summary: You try running away from the house but Henry catches you before you enter the cave. Now he has to punish you.
word count: 3.0k+
pairing: henry creel x fem!reader
notes: i do have to give inspo credit to @wireddless and this drabble she did. because of that drabble i realized i needed more and this happened, lol. hope it's okay!
warnings/tags: no use of y/n, slight dub-con, smut, manipulation, guilt tripping, edging, orgasm denial, fingering, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, creampie, aftercare?
The screen door slapped hard against its frame as Henry’s hand yanked you backwards through it, your heels scraping desperately over the warped floorboards. His grip was absolute—each finger a vice around your wrist, indifferent to your pleas and squirming, nails digging crescent-moons into your skin when you twisted in one last, futile bid to wrench free.
He didn’t look at you. His eyes were set straight ahead, face carved with anger, jaw sharp and silent. You tried to plant your feet—he barely slowed, just lifted you off-balance and hauled you up the staircase, your shoulder slamming the wall as you tried, half-panicked, to find purchase on the banister. The house rang with the noise, an ugly, echoing thud. He still didn’t pause. “Henry—please—” It was a gasp, half-sob, breathless from the run and the terror.
He cut you off with a hard shake. “You almost made it to the cave,” he muttered, voice dark, almost impressed in its coldness. “Almost.” He shouldered open the bedroom door and flung you inside, letting you stumble and sprawl across the thick rug. As you scrambled to your knees, breath rattling in your chest, you didn’t look back at him—you didn’t dare.
The door boomed closed. Henry was on you before you could stand, grabbing your upper arm, forcing you around to face him. You tried to twist away, shoving at his chest. He didn’t budge. The movement only seemed to amuse him, the corners of his lips curling in something dangerously close to a smirk.
“Fighting me?” he asked, voice soft and curious as if he were observing a wild animal, not a person. His hand slid up to your jaw, thumb digging into your cheek until your eyes watered. “You think that’s going to save you?”
You couldn’t help the shake in your voice. “Let me go. Please, I wasn’t—I was just—”
“Just what?” He pushed you gently backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed and you collapsed onto it. His body loomed over you, all broad shoulders and cold, blue eyes. “You weren’t thinking. You don’t think. You react. You run.”
His hands were hot on your skin, one at your throat, not squeezing, just holding you down—reminding you how easy it would be if he decided to. The other traced your hairline, almost tender, fingers grabbing onto the back of your neck. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?” His voice dropped, suddenly rough. “You could have tripped in the dark, broken your neck. Or maybe someone else would have found you—someone who doesn’t care what happens to you at all. Not like I do.”
You closed your eyes, blinking back tears, trying to turn away. He tsked, gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “No. Look at me. You need to understand this. I am the only reason you’re alive. The only reason you haven’t been hurt. I protect you—every day. And this is how you thank me?”
You squirmed again, pulling at his wrist, but he held you fast, his strength unyielding. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of crying, but your eyes burned, vision blurring.
He leaned closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm and steady, a sick intimacy in the way he hovered just above your lips. “You’re lucky I found you first,” he murmured, his voice suddenly honey-sweet, full of dangerous, false comfort. “You don’t realize how cruel the world can be. I do. I see what you’re too naïve to understand. You’d be dead without me.”
A tremor shook through you. You hated how your body reacted to his touch—how heat bloomed low in your belly even as your mind screamed to get away. Henry’s hand slid from your chin down to your throat, his thumb stroking over your pulse. “Do you want to be safe?” he whispered, tone coaxing, seductive. “Or do you want to risk everything, again and again, just to spite me?”
“I—I don’t—” Your voice failed you. The humiliation of being caught, the ache of his grip, the fear—it all twisted inside, making you dizzy.
Henry’s expression softened, but it wasn’t kind; it was predatory, almost pleased. “You can’t help yourself, can you?” He brushed his lips against your ear, voice barely more than a breath. “You need me. You don’t even know how much yet.”
Your body shivered beneath him, thighs pressed together, trying to make yourself smaller. He pressed you flat against the bed, his thigh between yours, forcing you open. “You’re so stubborn,” he said, almost fondly. “Always testing me. I have to teach you. Again and again. And you never learn.”
He paused, taking in the tears slipping down your cheeks, the defiance still burning in your gaze. His eyes flashed, something wicked behind the icy calm. “Maybe I haven’t been strict enough,” he murmured, thumb smearing a tear away with agonizing slowness. “Maybe you need to be reminded what happens when you forget who you belong to.”
You shook your head, words caught behind your teeth, but he only laughed, soft and cruel. “You want to run? Go ahead. See how far you get next time. But for now—” He shifted, pinning you harder, his weight a promise. “I guess I’ll just have to teach you properly.”
His voice was low, menacing, yet almost gentle. His grip never loosened, even as you writhed—just enough to show you still had some fire left. You tried to twist out from beneath him, but he used his weight, his presence, to force you down, breath coming fast and shallow against your ear.
He smiled, slow and cold. “Keep fighting, if you want. See how far it gets you. All you do is prove how much you need me.”
The mattress dipped under his knees, the world narrowed to his hands on your body, the sick pulse of arousal and dread mixing in your veins, his breath hot at your jaw, teeth grazing skin, voice a velvet threat:
“Let’s see if you learn this time.”
Henry’s hands moved with an infuriating slowness, heavy palms skating down your trembling body, mapping every inch as if memorizing the contours of your fear and stubbornness. His fingertips hooked under the elastic of your panties, dragging the thin fabric down your thighs. The backs of his knuckles grazed your skin, a touch both deliberate and dismissive—he wasn’t in a hurry, he wanted you to feel how casual this was for him, how completely in control.
The air was thick, hot with anticipation and the humiliation of being laid bare under his gaze. You tried to close your legs, but his knee wedged itself between them, forcing you open, exposing you to the cool air and his hungry, assessing stare. He sat back just enough to admire his handiwork, one hand braced by your hip, the other lazy and taunting, cupping the heat between your legs. He brushed his thumb idly over your clit, featherlight, barely there, making your whole body jerk involuntarily, a choked gasp slipping from your lips before you could stop it.
“Oh, look at you,” Henry murmured, voice syrupy with condescension. “Always so defiant until I’ve got you like this. You don’t even know what you want, do you?” He circled your clit again, almost a tease, watching the flush creep up your chest, the way your hips tried to arch up for more, desperate for any real friction.
Your hands fisted in the sheets, nails digging in, breath coming in tiny, ragged shivers. “Stop—please, Henry, just—”
He cut you off with a tut, bending over to press his mouth hot and close against your ear. “You want me to stop?” His fingers slid down, parting your folds, slicking themselves with your arousal as if to prove a point. “That’s not what your body says.” He rubbed slow, lazy circles over your clit, two fingers dipping down to tease your entrance, pressing in just enough to make your muscles clench around nothing. Every movement was calculated, designed to drive you mad with need while keeping you just out of reach.
He pressed a little harder, making you whimper, your hips rolling in spite of yourself, seeking more, begging for it. He grinned, voice low and pleased. “Look at you. I barely touch you and you’re already soaking. That’s what happens when you disobey—you make a mess and I have to clean it up.”
You tried to turn away, mortified, but he caught your chin, forcing you to face him, eyes sharp and demanding. “You want to come, don’t you?” His fingers stilled, just barely inside you, refusing to move until you answered.
You hesitated, shame warring with need, but your body answered for you—a needy buck of your hips, a strangled whine in your throat. Henry laughed, the sound dark and knowing. “I knew it. But you don’t get to come yet. Not until you mean it. Not until you’re sorry. Not until I believe you.”
He dragged his fingers back up, circling your clit with maddening patience, teasing but never giving enough. You squirmed beneath him, the pleasure too much and not enough, a sharp ache building inside you, heat pooling deep and urgent in your belly.
“Say it,” he commanded, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “Tell me you’re sorry. Like you mean it.”
You shook your head, biting your lip, the words stuck in your throat. He pressed a little harder, the pads of his fingers slipping over your clit in slow, lazy circles that made your thighs tremble. He leaned down, lips brushing your jaw, breath hot and ragged. “Don’t make me wait all night,” he warned, a mock patience in his voice that sent a cold thrill down your spine.
He pressed two fingers inside you without warning, knuckles deep, stretching you slow and deliberate, curling up to stroke that sensitive spot that made your whole body arch off the bed. Your mouth dropped open, a helpless moan pouring out, raw and desperate, your hips bucking up to meet his hand.
“Say it,” he repeated, thrusting his fingers slowly, almost carelessly, as if he could do this forever, as if your pleasure—or your torment—meant nothing to him except as a lesson. “Or I’ll stop. Right now. I’ll leave you like this, aching, desperate, until you learn to be good for me.”
Your pride fought back, stubborn, tears prickling at your eyes, but the pleasure was overwhelming, impossible to ignore. He shifted, pressing his thumb against your clit while his fingers fucked you slow and deep, pushing you closer and closer to the edge but never letting you fall.
“Please,” you gasped, voice breaking, body shaking with the effort to hold back, to not give him the satisfaction.
He tsked, shaking his head. “Not good enough. I want to hear you beg. I want to hear you mean it.”
You broke, the shame and need twisting together until you couldn’t tell them apart. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, voice raw, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, Henry, please, I’m sorry—”
He smiled, wicked and triumphant, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “That’s my girl.” His fingers sped up, thumb circling your clit with perfect pressure, drawing desperate, needy sounds from your lips. “Now come for me. Show me how sorry you are.”
The orgasm crashed over you, violent and overwhelming, your whole body seizing beneath him, cries echoing in the room, every nerve ending aflame with relief and humiliation. He held you through it, fingers milking every last tremor from your body, watching with dark, satisfied eyes as you fell apart for him.
He didn’t stop until you were boneless and gasping, the lesson burned into your skin. His hand finally left you, sliding up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing away the tears, his voice low and almost gentle.
“Maybe now you’ll think twice before running,” he murmured, a threat and a promise tangled together, as he leaned in to claim your mouth with his.
Henry’s hands slid from your jaw down to your collarbone, rough and unhurried, fingertips ghosting over sensitive skin as he pushed the straps of your dress from your shoulders. The fabric slipped down your arms, pooling at your waist, exposing trembling skin to the dim light. He caught your gaze, the ice in his blue eyes thawing into something heavier, more wounded than angry.
His palm flattened over your heart, thumb tracing a circle just above your breast. “You really wanted to leave me that badly?” he murmured, voice low, not harsh but laden with an ache that twisted in your gut. “You were going to run from me? After everything I do for you?”
You opened your mouth, but the words tangled with a shaky breath. Henry’s fingers found the clasp of your bra and undid it with a deft flick, letting the final scrap of modesty fall away. He nudged the dress the rest of the way off, his knuckles grazing your thighs, making your breath stutter.
He held you there, stripped bare and shivering, under the weight of his stare. “I’m not angry, darling. Not really.” He dipped his head, brushing his lips over the line of your jaw, warm breath feathering down your neck. “But it hurts. It hurts, knowing you’d rather risk yourself out there than stay with me. Am I really that awful?”
His question crawled beneath your skin. Tears welled up, blurring the world around his face, your throat tight. “No, Henry—no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I just—” Your voice cracked, and you buried your face in the hard muscle of his shoulder, shame burning your cheeks.
He shushed you softly, hands soothing over your ribs. His body pressed into yours, heat and need and ownership all wrapped up in the way he handled you—unyielding, but never hurried. He sat back just enough to undo his own pants, pushing them down over his hips, cock heavy and flushed, the sight of it making your insides twist with nervous anticipation. He didn’t bother to take his shirt off, just let it hang open as he guided your legs apart, body slotted perfectly between them.
He leaned over you, chest brushing your nipples, the scratch of fabric against your bare skin sending a shiver up your spine. His hands framed your face, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re mine,” he said, soft and final, a statement of fact that demanded no answer. “Say it.”
You swallowed hard, tears spilling over, voice small and raw. “I’m yours, Henry. I’m sorry. I’m yours.”
He kissed you, slow and punishing, teeth scraping your bottom lip as his hips pressed forward. The thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance, slick and aching, your body already yielding from the rough tease he’d given you before. He slid into you in one long, deliberate thrust, filling you completely, stretching you open until your mouth dropped open on a shuddering gasp.
Henry’s breath was hot against your ear as he bottomed out, holding himself deep inside. “You feel that?” he whispered, moving his hips just enough to make you clench helplessly around him. “No one else will ever have you like this. No one else gets to see you fall apart. You’re mine, and you’ll never run from me again.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks, shame and relief warring inside you, body clinging to him as he started to move—slow, possessive thrusts, each one claiming you again and again. His hands roamed everywhere: cupping your breasts, gripping your waist, pinning your wrists above your head only to let go and cradle your face while he fucked you.
He kissed along your jaw, and you pressed your lips to his skin in a desperate apology, peppering kisses along his neck, across his throat, up to his cheek, whispering broken pleas between every gasp. “I’m sorry, Henry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it, please don’t let me go, please—” Your words were muffled against his throat, voice shaking with every thrust, every wet, needy moan.
He grunted softly, thrusts deepening, fucking you harder but never rough—just insistent, relentless, coaxing you toward the edge again. “That’s it,” he murmured, letting you sob into his neck, “say it again.”
Your lips brushed his jaw, his mouth, salty with your tears. “I’m sorry, Henry, I’m yours, I promise, I’m yours—” The words spilled out between kisses, each one more desperate as your body tightened around him, every muscle trembling, the pressure building again, impossibly sharp.
“Good girl,” he breathed, voice ragged. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes searching your face, needing to see every quiver, every tear. “Come for me. Show me you mean it.”
You shattered for him, your whole body arching up, walls clenching tight around him as you cried out his name, sobbing into his mouth, legs trembling as the orgasm tore through you. Henry groaned, hips snapping forward, thrusts growing frantic as he spilled inside you, holding you so tight you couldn’t have run even if you wanted to.
He stayed like that, locked together, letting your bodies ride out every aftershock, his lips gentle on your damp cheeks. His hands softened, stroking your sides and kissing away the tears.
Slowly, carefully, he eased out of you and gathered you up, pulling you onto his lap, your face pressed into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you secure and safe, rocking you gently while your breathing evened out. He pressed soft kisses onto your temple, voice a low rumble against your skin.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, thumb wiping the last tears from your cheeks. “I forgive you. You’re safe with me, always. I’m not letting you go. Never again.” He held you close, bodies tangled, the sharp edge of the lesson fading into a quiet, possessive warmth, his forgiveness settling over you as heavy and inescapable as his love.
extra notes: i am going to be making an actual fic with henry - technically i'm gonna make it a two parter, the first one being henry x reader and the second being a steve x reader. if you're interested/want to be tagged, let me know!
Summary: Thinking about breeding kink and Eddie 'Motormouth' Munson shooting his mouth off at the feel of your pussy clenching around his cock…Bonus points because he actually wants to be a daddy.
A/N: The second place winner of this poll. It was a tight race—these two were tied for a bit there. Also, I’m posting this so I can work my way down the poll to get to the nosferatu inspired smut and the dark!eddie anal that isn’t really that dark (so y’all better enjoy it, smut so good it made the author wet fr)—those two are I think my favorites that I wrote during ovulation week. Pls ignore any mistakes or odd sentence structure–I wrote this very fast and in a fiery, horny passion
Word Count: 700ish
Warnings: 18+ mdni!! PiV unprotected, breeding kink, pregnancy kink?? unhinged levels of dirty talk, cream pies, dom!Eddie, daddy kink but in this way, Eddie wants you to have his babies, smidge of degradation, smidge of name calling (one ‘whore’)
Masterlist
“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re squeezin’ me so tight, you want my fucking babies that bad, huh? You wanna be a mommy so fucking bad you gonna take my cum from me?”
Unable to formulate actual words at the pounding of his hips, you simply nod your head messily, mumbling out a strained, “Uh huh.”
“Yeah, I know you fucking wan’ it. Wanna be full o’me, don’t ya, honey?” Groaning at the way his words elicit a particularly tight squeeze of your walls, he continues spewing out absolute filth through panting breaths. “Wan’ me to fuck my seed so far up your greedy little cunt you’ll get two babies for one, I know you fuckin’ do.”
“Please! Eddie, jus’ wanna feel you,” you whimper, losing all awareness of reality as he crushes your body under his weight. Desperate, rutting hips slap the back of your thighs; his cock invades your poor, tight hole with the fervor of a man possessed.
Shaking his head, Eddie grits his teeth as he leans down, pushing into your space even more at his declaration. “Nah, you’re not here to feel me, sweetheart. You’re here to gimme a baby like I asked for. You gonna give it to me? Gonna let me breed this tight little cunt?”
The sharpness of his words matches the pang of his cock as it just barely kisses your cervix, knocking the breath from you. You don’t know whether you’re desperate to cum, for him to cum, or for your abused pussy to get a break. “I’ll give you whatever you want, please! Eddie, please, jus’ wan’ you inside me.”
He’s already inside you, that’s why you’re currently huffing out puffs of air in time with his thrusts. But he knows what you actually mean—you want his cum. Although, in the hazy heavenly feel of your walls clinging to him, he does note how you haven’t specifically agreed to his request to breed you. That only frustrates him more—you want to cum, you want something from him, but you’re offering nothing in return. If you want to feel good, he’s going to need you to give something up first—that’s how deals work.
“I am inside you, honey. But you gotta say the magic words if you wan’ my cum, if y’wanna feel all nice and warm inside—I know you’re a whore for being stuffed.”
At your mewling response—mind too consumed by his thick length stretching you so wide to actually respond with words—he presses a large palm onto your lower stomach, reveling in the way he can feel his cockhead nudge his hand.
The new pressure elicits a pleasured scream as you throw your head back, wailing into the air, “Please! Please, please, please can I have your cum?”
Eddie bites his lip in hunger as he watches you lose your mind over a little pressure. “Nah, baby, that’s not it. Tell me what I wanna hear,” he orders; the magic words you chose are not the ones he was looking for.
Too cock-drunk to function, you shake your head with pinched brows, trying to force any thoughts to come—scrounging up any idea of what he might be looking for. “I don’t–I don’t know. I–please!”
A wicked grin spreads across his lips as he realizes he has you right where he wants you. “I’ll give you a hint, sweet girl, would you like that?”
Another pleading whimper and a nod. Tears well up in your eyes as his thick cock pushes you right to the precipice of heaven—or damnation, you don’t know.
“You can say something like, ‘Daddy, wan’ you to make me a mommy’ or how about, ‘Daddy, gimme your…’” His condescending, mocking tone makes you preen as he leaves the last option open for you to finish.
“Please, daddy, gimme your babies! Wanna have your babies so fucking bad! Fill me up, please, god, I wanna feel you,” you wail, squeezing your eyes shut in ecstasy, finally letting the tears run down your temples.
“Good girl,” he coos, sliding his hand to where you need him most. All it takes is the first tight circle around your clit and you’re screaming for him.
“D–Daddy! Daddy! Please, fuck! Oh, god!”
“Oh, good girl, baby,” he chuckles breathily, his dark eyes alight with hunger as he watches you cum—feeling your cunt milk his cock for all its worth. “Fuck, take it, take my fucking cum,” he grits, groaning wildly, shoving himself even deeper. “Gonna knock you up, make you mine forever, honey.”
He leaves you with so much cum stuffed into your pussy, he might be right—he might’ve given you two babies in one go.
A/N: I really want people to read the dark!Eddie fic so I’m gonna give y’all the synopsis here. The only reasons I’d label it as dark are A) there’s some manipulation about what counts as losing your virginity (it’s not losing it if it’s anal!) and B) it’s in response to someone asking for more dark!Eddie after my last one.
Overall, though, Eddie is very very sweet to the reader—he’s just obsessed with you. Basically you’re dating Jason Carver, he sends you to pick up his weed from Eddie, you think you have to pay but you don’t have money, Eddie conveniently doesn’t tell you Jason already paid, smut ensues (sex for goods yurrr) etc etc. It’s porn with very little plot, but the smut is so fucking good and I like thinking about desperate perv!eddie getting a taste of Jason’s girl and sending her on her merry way knowing he’ll be seeing her again.
Summary: You're Hawkins' favourite menace, always in trouble, always pushing buttons, and always ending up in the back of Chief Hopper's squad car. Everyone thinks the two of you hate each other. But, the trust is that you're both obsessed, and he's done pretending otherwise.
You’re laughing when they cuff you. Not a subtle little giggle, but an obnoxious, head tipped back laugh that pissed people off.
Hawkin’s golden hour spills across the pavement, warm and golden and sticky sweet, and you’re belly-laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world that two deputies are dragging you, barefoot, soaked and grinning, from the edge of the public pool.
The ‘no trespassing’ sign had been more of a dare than a deterrent. And that ridiculous cannonball you’d executed straight into the deep end while the pool was closed?
That was for him. And right on cue, there he is. Chief Jim Hopper.
All over, fix feet of furious, broad-shouldered authority, talking up with that jaw set so tight you can see the muscle twitch in his cheek. The chestnut scruff framing his mouth is a little overgrown, he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, and he smells like cigarettes and cheap cologne.
You beam up at him, dripping wet and barely dressed in your clingy black tank top and cutoffs.
“Chief,” you purr, voice syrup sweet. “You came to see me swim? How lovely of you.”
His eyes darken as he takes a deep breath. “Get her in the car,” hr demands, voice thunderous.
“But I already am wet,” you whisper under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
The deputy behind you stifles a laugh. Hopper hears it too, as his glare could cut glass.
One, you're shoved into the back of his cruiser, and the doors slam shut. Hopper lingers outside the door for a moment, hands on his hips, breathing heavily. You can see the vein pulsing in his neck from where you sit, wrists cuffed in your lap like a smug little prize.
You lick your lips slowly. Waiting and watching.
And just like you knew he would, he opens the door again, climbs in beside you, and slams it behind him. The car rocks slightly with the force.
He locks the doors. Silence.
His thigh brushes yours, his presence fills the space completely.
You tilt your head, pretending to pout. “No thanks for the show? No good to see you again, sweetheart?”
“You think this is a fucking game, don’t you?”
There’s that voice, rough and wrapped in threat. His fingers dig into your chin, forcing your face to tilt up to meet his eyes, his blue gaze is molten.
“I missed you,” you whisper, smiling with all your teeth. “Bet you missed me, too, Daddy.”
The way his jaw clenches is pornographic. “You’re gonna get me fired,” he hisses.
“Then stop arresting me.”
"You want me to.”
You smile wider, all sugar and spite. “Of course I do.”
You don't break eye contact. Not even when he grabs your thighs or when he pushes them apart with one giant hand. Not even when his other hand drags down your chest and between your legs, hot and demanding through the soaked denim of your shorts.
“No panties again?” he growls.
“They were in the way,” you breathe.
"You’re such a fucking brat.”
You sigh dreamily. "Your brat.”
He doesn’t answer. He just undoes your shorts and takes them down, tugging them halfway off your legs and letting them dangle around your knees. The chill of the cruiser’s air conditioning ghosts over your bare pussy, making you shiver.
Then you feel his hand. Those fingers, thick and calloused, press against your cunt. He slides them slowly through the dampness there, more slippery than the rest of your body’s wetness from the pool.
“Thought you were here to arrest me,” you tease.
“Oh, I'm doing a full search,” he rumbles. “Thorough. Internal.”
Two fingers slip inside of you. Your head falls back, thunking against the car seat as your thighs widen, giving him more room.
Hopper’s other big hand covers your mouth before you can moan. “Not here,” he whispers, looking out the window. “You keep that mouth shut, sweetheart, or you're gonna get caught.”
You nod obediently, well, as obediently as a brat like you can manage. Because then you clench around his fingers and smile through his palm.
He growls again. “Oh, you're gonna be real sorry.”
He thrusts his fingers into you harder, two then three, thick and curling right against the spot that makes your toes curl. The angle’s perfect in the backseat, your hips arched, legs spread over the vinyl, his body looming over you like a storm.
You’re squirming, dripping, your wrists still cuffed and holding onto his forehead as your orgasm builds hard and fast.
“Fucking greedy little cunt,” Hopper whispers filth into your ear. “This hole’s mine. All mine, you understand? So tight, can’t even take my fingers without making a mess.”
Your whole body shudders violently, legs kicking, your release gushing over his hand. He watches you react, like he's starving, fascinated by the way you fall apart so easily for him.
And then he's kissing you. It's rough and messy, tasting of tobacco and rage and barely restrained obsession. He licks into your mouth like he owns it.
Eventually, you both lsumb back in the seat, breathless and fucked out.
Your hands are still cuffed as he brushes a hand down the side of your face with surprising gentleness.
You smirk, nipping the tip of his fingers. “Thought I was under arrest, Chief.”
“You are," he mutters. “House arrest. At my place, for the weekend.”
Your heart thuds. “Seriously? You mean it?”
He doesn't answer, just unlocks the cuffs and pulls out his clipboard. The arrest report in his lap, which has been filled in by his deputy, is promptly ripped in half.
“Chief Hopper," you gasp mockingly. “Are you tampering with evidence?”
He glances over at you, his expression dry.
“I'm tampering with your entire goddamn record. All the fucking time.”
You squeal with delight and crawl into his lap, still with your shorts off, peppering kisses up his neck as he groans.
“God help me,” he groans.
"You love it.” his arms wrap around you tightly.
“I do,” he admits.
~~~~~
You weren’t trying to make him jealous… okay. Maybe just a little.
The Hawkins PD was already humming when you waltzed through the doors with a smirk painted on your face and trouble in your step. Your latest stunt? Getting caught trying to siphon gas from a patrol car outside the station. In broad daylight. Wearing short-shorts and a Hawkins High hoodie with nothing underneath.
You wanted to be seen by him.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t Hopper who found you first. It was the new guy, Deputy Kyle something. Blonde, fresh-faced, eager to impress and dumb as a fuckign brick.
He’d grabbed your arm a little too roughly when hauling you toward the desk, trying to show off.
“You think this is funny?” Kyle snapped as you leaned casually against the counter, wrists already cuffed behind your back.
“I think you’re funny, son,” you purred, batting your lashes and hoping the name pissed him off. “You know your cuffs are too loose, right?”
He huffed, yanking you forward again. “You’re gonna sit tight until the shief gets here–”
“I’ll take it from here.”
That voice.
The temperature dropped ten degrees as Hopper stepped into the room. His towering figure filled the doorway like a freight train, eyes locked on your arm in Kyle’s grip.
“Deputy Kyle,” Hopper said calmly..
“Sir?”
“Let her go. Now.”
You didn't even look back; you knew that tone. The one that said, 'If you make the wrong move, you’ll lose the hand.'
Kyle obeyed, hands up, backing away like he’d just stepped on a bear trap.
Hopper’s gaze dragged to you next. You gave him your sweetest smile. “Hi, daddy.”
His nostrils flared. "Get in my office. Now.”
You wiggled your hips as you walked, still cuffed. You heard him growl behind you.
The second the door shuts, he’s on you.
He shoves you against the desk, both of his hands flat on the wood as he cages you in from behind. His chest pressed to your back, you feel every line of his massive body, every inch of tension radiating from him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls in your ear.
“Getting arrested,” you breathe, looking at him over your shoulder.
“You let that little boy put his hands on you?”
You smirk, “You weren’t there.”
“I am now,” he spins you around, grabs your face in one huge hand and tilts it up. "You’re mine, understand?”
“Then prove it.”
Oh, that did it.
Hopper grabs your hips and bends you over the desk. The cuffs dig into your back as your cheek presses to the cold surface. You feel him behind you, undoing his belt with one hand, shoving your shorts and panties down with the other.
"I should leave you like this," he says roughly. “Let the whole fuckign statin hear you beg.”
You moan at the thought, "Please do. I’d love to make you more jealous.”
He chuckles, mean and turned on. “You’re such a goddamn brat.”
“Your brat," you echo again, biting your lip.
Then he’s inside you. There’s no warning. Just a hot stretch of cock forcing its way into your dripping pussy, thick and heavy, and so deep. You cry out against the desk, but he doesn't stop.
He grabs onto your hair, pulling your head up so you're looking straight at the blinds, open, with the squad bustling beyond.
"Think they can see?” he grunts, rocking his hips.
Your eyes flutter. “Think they’ll figure out why their chief’s obsessed with Hawkin’s biggest pain in the ass?”
His hand circles your wrist, reaching between your legs, rubbing your clit in hard, precise circles.
You’re gasping, panting, making a fucking mess all over his desk.
“I see you,” he groans. "In that hoodie with nothing underneath, showing off for every man in that damn building, but you're mine. You come when I say. You squirt only for me, you scream my name.”
And you do. Your orgasm nearly breaks you into two, hips jerking, mouth open, eyes rolling back as you squirt hard all over his cock and desk. He doesn't stop, he fucks you through it, praising in your ear while his thrust grows sloppier.
He cums inside you with a broken gasp, hands locked on your hips, like he's never letting go.
You’re both silent for a moment. Then he pulls out slowly, tucks himself back in and grabs a towel from the cabinet. You stay bent over the desk, still cuffed and trembling.
He wipes between your thighs with surprising gentleness. “You alright, sweetheart?”
You hum, tiredly. “Mm, jealous sex has to be my favourite.”
He laughs softly, brushing his lips over your shoulder before moving to close the blinds. “Don't test me.”
You peek up at him. “But it's so fun.”
He helps you up, uncuffs you, and then kisses your temple.
“Your record’s clean. Again.”
You giggle, leaning into his touch. “You spoil me, daddy.”
He grumbles under his breath but pulls you into his lap anyway, arms wrapped around your body like a vice. You curl into his chest and smile.
~~~~~
The Hawkins Fall Festival is always packed. Hey, beles, pumpkin carving, shitty carnival rides, screaming kids and unfortunately, you.
You weren’t supposed to be here. Hopper had explicitly told you that your presence was banned after last year’s fireworks incident.
So when he spots you across the crowd, spinning in circles near the ring toss, your little dress flying up just enough to make him twitch, he's already halfway to snapping.
But you? You're smiling when you spot him. That soft, evil smile that screams Catch me.
He marches toward you, and you squeal and bolt.
You don't get far.
He grabs your wrist and yanks you off the path, so fast your shoes nearly fly off. You barely get a breath in before he’s dragging you behind a storage tent, tucked between hay stacks and the edge of a barn.
“You wanna cause a scene?” he growls. “Let’s fucking go, sweetheart.”
You're pressed against the wall, breathless, chest heaving.
“I didn't do anything,” you say, mock-innocent.y
“You showed up in that dress, no panties I've noticed, and danced around where anyone could see that tight little cunt. You did something alright.”
You blink slowly. “So do something about it."
And then he's on you. He yanks the front of your dress down so your titsspill free, spins you to face the wall, forearm braced above your head, your body pinned beneath his bulk.
You can feel him through his jeans, hard and heavy against your lower back.
“You wanna be a brat in public?” he asks, biting the shell of your ear. “Then you take this cock in public.”
He doesn't wait. One hand drags your dress up, the other unzips.
And then he's there, pressing into your dripping slit, brutally slow.
You gasp, eyes going wide as you try to widen your stance.
“Hop-fuck-”
“Shh", he warns, hand clamping over your mouth. "You stay quiet, sweetheart. Unless you want them to hear."
Because just on the other side of the tent wall, families laugh, parents chat, and a band is warming up for the evening.
And here you are, being split open by your very own chief of police, stuffed to the hilt and shaking like a leaf.
He’s too fucking big. He always is. You claw at the canvas as he starts to move, grinding deep, thrusts that force your body up the wall. You're helpless to do anything but take it.
“Look at you", he pants. "This tiny pussy is trying to swallow me whole. Can barely fucking take me."
You can't take him, not really, not when he's this deep, this thick, digging against spots that make your knees buckle.
His hand presses to your lower belly, only adding to the stimulation as pressure builds between your legs like you’re going to pee yourself.
"You feel that?” he whispers against your neck. "That's me in there, baby, that's how deep I am".
Your eyes roll back. His other hand slides between your thighs and circles your clit mercilessly. You’re already so close, wet, stuffed and overstimulated.
"Come on, come from me, let them all hear what a filthy little cock hungry slut you are."
You scream just as he covers your mouth. Your body shudders, clenching down hard as you squirt against his cock and thighs, making a mess, and he just groans and fucks you harder.
He doesn't stop because Hopper is fucking obsessed.
You’re moaning into his hand, eyes wet, babbling nonsense as he chases his release. Then finally he presses in hard, growling your name through gritted teeth as he fills you up.
You're trembling when he pulls out. Your arousal and cum drip down your thighs and puddle into the grass as you sag against the wall.
Hopper catches you before you fall, gently lifting you into his arms. He carries you behind the barn and sets you down on a blanket in the shade. From his coat pocket, he pulls a handkerchief, wiping you down carefully.
You sigh and blink up at him. “You mad?" you whisper, a little worried.
He snorts. "You think I'd fuck you like that if I were mad?"
You grin. "You love me, it's ok to admit it."
He rolls his eyes. "You're lucky you're cute."
"Lucky I've got the biggest cock in Hawkins fucking me."
He barks a laugh and kisses your temple. "I'm gonna burn that dress by the way."
"Not if I wear it tonight when I sneak into your bed."
He groans again, already hardening in his slacks.
~~~~~
It's too early for you to sneak out. The sun's barely up, the dew still clinging to the grass, and Hopper is half asleep, shirtless, tangled in sheets, hair messy and face relaxed for once. You passed in the doorway, admiring him.
Your bear of a man.
He stirs. "You leavin’ already?" he rasps, voice thick with sleep as he peeks through an eye.
You smile, pulling on your cardigan. "I don't want to miss my arrest window, Daddy."
He snorts, stretching. "I’ll drive you."
"Nah, I’ll walk. It’s only a few blocks."
"It's freezing, sweetheart. Take my jacket, at least."
You glance back at the heavy sheriff’s coat slung on the back of a chair. "It weighs a ton."
"Exactly. It’ll keep you warm."
You laugh, blowing him a kiss. "I’ll be fine, chief. Don't go soft on me now." and you're gone before he can argue.
~~~~~
Three days later, Jim is walking through the office reception area. "Chief," one of the deputies says through a mouthful of doughnut, "your little troublemakers skipping town or something?"
Hopper looks up from the paperwork in his hand. "What?”
"Your girl- what's her name?" the deputy says. "Haven't seen her around. Had no calls, no petty crimes, towns had been quiet."
Hopper freezes—no crimes, no calls for daddy, no annoying little giggles that he secretly loves. A tension coils in his chest like a noose. He moves abruptly, shair scraping behind him and grabs his keys.
"Where are you going, chief?”
But he’s already out of the door.
Twenty minutes later, he’s banging on your front door like he’s about to kick it in.
"Open the door," he snaps. "Right now."
No answer. His stomach drops.
He tries the knob and finds it unlocked. The second he steps inside, his senses flood with it: stale air, fever sweat, quiet shimpers from the bedroom.
You're curled in bed, drenched in sweat, shaking under a pile of blankets. Your lips are chapped, your skin flushed. Your clothing is damp, clinging to you. And your voice when you finally croak, “Jim?”
He's by your side in an instant.
“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he breathes, sitting on the edge of your bed and touching your forehead. “Youre fuckign burning up, baby. Why didn't you call?”
You blink at him, dazed. “Didn't want to bother you…”
His jaw tightens. “You didn't bother me, you've terrified me. I've not heard from you for days.”
He brushes hair from your face, then scoops you up into his lap. You curl against his chest instantly, small and trembling and needy for comfort. He tucks the blankets around you and presses his mouth to your temple, not caring about the sweat.
“You should've called me. I would've come. I always come.”
You snuffled, fingers weakly fisting the front of his uniform. "I was cold".
His eyes close for a moment. "I told you to take the damn jacket,” he sighs, resting his cheek against your head. "Too fucking stubborn for your own good.”
You whimper again, nuzzling into his chest. “Feels better now, being held.”
He tightens his grip. "You're not going anywhere.”
The next few hours are spent with Hopper entirely in grumpy caretaker mode. He brings you cold cloths to put on your forehead. Makes you drink water, encourages you under his breath the whole time, even when he's affectionately calling you a reckless little gremlin.
But his hands, they're so gentle.
When you start crying from being too hot, too cold, or too sick, he wraps you in his arms and rocks you.
When you fall asleep, he doesn't move, just watches over you, big hand resting on your thigh, thumb stroking soft circles.
And when you wake up, whimpering his name, needy and half dazed? He kisses your cheeks, “I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere.” You curl into him like he's your whole world, and because finally, you're realising that he is.
~~~~~
You didn’t even try to run this time. You’re seated on the hood of a squad car, licking a popsicle and grinning while the deputies mutter about you in the background. Hopper pulls up in his truck, looking like he just got out of bed, boots half tied, flannel open, hair tousled and his expression already halfway to murderous.
You’d only left him hours ago, and here you were causing havoc, feeling the itch within to be a brat.
He takes one look at you and groans. “What the fuck did you do this time?”
You smile sweetly. “I stole a balloon."
He blinks, hands on his hips. "A balloon?”
"Well, it was attached to a toddler’s stroller, so technically kidnapping? I just wanted the pretty balloon.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, counting to ten. “C’mere.”
You slide off the car and saunter over, popsicle still in hand. “What if I don't?”
He grabs the popsicle, throwing it into the dirt, grabs your wrist, spins you, pressing you into the side of the cruiser and yanking your arms behind your back.
"I will haul your ass to the station," he growls in your ear. "And I will file paperwork this time."
"You say that every time."
He cuffs you, and you're giggling the entire way back in the car.
He's fuming. White knuckling the steering wheel as his truck tears down the gravel road, spitting dirt.
You're sitting beside him in the passenger seat, all smug grins and swingy legs and innocence.
He still hasn't said a word, but his jaws have been clenched for twenty solid minutes. And his cocks been hard since the second you smiled at him, "bet you're gonna give me the full strip search this time, huh?”
Silence.
You shift in your seat. "You okay, chief?”
More silence. Then abruptly, he veers onto a dirty path and jerks the wheel, skidding to a stop in the middle of nowhere. You barely have time to gasp before he's unbuckled, out of the truck, and yanking your door open.
“H-Hopper?” you laugh nervously.
He grabs your thighs and pulls you out. “Shut up. For once, just shut up.”
Your breath catches because he’s not grumpy anymore. He's feral.
He spins you, shoves you over the warm hood of his truck. And his body? Scorching heat solid and massive behind you.
Your hands are still handcuffed behind you as he begins to drag your skirt up, tearing your panties clean off.
“You always want to test me,” he grunts, unzipping his slacks. “You want to act like a goddamn brat all the time, then you get treated like one.”
You whimper as he kicks your ankles to spread your legs, “I was just-”
“Begging for attention, always putting on a show. I was inside you hours ago, and you still had to go and cause issues.”
You gasp as his palm lands hard on your ass, slapping in quick succession.
"You’re gonna take this cock like a good little whore, my whore.”
He thrusts in deep, one motion and from where you'd taken him earlier, you're so sensitive that you scream—his hand clamps over your mouth. “You need to be quiet,” he hisses, pressing into you with the full weight of his body. "You don't make a fucking sound unless you want a raccoon audience.”
Your brain melts because he's too big, he always is. Your entire body is quivering, pussy walls fluttering around his length.
"fuck, you're so tight, every goddamn time.”
He pulls back and salms in again. You nearly slide up the hood. “Little pussy just sucks me in,” he groans. “Made for me, no one else could even fit like me.”
You moan against his hand, drooling in his palm, drooling down your thighs. He doesn't let up, just brutal, punishing thrusts in the cool forest air, his grunts echoing off trees, your skin slapping the truck, sweat and juices making you filthy.
“I should fuck you like this every time," he pants. "Out here, where no one can save you. Where I can fill you full of cum and leave you dripping."
“Gonna breed you, sweetheart. Fill you up so good you can't act out anymore.”
You cum so hard you nearly pass out. And he keeps going with a fist around your mouth, tugging on your cuffs. Until he finally cums deep inside you with a guttural moan, pressing so deep you swear you feel it in your chest.
You're leaning against the hood, still trembling. He exhales shakily, big hands sliding down your back as he gently pulls out. You wince, still stretched and dripping.
He scoops you into his arms without a word and sets you down on a blanket in the truck bed, wrapped up in his sheriff’s coat. You curl into him instantly as he massages your wrists.
And then quietly he says, "I can't keep doing this."
You freeze. “What?”
He shifts, looking down at you with that soft, vulnerable look that kills you. "I can't keep chasing you around, I can't keep worrying every time you vanish or stir shit up just to get my attention. I love you, and I need to know you're safe.”
You blink up at him as his voice lowers. "Move in.”
“What?”
“Move in with me, baby. Stay, please, I'm so tired of pretending this is casual. I need you close. I need everyone to know you're mine.”
You swallow hard. “I thought you liked arresting me.”
He huffs a laugh and kisses the back of your hand. "I like holding you more."
You smile, eyes misty. “You sure? I'm annoying.”
“You're everything.”
And when you finally curl up in his arms that night, warm and safe, you realise he was right. You both needed this.
KINKTOBER ‘25 ❤︎ DAY SEVEN just the tip → derek morgan !
like what you see? check out my kinktober 2025 masterlist!
warnings: fem!reader, dom!derek, coercive/dubcon themes!!!, fwb w too many feelings…, drunk/intoxicated sex, pussy job(?), biting, marking, kissing, pussy pronouns (cuz we all know he would), sexually profiling (?), minor penetration, unprotected, implied second round.
wc: 2.4k
div: animatedglittergraphics-n-more, toastray
lowercase intended, no use of y/n
derek morgan tried not to overindulge. he really did.
he rarely let himself get sloppy—except on nights like these. after cases that left everyone gutted and wrung dry, drinking was less of a choice and more of an inevitability.
sometimes the closest thing the team had to group therapy was a few too many rounds at o’keefe’s, laughter cracking over loud music, grief softened under the weight of cheap whiskey, or more expensive tastes if rossi was buying.
though sometimes, that meant you ended up being the designated wrangler, dragging derek out before he started a fight with the man across the bar who had been a little too obvious in his staring contest with you.
you’d had a couple drinks yourself—enough to feel loose, but not enough to be reckless. good enough to drive, you told yourself as you shouldered derek’s weight, though he wasn’t exactly making it easy.
he’d gone completely limp against you, all heavy muscle and no cooperation. hauling him to the car was like trying to lug a fallen tree.
by the time you got him into the passenger seat and buckled in, you were sweaty, exasperated, and only a little amused. the streetlights painted stripes across his skin, his head lolling back, his grin lazy and unguarded.
“god, babygirl,”
derek slurred, turning his head toward you with glassy eyes.
“you look so hot right now.”
you bit down a laugh, one hand on the wheel, the other flicking to brush hair from your face.
“babygirl? that one’s new. you confusing me for garcia?”
your stifled giggle filled the silence of the car as you turned onto his street.
“mmm, no,”
he said, the word stretching slow and heavy on his tongue.
“you just look… very babygirl right now.”
that earned a real laugh out of you, one you tried to smother as you shook your head.
“okay, derek. we’re here.”
you parked, hopped out, and rounded to the passenger side, bracing yourself as you pulled him upright. his arm slung over your shoulders, his weight pressed against you, warm and solid and overwhelming.
you half-carried, half-dragged him up the stairs, muttering under your breath about how much easier this would be if he wasn’t built like a damn linebacker.
after some awkward fumbling through his pockets, you found his keys and managed to get the door open. you guided him inside, already planning to tuck him onto the couch and slip out before things could get complicated.
but the moment you turned, his voice stopped you.
“wait—where are you going?”
you glanced back. he looked wrecked. pupils blown wide, eyes dark and vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to seeing. his expression was almost childlike, raw with something that tugged at the pit of your stomach.
“i’m going home, big guy. i need to sleep too, you know.”
you spoke softly, masking the edge in your voice.
his mouth twisted into a pout—an actual pout… that would’ve been comical if it hadn’t been so disarming.
“you’re not gonna stay?”
your chest tightened.
you and derek had an agreement—a little casual fun, a distraction. he flirted shamelessly, and you pretended you weren’t starved for exactly that kind of attention. it was supposed to be transactional: no strings, no risk, no falling.
but the longer it went on, the harder it was to believe your own lie. every smile, every brush of his hand against your skin, every word whispered in that velvet smoothness chipped away at your defences.
and god help you, you were falling—falling right into derek morgan’s orbit, into his gravity, into the kind of trap you knew better than to touch.
“derek,”
you said firmly, hiding the wobble in your chest with a cool stare.
“you’re drunk.”
you held his gaze, forcing steel into your tone. you couldn’t let him see how much those words had cracked you open. you couldn’t let him break you. because honestly, you weren't sure you'd recover if you did.
“stay.”
he whispered, his hand reached out for you, warm around your wrist. the request curled through you like a spark, but you shook your head quickly, tugging free.
“no, derek. you need to sleep this off, and i need to go home.”
he leaned back on the couch, smirking lazily.
“funny… you didn’t have a problem staying last time. or the time before that.”
your stomach clenched.
“that’s different.”
he tilted his head, his voice dipped low and coaxing. he gained confidence and composure, even in his dazed, intoxicated state.
“different how?”
your cheeks flushed hot. you hated how easily he could unravel you with just a few words, how vividly your body remembered every moment you tried to file away as casual, meaningless.
“listen. we can’t keep doing this. especially not now, when you’re like this.”
derek pushed up to his feet, swaying slightly, but he was still all heat and presence as he stepped into your space.
“like what?”
you pressed yourself back toward the wall, shaking your head as if you could shake the memories loose—the way his mouth had felt on your neck, the weight of his body against yours, the way you’d gasped his name like you couldn’t hold it in.
“drunk.”
you said firmly, clinging to the only excuse you had left.
“you don’t know what you’re saying. tomorrow you’ll regret it.”
”really? and who are you to decide how i feel?”
his hand landed on the wall beside your head, steadying himself, caging you in without quite touching.
“i’ve never wanted you more than i do right now… i need you, please.”
his eyes were dark and stubborn, burning through every flimsy barrier you tried to hold. your breath caught, traitorously uneven.
“derek… we can’t...”
his other hand lifted, hesitating for a heartbeat before brushing over your arm, barely there, just enough to make your skin shiver.
“really now? because that’s not what your body is telling me.”
he leaned in close, murmuring, breath thick with whiskey and the stale musk of the bar. even like this, slurred, unsteady—he still had the audacity to size you up.
“lip between your teeth, eyes darting, pupils blown wide… you want me just as much. don’t bother denying it.”
you closed your eyes, fighting for composure, fighting for logic.
“i can’t—this can’t keep—.”
he leaned closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek, his voice low and coaxing, damn near breaking you.
“c’mon baby, you can handle it, just the tip? just for a minute?”
your heart hammered so hard it almost hurt. you tried your best to look away, to not give in to the intense gravity of him, but you had already fallen.
the second his lips grazed your neck, you were finished, your resolve shattered completely.
you should’ve been embarrassed at how quickly you melted—it was pitiful, really. but all that shame dissolved the moment derek’s big, calloused hands clamped onto your waist, hauling you down with him onto the couch in his living room.
the kiss wasn’t pretty. it was sloppy, drunk, chaotic—his mouth crashing into yours with the weight of someone who didn’t know the meaning of restraint.
and yet, that’s what made it so addictive. the way his tongue pushed past your lips, greedy and demanding, made your pulse stutter; the heat of his breath tangled with your own as spit slicked your chin, running hot and careless.
his grip only tightened, dragging you closer until there was no space left to breathe, no room left to think. every brush of his stubble against your skin, every press of his mouth, stripped you further of reason, until all that existed was the messy, consuming blur of him. his taste, his hands, he was pulling you under.
literally.
his frame loomed above you, shadow swallowing your dazed, trembling form. a shiver tingled through you as his urgency turned reckless, as if hunger alone guided him, because honestly? it did.
fabric tore away in frantic disarray, clothes flung without care, until nothing but his impatience remained, your panties shoved aside, his need demanding the fastest way in, the easiest access.
“god. look at her. she’s soaked, needs me so badly, huh?”
your mind lagged behind his words, struggling to piece them together—until the dreadful realization struck: he wasn’t even speaking to you. not exactly.
his thick fingertip toyed with the swell of your clit, more a teasing prod than a touch, almost tickling as he savoured every flustered reaction—your hands flying to hide your burning cheeks, your thighs trembling, slick spilling down in betrayal.
“don’t worry babygirl, ‘m gonna make her feel good.”
there it was again—that pet name, slipping from his lips like it wasn’t meant to be controlled.
cheesy, maybe, and yet somehow it struck a chord deep inside you. in this messy, alcohol-laced haze of his, you could almost imagine getting used to it.
derek’s bare chest pressed hot and heavy against yours, every muscle taut and alive beneath your fingertips. he shifted with a deliberate, impatient grace, lifting his hips just enough to wrestle free of his jeans, as if he hadn’t a second to waste.
the motion was clumsy, hurried, and utterly irresistible, leaving you caught somewhere between panic and anticipation, your body already betraying your mind.
every inch of you was aching as he positioned himself at your entrance. there was no hesitation, no lingering—only the urgent, impatient pull of him.
“she needs it so bad, huh?”
he murmured, voice low and teasing.
true to his promise, he eased the mushroom tip of his length into your swollen heat, pressing back against every twitch, every whimper, every silent plea for more.
your slickness welcomed him, and he slid in and out with a fluid, almost lazy rhythm, each thrust teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you gasping and trembling beneath him.
your body arched instinctively, slick and trembling under him, desperate for every touch. and then his teeth found the soft curve of your neck, a sharp nip followed by a slow, possessive bite that sent sparks racing down your spine.
his hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, threading through your hair, tilting your head back—pulling you into him as his mouth followed a trail of hot, claiming kisses from your jaw to your collarbone.
each press of his lips, each harsh suckling of your skin, matched the pulse of his hips, the rhythm of his thrusts, turning every motion into a delicious torment.
he alternated seamlessly between each movement like a planned routine: a hard, punishing thrust, a bite that made you shiver, a soft, teasing kiss that left you gasping.
his mouth returned again and again to your neck, leaving marks that burned and seared like a brand, with the sting of the present, and the stain of the future. his hips rolled against you with lazy, maddening perfection, slipping in and out as though your slickness had been made for him alone.
you could feel him everywhere all at once, each sensation layered over the last until your mind was little more than a haze of need.
every bite, every kiss, every stroke of his length drove you closer to the edge, and yet he lingered, teasing, claiming, owning, the rhythm of his body echoing your own shivering, desperate movements beneath him.
“god—derek!”
he chuckled at your words, though everything he was doing was far from holy.
maybe it was the tipsy haze from that fruity drink at the bar, but your entire body felt like it had ignited. every nerve ending screamed as his length shifted, dipping stretch, then grinding relentlessly against your clit. the sensations became impossible to contain.
your mind was spiraling, hurling over the edge faster than ever before, and derek wasn’t far behind, his growls vibrating against your skin as he chased his own release.
“look at her,”
he hissed, teeth grazing your shoulder as he leaned closer.
“she loves this. loves this cock, doesn’t she?”
the filth in his words made your spine arch and your head fall back. your vision blurred with pleasure, eyes rolling with every thrust, every lazy, punishing snap of his hips.
“she’s gonna let me paint her white, yeah? make a mess all over? that’s what she wants, hmm? sucking me up like that?”
you didn’t even think before nodding frantically, your neck aching from the constant snap of his hips, your jaw pressed against the curve of his shoulder as he bit and marked you in rhythm with every thrust.
the warm, slick heat spluttering between your thighs tugged you back into awareness, grounding you as your gaze drifted down your body. your eyes met the messy evidence of where you were still entwined, and then travelled upward, finally locking with Derek’s for the first time in what felt like hours.
his eyes were as dark, magnetic, and intoxicating as ever, pulling you in even as your body trembled from overstimulation.
he lowered his lips to yours again, softer this time—gentle, almost innocent, a tender contrast to the animalistic intensity that had consumed you both only moments before. your chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his breath, every soft brush of his lips sending a ripple through your skin.
then, that familiar, drunken smirk crawled back across his sweat-slicked, glazed features. teasing, possessive, and full of mischief.
“what d’you think, baby,”
he murmured, voice low and husky,
“am i too drunk for another round?”
the words were both a question and a challenge, and despite the haze of pleasure still clinging to you, you felt the old spark of anticipation ignite all over again.
first week of kinktober done! this is definitely a lot more taboo? than i'm used to writing but i thought what the hell... why not do something a little darker kinda? anyway i'm having sm fun experimenting w so many new themes/prompts! i hope you all enjoyed! (please reblog if you did!)
he was technically allowed to be here— technically— even if it was only under the excuse of feeding his girlfriend’s cat while you stayed late studying at the library.
greg was never one for personal space. or boundaries. or, really, any understanding of personal belongings. he liked snooping. usually, professionally, he’d send foreman to dig through a patient’s house— but being his girlfriend, you really should’ve anticipated a full-blown snoopathon.
so now he was sitting on the edge of your bed, a pink sweater discarded on the floor beside him. a sweater he had just attempted to pull onto his body— clearly not made for his frame. the sleeves only reached his forearms. the hem stretched awkwardly around his torso. he’d worn it for about an hour, purely out of spite, and was dangerously close to calling wilson for help getting it off.
his official excuse?
he was going to fold it and put it in your closet.
…eventually.
but right now, he was just sitting there, eyes wide, pupils blown, calloused fingers absently playing with the little bow on the front of a pair of your panties. beside him: a white and blue vibrator wand, like the world’s most incriminating party favor.
“greg?!”
“should’ve known your toys were gonna be all cutesie too, huh?”
his voice dropped low— gruff, deeper than usual, laced with something you didn’t have the brainpower to label while he was literally waving your vibrator around like a trophy.
you froze in the doorway.
after a long, draining day, you’d expected to come home to your older boyfriend curled up on the couch with your fluffy maine coon— not perched on your bed, fiddling with a pair of your panties and your vibrator.
“that’s not mine—” you blurted, shaking your head too quickly.
it was a bad excuse. a horrible excuse.
your flushed cheeks were saying everything greg needed to know.
“nuh uh? whose is it then?”
his grin twisted into a smirk as he waved it lazily in the air, like it was some kind of wand and he was casting a terrible harry potter spell jk rowling would have called embarrassmentus maximus.
you stayed silent. mortified. brain scrambled eggs.
he fake-pouted and shrugged.
“guess you wouldn’t care if i threw it away, then.”
“fine!”
you squeaked it out—high-pitched and humiliated— dropping your bag onto the carpet and covering your red-hot face with both hands.
“awwh, don’t be shy, bunny,” he cooed, laced with mock sympathy and far too much amusement.
greg was a teaser. always had been. sexual or not, it was just in his nature. and no matter how long you’d been with him, no matter how many times you swore you were used to it… you never really were.
he patted his good knee, cocking his head just slightly as he leaned forward and took your wrist, guiding you closer until you plopped down in front of him. the rough material of his jeans scraped against your bare thighs beneath your skirt, a friction that made your skin prickle.
his palm slid across your lower back, drawing slow, lazy circles there—like he wasn’t currently destroying your nervous system with two fingers and a smirk.
you whimpered softly against his shoulder, shaking your head, overwhelmed and mortified— tears threatening to gather from pure shame.
“c’mon,” greg murmured into your hair, voice low and breathless.
“show me how you do it.”
your head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief.
“wha—”
“show me how you use it— unless this is gonna turn into some x-men transformers bullshit.”
his voice was low, amused, hungry.
“wanna see.”
he nudged his nose against your cheek, the scratch of his stubble tickling your soft skin before he began trailing kisses down your jaw— slow, lazy, and absolutely criminal.
in one swift motion, his arms wrapped around you and lifted you off his lap, tossing you beside him on the bed with a squeak of surprise.
greg knew he had a bum leg. hard to forget. but the upside? the biceps. years of walking with that nightmare cane had built him a damn good set of arms, and he used them.
“oh c’mon…” he coaxed, smirking like the devil himself.
your hands trembled as you peeled your panties down your thighs, breath shaky. the moment they slipped past your feet and landed on the duvet, greg’s hand darted out, snatching them up and stuffing them into his back pocket like some deranged, smug raccoon.
he winked.
your brain short-circuited.
then his finger nudged the familiar toy closer— plastic brushing your hand— and you swallowed hard, picking it up slowly. you shifted, settling back into the mound of pillows that guarded your bed like a fortress.
your heart thudded. your skin buzzed.
and gregory house was watching you like a man with no intention of looking away.
a firm but surprisingly gentle slap landed on your inner thigh, making you gasp—and almost instinctively speed up your movements.
the vibrator— set to its lowest setting— hummed quietly to life.
the moment the slow buzz met your clit, a helpless whimper slipped from your lips.
“oh, look how needy…” he drawled. “turn it up, bunny.”
you obeyed without hesitation.
it took everything in greg’s body not to take control right then and there.
it didn’t take long before your hips were rolling upward, moans slipping past your lips in broken waves. your knuckles were turning white from how hard you clutched the toy, holding on like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.
“awh, she’s clenching,” he teased, shifting closer.
“feelin’ so empty, huh?”
his calloused fingers brushed lazily against your inner thighs, barely touching— tracing soft, slow circles that made your muscles twitch.
“all dripping…” he murmured.
his fingers moved in closer, inch by inch, until two of them were circling right there, just barely around where you needed him most— spreading your slick teasingly over your puffy lips, like he had all the time in the world.
“plea— please,” you whimpered, swallowing down the excess spit gathering on your tongue.
your hips rocked helplessly, chasing the buzz of the vibrator, every nerve in your body screaming for your boyfriend’s fingers to be inside you.
greg grinned, tilting his head like a predator toying with its prey.
“ah, if you’re so desperate… who am i to deny you?”
one thick finger slid into your dripping cunt with almost no resistance, and you let out a wrecked moan— back arching, toes curling.
orgasms from the vibrator were great— amazing, even.
but now? with two of greg’s fingers curved perfectly inside you, pumping and plunging into that spot like he mapped it himself?
borderline heavenly.
“close? mm, so close it’s like you’re gonna suck my fingers right in, huh?” he murmured, voice gravelly and full of sick delight.
your cunt was soaked, puffy and flushed, clinging to his fingers all the way to the knuckle.
he groaned at the obscene slick sounds, at the way your thighs trembled, how your breath caught, how your whines turned high-pitched and ragged.
you clutched at his wrist like you’d die if he pulled away, whimpering, twitching, eyes rolling back as your orgasm hit you hard.
your hips bucked. your nose scrunched. your lips fell open in a choked little cry.
greg kept up the rhythm, letting his fingers guide you through the wave, coaxing your body to ride it out.
“that’s it, bunny… there you go…”
once you were finally limp, shaking slightly in the aftermath, he pulled his fingers out slowly, watching your cunt flutter from the loss.
and of course— he licked them clean.
like he always said:
“never waste my favorite snack.”
and soon after, he shifted up beside you on the bed, arms curling around your waist— pulling you in like it was second nature.
his palm slid slow and steady up and down your arm, fingertips dragging gently over your skin.
“so good, bunny… good girl…” he murmured, voice husky and low like his guard had slipped a little too far to catch it again.
you buried your face in his chest, still flushed and warm, letting out a tiny hum that sounded suspiciously like a purr.
he didn’t pull away. not even when you tangled your fingers in his shirt, or when your legs slipped over his like you were trying to burrow under his skin.
“you know,” he added, after a beat of silence, “you should definitely leave your vibrator out more often. i’m finding it really motivational.”
you groaned into his shirt, swatting at his side.
“you’re disgusting.”
“mm. yeah,” he smirked, eyes already drifting shut. “but at least i recycle.”
the second your rightfully reasonable complaints about gregory house’s bad habit of returning home too late even borders what he would consider to be incessant nagging, he’s popping a couple of his happy little pills (vicodin) and finger fucking you to the point of tears while he drones on about how needy and inconsiderate you’re being to his patients.
“oh, i’m sorry i’m too busy saving lives to give you some attention, sweetheart. i know that won’t mean much when your brain is practically melting out of your sopping cunt, right?”
he’s got you pressed against the wall and your pretty little moans echoing against the walls with every perfectly calculated curl of his fingers. he likes to see the way your eyes go just a little wider before inevitably rolling towards the back of your skull when the pleasure of it all starts to become too much.
and when you start struggling to choke out little gasps of his name, when your orgasm overcomes your oversensitive body, he mutters out, “there, there. i’ve got you.”
he was technically allowed to be here— technically— even if it was only under the excuse of feeding his girlfriend’s cat while you stayed late studying at the library.
greg was never one for personal space. or boundaries. or, really, any understanding of personal belongings. he liked snooping. usually, professionally, he’d send foreman to dig through a patient’s house— but being his girlfriend, you really should’ve anticipated a full-blown snoopathon.
so now he was sitting on the edge of your bed, a pink sweater discarded on the floor beside him. a sweater he had just attempted to pull onto his body— clearly not made for his frame. the sleeves only reached his forearms. the hem stretched awkwardly around his torso. he’d worn it for about an hour, purely out of spite, and was dangerously close to calling wilson for help getting it off.
his official excuse?
he was going to fold it and put it in your closet.
…eventually.
but right now, he was just sitting there, eyes wide, pupils blown, calloused fingers absently playing with the little bow on the front of a pair of your panties. beside him: a white and blue vibrator wand, like the world’s most incriminating party favor.
“greg?!”
“should’ve known your toys were gonna be all cutesie too, huh?”
his voice dropped low— gruff, deeper than usual, laced with something you didn’t have the brainpower to label while he was literally waving your vibrator around like a trophy.
you froze in the doorway.
after a long, draining day, you’d expected to come home to your older boyfriend curled up on the couch with your fluffy maine coon— not perched on your bed, fiddling with a pair of your panties and your vibrator.
“that’s not mine—” you blurted, shaking your head too quickly.
it was a bad excuse. a horrible excuse.
your flushed cheeks were saying everything greg needed to know.
“nuh uh? whose is it then?”
his grin twisted into a smirk as he waved it lazily in the air, like it was some kind of wand and he was casting a terrible harry potter spell jk rowling would have called embarrassmentus maximus.
you stayed silent. mortified. brain scrambled eggs.
he fake-pouted and shrugged.
“guess you wouldn’t care if i threw it away, then.”
“fine!”
you squeaked it out—high-pitched and humiliated— dropping your bag onto the carpet and covering your red-hot face with both hands.
“awwh, don’t be shy, bunny,” he cooed, laced with mock sympathy and far too much amusement.
greg was a teaser. always had been. sexual or not, it was just in his nature. and no matter how long you’d been with him, no matter how many times you swore you were used to it… you never really were.
he patted his good knee, cocking his head just slightly as he leaned forward and took your wrist, guiding you closer until you plopped down in front of him. the rough material of his jeans scraped against your bare thighs beneath your skirt, a friction that made your skin prickle.
his palm slid across your lower back, drawing slow, lazy circles there—like he wasn’t currently destroying your nervous system with two fingers and a smirk.
you whimpered softly against his shoulder, shaking your head, overwhelmed and mortified— tears threatening to gather from pure shame.
“c’mon,” greg murmured into your hair, voice low and breathless.
“show me how you do it.”
your head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief.
“wha—”
“show me how you use it— unless this is gonna turn into some x-men transformers bullshit.”
his voice was low, amused, hungry.
“wanna see.”
he nudged his nose against your cheek, the scratch of his stubble tickling your soft skin before he began trailing kisses down your jaw— slow, lazy, and absolutely criminal.
in one swift motion, his arms wrapped around you and lifted you off his lap, tossing you beside him on the bed with a squeak of surprise.
greg knew he had a bum leg. hard to forget. but the upside? the biceps. years of walking with that nightmare cane had built him a damn good set of arms, and he used them.
“oh c’mon…” he coaxed, smirking like the devil himself.
your hands trembled as you peeled your panties down your thighs, breath shaky. the moment they slipped past your feet and landed on the duvet, greg’s hand darted out, snatching them up and stuffing them into his back pocket like some deranged, smug raccoon.
he winked.
your brain short-circuited.
then his finger nudged the familiar toy closer— plastic brushing your hand— and you swallowed hard, picking it up slowly. you shifted, settling back into the mound of pillows that guarded your bed like a fortress.
your heart thudded. your skin buzzed.
and gregory house was watching you like a man with no intention of looking away.
a firm but surprisingly gentle slap landed on your inner thigh, making you gasp—and almost instinctively speed up your movements.
the vibrator— set to its lowest setting— hummed quietly to life.
the moment the slow buzz met your clit, a helpless whimper slipped from your lips.
“oh, look how needy…” he drawled. “turn it up, bunny.”
you obeyed without hesitation.
it took everything in greg’s body not to take control right then and there.
it didn’t take long before your hips were rolling upward, moans slipping past your lips in broken waves. your knuckles were turning white from how hard you clutched the toy, holding on like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.
“awh, she’s clenching,” he teased, shifting closer.
“feelin’ so empty, huh?”
his calloused fingers brushed lazily against your inner thighs, barely touching— tracing soft, slow circles that made your muscles twitch.
“all dripping…” he murmured.
his fingers moved in closer, inch by inch, until two of them were circling right there, just barely around where you needed him most— spreading your slick teasingly over your puffy lips, like he had all the time in the world.
“plea— please,” you whimpered, swallowing down the excess spit gathering on your tongue.
your hips rocked helplessly, chasing the buzz of the vibrator, every nerve in your body screaming for your boyfriend’s fingers to be inside you.
greg grinned, tilting his head like a predator toying with its prey.
“ah, if you’re so desperate… who am i to deny you?”
one thick finger slid into your dripping cunt with almost no resistance, and you let out a wrecked moan— back arching, toes curling.
orgasms from the vibrator were great— amazing, even.
but now? with two of greg’s fingers curved perfectly inside you, pumping and plunging into that spot like he mapped it himself?
borderline heavenly.
“close? mm, so close it’s like you’re gonna suck my fingers right in, huh?” he murmured, voice gravelly and full of sick delight.
your cunt was soaked, puffy and flushed, clinging to his fingers all the way to the knuckle.
he groaned at the obscene slick sounds, at the way your thighs trembled, how your breath caught, how your whines turned high-pitched and ragged.
you clutched at his wrist like you’d die if he pulled away, whimpering, twitching, eyes rolling back as your orgasm hit you hard.
your hips bucked. your nose scrunched. your lips fell open in a choked little cry.
greg kept up the rhythm, letting his fingers guide you through the wave, coaxing your body to ride it out.
“that’s it, bunny… there you go…”
once you were finally limp, shaking slightly in the aftermath, he pulled his fingers out slowly, watching your cunt flutter from the loss.
and of course— he licked them clean.
like he always said:
“never waste my favorite snack.”
and soon after, he shifted up beside you on the bed, arms curling around your waist— pulling you in like it was second nature.
his palm slid slow and steady up and down your arm, fingertips dragging gently over your skin.
“so good, bunny… good girl…” he murmured, voice husky and low like his guard had slipped a little too far to catch it again.
you buried your face in his chest, still flushed and warm, letting out a tiny hum that sounded suspiciously like a purr.
he didn’t pull away. not even when you tangled your fingers in his shirt, or when your legs slipped over his like you were trying to burrow under his skin.
“you know,” he added, after a beat of silence, “you should definitely leave your vibrator out more often. i’m finding it really motivational.”
you groaned into his shirt, swatting at his side.
“you’re disgusting.”
“mm. yeah,” he smirked, eyes already drifting shut. “but at least i recycle.”
Oh my god. Just saw House playing the piano and was like would he have fun with you in it? Like he doesn’t let anyone touch his piano but he’ll rail you on it.
you have no clue how much love i have 4 u anon mwah xoxo i deliver 🫡🫡 NGL THIS MADE ME CRAZY
𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙖 ꪆৎ *
gregory house x fem!reader alt. his two favourites
╰ smut , mdni !
cw. smut duh, piano thanks to anon ily, p in v, no protection (remember to wrap it before u tap it pookies), house groaning i think this deserves a warning of its own
“you play really nice, y’know?” you murmured, pj pants low on your hips as you stood behind your boyfriend— careful not to lean on the expensive piano.
gregory didn’t do love. he never did—
well, not until you.
but there was one thing he loved too— maybe not as much— but still enough to scream at wilson once for putting a water bottle on it like the poor guy had committed a war crime.
“if i didn’t play nice, i wouldn’t play,” he replied bluntly, the music slowing to a stop as he glanced back at you with a smirk.
“ha, ha,” you replied flatly, rolling your eyes as his hand quietly guided you closer by your lower back.
calloused fingers splayed against your skin, pinky just under the waistband— until he shifted.
in silence, his arms tugged at your thighs to straddle him, huffing when your hand caught his shoulder, keeping yourself hovering just over his lap.
“your leg—”
“oh just sit down, woman,” he groaned, forcing you to plop down by your hips.
his hands gripped the sides of your thighs like handles— tight, firm— like he had no plans of letting go anytime soon.
before you could argue or question him, his thin lips were pressed to yours in a slow but deep kiss.
a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your hands rising to cup his stubbled cheeks.
his hands were roaming your back— up and down, up and down… and down.
it would’ve been hard not to notice the growing hard-on pressing through the rough denim of his jeans against your thigh.
as if on instinct, you hummed into his mouth and rolled your hips, earning a loud, deep groan from his throat.
his hands flew back to your hips, gripping them tightly, possessively.
“you’re going to kill me, woman,” he mumbled, looking up into your eyes with that all-too-familiar gregory house smirk.
“—and trust me, i want to die inside of you,” he added, voice lower, deeper, eyes narrowed with that wolfish hunger before diving back into the kiss— this time sloppier, more desperate.
your hands wandered down, hips shifting as you reached for the buckle of his leather belt, fingers gliding over the worn leather, fumbling to undo it without breaking the kiss.
thankfully, his own rougher hands slipped between your bodies, yanking the belt open for you.
just as you were about to slide off his lap and onto your knees, he stopped you— hands tight on your hips, lips immediately latching to your neck, his stubble dragging deliciously against your skin.
“nuh-uh… too tired for two, ‘nd i gotta cum inside,” he murmured, voice slurred from heat.
you nodded, breath hitching, hands sliding into his thin salt-and-pepper hair, a soft giggle escaping from the ticklish burn of his beard on your neck.
pulling away, he looked up at you with a grin, amused.
“something funny? let’s see if it’s funny when i rearrange your guts into my initials.”
before you could even shoot back, a squeak escaped you— he had lifted you just slightly, arm flexing beneath your thighs as his other hand tugged your pajama pants down past your knees. squirming, you managed to kick them off entirely, discarded on the floor in a messy heap.
meanwhile, his hands darted into his jeans, freeing his cock and giving it a few rough pumps, panting softly with need as he positioned it at your entrance. you lifted yourself to help, legs already starting to tremble in the awkward straddle— but then the head slipped in, and the familiar burn made your brain fog over.
a low, guttural groan left his lips the moment he felt the tight heat of you around him. slowly, you sank down inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt— his balls grazing your ass, your walls fluttering around him.
you shifted your hips experimentally, whining at the ache and the stretch— just to feel how deep he was, how stupidly good he felt inside you.
“bounce,” he smirked, leaning back like he had all the time in the world— one hand behind his head on the chair, the other resting lazily on your hips.
you started to lift and lower yourself, thighs already burning from the angle and the ache, the overwhelming stretch making your body tremble. he knew. of course he knew. he loved teasing you, loved watching you struggle to keep rhythm like it wasn’t borderline impossible to ride someone and look cute doing it. especially someone like him.
“go on, pretty girl,” he cooed in that mock-gentle tone, the kind that made your stomach flip. his fingers rubbed slow, almost comforting circles into your hips while his eyes stayed half-lidded, watching your every move with that smug little glint of sadistic amusement.
you panted, clutching at his shoulders, the material of his shirt bunched up tight in your fists as you tried to find a rhythm, tried to please him.
“too slow…” he taunted, leaning closer, nudging your cheek with his nose. the smirk glued to his lips never seemed to go away— always watching, always amused. it was a game to him, always a game. he lived for the teasing, for seeing you squirm, for watching your body tremble trying to please him.
and god—it would be a lie to say you didn’t love it too.
“fuck— fu— i can’t,” you whined, voice cracking, knees burning, thighs trembling. the ache had started to sting, your legs shaking from holding yourself up, the desperate need to come curling up in your stomach like a threat.
“awh, poor you…”
he sounded so unbothered. because he was. watching you struggle was his favorite part.
then again— he could probably say that about every part of sex with you.
but something flickered in his brain then— an idea. and why hadn’t he thought of it before?
why hadn’t he ever connected the two things he actually loved?
it was like something snapped in his head— like he’d just solved some kind of unsolvable case. only this time, the mystery wasn’t a dying patient or a rare condition.
it was you.
suddenly, he was pushing you up, standing with a grunt—his leg clearly screaming but his brain blissfully ignoring it, too distracted by how goddamn perfect you looked. all pretty, flushed, and wrecked just for him.
“wha—” you gasped, eyes wide and frowning hard at the sudden emptiness, thighs still sticky and trembling as he slipped out of you.
before you could even process what was happening, your chest hit cold wood with a thud—
smooth. heavy. old.
your breath hitched.
his piano.
eyes wide, mouth parted, the sting of your hips hitting the edge was nothing compared to the sheer shock that you were on his piano.
his piano.
the same one he wouldn’t even let wilson breathe on too closely.
the same one he’s nearly gotten into fistfights over.
and now— now— you were splayed out on top of it like you were part of the instrument.
“only exception…” he grunted, slipping back inside with a single brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of you.
one arm anchored him upright against the wood, the other flattened across your back, pinning you down like he was afraid you’d float away.
it started steady. rhythmic.
but desperate.
so desperate.
then he leaned in, mouth hot against your ear, elbow bent, breathing ragged.
“—because god, you look like art,” he growled. “fucking art, being ruined on my piano.”
you tried to say something, anything— but only moans spilled out. the kind of broken, blissed-out sounds that only made his hips stutter.
you could feel him twitching inside you— just as your own orgasm coiled and burned in your gut, building and building as the obscene, wet slap of his thrusts echoed through the dim living room.
sloppy. wild. unhinged.
he was fucking you like the piano didn’t exist.
but also like it was watching.
“take it— hold it, hold it,” he panted, voice rough like gravel.
it was a thing he’d done since the first time your orgasms synced perfectly— he swore it didn’t feel as good otherwise, but he’d never admit how much he loved holding the reins like this.
his hips stuttered, muscles trembling under the weight of your shared pleasure, the unbearable tension crashing down as you came hard, clenching perfectly around him.
his balls slapped against your ass a few times, grounding him as he rutted impossibly deeper— grinding, filling you to the brim.
he grunted, a low, desperate groan ripping through the air as he bit down on your shoulder, cumming in thick, white ropes inside you— deep as he could go, though god, he’d always want to go deeper.
“fuck… so fucking pretty… ’love you,” he mumbled, voice rough and low, cock still buried deep inside you as you both panted in the quiet aftermath.
there was always this raw, tender vulnerability about him after, and you loved it with your whole chest.
his warm chest pressed against your back, chest hair tickling you softly but barely registering over the lingering fire inside.
“gotta have you suck me off while i play it next time,” he smirked against your skin, planting a lazy, dry kiss that made you laugh quietly— soft and breathy.
gummygunk
ellievsbear
kaledo-art
jbbartram-illu
