He sounds so insecure, so out of his depth. It makes something uncomfortable well up in Simon's chest. "Can I go slow? Just this one time?"
Wille's clean hand moves up and sinks into Simon's hair, fingers pressing comforting circles into his skull. And Simon knows he's lost. Knows he never stood a chance, not against himself.
"Wanna feel you, Simon," Wille breathes, and lands the final punch. He sounds desperate, broken, like he knows he can't have what he's asking for. "Wanna really feel you..."
Fuck.
Simon wants this, too, fuck, wants all of it. The thought of Wille taking his time sinking into Simon, moving slowly, letting both of them feel every second. It's dangerous, it's wonderful, it makes it hard for Simon to catch his breath.
Simon nods weakly, then more fervently. Shifts closer, presses himself against Wille, shimmies his hips to grind back against Wille's cock, settles in his arms.
"Please..."
Wille tightens his grip on him, and Simon nods again.
"Yeah?" Wille sounds breathless with surprise, sounds beautiful, sounds like happy memories and like what Simon's always wanted. There's a flutter in his chest, soft and nervous. But maybe he should take the leap. So he takes a breath.
"Please, you can go slow," Simon mumbles, but it feels like he's screaming at the top of his lungs, falling free.
Feel free to send me some prompts from that list, or just make some up <3 Or read my other ficlets here
Your betrothal period feels entirely too long. You and Benedict make the most of the wait, especially once you spend your days together at Aubrey Hall.
Or: Five times you and Benedict have to restrain yourselves before your wedding and one time you don’t.
pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
content: 6.5k words, regency romance, secret meetings, stolen kisses, smut (morning sex, v fingering, p in v), 18+ MDNI
Masterpost – Ao3 Link
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1 Closet
“Ben–”
“Shhhhh.”
His mouth closes around your nipple, breasts spilled over your stay that he tugged at desperately mere seconds ago. You tip your head back, fingers tangled in messy brown curls. His tongue draws a soft moan from your lips, the kind you could not hold back if you tried.
Benedict removes himself with a pop and looks up, innocent eyes over pink, kiss-swollen lips. “They are going to hear us!”
His scandalised tone is what lures the giggle from you.
Benedict, alarmed but no less amused, brings a hand up to seal your treacherous lips. “Shhhh!”
An incredulous smile spreads across his face and you tug at his lapels, intent on kissing it away. His weight has you pressed against the shelf behind you, the hard edge biting into your lower back. You moan into his mouth with the combined vigour of pleasure and pain.
Benedict breaks the kiss with some effort, brow furrowed in distress. “Do you want us to get caught?”
“It is too tight in here I rather think,” you bemoan and urge him to switch places with you. He has the height to his advantage. “Besides, we are already betrothed.”
“Betrothed, yes, but not wed.”
You ignore his complaint as you fix your state of undress, then wrap your arms around his neck to remedy the offending distance. A second of hesitation passes before he leans back in and resumes to bruise your lips. You wonder, sometimes, if the passion you share is of concerning strength.
As air becomes scarce he breaks away to attend to your exposed skin. His lips press to the round of your bosom, your clavicle, then softly venture forth to your sensitive neck. He lingers as long as he can get away with, then pauses by your ear. “How long have we been in here?”
“I should think a few more minutes will go unnoticed…” you whisper.
Benedict hums, the sound deep and warm against the shell of your ear. You rake your fingers through his hair and he bites your earlobe in turn. You are moderately concerned for your jewellery but then his nose tickles the inside of your ear. Another giggle escapes you as the tingle runs through your body and leaves you shivering in its wake.
Once again his hand moves to cover your mouth as his eyebrows rise in alarm. The warning look under his enviably long lashes is a sight you have grown rather fond of. The thrill of these stolen moments makes them all the more memorable, rare as they are.
You smile against his fingers before pressing an apologetic kiss to his palm. “I shall endeavour to be quiet from now on.”
His gaze softens with a twitch of his mouth. “One of these days Anthony will have my head…” he whispers before leaning in to kiss you yet again.
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2 Music
The music is unmistakably yours. The practiced tunes lure him from the sweltering heat of the gardens into the cooler corridors of Aubrey Hall where they arrived just yesterday morning. Anthony insisted on hosting the wedding here, of course, and how could Benedict not rejoice at finding himself under the same room as you at last?
He stops, leans against the frame of the open door to the drawing room and drinks you in. The piano is angled away from the open windows, your back turned to him. Bare skin shimmers in the sunlight, diffused by sheer white curtains that stream dreamily in the mild breeze. He follows the line of your shoulders where they rise and fall as your hands dance across the keys, then up the curve of your spine where your neck is exposed under pinned-up hair. The music seems to carry the ease with which you hold yourself.
He notes that your maid is not with you, a sign that the staff is kept busy with wedding preparations. Or perhaps you sent her away as you are prone to do, craving solitude – and opportunities to meet him. Benedict finds himself chasing these moments in which he gets to have you to himself like they’re his sanctuary, so precious that he has to pile them up with care like gemstones in the shrine of his love for you. One day soon he will be able to display them more openly. For now he has to grasp them as they appear.
You only hear him when his steps have reached so close that not even the rugs can muffle them anymore. A few weeks ago you might have been startled by him appearing out of nowhere but by now it is rather natural that he should find you when you are alone. It seems he has a sense for it.
When you look up he is already urging you to scoot over. The double piano bench is rather narrow but you think he might be closing in more than necessary. You’re acutely aware of the press of his thigh against yours.
“Do not let me disturb you, dearest,” he says in the dulcet tone you know means mischief.
“Is your goal not to disturb me, Mr Bridgerton?”
“My goal,” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “is to be closer to the music.”
His breath on your neck does nothing to enhance your ability to focus. The first few notes are not quite rhythmic as a shiver runs through your limbs and down your fingertips. You soon find your footing, however, and the song comes to life in the form of a moderately slow but all the more magical sonata of your own composition. Sheet music is quite expensive and your collection rather limited. To add some variety you recently began to write your own, significantly inspired by Benedict and his artworks.
“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself and you smile as you transition into a faster section of the song that reminds you of fairies frolicking in a meadow, drunk on honeydew and starlight.
However, you soon realise that he did not talk about the music. His hand dances along your back, fingertips drumming over your spine until they come to rest on the swell of your hip on the other side. It is the closest thing to an embrace, his arm a comforting support behind your back. His proximity, if thrilling, does not deter you. Your hands remember exactly what they must do – over a decade of tutoring has left its marks.
Your confidence is short-lived. His hair tickles your ear as he leans in, a soft press of his lips to your shoulder, devoted, sensuous and… lingering. Your fingers slip but for a moment. It is enough to draw the wrong tunes from the instrument, a cacophonous quake that has you wincing in surprise.
“You must stay focused,” Benedict warns, lips still warm on your skin, “or everyone shall hear that you are… rather distracted.”
“How fortunate that I am known for my stable countenance.”
“Hm, yes, that is what they say about you, my darling, “ he whispers. “If only they saw you as I do, falling apart at the mere idea of a kiss.”
You close your eyes and recollect yourself, trying desperately to ignore how he feels against you. Despite his warning he shows no signs of stopping, not even as you resume your play. The next kiss hits the crook of your neck. You feel his nose against your jaw as he inhales your scent, rose oil and soap. For a moment his warm exhale against your throat overshadows the fact that is fingers curl at your hip, a not so innocent squeeze that you feel somewhere between your legs.
You’re aware that both of your families are just outside in the gardens, that the open windows and the steady breeze carry your tunes far out on the premises. Muscle memory serves you and you finish the hardest part of the song without more than one or two off-key notes. Benedict has been silent, lips lingering just below your ear. Just as you move on to the conclusion his mouth gets more insistent, sucking gently at your delicate skin as he gets carried away.
”Benedict,“ you warn. Crooked tunes are one thing, a vivid red kiss mark another.
“Forgive me,” he whispers, pressing tiny kisses along your neck now. “I cannot help it.”
You finish the song with a relieved exhale, wondering if a musical number has ever felt so painfully long before. Benedict has lost his patience, it seems. His free hand comes to rest on your sternum as though he needs to feel the agitated rise and fall of your chest. You only have a moment to relish in the soft feel of his palm on your bosom before he curls his fingers over your jaw and forces your head to turn to him. His kiss is dizzying, starved. He tastes of the strawberries he must have had outside just earlier.
You allow him to kiss you breathless before you remove yourself. He tries to chase after you, as he is wont to do, but a finger on his swollen lips has him halting. His expression rivals that of Newton when he is in want of a treat.
“We must go back outside before they find us,” you say. “It is already suspicious enough that I played off-key the moment you stepped inside.”
“I blame you for being such a flawless musician.”
“I blame you for being such an irresistible distraction. Now come on, my darling, I am suddenly in want of some sweet strawberries.”
He sighs woefully and you cannot help but kiss the pout from his face.
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3 Painting
You see the corgi’s bottom disappear around the corner. The Viscountess runs after him to retrieve the pall mall ball he stole from the lawn, her mallet swinging from her side as the heated game between her, Anthony, Colin and some of your own relatives is interrupted. The laughter of little children accompanies your every step as you and Eloise take a turn about the house, exerting your legs for a stroll after the small luncheon you had earlier.
Perhaps mere intuition. You glance up to one of the windows upstairs just as it gets pushed open. The rolled up white sleeve and bare forearm disappear from view and you have to resort to using your parasol to hide the direction of your gaze as it lingers long after. A purposely given sign or mere coincidence, you are eager to find out.
“Excuse me, Eloise, I would like to… cool down inside for a moment,” you lie. “I am running quite hot in the sun.”
“Ah, yes, cool down,” she murmurs. “I am sure it is not at all because you cannot bear to spend even a minute without my insolent brother.”
She waves you off, her words mere teasing. You have no doubt she is rather glad to return to her books instead of parading around with you.
Thanks to the many diversions offered in the gardens you manage to slip back inside mostly unnoticed. Aubrey Hall, as grand as it is, is still more of a maze to you than a house and you wander around for longer than expected. A waste of your time with Benedict, certainly, but the manor more than makes up for it in beauty and family history at every turn.
When you reach the right corridor, you note that one of the doors stands ajar. With the window open you can feel the soft breeze carrying you towards the room, the mildly chemical smell of paint assuring you that you are correct.
Benedict is busy. He is seated on a wooden stool, wearing nothing but his ruffled white shirt, the collar open wide to reveal most of his chest, suspenders sitting somewhat tight on his shoulders as he moves his brush across the canvas like it’s his sole purpose in life. Your stomach warms at the sight.
Everything he does inspires love, the way he holds the brush, the way his face is scrunched up in concentration, lips slightly parted and tongue wetting the corners of his mouth. When he spots you by the door his expression morphs into the crooked smile that never fails to have your heart aflutter.
“Do not let me disturb you, dearest,” you echo and he cocks his head to the side.
“Is your goal not to disturb me, Mrs Bridgerton?”
“Not my name quite yet,” you correct. “Though I do rather like the sound of it.”
“Hm. So do I.”
He picks up more paint with his brush and you approach the easel, watching him work. The subject is a still life, for lack of better choices you assume. The fruit in the small basket has seen better days, though he omits the putrid details in his painting.
“I should have you sit for me,” he comments, noticing your doubtful gaze. “That way I might not get as much painting done but at least I would have something worthwhile to look at.”
“If we were to be left alone in a room for hours I doubt you would get any painting done.”
He chuckles, depositing some more of the red paint on the cheek of an apple. “Are they all distracted outside, then?”
“Mhm, your brother is busy ruining my family at pall mall,” you say. “He should give them a chance at winning or they might call off the engagement after all.”
“Are they quite ambitious?”
“Not as much as your brother and the Viscountess, I daresay.”
He sets his palette down to give you his undivided attention but before he can stand and seize control you’ve already wrapped your arms around his neck from behind. Without his waistcoat there is hardly a barrier between you now, the thin shirt allowing you to properly feel his shape underneath as you press against his back. Your lips find his cheek, your hands the opening of fabric at his shirt and you can’t help but pull at your gloves, desperate to feel his skin. The moment your warm palms connect with his chest the brush slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor.
“You must stay focus, remember?” you tease.
“What if I don’t want to?” he whispers, suddenly breathless.
“Then you can focus on me instead.”
He does. You crave more room so you slowly run your fingers up his suspenders and let them slip from his shoulders, one by one, until you can open his shirt even wider. You admire his bare torso, the freckles that litter his body like stars in a pale night sky, soft hair and even softer skin.
The kisses you press to his neck and shoulder are nothing short of reverent, the muse admiring the artist. Benedict gives you full access, one hand gently resting on your wrist and the other in his lap. Braver now, you run your thumb over his nipple and the deep moan he releases is nothing if not obscene. You smile to yourself, repeating the movement to which he reacts by letting his head fall back against your shoulder. His hand reaches for his knee in a tight grip.
“You are certain everyone is occupied outside?” he asks, voice strained.
“It seemed so,” you reply. “Though, if you keep making these noises, they will hear you through the open window and knowing your brother he will sense my presence up here.”
“Hm perhaps Anthony will challenge me to a duel if he finds us.”
“Don’t even joke about that. Besides, he would have to challenge me to a duel since I am currently dishonouring you.”
“And whatever would you duel in? Who can vex me more?”
“Do I vex you, dear?”
“You do, s-so much. Ah.”
“And how so?”
“Do you really have to ask, you little temptress? How am I expected to wait another week?”
His patience has run thin. Before you can react he has swivelled around. Two broad hands grab at your hips and he pulls you into his lap with a fluent turn of his upper body. The stool wobbles precariously under your combined weight but somehow, miraculously, Benedict manages to balance it out. His thumb feels wet when he swipes it over your cheekbone, drawing you in for a proper kiss.
Benedict has a tendency of getting carried away when you’re alone. You slow him down with a tug at his unruly hair. His tongue swipes across your lips and you allow him to lick against yours for but a moment. Somewhere in the back of your mind, prudence and common sense battle with the unhinged desire that his touch provokes at all times. You pull away with a regretful sigh.
“Do not think I am handling this any better than you,” you whisper.
His lust-filled expression has you doubting your own sanity. You are close to losing your composure at the way his lips curl in discontent when a childlike squeal outside reminds you that you are in fact not the only two people in the world. Benedict reluctantly eases his grip on you and you manage a safe distance.
“I shall let you get back to your painting,” you say. “I expect someone will be looking for me soon.”
“I will join you outside in a moment.”
You smile and make for the door before your senses leave you yet again. The corridor feels violently empty without his presence but you are not yet around the nearest corner when you are met with the broad frame of another Bridgerton. Anthony spots you with an expression that borders on disapproval but carries the same hint of perpetual fondness he cannot shake ever since marrying his wife.
“Has your… game ended, my lord?” you ask, trying to appear innocent.
“Hm, I see yours has as well. You should… wash your face.” He gestures to your cheek with a raised brow, brisk steps carrying him past you. “And I shall have a word with my dear brother.”
When you bring your fingers to your face you are met with the wet texture of undried oil paint, apple-red. You notice another stain by your hip soon after, fingerprint-shaped no less. Even though you will have to change into a different dress now you can’t bring yourself to regret your impromptu visit, not when Benedict’s taste still lingers on your lips. The shouting from the other room stays out so you assume his brother found mercy on him as well. No duel today after all.
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4 Picnic
The weather is most pleasant as you traverse the vivid green meadows with Benedict by your side, hand placed securely in the crook of his arm. It was decided that two days before the wedding the whole party would embark on a picnic to enjoy the outdoors. The chosen destination is a nearby lake and while the servants set up the location you are all taking an extensive walk across the countryside to see more of the surrounding lands of the Bridgerton’s ancestral home.
The walk is short in distance but with both of your family’s making the trip it is a rather time-consuming endeavour. Your relatives have decided to inspect every single tree and field on the way, complimenting the Viscount and his mother on the beautiful piece of land his family calls their home. The smaller children are meanwhile distracted by pebbles, sticks and the odd insect that crosses their path, particularly intrigued by the colourful butterflies that flutter excitedly over a plethora of blossoming weeds and flowers and refuse to be caught by their eager little hands.
You and Benedict use the time to focus on each other. You have fallen back just enough to speak freely and you count the amount of love-sick smiles you receive every time he lures a giggle from you. He is adorable when he’s with others, more adorable still when he is with you.
By the time you reach the lake you are at twelve smiles. The set-up is too lovely and serene, a shame to be disrupted by two dozen people swarming to it for refreshments. In the shade of high broadleafs and so close to the water the heat is much more bearable.
“Benedict, fetch your betrothed a lemonade, will you?”
You find Violet, as you are now allowed to call her, with her hand reaching for your gloved elbow. Benedict and her exchange looks that speak of their intimate knowledge of the other’s thoughts, his challenging and hers that of a mother who has to remind her son of his manners. You fight off a smile as he excuses himself. He never likes to leave you alone with his family.
“Will you sit with me, dear?” Violet asks. “It is rather difficult to catch either of you alone these days.”
“Forgive me, I know we are toying the line of propriety by spending so much time together already–”
“Oh, nonsense! I am sure neither Anthony nor your family mind. In fact we are rather excited to see you getting along so well.” She leads you to one of the blankets by the side of the picnic arrangements, littered with pillows of sky-blue embroidery that invite you to rest. “You must know that a love match is all I ever wanted for dear Benedict.”
You do your best to find a graceful sitting position on the uneven terrain, keeping your latest encounter with Anthony to yourself. “I daresay it is rare to find a love that is so genuine.”
She smiles at you, a motherly smile that is all the proof you need that you have long since been accepted into the family. “I am inclined to agree, my dear. It is rare indeed.”
For a moment you sit in comfortable silence as the breeze sweeps through the clearing, leafy-green canopy swaying and rustling to the rhythm of the cooling wind. You spot several ducks gliding across the lake, some more sitting in the gras by the shore. It is idyllic. If a life with Benedict means spending more time in this part of the country you know you will spend many a happy summer with him.
When you focus back on the party you notice your betrothed approaching the scene with a somewhat hesitant smile, still adorable in its crookedness. A reassuring look is exchanged and he slowly lowers himself to your level, hands occupied with refreshments.
“I shall take my leave,” Violet says. “I hear Daphne and sweet Augie require my presence.”
You are certain that they are alright on their own but you will not miss an opportunity to be alone with Benedict if she offers it so willingly. Once she is out of sight Benedict hands you the lemonade. The first sip is just what you need after the walk.
“And… since you are so fond of strawberries,” he says, “I secured you the last few before the children get their hands on them.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
He smiles genuinely now and you lean a bit closer. A comfortable silence settles between you, even though the party more than makes up for it in noise. The strawberries are sweet as they only come in June, picked ripe and fat with juice, staining your gloves red at your fingertips. You care not. Not when Benedict secured them for you, not when his eyes are fixed on your mouth with every bite you take as though he envies them every sinking of your teeth.
You offer him one but instead of taking it he leans in and presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, sucking the juice from your lips.
“Ben–” you warn.
“Shhh.”
Another kiss before he pulls away. You glance around nervously but everyone seems too occupied to notice. On the blanket you place your hand next to his and toy with the ring on his pinkie, hooking your finger in his bigger one. Benedict looks at the strawberry still in your hand, then back to your eyes, a honey-sweet smile gracing his lips.
“Perhaps I would like one after all,” he says, “now that I know how delicious they are.”
He is a tease but you lift the fruit anyway, holding it up to his mouth. He takes his time to take a bite, eyes intensely glued to yours. Perhaps you are too far gone to care, perhaps it’s the way he commands all of your attention with a mere look, but the world around you blurs into nothingness. It is unfair, you think, how every freckle and dimple you discover on his face makes him even more beautiful.
As he swallows you finally notice a few pairs of eyes on you. Heated cheeks have you sitting back, covering the worst with a press of the back of your hand. But before you can compromise yourself any further one of the children squeals in terror and the whole party shifts their focus to sweet Augie who has got too close to one of the ducks. The bird has spread its wings to run to safety, quacking in sudden irritation. The other ducks follow swiftly and soon the whole swarm flutters back to the lake in a whirlwind of feathers and chatter.
You use the distraction to grin at Benedict. His eyes are fixated on you as though the turmoil around you is of no significance to him, a soft, affectionate expression no doubt prompted by your flush. You dare to lean in once more, kissing the sweet strawberry juice form his lips. He looks down to your intertwined fingers, removing his in favour of fully grasping your hand.
You cannot bring yourself to care what it looks like to anyone else as you both let yourself fall back into the pillows, watching the fluffy white clouds travelling across the sky.
⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆
5 Night
A sudden bang like thunder has you shooting bolt upright in bed. You are momentarily confused, the room not as familiar as your own quite yet. Bright moonlight, blue sheets, sheer curtains. Aubrey Hall.
It is the night before the wedding.
You can’t remember falling asleep, only the anxiety that kept you up all evening. Another, quieter bang and you realise that it is your door. Not a knock though. It sounds like someone is using their entire body to get it to open.
You think the whole house must have woken up but beside the ruckus at the entrance to your bedroom everything is eerily quiet. You’re entirely too trusting. Perhaps bringing a makeshift weapon would have been helpful but you approach the door in just your nightgown, barefoot, empty hands. Intruders would attempt to be quiet, would they not?
You are met with Benedict tumbling straight into you. His body is heavy with the lack of his own coordination to support it and you struggle to hold him upright. He recovers before you can fall, stemming a hand against the doorframe.
“Whatever are you doing here?” you yell-whisper, sleep still clinging to you in such a way that it seems absurd and almost dreamlike to find him in your room.
Benedict giggles. He does not laugh, he giggles. “I am here to see you, of course.”
His lull is evident and reality clicks into place. “I believe you are quite drunk!”
“I believe I am quite in love,” he corrects. “And is that not the same thing?”
Suddenly you feel very bare in your sheer, lace-trimmed nightgown with your hair undone and face still crusted with sleep. Benedict is hardly noticing your state, half-leaning on your shoulder, half-leaning in the doorframe. He smells of liquor and smoke.
“Where are you coming from?” you ask, trying to steady him with your hands. He is falling against you again, though you suppose he is doing it to be closer now and not for lack of balance.
“Spent the night with my bro‘ers,” he explains. “A ugh… tradition.”
“Getting drunk the night before our wedding? You are going to feel awful tomorrow!”
“I am not that drunk,” he argues, though his pupils appear wide in the relative darkness of the room. “Just enough to… calm the nerves. Now, do I get my goodnight kiss, pretty please?”
“You are too drunk for a kiss,” you argue, even though his exaggerated pout is rather convincing.
“I am not that drunk, love, I swear.”
“Too drunk to know that you should not be here. Have you lost your mind?”
Another pout, this time, unfairly so, combined with that pleading tone you can never resist. “I had to see you. Make sure you’re… still here.”
His words confuse you more than they enlighten you and you know that the noise combined with your talking might wake someone else any moment now. You cannot draw attention to the rather compromising position you find yourself in, no matter how soon the wedding takes place – if only to save face in front of your relatives.
He may not be too drunk to walk but his unsteadiness is concerning you enough to make an impromptu decision. “Let me take you to bed.”
He giggles again, clearly misunderstanding, and rubs his nose against your cheek. You stop, returning the clumsy embrace you find yourself in. He continues to nuzzle, inhaling deeply in a way that tickles your neck in all the sensitive spots and his hands wrap so tightly around you that he squeezes the very air from your lungs. Your heart swells. Being in his arms unties every tense knot in your body. It is the home you never knew you were missing.
“Oh Benedict,” you whisper, “whatever have you done to me?”
“To bed, hm?”
You gently push him off of you. “Yes, but not mine.”
He grunts but his complaints stay silent as you usher him back into the hallway. You can tell he is more coordinated now but when he uses you as his crutch you allow it anyway. To your dismay, you realise that it is going to take you forever to get to his room. His pace is sluggish, multiple times you have to shush him and he refuses to walk without touching you in some shape or form.
By the time you finally arrive at his bedroom, you are not sure if you’re sleepwalking or actually awake, the sudden rush of excitement upon waking up now slowly catching up with you. It is sheer luck that you enter without anyone taking notice. Benedict exhales a loud yawn that rivals the roar of a lion. You use the opportunity to undress him.
Perhaps it is for the greater good that you do not get further than his waistcoat. He rather suddenly drops himself onto his bed and drags you right with him. The impact has you tumbling across his body, landing in the soft sheets and pillows that are as yet untouched. Benedict pulls you close, eyes half-lidded and heavy. His hands roam your body but it is not sexual at all. He follows your curves as though it is the natural thing to do and with only your nightgown covering your skin his hands feel closer, warmer than ever. You raise a hand to brush back his curly hair, tracing the tired lines of his face, connecting each freckle like the stars in a constellation of your own making.
You think he must be falling asleep, lulled by your gentle caress, but then he suddenly furrows his brow. His eyes find yours as though he suddenly remembered something important.
“You won’t say no, will you?” he asks. “Leave me standing by the altar a fool?”
You smooth out the crease on his forehead. “Are you truly afraid that I would?”
“You must admit… this all rather feels like a dream.” His hand stops at the dip of your waist, resting in the natural valley underneath your ribcage. “A part of me is still waiting for the painful morning after when I wake up and realise that none of it was real.”
“It is real, so very real, Benedict.” You smile, reassuring him. “Though I daresay it is natural to be nervous the night before your wedding. Is this why you came to my room?”
He ignores you, fingers denting your flesh in insistence. “Tell me that you will say yes. Promise me.”
“Of course I will. I promise. There is nothing I want more than to marry you.”
He seems satisfied, eyes falling closed again. His lashes tickle his reddened cheeks. They feel hot underneath your thumb as you smooth it over his skin and you hope he won’t feel too exhausted tomorrow. Even now he is so very beautiful, so lovely, so yours.
“Don’t be scared, please,” you whisper, and then, because it feels right, “I love you.”
His eyes blink back open, the words, so explicit, a novum between the two of you. Your reward is the crooked smile you so adore and he presses his forehead to yours. “I love you.”
You decide that he earned his good night kiss now. It is soft, unexcited, but it lingers and he does his best to kiss back. You note a bitter hint to his taste but it does not bother you. When you break away Benedict is practically asleep and by the time you finally control your love-sick smile you can hear his quiet snores.
You slip from his bed on the empty side and bring your hands to your lips, touching them as though you just kissed him for the very first time. The way back to your room feels like a dream in itself. But you know, you are so perfectly sure, that you will wake up to the happiest day of your life.
⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆
+1 Wed
Mornings start with a soft press of his lips to your shoulder.
No matter which position you find yourself waking up in, it is always the first thing you feel. The kiss is so soft that it tickles and you can never pretend that you are asleep for much longer. Benedict won’t let you because the first kiss is always followed by another and another and another. So many kisses that you can’t hold back your giggles, not when he reaches the ticklish spot by your ear.
You think it is the very reason he does it.
A heavy freckled arm wraps around your front, dragging you across the mattress until you are met with the solid chest of your husband. He is warm against your back, familiar, welcome.
Benedict hums, a hand closing around your breast and squeezing. His lips return to your neck but they are less soft now. If you do not pay attention you have to walk around with your silk scarf again. Paying attention, however, is hampered by his other hand sneaking down your belly and dipping between your legs.
“Good morning,” he whispers, “my beautiful wife.”
“Good morning,” you echo, still quite hazy with sleep.
The bright light streaming in through the curtained windows tells you it is rather late already. However, your eyes flutter closed the moment his fingers slide between your folds. He rubs you gently, waking up your body with the tingles of carefully built pleasure. You can feel his hips shifting forward as well, his cock growing hard against the small of your back, and suddenly getting up is the last thing on your mind.
By now you are customarily late for breakfast.
For the past few days he has done nothing but explore the previously unknown land that is your body, map out its hills and valleys and find the sweetest spots to linger. No matter how much information you thought you had clandestinely gathered, nothing truly prepared you for what it means to love someone, to lean into your passions so freely. But then perhaps Benedict makes it easy.
You gasp when his finger probes further down, slipping into you effortlessly. He adds a second digit soon after. Even so he remains unhurried, taking his time to gift you the sweetest strokes, the gradual build-up of warmth and desire you now know is the most rewarding. The rhythm of your bodies is slow like a dance to one of your ballads but soon your moans grow louder and you roll your hips into his hand with impatience. Your peak draws near and his other hand knowingly rolls your nipple between his fingers, lips pressed firmly to your neck. The touch is enough to take you to the release you so crave. You keen and shiver in his arms as it tears through you, one hand grasping at his biceps and the other buried in the sheets.
“Ben–” you whisper and he chuckles at your breathless voice.
It is evident that he enjoys showing you how good he can make you feel. That it pleases him to worship you whenever an opportunity arises. Mornings in bed are drawn-out, nights short and sleepless, slow hours during the day filled with spying for empty rooms and available surfaces. You wonder if you could extend your honeymoon indefinitely, to spend your days like this forever.
Benedict gives you a mere moment to breathe before his hand releases your breast and cradles your cheek instead. He gently turns your head, thumb pressed to the tender underside of your jaw, and then his lips descent with an impatient hunger. You bury your hand in his soft hair, one of your favourite things to do, and he groans when you tug at his strands. His body has become familiar to you as well, your own map of him ever-expanding.
Slow as your mornings begin, they quickly turn sensual and needy. His other hand grabs your thigh and opens you for him, spreading you apart. You can feel his cock hard against your wet cunt, an anticipatory whimper leaving your throat. Benedict slowly pushes into you, making sure to avoid any discomfort you might feel before he finds a more satisfying pace. Your limbs are still tangled in the sheets, every movement bringing forth a symphony of rustling of fabric and the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin.
Kisses deepen, lips swell and your bodies move in practiced sync. You feel the warm tingles spreading into every corner of your insides, his softer moans and your higher ones drowning out the world around you until all you know is him. You are still tender and when you come the pleasure feels like liquid fire in your veins. You hiccup as he picks up his pace with you still tight around him, prolonging the sensation. Then he rather suddenly stills, smothering a deep moan with an uncoordinated kiss. You feel his release warm inside of you and smile.
As the world comes back into view, you begin to stroke his hair and lace your fingers with his. He laughs, satisfied, then kisses you again with less insistence. His arm once again wraps around your middle, pulling you close while his lips stay firmly planted on yours. His chest is damp and your own body feels hot as well. You’re grateful for cool sheets and silken pillows.
“I don’t think we should rise today,” you decide, eyeing the window.
“Mhm, I don’t think we should either.”
───── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ─────
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated ♡
Hey!! If you’re still taking them, I think 9 or 15 could be really cute for sleeping prompts please!! 💜
Hi! Thank you so much for sending a prompt 💜 I've already done 15, so I went for number 9. I'm sorry it's taken me a whole month to get to this one, but! It is significantly longer than my other prompt fills. It's also very much nsfw. I hope that's OK.
9. A talks in their sleep. B can’t get enough of it.
~
The first time he hears it, Wille is convinced that the universe is playing yet another cruel joke at his expense. The same way making him share a hotel room with Simon was August’s cruel joke. Simon, who is the worst rower on the team bar none. Simon, who’s only at this tournament so they didn’t have to forfeit after Nils broke his ankle. Simon, who hates Wille’s guts and is in no way subtle about it. It’s the only explanation for the fact that Simon, the same Simon, is currently laying in a bed not six feet away from his own, having the most incredible sex dream ever, if his noises are anything to go by.
Wille rolls onto his side, aggressively pulling his pillow over his head to muffle the moans.
“Mmmm, oh! … Fuck, please!” Simon whimpers. Actually fucking whimpers.
Wille grits his teeth.
“There! Yeah. Please. Ooohhh!”
Wille doesn’t know what to do. He’s angry, embarrassed, but also… Not. He tries to close his eyes, tries to block out Simon’s vulnerable, sexy sounding noises, but it’s too much. He coughs loudly, flopping onto his stomach more forcefully than necessary so the bedsprings squeak and complain. It kinda hurts, given the reaction he’s currently having, but, mercifully, it makes the noises stop.
Simon is a bit subdued the next morning, avoiding eye contact, brushing Wille off even more than usual when he tries to talk to him. Wille almost wants to offer reassurance. Comfort, even. He feels guilty, for fuck’s sake. Guilty for interrupting the sex dream of a guy from school who doesn’t like him. Yeah. That’s normal.
He sneaks little glances at Simon across the breakfast table, his eyes inevitably dropping to his plush, kissable lower lip, and his mind inevitably wandering to all the things he might’ve been dreaming about.
They suffer through another day of competitions, finally dragging themselves back to the hotel, achey and sunburnt. He and Simon barely speak as they get ready for bed, only asking each other cursory questions about who’s going to use the bathroom first, and ‘can I turn this light off?’ Wille stares up at the dark ceiling, alert to any noises coming from the next bed. He doesn’t really know what he’s hoping for. It’s unlikely that Simon will have a sex dream two nights in a row. He doesn’t want him to, obviously, but he still feels bad about last night.
Predictably, though, Simon just falls asleep, and Wille nearly does, too, until
“Fuck! Oh… Baby! Oh fuck yeah, please. Like that.”
Wille bites his lip.
“Needed this.”
He grips the sheets, pulling them tight across his body. Fuck it, he needs it, too. He’s so hard already.
“Don’t stop!”
The mattress creaks under Simon’s weight. He must be rubbing himself against it. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is torturous. Maybe he should wake him up again.
“Wille!”
Oh. Oh! Wille clamps his hand over his mouth, stopping the noise he’s about to make just in time. Simon must’ve finished, because his strangled moans have turned into breathy little pants. Wille’s cock throbs. He reaches down between his legs, squeezing himself through his pyjama pants. Jesus, he needs to… He slips his hand underneath the waistband. Could he just… If he’s really quiet, maybe…
“Oh fuck.”
He hears Simon mumble as he sits up. Wille shuts his eyes tight, feigning sleep as Simon climbs out of bed and shuffles into the bathroom. He’s in there for several minutes. Wille can hear the water running in the sink. He groans, rolling onto his side and pressing his legs together. The thought of Simon cleaning himself up after a messy wet dream is so hot he wants to scream into the pillow. He said your name, too his brain helpfully supplies. He was dreaming about fucking you.
Wille manages maybe an hour of sleep. He’s first in the shower the next morning, hand braced against the tiles as he fucks his own fist, desperately trying to keep quiet as he finishes in record time.
Simon, however, is in a much better mood when they head down to breakfast. Wille finds himself being especially attentive towards him, making him a coffee, reaching over the tall display to find him the best looking croissant, etc. Simon actually smiles at him. Smiles and blushes, and Wille has to look away before he makes an idiot out of himself.
“Listen up, fuckers,” Vincent announces, unconcerned for the family with small children at the next table, “there’s rain forecast all day, so we’re moving the competition to the gym. They have plenty of machines we can use.”
The whole group grumbles in protest.
“This is not up for discussion! We leave in twenty.”
“He’s such a dick,” Simon scowls.
Wille picks at his scrambled eggs, stifling a yawn, “Yep.”
“Are you OK?” Simon studies his face, “You look kinda tired.”
“Oh, er,” Wille looks down at his plate, “I didn’t sleep very well. Strange bed, you know?”
Simon nods. His blush is back, “Well, erm… We’d better get going, I guess.”
The whole day is one long distraction, from watching Simon change in the locker room to the way his shorts ride up when he sits on the rowing machine. Wille’s always found him attractive. He stopped lying to himself about that a long time ago, but he’s different around Wille, now. Nicer. Cheering him on instead of ignoring him or making not so subtle barbs, and that dream, Jesus. He said Wille’s name. Wille’s name. Does he want something to happen between them? How would that even go?
Vincent claps loudly in his face, yelling that he’s the next in line. Wille flips him off when he isn’t looking.
They reach the last heat of the day, Wille their final rower, and as his arms are burning and his legs aching with the strain he feels Simon’s hand on his lower back, warm and sure and encouraging him forwards. He rows harder than he ever has, his blood ringing in his ears with the exertion, pushing his virtual rower to the end of the screen just ahead of the opposing team.
The victory party in August’s room is fun, really, but Wille still finds himself checking his watch, eager for bedtime. He knows it’s stupid, hoping Simon has another dream about him. They’ve been laughing and chatting all night, on and off, but it’s nothing that could be considered flirting. Simon is actually slumped against the headrest with him right now, sticking his tongue out at August every time he complains about ‘off brand trainers on the bed.’
“What is this?” Wille asks, poking him in the side. He’s kinda tipsy, tongue loosened by a couple of light beers and something fruity with vodka in it.
“Huh?”
“This,” he gestures to the space between them, “I thought you hated me.”
Simon just shrugs, taking a sip of his own drink and smirking at him in a way that makes Wille’s throat feel dry.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, they say their goodnights and head back to the room, still joking around, shoulders bumping playfully as they walk along. Simon doesn’t bother with pyjamas tonight, just stripping down to his underwear before crawling under the covers. Wille does the same. He’s going to get himself off after Simon falls asleep anyway, dream or no dream. He’s been thinking about those gentle fingers on his back all afternoon.
“Night, Wille,” Simon smiles at him before he turns over.
Wille smiles back, “Night.”
Less than an hour later, the noises start. Soft, quiet moans at first, then
“Please, baby.”
Wille swallows, “Yeah, I’m here,” he whispers back, tugging his boxers down at the front.
“Want you to,” Simon moans again, “can we?”
“Anything,” Wille wraps his hand around his cock, teasing the tip with his thumb before stroking himself firmly. He knows Simon can’t hear him, but he’s too horny to care. He imagines them in bed together, kissing, hands wandering all over, whispering to each other in the dark.
Simon makes some more gorgeous, unintelligible sounds.
“That’s it,” Wille encourages, “tell me.”
Simon whines helplessly, “Need you.”
“I’m here.”
“Need… Your mouth, need…”
Wille groans, hand working frantically on his cock, hips lifting off the bed with the effort. He’s so close already, so engrossed in the fantasy.
“Wille?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Wille!”
Shit. That one is louder. Too close. Wille opens his eyes to find Simon standing over him. When did he get out of bed? How long has he been standing there?
And then all logical thought is gone because Simon is hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down slowly, “Let’s stop pretending we’re both asleep, hmm?”
Hi anon!! Thank you so much for sending me a prompt and I'm so sorry for letting you wait so long!!! The sentence is "aw, poor baby, do you want me to take care of this for you?" (👀) which maaay sound familiar since I've already written another ficlet with that same sentence, but, you know, more cake! So more cake (= a different scenario for the sentence) we'll have!! Hope you enjoy <3
can this count as my sunday-not-snippet? 👉👈
cw: nsfw. uh. quite nsfw. uh. beware? uh. dirty talk etc needy wille fanclub is in session again <3
He can be good. He knows he can be good. Has been, in a way, but, god, he needs to-
Wille snaps out of his thought spiral when Simon finally walks in through the bedroom door, damp hair, water droplets on his chest reflecting the warm light of the lamp on the bedside table in a way that makes him look golden. Wille can't help but swallow hard, blinking up at him from where he's perched beside their bed. It's where they have their thickest rug, white and soft and helping Wille forget that he's been waiting here for what feels like hours.
But now, fuck, now he'll get his reward, get to be good for Simon, get to make him feel good, get to taste him.
It's all Wille can think of, all his brain is able to string together, a nervous buzz making his skin feel tingly, making the blood in his ears rush and his arms feel heavy where they're lying uselessly by his sides. He's waited all day for this, has been feeling stupidly impatient since Simon walked out the door this morning. No sense in distracting himself.
When Simon walks over towards him, slowly, like they've got all the time in the world and like Wille isn't burning up on the inside, there's a soft smile on his face. He rakes his eyes over Wille's kneeling form, so slowly, so intentionally - Wille thinks his cheeks, neck, chest must be glowing red, and arousal and the pleasant sting of being just so unapologetically on display pull tight in his belly.
Their eyes meet, and Wille's heart skips a beat when he finds them warm and dark and open and... that must be a spark of pride. Pride at finding Wille right here, where he told him to wait, all clothes but his boxers shed, ready for Simon. Something warm spills in Wille's chest and he suppresses the urge to reach out and touch Simon's leg and pulls him close and hide his face in his thigh.
A little longer, he thinks, knowing that this, the moment right before, is crucial, knowing that, if he can be good now and patient and wait for orders, he will likely get his way later, get whatever he'll be begging for.
It's this, Simon making his way towards him, coming to a stand so, so close, but without letting Wille touch yet, that really challenges Wille's self-control. All day he's managed to hold back, keep his hands contained, never touching his own half-hard cock whenever his thoughts were spinning out of control. All day he's managed to hold out for Simon to come home, managed to save himself for Simon's touch and Simon's kisses and Simon's words. But now, he's nearly shaking with impatience, clenching and unclenching his fingers to fight against his urge to lean forward, mouth over the briefs Simon has quickly thrown on after his shower.
But he can, he will sit still, he can prove that he is-
"Good...," Simon says, slowly, voice soft and velvety and making Wille heave a sigh of relief. Good, it echoes in his mind as he digs his fingers into the outside of his thighs.
"Thank you for waiting," Simon adds and Wille nods helplessly.
When Simon reaches out a hand, warm and strong against Wille's cheek, then sliding back and into his hair, Wille nearly keens. The touch feels like almost too much after a day of nothing.
Nonetheless, he presses back, leans into it, blinks slowly, feels the buzz in his limbs ebb and flow while Simon rubs his fingers over Wille's scalp. He melts into it, lets his eyes slip closed for a moment, and just about misses Simon stepping even closer, his body heat welcoming Wille.
When Wille opens his eyes again, Simon is right there.
Wille almost forgets to breathe, having to hold himself back, centimeters from where he wants to mouth and lick and taste. But then, finally, Simon speaks again.
"This what you want?"
Wille tears his eyes from the outline of Simon's cock, lifts his gaze to meet him. Wille nods once, feeling like he's going to cry if Simon is going to continue looking at him like this and tugging his hair gently without letting him return any of the touching.
"Please," he adds, embarrassed to find his voice croaky and broken already.
But it works.
With a satisfied smile, Simon moves his head, tilts it back so he can watch Simon pull down the briefs.
"Go on," he says, and Wille feels the rush of eagerness like a punch to the gut.
With Simon's hand still pressed against the back of his head, he moves forward, licks a fat stripe up the length of Simon's cock, presses a few sloppy and uncoordinated kisses against the hard flesh. His head is spinning, every last thought gone, replaced with the glorious overwhelm of Simon taking over his senses. He smells like body wash and himself and tastes bitter and salty and like home when Wille mouths over the leaking tip.
He tries, fails, to fully move his mouth over him, briefly wonders if he's allowed to use his own hands, but Simon is quicker, takes a hold of his own cock, helps Wille sink down on it.
Wille moans when he feels him slide along the ridges of his mouth, over his tongue, a little dry still, for now. He pulls back again, lets saliva pool on his tongue, and rushes forward once more, almost too quickly, eyes watering on reflex when he feels Simon way back.
"Slow," Simon murmurs and, fuck, he's so affected already, sounding breathier, sounding like Wille is sucking him good. It send another violent pang of want through Wille.
He doubles down, starts bobbing his head faster, feels Simon's fingers tugging harder on his hair and, finally, he hears Simon groan, loud and low and unapologetic. It's like a fucking drug. And Simon knows.
"Fuck, you're greedy," he mumbles, his other hand coming to grab the side of Wille's head, not to pull him back, and Wille sees white sparks between his closed eyes. The words shoot right to his own aching cock, unrelenting and surprising and so deliciously taunting that Wille whines around Simon. He's throbbing in his boxers, desperate for touch, pressure, friction, anything.
For a glorious moment, Simon meets Wille's movements, gives a small thrust, just enough for Wille to know he's fucking him, but then, all at once, Simon pulls back. He holds Wille's head in place, keeps him from chasing after Simon's cock. It leaves Wille disoriented and horribly bereft.
He blinks his eyes open, lifting what he knows must be a frowning face up towards Simon. And finds him already staring down with his teeth sunken into his bottom lip.
There's a dangerous glint in those eyes and Wille feels exposed and open and wonderfully, gloriously at his mercy.
"What are you doing there?" Simon asks, almost casual, like he's making conversation, like he's not hard and slick from Wille's spit, just centimeters from his face.
Wille furrows his brow. And then, as if half of his body has been shut of till now, the realization hits him. He looks down his body, horrified to have his eyes land on the hand he's got clasped over the bulge in his boxers, pushing back against the simmering arousal.
Fuck.
He'd been entirely too caught up to notice, hadn't thought to cross his arms behind his back, hadn't thought-
But before the panic can take him under, he feels Simon's hands shift, feels his palms warm and big on his cheeks, urging his gaze back up to Simon. Soft fingers brush some strands of hair out of his face. For a moment it's so quiet that Wille thinks he can hear the static of electricity buzzing in the walls. Waiting for Simon's verdict.
"Did you get distracted, baby?" he asks, so, so very gentle and understanding that it fizzles off into a teasing lilt.
Wille swallows. He feels the twitch of his cock against his palm.
Slowly, he nods, eyes still stuck on Simon's face. He immediately catches the twitch on the side of Simon's mouth. And knows to brace himself.
"So difficult to ignore?" Simon demonstratively lowers his eyes, drags them down slowly. It makes hot and cold erupt all over Wille's, makes him want to writhe under Simon's gaze. He shifts on his knees instead, suddenly feeling restless again.
His second nod is less careful, more enthusiastic. Fuck. Simon knows this is only making it harder to ignore, making Wille painfully aware of just hos desperately he needs Simon's hand to replace his own. Wille shifts again, trying to stifle some of the aching throbbing. Simon's smile widens.
"Have you been hard for me for a long time?"
His fingers brush over Wille's cheekbones, his eyebrow, one thumb moving down and catching on his bottom lip. Wille knows the gesture. Knows he needs to speak, even though his tongue feels heavy and useless.
"Yeah...," Wille forces out, warm air bouncing off of the pad of Simon's thumb. He's going to lose his mind. The heat he's feeling in his cheeks and ears is making it hard to speak and keep looking at the same time. "Most of the day."
"Aw, poor baby..."
This time, Wille can't fight down the pathetic, needy noise that comes out of him. He blinks through the rush, always, still, remembering he wants to do well, wants to keep looking when he's supposed to.
Simon slides his hand lower, fingers dragging over the spot on Wille's neck that always lets shivers dance down his back.
"Do you want me to take care of this for you, huh? Take care of your cock?"
There's a deliciously taunting lilt to the words. A whine, a long, pleading, whine forces its way past Wille's lips.
"Please," he says, gasps "please" again when Simon taps his shoulder, motions for him to get up.
Simon cups him through the boxers for a short, knee-buckling moment before he crashes their mouths together, Simon now the one tilting his head back and up to chase Wille's mouth.
Feel free to send me some prompts from that list, or just make some up <3 Or read my other ficlets here
“Shh, can you be quiet?” (18+) Logan Howlett Headcanon
pairing: dom!logan howlett x female reader
warning: SMUT! MDNI. Reader being on top, reader and logan fucking beside’s sleeping wade on the couch, logan’s filthy mouth, orgasm denial
taglist: @wildlyobsessive @velvrei comment if you want to be tagged!
p.s: he looks so deliciously mean in this gif ooo
it was a movie night for you three that of course, wade wants to have in once a week.
it’s actually either he’s really meant it so he could feel like a family and that because he really loves you and Logan, or it’s actually because he wants to watch and listen to you both having sex
“if we do this we’re really giving into what he wants.” you rolled your eyes after spitting the facts to Logan
he grunts before he roughly grip your hips and move you back and forth on top of his clothed cock
“i don’t care. i just want to get inside you right now, fuck you’re so sexy, baby.” you fluttered your eyes shut leaning hour head back and softly moan
“shh, you gotta be quiet though. asleep or not, i don’t want this little shit listening to your sexy moans, only i get to.” Logan grunts
“you know i can’t.” you whimper
Logan hissed and grunts before he ripped your shorts off along with your panties with ease
he roughly stuff your panties into your mouth as you rolled your eyes from finding this situation rather hot
and there it goes, his thick and veiny cock penetrating you with him guiding you down to take it all in
“urghh..” Logan quietly groaned, leaning his head back against the cushion
“fuck… such a good pussy.” he whispered to himself with his eyes closed
if you could moan out loud, you would but instead you just lean your head back and start riding his cock
as much as he wants you to be quiet, it didn’t seem like he’d want to keep his mouth shut
he’s whispering all kinds of filth to your ear and he knows the effect of his voice in your ear
just by speaking very low sends chill down your spine
“fuck look at you, always ready to be my cock slut.”
“yeah..? yeah.. haha keep going bub.”
imagine his breathy laughs mixed with his grunts…
“fucking me cock so good bub, argh god.” you whimpered, eyebrows scrunched together watching him lean back for a second rolling his eyes to the back of his head
“come on baby, make me cum.” he taunts
“yeah… yeah haha keep it like that..”
“mmhmm.. keep going.”
you abruptly stopped, in fact almost froze when you heard wade’s grunt
you twist your head to find him still asleep
logan’s hand grabbed your chin and roughly turns your point of view back to him
“hey, who told you to stop? no one. keep going.” you whimpered before you begin riding him again this time with all the strength you have
“that’s it bub… there you go.” logan’s hand sneaks up from your torso to grab your neck, choking you
and thats what made you ride him faster
“are you gonna cum for me?” you nodded your head frantically
“you gotta make me cum first bub, come on. faster. yeah yeah yeah.. ggrhh.”
you whimpered, shutting your eyes
“fffuck… i’m cumming- i’m cumming-.. i’m gonna c-cum-” logan’s thigh stuttered before he jolted his hips upwards stopping you from moving as he is reaching his high to fill you with his warm cum
“o-ohh.. fuck fuck..” logan panted, emptying his load inside you
“gahh.. fuck.” he leans back against the cushion, you watching him with doe eyes
you haven’t reached your high, it’s very unusual for him to deny your orgasm unless… you did something wrong
logan chuckles from looking at your expression
“don’t worry bub. you’ll get to cum. only this time, and i’ll be saying it once more, this time only.” you look at him dumbfounded before he peered his eyes to the side and you follow
it was who is already staring at you with a smirk
“ooohhh yes i promise you peanut, but if she comes crawling back for my cock, don’t blame me.”
I feel like Frank would love to play wrestle with his partner like jokingly at first but when he pins them they moan and he gets feral
Oh god yes. He'd especially love it because he thinks its adorable when you try to overpower him. He'd be cracking up at you trying to get him in a leg-lock, always letting you think for a moment that you finally have him bested before overtaking you, restraining the full extent of his force to avoid hurting you.
You'd be straddling his waist, pinning his arms above his head-- your tits practically in his face-- and he'd give you a quick "Attagirl sweetheart, look at you," before grunting to sit slightly, his hands breaking free and one sliding behind your back to cradle you as he flips the two of you. He's directly between your legs now, his hands now pinning yours and you feel the press of him at your core.
You arch slightly and wiggle, a moan escaping your mouth as you feel the friction of his bulge against your thin pajama shorts.
"You needin' something sweetheart?" he asks, his tone a pitch lower now, pressing himself into you an inch further. You only nod and whimper, wriggling beneath him with your arms pinned above your head. He groans at the sensation and asks "What do you say sweet girl?"
You manage to squeak out a "please" and he groans again, bursting into action. In a fluid motion he reaches down and unlatches his pants and frees his cock before tugging aside your pajama shorts and guiding his tip to your entrance. He eases in slowly, hissing at your tightness but the rest of his movements are quick and frenetic. He fucks you hard and fast, both of you are nearly fully clothed but too consumed to care. He pistons his hips, the weight of him on your wrists and your core anchoring you to the floor as your tits bounce with every thrust.
He adjusts his hips a fraction to draw more friction to your clit against his shaft and instantly you whimper, feeling the build in your belly. You're feral now too, so desperate and needy for him that you beg, "Fuck me Frankie, fuck me. Gonna cum. I'm gonna cum," like a stream of consciousness as Frank pumps you rapidly.
He gives two hard pumps that send you up and down the floor beneath him, the final rapid pumps building the friction you desperately need as you cum, bucking your hips up and whining as you tremble. Frank's hips stutter when he feels the way you clamp him like a vice and he cums a moment later rolling his hips slower and watching the way his cock fits inside of you.
𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 → there’s absolutely nothing wrong with shy!innocent!naive!reader, except for the fact that she trusts her therapist entirely too much. he tells her that his special treatment is the only way to turn off her mind
𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 → therapist!remus, dark fic, can be seen as dubcon, power imbalance, doctor kink, naive!reader, corruption kink, overstimulation, oral (m! and f!receiving), toy insertion (f!receiving), vibrator, degradation, praise, subspace, mean dom!remus, sub!reader, masturbation (m!receiving), jerking off in panties(?), hair pulling, dacryphilia, slapping, virgin!reader, butt plug, anal, double penetration, triple penetration (is that a thing?), cum play (kinda), squirting, hair pulling, breeding kink, bulge kink, size kink, spitting, this is pure filth; if you don’t like it don’t read it. you are responsible for what you consume on the internet
𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 → 5.7k (i may have gotten carried away)
𝕒/𝕟 → i’m trying a new fic layout lmk your thoughts…
warnings: Hate Sex,Nicknames,Rivals With Benefits,Name-Calling,Insults,Nipple Play, and Nipple Licking
a/n:This is my first attempt at fanfiction so please be kind.and I tried with my grammar so be gentle.
"Oh fuck, yes! y/n feet were lanted on the mattress next to Draco's hips, leaning back so his cock would slide all the way down to the base, press all the way to the back of her cunt.
She rode him so hard, arms wrapped around his neck for leverage, bucking against him almost violently.
Throat and cheeks red, sweat beading between her tits, sweet sounds spilling from her lips — Gods, it was like she was using him.
“That’s it, Red, take what you need,” Draco groaned, leaning forward mouthing her cute tits, swirling his tongue around one nipple and then switching the other.
“Stop calling — oh fuck, just like that, Malfoy! Damn it, stop calling me Red !”
Draco released her nipple with a wet pop, pretty pink and shining with his spit.
“Hm, what would you prefer then? Bitch? Whore? Slut?”
“Fuck you, Malfoy!” she spat, nails sharp against his skin as she ground down on his cock viciously.
“You already are, Red,” Draco drawled, feeling her pussy squeeze around him.
She never commented on the nickname, but her body couldn’t lie to him.
“You’re dripping all over me, Red. You wanted to fuck so bad, hm? Needed my cock that much?
Draco slid his hand from her waist over her mound, pressing his thumb against her clit, letting her movements brush it against his thumb.
"Oh, oh my — ngh!" She was mindless. Whines and whimpers, eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration as she smacked her ass against his thighs, riding him like a toy.
It was deliciously hot, watching her lost in lust — but annoying how she chose to ignore his taunts.
“weasley .” His voice was low and harsh as he pinched her clit lightly.
y/n squealed, her hips jumping up, pulling half his cock out of her and she glared at him.
“Malfoy, you rotten bastard!” She seethed, “I was so close!”
“Oh, Red.” Draco pressed her hips down, forcing her to take his cock until their thighs touched. y/n was already panting, the edge in her eyes softening, her teeth plucking against the edge of her bottom lip as she started using her feet to rock back and forth against his cock. “You know better than to ignore me. That is, if you’d like to come.”
y/n froze, with her mouth parted for a moment, Draco smirking back at her.
And then she exploded, Weasley temper at full force.
“Who the hell do you think you are, Malfoy? You think just because you’re a little bit good at fucking, I have to answer you?! You aren’t shi — oh my Gods!”
Draco started fucking up into her, y/n hips automatic, meeting him thrust for thrust as she whimpered and moaned. Hot anger replaced with need as she bounced on his cock.
Draco hugged her body close, y/n wrapping her legs around his back now, as he used the give of the mattress to thrust up. Draco pressed his mouth against her neck, licking roughly and swallowing down the sweat.
“Yes, Merlin, yes, keep doing that, Draco,” her voice was light and breathy — so different from her usual tone, it was erotic in how sweet it was.
Draco groaned into her neck before using teeth, biting down just hard enough that y/n began squirming in his lap.
“Oh, oh.”
“You love that, don’t you, Red? When it’s a little rough like that?” Draco kissed the bruises he left on her neck, y/n thighs trembling against his own. She was so close, wet and fluttering around his cock.
y/n moved her hands from his neck, tangling in Draco's hair, pushing his head down back to her tits. Draco didn't fight her, kissing and sucking on her nipples, leaving them swollen and red as y/n moaned and ground down on his cock. Nasty, wet sounds echoing in the room from her dripping cunt sliding up and down his length.
“That’s it Red, fuck, squeeze around my cock just like that, love,” Draco murmured against her tits, looking up at y/n who stared back down at him, her eyes almost black with desire. “I can feel your pussy fluttering around me, so close aren’t you? Going to make a mess on my laps and ruin my sheets?”
y/n seemed to be lost for a moment, a beat filled with the sounds of wet cunt, her low moans, and squeaking mattress, until her nails dug painfully into his scalp.
She yanked his head back, glaring down at him once more, even with the haze of need and lust in her eyes. “Don’t. Call. Me. Love.”
Draco’s jaw dropped.
This witch, this fucking bitch!
A low growl spilled from Draco’s lips, bringing his hand up to one of her breasts, pinching and pulling on the nipple, rolling it between his fingers.
“You are beyond infuriating, y/n!” Draco hissed before he took her other nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, hollowing his cheeks, then swirling his tongue against it.
Draco saw the arrogant flash of her teeth, the same sort he remembered from his youth. Her fingers flexed in his hair once more, pressing his face into her breasts, encouraging his abuse of them as she rode on his cock. “I know, ferret. And I know how much it turns you on, too.”
Draco didn’t bother replying, instead biting down, harsh, on y/n nipple, her punishment and her reward. The witch shattering around him with a scream, her luscious cunt squeezing and milking him, until he came too with a groan.
y/n still clutched his head against her chest, both breathing deeply.
“I fucking hate that…ferret.”
y/n released his head, laughing as she leaned back. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it back off her forehead. “Yeah? And what in Godric’s name are you going to do about it, ferret?”
Draco placed his hand between y/n legs, feather light against her clit, still sensitive. She hissed for a moment before relaxing her hips.
“I suppose I’ll need to fuck you stupid, until the only words that come out of your insolent little mouth are draco malfoy, ” he drawled, fingers circling on her clit now, y/n breath catching.
“A-are you going to keep barking, or actually do something, f-ferret?” y/n bit her lip, keeping a moan at bay and Draco almost laughed at her bravado.
“You’ve asked for it, love.”
And, cock hard once more, he thrust up into That perfect cunt.
i feel like percy would be so nice while POUNDING into you. he’d be spreading your legs apart and holding up your legs with his big strong hands and praise you while he’s fucking you SENSELESS. like that man is definitely rutting into you saying “you’re okay, doll” “doing so good for me, pretty” “don’t close your legs yet, princess”
lmao love just a thirst message
anon you are correct he would praise the shit out of you, king of pet names, somehow coherent despite you absolutely losing it underneath him
"you're doing so good, baby, that's it" "taking me so well, doll, fuck, you're so gorgeous" fuckin princess?? kitten?? end me
What would they be like with the new employee at Weasley Wizard Wheezes?
A/N: until I get any ideas, I'm going to try writing shorts and headcanons. If you have any requests for shorts or requests for stuff they’d do with the reader etc, I’ll be more than happy to write them.
T/W: NSFW, Our favourite twins being pervy, maybe slightly dark (unknown ownership and the reader is innocent and unaware of the pervy twins’ antics), spanking, pinching, groping, nicknames, praise, drugging? (mentions of aphrodisiacs, sex pollen, and love potions), Smell kink? (like perfume and scent sniffing)
Both twins
- They’d be all over you, fact
-At first, they thought you didn't mind their attention, but then it dawned on them that you were innocent enough to not notice (that didn't stop them)
-One would ask you to bend down and get something or stand on the step ladder to reach higher stock, the other would be enjoying every glimpse of your underwear
-They would definitely get you a uniform, which would be a very short skirt and a top that shows a lot of skin (they just tell you that its standard uniform and that some of the products stain clothes)
-And if your uniform is ‘crooked’, they’ll happily adjust it for you
-You were so eager for the job that you barely even read your contract (luckily for them)
-In small print was a paragraph that stated that you belonged to them and that they could do anything they wanted to you, ANYTHING
-Making mistakes has its advantages
They won't dock your pay or give you a warning, they’ll just pinch your thighs or give your ass and pussy spanks until you learn your lesson (Fred started this punishment)
-If a customer takes a liking to you or tries to make a move, the twins will slip him some puking pastilles (they have their ways)
-If a customer is mean, they’ll let you sit on one of their laps whilst they comfort you (again, this customer will be getting some puking pastilles for making their favourite girl upset)
-Anything new they make, they try on you (or so they tell you. They only want you to test the new line of ‘potions’ that they have made *cough* aphrodisiac and a sex pollen potions *cough*)
-At first, they wanted to compete for you, but they realised that two heads are better than one
-If Ron comes in and tries to make a move, they bar him from entering (until Molly finds out and sends them a howler)
-They’re waiting for the right moment to spike you with a love potion
Fred Weasley
-Fred is more handsy
-If your thigh is showing, his hands are already there
-If you’re on the stepladder, he will definitely grope your ass and tell you that he's making sure you don't fall
-One of his sneaky tricks involves dropping a small box that has small pieces inside onto you, he's just hoping that some of those pieces will fall out between your tits and he’s more than happy to reach between them to get them out
-If its George’s day off and a customer makes you upset, you will have to hold him back because he will whip his wand out (his magic wand, you dirty minds)
-He’s more possessive of you, and more handsy, and meaner (he will make sure you make a mistake just to punish you)
-Fred has taken a liking to calling you Kitten
George Weasley
-George is sweeter
-He can be just as sneaky as Fred, but he’ll praise you more often than he’ll punish you
-If you get tired when you stand at the till, he won't let you use the chair. As far as he’s concerned, you’re only allowed to sit on his lap or not sit at all (so he’ll just sit down and make you sit on his lap)
-If a customer is mean to you, George will stroke your hair (whilst you’re on his lap) and press small kisses to your cheek, which you think he’s doing to make you smile but he’s doing it cause he loves how you smell
-There have been times where you pout to him about Fred’s punishments, but he just strokes your hair and pretends to feel sorry, saying something like “you should have been a good girl and then Fred won't pinch those pretty little thighs”
-If you come to work and it's raining outside, George will let you change into a shirt of his whilst your clothes dry (he won't wash that shirt, he’ll keep it and smell it whilst his hand works wonders *wink* *wink*)
Pls frost giant loki fingering you is just … you getting fucked 💀💀💀
𝓉𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓊𝒷𝓁𝑒 | ꠹!ꪶ. ꪶ.
fandom marvel
featuring jotün!loki x small!human!reader
rating NSFW / MINORS DNI
content warning loki’s big fingers, degradation, loki’s a big meanie too, fingering, size kink
summary the frost giant puts you to the test.
word count 620 / drabble
attention do not copy/repost/translate. not proofread. reblog and give feedback 💗 every reblog is another finger loki puts inside reader!
“Is that it?”
he sounds disappointed, but you were trying your damndest. whining softly, you wiggle your hips, “Please,” you babble, helplessly impaled on his middle finger, “I’m full!”
you wished that you could look up at him, and you try, dangling helplessly over one massive knee, your legs kicking when you feel the thick knot of his knuckle. how the hell was that only half of his finger?
the girth of it alone was driving you mad, stretching your canal over it like a glove, but your elasticity had a limit. one that you knew you were reaching. if this beast wasn’t careful, you’d break. you didn’t think he understood that by the way he forced another inch into you.
“Oh, of course you are,” he coos, his other hand pressing against your shoulder to keep your torso smushed against his knee and your face turned away from him, “because I’d bet those pathetic Midgardian… men… have only disappointment to offer? Is that what it is, little earth girl? One, simple finger is bigger than any thing this warm cunt has ever experienced?” he chortles, watching you writhe helplessly upon it, “For an eager and well mannered little thing, you sure are ill-trained.”
Loki twists his finger, beckoning with a curl that sends a whimper to your drooling tiers. you were certain, had you been lying on your back, you would be able to see the shape and thickness of his digit as a bulging imprint in your belly. your eyelids flutter, “Fuck!” you cry, needy, and use your nails to dig into the icy flesh of his leg you’re perched upon. “What do I have— ah! To do? Tell me, fuck, I’ll do anything if you’ll just— mm, keep filling me like that!”
he guffaws. you’re a pleading mess, arousal dripping from your stuffed cunt down the side of his massive leg and he’s laughing at you for it. “Well well, aren’t you an ambitious and incredibly stupid, little set of holes—“ taking hold of the back of your neck (and half of your shoulder), he forces your face down into his knee, “you’re going to need a lot more training before you’re going to be of any real use to me, I’m certain I’ll need to stretch you out properly. Add another finger each time until you’re completely ruined for any of those inferior earthlings and their microscopic sex organs. You’ll be all mine after that, my elastic, little cocksleeve.” you shudder at the thought, soaking the digit that splits you open.
“I’ll do it!” you cry, glazing his flesh in saliva. one hand coasts over his thigh, and up towards his groin, “Can I… please…?” you’re practically desperate to feel his cock inside you, dying to know how much your body can take before it breaks.
he chuckles, leans back and juts his hips towards you, allowing you to feel the colossal bulge awaiting. you swallow hard, caressing the length takes several strokes to reach every inch, and you would need to use both hands, even then you weren’t sure you could get your grip all the way around it. “Holy… shit.”
“What is that Midgardian saying, again? ‘Your eyes are bigger than your stomach’?” he snorts wickedly and pushes the remaining length of his finger inside of you, biting down on his lower lip when he hears you cry out, “Hear that, little one? That’s my point being proven. You couldn’t take even the head of my cock, no matter how badly you want to.” hunching over, he whispers close to your ear, the breath like a helish chill, “Not until I’ve trained this little cunt to take me and only me.”
“Well well, aren’t you an ambitious and incredibly stupid, little set of holes—“ taking hold of the back of your neck (and half of your shoulder), he forces your face down into his knee, “you’re going to need a lot more training before you’re going to be of any real use to me, I’m certain I’ll need to stretch you out properly. Add another finger each time until you’re completely ruined for any of those inferior earthlings and their microscopic sex organs. You’ll be all mine after that, my elastic, little cocksleeve.”
HOLY FUCK THIS IS SO HOT IM CRYING I WANNA BE HIS COCKSLEEVE
sO I've quite always been Feral for Cassian Andor, and with his new show out I'm even more feral, especially after reading your Cassian stuff which is *chef's kiss* literal perfection.
I'd like to submit a Kinktober request, and if I do it wrong just, like, literally yeet me into the sun.
Can I get a breeding + floor sex + "Shhh. There's people in the other room." with a Mr. Captain Cassian Andor, please and thank you? 🥺
(hi hi thank you so much 🧡! i hope you enjoy this!)
Crossing Lines
(sequel to Off Limits)
Cassian Andor x f!reader
Summary: With the promise of your long-awaited freedom from the Empire just on the horizon, you and Cassian have a risky celebration the evening before your escape.
Word Count: 1.3k
Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT
Content: NSFW, smut, floor sex, forbidden relationship, established relationship, unprotected p in v, creampie, fingering, dirty talk, cassian's filthy mouth, breeding kink, cockwarming
A/N: This is a sequel to Off Limits. I'd suggest reading that first for full context if you want to understand the plot!
MASTERLIST || MORE KINKTOBER
Cassian Andor.
His name was Cassian Andor.
Though he was initially hesitant to tell you much of anything at all, countless nights spent together after your first dalliance loosened his lips considerably. Your suspicions that something seemed off about your Imperial guard were proven to be correct—he was a spy for the Rebel Alliance. And if you were both lucky, you’d be escaping this miserable planet with him when all was said and done.
While Cassian was well aware of your disdain for the Empire, something which you’d made abundantly clear long before his mouth laid claim to yours, he was surprised when you whispered to him in the darkness of your room one evening, asking if you could join the Rebellion. He’d been planning to pilfer you from the clutches of your Imperial general father one way or another before taking his leave, but he’d expected that you’d want to take off on your own to find a quiet planet on the Outer Rim to disappear into anonymity.
But no, you wanted to fight.
And Cassian could hardly turn down the opportunity not to let you slip through his stained, battered hands.
The union of your bodies brought you together, and you continued to tread a dangerous path as Cassian discreetly took you to bed each evening, taking his duties as your “assigned guard” a bit more literally than your father had likely intended as he fucked you deep and slow until you were a trembling mess in his arms. But it’s what came after that found him nestling deep into the crevices of your heart—the hushed, soft conversation across the expanse of your pillow as Cassian gradually dropped down the walls of his hardened exterior bit by bit and let you see inside.
After his name came his story—from his heartbreaking childhood to all of the harrowing, traumatic, and tumultuous years that eventually found him rooted deep in the heart of the Rebellion, a cause that, while he hadn’t believed in it at first, was now the one thing that kept him standing despite the demons of his past that chased him. The memories of the blood on his hands, the choices he’d had to make.
“You’re a good man, Cassian,” you’d told him, letting your nose brush against his.
“I’m glad you think so,” he’d breathed out, cupping your cheek and running a thumb across your jaw.
–
Cassian had already managed to gather a goldmine of information while stationed a room away from where your father often discussed Imperial tactics and planning with his fellow officers, but with your added help, the information you left the planet with would be priceless.
The night before you were both set to flee, you and Cassian took a chance at sneaking into a building where you were convinced your father had stored several crucial files that could change the game entirely for the Rebellion. Your hunch ended up being correct, and while you both still kneeled on the floor after working together to pry the hard drive from the computer sitting beside you, Cassian surged forward and kissed you as you both laughed in elation at your success.
Perhaps it was the taste of freedom on the tip of your tongue that let you grow reckless, but as Cassian’s stubble brushed against your cheek, you couldn’t help but relax your jaw to deepen the kiss, inviting his tongue to probe further into your mouth. Rather than pull away and find a more inconspicuous place to continue, you let yourself slowly sink to the floor, grabbing the front of Cassian’s uniform to pull him down on top of you.
“Right here?” he asked breathlessly as he broke the kiss, both of you all too aware of the sounds of footsteps echoing down the hallways and muffled voices nearby. While you’d barricaded the door the moment you entered the room, it was risky nonetheless.
“We can’t go anywhere until the shift changeover, anyway. Might as well get comfortable,” you responded with a smirk.
Cassian shook his head, grinning, before he leaned in to nip at your bottom lip. Your hands trailed a familiar path down his chest, slipping his straining erection from his pants. In turn, he tugged down your bottoms, helping you pull one leg free so you could spread your thighs wide for him. He teased your damp entrance with two digits before thrusting them inside, and you moaned.
“Shhh,” Cassian hushed you. “There are people in the other room.”
You snapped your mouth shut, but when the silence was then punctuated by the wet, lewd sounds of his digits plunging in and out of your fluttering cunt, a bitten off whine managed to escape your lips.
“But I bet you want them to hear...don’t you? You want them to walk in here and see you, the general’s daughter, spread out on the floor for me, whimpering and desperate to be fucked and filled.”
Lining himself up with your entrance, Cassian wiped the head of his shaft through your slick folds.
“You want them to watch while I stuff my cock into your tight little cunt, a dirty, filthy Rebel fucking the Empire’s finest.”
“Cassian—” his name punched out of you as he buried himself in you to the hilt, your tight walls stretching to accommodate his length.
“You want them to know how filthy you are, too. How you beg me to pump my cum into you every single night. How nobody knows you sit at that table for dinner with your family while my seed still drips from your messy little hole.”
He drug his shaft from you slowly, only to penetrate you once more with a swift, brutal snap of his hips, and you gasped as he slammed into your cervix. The floor was hard and cold beneath you, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.
“I watch you drink that tea every morning, but I know you want those bastards to see just how badly you want to be bred, your belly full and round for the Alliance. For me.”
Heat pooled in your gut as Cassian’s cock massaged your inner walls at a relentless pace, and you arched your back up into his thrusts, wrapping your legs firmly around his waist.
“You want the whole Empire to know you’re mine.”
He sought out your mouth in a bruising kiss, licking across the seam of your mouth and taking claim of your bottom lip with his teeth, and you threaded a hand into his messy hair while fisting another in the front of his shirt.
“Yes,” you managed to get out in between the stilted moans you were doing your best to swallow down.
For all the tenderness that Cassian regarded you with normally, he quickly learned exactly what his filthy mouth did to you, and he used it to his advantage to consistently turn you into a simpering mess in his arms.
“When I get you back to the base, I’ll fuck you properly, and you can scream as loud as you want while your tight little cunt gushes all over my cock.”
With the promise of what was still to come lingering between you, Cassian clapped a hand over your mouth as he felt you clench down on him, muffling your choked out sob as the ache between your thighs bloomed white-hot and exploded, your entire body writhing with the force of your orgasm. He dropped his head down to mouth at your collarbone as his shaft began to pulse, painting your inner walls with his hot seed.
Even after the last of his cum finished pouring into your womb, you kept your legs wrapped tightly around Cassian’s waist, relishing the feeling of his softening cock nestled inside of you. He pressed an affectionate flurry of kisses across the curve of your jaw.
Turning your head slightly to capture his mouth with your own, you asked, “I mean…do we have to wait until we get back to the base? You do have a ship.”
summary: seeing you cozied up with general skywalker caused the clones to talk about what they’d do to you if you were theirs. anakin stands by and listens, smug that he’s allowed to do anything he wants to you, and his battalion can only fantasize about it.
☥ 🃏🎴 talk huttese to me
summary: intent to get his mind off of his hard work, you ask to learn more about anakin’s native language: huttese. when he talks dirty to you in it, you can’t help but beg for more. and he gets off to the fact you have no idea what kind of depraved things he’s saying to you while he pleasures you.
☥ 🃏🎴 final girl
summary: the neighborhood serial killer has a soft spot for you. you didn’t realize how really close you were to him. after your best friend confesses his feelings for you, he confesses something else as well. something far more sinister.
☥ exit music for a film ⟹ part 2
summary: somehow aware of anakin skywalker’s knightfall before the events take place, you seek to change the ending before it happens.
☥ 🃏 how he learned to kiss
summary: coaxing anakin to spill the story on how he got so good at kissing as a virgin before he even met you, he relays a story of his youth.
☥ 🃏🎴 just bad, bad decisions [x p.a.]
summary: having officially broken it off because of anakin’s stupid mistake, anakin and padmé have not seen each other since. when they lock eyes during a football game they both attend, they find their way back to each other during the game. and set aside their differences to reconnect under the bleachers.
☥ 🃏🎴 one more night
summary: anakin can’t accept the fact that you and him split, so he shows up at your door in the middle of the night.
☥🃏🎴 a lesson in huttese
summary: after a market mishap, anakin gives you a more personal lesson in how to speak his native language.
☥ 🃏🎴 wishful thinking
summary: your greed for your lord, darth vader, entices him to once again, destroy you from the inside.
☥ 🃏 pacifying
summary: once you discover how much giving oral to your lover pacifies you, you can’t stop finding opportunities to pursue it.
☥ 🃏🎴 i like the devil
summary: an officer of your starship becomes wise to you and your lover’s game. seeking the truth, he follows you and lord vader, catching you in the dirty act.
☥🃏🎴 okay, but this is the last time
summary: after not speaking for an extended period of time, you didn’t like the idea of ever seeing hobie again. when he shows up to your door unexpectedly, things take a turn for the better.
☥🃏🎴moth to a flame
summary: hobie’s sent to pick you up, but fights the power by sleeping with you instead.
Hate-Fucking/Angry Sex | Impact Play | Knife Play | Deep-Throating
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: Reader is an of age Padawan, fem!reader, Deep-throating, Hate-Fucking - Rough sex, degradation, choking, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, creampie, Maul comms reader’s master without consent while they doin it, mild humiliation, Maul is a smug asshole, (technically canon divergent because maul has his pp but robo legs idk i didn’t think it through 👀 I just wanted the d ok)
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