no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jittering, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos-
Face-sitting and sex are the best ways to get rid of stress!
⋆˚꩜｡ Gambit/Remy Etienne Lebeau x fem!reader (18+)
After an annoying mission, Remy takes it upon himself to make you feel good in the best way a boyfriend could!
CW: sex, cursing (duh...), face-sitting, p in v, insinuated squirting lol??, reader has a cooch, not proofread, I also don't speak French AND this might be ooc
I had to add marvel rivals gambit in honour of me lording him
1.8k words (I'm thinking of posting about lin lie too soon :p)
The mission your group had to abandon abruptly drained you along with Cyclops and Storm. How did the first member of this group basically become the most annoying and whiny person, as the leader? You have no clue. It’s beyond you. You had to hold yourself back from screaming. Not even yelling anything coherent, just screaming a high pitch in pure frustration, enough for a dog's tail to start wagging.
Getting back to the mansion was the biggest wave of relief you felt after that failed mission, Scott just had to snark out, “Nice job with not letting the perpetrator run off.”
“Oh yeah, because you were so quick to catch him after pleading with me to help you with the second idiot.”
“Obviously you were supposed to restrain him before coming to help me.”
With gritted teeth you hold back whatever you had to say as Ororo jumps in, “hostilities shall not help us after a failed mission,” she diplomatically soothes, “I suggest rest and relaxation for the remainder of the day.” Her voice remained serious and she placed a hand on both of your backs, before removing it and proceeding further inside.
In an attempt to resist further bickering, you walk off, your steps ringing loudly as the only way to release anger until you turn the corner and bumped into a strong wall. Well— ‘wall’—it was actually Gambit.
Gambit, your smug looking boyfriend. Gambit, who’s perfectly dressed in his usual ensemble of purple and whatever brown trench coat. “Welcome back,” he says simply, leaning against the surface and grinning down at you.
When you don’t respond, his sharp smirk softens into a concerned smile, “now, I know that look all too well. Wanna tell Remy what’s going through that pretty head o’ yours?”
You could hardly muster anything in your frustration, simply leaning against the wall with him and your arms crossed under your chest.
“Frustrated, chère?” He prompts for an answer, and he’s delighted when he’s at least met with a nod.
His smugness finally returns as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck, making goosebumps flick up, “I know a way you can release all that pent up frustration, all ya gotta do is trust me…”
That’s how you find yourself sitting in bed.
Correction, Gambit laying on the plush bed you share and you found yourself sitting on his face.
Sure, you worried about practically suffocating him, but he assured you that if he died this way, he’d die a happy man.
“Remy, this is disgusting. You didn’t even let me shave or shower!” You glare down at him as he eyes the full expanse of your pussy including the unkept state of it, wettening his lips.
“Now mon ange, Gambit don’t care about a little extra something added to his favourite delicacy…” he playfully quipped before he brought his broad hands to your ass, slamming your bare cunt onto his face.
You yelp at the sudden tug down, imagine how embarrassing it feels to have melted so easily to your boyfriend simply licking your pussy. You don’t even realise when you slid your hands into his wavy hair and tugged, clenching with your life as he eats you out like it’s his last meal before going onto death row.
He held onto the meat of your thighs, groaning with every pulse of your pussy on his tongue and his bulge ached in his pants. However, your frustration also manifests into jumbled words, “that idiot—expects me to fucking do everything—shit, yes…everything and yells when I can’t do a billion things at once!”
Gambit hums, sending vibrations through your soaked pussy, flicking his tongue inside and nudging your clit with his nose.
You continue angrily, “that self-centered bitch! Fucking hate Scott—just like th-that, Remy…why is he the leader? Anyone else would be better—”
“Shh…don’t wanna hear another’s hommes name in bed, chère. More specifically while I’m eating this pretty pussy” his eyes seem glazed over, more obviously so in the black scleras, as he looks up at you through his lashes, “your legs make good ear muffs for me, but you’re a hell of a loud talker when you’re mad.”
With a simple grunt, you grind down on his tongue in retaliation, your aim being to shut him up. You hump his face by this point, painting him in a mix of your juices and his spit, to him this is the best elixir in the world as muffled, satisfied moans erupt from him. He couldn’t resist reaching down, palming his own throbbing cock that started to form a wet patch, all from eating your pussy.
Meanwhile your head was tilted to face the ceiling with your eyes eased shut, “Remy, holy shit..”
“Gonna cum on me? Montre-moi (show me), ma belle…”
You didn’t need to be told twice. With a moan ripping out of you, you slam your hips onto the man’s face below you. His hands grip your ass with a pleasured moan, kneading the cheeks as he gulps down the gushing liquid coming out of you.
It wasn’t until your fatigued form lazily lifted off his face, did he heave several breaths of air after constantly breathing the scent of your natural husky scent.
As a parting ritual from your pussy, he kisses your clit, enough for you to huff of playful lack of amusement and shuffle off of him, sitting on the bed next to him.
He looks fucked out, like unbelievably fucked out as he sits up with a dazed frog-like blink and a dopey grin.
“You look stupider than normal” you comment teasingly, flicking his forehead. A chuckle comes out of him as he catches your wrist with a broad hand and kisses your palm, and hums “peut-être (maybe)…mais, you do look happier, chère. Much, much happier…”
With a smug look he glances down at the tent in his pants, “you can always go for a ride, y’know?”
“If I ride you now while in this pissed off, I think I’ll break your dick off”
“Then break it off, it’s all yours anyway.”
The bedframe rattled against the wall, slamming just as your hips did on his cock. You can’t give all the credit to yourself, Remy’s hands are on your waist, lifting you up and pushing you back down as he grunts, smirking at the sight of your more relaxed expression.
“Fuck, Remy…”
“Uh huh?”
You lean forward, pushing him back on the bed as your hands plant themselves on his chest for support, bouncing up and down, and the ample amount of squelches from your greedy pussy rung out like a siren to Remy.
His admiration is unmistakable in the way his eyes twinkle, looking up at you, “That’s it, show Remy how much you love riding him like a personal dildo,” he breathes out, one hand planted on your slap warmed ass. You glare down at his snarky look, and your hips stutter, “Oh, I’m being mean to mon fleur for making you do all this work, no worries then…”
He flips you both around, your back hitting the mattress, and you cringe briefly at the dampness from the previous face-sitting, which he can’t help but tease you about as he thrusts his cock back into you. “Don’t go lookin’ so disgusted, that’s all from that pretty, needy pussy” he states matter of factly, he then hilts himself completely into you, forcing a surprised “Oh!” out of you, hardly pulling out, but pushing deeper into you with the thick appendage feeling stuck in your throat that all you can muster is a “Fuck!”
He places your legs on his shoulders to rest on; simultaneously, he thrusts, stroking himself against your gummy walls, miraculously hitting the star igniting spot repeatedly that you can hardly keep yourself quiet, gasping out, “Oh, you son of a bitch!”
“Aww, pretty woman gets some lovin’ and can only insult her man? That’s ok, let it all out…”
His words are so sweet and gentle, but his thrusts are so deep and aggressive, forcing the frustration of the mission out of you any way he can. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull and your head falls back, and mouth hangs open as his cock continues its punishing pace.
“Remy makin’ you feel good, chère?” he asks playfully, giving a parting kiss to your calf, before wrapping your legs around his waist, he grins when you nod vigorously.
The thrusts continue, filling the room with the sound of wet claps as he eases himself down even further, his body pressed down chest to chest with yours and his hips continue snapping up and down, bullying your cunt as his balls slap your ass with every back and forth motion.
After finally getting used to the change of pace, your arms wrap around your boyfriend's neck, and the ever perceptive–and ever teasing man–has to question, “Finally get your bearings, ange?”
“You talk too damn much…” you breathe out, the knot in your stomach inching closer and closer to unravelling entirely as the deep rubbing of his cock against your poor cervix, “keep fucking me. Cum in me, fuck me stupid, baby…” you whisper in his ear as you trail your hands along him, one in his hair and the other along his upper back that you were clawing at.
He doesn’t need to be told twice!
His hips snap with renewed vigour as plapping sounds ring louder, the wet slaps miraculously caused by no lube and only the mix of your slick and his precum. His mouth shoots down, latching onto your perked nipples, and his tongue runs along, flicking it up and down before sucking and releasing with a pop.
“These sweet beauties are good, ain’t nothing sweeter than this pretty pussy… or that ass…” he grins at the fucked out expression on your face and the way your eyes widen. You don’t have to even say a damn thing for him to know that you were just about a thrust away from cumming.
When you do release, your body shudders, pussy pumping and clenching Remy’s cock so hard he finally lets out his own series of incoherent moans in harmony with yours before smashing your lips together. He pushes his cum deep into you, and wickedly smirks at the ring of white wrapped around the base of his softening cock when he pulls away from the passionate kiss shared.
He doesn’t move yet, just looks down at you with the same smug look, “say…I could help you get cleaned. Need another seat again? Right on your favourite throne, ma reine (my queen)?” he wags his brows
Your chest heaves and you look up at him, “smart Cajun..” your voice teases him as you contemplate the prospects of sitting on his face again.
hey ....love your content...can you do one where how the fourth wing men would reject the reader...i understand if you don't want to tho
This was harder than I thought. We always look at these boys in such positive lights (to some extent). But I think I figured it out. You would also think for someone who literally just finished their reread of Fourth Wing this would be easy.... It wasn't.
Rejection - HC's Fourth Wing Boys
Garrick
Garrick wouldn’t beat around the bush. He’d be pretty upfront and straightforward while choosing words that wouldn’t hurt you unnecessarily. He respects those close to him and would want to handle the situation with dignity
He is also grounded and logical, so he would most likely give a reason for the rejection if its appropriate.
Despite rejecting you he would try to leave things on a good note, ensuring there is no lingering awkwardness
Bodhi
Bodhi would try to keep things light hearted to ease the tension. More than likely trying to use some humour to soften the blow, while also being upfront with his feelings
Bodhi would appreciate your courage for admitting your feelings, he knows it wouldn’t have been easy.
He would definitely comfort you afterwards if you let him, not wanting to leave you hurt or any awkwardness between you.
Xaden
He’s not the kind to sugar coat things, and often keeps his emotions in check. He would probably be pretty blunt but in a respectful way. He would want very little drama to come from this
He’d definitely offer you some reasons why, most likely to do with not having time and leading a rebellion and all that. But he probably wouldn’t give too much away about his true feelings
Liam
Despite being straight forward, Liam would approach the situation in a calm and respectful manner, not wanting to hurt you more than necessary. He would be direct but kind, and do his best to explain why.
Afterwards he would respect your boundaries to try make it easier, but he would still do what he could to make sure you were ok after. Getting your friends to check in on you, doing little things for you that wouldn’t lead directly back to him to not get your hopes up.
Dain
Dain is a strategist and often tends to act based on logic than his emotions unless pushed. His rejection would likely be influenced by a rational decision rather than his own personal feelings. Most likely noting practicality or necessity than it being personal
He wouldn’t want to appear vulnerable or conflicted, most likely hiding any emotions towards the situation.
While he might acknowledge the rejection would be painful for you, he definitely isn’t dwelling on the situation and would most likely avoid any conversations around it if it came up again.
Brennan
He would be kind and gentle in his approach to the rejection. Expressing his feelings with care, and making sure you didn’t feel hurt or rejected on a personal level, and making it clear that the decision is not a reflection of your worth. He would reassure you that you deserve love and happiness.
He would definitely offer you some emotional support after, making sure you feel heard and cared for. But he would leave that up to you, leaving the door open for if you want to seek comfort in him and the friendship you still have or with others.
Ridoc
He wouldn’t make the rejection feel like a huge, dramatic event. He would keep it light, and definitely cracking multiple jokes to try defuse the tension. Kindness but with a touch of humour.
Despite his easy going nature he would still be considerate and wouldn’t take the jokes too far (though you never know with Ridoc).
He’d definitely go back to normal afterwards though, acting as if nothing was any different between you two so no one would be none the wiser.
Sawyer
Sawyer would be upfront, but try keep the mood light. He would be kind and considerate. His natural charm would kick in, making sure to point out their great qualities and making sure they know its nothing to do with them.
Afterwards he would make sure to avoid any mixed signals towards you, not wanting to lead you astray. But you two are definitely remaining friends after (though lets be honest, you’d still be friends with all these boys after).
You get injected with an unknown toxin and now your loyal teammates are determined to help ease your suffering.
— pairing: Task Force 141 × fem!141!Reader
— cw: 18+ | sex pollen; dubcon/fuck or die; dd:dne; medical & military inaccuracies; pining; hurt/comfort; angst; fluff; cum and orgasms as the antidote; wc: 12k+
author's note: This has been in my drafts for two years 💀 And she would've said yes to all of them.
"We need some answers, Kate. Now." Captain Price's voice booms inside the spacious briefing room.
He's practically pacing in front of the desk like some anxious K-9, arms folded over his plate carrier as he keeps his sharp eyes trained on Laswell and the two scientists sitting behind their laptops, staring at their respective screens.
Meanwhile, the rest of his team is still as geared up as their Captain—all waiting for orders or further instructions, scattered around the room and listening with bated breath while Price grows more agitated with each shaky exhale he can hear coming from you.
You're currently sitting on one of the tables, boot-clad feet dangling off the edge as you stare at the ceiling, right into the fluorescent lights above, ignoring the way your eyes begin to sting from their brightness.
You've been putting on a brave face since getting stabbed with the needle a few hours ago and you've kept the façade up since hopping off the helo back on base, but it's getting harder to mask the panic rising inside you as your body starts to feel funny.
You swipe the back of your gloved hand over your sweaty forehead, catching the cold perspiration on your feverish skin with the rough fabric, and out of your peripherals, you notice the way your teammates' heads snap in your direction—different-coloured pairs of eyes assessing you with worry, concern, and a hint of curiosity.
Soap and Gaz are standing to your left and right respectively, sneaking glances at you whenever you shift on your spot, while the Lieutenant is still as a marble statue a little offside, arms crossed over his bulky tac vest.
Laswell begins to explain calmly, clutching a thick folder to her chest.
"We're still waiting on anything concrete, John, but the research papers your team managed to extract have offered a great insight on that—whatever that bioweapon is."
Bioweapon.
Your eyes widen as you sit up straight, the word making your heart race and your skin crawl with fear. Both Soap and Gaz take a step closer—two strong pairs of arms outstretched and ready to catch you if you faint.
"Easy there, John—" Laswell says firmly, unbothered by his tone as she takes a step towards the captain and gestures at the two scientists watching the scene unfold with wide eyes from behind their laptops.
"They said she won't die. The amount of injection was too low… apparently."
Apparently?!
You inhale sharply and open your mouth to announce your imminent panic, but you're interrupted when one of the scientists speaks up first.
"That is correct, sir. She won't die."
Professor Doctor Boswel, as the name badge on his white lab coat states, chimes in. Price stops pacing at once, though his sharp eyes scream you better start explaining now, or one of you will be made responsible for this.
"Bringing the syringe back to base was the decisive factor. Our team at the lab is still working to decipher and translate the medical reports and research papers your team recovered, but we can confirm that this bioweapon is most likely a toxin."
A low murmur of various curses goes through the briefing room as you try to ignore the odd tingles in your limbs—like they're going numb from sitting in a bad position for too long—and process the doctor's words instead.
"You're saying I've been poisoned, doc?" You butt in crudely, letting out a humourless laugh as you begin fidgeting with your hands, clenching and unclenching them to get rid of those tingles while a cold drop of sweat trickles down your left temple and is swiftly wiped away by Soap's gloved thumb.
"Fuckin’ hell, lass. Ye dinnae look too good," Soap mutters under his breath, exchanging a concerned glance with Gaz, who then looks to the captain for guidance with a serious frown.
When Gaz turns around abruptly, you get a whiff of his scent, and you're ashamed to admit to yourself that you inhale it deeply—musk and sweat and gunpowder smoke, a hint of his fancy body wash lingering underneath all the grime. A perfect concoction of what is entirely Gaz.
It's intoxicating. Mouth-watering.
And absolutely inappropriate, because he's one of your best friends and a comrade.
What the hell is happening?
Of all the injuries and wounds you've already acquired during missions and deployments, this must be the fucking worst. You'd rather get shot or stabbed than sit here, feel strange as hell and be ogled like a failed science experiment.
Price's eyes flicker to Ghost, who hasn't said a word since sitting you down on the table with a gruff order to stay seated, and then to his three sergeants, lingering on you heavily before he turns back.
"What kind of bloody toxin?"
"It seems to be some sort of aphrodisiac, but… uh, well—about fifty times worse than that."
The other scientist, Professor Doctor Adebayo, answers tentatively, as if explaining it out loud makes him uncomfortable.
"The reports say it turns men—"
Dr. Adebayo hesitates, clearing his throat and looking between Laswell and Captain Price, until the latter lets out an exasperated sigh.
"Turns them what, doc?"
It's Laswell who says it eventually, "Turns them aggressive, John. Feral with lust, as ridiculous as that might sound."
The CIA agent finally looks in your direction before approaching you slowly while Dr. Adebayo seems to heave a sigh of relief as soon as she takes over.
"A high dose of it can be used to lower one's inhibition levels to a point where even the most honourable man would resort to sexual assault to ease his urges."
Her factual yet grim explanation makes the tension inside the briefing room spike tenfold. Every man present tenses up, visibly uncomfortable—Ghost especially, who's practically vibrating with strain.
Using a toxin like that—a bioweapon—on soldiers in the field could lead to even more and worse war crimes, and everyone here is aware of that.
"Wait—what? What the fuck?" Gaz utters, bristling next to you while you grip the edge of the table, gritting your teeth as the tingles intensify and wreck through your body in waves that leave you shuddering with each one.
"'Scuse me, what now?" You scoff. "Does that mean I'm gonna turn into a fuckin' nympho any second?"
Multiple pairs of eyes snap towards you at your choice of words. Some look intense and laced with worry. Price scolds you with one glance. Others look mildly amused—the latter being Soap, who lets out a snort but tries to cover it up with a fake cough into his fist.
Laswell surveys you intently, though her voice softens when she addresses you directly.
"How are you feeling, Sergeant? Are you in pain? Nauseous?"
A beat of silence follows. Your eyes flutter briefly as you meet Kate's blue gaze, and you exhale a long breath through your nostrils before you answer curtly.
"I feel weird."
You feel like you're about to get your period, but you keep that information to yourself for now and try not to wrap your arms around yourself self-soothingly.
Your lower abdomen is starting to tighten and cramp. Your gut twists like you just chugged a steaming bowl of soup and your limbs keep tingling—from your toes to your fingertips, and up to the tip of your nose. Tiny vibrations along with hot and cold flushes that make you quake and squirm in your seat on the table.
Kate squints at you, though she doesn't press further.
"What kind of effect will this stuff have on her?" Price enquires gruffly, more level-headed this time, his gaze shifting from the two scientists over to you and then back.
Meanwhile, as you crank your sore neck from left to right to get a good crack in, your eyes catch sight of Soap's muscular forearms and—to your horror—they linger.
The sleeves of his combat fatigues are rolled up to his elbows, exposing dark coarse hair and thick veins and that damn SAS insignia tattoo.
You want to trace the black lines with your tongue and imagine the salt of his skin on your parched taste buds.
And your eyes widen when a sudden rush of mind-numbing, pulsating heat makes you squeeze your thighs together as you clench your jaw to keep the lewd sound bubbling up in your throat from escaping.
Soap shoots you a quizzical look, one eyebrow raising as you avert your eyes from him swiftly, heat crawling up your neck and prickling beneath your skin.
"Fuck," you breathe, doubling over with a groan as the muscles in your thighs and lower abdomen begin to cramp up painfully while you can practically feel your pussy start convulsing around nothing, leaking with arousal and soaking into your underwear.
In a matter of seconds, your team—Ghost included, like a solid wall of quiet reassurance—are by your side, keeping you upright, asking questions, though their deep, accented voices are muffled as your quickening heartbeat begins to thud in your ears.
Their every touch seems to burn through the thick layers of your kit.
"Kate—Kate," Price is by her side in a few long strides, ducking his head to get on eye-level with her as he points at the two scientists accusingly, though Kate is already on her smartphone, contacting the lab again.
Price huffs like an angry bull trying to protect his herd as he turns his attention back to Dr. Boswel and Dr. Adebayo, who seem to be in a frenzied discussion, watching the way you're cramping and writhing.
"What the fuck is happening to her?" He barks at them, demanding an answer yesterday.
"It's—it's the toxin," Dr. Boswel stammers obviously, blinking up at Captain Price from behind his glasses. "She didn't get the full dose, but it's still—" He pauses, eyes flickering nervously under the captain's glare. "—bad."
Another gut-wrenching moan from you echoes through the briefing room as you squirm in Gaz's embrace, and Price must restrain himself from directing his wrath towards the two men in front of him—it's not their fault, after all.
It's his.
"Oxytocin might help… neutralize the toxin in her body," Dr. Adebayo remarks, clicking his pen nervously as he stares at his laptop screen before meeting Dr. Boswel's eyes, who is waiting for an elucidation.
"The hormone," Dr. Adebayo clears his throat again, clearly uncomfortable, "—not the drug." He clarifies, clicking his pen a few more times.
Laswell lowers her phone and shares a look with Price, holding an entire conversation with one long, meaningful glance, the one learned and perfected over more than a decade of working together, when Gaz's voice breaks through the chaos, calling for attention.
"Cap'n! What do we do?!"
You're not brought back to the barracks but Captain Price's private quarters.
Your squad makes sure to keep you out of sight in your condition; away from prying eyes while Ghost sneaks through the shadows with your quivering form cradled against his chest, carrying you bridal style like you're something fragile, something vulnerable he must protect.
Once safely inside the captain's flat, the curtains are drawn before your heavy gear is stripped from you, all while you don't even bother paying attention to who is grabbing or holding you at this point.
All that matters is someone touching you.
Your brain is mush, reduced to your most simple and carnal desires. No shame nor worry about the needy noises you're making whenever one of their big, strong hands strips another layer of clothing.
"Shit, I think she has a fever," Gaz mutters, cupping your face with both hands as he investigates your hazy, unfocused eyes while you let out another pathetic whimper. "She's completely out of it."
"Get her into the guest bedroom. Down the hall, first door on the left," Price orders gruffly, trying to keep his eyes from wandering up and down the length of your trembling, half-naked body.
"I'll call the senior consultant."
Ghost grumbles a low curse under his breath when your hand brushes over the front of his crotch—by accident or voluntarily this time, he doesn't dare imagine—and leaves the guest bedroom while Gaz and Soap manoeuvre you onto the king-sized bed.
Meanwhile, you don't care about the effect your uncharacteristic behaviour has on your teammates and superiors.
Whenever they try to make you drink or take an easy bite of food—whether it's a chewy protein bar or an overripe banana, because Price has no proper groceries at his place—you twist in whoever's embrace you're in, turning your scrunched-up face away like a petulant toddler.
"I don't wanna," you whine and hiccup, protesting each time Gaz tries to lift the rim of the water bottle to your lips, your speech now slightly slurred, glossy eyes averting their gaze as you breathe shallowly, squirming while Soap keeps you propped up with your back resting against his chest on the bed.
Gaz, who has been trying again to make you drink a sip of water for the past twenty minutes, looks back at his Lieutenant and Captain helplessly.
"Doc said we need to keep her hydrated," Price announces, rubbing his bare hand over his tired face. "Keep flushing that bloody poison outta her system and—"
Suddenly, Ghost's deep, gravelly voice interrupts the captain's speech with a harsh bite to it. "Johnny."
Soap, who has been trying his best to ignore the way you keep grinding your arse against his crotch in this position, ducks his head at the sharp and sudden warning.
"What? 'M not doin' anythin'," he grunts before sucking in a sharp breath as his cock keeps stirring and twitching in his combat trousers, "Fuck, lass, please—"
Soap tries to keep you from moving; his ungloved hands get a firm hold of your hips, but you're practically panting and mewling in his lap, making it harder for him not to crumble under the pressure building up in his dick.
Then Gaz is swift to pluck you out of the Scot's embrace with a disdainful frown, like you're some toy that was stolen from him.
"Don't be a fuckin' perv, Soap," Gaz snaps, cradling you into his arms, where you immediately begin pawing at his black compression shirt, determined to get your palms under it and on his bare skin.
"She can't consent!"
It's Price who approaches the bed then, while Ghost stays leaning against the doorframe, keeping a keen eye on the situation.
"Enough! Both of you," Price barks, eyes flashing before his shoulders drop with a rough sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Doc said it might help if—"
John stops mid-sentence, clenching his strong jaw. He can't believe what he is about to say, and he crosses his arms over his chest again, feigning control while he internally braces himself for his next words.
"Those doctors said it might help if she… climaxes."
His words hang in the air like a thick fog that no one can quite see through nor think in, and everyone seems to be holding their breath while you finally manage to tug Gaz's shirt out of his waistband, making him cuss under his breath when you go on to lick a long, wet stripe over his exposed abs like some feral lioness, utterly hungry for a taste.
"Shit—Babygirl, no, d-don't—" Gaz stammers helplessly while a rush of heat goes straight to his neck and cock simultaneously, overwhelmingly so.
He pushes you away by your shoulders—and hates himself for how reluctant he is at it—and he winces when your blunt nails claw into his bulging biceps, digging into his skin even through his shirt with another whimper.
"Please, Kyle… Let me—" you mewl, batting your eyelashes up at him. "It—It fuckin’ hurts."
Soap pushes his fists into his eye sockets, heaving a deep breath that turns into a frustrated groan. "Steamin' Jesus, lass, ye’re fuckin’ killin' us here."
"Take a bloody walk, MacTavish," Price orders, pointing his thumb at the door over his shoulder, and while Soap climbs off the mattress, grumbling to himself with an obvious erection pressing against the seam of his zipper, Price addresses Gaz.
"And you, Garrick, take—" He hesitates again, balling his hands into fists at his sides, trying to keep his own body in check at the sight and sounds of you, before he nudges his chin towards the door of the bathroom.
"Take her to the shower to get the fever down and… help her."
The captain's last words are nothing more than a strained grumble.
Gaz gapes at his superior. Soap freezes in his steps at the end of the bed, openly gawking and blinking like he didn't just hear right. Ghost visibly stiffens and shifts his stance, still leaning against the doorframe of the guest bedroom. No one can see the way he grits his teeth so hard he might chip a tooth behind his balaclava.
"But sir—"
Price shakes his head; brows set in a stern frown as he holds Gaz's widened gaze.
"She'd want you to take care of her if she could actually consent to it. And that's an order, Sergeant."
Ghost wants to disagree, but keeps his mouth shut and exhales a sharp huff of contempt instead.
The rest of the men try to distract themselves around Captain Price's flat while Gaz takes you to the en-suite bathroom like he was ordered to.
Not asked, ordered to.
He keeps repeating that in his head as he walks you towards the bathroom door with his arm around your waist, your body listing into his side like you've forgotten how to hold yourself upright. His jaw is set so tight his molars ache.
He's been ordered to do a lot of things in his career. Clear rooms. Hold positions under fire. Drag wounded men through mud while rounds cracked overhead. He's followed every order without hesitation, because that's what good soldiers do—they trust the chain of command and they execute.
This doesn't feel like any of those things.
He keeps the bathroom door unlocked—just in case you faint and he needs help—and lets out a huff when you fling yourself into his body suddenly and the air is knocked from his lungs.
"Easy," he pleads with you while his head dips down, and he inhales your familiar scent before he can stop himself. Sweat and the remnants of whatever lotion you put on this morning underneath your gear before the mission, something warm and sweet that he's caught whiffs of a hundred times before in passing and never let himself think about for longer than a second.
"Easy there, love," he tries again, his trembling hands wrapping around your midriff tentatively.
Gaz hates these circumstances. Hates how the mission ended in such a bloody mess. Hates how excited he is to undress you to your underwear, and he despises that this is how he'll get to have you for the first time.
This is not how he'd imagined it.
He never imagined it. Not in any concrete, detailed way. Not like he'd planned it in his head, step by step—the restaurant he'd take you to first, somewhere nice but not so nice you'd take the piss out of him for it. The way he'd tell you after the second drink, maybe the third, that he'd been thinking about you. Casually. Like it hadn't been eating him alive for months.
He hadn't planned any of that.
Fucking liar.
You make a sound against his chest, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and your fingers twist into the wet fabric of his compression shirt, tugging weakly.
"Kyle… Kyle, I need—"
"I know," he murmurs, and his voice comes out rougher than he intends. "I know, love. C'mon."
He manoeuvres you towards the shower, reaching past you to turn the dial to lukewarm. The water sputters, then hisses to life against the tile, and steam begins to curl at the edges of the glass.
You're still in your underwear—plain, standard issue, nothing designed to be sexy—and it doesn't matter, because the sight of you trembling and desperate in front of him with water beginning to mist across your skin is doing things to his head that no amount of mental discipline can counter.
He starts to dismantle his assault rifle in his head.
You stumble into the shower cabin and he follows, still fully clothed. The water hits his chest and soaks through his compression shirt in seconds, plastering the fabric to his skin, and the cold shock of it helps. Briefly.
Bolt. Firing pin. Cam pin.
"C'mon, Babygirl," he coos at you as he turns your quivering body in his embrace until your back is flush against his chest. One arm wraps tightly below your breasts, forearm pushing up against the swell of them through the soaked fabric of your bra, and he tries, and fails miserably, not to take a long look over your shoulder.
Buffer tube. Buffer spring. Buffer.
You melt against his body and his cock throbs in his combat trousers, straining against his briefs uncomfortably. The water is doing nothing for the heat radiating off your skin. If anything, you're burning hotter, pressing back into him with small, involuntary rolls of your hips that make his breath stutter.
Lower receiver. Trigger assembly. Trigger—
"Please," you whimper, and his entire train of thought derails.
Your head lolls back against his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat, and he can see the way your pulse hammers beneath the surface, rapid and frantic. Your hips buck against his hand when he finally—finally—lets it trail down over your lower belly, his calloused fingers dragging across the wet skin, feeling the muscles jump and twitch beneath his touch.
"Yes—yes—yes—" you chant breathlessly, and your hips cant forward, chasing his hand with a desperation that makes something crack open in his chest.
Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck.
He cups your pussy through your knickers and the heat of you against his palm nearly makes his knees buckle. He can feel you through the thin, soaked fabric and he's not sure if the wetness is from the shower stream or if it's all you.
His chest is heaving when he finally gathers enough courage to dip his long fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear. His jaw clenches and his mind grasps desperately for the drills again—clear left, clear right, move to the next room, check your corners—anything to stay anchored while you let out a moan that echoes off the tile walls and punches straight through him.
You're so wet, so swollen, it's obscene. His fingers slide through your folds with zero resistance and the groan that rips from deep within his chest is involuntary, guttural, ashamed. He can feel your arousal ooze from your entrance, slick and hot, and he can already tell how tight you'd feel clenching around his fingers, how you'd—
No. He's not going there.
"Fuck," he curses under his breath, more to himself than to you. "I'm only doin' this for you, Babygirl. This is only about you."
He says it like a prayer. Like if he repeats it enough, it'll be true.
His fingers press on your clit, pulsing and twitching already, and he starts rubbing small, firm circles over it, adjusting the pressure when your breath hitches or your thighs clamp around his wrist. He reads your body like he reads a room. Methodically, attentive, and cataloguing every reaction.
You writhe and squirm in his tight grip, your nails digging into the arm he has banded around your ribs, and every sound you make, every whimper, and stuttered gasp of his name, chips away at the wall he's trying to keep standing between following an order and wanting this.
"M-more, Kyle, please!"
Gaz curses himself, but he gives you more.
Two fingers pressing into you, slow and careful despite every instinct screaming at him to give you what you're begging for. You clench around him immediately, hot and tight and silky, and his cock kicks in his trousers so hard he must bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning.
He curls his fingers, searching for the spot that makes your thighs shake, and when he finds it, you keen so loudly the sound bounces off every hard surface in the small bathroom.
"That's it," he murmurs against your temple, his lips brushing your skin without quite kissing. "That's it, love. Let go for me."
He's not sure when he started talking to you like this. Somewhere between the first touch and the second, the clinical detachment he'd been clinging to crumbled and something else took its place—something tender and fierce and terrifyingly honest.
Your first orgasm hits you hard enough to make your entire body seize in his arms, your back arching away from his chest as a strangled cry tears from your throat. He holds you through it, fingers still working, still pressing and giving, because even as the tremors wrack through you and your legs give out, he can feel your body already winding up again, the toxin refusing to let you rest.
"Shh, shh, I've got you," he breathes, adjusting his grip to take your full weight when your knees buckle entirely. "I've got you."
You cum again two minutes later, and then again after that, and again, and Gaz loses count somewhere around the fifth or sixth time, when his fingers are cramping and his arm is trembling from holding you upright and the water has long since turned cold.
Each time, he thinks it'll be enough, and each time, your body coils tight again within minutes, the toxin driving you right back to the edge with a cruelty that makes him want to put his fist through the tile.
He doesn’t want to imagine what a full dose would have done to you. To anyone.
When you tell him that you're hurting—repeatedly, begging him to make you cum in that desperate, broken tone of yours—the young Sergeant is sure something dies inside him on the spot.
"Kyle—Kyle, I need more, I need you to—please—Fuck, please!"
He knows what you're asking for. You're grinding back against his cock, which has been rock-hard and aching for what feels like hours, and every roll of your hips sends a jolt of white-hot arousal through him that he must physically brace against.
"I can't," he grits out, and it takes everything in him. "Christ. I can't do that to you. Not like this."
"Please—"
"No, Babygirl." His voice cracks on the word, and he presses his forehead against the back of your head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Not like this."
He drops to his knees instead.
The tile is hard and unforgiving under his kneecaps and the now cold water from the shower hits the back of his neck, but he barely registers any of it as he turns you to face him and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder.
He looks up at you once—your hazy, unfocused eyes, the way your chest heaves, the water running in rivulets down your body—and then he leans forward and drags his tongue through your folds in one long, broad stroke.
The sound you make is devastating.
Your hands fly to his head, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his wet hair, and your hips jerk forward so violently he must grip your thigh to keep you steady. He groans against you, he can't help it, and the vibration makes you cry out again, blunt nails raking over his scalp.
Gaz eats you like he's starving for it, because the truth he can't say out loud is that he is.
He's thought about this. Dreamed about it. Wanked to the idea of it in the dark of his bunk with his fist shoved against his mouth to keep quiet. And now he's here, on his knees in his Captain's shower with cold water running down his back and your taste flooding his mouth, and it's everything and nothing like what he imagined because you're not choosing this—you're not choosing him—and that knowledge sits in his chest like a brick.
But he doesn't stop.
Gaz licks and sucks and fucks you with his tongue until his jaw aches and your thighs are shaking so badly you can barely stand, even with his hands gripping your hips. He makes you cum on his mouth twice, then thrice, pressing his face into you each time your body locks up, working you through it with relentless, single-minded focus because if he stops to think about what this means, about what happens after, he'll fall apart.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, his chin is slick and his cock is so hard it genuinely hurts. You're still whimpering, still reaching for him, still not done, and the toxin is still pumping through your veins with no sign of stopping.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and exhales a shaky breath, pressing his forehead against your hip.
"I need—" His voice is wrecked. He swallows hard, then tries again. "I need a minute."
Not because he's tired, or his fingers are cramped and his jaw is sore and his knees are bruised from the tile. No.
But if he stays on his knees in front of you for one more second, he's going to give you what you're begging for, and he will never forgive himself for it.
He stands on unsteady legs, turns the shower off, and reaches for the towel hanging on the rack outside the cabin. His hands are shaking as he wraps it around, and you cling to it loosely, swaying on your feet.
"C'mon," he says, guiding you towards the door with one hand on the small of your back. His voice has steadied, but his eyes haven't. "Let's get you dried off."
You're protesting. He's cursing under his breath. There's shuffling, a stumble, and then he grabs the door handle and swings it open—
And Soap nearly falls backwards into the bathroom.
"Soap!"
The Scotsman catches himself on the doorway, one hand gripping the frame as he glances over his shoulder with a look that's not even remotely sheepish enough for a man who was clearly pressing his ear to the door thirty seconds ago.
Gaz is still wearing his clothes, though they're completely drenched—his compression shirt is a second skin, his combat trousers heavy with water, boots squelching on the tile. He's holding you by the forearm as you stand next to him, loose towel wrapped around your body, still trembling, still making those small, desperate sounds in the back of your throat.
"The fuck, mate? Did you eavesdrop on us?"
Soap shrugs as he straightens up, adjusting his stance in a way that's clearly meant to disguise the state of his trousers. "Was jus' checkin' on ye."
"Checking on—" Gaz's jaw works, nostrils flaring. He wants to snap, wants to shove Soap back into the hallway and slam the door, but he's running on fumes and you're leaning into him again, your face pressed against his soaked chest, mumbling incoherently.
"She needs—" Gaz starts, then stops. Looks down at you, back up at Soap. Something heavy passes between the two men, unspoken but understood.
"She needs more than I can give her right now," he finishes quietly, and the admission costs him more than any of them will ever know.
Soap's expression shifts. The boyish smirk drops, replaced by something sobered, and he gives Gaz a short nod—the kind they exchange in the field when one of them is spent and the other takes point.
"A'right," Soap answers, surprisingly steady, rolling his broad shoulders. "Ah’ve got 'er."
Gaz transfers you into Soap's waiting arms with a gentleness that borders on reverent—one hand on the back of your head, the other guiding your shoulders—and he doesn't let go until he's sure Soap has you secure.
Then he walks past them both, water dripping from every inch of him, and doesn't look back.
He makes it to the kitchen before his hands start shaking badly enough that he has to brace them flat on the counter. He stands there, head bowed, water pooling on the linoleum beneath him, and breathes.
Ghost is leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, and he doesn't say a word.
There is no need to.
Soap carries you back to the bed like you weigh nothing to him; one arm under your knees, the other around your back, the towel slipping loose and neither of you caring, and he lays you down with a surprising gentleness that contradicts every tightly coiled muscle in his body.
He's been hard since the briefing room, balls throbbing uncomfortably. Over two hours of it. The kind of persistent, throbbing ache that sits low in his gut and pulses in time with his heartbeat, and he's been dealing with it the way he deals with most discomfort.
By ignoring it aggressively and hoping it fucks off on its own.
It has not fucked off unfortunately. Truth be told, he’d be worried about himself if it did.
"Right then," he mutters, kneeling on the mattress beside you as he cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders again like he's about to breach a door. "Let's sort ye out, hen."
And that's the thing about Johnny MacTavish—he doesn't agonise. Not the way Gaz does, all quiet guilt and moral calculus. Soap's moral framework is simpler, blunter, built from different materials. You're his teammate, you're hurting, and he can help. Everything else is noise.
That doesn't mean he's unaffected; doesn't mean his hands aren't shaking when he settles between your legs and pushes the towel fully away from your body, or that his breath doesn't hitch hard enough to hear when he gets his first proper look at you fully naked, spread out on the white sheets with your chest heaving and your thighs trembling and your eyes half-lidded, glassy, barely tracking him.
Christ, you're beautiful.
He's thought about this. Fuck. Of course he has. He's not a bloody monk, and you're you.
He's thought about it in the gym when you spot him on the bench press and your face hovers above his, upside down and grinning. He's thought about it on long transports when you fall asleep against his shoulder and he stays perfectly still for hours so you won't wake up. Or when you laugh at his shite jokes that no one else finds funny, when you steal chips off his plate in the mess, when you call him Johnny instead of Soap and don't even notice you've done it.
He's thought about it a lot.
But not like this.
"You with me?" he asks, tapping your cheek lightly with two fingers. Your eyes roll towards him, struggling to focus, and you make a sound that's part whimper, part plea.
Close enough.
"A'right, sweetheart. I've got ye."
He doesn't ease into it the way Gaz did. Where Gaz was methodical, with careful touches, measured pressure, and constant checking, Soap is instinct. He reads you through vibration and sound, adjusts on the fly, follows the frequency of your moans like he's tuning into a signal.
He dips his head between your thighs and licks into you without preamble, broad and hot and greedy, and the noise that tears out of you rattles something loose in his chest.
"Fuck—tha's it," he groans against you, the vibration making your hips jolt, and his big hands grip the backs of your thighs to keep you spread open and steady. "Tha's my bonnie girl."
He's not quiet about it, either. Soap eats pussy the way he does most things. With enthusiasm, commitment, and absolutely zero self-consciousness. Wet, filthy sounds fill the bedroom, punctuated by his own groans and your increasingly incoherent cries, and he doesn't give a single shit that the door is open, and his team can hear every obscene noise he's wringing out of you.
Let them hear.
His tongue works over your clit in fast, tight circles, then broad, flat strokes, alternating rhythm and pressure every time he feels your thighs start to shake. When you try to close your legs, he pins them open with his forearms. When you try to squirm away—overstimulated, oversensitive, too much and not enough at the same time—he follows relentlessly, dragging you back by the hips with a growl that rumbles against your soaked flesh.
"Nuh-uh. Stay still f'me."
He makes you cum with his mouth in under five minutes and then doesn't stop.
Your fingers twist into the sheets, into his mohawk, clawing at his scalp as your back arches off the mattress and a wrecked sob punches out of your lungs. Soap groans in response, the sound reverential, like your pleasure is a hymn and he's on his knees in church.
He keeps going. Lapping at you through the aftershocks, sucking your clit between his lips until you're keening, pressing his tongue inside you just to feel you clench around it, and when you cum again with his name breaking apart on your lips—Johnny, Johnny, fuck yes, Johnny—he nearly blacks out from how hard his cock throbs in response.
His hips have started moving on their own. Small, involuntary rolls against the mattress, his aching cock grinding against the sheets through his combat trousers, and he knows he should fucking stop, should pull his hips back, should focus on you and not the desperate friction building between his body and the bed.
But he doesn't stop.
He is physically incapable.
You taste like honey and salt and something almost medicinal underneath—the toxin, probably, working its way out of your system through your sweat and your slick—and he's drunk on it. Drunk on the way you say his name, how your thighs tremble against the sides of his head, drunk on the wet sounds of his tongue on your cunt and the way you keep pulling his face closer, harder, more.
"God—fuck—lass, ye taste so fuckin' good—"
He's rutting against the mattress in earnest now, his hips snapping in sharp, desperate little thrusts, and the friction is nowhere near enough and exactly too much at the same time.
The sheets are going to be ruined. He doesn't care. Can't. He’s a weak man, and his entire world has narrowed to the taste of you on his tongue and the ache in his junk and the way your body keeps arching into him like he's the only thing keeping you alive.
"Please—please, Johnny, I need—I can't—"
"I know, hen, I know—" he pants against your inner thigh, pressing a biting kiss there that makes you yelp, "—jus' one more, c'mon, give me one more, aye?"
He flickers his tongue, seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, hard, and you shatter. Your thighs clamp around his head, your hands fist in his hair so tightly it stings, and the scream that rips from your throat is ragged and raw and so fucking beautiful that he comes.
Inside his combat pants.
His hips stutter against the mattress and a guttural, muffled groan vibrates against your pussy as his cock pulses and spills, hot and wet, soaking through his briefs and into his trousers. His arms shake, his vision whites out for a second, and he has to press his forehead against your inner thigh and just breathe through it, chest heaving, while you whimper above him, still trembling from your own orgasm.
He pulls back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and the reality of what just happened settles over him like a cloth soaked in ice water. He stares down at himself, at the damp patch darkening the front of his trousers, and lets out a long, defeated exhale.
"MacTavish."
Ghost's voice comes from the doorway; flat and sharp, dripping with contempt.
Soap closes his eyes, disappointed in himself, exhaling through his nose. "Aye. I know."
"You know?" Price's voice joins Ghost's, closer, much heavier. The captain is standing just inside the bedroom now, arms folded, jaw set. He looks at Soap the way a father looks at a teenage son caught doing something monumentally stupid.
"Get yourself sorted. Now."
Soap doesn't argue. He climbs off the bed on unsteady legs, not meeting anyone's eyes, and adjusts his trousers with a grimace as he shuffles past Ghost in the doorway.
Ghost doesn't move to let him pass. Makes him squeeze by, shoulder to shoulder, just to make it uncomfortable.
"Disgusting," Ghost mutters, low enough that only Soap hears it.
"Fuck off, LT," Soap mutters back, and there's no heat in it. Just shame.
You don't notice the shift at first.
One moment there are hands and mouths on you, voices and pressure and friction. The next, everything is quieter. Stiller. The mattress dips on one side and stays dipped, a solid weight settling beside you but not on you, not against you, not close enough to touch.
You whine at the loss of contact, of heat, of anything, and reach blindly for whoever is there.
A large hand catches your wrist. Gentle and firm, holding it in place.
"Don't."
One word. Low and gravelly, scraped raw like it was dragged over broken glass and wire mesh on its way out of his throat.
Ghost.
He's sitting on the edge of the bed with his back straight and his boots still on, because taking his boots off would mean he's staying, and staying would mean—he doesn't finish the thought.
Price asked him to sit with you while Gaz and Soap pulled themselves together. Asked this time, not ordered, because Price knows that ordering Ghost to do something he doesn't want to do is about as effective as ordering the tide to turn. Ghost agreed with a single nod, and now here he is, and every muscle in his body is locked so tight he might snap a tendon.
You're lying on your side, curled in on yourself, wearing nothing but your sodden underwear again and the ghost of everyone else's touch on your skin. The towel is long gone. Your body is still trembling, still feverish, still caught in the grip of the toxin, and the soft, pained sounds you keep making are doing things to him that he absolutely cannot allow.
He's hard. Has been since you doubled over and moaned and he had to watch your body betray you in front of everyone. His cock is straining against his trousers, thick and heavy and insistent.
Ghost pretends it isn’t. He's very good at pretending things don't exist.
"Simon…"
His jaw clenches beneath the balaclava. You rarely use his first name—none of them do—and hearing it now, in that voice, breathy and desperate and small, is a kind of cruelty he wasn't prepared for.
"You need to drink something," he murmurs, and reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand without looking at you.
"Don't want—"
"Wasn't bloody askin’."
He unscrews the cap and turns to you, and the mistake—the critical, tactical, unforgivable mistake—is that he looks at your face next.
Your eyes are glassy and wet, your lips parted around shallow little breaths, and you're looking up at him like he's the only solid thing in a world that's been spinning for hours.
Not with lust—not the way you looked at Gaz and Soap—but with something quieter. Something that reaches past the toxin and grabs hold of something deeper.
Trust.
You trust him. Even now, reduced to your basest instincts, your intoxicated, unhinged brain still recognises him as safe.
Something fractures behind his ribs, and he shuts it down immediately, brutally, the way he shuts down everything that threatens to breach the walls.
"Sit up," he orders, and his voice is soft yet steady even if the rest of him isn't. He slides one hand behind your head—just his palm, just enough to support your neck—and lifts the bottle to your lips.
You drink. Slowly, reluctantly, with small sips that dribble down your chin, but you drink. He holds the bottle still and watches the column of your throat move with each swallow, and when a drop of water runs from the corner of your mouth and trails down your neck, dark eyes track it all the way to your collarbone before catching himself and looking away.
"More," he says curtly, bringing the bottle back.
You manage a few more sips before turning your head away with a pitiful sound, and he lets you, setting the bottle aside. His hand lingers on the back of your head a moment too long—his thumb brushing once against the nape of your neck—before he pulls it back like he's been burned.
You reach for him again. Fingers closing around the fabric of his sleeve, tugging weakly.
"Stay. Please. Don't—Don't go."
"'M not goin’ anywhere." The words come out before he can vet them, gruff and low, and he immediately resents himself for saying them so quickly, so easily, like a confession slipped out under duress.
He lets you hold onto his sleeve. That much he can allow. That much won't cross a line he cannot uncross.
You shift closer, seeking warmth, and your body curls towards him until your forehead is pressed against his thigh. He goes completely rigid, every muscle locking and nerve firing, and his hands hover in the air on either side of you, not touching, not pulling away, suspended in the unbearable middle ground of a man who wants desperately but won't take.
Another small whimper from you. Not desire this time but pain. The cramps rolling through your body in waves, the toxin still doing its vicious work even after everything Gaz and Soap wrung from you. You're shaking, and not just from arousal. You're exhausted. Dehydrated. Your body is at war with itself.
Ghost is not a gentle man. He knows this about himself the way he knows his blood type and his boot size. It's a fact, unalterable, built into the architecture. He doesn't comfort. He doesn't soothe. He handles.
But.
His hand comes down on the back of your head, and it stays.
Heavy and warm through the leather of his glove. Not stroking just resting, a solid weight against your skull, and you let out a breath that sounds like it's been trapped in your lungs for hours.
You stop shaking. Not entirely. The tremors are still there, running through you in small aftershocks, but the worst of it eases under the steady pressure of his palm, like he's an anchor and you've been drifting.
"Ghost?" Your voice is small, barely a whisper.
"Yeah."
"It hurts."
He closes his eyes behind the mask. His hand presses down just slightly—a fraction more weight, a fraction more warmth—and his throat works around words that don't come.
He knows it hurts. He knows Gaz and Soap's efforts weren't enough. He knows what the doctors said—what Price said—and he knows what would fix it, and he can't.
Not because he doesn't want to. Because he wants it too fucking much.
Simon Riley is not a man who trusts himself with things he wants.
Wanting, in his experience, is the first step towards destroying, and he has destroyed enough for one lifetime. Touching you now the way his body is screaming at him to would not be careful or measured or controlled or gentle.
It would be all consuming, and he would take too much, and he would never be able to look you in the eyes again.
So he sits on the edge of the bed with his boots on and his cock aching and his hand on the back of your head, and he holds himself perfectly, agonisingly still. Just a solid shadow in a bedroom.
You press your face harder against his thigh and he lets you. Your fingers tighten on his sleeve and he lets you. Your breath evens out incrementally but still too fast, still too shallow, though calmer now, and he lets that happen too, guarding it like a perimeter, daring anything to disturb it.
He doesn't know how long you stay like that. Long enough for the light under the curtains to shift and for his leg to go numb beneath the pressure of your head. Long enough for Gaz to appear in the doorway, freshly changed into borrowed civvies, and stop dead at the sight of them.
Ghost meets his eyes over the top of your head. His expression is unreadable behind the mask, but his hand doesn't move from your hair, and that says more than his face ever could.
Gaz nods once and backs out without a word.
In the kitchen, Price is pouring two fingers of whisky into a tumbler and staring at the far wall like it owes him money. Soap is sitting at the table in a pair of Price's joggers, his soiled trousers balled up in a plastic bag at his feet, looking like a scolded dog.
"She's calmer," Gaz says quietly as he enters, and both men look up. "Ghost's with her."
Price takes a long drink. Sets the glass down. Rubs a hand over his beard.
"It's not enough, is it."
It's not a question and Gaz doesn't answer it.
"She's still in pain. She keeps—" He stops and swallows thickly. "She keeps asking. Saying she’s in pain."
The captain stares at the whisky in his glass. The silence stretches, tense and heavy, pressing in on the walls of the small kitchen.
"She needs more than fingers and a mouth," Soap says bluntly, because someone fucking has to, and delicacy has never been his strong suit. Gaz shoots him a look, but Soap holds it, unapologetic.
"He's right," Price agrees suddenly, and the words taste like bile. He pushes away from the counter and stands to his full height, shoulders squared, and for a moment he looks every inch the officer. Burdened, resolute, carrying a decision he'll second-guess for the rest of his life.
"Gentlemen's agreement," he says. His voice is low, steady, absolute. "What happens tonight stays in this flat. No one treats her differently when this is over. No one brings it up unless she does. No one holds it over anyone, including himself."
He looks at each of them in turn—Gaz, then Soap—and holds until he gets a nod from both.
"And we tell Ghost."
Ghost doesn't agree.
He listens to the terms of the gentlemen's agreement from the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, stance wide, radiating the kind of stillness that makes lesser men instinctively check their exits. When Price finishes, Ghost holds the silence for a long, loaded beat.
And then: "No."
Price doesn't flinch. "No to which part?"
"All of it. My part." Ghost's voice is flat and final, stripped of everything except the decision itself. "I'll stay with her. I won't fuck her."
Soap opens his mouth—probably to say something spectacularly unhelpful—and Gaz kicks him under the table without looking.
Price studies his Lieutenant for a moment. Then he nods once, heavy with an understanding that doesn't need to be spoken.
"Fair enough." He rolls his sleeves up to his forearms. The mechanical motion of a man preparing for something he cannot delegate. "I'll go first."
No one dares to argue.
Unlike Soap, Price closes the guest bedroom door behind him and stands there for a moment with his hand still on the knob, just breathing. It smells of sex and pheromones, but wrong.
The room is dim. Someone turned off the overhead and left only the bedside lamp, casting everything in low amber light that softens the edges of the furniture and the shape of you on the bed. You're curled on your side, knees drawn up, one hand clutching the pillow beneath your head. The sheets are wrecked; damp and twisted, pulled loose from two corners, and your skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat.
You look small.
That's the thing that hits him first and hits him hardest.
You're one of his soldiers. He's seen you clear buildings, haul wounded men twice your size to extraction, take a round to the vest and get back up swearing. You are not small. You have never been small or fragile.
But you look it now, trembling and fever-damp and reduced to a version of yourself that he never should have had to witness, and the weight of that sits on his shoulders like a ruck full of stones.
He crosses the room in a few strides and sits on the edge of the mattress. The frame groans under his weight.
"Sergeant."
You stir, your head lifting, and your eyes find his face. They're glassy and unfocused, but there's a flicker of recognition—Captain—before it's swallowed by the next wave rolling through your body. You let out a sound that's half sob, half moan, your thighs pressing together, and your hand reaches out blindly until your fingers catch the fabric of his shirt.
"It hurts," you whisper. "Still hurts. Why does it still—"
"I know." He catches your wrist, holds it. His thumb presses against your pulse point to check, and it’s rapid, thready, way too fast for simply lying on a bed. "I'm going to help you."
He says it the way he says we're moving on that compound at 0300 or I need eyes on that ridgeline. Leaving no room for ambiguity, because if he allows ambiguity into this room, he'll start thinking about what he's doing, and if he starts thinking, he'll stop, and if he stops.
You'll keep hurting. Under his command.
He stands long enough to strip his shirt over his head and remove his belt, and then he's back on the bed, propped against the headboard with you between his legs, your back against his bare chest; coarse salt and pepper hair rasping against your tacky skin. One arm wraps around your midsection, heavy and secure, anchoring you.
"Easy," he murmurs against the top of your head. "I've got you, love."
His free hand trails down your stomach, and your muscles jump and twitch beneath his rough palm. He catalogues every reaction. The hitch in your breathing, the way your hips tilt up to meet him, the small, desperate noise you make when his fingers dip below your navel. The same way he catalogues threat patterns and exit routes.
This is a mission. He is completing the objective. He is taking care of his wounded soldier.
He keeps telling himself that as he peels your underwear down your thighs and off, tossing them aside. As he runs his hand up the inside of your thigh and feels you shake. As he finally cups you and discovers just how wet and swollen you are, dripping on his fingers, he has to close his eyes and clench his jaw against the visceral punch of arousal that knocks through him.
This is the job. You gave the order. See it through.
He works you with his fingers first, because he needs to know what you can take. Two thick fingers pressing into you slowly, carefully, and the sounds you make guts him.
"That's it." His voice is lower now, rougher. "There you go, sweetheart."
He doesn't call his soldiers sweetheart. He has never, in twenty-odd years of service, called anyone under his command sweetheart. The word falls out of him like a loose round, and he can't take it back.
Your sopping hole clenches around his fingers and his cock, already hard and straining against the front of his trousers, jerks so violently he must bite back a groan. He curls his fingers inside you, finds the swollen spot that makes your spine arch and your breath stutter, and works it with a patient, devastating precision.
You cum and gush on his fingers with a broken cry, your body locking up in his arms, and the aftershocks roll through you in long, shuddering waves that he holds you through without a word.
It's still not enough. He knows it won't be for a while longer.
Price reaches for the condom on the nightstand—Gaz found them in Price's bathroom cabinet, a half-empty box, almost expired, shoved behind the toiletries like an afterthought—and tears the foil with his teeth while you keen and squirm against him, already spiralling back up.
He undoes his trousers and pushes them down just enough to free himself, because keeping them on feels like maintaining some essential boundary, some last scrap of separation between Captain Price doing what needs to be done and John wanting what he shouldn't want.
Rolling the condom on is a particular exercise in self-control. His cock is thick, flushed dark when his foreskin slides back, weeping pre at the tip, and every brush of his own fingers against the oversensitive skin makes his abs clench.
He lifts you with ease, one hand on your hip, the other gripping himself, and positions you above his lap.
"Sergeant," he grunts through gritted teeth, "look at me."
Your head lolls back against his shoulder, eyes half-open, and you meet his gaze as best you can. He searches for something in your expression—recognition, maybe awareness, you—and finds enough of it to quiet the loudest of the voices screaming in his head.
"If it's too much, y’tell me. That's a bloody order."
You nod hazily. He doesn't know if you actually processed the words, but he needed to say them. Needed that on the record, if only between himself and God.
He lowers you onto him slowly.
The sound that comes out of him is not one he's ever made before.
You're scorching hot and soaked. Your body takes him inch by inch, clenching and fluttering around him as gravity and his guiding hand ease you down, and by the time you're fully seated in his lap, he's seeing stars and his fingers have left dents in the flesh of your hip.
"Fuck," he breathes, and the word is ragged at the edges, torn from somewhere deeper than his chest.
You moan shamelessly, and the relief in the sound nearly undoes him. Like something that's been wound unbearably tight has finally been given slack. Your body relaxes against his, tension draining from your muscles for the first time in hours, and the change is so visible, so immediate, that it almost justifies this.
Almost.
He starts to move. Rolling his hips up into you, slow and deep, both hands gripping your waist to control the pace. He keeps it measured; long and deliberate strokes that drag against your inner walls and make you whimper with each one, because if he lets himself go, if he fucks you the way his body is begging him to, he'll lose himself entirely.
And he hates—Christ, he hates—how fucking good you feel.
He hates the way you fit around him like you were made for it, and the way your head falls back against his shoulder, how your lips part and you breathe his name—not his rank, not Captain, but John—and the sound of it rushes through him hot and electric and wrong. Hates the wet, obscene sound of your body taking him repeatedly; that his hips are moving faster now, snapping up into you with a force that makes the headboard knock against the wall.
Hates that he doesn't want to stop.
Your eyes squeeze shut, your head tips back as you cry out. "John—John—oh god—"
His arm tightens around your ribs, crushing you back against his chest, and his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder—not kissing, just pressing there, teeth grazing skin, breathing you in. His other hand slides down between your thighs and rubs tight circles on your clit in counterpoint to each thrust, and you come apart so violently in his arms that he has to hold you through it with every ounce of strength he has.
You clench around him like a vice and he follows you over the edge with a bitten-off groan, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing deep inside you as the orgasm tears through him with a ferocity that whites out his vision.
For a few suspended seconds, there's nothing left. No rank, no mission, no guilt. Just the pounding of his heart and the aftershocks rippling through both your bodies and the impossible, terrible warmth of you around him.
Then reality seeps back in, cold and unforgiving, and Captain John Price opens his eyes and begins the long process of hating himself for every second of the last twenty minutes.
He pulls out carefully, disposes of the condom, and fixes his trousers. When he leans you back against the pillows, your eyes are already glazing over again, your body winding up for more, and the sight of it makes something weary and furious crack behind his chest cavity
He cups your jaw, tilting your face up. "Stay with me, Sergeant. Stay with me."
You whimper, and your hips shift restlessly against the sheets.
Price stands and walks to the door on legs that feel like they belong to someone else.
"Garrick. You're up."
Gaz and Soap take you in turns after that, and it's different this time.
Where the first round was clinical in its own way—Gaz with his careful guilt, Soap with his missionary zeal, Price bearing the weight of command—this his round is rawer.
The boundaries have been breached, and the gentlemen's agreement hangs over the room like a ceasefire that everyone knows is temporary.
Gaz is gentler than Price was. He lays you on your back and settles between your thighs with a tenderness that borders on devotion, pressing his forehead against yours as he pushes inside you.
He goes slow and gentle, and whispers things against your temple that no one else can hear, private things meant only for the space between your mouth and his.
"I've got you," he murmurs repeatedly. "I've got you, Babygirl, I'm right here. I will be here."
He comes inside the condom with a shudder and your name bitten into the skin of your shoulder, and when he pulls out and rolls onto his back beside you, he stares at the ceiling for a long time without blinking, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.
Soap goes after. He's not gentle—can't be, doesn't know how to be, not with the way you claw at his back and wrap your legs around his waist and beg him harder, please, harder—but he's present.
He hooks your knee over his broad shoulders and fucks you deep, watching your face with a focused intensity that's almost clinical in its own right, cataloguing every reaction, every gasp, adjusting angle and depth and rhythm like he's zeroing a scope.
"Tha's it, sweetheart, take it—fuck, yer so—fuck—"
The condoms run out after Soap's first round.
Gaz discovers this when he reaches for the box on the nightstand and finds it empty, and the look on his face—the quiet oh, shit—would be funny in any other context.
"Cap'n," he calls, voice strained. "We've got a problem."
Price, who has been standing in the hallway staring at nothing, appears in the doorway. Gaz holds up the empty box. Price closes his eyes.
"Then pull out," the captain says flatly. "That's an order."
It should be simple, and it’s anything but.
Gaz tries. He genuinely, sincerely tries, but you're clenching around him so tightly and making those sounds, those desperate and wrecked, grateful sounds, and when your orgasm hits and your walls contract around his cock in rhythmic, milking pulses, his hips stutter and he buries himself to the hilt and spills inside you with a choked groan before his brain even registers what his body has done.
"Shit—shit, I'm sorry, I—fuck—"
He pulls out too late, watches his cum leak from you onto the sheets, and drops his head against your sternum with a devastated exhale.
Soap doesn't even pretend he's going to manage it.
"'M not gonna be able to pull out," he announces with a frankness that makes Gaz want to strangle him. "Jus' bein' honest, Cap."
"You'll pull out or I'll pull you out myself, MacTavish."
And yet Soap does not, in fact, pull out in time.
Price has to physically haul him back by the shoulder, and even then, Soap's cock jerks and pulses as it slips free, painting your inner thighs and lower belly with hot, thick ropes of cum while the Scotsman lets out a string of Gaelic curses that would make his mother disown him.
The room smells like multiple people fucking and sweating and something medicinal—the toxin, working its way out of your pores at last—and you're finally, finally, starting to slow down.
The desperate edge has dulled. Your whimpers are quieter now, tired rather than urgent, and your body has stopped arching off the bed every few minutes.
You're still reaching, though. Still searching for contact, for warmth, for a body against yours.
Ghost enters the room without being asked.
He's stripped down to his black t-shirt and trousers. The balaclava is still on, but his gloves are off, and the sight of his bare, scarred hands is somehow more intimate than anything else that's happened in this room tonight.
He doesn't look at the other men or acknowledge the state of the sheets or the smell or the heavy, post-coital guilt saturating the air.
He simply moves to the bed, sits down, and gathers you against his chest with a practised efficiency that suggests he's been rehearsing this moment in his head for the last two hours.
You go willingly. Boneless, exhausted, trembling with the last dregs of the toxin and the cumulative aftermath of more orgasms than your body was designed to handle in one night. Your face presses into the crook of his neck, your fingers curl loosely in the front of his shirt, and you let out a breath that sounds like surrender.
Ghost pulls the duvet up over both of you. One arm settles around your back securely. His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair, and he holds you against him like he's shielding you from blast radius.
"Go to sleep," he says quietly. An order and a request and a plea all compressed into three words.
You make a small, incoherent sound against his throat.
"I know." His hand moves over your hair, slowly and gentle. "Sleep."
Price watches from the doorway for a moment. Then he pulls the door halfway closed and leaves the Lieutenant to his vigil.
In the kitchen, the captain pours himself another whisky—three fingers this time—and drinks it standing up, staring at the drawn curtains. Gaz is in the shower. Soap is sprawled on the sofa in the living room, one arm over his eyes, dead to the world.
Price's phone buzzes. Laswell.
How is she?
He stares at the screen for a long time. Types and deletes three different responses before finally settling on one.
Handled. Debrief in the morning.
He sets the phone face-down on the counter and finishes his drink.
Hours later, you wake up slowly, like surfacing from deep water.
The first thing you register is warmth. A wall of it, solid and breathing, pressed against your back. An arm draped over your waist, heavy with sleep. Fingers loosely tangled in yours against your sternum.
The second thing you register is that you are naked, sore in places you don't want to think about, and your mouth tastes like the inside of a boot.
The third thing is the balaclava.
You can feel it, the knitted fabric against the back of your neck, and the slow, even exhale of breath warming your skin through the cloth. The chest behind you rises and falls in the deep, steady rhythm of genuine sleep, which means the Lieutenant trusts this room enough to have let himself go under.
Which means something, though you're too foggy to figure out what.
You shift slightly, testing your body. Everything aches. Your thighs, your hips, your abs, your jaw for some reason, and there's a deep, bone-level exhaustion settled into your muscles that reminds you of the tail end of a bad flu.
The cramps are gone, though. The tingling, the feverish heat, the desperate, clawing need—all of it has receded, leaving behind a hollow, wrung-out emptiness.
And memory. Fragments of it. Arriving in pieces like delayed radio transmissions.
Kyle's hands shaking as he touched you. I'm only doin' this for you, babygirl. Johnny's mouth on you, hot and relentless. The sound he made against your thighs.
The shower. The water. Voices.
John.
Your eyes open wide and your body goes rigid, and the arm around your waist tightens reflexively. Ghost pulling you closer in his sleep, an unconscious response to a perceived threat, even though the threat is just you waking up and remembering.
You lie very still.
The flat is quiet. Early morning light edges around the curtains, pale and grey, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear the muffled sounds of the base waking up—vehicles, a distant shout, the rhythmic thud of boots on tarmac.
You don't move, don't speak. You stare at the wall and breathe and try to organise the wreckage in your head into something you can process.
Behind you, Ghost's breathing changes. Shifts from deep and even to something shallower, more aware. His arm tenses around you, a brief contraction of muscle, there and gone, and you know the exact moment he wakes up, because his entire body goes perfectly, absolutely still.
Neither of you says a word.
His hand is still tangled with yours against your bare chest. His thumb rests against your knuckle. But he doesn't pull away.
The silence stretches. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Heavy. Full of things that need to be said and won't be. Not now, certainly not yet, and maybe not ever. And there is a fragile, terrified understanding that what happened in this room changed the molecular structure of something that can never be unchanged.
Finally, after what feels like an hour but is probably two minutes, Ghost speaks.
"How do you feel?"
You consider the question. Really consider it, not the reflexive I'm fine that sits on your tongue out of habit.
"Like shit," you answer honestly. Your voice is wrecked, raspy, and it hurts to talk.
Then, so quietly you almost miss it, he answers, "Yeah."
His thumb moves once. A single, slow stroke across your knuckle.
Then he lets go of your hand, carefully disentangles himself from around you, and gets up without another word. You hear his boots being pulled back on. The soft click of the door.
You lie in the bed that smells like all four of them and none of yourself, and you stare at the wall, and you breathe.
stepdad!soldier boy x stepdaughter!reader (18+) … part two
warnings: stepcest, fauxcest (dad/daughter), pissing, toe sucking, dubious consent due to intoxication, ben is a creep (bless the lord), anal/anal creampie, reader is 18+ but age is not specified, pain/punishment kink, nipple play, oral/deep throating, (probably missed some).
wc: 6.5k
note: this took me so long. i hope it doesn’t flop cus im gonna be so irritated. enjoy! i love stepdad!ben so, so much.. he just wants a stepdaughter-wife.. is that so much for him to ask for?? also i’ve never rolled a joint so i did some research just for this. hopefully it’s accurate enough don’t shoot me lol
He invaded your life when you were fifteen.
Your dad was gone like the wind—completely off the grid. It hit you harder than anything you’d ever experienced. Your mom on the other hand? She didn’t seem phased. You were well off with or without him, so to her everything was fine.
She’d brought home many men within those months, each time with promises of a ‘new’ father figure for you. But you had a dad, and put a real emphasis on had. She’d driven him away. Really, the whole situation just increased an already growing hatred for your mother. It was a watermelon seed growing inside your lungs.
Soldier Boy—Ben, you reluctantly referred to him as—took a liking to your mom just because she was older and decent looking (in his eyes). He just happened to stick around a little longer after the first date. That wasn’t anything new to you, every man usually lasted a week each. But even now he was still here, all these years later.
You figured he was a little different, though.
He never tried to be in your space like the others, never tried to bond, and was always cordial for the most part. He never tried to be your dad. You appreciated that at the very least.
But now your house always reeked of weed and sex. Gross.
Well, it’s also not your house. After him and your mom married, you moved into one of the random houses he’d had since god knows how long. A decent place in the rural side of New York, surrounded by forest and grasslands. It even had a lake that was safe to swim in during summer.
Essentially, you had it good compared to most kids whose dad’s left them late in life.
Inevitably, though, your mom reverted back to her typical ways. She was back to bringing home young men almost every night, and you were back to pretending it wasn’t happening like you were thirteen all over again. And you were absolutely positive Ben already knew—how could he not? He was a supe. They had all that crazy genetic shit that just made them know things, like Spiderman’s spidey-senses. He probably just didn’t care.
You had been lost in thought about it on the couch. It wasn’t anything weird, really. You typically got lost in thought about your life up until now at least three times a week. With your body curled up into the corner—now sunken from years of sitting right here every day—you just.. thought. Long and hard.
Why’d it have to be you?
Why couldn’t you have a decent mom. Not one who was the equivalent of the devil for medieval people. One who didn’t drive your dad away, one who didn’t make you want to—
“Fuck’re you still doing here?”
Ben’s voice interrupted your thoughts. The scent of weed filled your nostrils a bit more strongly, and suddenly you were staring at him with half an ounce of weed in a baggie and a pack of king-sized rolling papers between his fingers. He was finishing off an old joint, the small thing pressed between his teeth and filling the air with smoke as it poured out his mouth and nostrils. You grimaced, sitting up and resting on the armrest.
“Lost track of time.” You murmured, turning your head away from him to stare at the wall instead. He grunted in acknowledgment, the couch sinking beneath his weight. “Can tell. Y’look stressed as hell.” He settled his things on his lap, reaching an arm back on the top of the couch, pulling the joint he was smoking out of his mouth. You glanced back at him, forehead creased in distaste. He gave a toothy smile—charming, really.
You didn’t hate him or anything, so you could be honest: Ben was pretty hot.
It was very, very weird to admit, all things considered, but you weren’t a liar. Not all the time at least.
He did that man-spreading thing he always did, taking up most of the space on the couch per usual. You didn’t mind, having gotten used to it over the past few years. “Can’t you do that somewhere else?” You asked mildly, bringing your knees up to your chest. Your manicured toe nails wiggled and curled into themselves for warmth, a small pout on your lips. He laughed, finally putting the joint out on the ashtray full of roaches. “What? ‘S my house, sweetheart. Unless I somehow die or your whore of a mother kills me, I’ll do what I want.”
Ah. There it was. Of course he knew.
You pursed your lips and shrunk into yourself at the revelation. Ben didn’t comment further, merely focusing on himself.
His hands moved methodically between his grinder and the thin pieces of rolling paper, the same way he’d done for ages. Tight and stuffed to the brim. His tongue gently swiping at the edges like he was trying to seal an important letter. You didn’t even realize you had started spacing out while staring, but he did.
“Something interesting?” He mused. He placed the finished joint to the side, shifting his body to face yours better. You swallowed a lump. “No. Sorry. I just do that sometimes.” You explained. His familiar foxy smile crossed his face again. “I know. Dopey little thing, aren’t you?” You didn’t comment further.
“Y’shouldn’t even be watching.” He grabbed another piece of paper, spreading it open on his thigh with two fingers. “But if y’re curious to know, I’ll teach ya. Just keep looking.” You honestly weren’t curious, but you didn’t have anything else to do. Your eyes trailed his motions, following his motions intently.
You watched him gently fill the paper with the ground weed—it smelled so strong and like absolute shit. His fingers were extra careful as he pinched the edge and began to roll it closed, tongue darting out to seal it all up. He used his pinky finger to push anything back inside, then twisted the tip. Perfectly done with practiced ease.
“Y’wanna try?” He asked. It was more tempting than anything else. Nothing sweet or innocent about it. Hell, how could there be? You frowned and shook your head. “No. Not my forte.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh, come on. I just let you watch me do it. Least you could do is show some respect and repeat the damn thing.”
“I.. um. Fine, okay.” You stammered.
You didn’t really want to, but he had a way of forcing people to do things with his annoyingly stubborn guilt-tripping bullshit.
You moved out of the corner of the couch and closer to him. Ben hooked his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in more. “So anti-social. Learn to put yourself out a little, yeah?” You rolled your eyes.
He passed you the materials and you got to work.
You ground the weed into a pliable material, filled up the paper with it—“Come on, put more in there. Fucking conservative.” …Right. You obliged, filling it up until you felt his eyes stop giving you death glares. You pinched the edge and gently started rolling the paper (a bit clumsily, might I add), finally bringing it up to your mouth and sealing it. You mimicked him, using your pinky to push anything back in before finally twisting the top and handing it to him.
Ben took it and just kind of looked at it, a sharp smile crossing his face. “Fast learner, aren’t you?” He mused. Honestly, it felt kind of good that he was even a little proud. You didn’t really get that from your mom. “Unless you smoke. Do you smoke?” He pressed. You shook your head. “I don’t smoke. My friends do, just never ask me to do this for them.”
“Good. You’re too young’ta be smoking anyway. Wait another, what, five years? Maybe you’ll be good then.”
You scoffed. Only now did he give a shit about anything you did. “I’m not a kid. You know that, right?” Ben shrugged. “You’re a baby compared to me. So just leave this to grown folks.” Your eye twitched. You honestly didn’t even know what to say, just felt this uncomfortable irritation at the thought of him of all people criticizing you for being too young and doing something as little as smoking. “I-I can do it perfectly fine. I’m not five.”
“Oh, so now you wanna smoke?”
“Yes. Give me the fucking thing.”
“No. Do you even know how to smoke the damn thing?”
Silence.
Ben didn’t budge. Just held the joint between his fingers and snatched up his lighter. “Y’wanna act grown? I’ll show you, then you’ll do it. Because you’re a big girl, right?” He placed the joint between his lips, sparking and lighting it. It fizzled with smoke for a moment, the tip burning and becoming red and ash ridden. You watched the whole time, brows still creased and a frown prevalent on your features.
You took note of how his chest rose and fell—how long, how deep—how his lips pursed around the paper. Eventually your vision blurred, soon realizing he was blowing smoke right in your face. “What the fuck!” You complained, whisking away the smoke with your hand. He let out a deep, bellowing laugh at your sudden misfortune. “Did you get all that at least?” He asked, holding the joint between his pointer and thumb. Reluctantly you nodded. “Yeah. Jesus Christ.”
A smirk played on his lips. He extended his hand, allowing you to take the joint from him with your own fingers. You felt a little helpless all of a sudden. He was so clearly watching your every movement, judging you deeply. Your heart drummed heavily in your chest.
“Stop staring so hard.” You asked, turning yourself away. He didn’t respond, and you didn’t argue further.
In a similar fashion to him, you pressed it to your lips, inhaling for one, two, three seconds—no more—and allowed the smoke to enter your throat. It burned, a new sensation you didn’t expect. You gasped, pulling it away from your mouth and entering a coughing fit. Your face turned pink and you kind of doubled over into yourself. Ben could only find amusement in your vulnerability.
“Goodness, what happened to that quick learner from earlier?” He rubbed your shoulder lightly, almost comfortingly, and used his other hand to pluck the joint away from you. You were still coughing, though it’d slowed down. “Lift your head.” He beckoned. You obliged wearily, heavy breaths being taken through your mouth every now and then. You wiped a few tears from your face, clumps of mascara smothered in the liquid.
Ben gently grabbed your chin, forcing your mouth open. “M’gonna do it for you until you can do it, sound good?” That was more of a statement than him asking for consent, though you hummed softly anyways. He pressed the joint between your lips, watching intently as you closed around them. “Inhale it. Don’t start coughing yet.” He instructed. You followed dutifully.
It was similar to before, the sharpness of the smoke hitting the back of your throat causing you to cough instinctively. He groaned and pulled it out, watching you cover your face with your arms and cough into them.
“Christ on a cross.” He wiped his hair back from his head, taking an inhale himself. “We’re gonna keep doing this shit ‘til you get it right.” You shook your head. “I-I can’t—!” You blubbered, inhaling and exhaling deeply from lack of oxygen. He shook his head, holding the joint between his lips. His hands went to your waist, gently pulling you to sit on one of his thighs. They were thick and stable, hard as fucking rocks. It was pure muscle, like a horse.
He held an arm around your waist. “You said it yourself; you’re not five.” Smoke spewed out of his mouth against your ear. You shivered and felt your skin crawl with warmth, a gentle squirming motion coming from you. He rubbed your hip with his palm. “Wanna be all tough and then act like a fucking toddler. I’ll treat you like one since you wanna do that. Only seems fair.”
“God, no, let me off.” You whined, writhing against him. It was no use, you realized. He wasn’t going to let you off so easily, there was just no way. You eventually had to succumb to that reality, and that’s what you did. Ben smiled against your head and kissed your temple almost lovingly. It made your stomach churn. “There you go. Open up.”
Time flew by just like that in the blink of an eye, the joint rotating between your lips and his for the better portion of thirty minutes to an hour.
Your head eventhally tilted into the crook of Ben’s neck, forehead pressed against his skin. His hand was gently rubbing and pinching your hip, fingertips just barely grazing beneath your shirt. It wasn’t enough for you to notice, not that you were entirely there in the head to actually notice at all, just feather-light touches.
You’d never been high before. This sensation was new, just like everything else. You were there but you weren’t. And you were tired. Very, very tired. Your ears were plugged with air like you’d gone on an airplane.
Ben pat your side, holding the end of the joint between his fingers. It was almost gone, about halfway there, which was interesting considering it was a bigger joint.
“Y’there?” He urged, thumb swiping at the band of your sweatpants. You jumped up, the ticklish feeling making you wide and alert. “Ahm, yeah, I-I am.” Your voice was barely audible, throat a little sore from coughing so bad at the beginning. You moved your head, rubbing your face with the hem of your shirt. You didn’t realize that it was practically lifted all the way up, your under-bust on full display for him.
He took that as an opportunity to put his hand fully on your stomach, smoke gently blowing out his mouth. You only realized it when you put your shirt back down, a confused expression on your face. “What’re you doing?” You asked softly. He shrugged leisurely. “Holding you so you don’t fall, cupcake. Unless you wanna topple over.” You shook your head.
His hands were large and warm, calloused all over and scratching at your lotion-soft skin. You tried not to pay anymore mind to it.
You felt the warmth of the joint pressing at your mouth again, your lips parting instinctively for it. He pushed it between your soft lips, his hand wrapping around your jaw. His thumb pressed into your cheek, his ring and pinky hooked beneath your chin to keep you steady. You inhaled deeply, the practice of him forcing you to smoke allowing you to not cough as much anymore, just a soft one every now and then. By the time you exhaled, you hadn’t even noticed that his other hand had slipped between your legs, knuckles gently rubbing the seam against your clit.
You whined softly, turning your head. His arm rested against your shoulder. “What’s wrong?” He murmured, the side of his finger rubbing between your legs. You pursed your lips. “What the fuck are you doing?” You asked breathily, head dropping down to look into your lap. He had his thumb hooked into the waistband of your pants like he was ready to take them off. A little grin was forming at the edge of his lips. “What? Not doing anything. You’re fine. Here, have another.”
You nodded and opened up for him, allowing him to slip the joint back between your lips. He let your lips hold onto it, his hand now sliding up and down your arm comfortingly as if he was trying to distract you from the way his hand finally reached under your sweats and panties. You gasped, almost dropping the joint. He gave a disapproving slap to your arm. “Don’t drop that shit. I pay good money for that, y’know.”
You squirmed against his thigh as his fingers fondled your clit.
Fuck, it was good.
Maybe it was just the fact you were buzzed, but his fingers against your nerves were almost too much for you. Your hips rocked against his mindlessly, smoke blowing through your lips whenever you moaned.
“Feels good?” He asked, finally using his hand to pull the joint out your mouth. “Y-Yeah.. feels good.” You whimpered. Ben put out the joint on the ashtray at last, a trail of smoke leading from it and into the air coming into your vision.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet, d’ya know that?” He purred. He shifted you fully into his lap, pulling your hips forward at his knees. He used the leverage to stick his fingers inside you, though the motion was awkward through your constricting clothing.
“Holy shit,” You whispered. You felt like the air had been knocked out of you. His fingertips curled into your g-spot, all feelings of pleasure enhanced from your high. “What the hell are we doing?” You murmured, watching him pry off your sweats and panties and toss them to the floor.
You got a full view of what your cunt looked like stuffed to the brim with his fingers now. You were stretched around him like you were taking dick, the only reason being that his fingers were so incredibly thick.
“Don’t worry about that.” Ben reassured you, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit. That short-circuited any second thoughts you were having momentarily like hypnosis. “Look; you’re taking me so good. So fucking wet.” You whined softly, toes curling when he started thrusting his fingers in and out of you.
Honestly, it felt so good you forgot why it was so wrong. You forgot he’d been married to your mom for almost five years. You forgot that, legally, he was your stepfather. Everything just thrown out the window all because of his skilled, whorish fingers pressing your sweet spot.
“Ooh, yeah.” He placed a hand under one of your knees to keep your leg open. You were trembling a bit from the orgasm building inside you, a little bubble of pleasure formed right at your gut. “Y’wanna cum?” Ben kissed the side of your head, smirking as you nodded desperately. “Y-Yeah.. yeah, I wanna cum..”
“You want your dad t’make you cum, sweetheart?” He rubbed his palm against your clit again to force a response. All you could bring yourself to respond with was a nod and a cry of pleasure. “Use your words. You’re a big girl now. Say it: ‘I want my dad to make me cum’.”
When you didn’t respond, he pulled his fingers out, hand slapping your cunt harshly. “Fuck!” You screamed, throwing your head back against his chest. “I-I want my.. my dad to make me cum!” You exclaimed, earning another shocking slap to your cunt. “I said it already! Ben!”
“Say please, at the very least. Ungrateful whore.” He teased his fingers at your entrance, a soft sob leaving your lips. “I let you smoke my weed, let you sit here all pretty and let you have my fucking fingers in your cunt, and you won’t even say please.”
“‘M sorry, just.. just please, please let me cum, d..dad. I swear I’ll be good. I promise.” You begged, arching your hips against his fingers in hopes they’d just slip right in. He was pleased by that answer, clearly, because he pushed them right back inside. You groaned and let your legs shake when he twisted his fingertips just right against that fuzzy little spot inside you all over again. It was rhythmic, it was fucking flawless—it had you cumming all over his fingers immediately.
You were gushing all over his fingers, legs frantically trying to close themselves though they were no match against his iron grip. It was ridiculous how strong supes were, you were just now realizing.
Ben took his fingers out of you, hands finding way to nudge your shirt off your head and toss it alongside your pants. Your nipples were stiff as hell from the sudden temperature change, an uncomfortable feeling you attempted to shield yourself from. He peeled your arms away from your body as you tried to cover yourself, softly cooing in your ear.
“You’re so pretty, cupcake. Nothin’ like your floozy mom.” He cupped your breasts, pinching and twisting at your nipples with his thumb and pointer fingers. You squeezed your legs together, hands clawing at his arms. “Stop that.. Stop, this- this is weird.” You murmured. It was only now that you were coming to your senses. It was a little unsettling to you how you’d allowed him to finger you without a second thought now that you had a slightly clearer mind.
Ben scoffed, squeezed your breasts in their entirety. “Now you wanna be ms. goodie-two-shoes?” His mouth found way to your shoulder, licking and biting your soft skin. Instinctively, you moved your head to give him space. “Y-You— you got me crazy high!”
“And? You could’ve told me to stop, but you didn’t.” He bit down on your shoulder and fondled you at the same time, the fat of your tits spilling between his fingers. A whimper was pulled out your throat consequently. “See? Don’t get on your high horse now. Y’know what, you just need’ta calm down, yeah?”
“Fuck, no!”
Ben ignored you, holding you with an arm at the waist as he picked up the abandoned joint. There was just enough left to relight and smoke, which he did without a second thought. He put his lighter down and lifted it between your lips again. “Open up or I’ll do it myself. You know I will.” A mild threat, but it wasn’t any less concerning. You opened your mouth, feeling discomfort bubble inside you when the joint connected. You let yourself inhale it again, allowing your mind to get lost in the burning sensation as Ben went back to fondling your breasts.
“There you go. All you needed was a smoke.” He kissed your jawline. “Get on the floor f’me, sweetheart. Right between the legs.” Ben tapped at your leg, pulling the joint out of your mouth and placing it into his instead. With a scrunched expression, you found yourself sliding off his legs and on the ground between his feet. You didn’t even feel it before, but you could see now that his cock was half-hard.
“Y’ever suck dick?” He asked, running a hand through your hair. You pursed your lips, thinking about if you wanted to answer or not. Does he really need to know this information? Regardless of the answer, you shook your head. “..No.” You squeezed your hands in your lap. He smiled. “Really? You’ve been acting like such a whore, here I thought you had.”
He was so.. so vulgar. And horrible. And fucking hot. He was staring down at you with smoke pouring out his mouth. Occasionally he’d slide a hand over his beard, and that’s what’s been doing it for you the past few seconds.
“Go on. Pull it out.”
Reluctantly, your hands lifted to his waistband and held on, gently tugging them down and releasing his cock. It sprang up to life, almost hitting you in the face if you hadn’t backed out in time. Your mouth fell open a little bit. “Oh.” He smiled at your reaction. “Relax. You won’t die, sweetheart. It’s gonna feel good.” You gave him a suspicious look.
You brought his pants down past his knees, using the bunched up fabric to settle your own on so you didn’t bruise them or something. Your hands went and wrapped around the base of his cock, giving a few weary pumps. Ben stroked your hair approvingly.
“There we go.. doing good. Get your tongue on there.” He guided, his hand pushing your face closer to him. Your tongue placed a few kitten licks on his tip and frenulum, the placement making his legs stiffen up. The subtle movements of pleasure he was releasing amped you up a bit, making you open your mouth and gently pop his tip inside. His precum smeared all over your tongue, the flavor bitter but not entirely unpleasant.
Ben grunted. Using his hand, he started pushing your head down on his length as far as you could go without gagging. “Fuuck yes. Such a warm little mouth y’got.” He held you down for a short while in which you learned to breathe through your nose. “Perfect. Use your hands, too. Don’t stop just ‘cause you can’t take it all in there.”
Heeding his instructions, you blew out your cheeks and attempted to sink down somewhat, hands squeezing his base and twisting up and down at the same rate. You felt his fingers twitching in your hair when you did that as if it was encouraging you to continue, which you did.
You found a comfortable rhythm after a few minutes, now slobbering all over him like a fucking dog. It worked out fine, though. You needed the extra lubrication so, so bad. From there on it was all unbelievably loud sloshing noises and the soft noises of your gagging. It wasn’t until both of his hands wrapped around your head that you faltered, jaw going slack at the sudden feeling of his hips thrusting up into your mouth.
You squealed a bit, gagging and choking. Your hands flew to hold onto his thighs. He was using your mouth like a fleshlight, his balls slapping against your chin uncomfortably.
“Shit, your throat is so tight.” He groaned, throwing his head back. His cock twitched against the back of your throat at the feeling of your nails digging into his thigh. The pain alongside his upcoming orgasm was getting him higher than he already was. “Gonna cum down it, got that? And you’re gonna swallow every last drop.” Ben didn’t give a warning from there on, just bucked his hips up and bobbed your head up and down until finally, finally he came, your nose suddenly pressed against his pelvis.
A warm feeling filled your chest as his cum filled your esophagus. It tasted funny, if you could even call that a taste at all. Your nostrils fluttered open and closed, an attempt to breathe through the whole ordeal. His hands found your neck and shoulders, fingertips rubbing at your skin sweetly like he didn’t absolutely violate your mouth.
You pulled off with a soft pop, panting and jaw slack with a small ache. “Open, wanna see it.” He murmured, rubbing his palm against your cheek. You blinked as the words registered and eventually nodded, opening up and sticking your tongue out. “Damn, you’re perfect. Absolutely perfect, cupcake.” He pat your cheek affectionately.
You stood from the ground on wobbly knees, face all flushed and hair messed up now. You looked like someone’s ten year old fashion doll left in the bottom of a clear storage bucket. Ben plucked the joint out from his lips and put his hands on your waist, the joint dangling between his fingers on one hand. Your body inched away so you didn’t get burned by it. He didn’t seem to care.
His lips pressed at your stomach, beard scratching your soft skin as he trailed up, up, up, all the way to your breasts. He bit down on one of your nipples, grinding it between his teeth. You gasped and held your hands in his hair, fingers squeezing his scalp. “Ben!” You exclaimed. You immediately felt a sharp stinging at your back, a scream rippling through your throat when he pressed the butt into your skin.
“You call me dad. I’m your fucking dad, alright?” He scolded like he wasn’t just twisting the thing into you. You sniffled and nodded, blinking away tears that’d formed. “Okay. Okay.” You murmured. He gave you a smile and kissed the valley between your breasts. It was so gentle compared to the searing pain in your left hip.
He placed the joint back into the ashtray to let it go out. “Dad’s gonna rock your goddamn world now, sweetheart. Y’want that?” Ben curled his hands under his shirt, lifting it off his head and letting it fall on the floor. His pants were pretty much off already anyway, just had to slip them off with his feet and kick them away.
Even after cumming so much he was still hard as a rock, the thickness of his cock seeming almost impossible from where you stood.
He guided you into his lap, thumb playing with your tit and his free hand pumping his length to keep it aroused. He didn’t actually have to do it, the sight of your teary little face and perky nipples staring at him was almost enough to make him cum all by itself.
His hands slid beneath your ass, lifting you up somewhat. You wrapped your arms around his neck. You were staring at him, and he was staring down between your bodies, fitting his cock at your hole. A soft gasp left your mouth when he forced your hips down, the stretch of him feeling like you tried to shove two soda cans inside your pussy.
“B— Dad!” You exclaimed, body stiff and fingers digging into his back. He was eerily sweet, kissing at your shoulder and letting your body adapt to him at its own pace while he slid fully inside you. He shifted your position, your back against the couch cushions. He felt so, so much bigger this way. It was an uncomfortable difference you couldn’t get used to fast enough for him.
“She’s so tight, just f’me..” Ben cooed, lifting your foot near his face. He kissed the sole of your foot and licked a stripe up, a soft groan rumbling out of his throat from the feeling of your cunt tightening around him. “Calm down. Y’re gonna feel good soon, too. Trust me.”
You didn’t have another choice but to listen and obey.
Somehow, the feeling of his mouth wrapping around your toes was almost enough to mute the feeling of him pulling out and ramming all the way back inside you.
His tip crashed against your cervix and brushed up your g-spot at the first thrust—holy shit, you’d never had such a combination before. Your body convulsed and your hands reached for the cushions behind you, soft babbles and tears of pain escaping you.
Ben had two choices now, and he thought about them real, real hard as he pounded into you. His thoughts were almost muffled by the sound of your sobs, but he did his best to just ignore it and lick between your toes and run his tongue on your nail polish.
He could, A) rub your clit, a sensation already known to you and could get you to relax just enough for him to fuck you absolutely silly. Or, B) he could flip you over and push a thumb into your ass, something he didn’t even know if you’d done before and was entirely sure would hurt a little.
You’ll never guess what he picked.
“So fucking good, sweets.” He murmured, pulling your leg back down and pressing his hips flush against yours. There was a small bulge in your stomach where you could see the tip of his cock poking through, though you refused to look down. It was humiliating how you went from entirely sensible to an absolute mess within barely 2 hours.
“Gonna give you a reward. Dads love when their daughters can take them, y’know that?”
You nodded your head mindlessly, huffing and whimpering. A squelch sounded through the room when his cock was pulled out of you. You bucked your hips up instinctively, as if you were trying to suck him back in. He rolled you over onto your stomach, grabbing at your wrists to hold them behind your back.
“What- what’re you doing?” You managed. You sounded weird and muffled from the saliva pooling in your mouth and your cheek pressed against the couch. He smiled down at you, rocking his cock back and forth between your folds. “Shh. M’taking care of you.” You didn’t have half a mind to try and get up and away, so you just laid there to take whatever he would give.
Ben grabbed at the base of his cock, lining it and pushing it all the way inside you. You gasped and wailed at the stretch, legs kicking and hands flailing around. He tightened his hold on your wrists, using them as an anchor to immediately fuck you like a dog in heat.
It was aggressive, it was heated, it was hard, it was so natural for him.
You sobbed and allowed yourself to scream and cry like a child. Your mom wasn’t home anyway. Hadn’t been for the past three days and wouldn’t come back for another three more. His free hand spread your ass cheeks apart, thumb dipping into the wetness of your slick and his precum mixing together. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against your asshole, circling it and watching it twitch and pucker like it was trying to give his thumb a kiss.
You barely even registered that it was there. Sure, you felt it—how could you not? But your mind didn’t even register that it was there, not even when he started pushing his thumb inside your ass until it was finally fully in.
Your eyes shot open. You went silent for a moment, then moaned like a prostitute trying to make a small-dicked guy feel better. It was pornographic as hell.
“Jesus christ.” He laughed. For a moment he’d stopped thrusting just to let you feel it, but he was back now. His thumb didn’t move from its spot except a few gentle pumps, all of which were accepted lovingly by you with a string of lewd moans and pleas for ‘more, more, more!’
You’d totally lost it.
Ben had half a mind to cum inside you just watching your asshole suck up his thumb combined with the absolutely diabolical moans you exuded.
“Fucking hell—like mother like daughter.” He joked. You didn’t hear, and you were grateful. That probably would’ve snapped you back to reality and you would’ve just tried to leave, though him letting you would be a hard ask. His hand let go of your wrists and let them slide down beside you as he grabbed your hip, using it to anchor himself as he fucked you thoroughly.
You were totally lost in the clouds. You were being loud, except you weren’t conscious of how loud you actually were. You weren’t even sure if you were conscious at all. Your head was buried in the couch pillows for comfort, tears, drool, and snot mixed together and soaked into the fabric.
Ben pulled his thumb out your ass, wrapping both arms around your stomach and lifting you up, your back pressed to his chest. You groaned and let your hands fly to grasp at his wrists, an uncomfortable churning in your stomach when he made you sit back on his lap with his cock still inside you.
“Gonna let dad fuck your ass?” He cooed, giving a few coercing rubs to your clit (like you even needed it). You were so far gone that you nodded even though you couldn’t understand him; it was as if he was speaking in tongues. An emptiness filled your body as he pulled his cock out of you, eliciting a soft whimper from the feeling.
He spread your legs and slipped them over his biceps, lifting you full-nelson style. Your head was pressed between his hands, neck craning as it was forced to be tilted. Ben quickly snuck a hand down, spreading your ass and lining himself up with your asshole. In one painstaking stretch, he forced his entire length inside of you. It absolutely tore you up—even in your half-conscious state, you could register that you’re probably bleeding and that it would absolutely hurt to sit tomorrow.
“My baby’s a virgin here. I can tell.” He groaned from behind you. Your legs trembled and your toes curled from how much it hurt. He didn’t give but a few moment before he was thrusting into you. It was shallow at first, then he was back to his ‘normal pace’.
His balls slapped your clit, the growing orgasm finally bubbling and finding its way at the forefront of your muscles. Your cunt clenched around nothing, dripping wet down where he was fucking your hole like it was the greatest thing on earth.
You almost tried to reel your head back with pleasure, but he was still holding onto you, so your eyes rolled back instead. Your jaw fell slack and a string of pleads left you. “D-Dad, dad m’gonna fucking cum!” You cried, feet arching and toes curling into themselves. Ben smiled and kissed the back of your head. “Yeah? Wanna cum? Tell me how bad you need it.”
He switched to have both your legs dangling over one of his strong arms, his free hand starting to rub at your clit. You squealed. “I wanna cum s-so bad! So bad, ohmygod, I-I’m gonna fucking cum—!” Sparkles and flashes filled your vision as you came, the wetness flushing out entirely. Ben rubbed you through the orgasm and immediately went back to chasing his own, the moans that filled his ears sending him closer and closer.
“Holy mother of christ, I’m gonna cum in your ass, cupcake. Tell your dad how much you want it right fucking now.” He breathed, hand sliding from your clit to grip onto your ass. You whined and swallowed your saliva. “Want my dad’s cum so, so bad! W-Wanna feel it inside me, wanna get filled so goddamn bad. Please, please, dad, just cum in me already!”
That pushed him over the edge. He gave a few sloppy thrusts and buried himself inside you, his own toes digging into the fur carpet on the floor as he finally came. You hiccuped and felt tears pour out your eyes, sniffling from the overwhelming feeling of everything.
Ben let your legs down with himself still buried inside you. He twisted your head back to admire your expression before finally giving you that beautiful, messy kiss you’d been secretly and silently hoping for this whole time. Your body relaxed into it, all muscles totally letting go. A dripping wetness flooded between your legs, and you didn’t entirely realize that you were peeing because he was tonguing your throat. It was only when he finally did pull back that you noticed the uncomfortable wetness between your legs.
“F-Fuck.. did I..?” You whimpered, lolling your head down. You were still leaking somewhat, your cunt fluttering at the euphoric feeling until it was all over. Ben rubbed your stomach sweetly like you were pregnant or something like that. “Beautiful girl.” He praised lightly. You pursed your lips and shrunk into yourself from second hand embarrassment, the situation finally sinking into you as you came down from everything.
“Y’know.. if I’d known you’d be this good I would’ve just waited to find you instead. Took me so well.” He kissed your cheek. You grimaced lightly. “You’re fucking.. creepy.” You didn’t really mean it, just didn’t have the right words to say. He didn’t pay mind. “Never said I wasn’t.”
How Different Monster Husbands Punish You For Being A Brat
Warnings: Sex, restraints, mentions of biting, mentions of knotting, cockwarming, edging
- Minotaur husband that punishes you by tying your hands behind your back when fucking. He knows how much you like to grab onto his horns when you fuck him and watching you struggle against your restraints pleases him greatly.
- Vampire husband that keeps you on the edge, his cock a slow drag through your wet walls. He bites gently at your neck all night but never sinks his fangs in. As dawn approaches you think he will finally grant you some relief but you are sorely mistaken when he pulls out and leaves you with nothing.
- Orc husband that stretches you out on his big cock but doesn’t let you move at all. No matter how much you cry and apologize, needing him to move, he refuses. Each time you try to move earns a smack to your ass, the skin becoming more raw and inflamed throughout the day. Anytime you finally calm down and start to doze off he gives you one hard thrust, jolting you awake and stimulating you just enough to have your cunt needy again.
- Tentacle monster husband that refuses to fill your cunt but uses his suckers to suction and overstimulate your nipples and clit until they are swollen and sore. The marks will be there for weeks as a reminder for you to behave.
- Dragon husband that hangs you from your lairs ceiling with gold chains, decorated with jewels. He keeps you suspended and at his mercy all day to play with as he pleases, a ruby ball gag keeping you quiet and obedient. His pretty little treasure.
- Werewolf husband that fucks you over and over but refuses to give you his knot. Tears stream down your face as you apologize and beg for it but he just tells you that you need to learn your lesson and brats don’t get rewards.
- Demon husband that binds you in a pentacle and makes you watch as he strokes his thick cock knowing you want nothing more that to taste and fuck it. Ignoring your cries as he releases his cum all over the ground instead of inside you where it belongs.
Expanded Story For Demon Husband Can Be found Here And On Patreon
Orc!escort knight who’s sworn to protect you but it’s not really his protection you’re interested in;
It’s his cock.
“Ah right there!!! Ohh mffgghhh just like that” you moan as you ride your dear knight, your engagement party progressing down in the ballroom.
“Goodness your highness…. be quiet or someone-“
“Don’t speak. Just fuck me” you moan “I’m so close….I need this” you move up and down, your hole stretching to its absolute limit as you take his massive cock, lost in the sensation of every throbbing vein brushing against your gummy walls.
“Goodness I would’ve gone crazy if it wasn’t for your cock” you moan and he grunts, half in embarrassment and half in arousal. He knows it’s wrong and he would be executed on the spot for sullying you, but just like you, he’s addicted to your body too; the reason why he can never deny whenever you pull him aside and pounce on him.
He grips your hips harder, fingers digging into your flesh as he struggles to maintain control. "By the gods, you're so tight..." he groans. Feels like you were made for my cock, he thinks, his eyes rolling back in bliss.
Your desperate moans are lost in his eager mouth as you clench tight around him, close to the brink.
"I can't...can't hold back anymore..." he groans.
"Then don't. Fill me with your seed...please..."
That does it; with a guttural roar, he slams deep inside you, his thick seed erupting in hot spurts as he fills you to the brim. Your own climax crashes over you, waves of ecstasy washing through your body as you milk his cock for every last drop. The sound of the melodious orchestra rings from the ballroom, loud now in the heavy silence of the aftermath of your illicit coupling as you both catch your breath.
None of you say anything as he holds you against his body, hands running down your back, cock still speared in you and bodies still tangled together.
The party rages on, unaware of the lovely Crown Prince's future spouse leaking orcish cum. Unaware that your pleasure and intimate loyalty already belongs to a monster. A beast deemed too lowly for you.
Sure you’ll do your duties as a spouse, but your knight is the one who will give you pleasure for a long, long time.
Warning! This is monster smut! Your basically a science experiment to them. This is between fully Consenting adults. Unfinished.
So think about the human species being basically extinct compared to monsters… so once they capture you, you are put into a cage. Designed to replicate what they believe would be a regular human room. You are now entertainment for these monsters. The scientists come by to experiment on you not so often. They don’t wanna stress their human out. Only the richest monsters can come and see you. They pay loads to watch you do nothing and sometimes are even allowed to watch in on the experiments.
Experiments haven’t been anything bad, monster scientist don’t wanna cause you too much stress. So they throw you a toy see how you interact with it, things like that. Until they get to the human anatomy. Suddenly you aren’t in the false comfort of that room. You are strapped to an examination table. Legs and arms tied down, bare for the room to see. The room is freezing and the monsters are trying to be careful. But what is careful to them can be intense for a human. They discover that when a scientist rubs your clit a little too quick.
They watch as you cum so quick for him. They gasp and take down notes so quickly. You have all their attention as they start trying different things on you. At first they use their hands or any other appendages they have. Then while doing a hunt they find untouched toys. They question you on them. If you don’t answer they’d find out themselves. They send you over your limit every single time. Passed out so pretty with tears.
These experiments get more frequent because more monsters are paying to watch. You are finally doing something interesting. Eventually you’d be moved back into your room. They’d train you to play with the toys yourself.
summary. “what is desire but to consume? the only difference between a kiss and a bite is how deep the teeth go. both can kill.”
warnings. +18. mdni. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. cannibalism. graphic gore. body horror. explicit sex (messy makeout, breast touching, dry humping, overstimulation, penetration). codependency. distorted mentions of god, devil and religion. religious trauma. sub!luke, but he’s a top. dirty talk (kinda). angsty. self-harm mention. horror. blood. worshipping. violence. gun use. panic. death.
wc. 4,9k.
now playing. tempest by ethel cain.
author’s note. it’s very important that you listen to the song throughout the entire read to have a more immersive experience. take the warnings seriously, please, this is heavily based on bones and all and ethel cain, the cannibalism here isn’t used as a metaphor of love but as an act of love and devotion, so it can be pretty gut wrenching and grotesque. keep that in mind if you’re sensitive, especially since this doesn’t have a happy ending. also this is pure fiction, my version on this story doesn’t reflect reality in any way, luke is just a vessel used for a character i created. if you don’t fuck with hannibal, bones and all, ethel cain, yellowjackets type of shit, you probably shouldn’t read this. with that said, i hope you enjoy. feel free to let me know your thoughts on it, thank you. :)
Luke’s howl ripped through your ears as it echoed. Sharp, vicious enough to swallow the growl of the old truck’s engine. His teeth were predatory, intimidating, blood smeared across the white, shreds of skin caught between his front incisors. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, fangs bared, he wouldn’t hesitate to bite. If you didn’t know him, you would fear him.
Your lips were parted, your breathing a restless thrum in your chest. The realization of what was happening settled over you, slow as the sinking of your teeth into the abdomen of a man whose face was now nothing but a blur–his body chewed up, torn open, left behind; the smell was what lingered most–overwhelming, crowding your nostrils, cloying with a rotten edge. Something alive ran through your veins, adrenaline screaming loud enough to choke down the guilt that would soon weigh on your bones.
Blue and red bled over his features in the shadows. Long, steady fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, blue eyes glaring into your soul, a smile aimed at you that you felt deep in your stomach. You warned him. Told him it was too exposed, that this wasn’t like the other towns you’d drifted through on the road. It didn’t matter. Your voice would never be louder than the hunger that tore at his guts.
Frenzy clung to Luke’s skin in a fidgety presence, threatening to slip out through every pore, the thrill of danger flickering in his gaze as it snapped between you and the open road. The clothes clinging to his body were as ruined as yours, blood and dirt dragged across the fabric and beneath your nails. The wail of a police siren, not far off, ripped through the desolate highway once more. There wasn’t much to see at that hour beyond the darkness creeping in, the green of the surrounding fields bleeding into the night sky.
Your body locked up before you even realized it. Your heartbeat pounded hard against the cage of your ribs, so violent it felt like your chest might cave under it. Your face tilted toward Luke’s, eyes dark and dim, lost on the only person who had ever felt like salvation from your own ruin.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. I promise.” His voice teetered in a thin line between angst and bliss, breath ragged as his lips met yours in a brief, sloppy kiss–iron spread past your lungs, seeping deeper into your crimson-red lips; in your mouth, Luke tasted of depravity and devotion.
You still remember when he found you.
Kneeling back on your heels inside a discarded building in the dead of the night, chest rising and falling in irregular bursts, blood drenching deeper into the white dress you wore–sticky and cooling against your skin. Mouth stained with that same shade of red you had grown familiar with, hands trembling in your lap, eyes roaming over the remains of something that God once breathed into–the cavity of the man’s chest torn open by hands that never looked strong enough to do it; muscle ripped apart, gaped to open air; skin shredded into pieces; the slick gleam of organs interrupted, managed, mouthed; pale bones laid bare under the moonlight, a ritualistic, sacred offering: the spilled seeds of divine fruit. The smell was thick–copper-rich, warm, something almost sickly sweet beneath it. It coated the back of your throat, but it never repulsed you.
Luke had been quiet when he arrived, wary steps cutting through the unsettling stillness–subtle, as if he feared startling a hostile animal. There was nothing in his face but the piercing glint of curiosity in his eyes, recognition settling in the silence between your breaths. Crouched in front of you, blue so deep it could swallow you whole, he muttered about how he had caught your scent from miles away while his fingers reached to brush the blood-stained strand of hair from where it clung to your forehead.
At the roots, you could see its natural dirty blonde shade through his silky, bleached curls, long enough to coil into a spiral right before his eyes; the same eyes that didn’t dare stray from your hunched figure. A decayed angel, you thought. Pink lips, so perfectly shaped, working around your name in a light, almost frisky tone that made the urge to see him come away stained red by you hone its teeth on your spine. With those sinful hands, you ached to tear your own chest open, beg him to crawl in, to consume him whole in a craving that edged into something almost righteous. Luke, Luke, Luke–you thought you knew hunger before him.
You had never known anyone like you, not your age–no one except for an old man who took pleasure in collecting souvenirs of his victims, always speaking of himself in the third person, you had sworn to stay away from Sully–and your sense of smell had never been sharp enough to pick out an eater from that far.
Luke hadn’t left your side since then.
“I starve,” he had confessed once, knees on the floor, lips dragging slow over the sharp bones of your hip, haunted eyes as they found yours with all the reverence forgotten in Catholicism, calloused hands worshipping in sanctified hymns as they slid up the sides of your thighs. “Can’t you see that’s the fucking problem? I starve and i starve and i starve. I am sick.”
“What do you starve for?” you rasped, voice velvet and low. Fingers buried deep, always trembling, in the sun-bleached strands that comforted, steadied you. Your head bowed toward the sinner kneeling before you.
“You. Everything. Strip me away. Feed on me. I’m yours.” He pressed his head against the hollow of your stomach, devout, in something that almost tasted like faith. “I’m yours.” The plea broke against his lips as it was born, head lifting toward his altar.
The Devil was cunning on your tongue, lurking in every breath, intimate as if he knew every impure fiber that made up your core.
Not him. Not him. Not him.
The prayers ran relentlessly through your head, growing louder, louder, like church bells.
Not him, God. Please. Not him.
The bargain clawed at the edges of your mind like sacred verses of the Bible rooted deep in the back of your skull–but the more you tried to call out to God, the more the realization that no one was coming to save you sank its claws into you; sleepless nights, on your knees beside the bed you longed to rot in, the old wooden cross on your wall as a witness, whispered prayers slipping past the gates of your lips, only to ricochet back to you; He was gone all along.
But the hunger, the hunger was an old companion, murmuring lullabies under its breath, lips pressed to your forehead. Its grip was unyielding, solid, a frightful hum underneath your bones, keeping upright a skeleton that should have long since crumbled to ash.
Treacherous, it showed itself in your aching gums; teeth clenching hard as you resisted your nature; yearning fingers itching to sink deeper and deeper.
There, with Luke at your feet–a guard dog, waiting, always waiting for whatever scraps he might be given to gnaw on, religiously at your side–you imagined the sound that would slip from his lips when your canines sank into his shoulder, your hands firm as you held him down while you took, and took, and took.
He would forgive you, you were certain.
Instead, your hands came to rest cautiously on either side of his face, holding him as though nothing God had ever made was holier. Lips eager colliding against his in a kiss where you knew this would be the closest to heaven you would ever get.
“Come on.” He blurted, baked blood on his fingertips brushing narrowly against your knee in an instinctive grip before he slipped out of the driver’s seat in a heated motion.
Adrift in the numb haze of dissociation, you hadn’t even noticed when the truck came to a stop in front of the closest thing you could call home; the shelter stolen from one of your sins. The police siren was nothing but a distant noise now, but you knew it better.
Your body moved before thought could catch up, hasty steps carrying you inside the house, its guts groaning as if in pain, aware of the horrors dragged in by the strangers that trespassed within it. The buzz clouded the edges of your eyesight, your breath so unsteady it felt like a game of hide and seek with an oncoming panic attack; you could hear it climbing the floors, drawing closer.
It was then that your back collided with the weary wallpaper of the bedroom wall, the one you had, for a few nights, called your own. Possessive, longing hands on your waist, crawling towards your hair, crimson smudged lips crashing against yours in a ravenous kiss, knee already pressuring its way between your legs; Luke was a storm pressed flush against your body.
You knew your man the way you knew your hunger. Formidable and perverse, teeth poised to indulge in your flesh; carving into the parts of you you had never seen.
And you let him. You let him when his hands went frantic in your hair, hauling you into a kiss with the same mouth that had just torn a heart open as easily as one would split a pomegranate, the moon and the gore bearing witness.
You prayed that in his lips you might find redemption, that when the hounds of hell came sniffing, they would drag him first by the ankles if they couldn’t tell where your rot ended and his began.
You were not like him, this did not give you purpose, did not thrill you. You fed because you had to, because it would gnaw you down to bone if you didn’t–unlike Luke, who had a boner every time you devoured someone; it was romantic when you shared a heart, he said.
Still, you loved him, even knowing your love would never be enough to save him.
“Lu, the cops–“ the nickname slipped from your lips–slick from the unexpected kiss–sweet and drawn out, your train of thought cut short when his mouth took over, sealing a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses along your jaw, dragging down the stretch of your neck, your head tipping back on instinct.
“I lost them. It’s just me and you now.” His voice came rough, muffled against your skin, you barely registered the needy whine that tore from your throat.
You knew that wasn’t true, the awareness coiling deep in your gut, something wrong rooting itself there. But God, when his broad palm slipped beneath the cotton of your shirt, fingers soft, almost tender as they traced your ribs, dragging along under the swell of your bare right breast before gripping, it was as if nothing else dared exist.
“Fuck– i wish you could’ve seen how my cock jerked in my pants just from hearing that pretty sound fall out of your mouth, baby. Don’t do this to me, i can’t take it–“ he panted, pulling your lips back to his; harder this time, impatient, unraveling inside his own devotion.
Luke’s hand snapped to your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, your hands bracing against the wall in a sharp reflex, swollen lips parting on a soft gasp, your face tipping over your left shoulder as both his hands gripped your breasts beneath your shirt. The cold kiss of silver from his rings against your bare skin sent your hips pushing back, meeting the forward grind of his. The vintage fabric of your skirt was thin enough for you to feel his bulge pressing against the curve of your ass–how long has he been like this?
You gasped again. “Fuck–“ your lips stayed parted, as obscene as the sounds slipping from them. Luke pressed closer, tighter.
“Do you know how hard it is to focus on getting away from the cops when my cock’s been hard since the second you looked at me with those fucking bambi eyes and blood dripping down your chin?” He purred against your ear before catching your earlobe between his teeth.
He kept your hardened nipples tight between his index and middle fingers on each hand, working them slow, deliberate, drawing you into a deeper arch toward him; an instinctive response, already famished and he had barely touched you.
A scoff tore out of your throat before you could swallow it back, a smirk threatening to curl at your lips. “You’re fucking sick.” You rasped, voice edging in a tone more amused than you managed.
“I am. I know i am.” The words came jagged, his mouth dragging over your shoulder, down to your pulse, sucking hard enough to rip a hiss from you. “But isn’t that how you want me? Sick and twisted?”
His right hand didn’t waste time slipping beneath your skirt, his middle finger barely brushing the cotton of your damp underwear, slipping through your clothed folds before gliding back up to press against your clit. A whine broke from you, your eyelids falling shut just to feel him better, your torso arching like you had any control left over your own body when all you wanted was to give in, more and more to his touch; slave to the slow circle of his left middle finger around your nipple, slave to the craving for him that drowned out any flicker of sense left in your Luke-addicted brain.
Luke was no different, panting into your ear like he was the one taking it, eyes shut as he felt your throb beneath his fingers, his forehead pressed into your shoulder like a devotee at prayer; condemned at your feet, ready to destroy himself at your call.
“Fuck– i can’t– bed. Now.” He’s breathless, whimpering like it hurt not to be buried inside you already, his hands leaving your body so abruptly it prickled along your nerves.
It didn’t take long before you were both stumbling into each other, mouths tangled in a mess of teeth, tongue, and spit. Your back hit the side of the mattress in a rushed motion, Luke settling between your legs while his hands fumbled at his jeans, shaking with urgency, his mouth never leaving yours.
Something bad lurked beneath it, the feeling in your core swelling with every second spent between broken gasps and sloppy kisses. You should tell him to stop, should grab your backpacks and head for the next western town. You felt it, you felt it, you felt it.
But the sin of the flesh didn’t end with your teeth sunk into someone; it carried on in your tongue dragging against his, always so eager for more and more of his taste.
His pants were pushed down as your skirt was hiked up, you feel him through his boxers, the vast length of him rubbing against the growing wetter fabric of your underwear. Your moans slipped long drawn between your mouths, Luke’s forehead falling lightly against yours.
“Fuck– that feels so good. You feel so good. God, i'd starve myself out ‘til i ended up eating my own fucking arms if you asked me to.” The confession came raw, lurching from his lips with ease.
It wasn’t just the moment, it wasn’t empty words. You knew the depravity of what you called his love for you.
One of your hands slid up into his curls, fingers lacing through his strands before tightening in a pull that rip a whine from him–that sound, fuck, you could come just from hearing it slipping through his lips–his hips answering in an increased rhythm, rubbing into you in a way that made it clear that if he kept going like that, it wouldn’t take long before you were both coming from that veiled contact alone.
Your chin lifted slightly, bone dry blood staining the skin there, eyes bright as they traced his angelic features under the dim light of the lamps you never really bothered to turn off. Your lips hung open, soft pants slipping out each time he moved against you with growing ease, the soggy fabric between your bodies making everything slicker, smoother.
“Lu, i need you– i need you inside me, please.” Your voice dipped, needy, your teeth catching his jaw in a slow, open-mouthed bite, pressing in just enough.
A hiss tore from Luke’s throat, eyes half-lidded as they found yours. “S–..shit, i don't think i can take it, baby.” He whined in that way only he could, face burying into the curve of your neck.
Your fingers dropped to the nape of his neck, a soft stroke ghosting over the skin before your hand returned to his curls–firm against his scalp, scratching just right. “You can, baby, you can. Don’t you wanna be good for me?” Your voice was rough against his ear.
“I do, i do.” He whimpered, lifting his face just enough to let his gaze fall to where he was humping against you. God, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the sticky mess.
Between ragged breaths and unsteady hands, there was nothing left between you. His blue poured into you just as deeply as his length slid inside you, your walls tight, greedy as they took him in completely.
“Fuck–“ you both breathed out, wrecked, panting mouth to mouth, a few of his curls falling across your face in a soft brush.
With his fingers digging into your thighs, he doesn’t hesitate to start moving. Hips pulling back for a split second, a shiver tearing up your spine, only to snap forward again in a hard thrust.
A guttural moan spills from your lips, both of yours kept parted. Your legs waste no time wrapping around his waist, always pulling him closer, always yearning more.
Skilfully, he finds a rhythm. It’s loud, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the room, his balls slapping against your entrance with each rough thrust as your moans blur together in the seams of the four walls.
The stretch alone is enough to devour whatever sanity your cloudy brain had left. Luke, Luke, Luke–he’s everywhere, like a sickness spreading through you, filling every inch, every part of your body.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby– you’re so fucking– mmm.” His teeth dig into his lower lip, the metallic taste of blood flooding his tongue in a way so filthy, so indulgent, he doesn’t even bother hiding the crooked, vicious smile he throws at you.
This is it, you think. You could die right there, in that exact second; Luke smiling at you, bloodied, twisted, sick, the perfect sinner filling you inch by inch, taking you to heaven and back, fucking you good.
“Fuck, Lu– y–..you could kill me right fucking now and i’d d–..die happily with a smile.” Somehow, you manage to get the words out mid broken moans and heavy breaths, unable to stop the smile that mirrors his.
Luke whimpered, bending just enough to press his lips to yours in kisses neither of you could hold for long without breaking with a moan.
“Y–..Yeah? I bet you’d like that, h–..hm? What a perverted, pretty little thing you are, b–..baby.” His words come out breathless against your mouth before his lips drag down your throat, your collarbone, your shoulder, soft bites scattered across your skin in small, consuming acts.
“Yours. All f–..fucking yours.” Your grip tightens in his curls, rougher now, your hips moving in sync with his thrusts; so full of him.
The high whine that tears from his lips would’ve been enough, but when Luke’s canines sink into your collarbone hard enough to draw blood, you knew; death was born in his fangs, in his tongue; in his mouth, you’d found a sin worth hurting for.
Your head falls back in a quiet offering, the pained grunt welcomed as it slips past your lips, fingers merciless in the pull at his hair.
You’re so close, you can feel it building deep inside you like it’s forcing space between your organs, ready to claim everything. And Luke is no different; every thrust, every wet sound between your bodies, every broken noise you make pushes him closer to the edge, held back only by the need to feel you fall apart first.
“I’m s–..so close, baby, so c–..close…” Your moan drags out, needy, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer like he’s your oxygen.
“I g–..got you, baby. I got you. Come f–..for me, come all over my cock, p–..please, i–..i need it.” There’s something ruined in his voice, something you’d only ever find in tragedy, his face burying itself back into the curve of your neck.
Luke’s fingers digging into your thigh will leave marks you’ll wear proudly the next day. One of his hands slipping between your legs, his middle finger working against that bud of nerves.
His name is the prayer that rises and dies on your lips as you come so hard the tightness of your walls milks every drop he had been holding back, a muffled cry pressed against your pulse.
Your limbs were boneless, a tangled mess slick with sweat, painted in streaks of red–blood and obsession. Through his flesh, he speaks to you; through your flesh, you understand him.
You’re just a feral dog i worship in bedroom ceremonials. Cut me up and take me like the bread and blood at church.
“Fuck, i love you, i love you so fucking much.” You could feel his lips moving against your skin, pressing tender kisses along the base of your throat, your pulse rising and falling beneath them as your giggle spilled through the room–eyes half-lidded, lips stretched into a vast smile, your fingers drifting through the hair at the nape of his neck as the sound of his giggle melted into yours.
That’s when the slam of car doors echoed through the thin walls of the house–nearly falling apart–followed by two unfamiliar voices, reduced to nothing but incoherent murmurs.
Your eyes found each other like they were the only thing you knew–wide, bodies going still, horror blooming through every inch of you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You had heard those same words not minutes ago, the difference being the lack of panic sitting on his tongue then.
In seconds, Luke pulls his weight off of you, the abrupt absence hitting you in amber waves. His fingers tremble as he hastily fix his clothes back onto his body, your movements suddenly mirroring his.
The wooden door is kicked open without restraint, cautious, heavy footsteps creaking against the floorboards, creeping in. The Devil had heard your hymns, He was here to take you, to rip you away from Luke.
Luke is quick, grabbing both of your backpacks, the ones you had never seen the need to unpack–it was only ever a matter of time before you moved on to the next town after all–handing you yours, slipping the straps over his shoulders.
“Luke?” Fear laces your voice, he can feel it crawling beneath his skin.
You’re on your feet, watching as he moves toward the window, warped from age–trying, trying, trying.
“Luke!” The sharp cry tears from your throat, fear now spreading across your face as your hands rush to help him force the window open.
“W–..We’re fine, we just n–..need to–“ His voice cuts off when the window finally gives with a loud, dry crack, opening just enough for both of you to slip through–his neck turning toward you; eyes all over you. “See? Told ya–“
“Freeze!” A rough voice barks from behind you, the click of a gun cocking ringing in your ears.
Still, your hands shoot up instinctively, neither of you daring to turn around. Blue irises, flecked faintly with green, spilling over you–the only divine thing he has ever believed in. That smirk curls faintly at the corner of his lips, speaking in a language meant only for you. Without hesitation, you climb out the window; legs weak, unsteady, doing what you can to carry yourself across the blackened grass swallowed by the night.
Frightened and convinced not to look back, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing somewhere behind you was enough for you to know Luke wasn’t going anywhere; he was right there, chasing after you through the dark. A sharp crack tore through the air, and still, you kept going, going, going–driven by a survival instinct you didn’t even know you had.
The cornfields swallowed the breathless runners, your legs only giving out once you were deep enough inside, the sudden urge to vomit too violent to fight back. Your hair fell over your face as your torso folded forward–you could’ve sworn it was your guts spilling out, but the truth was, it was someone else’s. When it was over, your heart a disquieting beast rattling against the cage of your ribs, the silence that followed was deafening–too deafening.
Luke.
Your eyes turned frantic, scanning the endless rows of corn in search of something familiar, your vision blurring with horror, something gutting the flesh inside you, rotting you from within with every second you couldn’t find him.
“Luke?” you shouted, thorns caught in your throat. “Luke?!” You moved like prey sensing a predator, your nose sharp as you followed the thick, inebriating scent, stronger with every step.
God, you could’ve been sick all over again when your eyes landed on him; Luke sprawled against the dirt, his backpack discarded at his side, his trembling hands failing as they tried to stop the blood gushing from the wound just below his collarbone.
“Luke!” you yelp, stumbling in frantic steps to where his body lies, dropping onto your heels beside him, your hands just as restless as his as you try to help him, save him. “No, no, no, no.”
Luke coughs, tragic eyes hovering over you. “You run pretty fast for someone with such short legs.” The attempt at casualness hits you like a knife in the gut, his red, dreary smirk already fading from life right in front of you.
This can’t be happening, no, no, no.
Your gaze drags back to the wound, your hands getting pushed away by his as his condition only grow worse. Thorns twist deep in your throat, tears hazing your eyesight.
“Let me help you. Let me help you. I’m gonna help you.” Your voice wavers, a horror you’d never known before, crushing you from the inside out. Warm crimson seeps deeper into your palms, into your clothes, into your skin. He was everywhere, claiming you.
His body was rotting away by the second, soon there would be nothing left but the shell of something you once loved. He coughs again, that blue turning dull as it lingers on you for what might be the last time–in his eyes, you are sacred, a promise of being wanted, a tempest meant to carry him away.
Yours, yours, yours.
“I want you… i want you to do it. Do it, baby. Do it, please.” The plea dies on his stained lips, his eyes slipping further shut with each second.
You hold him like you could keep the life from slipping out of him, your hands unsteady, your breathing uneven. “Lu, stop.” The sob is ugly, breaking out of you in choked fragments, torn from somewhere deep, something inside you already waiting, already knowing.
Luke grips one of your hands in his, fingers brushing softly against yours in a language only he had ever taught you how to speak. “It’s beautiful–“
“No, i can’t. Stop, stop.”
“It’s the easiest thing, my love.”
“No. No. No! You can’t! I can’t!” You cradle his face in your hands, bending down just enough to press shattered, flimsy kisses against his lips through your insatiable sobs. The metallic, bittersweet taste spreading across your tongue.
For a second, your gums throb–aching, ready. Your fingers dig deeper into the skin of his shoulders in a violent grip.
“Just love me and eat.” His breath comes out thick, fragile, a final reverence, a sacrifice.
The hunger coils through you, a corruption stirring in your mouth, your devotion grew teeth; take, ravage, eat. Your lips slither down to his wound, something alive indulging inside your chest. You had learned that love was a language of hands and mouths; this way, he would never be taken from you; this way, he would be eternal at your core.
Just love me and eat.
Crying to God and praying to Death, the howl of the wind curling through the cornfields whispered promises into your ear, the moon bearing witness in its pale shimmer; from your mouth, he would receive purgation; from your mouth, he would reborn pure. Your torso bends in reverence, your eyes finding him in a prayer–God, are you watching? Do you watch as i worship him with my mouth? As i press my teeth into his flesh and preach of love? Does it make you sick?
Thinking about how Clark Kent has a high sex drive he’s so embarrassed about. It’s abnormal before you consider the fact that Clark isn’t actually human, he merely appears as one. His genetic makeup is entirely different from yours, though his behaviors are human enough, he’s exceptionally needier than the average person. It doesn’t matter if he’s spent the morning rutting into you, body flat against the mattress while his hips hunch to drive his cock into the warm velvety walls of your flitting pussy from behind, heavy weight holding you down as your wriggle and writhed through each orgasm, he’s insatiable. It’s almost instinctual, the way he paws at you, large frame crowding yours, his fingers not to subtly slipping beneath the loose hem of your untucked blouse. His hold doesn’t relent even when you lightly chastise him, still settled beside your desk at the daily planet, surrounded by your collective colleagues. It’s hard to mask the large figure shadowing over you beside a vacant supply closet, slipping with little discreetness beyond the narrow door. The pitchy shriek that breaks past your lips is muffled by the slip of Clark’s tongue into your open mouth, swallowing the sound as his hands hoist you up with his hands under your grappling arms against the rattling door, feet completely dangling above the ground. The firm weight of his body molds to yours, grip replaced by the wide expanse of his body pressing entirely against you, heels dangling helplessly as his clothed cock ruts pathetically against the pencil skirt hugging your thighs. “Clark—someone’s going to hear—” he hushes you with an indignant groan, tongue sweeping behind your teeth, large palm slithering between you both to grope your tits, buttoned shirt creasing between you both. “I know—I know, ‘m sorry. Can make it quick. Just need you to be quiet, sweetheart,” he pants, “And don’t make a mess on the floor. Though, historically speaking, the latter might be a bit of a problem for you,” his lips twist into a charming smile, fingers delving under the tight hem of your skirt, lips moving to nip at the arch of your throat when you hit his shoulder.
the floor beneath your back was hard, cold, and covered with fine gray dust. the night was quiet except for the sound of Ray's breathing beside you
he laid flat on his back, eyes closed, one arm bent behind his head. not sleeping he never really did during watch but his body was still, his face soft and calm. you turned your head just slightly, watching him in the dim light coming through the busted wall. the light caught on the faint stubble along his jaw, on the old scar slicing through one of his eyebrows
god, he was handsome. and it wasn't just how he looked, it was how he was with you. the way he always carried extra gear without being asked, just so you’d have less weight. the way he touched your shoulder when you were tense, the way he made it a point to lead you to the quietest spots during downtime the ones where no one else wandered
your eyes slipped down to his mouth. you’d thought about kissing him more times than you could count. imagined what it would feel like to run your fingers through his short buzzed hair, to pull him down on top of you in some dark corner of this room. you’d thought about his body on yours, the weight of him, the feeling of his mouth, his hands. how slow he might be, or maybe not slow at all maybe rough, desperate, the way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren’t looking.
but you were always looking and you weren’t imagining the way he stared either. you saw it when you passed him equipment, felt it when he brushed too close behind you and his hand rested on the small of your back longer than needed
now, lying beside him watching the way his chest rose and fell, you felt that feeling building again curling in your stomach. your fingers itched to reach over and trace the veins on his forearm, the scar on his wrist, the curve of his jaw.
Ray kept his eyes shut, body loose beside yours, but inside he was a fucking mess. it was a miracle he hadn’t just rolled over and buried his mouth in your neck
Ray thought you were beautiful. not pretty, not cute, beautiful. strong, capable, independent when you needed to be but you were sweet and patient with him, it all made him feel so needy and desperate on nights like this
he hadn’t touched anyone in months. hadn’t felt anyone, not the way he wanted to feel you. and every night you ended up beside him like this on the floor, with the rest of the unit fast asleep. he had to clench his jaw and will himself not to do anything
he wanted to. jesus, he wanted to
there were nights he'd spent with his hand down the front of his pants, cock gripped tight, as he fucked into his palm. imagining how you’d ride him slow at first, teasing, your thighs spread wide over his lap, your hands on his chest, with that little look you gave when you were this close to taking the upper hand in comms arguments
he thought about your mouth too much. about how you licked your lips when you were tired. how you bit the inside of your cheek when you were concentrating. how those lips would look stretched around his cock, eyes glossy, spit slicking your chin
his cock twitched just thinking about it, stiffening slow against the zipper of his pants, and he breathed in through his nose, hard and deep, counting every fucking second to keep from groaning. every part of him ached for you. not just the sex though that part felt unbearable some nights but the connection. the feel of someone real wanting him back
you didn’t even know what you were doing to him just lying there. and that made it worse. because Ray wasn’t going to cross that line unless you dragged him over it, unless you climbed on top of him and took it
but he dreamed of it. of you whispering his name, hips grinding down on him while his hands gripped your thighs, pulling you deeper. he wanted to run his fingers under your uniform and feel the warmth of your skin, the curve of your ribs. he wanted to pin you down and fuck you hard, rough, until you sobbed his name like it was the only word you knew. he wanted to kiss you through it all, wanted your hands tangled in his hair, your legs around his waist, your voice breaking as you finished around him
Ray clenched his fists against the floor, his cock twitched in his pants, hard now. he shifted just a little hips tilted away from you to hide
you kept your eyes on him, he looked so peaceful at first lids shut, lashes casting shadows on his cheek, jaw clenched like he’d just had a heavy thought
then he stirred, a small movement at first. his eyes opened slowly, and he stared at the ceiling for a second, then he moved his head to the side and his eyes locked on yours
you couldn’t look away. you’d spent so many nights memorizing his face the slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw.
his lips parted like he was going to say something, but no words came out. then finally “can’t sleep.”
you didn’t hesitate to respond. “me too.”
and that was all he needed to hear. he moved, turning his whole body toward you. he curled one arm under his head, the other resting just in front of him, inches from your chest. his legs bent slightly. he was close, so close you could feel his warmth. his brow furrowed a little like he was struggling to keep it together, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to keep looking at you the way he was.
you saw the way his mouth opened slightly, lips soft and pink. you didn’t know what you looked like to him right now, but his eyes trailed down briefly to your mouth then back up
neither of you said anything. you moved a little closer as your foreheads nearly touched, his eyes didn’t leave yours, but his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip
you didn’t know it, but under that blanket Ray’s cock was hard and twitching against the inside of his thigh, your hand rose between you and hovered over his face
Ray didn’t flinch, didn’t move back, just watched you. when your fingertips brushed his cheekbone he closed his eyes like it hurt in the best possible way
his skin was warm. rough in places from long hard days, but soft too around the corners of his mouth where he sometimes smiled just for you and no one else. you let your hand drift down cupping the side of his face, thumb brushing along the stubble over his upper lip, your finger running over the bridge of his nose and Ray let you
you traced the edge of his lip, and his mouth parted open under your touch, he was so hard beneath the blanket he felt dizzy. his cock throbbed against the fabric of his pants, something small that had been building for months, and now he was here, your hand on him.
you traced the line of his eyebrow, the scar on it, the soft arch above his temple. he let out a long sigh, he was so touch starved. not just for sex, but for this.
he moved closer, his chest brushing yours, legs tangling. his nose skimmed yours, his eyes were half-lidded, yours widened startled by how close he was, how close you’d let him get you weren’t supposed to be here. not like this. not with him. all the protocols and rules set, you were supposed to be on watch duty
his gaze went down to your lips, and when he leaned in just a little more there was no question left between you. no doubts, just need. his lips pressed to yours
and then he pulled back only slightly, just far enough to see your face. he leaned back in without hesitation, hand lifting to cradle your cheek like he’d been dying to touch you this whole time, thumb brushing just beneath your eye, the kiss deepened, lips parting wider, teeth grazing just enough to sting
your leg shifted unintentionally and rubbed up against the hard bulge pressing through his pants. he groaned into your mouth, hips jerking slightly before he even realized he had. you gasped against him, and your voice broke the kiss
“Ray…” you whispered, not even sure what you meant by it. his response was only a low hum, like he hadn’t even heard the hesitation in it. his mouth moved to your jaw, the corner of your lips, your throat, then back
“Ray stop…” you said again, breath catching over the words like you weren’t even sure if you really wanted it to stop
“What?” he murmured, lips grazing yours “What’s the matter?”
“we can’t…” you whispered trying to remember the rules, the protocols, the reason you were even out here “we shouldn’t…”
his breath was warm against your mouth as he smiled into the kiss, the kind of smile that made your stomach curl “think so?” he whispered
“what else do you think?” he asked, and kissed you again, slower now “what if someone catches us” you whispered, “what if captain Erik-”
“Good” Ray said “let them.”
he kissed you again deeper “they won’t know what we do”
his hand slipped behind your neck and pulled you in again, and you were gone
his body shifted over yours, the weight of him pressing you harder down into the floor beneath. his leg came between yours, hips grinding just enough for you to feel how hard he was. you hands slid up his chest, you reached the hem of his uniform, fingers fumbling, tugging upward you needed to see him
he smiled into the kiss, his hands moved obeying. his lips still on yours open and panting, as he reached down between you and started unbuttoning the front of his uniform. each pop of a button exposed more of the tight olive green shirt stretched over his chest, clinging to every muscle and sweat damp line
when he shrugged out of it, the hidden dog tags fell free, swinging softly to rest against his chest with a soft metallic clink. your eyes caught them just briefly they were of proof of what he was who he was, of where you both were, of all the rules you were breaking. but they clinked again as he leaned back down
his hand found your waist, your own hands rose to the buttons of your own uniform shaking now, both from nerves and need and you fumbled the first one, breath catching as you tried again. but then his hand was there brushing yours aside gently, and his fingers took over. he didn’t look down just kissed you harder, deeper, his tongue licking into your mouth as he worked at your uniform buttons one by one
he tugged your uniform the rest of the way down your shoulders, he couldn’t believe you were letting him do this. the fabric pooling behind your back, your olive undershirt joining it a moment later. and then you were there half naked under him, your bra the only thing left clinging to modesty and even that felt like a lie now
his eyes took you in visibly swallowing hard. “shit” he breathed, his eyes moved from your chest to your face and back again, and then unable to wait he shoved his pants down, boxers coming down in the same movement, his cock springing free, flushed dark, and hard. he hissed through his teeth at the contact with cool air, one hand wrapping briefly around the base
you did the same, fingers moving down to undo your pants, lifting your hips as you slid them off, until you were left in nothing but your panties, his knees settling between yours as his weight shifted down, and then he murmured something you almost didn’t catch
“better than I imagined” he said against your throat mouth finding the sensitive skin there and trailing lower “so, so much better…”
his lips trailed down your neck, your collarbone, moving toward the swells of your chest. you squirmed instinctively hips moving up as the friction of your soaked panties rubbed against his cock. it had been months, too long. the feeling of being touched like this was almost too much
your fingers reached behind you, struggling with the clasp of your bra, then you undid it with a soft snap, letting the straps slip down your arms. your nipples perked in the cold air, hard and flushed, and his gaze went down again lips parted
his mouth found one, warm and wet, tongue flicking slow as he groaned low, and your back arched up into him
you wanted him like this raw, dirty, sweat and skin, his mouth stayed latched to your nipple, tongue swirling, lips sucking deep until it ached, while his hand came up to the other breast, fingers pinching and rolling your nipple until you gasped into his mouth, your moans muffled by his tongue when he kissed you again
he brought his hips down into you, his cock sliding against the soaked fabric of your panties, the tip smearing precum across the thin cotton that was already dark and damp with your slick
then his hand moved down, hooked a finger into the side of your panties, and pulled them aside with a rough pull that exposed your wet pussy to the cool air and his eyes. you whimpered, arching up into him instinctively, thighs twitching, trying to guide him in with nothing but your hips
“I know” he breathed “I know…”
his hands slid under your thighs bringing your legs up and around his waist so he could settle into you completely. the head of his cock brushed your folds before he slid it up and down your slit, opening you up with slow, heavy strokes that left your entrance twitching around nothing. then he angled his hips, and you felt it his thick, curved tip pressing right against your hole
he pushed in slowly, the burn was immediate your nails dug into his back, mouth open in a soundless moan as he pushed in, his girth spreading you wider than you’d felt in months, maybe ever. the sting was sharp, pulling tears to your eyes as you gasped
he kept pushing in. his hands gripped your thighs tighter, trembling from holding back, of not slamming into you all at once. you whimpered, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, and he kissed them away barely even aware of himself now, lost in the squeeze of your pussy around him, he was breathing so hard, and his voice came out a desperate whisper
“I could cum just like this… jesus Christ…”
he bottomed out with a slow shaking thrust, and the sob that came from your throat was half moan, half cry. he groaned loud, dropping his forehead to your shoulder
“Fuck… fuck, fuck” he gasped, hips twitching like he wanted to rut into you hard and deep, but he held himself back. you felt every vein, every twitch of his cock buried in your pussy. your hands slid up his back, fingertips dragging over sweat slick muscle as you held him close, needing him
he lifted his head slowly, his brows were scrunched together as he looked down at you, the tears still drying on your cheeks. his cock twitched deep inside you, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth voice shaking as he asked “You ok?”
you nodded, still breathless your mouth trembling as you whispered “Yeah.”
his hips pulled back, and then he pushed into you again slow, hard, deep. your mouth dropped open, a high moan catching in your throat as the head of his cock dragged back in, stretching you all over again
“been needing this” he groaned, head tipping back slightly as he fucked into you
your legs tightened around his waist, locking him in closer, your hands gripping his shoulders as he began moving harder
“Been wanting this since the first damn week… you in uniform, all tight and perfect, acting like you didn’t know I was looking… always wondered what you’d feel like.” his teeth grazed your jaw as he thrust in again deeper
“Ray” you moaned, hips lifting to meet his thrusts, your voice cracking as you praised him between every gasp “so good Ray… so fucking good don’t stop-”
you pussy took him in with every stroke, sweat dripping from his chest onto yours. his cock curved just right
he was panting into your ear now, “I know you’ve been wanting this” Ray said “don’t act like I don’t know you had a little crush on me”
“Yes Ray fuck” you gasped, head tipping back body arching into his with every thrust. your voice cracked louder, needier, too loud and his eyes moved to the door, his hand shot up, he clamped his palm over your mouth, muffling the next moan that came out of you
“Shhh…” he groaned hips never slowing “keep it down they’ll hear you” but the tone in his voice said he liked that idea too much
his cock fucked into you again, the wet slap of his hips against your thighs filling the air, your pussy sucking him in tight around him. his hand held your mouth in place, making your eyes water with the way it silenced you and excited you all at once. his mouth moved to your ear again
“you want them to hear huh?” he panted, lips brushing your earlobe “want Captain Erik to come check on us walk in and see me fucking you like this, see how loud you moan for me?”
you whimpered beneath his hand
“Shit I hope he does…” Ray hissed, cock twitching inside you, thrusting harder now, sweat dripping down his neck onto your chest as he fucked you “let him see what I do to you… how fucking good I make you feel…”
he was so fucking handsome always had been but now, red-cheeked and sweaty, mouth parted in loud groans, brows knit tight as his thrusts turned sloppy. you’d dreamed of this of him pushing you down, kissing, fucking you but never once had you let yourself believe it would happen. yet here he was
“going to cum already” he grunted, hips jerking forward with messy thrusts “shit so good… where do you want it?”
you could barely think, barely breathe. all you managed against his hand still covering your mouth was a muffled, whimpered “anywhere”
he let out a strangled groan and pulled his hand away, immediately leaning in to crash his lips to yours, you kissed him back with everything you had, your fingers rising to his face, cupping his cheeks
then his hand slid down, finding your clit with two fingers and pressing in gently, then rubbing slow tight circles. you gasped into the kiss, your hips bucking up
“Right there?” he asked, you nodded frantically, legs twitching around his waist
“going to make you finish too” he hummed, lips parting from yours just enough to watch your face
your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, pulling him closer, burying your face against his damp skin. the sound of your moans, now softer and breathier against his ear driving him closer to that edge he was desperately trying to hold off for you. his thumb stayed pressed to your clit, rubbing tight circles with his cock deep inside
you gasped, body tensing up around him, your orgasm coming over you, thighs wrapping tight around his waist, pussy squeezing around his cock. your moan came loud from your throat, he grinned the moment he heard it “there it is” he gasped
and with a strangled moan of your name, he thrusted in one last time, buried to the base he pulled out in a rush, cock twitching as thick sticky white cum spilled across your stomach while he stroked himself through it
“look at that” he groaned, milking every last drop, watching it drip down your stomach, trailing toward your bellybutton. he was still panting, he brought one hand down and casually dragged a finger through his cum, smearing it over your skin in a swirl
Ray finally let himself lay down beside you, he turned his head to look at you, eyes half lidded, dazed, and when your eyes met his something in both your faces cracked
you smiled first slow, stupid, in disbelief
he laughed under his breath, grin forming wide as he reached over and brushed his knuckles along your jaw
“shit” he breathed
you lay there beside him, his breath evening out, skin warm and sticky against yours, his fingers traced your arm nothing intimate or purposeful, just the feeling of someone who didn’t want to break the moment. you didn’t say anything neither did he there was only the soft sound of his breathing, and the beat of your heart slowing
Summary: Ridoc is a tease and everyone knows it and deals with it. But for some reason he drives you absolutely insane. The bickering is constant but there is something else lying underneath all the arguing. (follows Fouth Wing plot! I'm only halfway done with OS but I just love Ridoc sm)
Warnings: minor character deaths, smut! piv, oral sex (f receiving), light choking, a spank or two. sorta dom!Ridoc domsub dynamics. our boy is a relentless tease.
wordcount: 12.5K
notes: reader is described to have long hair because this is entirely self-indulgent. there is just such a lack of Ridoc stories, I needed moreeee. (yes it's long I got carried away)
Ridoc fucking Gamlyn. The bane of your existence. It started the day you crossed the parapet, you were determined to get across if only to spare your family from seeing your dead body on day one. The first rider of the family meant you were already dead to them, no one was there to prepare you for the onslaught you would face. And that day on the parapet was too close, the wind and rain caught you off guard, but it was your stupid long hair that was almost the death of you.
Your arms were out at your side to keep your balance while the wind whipped around you. You could hear the soon-to-be cadet behind you cursing with every step he took, his nervous laughs filling the air. It was hard to keep your balance though with your hair flying into your eyes every five seconds, and moving it away from your face took away precious time, the boy was getting closer. In a swipe of your hair, you glanced behind you quickly catching the dark-haired boy's eye, and he fucking grinned at you. Was it meant to be intimidating? No. But with how much adrenaline was coursing through your body the only thought you had was that he wanted to throw you off the edge to get rid of you early. You tried to pick up your pace but it only caused the wet strands of your hair to fly back in your face quicker resulting in you momentarily losing your balance. You crouch closer to the rocky surface trying to regain your balance slowly, a shaky breath leaving you as you hear the boy approaching closer.
"Better chop off that pretty hair when we get across or you're as good as gone when challenges start!" he shouted over the wind, his voice was teasing but you couldn't help the fear that was still running through your veins.
"Shut. Up." you grit out. You'd recovered your pace but he was still behind you.
"Hey, just trying to help. Or you can fall and I'd have one less cute girl to talk to and that would be a shame," he was so close to you you could feel his laugh on the back of your neck. But you ignored him, trying to focus on getting across the last quarter of the parapet. "You excited?" you give no response, again tucking your hair behind your ears, "can't say I'm thrilled with being potentially killed but hey, the lives we choose to live." You roll your eyes your pace now quickening with being so close to the confined walls of Basgiath once more. "Wait up! Don't want you running off without your new friend!" you were so close, ten more steps.
A deep exhale leaves you as you jump the short distance from the parapet to the grounds, a girl sits at a table with a sheet of paper and a pen waiting to take names. She jots down your name and gives you a tight-lipped smile before calling the next person.
"Ridoc Gamlyn," that gods-damned voice again. You try to speed away before he can get to you after giving his name but you don't make it. "Hey!" he calls to you. That's it. Better to get him off of you now before it becomes a habit.
"Hey?" you turn on your heel and stare him down causing him to almost run into you with the stride he was going at, "What the fuck was that back there?"
"Uhm I'm sorry?" he questions confusion taking hold of his face.
"I said, what the fuck was that? You were right behind me shouting in my ear! I know we're not supposed to root for each other but you're trying to kill me already?" you knew your face was going red with the anger consuming you. Gods, you couldn't wait for this guy to be gone.
"Woah, princess, I was just helping. Your hair is going to get in the way, take a look around, who else here has that long of hair?" you don't want to but you look around anyway. Every person, male, female, or otherwise had either short, cropped hair or it was tied back tightly. He gives you an I told you so look before speaking again. "That's because they're all at the bottom of the river, I was just there in case you lost your sight again. Whatever I'm done with this shit." He rolls his eyes before turning away and walking elsewhere.
You sigh to yourself. This was going to be a long three years and you've already made an enemy. With your luck, he would try to kill you that night.
Your first night as Basgiath started better than you expected. You'd managed some small talk with some other first years and the two girls invited you to sit with them at supper that night. One of them was the Sorrengail girl you'd heard everyone talking about, she was slight but with her stubborn determination you had no doubt she would try to cheat death in here. The other girl was taller, her hair braided back in dark cornrows, Violet was also smart enough to have her long, silver ends tied up. Shit. Maybe Gamlyn was right. You did your best to keep your eyes on him throughout supper, he sat a few tables away from you with some other first years, but clearly, you weren't being very discreet with your wandering gaze.
"Already found someone worth sleeping with?" Rhiannon questioned teasingly, turning to look at who you were staring at, "He's cute."
"No. He's a fucking asshole is what he is." You grumble, stabbing some lettuce with your fork.
"Ridoc, I talked to him earlier," Violet speaks up, "he was nice to me. Bit of a smart-ass but he's funny. What happened with you two?"
"He tried to kill me up on the parapet!" you say, definitely louder than you wanted to, and shit of course he looked up right as you said that. He excused himself from his table and made his way over to you guys. You swear your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head. His stride was confident, a smirk playing on his lips as he brushed his dark curls away from his forehead. No. You internally scold yourself, he may be attractive with his lean frame but he was annoying as hell.
"Is the princess telling lies about me?" he smoothly slides between Rhiannon and Violet throwing his arms around their shoulders a grin eating up his face.
"You tried to kill her?!" Violet shoves his arm away from her, looking at him incredulously.
"Of course not!" rage consumes you, "I was just staying close to her, her hair kept flying in her face, was just there in case she lost sight completely and fell," he says as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
"No. You were fucking distracting me!" your utensils clatter on your plate, "telling me to 'chop off my pretty hair'" You lower your voice to imitate him and he dares to laugh at you.
"Well...what do you girls think?" he says looking between the other two, their minds processing.
"I hate to say it...but Ridoc is right, it'll probably make it easier if you cut it, or at least tie it back like Violet," Rhiannon gives you an apologetic look and a shrug.
"That settles it then princess, just trying to help," Ridoc shoves himself away from the table before walking back to his seat, turning around halfway to meet your gaze, and winks at you. You roll your eyes in response before turning back to the girls. They share a look before going back to their meals.
The next morning in the barracks Violet had offered to braid your hair back for you and you begrudgingly agreed. You hated Ridoc being right. Zihnal was not with you because when first years began being added to squads you were thrilled to be with Rhiannon and Violet, but your excitement was short-lived as Ridoc was the next name called to Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing. He takes his place behind you and you do your best to ignore him as he talks to Sawyer–another member of your squad.
"Ah, look who took my advice!" you feel a tug on one of the two plaits Violet had done on you and you turn with fury.
"Take your hands off me Gamlyn," Rhiannon turns from where she stands next to you, grabbing your hand in an attempt to calm you.
"Someone's fiery this morning," he laughs, "looks good on you princess," he winks again, and before you or anyone else can stop you, the hand Rhiannon didn't have a hold on flew and slapped Ridoc straight on the cheek. He raises his hand to hold his face as you hear a shout a couple of rows ahead of you. "What the fuck?!" Ridoc shouts the shock evident on his face.
"Cadets!" your new squad leader–Dain Aetos–approaches the two of you, "You're a part of a squad now! Act like it. There will be plenty of time to fight during sparring, now behave yourselves." You turn back into formation hearing Ridoc grumbling behind you. Holy shit. What've you just done...? You hit your squadmate! You'd unknowingly unlocked months of intense rivalry between the two of you, all because you couldn't hold your temper.
The weeks went by slower than you thought, days of intense training and studying. Being a rider was a hell of a lot more difficult than you imagined it to be. But the most difficult part was trying to keep your temper around the man who was trying to make your life a living hell. Your other squadmates were fed up with your bickering. It ranged everywhere from trivial arguments about homework to betting who would make it up the gauntlet first when the training was to start. Challenges were going to start soon too, no longer assigned fighting partners and you knew Ridoc would challenge you only to bring revenge on the slap you'd landed on him the first day. But you were smart, you'd started studying his fighting style the moment he stepped onto the mat during the assessment. He held up alright, eventually knocking a tooth out of Aurelie's mouth, but that was before the daily training. As annoying of a squad leader that Dain was, he worked you all hard, and with gauntlet practice approaching too, he ensured you were all eating more than your share of food. Ridoc had gone from a lean floppy-haired boy who teased you on the parapet, to a now filled-out man beating most of his opponents in challenges.
But the most annoying part about Ridoc is that you didn't mind him...he was kind to the people he cared about and there had been more than one occurrence where you had to hold back your laughter from one of his jokes. But it was already over, you'd already hit him and he'd already decided that he would get his retaliation. So now every morning at breakfast you'd have to hear his taunting voice tease you.
"Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"
"Does that scowl hurt your pretty face?"
"Seems like the princess hasn't gotten any this week, she's grumpy."
Day after day. Thank the gods when it came to serious moments he seemed to hold back. You were halfway up the gauntlet, about to cross the shaking posts. Only moments earlier Ridoc had been arguing with Tynan about Barlowe, you and Violet had shared a glance, never seeing him lose his temper and it was...kind of hot. He was taunting Tynan from the ground, and you'd expected the same when you began, but he stayed oddly silent. You'd surprised yourself after making it to the top, the training was paying off.
The next week, challenges began, and you were ready. Just as you'd expected Ridoc challenged you. Rhiannon gave you a nervous look as Sawyer tried to talk him out of it.
"Are you sure?" Rhi asked you as you stripped off your flight jacket, leaving you only in your training top and pants with half of your daggers strapped to your belt.
"It's fine, Rhi. We all knew that this was going to happen. Maybe after this, he'll give up and stop annoying the shit out of me." You approach the mat, Ridoc already standing ready, his arms swinging at his sides to pump himself up. Did his shirt get tighter somehow? No. Not the time for that. You shove the thoughts to the back of your mind, trying to bring all the memories of the times he irritated you to the forefront. You take your stance, a dagger in each hand just like he did.
"Ready, princess?" He teased, that gods-damned annoying smirk splayed across his face.
"Begin," Emmeterio announced, and Ridoc pounced. You'd been watching him, he always skirted around his opponents waiting for them to make the first move, but not this time. It caught you off guard but you were able to move away in time, moving around him before throwing out a leg to knock him off balance. It worked for a moment but he was on you again in no time. He was moving fast, but you could move fast too. You hit each other with a series of blocks before you were able to knock a dagger out of one of his hands. He cursed, but that only freed up his hand to be able to grab your wrist, twisting until you dropped a dagger of your own. A gasp left your lips from the pain, and he eased up with the sound. He was going easy on you. Well fuck that. With his guard down you pull him closer, close enough that you could smell his sweat. Damn, why did he have to smell good too? You used that closeness to wrap a leg behind his knee to take you both down to the ground. You were on top of him now, his face contorted in frustration, only the second time you'd seen him lose his temper. He grunted and cursed.
"Fuck!" he shouted from between his teeth. Did you really get him this worked up? You grappled with each other, both of your remaining daggers lost somewhere on the mat, you tried to reach for your belt to grab another one while you were still on top but it made you lose your leverage. He was still stronger than you and you roll so that he now has the advantage above you. All these months he'd been preparing just so he could beat you. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head. You've lost all semblance of control and tactic, now just thrashing to get out of his hold. He holds your wrists with one of his hands, his other shooting out with the speed of light to grab the dagger closest to him and bring it to your throat, "Yield!" he shouts louder than necessary. You stared into his eyes above you, his gaze was concentrated, and he knew he'd won. But you continue to stare at him before swallowing thickly, your eyes burned, tears threatened to spill over and his gaze softened, and the pressure of the dagger at your throat lightened significantly. You could use his moment of softness to try to gain back control but it was over, you'd already been humiliated.
"I yield," it was barely a whisper, only enough for him to hear. He gathered himself quickly and reached his hand down to help you up but you ignored it and picked up your daggers from the mat. You were missing one and you knew it was in Ridoc's hands. You turn to him, your gaze still low to the ground refusing to make eye contact. He mutters your name quietly, gently, and holds your dagger out to you, but you just push it back to him before rushing off the mat and gathering your things, leaving the training room. He'd won it, fair and square. You lost all control in that match, what was happening?
The next few days were awkward, to say the least. The rest of the squad tried their best to keep things normal, but nothing was normal without the banter between you and Ridoc. Slowly he seemed to regain some confidence in teasing you, it started light with you just rolling your eye in response, but by presentation day the two of you were in full-on arguments again.
"So how many of us do you think are going to be dragon lunch today?" Ridoc asks as you and the rest of the first years in your squad are waiting for your turn on the gauntlet.
"That's cruel, Ridoc," you reply, not in the place for humor this morning with how nervous you were, and you were sure you were not the most nervous, Violet still couldn't get up the wall.
"We live in a cruel world, princess," he mutters shaking his head. You groan in annoyance, trying your best to hold your temper instead of retorting, instead turning your attention to Violet.
"How are you doing Vi? Is there anything we can do to help?" you weren't much taller than her but those couple of inches were enough for you to bridge the gap to get up the wall.
"I'll be okay," she takes a deep breath, strangely calm for the situation you were about to enter. Luca was behind you two beginning her rant on the dragon she would be choosing. As if. Presentation was for the dragons to decide who was worthy and who would be torched. The past months had all led up to this. Every breath you took was shallow the entire way up the gauntlet, so aware of every step you were making and how fast you were making them. You released a breath once you reached the top, the rest of your squad cheering for you. Ridoc was right behind you breeching the top of the sloped wall, he whoops and gathered Rhiannon and Sawyer into hugs, the three of them laughing before he turned to you, a huge smile still on his face.
"Nice work Gamlyn," you say giving him a forced smile.
"Ah, a compliment, that's the first one I've received from you, I could get used to this!" He throws an arm around you squeezing you close.
"Way to ruin it," you grumble removing his arm from you before turning your attention back to Violet on the course. Oddly, you miss the warmth of his arm on you. He's always been touchy with the rest of your little crew, often embracing them or keeping an arm on them during meals or classes. You'd even see him press a kiss to Rhi's head after she'd helped him with physics. But with you, he didn't cross that line. Did he hate you that much? Or was it just because he knew how you would react? Your thoughts race as you watch Violet do the same, right before she grabs a rope from the side of the course and hauls herself up. Then using her daggers to climb her way up. This girl was something special. You grin and clap your hands as the rest of your squad cheers.
"That's our girl!" Ridoc shouts, obviously proud of his friend. Some of the other wings began groaning complaining that she cheated but all the noise falls into the background as the rest of your squad huddles up. That was the easy part. Now the next could very well mean your death. You try to calm yourself, hold it together, and keep all semblance of control before the dragons can sense you.
Now at the top, you waited for the other squad to finish before you entered the flight field. One of the other wingleaders stood before you preparing you to enter, instructing you to make small talk so the dragons would get a feel for you as well as recommending staying at least seven feet apart in case another squad member got torched.
"Nice day for presentation," Ridoc jokes 'small talking' with the senior wingleader.
"Not with me, with them," she rolls her eyes at his antics, and gods of course Ridoc will be right behind you annoying you the whole way. You knew you'd have to try your best to be in control or else you'd lose your temper in front of the dragons.
"Lucky me I have a wonderful view to distract me from our impending dooms," Ridoc laughs, anger swelled in your chest. You hear Rhiannon scold him and smack him upside the head, a smirk grows on your face but you stay facing forward.
Your senses feel heightened as you make your way onto the flight field, dragons surrounding the edges, a smile gracing your face at the pure wonder that these creatures held.
"They're pretty incredible aren't they?" you hear the awe in Ridoc's voice behind you, no humor or teasing, just... Ridoc.
"They really are," you respond to him and turn to face him, he was grinning, clearly he was made to be a rider. He turned slightly and met your gaze, his smile not faltering. His eyes shined in the sunlight this high atop the cliffs and you turn back to watch where you're walking before you get caught up in staring at him any longer. Why did this keep happening to you? As you neared the end of the field before turning back you caught sight of the illustrious feathertail, Violet was enthralled, her eyes not moving away from the creature. But your eyes wandered to something else going on only feet away.
A red scorpiontail on the smaller side was sitting peacefully in the sun, she was practically glowing. But what caught your attention was the brown swordtail a little larger than her that approached where she sat. He nudged her with his nose, seeming to almost mutter things at her before he rolled on top of her putting what seemed to be his entire weight on her. The red reared up, a deep growl leaving her throat, drawing the rest of your squad's attention to the two dragons. The brown stood again, circling the red while making grunting sounds to her, right before she swung her neck and snapped her massive teeth at the swordtail.
"Hey, princess," Ridoc is right beside you now, his voice hot on your neck from where he leans down close to your ear. "That red looks like you during math lessons, so grumpy," he's whispering to not draw attention to the two dragons, but you make the deadly mistake of reacting.
"Well if you helped me like you did everyone else maybe I'd be fine!" you turn to face him, a scowl traced between your brow, unbeknownst to you two it drew the attention of the two dragons.
"Woah now you look even more like her!" he laughs quietly before reaching out a finger to poke right between your eyebrows where your scowl formed.
"Ugh! You're insufferable!" you turn on your heel expecting to walk ahead of him again before coming face to face with the red scorpiontail. Your breath stopped and fear coursed through you. You heard Ridoc gasp your name.
"Don't fucking move," his words are seethed between his teeth but you barely resonate them. You feel the dragon's hot breath on your face, the smell of sulfur strong. "Please don't die, please don't die," Ridoc repeats the mantra as if it will help seal your fate. You keep your eyes low to the ground not daring to make eye contact, knowing that would be your death sentence. The dragon's gaze moves from you and you take the opportunity to look at her face. She was incredible. And her eyes were locked on Ridoc. Shit. But you didn't have time to assess your feelings before the massive creature was tackled to the ground by the brown swordtail.
You released your breath staring at the creatures fighting in front of you. Their roars echoed through the field as the chuffs of other dragons were heard from the edges as if they were egging the two on. You felt someone grab your hand and you were tugged to the beginning of the field again. You meet up with your squad about 20 feet ahead where Rhiannon is standing in front of the burnt corpse of Pryor, you hear Luca start to say something about him right before she gets torched right in front of your eyes. You gasp holding on tighter to the hand in yours, Ridoc's hand. Once you realize you dropped it immediately, but not before Violet could notice. You risk a glance behind you to look for the red scorpiontail again, praying she is alive. But the sight you were fixed with was not one you were expecting to see. The two dragons were still on the ground fighting, but they were both still alive, the brown was a bit bigger, you had expected him to take the red down fast, but there they still were.
"Come on, let's go!" Ridoc urges you, pulling on your arm yet again.
"Wait, Ridoc, watch them!" You were captivated, and surprisingly, Ridoc stopped pulling and watched the dragons with you. "They're playing."
"No, they're fighting, let's go," he tugs again, and this time you comply. His hand doesn't release yours until you're off the flight field.
The mess hall that night seemed a hell of a lot smaller after having lost so many first years in one day. You were sure there would be even less after threshing. Your squad was down two more people now. You sat with Rhi, Violet, Sawyer, and Ridoc who were all discussing the dragons you'd seen today. Rhiannon talks about a green that had been all up in Violet's business while you and Ridoc were being intimidated by the red scorpiontail, while Violet says she didn't feel a connection to any of them.
"What about you?" Rhiannon says your name, drawing you into the conversation. You open your mouth to speak but before you could Ridoc interjects.
"Well, I for one think that red scorpiontail already loves you. You two even have the same frown and grumpy demeanor!"
"Shut up, Ridoc," you turn your attention to Rhi. "But yeah, I did feel drawn to her..." your voice went quieter.
"Well you might as well go for that brown then, Ridoc," Sawyer speaks up. "with how annoying he was being to that red those two dragons are practically you guys already." He laughs, the girls nodding in agreement.
"You wound me," Ridoc puts a hand to his heart, "but unfortunately I think that guy took down the red so the princess is gonna have to find another dragon." No. He didn't, you knew that both of the dragons were still alive, and it pissed you off that Ridoc decided to taunt you about it when you'd just said you were drawn to that red.
"They were just playing Ridoc!" you shout, sounding almost childish with your insistence.
"Yeah right," his words muffled by the food in his mouth.
"They were! Don't you think one of them would've already been dead by the time we turned around? And neither of them were going for death blows, it was almost like they were sparring or something..." you mumble out the end, brows knitting as you think about it.
"Maybe it's their form of flirting then," Ridoc jokes, earning him a groan from Rhiannon. "What? If I were a dragon that's how I'd try to get a girl, relentless teasing, tackling her to the ground, you know that sort of thing." Ridoc shrugs and the wheels in my brain start turning.
"And that's why you mostly sleep with men..." Violet says under her breath, she and Rhiannon start to giggle.
"Hey! I'll have you know I can pleasure a woman just as well as I can a man. The women at Basgiath are just too controlling, I like to be in control," Ridoc smirks, leaning back in his seat. Why did he have to talk about this... now that's all you could think about. Your memory shifts to when he challenged you, his hands pinning your wrists, his body on top of you. You shake your head to try to clear the thoughts, this was your rival for god's sake! Why were you thinking like this?
"Really? You're the controlling one in bed?" Sawyer scoffs in disbelief.
"Don't sound so shocked. From my experience, everyone needs to give up control every once in a while, and the bedroom is an excellent place to do it when you have someone like me to be in charge." Oh. Fuck. You try to take a drink of water to cool your burning nerves but all it does is cause you to choke on it. You sputter trying to catch your breath, "You okay there, princess? Not scaring you off am I?" Ridoc winks at you. Okay. That's enough. Time for a cold shower and bedtime, surely you wouldn't feel like this in the morning. You ignore his comment and excuse yourself from supper before rushing to the showers.
It was late when Violet and Rhiannon returned to the barracks, you lay there pretending to be asleep. Even when Violet brought up the fact that you seemed off at dinner. Fuck, you really had to pull yourself together before threshing next week, or Ridoc was going to make your life miserable with his teasing.
You managed to make it through the week without drawing too much attention to yourself, though Ridoc was still relentless when it came to teasing you. But the morning of threshing was...rough to say the least. Everyone's nerves were on fire, even the ever-confident Ridoc was vomiting behind a tree. You grimaced feeling sorry for him, he might not show it but he wanted to succeed, just as you all did. Professor Kaori advised on what to do when approaching a dragon, he also said that if a dragon had already chosen you they'd be calling you. Okay, what is that supposed to feel like? You snark internally. You had no idea what to expect when entering the valley. It was happening too fast, you heard Ridoc instruct the rest of your squad to stay alive and you all went your separate ways.
You'd been walking through the valley for hours now, and the sun was falling low on the horizon giving you one maybe two hours maximum. If you were any other person you'd be wondering if there were even any dragons left out here, but you felt in your bones that your dragon was still out here, you just had to find them fast enough. You neared the ends of the boundaries only a few miles left within them, you'd managed to avoid other dragons thus far and only ran into one other cadet–a girl from Third wing–who looked so frightened that you would kill her that she ran off right away, like a dragon would choose that. The further you walked the stronger the hum in your body felt, you were getting close. The setting sun shone through the trees illuminating the path and if it weren't for the sun, you would've entirely missed the glint to your right side. You turned, hand ready on your dagger, but once you met her gaze you knew the beautiful creature wouldn't hurt you.
The red scorpiontail stepped out of the shadows of the forest, the sun glinting off her scales making them look like rubies. It was the dragon from presentation. You couldn't help the smile that grew on your face as she walked closer to you, she was alive. You stood, watching her in awe as she circled you sniffing you and feeling you out before a warm grumble sounded in her throat.
"Will you come with me?" her voice echoed in your head, elegant but firm, she was not asking you, she was telling you to come with her, or you would not return.
"If you’ll have me…" You didn't want to scare her off so you held your palm out to her, letting her run her face along you, the warm scales felt so naturally under your hand. She turned to the side in a silent order to climb on her back. You made the movements and took your seat. This was unlike anything you'd felt, you were a rider.
"Now hold on, squeeze your legs, and keep your grip," you don't know if you'd ever get used to hearing her voice in your head. You do as she says, you keep your grip and hold on. The wind through your hair is like nothing you've felt before, tears sting your eye from the brightness of the setting sun. As you climb higher into the sky you look around you, you're a good five miles from the field where all the new riders are landing their dragons. Over the wind, you're able to hear the loud shouts of someone all too familiar. You look to your left and see Ridoc on the top of a brown swordtail, again the same one from presentation. What are the fucking odds?
"Look at us, princess! We're riders!" the joy in his tone is infectious and you can't help but smile as he risks throwing one of his hands in the air to feel the wind. Despite your joy, you feel grumbles beneath you and look down to see your dragon shooting sideways glances at Ridoc's dragon.
"Are you alright?" you shout over the wind, "Do you not like that dragon? We saw you two the other day!"
"Not so loud girl, I can hear your thoughts just fine. I know you saw me, dragons remember much better than humans," Her tone is short, clearly she's irritated.
"That's Ridoc, he hates me." you give the whole 'mental talking thing' a go.
"Don't be stupid, girl, I said I saw you two that day, he was begging for me not to kill you."
"Well I saw you two that day too, you're practically shooting fire through your eyes at his dragon now but the two of you were rolling around in the grass together the other day..." Shit. Maybe you shouldn't have said that, red dragons are known for being notoriously angsty. A grumble reverberates through her chest as she flies faster, and out of range from Ridoc and his dragon.
"Aotrom has been trying to mate with me since we were adolescents, we're both still too young to mate but he doesn't seem to give up,"
"Oh so he likes you, that's what this is about."
"Yes but he's insufferable about it, you saw him, he laid on top of me!" her body seemed to grow even hotter with the annoyance running through her. This conversation was all too familiar.
The two of you continued talking until you landed most of the cadets already back. It was odd but strangely comforting talking to Cairistìona, the two of you feeling the same things.
Ridoc had landed just after you, running over and pulling you in a hug before spotting Rhiannon and doing the same to her. He was too excitable, you don't even know if he noticed it was you he was hugging. Rhiannon came over to you and gathered you in her strong arms.
"I'm so happy!" She squealed. "Fierge told me that's the same red you saw in the field the other day."
"Yeah, Cairis," You return her embrace and turn your head to look where you left her. Aotrom–Ridoc's dragon–was rubbing against her like a cat and chortling, she whipped her head around and blew a small cloud of fire at the brown dragon.
"Hey!" you hear Ridoc shout, running over to Aotrom. "Tell her to back off!"
"Oh he's fine," you defend Cairis walking to where she bares her teeth at Ridoc. "Dragons are fireproof, and besides, he was in her personal space."
"He likes her, can't you tell her that!" he cries, Aotrom lowering his nose to receive attention from Ridoc, gods these boys were going to be menaces.
"Tell the boy I already know and don't want to talk about it." Cairis turns her head in a pout.
"She knows Ridoc, and she doesn't care, maybe you should tell him to leave her alone!" you fold your arms across your chest, watching Ridoc as he walks closer to you.
"Oh please, he's not going to give her up, she's his mate!" your voices arguing carried across the field, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Sawyer and Rhiannon approaching and you briefly worry about Violet.
"Not yet she's not! And I pray to Amari they never do mate because that means I'll have to spend the rest of my life miserable!" the two of you are inches apart now his warm brown eyes staring into yours.
"Woah, woah, calm down guys," Sawyer says as Rhiannon pulls you back.
"You have no idea, princess I'd rock your world," he smirks and you're sure your face blooms red, out of anger or because he flirted. You had not a clue.
"Want me to torch him? He reminds me of a certain dragon, maybe they can burn together..." you hear Cairis' voice in the back of your head.
"NO." Your response is too quick and you know it.
"Oh...you don't like him do you?"
"No, I just...he's still my friend...I think. He just annoys the ever-loving shit out of me. And don't pretend you'd kill Aotrom too, we both know you could've killed him already."
"Don't forget your place little one," Cairis' voice looms louder before she turns with a whip of her tail, the poison barb inches from Aotrom's face. "Now go to your friend she just returned, the Empyrean has much to talk about now."
Violet was certainly a force to be reckoned with, you'd learned that early on. But bonding two dragons? And one of them being one of the most powerful...gods, she was something. The Empyrean discussed while the rest of your squad sat in the grass and waited. Rhiannon and Sawyer separated you and Ridoc before you got into any more arguments. This was good because Ridoc was going on and on about how hard he was going to be celebrating tonight with the rest of the new rider cadets, as well as deciding who he wanted to take to bed. You couldn't help the annoyance (jealousy?) that came from it.
"Yeah right, Gamlyn, like anyone wants to go to bed with you after the long day we've had," you scoff, not able to hold back your comment.
"I can be relaxing, want me to show you, princess?" He retorts. How does he always have something to say back?!
"Down boy," Rhi jokes, "she already has to deal with you and now she has to deal with your dragon too, give it a rest." You throw Rhiannon a thankful gaze before your dragons approach you again.
"Time for you to sleep girl, we start flight maneuvers this week, rest up." You stand to greet Cairis and her head nestles in your hands. She seemed to have a bit of a temper but you knew she would do anything to protect you now. You were bonded. So you watched her launch into the sky before heading back to the caves of the Vale, Aotrom following behind her like a love-sick puppy.
The next few weeks grew harder, all your free time thrown into school work and flight maneuvers, and since Violet was attacked Dain has ordered squad hand-to-hand combats every Tuesday night. You could tell that even Ridoc was getting weary, his comments to you had just turned to eye rolls. He would still throw one in now and again during flight, Cairis and Aotrom's petty snaps at each other made it difficult for you not to fight with one another. You'd managed to talk Cairis into being gentler with Aotrom–at least when you were around–if only to give you a slight sense of peace. But just like his rider, Aotrom was untamable.
It was a Tuesday night, you were in the training room and everyone began to spar with one another. Ridoc had tried to convince Liam to join him but Liam refused now that he was Violet's guardian so Imogen stepped in. You and Sawyer worked on your blocks with one another when Xaden and Garrick walked in. The two stripped their shirts off and began to spar with one another. You hear a low whistle as Violet and Rhiannon, even Imogen from where she held Ridoc in a headlock had their heads turned to watch the bulky, chiseled men fighting each other. To be fair it was boiling in the training room that night, the heat was cranked due to the cold December snows, and nearly every man had his shirt removed, including Sawyer across from you and the girls all in their training vests. Ridoc taps in fast succession before Imogen releases him and you're all dismissed by Dain for a water break. You chug from your bottle as Rhiannon approaches next to you.
"Did you see those two?" she asks you, talking about Xaden and Garrick. They were sure something to look at, their winding rebellion relics and dragon relics covering them. "Makes me feel way too straight looking at them..." she draws off and you giggle at her, looking over to see Violet who is practically drooling at Xaden.
"I don't know if I want to be them or be with them," you hear Ridoc speak from the other side of you. You turn to see him drinking his water, small dribbles falling down his chest–his now bare chest–as he pants heavily. You thought Xaden and Garrick were something sure... but Ridoc...holy Dunne. You knew he'd gained some muscle since he'd gotten here, but you didn't know he was fully jacked now! His body was fully carved by the gods. Maybe he wasn't as chiseled as Xaden or built like an ox like Garrick but he was...perfect. Your body grows hotter than it already was your mind racing. Why were you reacting like this to Ridoc of all people? Sawyer was just as attractive and way nicer. It had been happening way too often for this to just be a one-time thought.
"Ever occur to you maybe you like him?" Ciaris asks, listening to your thoughts.
"Not now," You reply quickly before putting up your shields and blocking her out.
"Hey, princess, want a rematch?" Ridoc asks, a grin plastered on his face. "No weapons this time?" You're sure your face was bright red at this point, your whole body at that. You just shake your head before gathering your stuff, haphazardly throwing your flight jacket on. You had to get out of here now.
"Hey where are you going?" you hear Violet call to you as you leave to ask Dain if you can leave early to finish homework.
"I have way too much homework, gonna see if Dain'll let me off 30 minutes early," you respond, still walking to your squad leader. He gives you the okay, and you go to walk past the rest of your squad before leaving the training room.
"I thought we were studying tonight for the math exam tomorrow?" Sawyer asks and you halt your steps. Oh shit, you'd forgotten, and Ridoc would have to be there, he was the best of you at math.
"Oh...um-yeah! Just wanted to shower first, just come to my room, we can study in there." Right a cold shower, would help. Then it would be fine to see Ridoc again, with his shirt on.
The cold water sprayed over you and you quickly cleaned yourself and washed your hair, rinsing away all your impure thoughts with the water. Once back to your room, you run oil through the ends of your long hair, still not having cut it since parapet, though now you'd kept it safely tied back. It was so much nicer to have your own room after being in the barracks for months. You sit at your desk and look over your workload, deciding to get some history done before the others come to study.
You hadn't realized how much time had passed before there was a knock at your door. You leap up from your chair, a smile on your face ready to greet the rest of your crew, but when you open the door your smile falls.
"Really? Are you that disappointed? I thought you were lightening up, didn't realize you were still a brat," Ridoc walks into your room and shuts the door behind him, flopping on your bed like he lived in there–at least he was clean, you could tell by his damp, tousled hair.
"Where are the others?" you ask turning from where you still stand by the door in your loose black sleep pants and a vest.
"'Hi Ridoc, hello, nice to see you' would be the appropriate response," he taunts, tossing his bag on the ground before laying back on your bed, his hands behind his head. You don't even respond to him, only giving him an annoyed look before he rolls his eyes and answers your question. "Sawyer took a fist to the face from Aetos, Rhiannon is taking him to the healers, broken nose. And Violet has whatever she has going on with Riorson...I don't even want to know. They said to go without them, that you'd need the most help with math anyway." He sits up again on your bed scooting to the edge, seemingly not able to sit still.
"Whatever, I'll just fail, you can go back to your room," you complain heading to your desk and shutting your history books.
"No, it's okay, princess. I can help you."
"I don't want your help, Ridoc, just go," You turn and face where he sat on your bed, his face unreadable.
"Seriously? You're that proud?" his words strike you across the face, his mouth turned downward in a frown as he stands and takes a step towards you.
"I'm not proud!" you fumed, "I just know you're going to tease me for being so shitty at math!"
"You think that little of me?" he takes another step forward, "Sure, I like to tease you but don't mistake me, I wouldn't tease you over something you struggle with!" this is the most serious you've seen him. But you still have some confidence left.
"Really?! Because you've already done that!" you shout back at him, thankful that you have a sound shield on your door so no one hears you seething at each other.
"When?!" he retorted, throwing his arms to the side in confusion. You wrack your brain, looking for the right words to describe how it had made you feel.
"Every-fucking-day Ridoc! It's constant taunting and I just don't know how to respond! With everyone else, you're nice and funny but you just have it out for me! I know I started it when I slapped you, and I know I don't make it easy with how I respond, but I thought at least when you humiliated me after challenging me you would let go!" tears are welled up in your eyes from the amount of anger you feel. You thought you'd get Ridoc with that, you thought he'd break and apologize like the nice guy you know he is, but a terrifyingly playful smirk grew on his lips.
"Ever take a moment and think it's cause you're always acting like a brat, princess?" he takes another step towards you and another, and another, until he's hovering over you, your back pressed against your desk, his face only inches from yours. "Yes, I tease you, I tease all our friends, but you're the only one who stays acting like I'm some sort of fucking villain when I stop." You think about it. Truly think about it. Were you the only one? He was an over-confident smart-ass he made comments to everyone, so why did it bother you so much?
"Ah, cat got your tongue?" your breath is caught in your throat and you watch as he raises a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Y'know, I saw you staring at me tonight, you're not nearly as sly as you ought to be..." he was fucking teasing you again. But the way he was doing this...gods your body was on fire.
"I don't know what you're talking about," you lie, your voice barely a whisper. You look up and meet his eyes, his warm eyes, pools of chocolate that you could just melt in, and he is looking at you, really looking at you. In this moment you felt as if he could read your soul on a piece of paper.
"We both know that's not true," his voice dangerously low and confident. "And I think we both know that all you need..." his hand that tucked your hair behind your ear moves and he begins to trace your neck with the backs of his fingers, "is to give up control." You know your heart is beating out of control now. His hand now moved to grasp the side of your neck tightly, his other hand braced on the desk behind you. You were trapped against his body, the same way you were trapped when he held you against the mat, and it felt so good.
Before you could ask him for more, or surge up to kiss him like you may or may not have thought of doing while you were in the shower, he moves away and your body slinks in disappointment.
"Wanna know why I tease you?" he asks, his back turned to you as he picks up the trinkets on your bedside table.
"Desperately," you sigh out, hoping for an actual answer. He turns again a smirk on his face as he looks at the absolute mess he'd made of you already. He backs up and sits on the edge of your bed again, his legs spread wide before he answers you.
"Because it riles you up."
"Well I think I gathered that," you roll your eyes and look down at your hands.
"That first day after the parapet, I couldn't get over how fucking sexy you looked with that annoyed face," Oh. You knew this was heading somewhere, but for him to flat-out call you sexy made you press your legs together, "I can't get enough of it, even now." he looked away, all of his confidence suddenly gone. "And I wanted to see if once, once, you'd lose it."
"Lose it?" you question, and he laughs at you before running a hand through his dark hair.
"It happened once when you slapped me, and I thought it was going to happen again when I challenged you, but instead, you melted in my hands like a fucking puddle," he shakes his head and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks again, embarrassment evident on your features, "Awe, don't be embarrassed, princess." Gods, why was every fucking word he was saying making the wetness pool in your core?
"Ridoc?" You ask him, taking a step away from the desk and towards him, he hums in response, looking you over from head to toe, studying every inch of you. "You said that night, after presentation, that if you wanted to get a girl, you'd just 'tease her' and 'tackle her to the ground' like Cairis and Aotrom," you felt a bit silly saying his same words over again but continued, your voice still quiet, "is that...what you've been doing with me?" You take another step forward, "all the taunting, then challenging me...was that you trying to tell me you like me?" You were close enough to him now that he could just reach out and grab you, and he did.
Ridoc grabbed your arm and pulled you straight between his legs, the largest smile you'd ever seen from him taking up his entire face.
"Took you long enough to figure that out, princess," and there you were, in the arms of Ridoc Gamlyn, the man you'd argued with and fought with for the past several months, and it felt incredible. He seemed like a completely different person, but he wasn't. It was you and your perspective that changed, you were feeling what it felt like to just give into him, letting him tease you and taunt you for his pleasure, giving up your control.
"And do you remember what I said after that?" your breath caught in your throat at the memory. He liked to be in control, in charge. You nodded shyly from where you stood between his legs, all your confidence now lost. His hands that held your arms moved up to cradle your face, and you melted. "Look at you," he hummed, "Tell me. I want to hear you say what I said." you gathered all your courage and looked him in the eye.
"You said that everyone needs to give up control at some point..." your voice still low and quiet. "and that in the bedroom with someone like you is a good place for it."
"Seems like someone remembered well. The look on your face after I said that, gods...made me so fucking hard to see you that flustered." you couldn't help but press your legs together at his words, thinking of him getting so worked up over your reaction to him. "I knew after I challenged you just how easily you'd give in, but that was when I realized that it was me and my words that were getting you so fired up and you just don't know how to respond other than with anger." he was reading you like a damned book. How had he gathered all this when you couldn't even realize the capacity of your feelings?
"Y'know you're a lot smarter than everyone gives you credit for, Gamlyn," you smile a bit, opening yourself up.
"Yeah? I think that deserves a kiss," your instincts take over and you roll your eyes at his comment. One of his hands that held your face moved lower, his long fingers wrapping deftly around your throat and applying slight pressure, the annoyance in your face dropped and you felt your body submitting to him, a whine leaving you at the feeling of his hand on your throat. "Really, princess? I thought you were done with the attitude?" His voice is deep and raspy and he licks his lips as he watches your expression. Oh to feel that tongue on your body.
"I'm sorry...I just..." you trail off, your body practically quivering at this point in anticipation.
"'Just-just' what?" He mocks you. Fuck it. You couldn't wait any longer. You surge forward and capture his lips in yours. He's taken aback for a moment but it doesn't last long before he's devouring you. It's a mess of tongue and teeth as he pulls your body against him, his fingers tangling in the hair at the base of your neck, "Still got some fire left in you? We'll see about that..." he mumbles out between kisses.
You're desperate for more, your hands moving all along his body before he picks you up as if you weigh nothing switches places with you, and pushes you back until you're laying against your bed. Your hands reach the bottom of his shirt and you begin to tug wanting more than anything to feel his skin on yours, but he stops you. Oh. Was he upset? You thought he wanted this...
"Huh uh, princess..." he drawls out, his voice like honey. Okay, he's still turned on, what was this about?! He takes a step back from you, his eyes raking over your body that was on the precipice of convulsing. "I've wanted this for too long, and once I have you...gods, I don't think I'll ever be able to keep myself away from you." your face scrunches in confusion, was he asking you to be his girlfriend right now?
"What do you mean?" you ask, looking for clarity.
Ridoc runs his palms over his face in exasperation before raking them through his still-damp hair. He seemed almost stressed. Whatever control he held just a moment ago, he was letting go of, showing you his full, raw, emotions. "I mean that I like you. A lot. Probably more than I should. And I don't want this to be a one-time thing. I want you fully and wholly. I'll even stop teasing you if that's what it takes for you to say yes! Even though you look so damned cute with your little frown." he smiles at the end of his sentence as if remembering the specific look on your face. You couldn't help the smile that grew on your face, as if only now you'd recognize the capacity of your feelings. You'd been drawn to him before but your inability to give in to him was what was holding you back. But you were ready to let go.
"I don't want it to either..." You look him in the eye and reach out to pull him into you again, placing a small kiss on the tip of his nose before continuing. "I want you to have me, I'm done running away from you. Take me, Ridoc." You took his hands that were still nervously tangled in his hair and place them on your waist, a physical way of showing him what you just told him.
"I want you to be sure, sweetness. I don't know if I can hold myself back from you, I can get prettyyy...excited." He grips your waist harder, testing the waters.
"I want you to take charge, Ridoc, I want you to do whatever you want to me, I'm at your mercy," you're all but begging him at this point to just give you everything he's teased to you.
"Fuck..." He groans out, leaning down and burying his face in your neck causing the flesh on your arms to rise at the feeling. He places sloppy kisses there, searching for the spot that will drive you nuts. Once he hears your little moans as he kisses the spot right behind where your jaw and earlobe meet he begins to nip and suck, marking you for everyone to see. "Y'know when I pinned you to that mat, I was about certain you were going to finish right there, sadly I was mistaken. But I learned that you seem to really like being beneath me." Even then he could tell that you were lost in him, and he took this opportunity to put you in the same position he held you in that day.
You lay with your head at the top of the bed, Ridoc's hands pinning your wrists to the pillow behind you, his legs tangled in yours. You moan lightly at the sight above you as he works kisses down your chest and to your cleavage where your shirt cuts off. You try to move your hands to reach down and take off your top, but his grip on your wrists is firm. You hear him laugh at your attempt pathetically against your chest, the heat of his breath causing a shiver to run down your spine. You whine at the loss of your ability to move, your body on fire for him to touch you more, but he keeps lingering with his hot lips all over your neck and chest.
"What? Want more?" He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes glazed over and lips swollen. He looked utterly sinful.
"Please..." you beg, attempting to move your arms again to see if his grip has loosened.
"I think that's the first time you've ever used that word with me," he ignores your plea and licks down your chest, his teeth nipping the edge of your top, pulling it down slightly.
"Ridoc, please, you said you wouldn't tease!" your voice raises slightly a sliver of shame entering your body with how you were begging him.
"Well that wouldn't be as much fun," he states but removes his hands anyway and moves them to the bottom of your top moving it up inch by inch, feeling your warm skin beneath his hands, "you're so fucking hot when you beg for me." his hands reach the bottom of your unbound breasts and his fingers creep up tauntingly. Your now free hands shoot out and reach for him, you sit up your mouth going straight for his, you couldn't get enough of how good he tasted. "Slow down there, princess, mm-wanna take my time," he murmurs through your lips.
"You've made me wait long enough...please just take me," he seems to let go at your words, his hands fully enveloping your breasts and squeezing, a hum sounds from his throat at the feeling. His fingers move to pluck at your hardened peaks, and you move yours to the edges of your top, breaking the kiss to remove it.
"Oh, gods, knew you'd look this good," Ridoc says, his voice just as desperate as you felt. But you waste no time, as soon as your shirt is removed you start pawing at his to take it off. Once it's off you wrap your arms around him mouth moving to his neck to taste him just as he did to you, the feeling of your hot skin together driving you mad. He grunts at the sensation of your mouth on his neck, only giving in momentarily before grabbing you by the waist and pulling you to the edge of the bed as he stands up. As soon as he stood he reached for the waistband of his pants and removed his belt in one motion and undoing the button. He takes off his pants quickly, his painfully hard cock bouncing up to hit against his toned stomach. Wow. Ridoc talked a big talk when it came to his dick. You'd always thought it was a part of his jokes, but the evidence was here in front of you and he was not joking.
"Oh gods..." You moan out at the sight, not being able to hold back from sinking to your knees in front of him as he tugged at himself, "Please let me taste you."
"Hmph, not today," He says and reaches down to help you off your knees and shove you back onto the bed, "I'm about to finish just seeing you on your knees, and I want to cum inside you first." His words are filthy and it spurs you on more. You sigh dejectedly, your mouth watering at the sight of his leaking tip, you can't help but reach a hand out to try and feel him, but he slaps your hand away, pushing on the middle of your chest until you're lying flat against the bed. "I said, not today, or don't you want me to taste you first? Don't you think you deserve it? You've been so patient...but I can always take it back and wait till tomorrow to fuck you..."
"No! Please! I'll be good, I'll stay put!" you sit up on your elbows, an acute fear growing in your body at the thought of him leaving you here until tomorrow.
"Hm, that's more like it," Ridoc approves, removing his hand from his cock and to your pants, dragging them and your panties down far too slowly. You do your best to be patient and hold back your whines, you know that it's a test. He kneels in front of the bed and spreads your legs open his calloused fingertips running along the inside of your thighs, drawing up closer to your center. "I really did get you worked up didn't I?" Ridoc remarks before dragging a fingertip through your dripping wet core. You don't hold back your sounds knowing he's about to make you feel incredible.
Ridoc's mouth on your pussy is unlike anything you'd felt, he meant it when he said he knew how to pleasure a woman just as well as a man. Your hands moved and threaded through his mop of hair as he licked and sucked, hardly letting up at all. One of the hands that held your thighs tightly moved to your lower stomach and pressed down to keep you from squirming, a hard grunt coming from his throat in warning. The other hand moved lower and rubbed at your clit in slow motions. It was all too much, the pleasure coursing through your veins, the realization that Ridoc was the one making you feel that good. You were a mess.
The fingers on your clit slipped lower and teased at your entrance a finger slipping in at a slow pace. You whine, trying to buck your hips forward in an attempt for it to go deeper.
"Ah ah, what did I say?" Your whines echo through the room at his words but you comply anyway, stopping your squirming. He makes a noise in approval before continuing his ministrations, adding another finger and pumping them gently, all while switching between long strokes and little licks with his tongue on your clit. Your body convulses when he curls his fingers into a spot that makes you see stars. Ridoc doesn't move fast in this process and doesn't try to bring you to your peak immediately. His strokes are consistent and thoughtful, he notices your reactions to every single one of his movements and plays to them. He's deliberate with his motions and brings you to peak gently, continuing his gestures throughout.
"Please, fuck me now, Ridoc, I don't want to wait," You tug at his hair trying to bring him up to kiss you. But he stays, lapping up your release before pressing kisses to the insides of your thighs. Then your stomach. All along your hips. No place is untouched by his lips. "Ridoc!" you beg louder, pulling harder at his hair. His hands grip your waist tighter, fingers digging with a pressure that you were sure to feel tomorrow. But he doesn't stop peppering your body with kisses, ignoring your words. "Baby please..."
"That's enough," he scolds, pulling on your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. He grabs your ass roughly before bringing his other hand down on it in a slap. You squeal at the act but pleasure runs through your core all the same. "You want to be fucked? Hm?" His voice degrading. "Let's see how you handle it then." He says before slapping his hand on your ass again and plunging into you in succession.
"Fuck!" your voice pitches at the feeling of his cock stretching you out.
"Yeah? You begged for it, princess. Now take it," Ridoc's voice was rough and demanding, the sound of it made your mind reel. You let your body and mind give in to the feeling. The sound of his hips slapping your ass and the feeling of his balls hitting your clit with the angle made your head go foggy. All it was was you and Ridoc. Your bodies were one as he pounded into you. He fucked you hard, a contrast from just minutes ago when he was gently licking into your cunt, and you couldn't get enough of it.
You lean back and face Ridoc, watching the fucked out look on his face took you to a new level. You reached back to grab the back of his neck and bring his lips to yours. You needed him everywhere. "Please," you risk your words, "I want to look at you." His controlling guise fell for a moment as he gave in to your plea.
"Alright, sweetness" he listens, pulling out momentarily to turn you onto your front before plunging back into you. Moans tumble out of your mouth as you revel in the new angle, his cock pushing deeper into you. His head falls to the crook of your neck and he presses sloppy kisses all along you. You grasp at his face, needing to feel his lips on yours as you feel the resistance at your core pulling tighter. Your sounds get louder as you get closer and Ridoc's hand reaches down to play with your clit. "That's it, you're taking me so well." He groans out, his face turning up in pleasure. He was just as close as you were. It reaches you faster than it did the first time, the orgasm peaking quickly and hard. Ridoc fucks you through it, his thrusts growing sloppier as he gets closer. He looks at you with a questioning gaze.
"Fill me up, Ridoc, please," you answer his unasked question, knowing you were both on the fertility supplement that Basgiath provided. That was all the permission he needed before he thrust a few more times and spilled inside of you. The warm feeling almost brings you to finish a third time. His head falls to your chest as he breathes deeply, trying to catch his breath. You comb your fingers through his hair and press a kiss to the top of his head, a smile gently growing on your face.
He catches his breath for another moment before pulling out and standing. He picked through his clothes on the ground and slipped on his boxers and loose pants.
"Are you leaving?" you as suddenly, your voice tinged with fear. You sit up and try to cover yourself with your hands. Ridoc stands up straight, his long-sleeved shirt in hand.
"No, princess, don't worry," He smiles and hands you his shirt to put on before taking a tissue from your desk and moving closer to you. He gently pushes you to lay back again and brings the tissue to clean between your thighs. A soft gasp escapes you from the sensitivity, "Shh, sh, it's okay." Ridoc's voice was so soft, so thoughtful. Your heart melted as you thought of his earlier comments. He's liked you for so long now, more than he should in his words. You let him finish cleaning you and lay back in your bed, finding the covers and crawling under them, holding out the edge for Ridoc to come under as he walks back from turning off the light.
The moonlight that shined through the window barely illuminated your room as you lay next to Ridoc, he lay against your chest, arms wrapped around your waist. You rest your head atop his as your fingers trace the relic that Aotrom left him on the top of his muscular arm. He buries his head deeper into you before speaking.
"I don't think Cairis will be very happy about this," You laugh at his comment but know it's true, you let your shields down just slightly letting her presence flow through you.
"I'm not," her voice deadpan and sharp. Well, you can deal with it later.
"She'll get over it," You respond, letting your eye drift closed.
"Maybe, she'll learn from you and let Aotrom in," Ridoc thinks aloud, "He's very convinced that she's his mate and that she's going to give in soon enough. You did with me..." You smile, thinking of your dragons and the similarities you all share. You'd noticed it before, everyone had. Maybe it was just a matter of time before Cairis would give into Aotrom's relentlessness. You sort of hoped that she would if her feelings were anything like yours.
"Don't get your hopes up..." Cairis enters your head again, clearly annoyed.
You woke the next morning far too late, the early morning sun was shining through your window. Fuck. Your math exam. You sit up out of your bed quickly, noticing that Ridoc had already gone and you briefly remember him kissing you on the forehead before he left for his early watch duty before classes. You smile to yourself at the memories of last night, but only give yourself a second before rushing up and gathering all of your things for class and running straight there, knowing you'd already missed breakfast.
At least the math exam was first thing this morning so you could get it over with, but unfortunately, you were most definitely failing after not studying last night. The class was about to start as you entered and Violet waved a hand over to where she and the rest of the first years of your squad were sitting. Ridoc smirks at you and scoots over to make room for you. Your friends could tell by your panicked look that something was off.
"You okay?" Rhiannon asks from the other side of Ridoc.
"Yeah, you look tired. How was studying last night?" Sawyer says, turning from his seat in front of you to join the conversation, his nose only healed and not mended telling from the bruises. Before you had the chance to respond Ridoc interjects.
"We uh...didn't get much studying done last night if you know what I mean," he swings his arm over your shoulder and draws you close, planting a kiss on your cheek. You push him away out of annoyance.
"Ridoc!" you chide. "We didn't even talk about if we were going to tell anyone!" you say lower talking only to him.
"What the fuck?!" Rhi shouts, gaining the attention of the rest of the class before grimacing and quieting down.
"They were gonna find out sooner or later, princess, I can't keep my fucking hands off you," he explains, diving in again and pressing another kiss to your neck this time. Shivers run down your spine at the feeling before you remember where you are and push him off of you again.
"What happened?" Violet asks leaning in on the other side of you, Ridoc's hand now moving to grab at your thigh, she looks away in disgust at the sight, "Never mind, I don't want to know..." she fakes a gag, and Rhi and Sawyer look to each other with a mass of confusion before breaking out in laughter.
"They fucked, obviously," Liam says casually from the other side of Violet where he's working on a wood carving.
"Thanks, Liam, like they hadn't gathered that already..." you say sarcastically and bury your head in your hands.
"I'm scarred," Sawyer says, barely able to contain his laughs. You groan in embarrassment as the professor walks in and starts giving directions on the exam. Yep. You were failing. Ridoc caught the worry in your face and he leaned into you.
"It's okay, princess, you can cheat off me," he winks and leans back away, but leaves his hand on your thigh still, giving it a light squeeze. Shit. It was going to be hard to focus now.
Ridoc’s eyes narrow. “I’m just as good of a fighter as any of you, and while you’ve been focused on rehab and Rhiannon is chasing first-years to keep them in line, I’ve been the one reading every fucking book Jesinia shoves at me and spending extra hours training—” The skin on the orange splits. “It really pisses me off when you guys act like my sense of humor somehow lessens my ability to show up for our squad.”
Summary: How would our Fourth Wing men react to walking in on their girl pleasuring themselves? Let's find out.
Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Masturbation. Use of pet names. Signet Use - Shadowplay. Voyeurism. Teasing/Stimulation. Oral (F receiving). Insinuated P in V unprotected Sex. Very very slight Onyx Storm spoiler (use of a line a character says).
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Garrick
This man would just walk into your room without even knocking, catching you in the act. At first you wouldn’t even notice he was there, too caught up in what you we’re doing. Eyes closed as you pleasure yourself, your brain thinking of how good Garrick had looked earlier in challenges.
Garrick would close the door behind him quietly, his eyes completely focused on you and what you’re doing. His eyes watching every move you make, listening to the little moans and gasps coming from your lips. He’d be content on watching till just the right moment to make his presence known. Which is when his name falls from your lips.
He walks over to your bed, quietly removing his shirt and boots so he doesn’t alert you to his presence, before kneeling next your bed and pulling you towards him. Garrick chuckles as you shriek with surprise before trying to scramble away and cover yourself.
He’d tighten his grasp on your hips before standing up and leaning over you, pinning your wrists above your head as he looks down at your. “Where do you think you’re going sweetheart? You can’t moan my name like that and not expect me to do something about it.”
Before you can respond Garrick kneels back down and continues what you’d stopped, his fingers and mouth having you moaning and gasping before coming all over them multiple times.
Bodhi
He’d also just walk in, but unlike Garrick he would not be as subtle about it. He’d walk in, look over at your bed, eyes going wide as he scrambles to shut the door behind him with a loud bang which startles you.
Bodhi just stares at you with his hand still on the door he’s slammed shut. Torn between shocked and turned on at what he’s walked in on you doing, which causes you to giggle at him as you get up and walk over to him.
His eyes trailing over your naked body as you walk over to him, still unsure how to react to what he saw. He’s also a little hurt you had resorted to pleasuring yourself. But he was meant to be gone on a supply run till tomorrow.
Just as you get to him he’d snap out of it, grabbing your arm before he spins you both around, pinning you to the door before he kneels in front of you. Smirking up at you as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, exposing you to him.
“Don’t worry darling, I’m here to take care of you now.” He tells you before devouring you.
Xaden
He’d know what you were up to before he even walked in to the door. He’d sneak in so he wouldn’t disturb you, leaning up against the door as he watches you pleasure yourself. Listening to the little noises you’d make while you pleasure yourself.
He wouldn’t walk over to you, instead he’d try something a little different. He’d control his shadows, slowly creeping them towards you so you wouldn’t be alerted to their presence and therefore his. Slowly they’d caress your body, adding to what you’re doing.
After a while Xaden wouldn’t be able to help himself and would make his presence known. His shadows no longer being soft and gentle. Instead they would wrap around your wrists, pulling them above your head as your eyes snap open and meet Xaden’s onyx eyes as he leans over you.
“So desperate. Not even a night and you’re already pleasuring yourself.” He’d teases as his shadows caress your body, causing you to tug at the one’s holding your wrists captive before you throw your head back and moan as they caress between your legs. “Now let me show you how it’s actually done.”
Liam
He’d close the door behind him lean up against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and smirk at the sight before him.
“Well, what do we have here?” He’d tease, not even trying to hide the fact he’s walked in on you.
You go to cover yourself up at the shock of Liam walking in on you, but he rushes forward and stops you, a soft smile on his lips as he looks down at you, his blonde hair flopping into his eyes.
“Don’t stop on my behalf love.” He’d say softly before kneeling between your legs, shrugging off his jacket and shirt. “We’re just getting started.”
He’d pull you back down the bed towards him as you yelp and giggle at his actions, before leaning in and placing soft kisses on your inner thigh before continuing what you’d started.
Dain
He’d be about to walk in, hand on the door handle when he’d hear you cry out. He’d mistake it for you being in pain and rush in ready to help you, but stop mid stride as your eyes snap open and meet his while you’re fingers are still inside you.
“Close the door!” You’d shriek at him, grabbing a pillow to throw at him before he quickly shuts the door, even though it’s later at night and no one is out in the halls. “I thought you were on patrol tonight?”
That was the only reason you’d chosen to do what you were doing. You were needy, had been craving him after watching him win his challenge with ease. But he’d been assigned patrol tonight, and you knew he wouldn’t drop it for the fact you were horny and desperate for him. So you’d done what you always did when he had a late night patrol.
“They had too many people on so they gave me the night off.” He tells you as he walks over to you. He reaches out and cups your cheek, not intending to read your thoughts, but because he’s so tired his shields aren’t as strong as they usually were. And he gets an insight to your thoughts. And he see’s this is not the first time you’ve done this.
“Do you do this every time I have patrol?” He says with shock, not expecting this to be a regular occurrence.
You bite your lip and nod as you aver your eyes from his, not sure if he’s angry that you do this regularly. It’s not your fault he looks so good taking on his opponents during challenges and always has patrols the same night.
“Eyes on me.” He tells you as he grips your chin and turns your head back towards him, causing your breath to catch in your throat. “Let’s get you taken care of.”
Brennan
He’d walk in as per normal, completely run down and tired from a day dealing with the assembly, shrugging out of his clothes. He’d look up, seeing your bed empty. You’d clearly been here though, the sheets messed up as if you’d gone to lie down.
Then he hears it. Your soft moans echoing from the bathroom door that’s open ever so slightly. The sound already having him hard and wanting you even with how tired and drained he is.
He pushes open the door to see you sat in the bathtub facing away from him, head thrown back over the edge with your eyes shut as you moan and shiver.
As he gets closer he can hear the water running, but the bath sounds suspiciously empty. And that’s when he see’s why you’re sat the way you are. The water is on, but it’s purpose is not to fill the bath. It’s to pleasure you, while you pump your fingers in and out. He can’t deny he’s not impressed by your creativeness.
He leans over the bathtub, being careful not to touch you as he turns the water off. Your eyes fly open, meeting Brennan’s amber eyes as he braces himself on the edge of the bathtub and looks down at you.
“Look at you being creative in my absence.” He teases as he reaches out and caresses your cheek, his thumb running over your swollen lip where you’ve tugged and dragged it though your teeth. “Now lets get you dried off so I can finish what you’ve started.”
Aaric
He would not be subtle about walking in on you. You wouldn’t hear him walk in, but he’d make his presence known. He’d stand there, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at you.
“Well, what do we have here.” He’d tease, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips as you startle at his words, sitting upright as you scurry back on your bed clutching your chest till you realise it’s Aaric in your room.
He’d walk over to your bed, slowly taking off his boots, jacket and shirt before slowly undoing the ties of his pants and pushing them down his legs, watching as you squirm under his gaze before he kneels on your bed.
He’d grasp your ankles, pulling you towards him as you yelp in surprise. He’d push your legs apart before positioning himself between them and leaning over you as he braces himself on your bed with a hand either side your head.
He’d rock back and forth, the head of his dick slowly back and forth, teasing you as you squirm beneath him. “Someone’s needy tonight.” He’d murmur against your lips.
“P-please Aaric.” You’d beg as he continues to slowly rock back and forth, sometimes pushing the tip in just a little bit before pulling back out and going back to what he was doing.
“Please what? Use your words sweetheart.” He’d tell you, wanting you to beg for him. He might despise his father and everything his family stands for. But he can’t help but crave the way you beg and plead for him to please you.
And finally you do, begging him to fuck you, to ruin you. To give you what you’d been imagining in your mind before he walked in. “Good girl.”
You’re a thick, soft little enchantress with perfect makeup, 6-inch heels, and a wand you bedazzled with rhinestones. Your tits jiggle when you cast. Your spellbook’s pink. And you don’t have a care in the world—until you go into the rotting catacombs and find him. An orc warlord cursed into stillness. The spell broke the moment your perfume hit the ward.
♡•2,770 words, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), Orc x Blackfem!reader, Dubcon(just to be safe), Size kink, Bent over a tomb->Carry fuck, Oral(m), Praise & degradation, Dirty talk, Crying due to sexual intensity, Choking, Kissing, etc•♡
❤︎18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ❤︎
The dungeon smells like sweat, mildew, and old copper.
And you don’t belong here. Not in these shoes. Not with this face.
Six-inch patent leather heels click against stone, loud and glossy. A tight little robe, fuchsia silk clinging to your waist like it owes you rent. Gold bangles chime when you raise your wand. Your lips are lined, glossy, perfect.
You look like you came to hex a sugar daddy into submission. Not break a thousand-year curse on a buried warlord.
You blow a pink bubble, pop it with a snap. “Ugh, this place is like… sooo gross.” You roll your eyes and fluff your hair with your free hand. “Let’s make this quick, okay?”
The crypt yawns open at your feet.
You descend.
-
You feel him before you see him.
Old magic coils around your ankles, thick and sticky like spit. The kind of enchantment that wasn’t built to ward or protect. This wasn’t holy magic. This was warning. Repulsion.
But you keep going, swaying your hips with each step. “Ew, it’s sticky and gross.” You squeal under your breath. “Hope it’s not bad for my shoes.”
Candlelight doesn’t reach the last stair. You cast your own—lazy, one-handed. Your fingers sparkle with pink-glittered glow as you twirl the wand. Light blooms in a slow drip down the corridor like syrup.
You feel it pulse in response.
The weight of something waiting.
Something hungry.
-
At the end of the hall: a shrine. Black stone. Gold rot. A throne carved from animal bones and war banners. And there—slumped forward, still and massive—Him.
The warlord.
You pause in your tracks.
Seven feet at least. Broad across the chest, gut thick with power, thighs spread like a goddamn altar. His green-gray skin shines wet in the heat, tusks exposed in a mouth slightly ajar. His black braids are crusted with dried blood, and his hands—still bound in rusted iron shackles—rest against his knees.
He doesn’t move.
Not yet.
Your heart thumps once.
You twirl your wand. “Just need the relic.”
You lean in.
Take a single step forward.
The wards break with a crack like bone under heel.
He lifts his head.
Just a little.
And grins.
Teeth. Thick, sharp, and yellowed from time and meat. His tusks gleam like fangs.
“Well fuck me,” he says, voice like gravel dragged down your spine. “A little pink thing come to unwrap me?”
Your stomach flips.
You scowl, put on a pout. “Excuse me? I’m like—totally powerful, okay? Don’t be gross.”
You raise your wand again, fast. “Stay over there.”
He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t need to.
The space is already his.
He licks his teeth.
You circle him cautiously, pretending you don’t feel the heat radiating off his body like a furnace. Pretending you don’t notice how his cock—half-hard—rests heavy against his thigh, thick as your wrist and still growing. He watches you the way a starving man watches a plate.
He snorts. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m not,” you say, voice pitched high, breathless. “I’m just—um—hot in here. It’s the dungeon, not me.”
“Right,” he rumbles, unconvinced, eyes pinning you where you stand. The sound scrapes low in his throat, slow as gravel. He tugs at the chains—lazy, testing—and they groan in protest.
You flick your wrist, sharp and practiced. Magic swirls between your fingers, sour pink and pop-berry sweet. It hisses through the air, sparks off his chest then fizzles out, useless.
His eyes gleam gold.
The chains fall off.
Not broken.
Just let go.
Your throat dries.
He stands up slow. Rolls his shoulders. Cracks his neck. The sound is obscene. Then he’s in front of you.
“Go ahead,” he grins, looming. “Tell me again to back up.”
You press the wand to his chest.
He leans into it.
His breath is rank. Sweat, hunger, musk, and blood. You’re already wet and furious about it. Your thighs press together. He sees it. Smells it.
You wrinkle your nose. “Wow, somebody needs a mint and a shower.”
He chuckles low. “You talk a lot for someone shaking in heels.”
“I’m not shaking,” you say. “These are stilettos—they wobble. It’s called balance, duh. Oh, and if you try to hurt me, I’ll turn you into a nasty purple jelly-bean!” the confidence in your voice is ill-placed—particularly since your first spell failed.
His smile goes nasty.
He steps closer, and you don’t move. Just tilt your chin up, eyes fluttering, smirking when he stops a breath away.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he says.
He steps in close. “But I’ll use you.”
You tense.
Not from fear.
From how fast your cunt clenches.
He leans in—nose to your throat—and inhales. His hands hover, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch.
“Pretty little thing in pink,” he rasps. “What’re you hiding under all that glitter?”
You don’t answer.
He laughs. Slow and deep.
Then circles you like meat.
“You ain’t here for relics,” he says. “You’re here ‘cause you wanted a monster to fuck it outta you. Magic girl with pretty tits and a mean mouth. You cast dumb little spells and call it power. I’ll show you what power is.”
You swallow.
He stops behind you.
“Say no.”
You don’t. Not when he presses his hips to your ass and grinds up slow. Not when you feel his cock, hard now, thick and heavy and ready. Not when he groans in your ear, low and primal and real.
You don’t moan.
You don’t gasp.
You clench your teeth and twist your wand in your palm and glare at him like you’re still in control—even as he leans into you, his dick hot and heavy and thick as a club between your thighs.
“You smell like sugar,” he grunts against your ear. “You’re gonna break on my cock, ain’t you?”
Heat rushes through you. You can feel his eyes on you—on the swell of your breasts nearly spilling from your robes, on every soft, greedy curve. His gaze drags over your mouth, your ass, slow and heavy, like he’s tasting you from where he stands.
And for one dangerous second, you wonder how he’d feel inside you. How it’d feel to be split open by someone that big. He’s all muscle and rough edges, green skin slick with sweat, and gods, you hate that it turns you on.
You shake your head hard. No. You’ve dated orcish types before—they’re all bastards. Every single one.
But you’re just a girl, and your feet ache from hours in these damn heels. You didn’t even want this mission. You tried to seduce a warlock into doing the heavy lifting, like usual—but of course, everyone had run off to that stupid festival.
You sneer.
"Ugh, your breath smells like ass.”
He grins wider.
Your thighs tremble.
He runs a hand down your side, thick fingers skating over silk, then lace, then skin. He lifts the hem of your robe with a curl of two knuckles and whistles low.
“You came down here with no damn panties?”
You scoff. “Didn’t expect to be molested by a talking ham hock.”
His hand freezes.
Then grips your hip tight enough to bruise.
He leans in closer. “Keep talkin’, cupcake. I’ll fuck that mouth before you can say abracadabra.”
This is bad, you think. Really bad. If word got back to the council—another one of your scandals—they’d have your head. You’re supposed to be better than this. You curse under your breath. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. About him. Gods, you’re so stupid. Well...only one thing to do now. You twist, break out of his grip, and run.
Your heels scream against the stone. The walls blur. Your tits bounce wildly beneath the ruined robe, makeup smudged, breath ragged, wand clutched tight in your shaking hand. You don’t cast. You don’t even look back.
Until your heel slips—
And you go down.
Hard.
Face-first into cold stone.
Your wand clatters away.
The silence that follows is thick and awful.
You roll over, heart pounding. Completely embarrassed. One of your bra straps has snapped. There’s a cut across your knee. You don’t move.
Because you hear him breathing.
He walks up slow.
Deliberate.
Feet heavy. Steps wide. He doesn’t run. Doesn’t need to. He’s a fucking wall.
You sit up fast and try to get to your knees, but he’s already above you. Already looking down at the little pink mess you’ve become.
His cock hangs half-hard again, drooling from the tip. Your mouth goes dry.
And he laughs.
“Aw, baby,” he growls. “That run got your pussy hotter?”
You slap at him. “Ugh, shut the fuck up!”
He steps closer. “You shaking.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You should be.”
You try to crawl back, but he crouches low, one thick hand curling around your ankle.
He drags you back like you weigh nothing—thighs sliding open, robe slipping off your shoulders until it hangs useless at your elbows. Tits out, lipstick smeared, eyes stinging with tears. Not fear—anger. That robe was expensive. Silk from the southern ports. You didn’t pay for it, obviously, but still. It was yours.
You twist, try to kick, but it’s weak.
You’re wet and mad about it.
“Get off me,” you spit.
He grins again, licking his tusk. “You gonna hex me with your glitter wand, sweetheart?”
“You smell like graveyard dick.”
“Oh, I’m gonna make you cry.”
He rips the rest of your robe open.
Gone.
Torn off like tissue paper.
Now your whole body’s exposed—soft and glistening. Your stomach jiggles when you breathe, tits heavy and bouncing as you squirm. Your thighs are thick and smeared with slick.
He doesn’t even touch your pussy yet—he just looks at it.
Long.
Grinning.
“You been this wet the whole time?”
You lift your chin and pout. “You think that means anything? You’re ugly and old. You look like a bloated toe!”
He snorts, growls—and bends you over the nearest tomb.
He bends you over the tomb like a doll. Cold stone kisses your tits, your cheek, your belly. You try to push up, scramble off, but his hand plants you there—thick and calloused, the weight of it flattening your back, forcing your ass higher.
You whimper.
He grunts.
“Stay just like that, pretty meat.”
Your thighs tremble. You want to fight—but you’re slick and bare and soaking the top of the fucking crypt.
You pout over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”
“You will,” he growls.
His fingers spread your ass open.
You feel the air on your cunt. Humid. Hot. His breath hits your slit and you jerk—shivering, humiliated, soaked through.
Then—
He spits.
Right on your pussy.
The warm slide of it drips down your folds. You gasp, biting your lip, legs twitching.
He watches it drip.
“Dumb little pussy’s hungry already,” he laughs.
“Choke on a tusk,” you snap.
He slaps your ass hard.
You yelp.
Then he’s there—cock thick and drooling—rubbing the head against your pussy like he’s lining up for a meal, not a fuck. He teases the head up and down your slit, slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick.
You twitch.
Try to bite down another whimper.
He catches it.
Smirks.
“You scared now?”
You turn your head, eyes glassy, gloss smeared, and snarl: “Do it, you ugly fuck.”
He growls—deep, primal—and thrusts in.
You scream.
No prep.
No warning.
Just the massive stretch of his cock forcing your cunt wide, burning through you like it’s splitting you in half.
Your nails scratch stone.
You can’t breathe. You clench around him without meaning to, and he moans—low and filthy, hips stuttering forward until he bottoms out. Balls against your clit.
Your walls shake and your voice breaks: “F-Fuck—”
“That’s it,” he grunts, rutting in tiny, brutal thrusts. “Fuckin’ melt on it.”
You sob.
He leans over your back, mouth at your neck, and licks the tear off your cheek.
“You cryin’ already?” he whispers. “Pretty thing, all painted up, but you break so easy.”
You don’t answer.
You can’t.
He grabs your breast, hard, twisting the nipple until you gasp. Then he lowers his mouth to it, sucks hard, tongue dragging over the metal bar through the skin.
You moan. Loud.
Your cunt pulses.
He groans against your chest.
“Dumb magic bitch. Got all wet for the monster. You wanted this, didn’t you?”
You shake your head—but you’re dripping, your thighs sticky and trembling, your pussy clenching around him like it’s begging to keep him in.
“Liar.”
He slams back into you again. Harder.
You scream. Every thrust knocks your tits into the stone, your knees sliding, body helpless under the size of him. Your cunt’s raw, but the slick just grows. You cum—loud, sudden, shaking—and he doesn’t stop.
That’s when he really starts.
He fucks you harder. Faster. Louder. Grunting, slapping your ass, calling you his soft little spellslut. He chokes you, bends you lower, licks the tears from your lips and tells you he’s gonna fill you up like you’re a breeding trough.
“Say thank you,” he growls.
You try. It’s broken. “Th-Thank you…”
He moans. “Fuckin’ pretty meat.”
Then he cums inside you. Hot. Heavy. Too much. You scream again, body convulsing, walls milking every drop. He doesn’t pull out. He just breathes.
Then grabs your hair.
And starts grinding into you again.
-
You’re limp against the tomb—legs jelly, face smeared with tears and spit, your pussy still twitching from the first load he dumped inside you.
Your voice is gone.
You whimper, head lolling to the side, breath ragged.
And he picks you up.
Not gently. Not tender.
He grabs you by the thigh and the small of your back and lifts you like you weigh nothing—just a warm, fucked-open hole and pretty tits for him to bounce on his cock.
You gasp.
He’s still hard. Still thick. Still slick with your cum and his.
You try to say something—
He pushes you down on it.
You scream. High and cracked.
You feel every inch all over again.
Your cunt stretches wide—again—your pussy squelching around his cock as it slides back in. You cry, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into muscle that’s too big, too hot, too real.
He groans. “That’s it.”
One hand supports you under the thigh, the other grabs your hair, pulling your head back so your throat’s exposed.
He fucks you like that—standing, lifting you, bouncing you on his cock with one massive hand yanking your scalp back, the other flexing your leg open to take every brutal thrust.
Your mouth falls open. You make noise. Loud, wet, high. Your body bounces. You drool. You break.
You look at him. Eyes glazed, lips parted, and you kiss him. Sloppy. Deep. Tongue curling into his mouth.
He freezes for half a second.
Then he groas into it. His tusks scrape your lips. You moan into his teeth. Your hips roll into his thrusts now—needy, mindless, fucked out and happy for it.
He pulls away, panting against your mouth.
“Pretty little toy,” he snarls.
You whimper. “Mmhm…”
“You like this cock now, huh?”
You nod, glossy eyes wide. “Y-Yeah… s’too big… hurts…”
“Still takin’ it.”
You cling to him.
“Feels s’good… you’re…” You blink. Slur. “You’re kinda cute. For an orc…”
He laughs—a harsh sound.
“You’re dumb as bricks.”
“Mhm,” you sigh, drooling on his shoulder. “M-More.”
He fucks you deeper. Adjusts the angle—tilts your hips with one hand and slams up until he hits that sweet spot that makes your legs twitch and your moans break into high, squeaky ah-ah-ah sounds.
You wail.
He bites your shoulder. Hard.
You cum again. No warning. Just gushing, twitching, eyes rolling, lips parted in a silent scream.
He doesn’t stop. He fucks through your orgasm, rutting deeper, faster, cock pistoning into your spasming cunt until it’s raw and slick and full of sound.
Your hands dangle. Your voice cracks.
You babble. “L-Love this—y-you fuck so good—feel full—can’t think…”
“That’s ‘cause I fucked the smarts outta you, cupcake.”
You nod like it’s a compliment.
He kisses you again. Harder this time. Hungry. You moan into it. Sloppy tongue, lips bruised, spit everywhere.
He groans and then—He cums inside you again. Hot, thick, pumping deep.
You moan. Body convulsing as the heat floods you, cunt milking him, belly swelling from the pressure.
He holds you through it—fucked limp and breathless in his arms, twitching, ruined.
Then leans in close, nuzzles your cheek, and mutters: “Mine now.”
You can’t walk. Your thighs are shaking. Your cunt is leaking, sore and stretched wide. Your robe’s in pieces. Your mascara’s down your neck. Your own spit’s on your tits.
But your lips are still glossy.
And your mouth is still wet.
He notices. Grins. Grabs your chin. Tilts your head.
“Get on your knees, pretty meat.”
You slide down like you’re made of syrup. Legs folding under you. Face flushed. Eyes glazed. You smile up at him like a good little thing—so sweet, so dumb, already opening your mouth as his dick slaps against your cheek.
It’s still soaked. Still twitching. Still leaking.
You whimper. Then lick. Long, slow, tongue dragging up the vein on the underside of his shaft. You moan. He groans. Your hand wraps around the base and your lips slide down—soft, plush, trained.
You gag on it fast. You can't even take a half of this length down your throat.
Tears start again. He groans louder.
He fists your hair and uses your throat.
No rhythm. No mercy. Just him, standing wide-legged in front of you, thrusting what he can fit into your mouth with both hands on your head, muttering how good your throat feels while you cry on his cock.
You choke. Slobber. Breathe through your nose, just barely.
He snarls.
“Dumb lil slut,” he pants. “Makin’ a mess. Look at you—fuckin’ beautiful like this.”
You blink up at him. Make eye contact.
Then hollow your cheeks and hum.
He shudders.
“You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me,” he rasps.
You nod with his cock in your mouth.
He cums in your throat.
You try to swallow. Fail. It spills out the corners of your lips, sticky and hot, splashing down your chest, into the valley of your breats. He twitches again, moaning, holding your face to his base.
You gag once.
Then suck, sweet and slow, like you’re thanking him.
He lets go of your hair.
You slump forward, lips still parted, drooling.
He wipes your chin with his thumb.
Then picks you up like you’re weightless. You melt in his arms. Thighs open. Face nuzzled against his chest. Sticky, wet, and soft all over.
He doesn’t say much.
Just grunts once, thick fingers curling around the fat of your thigh as he starts walking—carrying you through the tunnel like you’re treasure.
You murmur into his neck.
“I’m your favorite now, huh…”
He snorts. “You’re my only.”
You pout. “Gonna fuck me again?”
“Whenever I want.”
You smile.
And whisper, “Good.”
Then pass out in his arms.
Still leaking.
Still his.
❤︎𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓒𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰 ❤︎
Constructive criticism is welcome!! I feel like this could have been way better...
Warnings: nsfw! mdni! semi-public sex, rough sex, deep sex. a little bit of choking/fingerplay.
Synopsis: There are ghosts in the Restricted Section of the library. And then there are ghosts aka two horny teenagers living their best lives...
-- can be read on AO3 too --
-- read Part 1 here --
After The Ghost under the Table (Part 1 and Part 2) - I bring you: The Ghosts on the Table! Both of them! Still using that spicy Disillusionment charm! What are these horny teenagers up to now?
Last warning: There will be smutty smut smut below the cut! Beware!
The Ghosts on the Table - Part 2:
After deciding that a change of venue was indeed the better option (you didn't want to push your luck with the roaming ghosts any further), you managed to get up slowly, not bothering to button your shirt. Your legs still felt utterly useless, but as you leaned against the front end of the table, feeling Sebastian doing the same next to you, you suddenly wondered where you left your shoes.
“Did you find your boots yet?” you asked him quietly and you felt him chuckling beside you.
“No, hasn't crossed my mind to be honest, thanks for the reminder...” he replied and with a subtle change of air, you heard him bending down until he felt around the floor, his fingers brushing against your feet in the process. “Oh you lost yours too?”
“Yes,” you laughed softly. “Perhaps we should just shed the Disillusionment charm for a moment?”
“The way we look right now? I bet you a thousand galleons that's when the ghosts decide to show up here!” he exclaimed and you saw his smirk even though you couldn't.
He rummaged across the floor a little longer while you rested against the table, slowly regaining your composure, until he let out a quiet cry of victory. “Aha!” In the next moment you felt him right beside your feet as he helped you slip back into your shoes. You quickly bent down to assist him, almost knocking him over in the process. “No, let me,” he chuckled, and you let him.
Then you felt him clambering and jumbling next to you and when he leaned back up, his hands moved up your legs and around your hips until he firmly closed them around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Have you –”
He silenced your question with a deep kiss, humming against you. “Ready to move on,” he said in-between pushing his tongue into your mouth. Once he released you, leaving you breathless and already wanting more, he grabbed your hand and pulled you along the small corridor leading out of the room.
You made it down a dusty staircase and found yourself in the same storage room where Peeves had caught you and Sebastian two years ago to the dot on your first ever adventure down the Restricted Section together. It was almost a shame you hadn't used this special place earlier. As you remember the Poltergeist's words, you had to stifle a giggle.
“Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty,” you repeated the words swimming through your mind, trying to imitate Peeves' unnerving voice.
“Let's hope we'll not get caughty,” he replied quietly and with a chuckle of his own. “Might be slightly more embarrassing than last time...”
“I don't care,” you purred and leaned closer to him, your open shirt allowing your breasts to freely push on either side of his arm as you pressed yourself against him, the heat within already reaching its boiling point once more.
His free hand found your lower back. “But I do,” he whispered right into your ear. “This is about not getting caught, remember?”
You exhaled loudly and kissed the top of his shoulder. “Fine...”
You let his invisible form pull you further through the dark room, past cobwebs and tattered bookcases and crates and other suspiciously wrapped furniture pieces. When you came across the first table on your search for a new one, he stopped for a moment, then quickly pulled you along again.
“What's wrong with that desk?” you asked quietly, looking back over your shoulder.
“Have you seen the masks on the wall? Not so keen on staring at those things while I try to have a good time with you,” he commented with a chuckle.
“Oh,” you made and nodded mindlessly, silently agreeing with that notion. Those masks had always crept you out immensely. Yet in your haze you hadn't even noticed them at first.
Sebastian led you further into another, smaller room with less creepy masks and cobwebs, but more books and a desk that looked sturdy enough for whatever he had planned with you. There was also a portrait of a snoring wizard right above it.
“Should we –” you started, pointing at the picture, before you realized your mistake and leaned closer to grab the wooden frame, moving it slightly.
“Leave him,” he said and you felt him grab your wrist. “Let's not disturb his slumber.”
You leaned closer to him, hoping you'd be able to whisper into his ear. “And grunt and moan beneath him instead?”
He laughed softly and squeezed your wrist. “Makes for a good exercise in keeping quiet, don't you think?”
You let out a deep groan in response, but then rubbed his arm soothingly. “The things you make me do...” you whispered with a mock sigh.
“And you love every single one,” he replied and you felt him kiss your ear, as he let go of your wrist to cup your face instead. You gave him a muffled moan in response as he kissed you breathless.
When he eventually leaned back and stepped away from you, you watched with a smirk tugging on the corner of your mouth as various books and other items seemingly floated off the desk as he started to free the space for you. His invisible hands made quick work of it and then found yours again as he felt around until he gently grabbed your sides, his fingers bunching up your skirt to gather it around your waist.
He then quickly and with ease picked you up to sit you down on the desk, your bare skin touching the cold wooden surface causing you to shiver slightly. Your feet dangled off the edge and you swayed them playfully, despite not being able to see them. His hands found your knees and he gently pulled your legs apart to step right between them.
You grabbed around his hips and dug your fingers into the waistband of his trousers, eager to push them off when you realized you wouldn't need to, that convenient flap at the front of his breeches was enough to unleash his arousal as you had demonstrated only moments ago it seemed.
And speaking of – as your fingers moved around to graze over fabric until you found his heated skin, you wondered if he was ready for round two – and somehow you were not surprised that he was indeed already hardening in the careful clutches of your fingers. His sharp inhale however came to your slight surprise.
“So eager,” he teased quietly and you felt him grabbing your hips to pull you a little closer to the edge, his hands hooking around the back of your thighs. You lifted your knees and wrapped your legs around his waist, crossing your feet behind him as you pushed him firmer against your centre.
He halted then, before he sighed deeply. “What's wrong?” you asked, your hands wandering up his chest as you felt him stiffening beneath your touch.
“We should move that painting,” he then whispered and you turned around slightly, looking up at the snoring wizard in his picture frame. Sebastian seemed to stare directly at the unsuspecting old man in the pointy hat. You couldn't help but laugh.
Before you could help, he reached up and carefully removed the picture, and as you watched it float down to the ground, moved by unseen hands, where he turned it around to face the wall, you heard a loud snore erupting from within the painting.
“Better,” you then heard him say and soon after you felt his hands feeling around your shoulders, until he leaned down to kiss you softly. “Much better.”
You hummed against him, your arms snaking around his neck as you pulled him down towards you, deepening the kiss by pushing your tongue past his lips. He kissed you back with fervour, his hands moving up to dig into your hair. In the heat of the moment you felt him push his pelvis flush against your centre and just the gentle touch of his growing arousal against your wetness made you moan softly against his mouth.
He kept kissing you, his tongue circling yours hungrily, as he slid one hand down between your bodies, his fingers eagerly digging deeper until you felt his fingertips right between your folds. “Already wet again?” he murmured into your mouth.
“Still,” you replied and bucked your hips against his hand. “Always when I'm with you...”
“Oh?” he made and chuckled deeply, leaning back slightly, probably trying to look at you, his other hand gently brushing against your hair. “What an honour...”
You scoffed playfully and moved one of your hands down his shirt, lazily unbuttoning it as you went lower. When you were able to slip a hand beneath the fabric, you gingerly pressed your palm against his chest, feeling his heart beating just below.
He seemed to watch you, however he was able to do that despite the cloaking charm, yet you were certain you felt his gaze on you. For a moment all you did was focus on his beating heart, your combined heavy breaths and the slight throbbing of your heat. It was almost a romantic moment and you ruined it quickly by moving your hand lower, until you eagerly closed it around his cock. He gasped in surprise and you chuckled softly.
In response he pushed his fingers deeper into your folds, his fingertips teasing your entrance. Your turn to gasp. “Two people can play this game, love,” he whispered and kept prodding at your wetness.
“Oh really?” you replied quietly and started stroking his length with a firm grip, your thumb teasing his tip as you felt him leaking slightly.
“Yes, really,” he shot back and you felt him slip one finger past your tight entrance. A soft moan escaped you as your walls clenched around his intrusion. He kept moving his digit, teasingly slow, pushing further and further until you felt his knuckles pressing against your folds. More noises slipped from you and you had to bite down on your tongue to not get too vocal. “That's right, keep quiet,” he whispered with a smirk you couldn't see but definitely heard it in his voice.
With a grunt you moved your hand faster, tightly squeezing his length until you coaxed a quiet moan out of his throat. Breathing loudly through his nose he leaned closer, his breath hot on your lips. You inhaled deeply, feeling light-headed for a moment before you moved closer until your mouths collided with a smack. He grabbed the back of your head and deepened the kiss immediately as you both worked on the other with vigour.
Your muffled noises and the wet squelches of your sexes echoed quietly through the small room, the air quickly starting to heat up from your combined movements. He pulled back from your mouth (and out of your centre) with a sigh (and a wet plop), breathing even heavier. You felt your lips (both sets of them) tingling from the sensation. Without breaking the silence, you then felt his hand on yours, gently prying your fingers off his cock as he put it in his own hand, giving himself a few quick strokes, and with the help of your guiding fingers he lined his tip up with your entrance, teasing it against you.
Your hips were stuttering, eager to move against him, but his other hand moved to your waist and held you firmly in place. You leaned back slightly, propped on your other arm, biting your lip as you waited for him to move.
Unable to see him, you could do nothing but wait and that feeling alone drove you almost mad. When he did indeed eventually move against you, it came so suddenly and so fast, that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to not cry out loudly. He pushed in without waiting for you to adjust and luckily you were worked up enough for him to allow such a brash move.
Once he filled you up completely, his girth stretching your walls as they tried to clench around him, his pelvis flush against yours, you could feel his hands moving up your body, gently stroking along your sides until his fingers closed around your breasts, not so gently squeezing them. You stifled more moans as he started rolling your hard nipples between his fingers and you had a really hard time keeping the noises down when he moved his mouth towards your bruised skin, his tongue circling around the pert bud, before he started sucking on it fiercely.
As he did that, he still wasn't moving inside you, still buried deep within, but you didn't need to adjust to his size, you wanted him to move, you needed that friction, you needed him to fuck you open. And so you started rolling your hips against him, forcing him to move. That was when he bit down on your nipple, coaxing a shriek out of you that you quickly muffled with your hand, the sharp pain quickly turning into pleasure as he gently lapped at the sensitive skin.
You arched your head back and exhaled deeply, your chest rising and falling fast against his touches. “Sebastian,” you whimpered quietly. “Please...”
“Please what?” he replied in a low voice that vibrated right through your chest as he spoke against your breast.
You jerked your hips against him once more. “Please... move...” you uttered breathlessly.
He leaned back then, leaving your breasts tingling and slightly aching, his hands grabbing your waist firmly. You were sure he would comply and finally start moving against you, giving you that friction you so desperately needed, but instead you felt him pull back and even further back and then he just slipped out of you. You gasped, unable to hide your disappointment.
“Oh you didn't mean move out?” he whispered teasingly. While you were breathing heavily, you were barely able to feel him push against you once more, only when he drove himself inside of you again, with even more force and vigour, you moaned loudly and felt your entire body being pushed upwards. “Keep quiet,” he commanded in a low whisper, but the sensation of him filling you up like this caused you to see stars dancing behind your eyelids.
You had to bite down on your tongue as he started moving then, with deep and powerful thrusts, each of them pushing you further onto the desk, the entire wooden structure creaking under the motions. You quickly felt too boneless to hold onto him, your arms barely able to hold your own body up, and you were more than grateful when you felt his arm snake around your torso, pulling you closer against him.
Leaning against his chest, your body rocking against him with every slamming of his hips against you, you felt your walls fluttering around his cock, your first orgasm fast approaching. You managed to wrap one arm around his neck as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your mouth pushed against his skin in an attempt to keep the noises down. His own loud breaths echoed in your ear. You tried to move your head to meet his lips but his rapid movements against you made you miss his mouth every time.
With a low grunt, you grabbed the back of his head and forced him against your mouth, and when you finally met, the kiss was messy and filled with your combined noises. In the midst of it all, you felt your muscles contracting tightly, that tension building with every hard slam of his cock into your tight channel. Feeling light-headed and barely able to hold on any more, you whimpered against his lips until you cried out right into his mouth as pleasure exploded inside you like a well-timed Confringo blast.
You felt your release rush through you and for a moment his hips slowed down, almost gently pushing you through your orgasm as he kissed you softly. Your legs started cramping then as you kept squeezing them around his waist, yet you couldn't care less. All you felt was that mind-numbing bliss.
While you were still floating on your high, your limbs boneless and twitching, he suddenly pulled back, leaving your lips throbbing and swollen, and then he even pulled out of your tight embrace and you felt your walls clenching up slowly as if they couldn't believe it either. “What –” you started, but then he had grabbed your waist and moved you off the desk.
Your legs were shaking badly and you held onto him desperately as you felt them giving way, until you realized you wouldn't need them any more as he turned you around and placed you gently on your stomach. You moved your arms along the desk until your fingers hooked around the edge tightly. He moved behind you as you pressed your cheek against the cold wooden surface.
His hands were on your rear now, gently squeezing your soft flesh, teasing your fluttering folds with his thumbs before he pressed the tip of his hard cock back against your entrance. He took his time now, easing into your clenching cunt slowly, each inch causing you to moan and whimper against the desk. Your legs were twitching violently and if he wouldn't stand right behind you, forcing you to stay put, you'd be a whimpering, boneless mess on the floor by now.
He moved in with deliberate thrusts, rolling his hips gently against you, pushing in deeper and deeper, deeper than before, and once he was all the way in, you could feel your folds pushing against the hot skin of his balls. You felt so extremely full, for a moment you couldn't even breathe properly. Your hands clawed at the table in an attempt to control the shuddering of your body, but you quickly gave up and into the sensations pulsing through you in unpredictable patterns.
When he folded his body over your back and leaned towards you, you inhaled deeply, gasping softly when you felt his lips on the shell of your ear. All you could feel was the pressure of his cock deep inside you, pressing as deep as he could possibly go, perhaps even deeper, you weren't sure at this point. You whimpered quietly as he kissed your ear and moved down to your neck, one of his arms snaking around your stomach until he pushed a hand firmly against it.
Before you could wonder what he was doing, he grabbed one of your wrists and pulled your hand down, then pressed it against your stomach as well. You inhaled sharply as he pushed your palm hard against your skin. “Can you feel it?” he then whispered, the low vibrations of his voice causing you to shiver.
He pushed your hand firmer against your stomach and you tried to feel something, but you couldn't be sure what it was. “That's my cock, all the way inside you, pressing against your cervix,” he said quietly and his words coaxed another gasp out of you. To underline them you felt him push slightly against you and with a deep shudder of your body, you could indeed feel him move within you – through the touch of your palm against your stomach. What a weird sensation.
“I've read about this in that Muggle magazine,” he told you with a soft chuckle and you could only moan, your head too empty to comprehend whatever he learned. “Fascinating, isn't it?”
You would have found his eagerness for knowledge adorable and you could certainly appreciate his urge to learn more about your body and what he could do with his to make you feel all these different things, but right at this moment all you felt was his throbbing length buried inside you, not moving at all. And you needed him to move so badly.
When you forced a nod and issued a low “Mmmhmm”, he kissed your cheek, nuzzling his nose against your skin. “Do you want me to move now?” he then asked and you would have screamed at him if you'd be able to. His soft little laugh only frustrated you more, but then his hands went back to your hips and he gripped them tightly as he leaned back up.
Without another word or warning he then proceeded to move his hips back slowly, only to push back in with a force you hadn't expected. Each thrust moved you further up the desk and you had to grab the edge of the table tightly as more and more moans shook your body. Squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the tremors of his plunges rush through your every nerve and muscle, you quickly lost yourself in his movements, the friction so deliciously perfect you could already feel that sweet tension coiling up inside you once more.
A strange cacophony of sounds filled the small room, from the slamming of skin against skin, heavy breaths and moans and whimpers, to wet squelches and the soft creaking of the table, it all added to the quiet snoring of the wizard in his painting, who was luckily too deep in slumber to notice the horny teenagers behind him.
Somehow you both seemed to have forgotten about your attempts to keep quiet, relying now only on the Disillusionment charm hiding you from potential intruders. It didn't seem to matter anyway, you were so deep beneath the Restricted Section, far away from everything, and with your heads filled with static and arousal there wasn't much you could possibly worry about.
Just as your walls started fluttering around his cock as he kept a relentless pace of fast and heavy thrusts, you suddenly felt his arm around your middle as he pulled you up from the desk, your legs too weak to stand on, so you had to rely on him for holding you up. And he did, one arm tightly wrapped around you, as his other hand moved up your chest over your neck until you felt his fingers pushing against your lips.
When the tension burst within you, you arched your head back against his shoulder and opened your mouth wide to let that cry of pleasure out – and he used that movement to push two of his fingers past your lips. At first you barely noticed, your high blinding you with bright lights and exploding stars at the edge of your vision, with your muscles contracting and your walls clenching tightly around him. Yet when you did feel his fingers pushing against your tongue and deeper into your mouth, you gasped against his intrusion, a weird sensation rushing through your stomach.
Your hands moved up and closed around his wrist, your fingernails digging into his skin as he kept forcing his fingers deeper. Twitching in his tight embrace, you felt him kiss your cheek, before he whispered in a low, almost threatening voice: “Take them...” You didn't quite know what he meant, until he added: “Like you took my cock.”
You let out a whimper, his continuous thrusts still pushing you upwards as his grip on your mouth pushed you the other way. You could barely breathe and felt your saliva pooling around his fingers as he pressed them against the back of your throat. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes and you had the overwhelming urge to swallow, and when you did, your throat closed against his fingertips, another weird feeling you didn't know you would experience tonight. The sensation left you breathless, either that or his fingers pushed too deep for you to breathe properly.
Arching your head back, you tried to inhale deeply through your nose as he pushed his fingers in further. The first tears streamed down your cheeks and as he was unable to see them or your discomfort in general, you dug your nails deeper into his skin, urging him to stop. But he only stopped when your throat gagged around him and when he pulled his digits out, a deep cough shook your entire body, sending goosebumps and shivers down your twitching limbs.
He moved his hand lower and closed his fingers around your neck, pushing against your throat from the outside now as he kept pounding into you at an unrelenting speed and vigour. You felt numb and boneless in his embrace, completely at his mercy. Yet with the way your walls kept fluttering around his cock, your body didn't seem too appalled by it. You had to admit: you liked it when he was like this, pushing you further and further out of your comfort zone into new heights of sensations you couldn't have even dreamt about.
You could hear his heavy breaths and low groans vibrating in your ear as he pressed his face against the back of your head, muffling his noises in your hair, slightly squeezing your throat as he sped up his tempo even more, ruthlessly slamming into you now, each thrust jolting through your body.
His movements were desperate, he was close, you could tell. You weren't much help at this point though, as you were unable to control your body any longer, yet you still tried to clench your walls firmer around him, until they did it on their own as your muscles contracted once more, yet another wave of pleasure crashing forcefully over you. Your moans echoed loudly off the walls of the small room before Sebastian put his hand over your mouth, firmly keeping those noises inside.
Whimpering quietly now, you held onto his wrist and leaned your back against his chest. His own groan was almost as loud as he pushed into you with one last, powerful thrust as he buried himself as deeply as possible in your tight warmth. While his cock twitched fiercely inside you, painting your walls with his seed as he emptied himself fully within, you could feel his hand pushing onto your stomach again and despite the boneless feeling of your limbs, you felt too curious and had to push your hand next to his. He grabbed it and put yours beneath his, and together you could feel the rumbles of your body and the tremors of his release.
You felt so full, so spent and exhausted, yet as satisfied as you'd never felt before – which was saying something because he never left you unsatisfied. Yet this time he had pushed you to new heights entirely, leaving your body in shambles, your mind completely blank and all your nerves twitching in nothing but pure bliss.
His arms wrapped around you tightly as he held you close to his chest, his length still throbbing deep within, his warmth spreading through your entire body until it started dripping out of you. Your breaths remained shallow and your heart kept pounding almost painfully, but you closed your eyes and leaned against him, feeling safe and sound in his embrace.
A deep sigh escaped your lips as you turned your head slightly towards him. “I love you,” you whispered barely audible. He heard you nonetheless and quickly pressed his lips against your cheek. “I love you too,” he replied, his voice hoarse and lower than before, its vibrations coaxing another soft gasp out of you.
You smiled an invisible smile, breathing deeply as exhaustion washed over you. He seemed to sense your body's decline and slowly loosened his tight grip around you, before he gently pushed your body back onto the table. Before he pulled out of you, he gave you a few more lazy thrusts just to press you for more of your noises, and you delivered, a moan and a whimper and a tiny squeak falling from your bruised lips.
Then he grabbed your hips and moved back slowly, giving your walls time to adjust to the withdrawal. You felt him smearing his cum against them as he pulled out and when he slipped out entirely, the last tremors of your insides pushed out most of his seed as well, causing it to drip down your legs and onto the stone floor. Neither of you could see it, so it didn't really matter. He would fill you up again soon enough anyway.
With a content growl, he felt around and dug his fingers into your sides, pulling you back on your feet. You tumbled against his chest, your legs too weak to function just yet. Despite not being able to see it, he seemed to feel your fatigue and swiftly lifted you up onto his arms, cradling your twitching, boneless body against his chest. You managed to wrap one arm around his neck and feeling around with your other hand, you quickly found his lips and rewarded him with a soft kiss.
He hummed against you, kissing you back with more fervour than you had expected. You'd always admired his stamina and wondered not for the first time where he took all that energy from that he liked to unleash upon (and within) you. You were grateful though, and even more so when he started carrying you back.
“So,” his low voice then rang in your tired ears. “Have you ever taken a bath while invisible?” You laughed softly and kept snickering as he continued. “How about steamy bathtub sex while invisible? Or perhaps –”
“If we keep doing this,” you interrupted him with a hoarse voice, “I'll forget what you look like...”
He chuckled at that. “Hmm, you have a point, love,” he agreed and kissed the top of your head. “I do miss staring into your eyes while I slam my cock into you.”
You shook your head with another soft chuckle, poking his jaw with your free hand. “Language, mister,” you just whispered and he laughed again. “You really think you can do anything under the Disillusionment charm, eh?”
“But I can,” he replied and nuzzled his nose into your hair. “Haven't you noticed?”
“Oh, I have noticed,” you said quietly, nestling into his arms. “And I'll keep noticing it tomorrow and probably for a few more days...”
He inhaled deeply and pressed his lips against your forehead. “Let me make it up to you,” he murmured.
You felt several shivers rushing through your sore body at the implication. “Just take me to the damn bathtub already,” you hissed under your breath and you felt him walk faster immediately, a deep chuckle vibrating within his chest.
Notes: And the conclusion of the adventures of the invisible horny teenagers! (Well, until I think of more word plays on ghosts and tables XD)
