synopsis ✶ your “quiet girl” reputation is absolutely annihilated by the constellation of love bites blooming on your boyfriend’s throat—aka, forensic evidence that last night you went feral on satoru’s neck. and now he’s using it as leverage to avoid class, whine while you try to erase the evidence, and remind you (loudly) of every embarrassing thing you begged for at 2am. who knew a shy academic weapon could turn into a rabid animal when faced with satoru’s back?
tags ✶ morning after, hickey disaster, college au, established relationship, public display of (your) depravity, banter, satoru is a menace, reader is down bad, soft smut, skipping class because you used your tits against him, breast sucking/nipple play. mdni. art by @/9enesiasson on twt. wc ✶ 3.2k.
an ✶ just realised the title is a frozen reference… i mean my mind gets creative when i’m sleepy so..
you wake to the evidence.
not the kind of evidence that needs bleaching powder and a guilty conscience, but the kind that blooms audaciously at the base of your boyfriend’s throat, a constellation of half-moons and wide, wine-dark blooms you can count with one shaking hand. last night’s greed dried to bruised ink. proof that your quiet-girl self has an evil twin who only clocks in after midnight and only for satoru.
“good morning to the criminal,” he sing-songs, voice rough, head pillowed on your thigh because he belongs there. your hoodie is shoved up around your ribs, his glasses are on, and he’s working very hard at pretending not to rub his cheek against your bare skin like a cat. “sleep well, baby? i didn’t. somebody tried to murder me with her mouth.”
“you’re ridiculous.” your voice comes out rough and fond and mortified because you can see you, there, on him, and it makes your belly go low and your brain do that quiet little implosion it does every time you’re confronted with proof that you can alter him, however briefly, that you can write yourself into his body and he will carry you around until you fade.
the dawn is pale and stingy through the blinds. downstairs, the first bus yawns. your phone’s reminders are little guillotines stacked across the screen: lecture at 8:00. coffee line buffer: 12 minutes. find seat back left to avoid professor’s jokes. you really, really should get up.
instead, you get your makeup bag.
satoru’s grin goes bright and boyish. “oh? makeover? are you finally going to do the e-girl thing i keep asking for? sharp little wings—” he waggles his brows— “to match how sharp you bit me—ow!”
you pinch his cheek to make him behave. he doesn’t, that man never does. which is partly his charm and mostly your problem. the light’s stingier than your conscience and the concealer is a soldier you’re sending to die. “lie still.” you whisper, already uncapping that pale concealer you bought in his shade months ago. “and stop moving your mouth. i need to—”
“say please.” he grins like he doesn’t know he’s your favorite problem.
you glare. he blinks his big glacier eyes and the grin softens into something that is not a game at all, not with you. it gets you every time, how his teasing makes room for tenderness, how he wants to be asked.
“please,” you say, and the word does what it does to him—something unlocks, the tilt of his chin goes obedient, his hands go gentle at your hips, as if he remembers he's lucky to be allowed to rest there.
“anything for you.” the words are half-tease, half-devotion. he scoots down a little further on the bed, settling more securely in your lap, so you can cradle his skull and card your fingers through the pale mess of his hair while you work.
you dot beige over the worst of last night and it feels like drawing curtains over fireworks.
he tracks your movements like he’s studying something crucial for an exam, but his mouth won’t shut. “so.” when his voice goes conversational, you know it's about to be bad. “let’s run a postmortem. or, mm, post-coit—”
“shut up,” you whine, fighting a smile. “no one says coital.”
“ugh, but i just did.” he sighs dramatically. “where to begin? well, at approximately 02:17, my girlfriend said— and i quote— ‘if you do not shut up about eigenvalues i’m going to ride your face until you forget your last name.’ which seems legally binding? then she—hey—why’re you pressing so hard—”
“hold still,” you repeat, but your ears are on fire because yes, you did say that. you remember the exact octave, the way it left your mouth like a dare, the way he’d gone very quiet before saying, oh, we’re using threats now? and then very not quiet at all.
“right. and at 02:46,” satoru continues, gaze innocently fixed somewhere above your head, “i believe she said, and do forgive the paraphrasing, ‘that back, toru—fuck—that back—’” his voice drops into a parody of your breathy moan. it’s rude because it's effective. you press the pad of your finger a little harder at the purple at his collarbone and he gives a wounded little sound that shoots straight to your stomach.
you should not be allowed a boyfriend who can imitate your pornographic despair. “i hate you.”
“you love me,” he says mildly, and it lands with the weight of truth, simple as a glass of water no one else thinks to bring you.
you pretend the concealer requires your full attention, when the truth is you’re hot with memory. last night’s him flashes under your lids like lightning—his palm braced above your head, the ropy pull of muscle under skin when he held himself there and let you wreck him, that line of his back you’re convinced god designed on the seventh day when he was showing off.
you have always been a private kind of hungry; he is the only person you’ve ever let see your appetite up close, the only one who laughed, delighted, and said oh, baby, let it out.
you drag the sponge over his neck, fighting the urge to choke him with it. “stop moving.”
“can’t help it. i’m just so injured, babe. look at me.” he tilts his chin, baring the evidence. purple-red blooms in the shape of your mouth, half-mooned and careless. he clicks his tongue, mock-offended. “you really did a number on me. have to say, i’m impressed. last night you were all— ‘oh, satoru, i can’t, it’s embarrassing, someone’ll hear’—and then, five minutes later, you’re biting my throat like you want to eat me alive. gotta say, i’m proud.”
“can you shut up?” you mutter, trying to blend out the worst of it. your fingers are shaking. “i have to fix this.”
he pouts, but it’s not convincing. the bastard likes it. “can’t believe you ruined my perfect reputation. i’m gonna have to wear a scarf in september, do you know how humiliating that is? people are gonna think i’m a pretentious asshole.”
you snort, despite yourself. “you are a pretentious asshole.”
he beams. “but i’m a cool pretentious asshole, i'd never ruin my outfits with a scarf. oh, careful—” he shifts, so you almost jab the beauty blender into his adam’s apple. you sigh. it's gonna be a long day.
“if you’d just stop moving—”
“if you’d just stop attacking me in my own bed—”
“it’s our bed.”
“oh, so now you’re possessive. last night you were all—‘satoru, please, let me, let me, let me, i wanna see your back, fuck, you’re so pretty’—like you’re auditioning for an oscar.”
your cheeks burn. “you’re making it more dramatic than how it sounded.”
“baby, you begged,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “you practically whined. it was cute. honestly, i had no idea you had it in you. everyone thinks you’re so shy, so quiet—little do they know, you turn into a demon the second you get a glimpse of my delts. you left, like, actual fang marks. should i start checking for rabies?”
you flick his forehead, and he barely reacts. his eyes are so bright, so clear—the kind of blue that makes you think of equations written on glass, ink bleeding over paper, the impossible sharpness of winter air. and they’re fixed on you like he’s waiting for you to admit something, or maybe just break.
he stretches, arching his back like a fucking cat, and your hands freeze. there it is: the back. the one that does things to your brain. last night, you’d traced every ridge, every mole, every line of muscle that doesn’t make sense for someone who spends his entire life hunched over textbooks and laptops. he’s always saying “strong body, strong mind,” but it’s the way he’s built—lean, tall, a little soft in the gaze when he’s tired, but sharp everywhere else.
he laughs when he catches your eyes lingering, all teeth. “you know, i’ve read that biting is a sign of affection in some mammals. so, what, you’re a little wolf now?”
“stop it, i'm serious.” you try to sound annoyed, but it comes out soft, almost whiny.
“i’m being silenced,” he says loudly to the ceiling. “for telling the truth.”
then he tilts his head, batting his lashes. “no, really, what happened to my sweet, shy girlfriend? remember her? the one who used to get all red when i looked at her in class? the one who couldn’t even say ‘condom’ without whispering?”
“shut up. you're just making things harder,"
“but i’m just recapping our, uh, qualitative findings.” he’s smirking now, and the smirk is unbearable because he’s not wrong about your back fixation. it should be illegal for a nerd to have a back like that. lean and carved, all those faint little muscles setting in relief when he pushes his hair out of his face, when he stretches to grab a textbook from the top shelf, when he braces one hand on the headboard like he did last night and you lost your mind like someone had cut a wire you didn’t know was live.
“you're the worst boyfriend i've ever had.”
“i'm the only boyfriend you've ever had.” he squeezes your waist in time with the cruelty of the observation, making you yelp. “and i am the victim here, you know what? i’ll sue.”
“for what.” you sigh, exasperated by this ridiculous perfect man, so perfect you just needed to ruin him at least once.
“emotional damages, c'mon you know i’m deeply sensitive.” he closes one eye as you tap at the edge of another bruise, then opens it again. “and if we’re tallying, we should talk about how you said—” his voice jumps into a falsetto that’s so accurate you suspect him of practicing this when he's alone. “‘ohmygod toru please, harder, i’ll be so good for you.’”
“that didn’t happen,” you lie, immediately and badly.
“oh absolutely, it happened. it’s engraved on my hippocampus now. other stuff got pushed out to make space, i can no longer remember the state capitals.” he pauses, thinking. “wait, that might’ve been gone before.”
“you can do quantum electrodynamics at a whiteboard while dehydrated and concussed,” you say, because if you don’t say something nice he’ll keep going, “but sure. state capitals. impossible.”
“speaking of impossible.” he angles his head toward the mirror on the dresser, and both of you assess the situation. it’s… honestly impressive work. the worst of the damage is softened to a set of faint shadows. “i can still see them,” he chuckles, delight in his voice, not dismay. “i like that.”
“you're impossible.”
“and you’re deflecting.” he taps two fingers against your knee, a sharp little knock. “when i woke up, my kind, shy girlfriend had turned into the creature from the horny lagoon. and now she’s… what’s the word? bashful? coy? pretending i magically acquired all these hickeys on a black market.”
you huff. fine. banter it is. “oh, i turned feral? really? remind me… which one left bite marks on the insides of my thighs that won’t fade ‘til midterms? hm? who sucks so hard there i have to keep my knees together in the library because if i move i remember—” satoru’s brows lift. ah, you’ve activated his favorite game: debate club in bed.
“in my defense,” he interrupts smoothly, smugly, “those are hidden. strategically. think of me like a responsible architect, because yeah, my work doesn’t interfere with structural integrity—like your ability to present in class without everyone knowing you’re obsessed with my tongue.”
you try not to squeak. he keeps going, ruthless.
“also,” and here he pushes his glasses up with his wrist in a way that is devastatingly professorial, “the ‘feral’ events you’re referencing occur exclusively during high-stress intervals when i’ve been good all week. self-regulation, you know? exams, papers. i hold back like a gentleman monday through thursday, then friday i…” he smiles, sinister-soft, “…can't control myself anymore because i'm addicted to you and i deserve it, right? besides, like i said, i keep them where only we can see.”
you hate it so much when he uses his lawyer voice with valid arguments. "oh really? you think that makes it better?"
he nods, looking very solemn. “that’s just biology, babe. sometimes, after a long week of exams and stress, a man’s gotta let loose. but see, i am considerate. i leave mine where people can’t see them. inner thighs, hips, low on your stomach—unlike you.”
you roll your eyes again, but your lips twitch. “so, what, i’m the irresponsible one?”
he wags a finger, glasses slipping down his nose. “i’m just saying, if you wanted to mark me up, you could at least have the decency to keep it below the collar. because you,” he whispers, eyes bright and awful with glee, “put your mark directly where the professor’s laser pointer lives.”
“i didn’t know i was doing it there,” you protest, and both of you know it’s a lie because he tilted his chin back like an offering and you, with your fingers sunk into the tendons at the base of his skull and your breath sweet with want, thought: i want everyone to know that he was mine last night, mine, mine, and you followed the thought like it was a map.
you hate him in the way that means you would lay your body over him in a storm. “maybe i was ovulating,” you offer, weakly.
he laughs outright, scandalized that you thought he wouldn’t know. “you’re not.” at your glare, he shrugs, shameless, lying back down on the bed. “what, i don’t get to be a supportive boyfriend who maintains a beautifully color-coded cycle calendar so i can buy you your favorite chocolate a day before cramps hit? and also so i can watch you on day thirteen like a hawk?”
your mouth opens. closes. “nerd.”
“guilty,” he nods, pleased.
“then it was your back,” bursts out of you, and you’re mortified by the truth. “i saw it when you were getting water and—” you wave vaguely. “it just. did things.”
“so it’s my fault you lost your mind.”
“yeah. maybe.”
"see, we're not the same. i would never,” and he lifts a hand and solemnly presses it to his heart, “never get feral over just seeing a part of your body.”
“liar,” you say instantly.
“i am above such base instincts.” his eyes gleam, boy-bright, teasing. “i have self control.”
you stare at him. he stares back. his mouth twitches.
he’s still staring when you set the concealer down, slide your palms up until you’re cradling his jaw, and lean over him, hair falling around you both like a curtain. “self control, huh?” you murmur.
“mm,” he says, very dignified already, like a man not about to be ruined in under thirty seconds. “iron will. because visual stimulus doesn’t do that to me,” he says grandly, a scientist defending a bad theory. “please, i contain multitudes, variables, nuance—”
you shut him up.
not with the kiss he’s expecting (his lips are already parting), but by catching the bottom hem of your hoodie and lifting.
yes, you interrupt the speech by hauling your sweatshirt up and off.
then there it is: his hypothesis crumpling like a badly made paper airplane. because your breasts are bare beneath, and they bounce once as the hoodie clears, and satoru gojo—top of class, king of smug, owner of allegedly “complex systems”—makes a sound that is so dumb and honest you feel it in your toes.
“oh,” he says.
and then again, softer. reverent.
“oh.”
his glasses fog a little. every neuron in him misfires. he goes very still the way prey does when it decides to become predator, except for his hands, which absolutely do not get the memo about restraint and instead tug at your hips, not moving you, just holding. his throat works around nothing. he swallows. his mouth opens and closes.
it’s clumsy and decisive. it turns the morning into thin glittering air. the cold kisses your breasts and then his gaze does, then his mouth does, because you knew he wouldn’t maintain the lie through a full frontal assault from the single thing he reveres more than math: you, unwrapped.
you breathe, victorious and shy and—god—nasty. you love that he can’t help himself around you, you love that you can make a man like that lose the thread, you love him so much it knocks your teeth together.
“multitudes,” you say sweetly, arching in a way that is not at all sweet. “variables.”
he sits up too fast, pulling away, glasses askew, one hand fumbling them off because there’s reverence and then there’s reverence. “i’m an idiot,” he says, and then no more words, because his mouth is busy.
his lips close over your nipple and the world redraws itself around the pull. everything gets quiet and crystalline; the small wet sounds, the tiny scrape of his teeth that he will apologize for even as it makes you go blurred at the edges, the way he groans like pleasure hurts him if he isn’t giving it to you at the same time. you fist a hand in his hair because you’re a simple animal with a simple need and the need is more. he gives it to you with the precision of a virtuoso who would smash his instrument if you asked.
“you—” he says, like he needs to repeat the obvious— “are—” a kiss between each word— “so—” kiss, “unfair.”
“am i?” you whisper, tipping your torso forward to give him a better view, because you are not above weaponizing the sunlit curve of your body if it buys you a day’s peace from his slander.
“oh my god,” he says, and then his mouth is on your breast like a man who suddenly remembered how to pray.
you, world-renowned for your quiet, make a sound you would not test in a crowded lecture hall. he takes your nipple between his lips with such gentle precision that your spine bows. his teeth skate, a teasing scrape. his tongue circles, slow and scientific, cataloguing the way each pass tightens something low in your belly. he sucks, sweet and careful and then not careful at all, and your hands fly again to his hair without conscious input, fingers tangling in fluffy white like you could anchor yourself there.
“toru, we can’t, we—class,” you gasp, because habit is a stubborn thing and also because if you don’t say it out loud he’ll take you from the bed to the desk to the door and then your day plan will be a corpse.
he pops off with an indecent sound, chest heaving. “we’re not going to class,” he says, scandalized that you even attempted the sentence.
“we have an important chapter,” you hear yourself say, and the pleading is for both of you. your body arches anyway.
“i have you,” he says into your skin, obscene and holy, “and i can beg professor takayama for grace; i can't beg you for more after you leave. therefore: triage.” he sucks, gentle and then not, and your composure drops its bags and flees the country.
“you’re the one who keeps saying it's important to never skip class.”
“and i’m smart enough to know i'd fail seeing you like this if i tried to sit through professor takayama talking about harmonic oscillators while my dick is doing a live demonstration.”
you snort. horny as you are, you snort. “harmonic—”
“oscillation,” he says, already sliding you forward on his chest as he scoots back against the headboard. “amplitude. resonance.” he taps the tip of your nose. “you.”
Warnings: MDNI, Yoongi boyfriend x Female reader, oral sex(both receiving), vaginal sex, lots of cumming, sex addiction, squirting
A/n: the thoughts of Yoongi secretly being obsessed with his partner doesn't leave my mind 😭it's a messy writing, random scenarios put together.
The morning light filtered softly through the half-drawn curtains of their Seoul apartment, casting a warm glow over the tangled sheets. Yoongi stirred first, his arm already draped possessively over YN's waist, pulling her bare back flush against his chest. Even in sleep, his cock twitched against the curve of her ass which was hard, insistent, like it had been all night. Years together, and the hunger never faded. If anything, it burnt hotter. He was obsessed with her, with the way her body responded to him, the slick heat of her pussy that always seemed ready, always took him so perfectly.
He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin and last night's sex. "Baby," he murmured, voice gravelly from sleep, lips brushing her ear. His hand slid down, cupping her mound possessively. Two fingers parted her folds, finding her already wet. "Fuck, you're soaked again. Dreamin' about me?"
YN sighed awake, pushing back against him with a sleepy smile. "Always, Yoongi. Need you."
He didn't need more. In one smooth motion, he hooked her leg over his thigh, lined up his thick cock, and pushed in raw bare, deep, stretching her open with that familiar burn she craved. The wet squelch filled the room as he bottomed out, groaning low in his throat.
"This pussy... my fucking pussy. So tight, so greedy. Missed it all night."
He fucked her slow at first, lazy morning strokes that dragged against her walls, his hand rubbing tight circles on her clit. But hunger took over fast. His hips snapped harder, the bed creaking as he railed into her from behind, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangled in her hair.
"Cum for me. Wanna feel you gush."
YN cried out, clenching around him as the orgasm hit, her pussy squirting messily around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets. Yoongi growled, thrusting through it, chasing his own release until he spilled deep inside her, hot and thick, marking her like he did every single day.
They didn't pull apart right away. He stayed buried, softening slowly, kissing her shoulder. "Love you so much. Can't get enough."
༺༻
Breakfast was supposed to be simple like coffee, toast, maybe some fruit. But Yoongi couldn't keep his hands off her. YN stood at the counter in just his oversized t-shirt, reaching for a mug, when he came up behind her again. His hands slid under the hem, gripping her ass, spreading her cheeks.
"Bend over, baby."
She did, bracing on the counter as he dropped to his knees. He ate her out hungrily, tongue fucking into her cum-filled hole, sucking on her clit, slurping noisily at the mix of their releases dripping down her thighs. "Taste so good. My cum leaking out of this perfect cunt." He added two fingers, curling them roughly until she squirted again, right on his tongue, moaning his name loudly.
He stood, spun her around, and lifted her onto the counter. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he sank back in, fucking her hard and deep. Wet slaps of skin, her moans, his grunts was all you could hear.
"Gonna fill you again. Keep you dripping all day."
He came with a shudder, pumping rope after rope into her. They panted against each other, foreheads touching. "I love you," he whispered, thumb stroking her cheek. "More than anything.
༺༻
The day blurred between work and want. Yoongi tried to produce in his home studio, but YN walked in wearing nothing but panties. She straddled his lap in the chair, grinding down on his growing bulge.
"Need you again," she breathed.
He shoved the panties aside and impaled her on his cock, guiding her hips as she rode him. It was sloppy, desperate, her juices soaking his sweats, his mouth latched onto her tits, sucking marks into her skin. "Ride that dick, baby. This pussy owns me. Always so fucking wet for me."
She came hard, squirting all over his lap, and he followed, biting her shoulder as he filled her again. They stayed like that, connected, while he absently played a beat with one hand on the keyboard, the other stroking her back.
It happened again in the afternoon, on the couch during a "break," her on all fours while he pounded her from behind, pulling her hair, spanking her ass red.
"Look at this sloppy cunt. Taking me so well after years. Still milks me dry every time."
Evening melted into night. Dinner was half-eaten on the table because Yoongi had pulled her onto his lap mid-bite, bouncing her on his cock while they fed each other bites between moans. Later, in the shower, he pressed her against the tiles, lifting one leg and thrusting up into her, water mixing with her squirt as she came screaming.
By the time they collapsed into bed, bodies exhausted but never satisfied, he was hard again. YN spread her legs without a word, pulling him on top. This time it was slower, deeper, raw emotion mixed with the filth.
"I love you," he panted, hips rolling, cock dragging perfectly against that spot inside her. "Obsessed with you. This pussy. The way you squirt for me. The way you take everything I give. Never getting tired of this. Of us."
"I love you too," she gasped, nails digging into his back as another orgasm built. "Fill me, Yoongi. Want it all night."
He did. They fucked until the early hours, switching positions, her riding him reverse cowgirl so he could watch his cock disappear into her dripping hole, then missionary so he could kiss her through the messy, squirting climax. Cum leaked everywhere, sheets ruined, but they didn't care. He came inside her one last time, collapsing on top, still buried deep.
As sleep finally pulled them under, his hand cupped her mound protectively, fingers lazily circling her clit. "Tomorrow... gonna wake up and do it all over again."
༺༻
Yoongi was already losing his mind by mid-morning.
YN was on her knees in their bedroom, still wearing nothing but his t-shirt, eyes glossy with want as she looked up at him. She loved this, loved when he took her mouth roughly, when he used her throat like he owned it. And he did. She was addicted to the feeling of his thick cock sliding over her tongue, stretching her lips, hitting the back of her throat until her eyes watered.
“Fuck, baby… open wider,” he growled, voice wrecked. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping the base of his cock as he fed it into her eager mouth. YN moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight up his spine. She loved getting face-fucked, loved the mess, the spit, the way he lost control and fucked her face like he was desperate.
He thrust deeper, hips snapping forward, watching her throat bulge slightly with every push. Saliva dripped down her chin onto her tits, messy strings connecting her lips to his cock whenever he pulled back. “That’s it… good girl. Take it. You love choking on my dick, don’t you?”
YN nodded frantically, humming affirmatively, her hands gripping his thighs to pull him even deeper. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but her eyes were dark with lust. She squeezed her thighs together, soaked and aching between her legs just from servicing him.
Yoongi’s pace turned punishing, short, rough thrusts into her throat, balls slapping against her chin. “Gonna cum down your throat… then paint that pretty face.”
He came with a guttural groan, holding her head still as he spilled hot and thick straight into her mouth. YN swallowed greedily, but he pulled out midway through, stroking the rest of his load across her lips, cheeks, and tongue. The sight of his cum on her face made him feral. “Look at you… covered in me. My dirty girl.”
She smiled up at him, tongue out to catch more, visibly loving every second of the degradation and worship mixed together.
༺༻
Later that afternoon, after he’d eaten her pussy until she squirted twice on the couch, he had her bent over the kitchen counter. He spread her cheeks wide, staring at her dripping hole before slamming back inside her raw.
“Fuck… this pussy,” he panted, pounding into her with wet, obscene sounds. “Look how creamy you get for me.”
He pulled out suddenly, just to watch. Thick strings of his earlier cum and her juices leaked from her swollen folds. The sight drove him insane. “Shit, baby… my cum is dripping out of you. So fucking full of me.”
He pushed back in roughly, fucking his own load deeper, eyes locked on where they were joined. Every thrust made more of it squelch out around his cock. He reached around to rub her clit, growling in her ear, “Gonna fill you again. Want it leaking down your thighs all day.”
YN pushed back against him, moaning loudly. “Yes, cum inside me again. Love feeling it.”
When he came the second time, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning as he pumped rope after rope deep into her pussy. He stayed inside, grinding slowly, obsessed with the warm, wet mess he’d created. Pulling out slowly, he spread her open with his thumbs just to watch his cum slowly ooze out of her used hole. The creamy white against her pink folds made him twitch, already half-hard again.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, dropping to his knees behind her to lick her clean, only to get hard enough to fuck her one more time right there on the kitchen floor.
That night, YN begged for it again. On her knees in bed, she took him down her throat eagerly while he held her head and fucked her face with deep, sloppy strokes. Spit ran everywhere. When he pulled out and painted her face and tongue again, she looked up at him with pure adoration and filth in her eyes.
Yoongi wiped some of his cum off her cheek with his thumb and pushed it back into her mouth. “My perfect girl. Love seeing you like this, covered in my cum, pussy full of it, throat used.”
She crawled on top of him after, sinking down onto his cock, riding him slow and deep so he could watch the mess between her legs. Every time she lifted up, more of his cum leaked out, coating his shaft. He was completely obsessed, hands gripping her hips, eyes fixed on the sight.
They fell asleep hours later with him still inside her, cum drying on her skin, both of them whispering “I love you” between lazy kisses.
Two people years deep in a relationship who were still just as hungry, perverted, and addicted to each other as the very first time.
Pairing: Sentry/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!
Summary: Any time Sentry surfaces he is practically attached to you because he wants to spend every waking moment in your presence.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Angst (just a hint here or there), Sentry is super clingy and possessive over you, Sentry is a softie and the definition of a golden retriever here.
Smut Warnings: Cockwarming (unprotected), Mutual Masturbation (handjob, fingering), Spit, Breast Play, Praise Kink, Sucking, Biting and Marking Readers Skin , Sentry is extremely touchy, Sensual Sex Acts
Author’s Note: I love writing clingy Sentry with anger issues lol, such a fun version. I hope y’all enjoy the double Sentry update today <3 I really missed writing for him.
Word Count: 3,623
”God, look at those two,” Yelena muttered, low and incredulous, leaning towards Bucky as she tilted her chin at the couch.
From where they stood, you were barely visible at all. Sentry’s enormous frame was plastered across you, so broad and heavy that he looked like he had deliberately smothered every inch of your smaller body beneath his own. If it weren’t for the faint glimpse of your calves hooked around the backs of his thighs, or your hand that was resting on his back and the one tangled in his hair, they might not have noticed you at all.
Sentry’s face was mashed against your chest, his nose and mouth buried so deeply into you that it looked like he was trying to suffocate himself in you. His eyes were closed, lashes brushing faintly against the thin fabric of your shirt like he was experiencing REM sleep, but the careful rhythm of his breathing gave him away that he wasn’t really asleep. Each inhale was too purposeful, dragging in the sweetness of you, savouring it in his lungs, while each exhale came hot and heavy against your sternum, pooling warmth into your skin like he was trying to mark you with the air.
To him, you always smelled like summer–sweet and ripe, like a field of berries warmed under sunlight, with the faint freshness of the leaves that surrounded them. It clung to you no matter what you did, whether you had just returned from a mission or slipped out of the shower. The scent was always there, lodged in his senses, something that never truly faded from his mind. And right now, with his nose pressed tight into you, he was drowning in it, consuming every breath like he would starve if he didn’t.
Your calves curled tighter around him, legs bracketing his torso, holding him down as though you had been carved into the perfect mattress just for his body alone. You hand moved through his soft, light-brown hair, twirling the strands until they curled into loose ringlets before smoothing them loose again. Then, with deliberate care, you gripped gently at the roots, kneading into his scalp. Your nails grazed the crown of his head, dragging over the most sensitive spot you had long since mapped. He exhaled on cue, his breath synching with the motion of your hand, as though his body itself attuned to you and the affection you gave him.
The vibration that rolled through his chest resonated into yours–low and steady almost like a purr. And with it, the air around the both of you shifted. The pen on the coffee table rose lazily, hovering an inch before clattering back down when your hand stilled. The corner of the blanket lifted, as if tugged by an unseen wind, before falling flat again. Even Walker’s half-empty glass in the kitchen drifted faintly before setting back down with a sharp clink on the counter. The world bent subtly with every pass of your finger through his hair and over his back, and only righted itself when you paused.
This was his ritual when he surfaced, and the team knew it well by now, but witnessing it was always a sight to behold. Sentry was a god who could obliterate the Avengers, and sit on the surface of the sun without obtaining a single burn, but he was always reduced to this–curling into you, smothering himself against your chest, desperate for your touch like it was the only thing that kept him tethered to the surface. You had explained–more than once–that your heartbeat grounded him, that your warmth and touch neutralized the chaos inside him, and steadied him when nothing else could. But the others never really listened. They saw only the softness. The submission of a God to his mortal lover, seeking safe haven within your skin.
Regardless of what they saw though, they knew not to test him. Because when Sentry was present, he was possessive. Always attached. Always trailing after you like a golden shadow, taking hand squeezes and forehead kisses as if they were his only source of oxygen. God forbid anyone dared ask something of you while he was around, because even if you agreed, he would bristle instantly, pointing out how others could take the task instead, and demanding repayment for the lost time in some way. It hadn’t taken long for the team to learn that it was better to let him have you uninterrupted than risk what might happen otherwise.
Now, he shoved his arms under your back, hauling you closer, pressing his nose harder into your sternum until a dull ache spread through your chest. He whispered something there, muffled against your shirt, something you couldn’t make out as his hot breath seared through the fabric.
”Sen…Baby…” You cooed breathlessly, stroking your hand down his back in tandem with the rhythm of your nails dragging though his hair, “Take it easy…I’m not going anywhere.”
”Want you closer though…” He grumbled, his voice vibrating into your chest, a sound both petulant and needy.
You parted your lips to answer him, but Walker’s voice cut across the room like a blunt blade.
”How about you two go to your bedroom if you wanna get closer? You’re hogging the main couch, and it’s getting really annoying,” He said, strolling out of the kitchen with a bowl of chips, crunching loudly, oblivious–or maybe deliberately baiting for a reaction. You shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood, shaking your head in warning, but Sentry was already moving.
His head lifted from your chest, golden eyes snapping open. The light inside them blazed, molten and alive, embers of orange and gold swirling until they lit the entire room in their glow. His voice followed, booming, the sound thrumming deep through the floorboards.
”You know what, Walker? How about you shove–“
”Hey.” You interrupted.
Your clammy palm caught his cheek before he could finish, and his face turned back toward you, his voice choking off instantly. His chest heaved, the storm in his gaze flickering brightly, then dimming as you brought the other hand up to cradle his cheeks between your hands, cupping his face like you’d caught the sun itself and bent it to your will. He closed his eyes tightly, releasing a heavy huff of air, his body sagging into your touch.
”Sentry. He’s right…We should go to our room. It’ll be easier to get closer there, and we’ll have privacy. No one will bother us. Right guys?” You asked, your voice steady and stern, casting a glare over your shoulder at the onlookers who had varying levels of surprise on their faces. Yelena and Bucky nodded quickly at you, muttering ‘yeah’ in overlapping tones, and Walker grunted something through a mouthful of chips, but didn’t press further.
When you looked back at Sentry, his head was bowed, and the blaze of gold shuttered as though ashamed. He sighed, the sound being dragged from his chest reluctantly.
”Okay…” He murmured at last, voice soft, acquiescent.
He reluctantly pulled himself from you, the warmth bleeding from your skin where he had pressed. But before you could rise to follow him, he scooped you up in one fluid motion. You wrapped your arms around his neck instinctively, your legs winding around his waist.
As he carried you down the hall, you rested your chin on his shoulder, glancing at the others. You mouthed ‘sorry,’ and they nodded silently, shrinking from view as Sentry’s steady steps took you further away from them.
Being carried by him always felt strange: weightless, dizzying, like the plummet of a rollercoaster where gravity gave out for just a second. Your stomach would swoop, and your body tingled with numbness, but you had grown used to it. You chalked it up to the world rearranging itself again–because when he held you, it seemed as though even gravity bent with the both of you.
He nudged the bedroom door open with his shoulder and slipped inside, kicking it shut behind him with the heel of his foot. It only took him a few seconds to make it to your shared bed, laying you down only for him to immediately follow, sprawling sideways across the bed until you seamlessly shifted back into the same position you were in when you were on the couch, limbs tangling together like you had never left.
A ragged sigh spilled from him, heavy with relief, as he shifted, sliding his arms beneath your shirt, his palms spreading wide as they traced the line of your spine. His fingertips catching the smooth skin, feeling the beauty marks that were scattered over. He shoved his face back against your chest, lips brushing the swell of your breast through the thin fabric as he murmured:
“I think for once…Walker was actually right.” You stroked his hair, wrapping your arms around his neck.
”And you were going to explode on him,” You whispered. He huffed a small laugh, his breath hot against the fabric near his mouth.
”I only did that because I felt like we were being judged…You know I wasn’t going to harm him.” He stated softly.
”That’s not what your eyes were telling me,” You murmured, brushing your nose against the crown of his head, breathing in the faint scent of his peppermint shampoo. His hair tickled the bridge of your nose as you pressed closer. He shifted against you, fingertips trailing lazy circles up and down the length of your back, each delicate pass raising a new shiver, coaxing goosebumps in its wake.
“That was just an intimidation tactic.” His tone tried for lightness, brushing it off, but the edge of guilt softened the sound. You pulled back slightly, just enough so that his gaze found yours in the dim room. His eyes burned faintly with their molten orange-gold light, reflecting your face like a flame caught in a darkened window, as the glow softened when his features turned vulnerable.
”You’re not an animal, Sentry,” You whispered, your hand sliding up to curl against the strong line of his jaw, your thumb brushing beneath his eye, where the embers flickered brightest, shimmering as though your touch stirred them, “You’re a god. They already tiptoe around you as it is…You don’t have to intimate them more. I want them to see this side of you–the gentle side. The side that loves me. Not the one that tries to play tug-of-war with them because they asked me to leave you for a second and you didn’t like it.” His lashes fluttered closed at your words, his head tilting instinctively into your palm. His cheek pressed harder into your touch, nuzzling as if trying to melt into your skin.
“…I know,” He admitted quietly, his voice reverberating against your palm. “And I’m sorry that I haven’t been…Nice to them. They mean a lot to you. They should mean a lot to me too.” Your chest softened. You leaned forward until your forehead pressed against his, your lips brushing against his nose in a fleeting kiss.
“You don’t have to apologize, Sen. I just want everyone to get along.” His eyes opened at that, molten and earnest, his breath spilling hot across your lips.
“I’ll try my best to refrain from causing any more trouble… and I’ll right my wrongs.” The vow vibrated in the air, steady as a promise carved into stone. You smiled against his cheek, rubbing your palm softly along his skin. He drew in a deep breath, chest pressing closer to yours, and then whispered, almost pleading: “But for now…Can we just focus on this?”
His hands pressed more firmly to your bare back, pulling you flush against him. Your body slid against his broad chest, warmth sealing you both together like a second skin.
“Okay,” You breathed, and closed the distance.
Your lips brushed his with a gentleness that made him shiver–sweet, slow, and coaxing. His mouth was soft and trembling at first, pliant beneath yours. The kiss tasted faintly of wintergreen toothpaste and you, the mixture dizzying in its simplicity. But then his restraint faltered. He leaned into you, lips parting, catching your lower lip with the faintest pull of his teeth. Heat poured between you in an instant, deepening until you gasped softly into his mouth.
A sound rumbled out of him–half moan, half growl–spurred by your response. His hand slipped from your spine, gliding around to your front, his palm flattening over your breast with a reverence that made your body ache. He squeezed gently, thumb brushing over your nipple, teasing the sensitive bud until it hardened and your lips parted with a little sigh.
The sound spurred him. He kissed you harder, deeper, his tongue sliding past your lips to tangle with yours in a hot, messy rhythm. Your fingers slipped from his cheek, curling your arm around his shoulders, dragging him closer. Every scrape of your nails into the fabric of his sweater, every tug closer, pulled a deeper groan from him.
His hips shifted, tilting upward until the semi-hard ridge of his cock pressed against the buttery-soft fabric of your shorts–right on the heated center of your core. The contact sent a rush of warmth spiralling through you, settling deep in your stomach.
“Do you still want to be close to me?” He asked hoarsely, pulling back just far enough to ghost his lips over yours, his tongue darting out to flick teasingly at your bottom lip. His hand continued its slow massage of your breast, squeezing the soft tissue, his thumb circling your nipple again until your back arched into his touch.
“Of course I do,” You whispered breathlessly, pressing your mouth back to his in a kiss that was softer and unhurried. You took control of the pace, drawing him in with each deliberate press of your lips, every tilt of your head pulling him deeper, making him chase the pressure a little bit without rushing.
Your arm wound tighter around his shoulders, anchoring him closer, making sure that every ounce of your body displayed the truth of your words to him. His fingers dug into the small of your back, returning the favour, his palm at your breast kneading a little rougher now, just enough to make you gasp against his lips before you pulled away, pressing your foreheads together again, your mouths hovering in the shared warmth of your breaths.
”I know how we can get even closer,” You teased, voice low, almost a purr, feeling him let out a shaky breath.
Your free hand slid down the front of his sweater, savouring the smoothness of the fabric over the hard ridges of his abs, until you reached the waistband of his sweatpants. Your fingertips lingered right at the edge of it, teasing lightly, tugging at the untied strings that dangled there. You felt the hitch in his breath, the shiver that trembled through him, before his golden eyes met yours again, glowing brighter, swirling and boiling with need.
“Want me to show you?” You asked, as your thumb traced along the inside of his waistband. His eyes flared again, and he nodded quickly.
”Please.” He replied hoarsely.
Your lips curled in a knowing smile, and you slid your other hand down to join the first, tugging at the waistband with deliberate slowness. He got the message instantly, separating from you just enough to shove them off, the fabric whispering over his thighs. At the same time, you hooked your thumbs beneath your shorts, easing them down your legs along with your panties until you were bare to him.
He froze when he realized, chest rising and falling hard, eyes locked hungrily on you. In answer, he peeled his boxer briefs down in one quick movement, tossing them aside before sinking back down onto his side, and facing you again. You mirrored each other like reflections, heat radiating in the narrow stretch of air between your bodies.
“Touch me…” You whispered, shifting closer, hooking your leg over the hard plane of his thigh, feeling your skin burning where it met his. “And I’ll do the same to you.” The sharp breath he drew made his whole chest quake.
“Fuck… Y/N…” His voice cracked as he dragged his hand down your stomach, hovering just above your mound. “You’re going to drive me crazy.” His fingers trembled for a heartbeat before he spit onto them, wetting the pads, and slid his hand down to part your folds. At the same time, you leaned in, licking your palm slowly before reaching down to cup him. His cock twitched instantly at your touch, heavy and semi-hard, swelling and thickening as your fingers wrapped around the shaft. He gasped, golden eyes fluttering closed, forehead falling against yours.
“Oh God…” Your mouths found each other, lips colliding in a hot, greedy kiss. Tongues brushed, teeth caught, and every sound you made fed him like oxygen. As your hand stroked his length, he groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. His thumb pressed against your clit, slow circles that made your thighs tighten around him, your wrist faltering in its rhythm as your body shook.
Your breath hitched when he slid two fingers lower, dipping carefully into your entrance. He groaned at the heat of you, at the way you clenched eagerly around the intrusion. He curled his fingers up, stroking along that spongy spot deep inside you with exquisite precision.
“Y/N…” He whispered against your lips, pulling away just enough for his words to brush warmly across your mouth. “You feel so good. You’re so wet for me…Fuck, you’re perfect.” Your own pace on him faltered as his fingers moved faster, curling and dragging until your stomach tightened and your hips rolled desperately against his hand. He leaned down to your throat, kissing, then nipping, then sucking marks into your skin. Each bruise he left made you gasp, your grip on his cock tightening as you stroked him faster.
“You’re mine,” He moaned hoarsely against your neck, curling his fingers hard enough to make your whole body jolt. “Always mine. Let me feel you, baby. Let me take care of you.” The heat coiled tight in your core until it snapped, your release spilling over his hand as you moaned out his name, body quaking in his arms. He slowed, coaxing you through it, rubbing gently as you shuddered.
When your body finally eased, you caught his wrist, bringing his fingers to your lips–but he beat you to it, lifting them himself. His eyes didn’t leave yours as he licked your release from his skin, groaning at the taste.
”I want you inside me…” You stated, your voice still shaking from the high, and his eyes widened slightly. You pressed yourself closer to him, brushing your nose along his. “But I don’t want you to move. I just want you to stay still. I just want to be filled with you, Sentry.”
For a moment, his entire body stilled. Then he nodded slowly, reverently, voice breaking on the single word: “Okay.”
You reached down, wrapping your hand around the thick base of his cock. He was hard now, flushed and leaking, and you teased the head along your folds, smearing his pre-come against your entrance. He groaned raggedly, his arm sliding firmly around your back, pulling you tighter against his chest as if to brace himself.
With a slow breath, you guided him in. The stretch made you gasp, your body yielding inch by inch to his sheer size. He buried his face into your neck, groaning brokenly as you sank down onto him, inch after inch, until he was fully seated inside you.
You let out a satisfied hum, locking your leg around his hip to keep him flush with you. He could feel your walls pulsing and fluttering around him, every squeeze dragging another groan from his chest. His cock pressed deep, the tip nudging your cervix, filling you completely.
“…You feel so warm inside me like this,” You whispered, your lips brushing his ear. He hummed low, his mouth trailing kisses along your throat.
“Fucking love it,” He murmured, his words ragged, broken with pleasure. “Can feel everything adjusting to me…Every flutter, every pulse…It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” You kissed him, soft and lingering, drinking in the molten glow in his eyes when he pulled back.
“How long can we stay like this?” He asked, desperation bleeding into his tone. You smirked, brushing your thumb across his jaw.
”All night…If we keep you stimulated.” He let out a raged, guttural groan, his forehead bumping against yours.
“Please. Please, I want to stay with you wrapped around me. We need to make it happen. I want to wake up with you squeezing me. I want to spend every moment inside you.” Your smile softened, full of promise, and you kissed him again, sweet and deep.
pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader
summary: in which charles makes an offensive comment and you put him on a sex ban OR you and charles tease each other for an entire week and charles wants to fuckin’ ruin you for it
warnings: smut!, basically all smut, teasing, edging, horny horny charles, some fluff (I guess lol), language, p in v, idk what I'm missing, NOT PROOFREAD
word count: ~8.1k
author's note: hi this is in my queue and I suck at using it so not sure what time this will be posted at. just whenever the queue does it I guess (it has a mind of its own)... so I hope u enjoy!! I missed writing for Charles and he's such a cheeky horny fucker in this. hope y'all enjoy!! let me know what you think :))) love hearing from y'all! xoxo
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It starts with a comment.
One of those offhand comments when his mind is somewhere else. And its not cruel or even intentional. It’s just….careless.
Charles is standing near the front door, one of his feet propped up against the wall, bent at the knee as he ties the laces of his sneaker. The hem of his faded Ferrari hoodie rides up a little. Giving you a quick look at his freshly tanned skin from summer break a few weeks ago, and black boxers peeking out above the waistband of his jeans.
Hair is still damp from the shower. Jaw sharp, freshly shaven. There’s a faint flush across his cheeks…like always when he’s in a rush.
You’re standing in the kitchen, mug in hand, kitchen drawer still open from where you were reaching for a spoon.
And then you hear it.
He mutters it under his breath. Casual and dismissive. Like he thinks you won’t really hear him.
“You always have to make everything a big deal, don’t you?”
You pause. Hand still on the kitchen drawer handle. Slowly turning your head.
“Excuse me?”
He doesn’t even flinch. He’s so focused on his shoe, tugging the laces. “I just mean…” he huffs a laugh before standing upright. Tossing his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “It’s not that deep, yeah? I just forgot to text. It happens.”
He shrugs his shoulders while he turns toward the door. One hand on the door handle, jaw tilted casually at you like that’s the end of the conversation.
He doesn’t even realize what he’s done. That’s the funny part.
He’s all warm and beautiful. And stupidly smug. Voice still slightly raspy from sleep. And the soft pink flush across his cheeks that always appears whenever he’s in a rush is in full bloom.
You don’t yell. Or even move fast.
Just set your mug down with a soft clink. Walk toward him all soft and sweet.
He blinks when you get close, one brow lifting as he leans across the door as you place a hand on his chest. His heart beat steady beneath the palm of your hand.
And then you smile. Sweetly.
“No sex,” you say.
His expression falters.
“What?”
You tilt your head. “One week.”
He frowns. Confused. “Wait…mon amour…what are you…”
“Maybe then you’ll remember to think before you speak.”
His mouth parts open a bit. “Mon amour, c’mon. You’re not actually…”
You press a soft kiss to his cheek.
Step back.
“Have a good day, baby.”
And then walk back into the kitchen without another word. Behind you, you hear him huff a deep breath and then the front door click shut.
And you smile into your coffee mug with a soft laugh.
-
You don’t see him again until just after dinner time. When the sun has gone down, the sky still a dark mix of fading pinks.
The door creaks open a little slower than usual. His keys rattle as they fall into the dish on the entry way table. You’re standing at the kitchen counter, scrolling through your phone. A glass of wine half-full beside you.
You don’t look up right away. But you can feel his stare burning you as he stands in the arch way.
And when you do, you can see the slight tension in his bones. Like he’s unsure if this ban was serious. Or if maybe…he can charm his way out of it.
“So,” He says, easing up toward you as he pushes off the frame. “About this no sex thing…”
You drop your phone to the counter. Grab your glass of wine and sip it. “What about it?”
“I think it was just a heat of the moment decision, yeah?” He says. “I mean…you were emotional.”
You glance at him slowly, still holding the stem of your wine glass. “Emotional?”
He winces. “M’sorry…I didn’t mean it like that.”
You hum, a small smile curling on your lips. Set the glass down. “Right. Just like you didn’t mean to call me dramatic.”
Charles leans against the counter beside you, his hand slipping onto your lower back. Fingers brushing against the hem of your shirt like it’s innocent.
“I mean, you don’t really wanna do this…like we both know you’ll suffer too.” His voice dropping lower. Deeper.
And its not like you guys can’t live without sex. But you guys had a very healthy sex life…to say the least. Especially when he was home and not traveling for work.
You look at him.
And his face is so fuckin’ smug. Cocky. So overconfident like when he thinks he’s about to win something.
“Y’sure about that?” You raise one brow.
He flattens his palm against your spine now. Firmer. The heat of his palm pressing into you.
“Oh yeah…you’ll last, like what, a day?” He leans in, mouth at your ear. “Y’always get so needy at night, baby.”
You feel your breath hitch as his teeth nip your ear lobe, hand slipping underneath the hem of your shirt to feel your skin.
You smile. “Good thing I’ve got toys then, yeah?”
He freezes.
And you walk away.
-
You wake up rather slowly. With your eyes still closed and body tangled in the sheets, you roll to your side. Instinctively reaching out across the bed to find…nothing. The warmth of his body has faded, making you aware that he’s probably been up for a while.
And then the smell of coffee hits you. And something sweet? Like honey or warm butter.
You blink your eyes open. The room is still pretty dim with the curtains drawn. Your robe has fallen open in the duration of your sleep.
You yawn and stretch your limbs. Toes pressing into the cool floor when you finally lift yourself out of bed.
And then you hear him.
A quiet thud of a drawer closing. The clatter of a pan. And humming.
His voice. No particular song. Just something under his breath and soft.
You move down the hall slowly, still trying to wake up. And when you turn into the kitchen, you halt.
Because he’s there.
Charles. Shirtless. Standing at the stove with his back to you. His hair is a mess…but that wild morning look only makes him prettier.
And he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers. Low on his hips, hugging his ass perfectly. Giving you a perfect view of the slope of his spine, the toned back muscles, and his tanned skin.
There’s a pot of coffee on the counter with two mugs. Toasted bread on a plate, gleaming just a bit…most likely honey butter melted onto them. Even a bowl of fruit. The pieces are cut unevenly but it looks like he tried to make it nice. Only to get impatient with it.
And he’s just humming. Like nothing’s wrong. Like he isn’t currently under a sex ban.
He turns when he hears your footsteps near. Looks over his shoulder and gives you that slow, stupid smile.
“Morning, baby,” he mutters. His voice sweet as he turns back toward the pan. “Hope you’re hungry, mon amour.”
You don’t answer. Just move to the coffee pot and pour yourself a mug. His eyes flick toward you for a moment. Quick. Tracking the way your hands wrap around the mug. The way the mug lifts to your lips.
“Made your favorite,” he says it lightly. “Put some honey butter on the toast too…figured you’d want somethin’ sweet today, yeah?”
You take a sip.
“Mmm. What tricks do you have up your sleeve?”
He shrugs. “Just wanted to take care of you.”
You eye him suspiciously. And that’s when you notice it.
The way his jaw is clenched a bit tighter today. How his fingers tap against the stove. The way his voice sounds like he’s trying so hard to swallow every filthy thought.
He wants you to forgive him.
But he’s horny. And he’s dying.
Because the thing is…Charles was always like this in the morning.
Not just sweet and domestic. But horny. Like ridiculously horny.
And mornings had always been your thing.
Half the time you both wouldn’t even make it out of bed. You’d feel him pull your body into his, his breath warm against your neck as he rutted himself between your thighs. Lazy, greedy grinds that made you wetter with every stroke. No prep or talking. Just the heat of his skin against yours. The push of his cock against your underwear.
Sometimes he didn’t even bother pulling them off. Would just push them to the side, while one hand gripped your hip and the other fisted the fabric of the pillow beside your head as he shoved himself into you. With a grunt and a fuck, you’re so tight in the morning.
Sometimes there were mornings when he’d drag you out of the bed, drop to his knees, and eat you out like a starved man. Tongue fucking you, fingers digging into your ass, as he moaned against your cunt. Always messy and loud.
Mornings when he’d flip you over onto your stomach and fuck you deep. His hand pressed into the nape of your neck as he leans forward and pants in your ear like look at this fuckin’ messy cunt. Pussy’s dripping all over.
And then there were desperate mornings. Like the ones when he got home late from a red-eye flight after a race weekend. And you’d barely even get to open your eyes before he was on you. Pulling your legs apart. Muttering things like need you so bad, baby and need this cunt around me right fuckin’ now.
And you’d let him every single time. Because he sounded absolutely wrecked every time. Soft whimpers pushing past his lips at the feel of you wrapped around him. And when he came? Fuck…he’d make a mess. All over your stomach. Your breasts. Your thighs. Sometimes your back.
So watching him stand at the stove, humming, like he’s not hard. Like he didn’t jack off in the shower just to take the edge off. And you almost feel bad. Key word: almost.
Especially because you know what that cock feels like inside you first thing in the morning. How desperate he gets for you. How desperate he gets when he can’t have it.
And now he’s trying to be cute. As if he didn’t spend the last three years fucking you before breakfast like it was the only way to start his day.
You take another sip of coffee.
And smile.
He’s still humming. Still standing there like his cock isn’t straining against his boxers. Like he didn’t look at your bare legs and have to press his hips into the counter for just a second longer for some relief.
He’s trying so hard to act unaffected. And completely failing.
“Can’t believe you’re up this early,” you mutter into your mug. Taking another small sip with a groan.
Charles glances over his shoulder. Smirks.
“Couldn’t sleep that well.”
You hum. Take another sip.
“You jerked off in the shower, hm?”
His shoulders tense immediately. And that’s how you know.
He huffs a small laugh. “Thought I was quiet.”
You shrug. “Mm not really. Heard it.”
He turns the stove off. Turns to look at you and leans his hands on the edge of the counter.
His eyes darker. Smile vanished.
“You’re mean, y’know that?”
You raise a single bow.
“Walkin around half-naked. Sitting there with those fuckin’ thighs out.” He tilts his head a bit. “And then asking me about jerking off like it’s not big deal.”
You take another sip. “Just makin’ conversation, baby.”
His tongue darts out to lick his lips. A slight twitch in his jaw before he’s moving across the room. Until he’s standing right in front of you. Between your knees.
And when he bends forward, he rests one hand on the stool. His face right near your ear.
“I came thinkin’ bout your cunt,” he whispers. “The way it clenches around me even when you’re half-asleep. So fuckin wet, mon ange. Always fuckin’ soaked.”
You feel your thighs squeeze together. And he smiles because he knows.
“Wanted to wake you up with my tongue,” he mutters. “Wanted to push those knees into your chest and lick you clean…but nope, you wanna play this stupid fuckin’ game.”
You swallow hard. “I told you…just one week.”
His hand drops to your thigh, slipping up toward the hem of your robe. His touch warm and enough to make you twice.
“I give it two more days…max.” He says. “Before you’re begging me to put my cock in you.”
You press a kiss to his cheek. Just like the first day. Sip your coffee and smile.
-
You hear the door open and shut.
Then a voice.
“Baby?”
You don’t answer. You’re just sinking into the couch cushions. Scrolling on your phone. But as soon as he takes one step into the living room, you glance. And instantly regret it.
Because he’s shirtless.
Chest flushed and glistening with swear. Hair pushed back, damp and messy. A small towel slung over his shoulder. A pair of black gym shorts low on his hips. Like really low. And the outline of his cock is absurd.
Your mouth goes dry.
Charles notices the way your thighs press together. The way your eyes drop once. But then quickly dart back up like you didn’t just stare at his cock.
He smirks.
“Miss me?”
You don’t answer. And you don’t really have to cause he’s already towering over you. Looking at you like he can’t decide whether he wants to fuck you or put his mouth on your cunt.
“Didn’t even shower…” His voice low. “Figured I’d come give you a little show first.”
He presses one hand to his cock. Palms himself.
A faint dark spot…wet spot…visible.
“Was hard the entire time,” he mumbles. “Had to run laps with my cock leakin’. Thinking about your little cunt.”
You don’t move an inch.
“Everyone at the gym was trying to talk to me…all I could think about was bendin’ you over on one of the benches and fucking you in front of the mirrors.”
“Charles…”
“Don’t even care if someone watched…just would let them,” he groans. “Let them watch me shove my cock into you while you sob.”
You let out a breath of air.
And he grins. Mean.
“Ohhh,” his eyes crinkle. “Got you now?”
“No.”
“Could make you come like this,” he whispers. “Rubbin on you. Bet you’d let me.”
“Nope.”
“You would.” He demands. Ruts a little harder against his palm. Groans. “Clenching your thighs like that. Can tell you’re dripping, yeah? Bet you woke up soaked…needing my cock like y’always take it in the morning.”
You inhale. Shaky.
And he’s right. Thats the fucked up part of it.
“M’gonna go shower,” He palms himself one more time. Calling over his shoulder as he says, “Feel free to join, baby.”
He turns. Walks away.
Grinning.
And you let your head fall back against the couch with an audible sigh.
-
Usually, when you and Charles go out to dinner, you don’t sit on the same side of the booth. But tonight, Charles insisted. Said he wanted to be close. Something about how romantic it was.
But really…he’s hunting.
The restaurant is dim and warm. Small tea-light candles flicker in the midst of every table. The clatter of silverware against plates, hushed by conversations.
Your skin is still warm and flushed a bit red from the bath you took earlier. And Charles?
Well….he’s a fucking nightmare. A beautiful, horny nightmare.
Dressed in a white dress shirt with he buttons half-undone at the collar. Just enough to show the flush skin of his neck. Sleeves rolled up his forearms.
He’s been quiet for most of the dinner. Not in a moody or sulking way. The kind of way that tells you he’s up to no good.
You’re wearing a black dress. Slit high. The fabric soft but short, causing your thighs to slightly stick to the leather booth. His hands rest behind you, knee slightly pushed into yours.
He starts out subtle.
A quick brush of his fingertips along your shoulder. Then your back. All while he nods attentively to whatever you’re saying.
But his hand just dips lower and lower with every second that passes. Eventually reaching the skin of your thigh.
And you shoot him a look. Which he just responds with a sly smile as if to say m’not doing anything.
The water comes by with a dessert menu. Charles lets you order claiming that you’ll just want to share anyways. So he doesn’t even bother to look at the menu.
And when he walks away, he lets his fingers graze higher up your thigh.
Your breath falters. Fingers gripping into the edge of the tablecloth.
“Charles.”
“You said no sex,” he mutters, not looking at you. “Didn’t say anything about touching.”
Your jaw clenches tight.
He hums. “Don’t make a scene now, mon ange.”
His fingers graze the skin right where your dress ends. Then slips beneath it. And you try to shift your thighs to trap his wrist, but he’s faster. Smarter.
“You’re wearing the red ones,” he groans into your ear. “The lace ones…my fuckin’ favorite.”
You don’t answer. Can’t answer.
He keeps his eyes steady on the flickering candle on the table as his middle finger drags slowly up the center strip of your panties.
“Already wet,” he groans.
You reach for your wine glass with both hands. Needing something to hold onto. Take a long sip.
“Tell me to stop,” his lips brush against your ear. “C’mon, I dare you.”
He’s barely moving his fingers. Just softly tracing the outline of your cunt through the barely there fabric. Back and forth. Over and over. Occasionally pressing the pad of his finger right over your clit.
“M’god baby, can feel how hot you are.” He whispers.
You glance around the restaurant in a panic. Cheeks flushing red from his touch. But no one is paying attention. And the table and tablecloth cover everything.
“Y’know what I’d do if you just let me fuck you?” He breathes, mouth lingering near your jaw as he presses a single soft kiss. Quick. So quick you almost thought you imagined it.
You feel the air catch in your throat as your hands grip even tighter onto the wine glass.
“I’d drag you right into that bathroom, baby. Sit you in the edge of the sink. Rip these pathetic panties to the side and slide into you nice and slow. Deep. Sit there until your eyes roll back.”
“Charles,” you hiss through your teeth. Placing the wine glass down on the table.
But your thighs are shaking. And you don’t want him to stop either.
“I’d make you say my name. Over and over…” He presses his finger to your clit again, then drags his finger in a rubbing motion over.
You press your hand over his wrist, gripping it as tightly as you did with the wine glass.
And then he stops.
Smiling sweetly. Casually. Like he didn’t just rub your cunt in a fucking restaurant.
“Mmm, so how ‘bout dessert?”
You blink.
And he grins.
-
It’s late at night and Charles swears he’s about to lose is fucking mind.
The room is dark. Well, aside from the faint glow of the TV playing a random re-run of something neither of you are really bothering to watch.
You’re turned up on your side, facing the wall. Back to Charles. Breathing even and eyes shut. But you’re not asleep…and Charles knows it.
Behind you, you hear the faint movement of the sheets rustling. A shift of weight. One heavy, slow breath. And then…the sound.
That slow and slick sound of skin dragging over skin. The wet stroke of his fist wrapping around his cock. Up and down.
You stay still. Halt your breathing.
“Fuck,” Charles groans behind you. “Y’killing me.”
You say nothing but your body has gone rigid as you face away from him.
He grunts softly. The mattress dipping with each rock of his hips. And you can hear how wet he is. His precum loud and coated all over his cock. He’s been edging himself all fucking day.
And now this is what it’s come to.
Charles, flat on his back, fucking his cock under the covers like some desperate fucking animal.
“Y’not even gonna look at me?” He pants. A small whimper pushing past his lips in the middle of his sentence.
You don’t respond.
He strokes himself harder. “Layin’ here with my cock in my hand, leaking all over the place. Y’know how messy I get for you, baby.”
Your thighs clench under the sheets. But still, you remain silent.
“Pussy’s so fuckin’ good,” he groans, throwing his head back deeper into the pillow. “So fuckin’ tight. Always fits me so good…and I’d…I’d come the very second I slid in, y’know that?”
You swallow hard. And he hears it.
“Oh,” he huffs out a small laugh. It’s dark and mean. “Y’liked that one, yeah?”
You shift a fraction. But it’s more than enough to keep Charles talking.
“Can’t stop thinkin’ about it,” he mutters, his hand moving faster. Slowing down at the tip of his cock. “Wish you’d sit on my cock…wish I could just drag you over here and split you open on it.”
Your thighs clench.
“Wouldn’t even do it slow,” he adds. “Not after this fuckin’ shit you pulled. Would’ve bent you over, yanked your hair, and make you cry for it.”
His voice ends in a moan. The face of his hand faltering as he ruts his hips upward. He’s close.
You finally turn your head to catch a glimpse of him. The faint TV light outlining his figure.
He’s flushed. Hair a tousled mess. Brows furrowed in concentration but as if he’s in pain. Mouth cracked open and lips pink and slip.
His abs flex. Chest heaving as he jerks in sharp strokes.
But his eyes?
Already locked on you.
“Want you to sit on it,” he groans. “Wanna feel that cunt stretch open around me…fuck, baby…just lemme feel it, yeah? Let me feel you..just this once.”
You shift again. A small whimper pushing past your lips that you didn’t mean to let out.
And that’s all it takes.
“Fuck…fuck,” he hisses as his hips lift off the bed. “Fuck..fuck, I’m coming.”
And he does. Hard.
Like body convulsing, throat tight with a moan, as he spills across his stomach. And its so much that it coats his hand, bits of hit reaching up to his chest. A messy release that drags on for what feels like forever. He groans again, dragging his hand slowly over himself, milking it.
And it’s so fucking hot.
That you can’t move. Or even speak.
You just keep watching with your thighs clenched. Nipples hard.
And when Charles finally looks back at you, “You’re fucked, mon amour.”
You blink. Eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Me?”
His voice is hoarse. “Oh yeah, you. M’gonna fucking ruin you for this.”
-
The sun is violent. Bright and beaming, beating down on the tiles around the pool. The pool water shimmers in its reflection. Skin glistening.
Everything seems totally calm and normal. Just two people, a loving couple, sunbathing and enjoying a relaxing pool day.
But if you look closer…it’s unbearable.
You’re lounging on your back, a pair of black sunglasses you stole from Charles perched on the bridge of your nose. And the tiniest bikini across your skin. The one he bought you while in Mallorca one year. The one that always made him nearly foam at the mouth.
And Charles hasn’t moved in nearly ten minutes.
He’s just sitting on the edge of the lounger, elbows pressed into his knees, face buried into the palms of his hands. Every few moments, the only motion he does is dragging his fingers into the roots of his hair. Like it will reset his brain or something.
You glance over at him.
His bathing suit hangs low on his hips. Like dangerously low. The muscles in his back twitching every time you so much as shift in your seat. And when you stretch…back arching, tits straining against the tiny triangles of the suit…he actually groans.
“Baby…you’re killing me,” he says. His voice rough.
He shifts slightly. Adjusting the obvious bulge forming in his shorts while exhaling a laugh that sounds more like he’s in pain than anything.
“I love you,” he says. “Y’know that right?”
Your heart clenches, cheeks burn at the words of endearment. “Yes?”
“No…like I fucking love you. I’d die for you.” He looks at you as if he’s unraveling. “But if you keep lying there like that…tits barely covered, arching…knowing that I can’t touch you…”
He drags a palm over his face. “M’trying to be good, I swear…” Dropping his head back between his shoulders.
The corners of your lips curl upward, amused. “Are you really?”
He snaps his head back up to look at you. And his eyes are dark. Feral almost.
“I could go weeks without sex, easy. I don’t need it like that.” His voice softens. “I love you for you.”
But then his voice drops lower. Deeper. More desperate and needy. “But this? Tellin me that I can’t have you? While walkin’ around like that?”
He leans back on his lounger, hand palming his cock. Shameless. Doesn’t even try to hide it.
“Bet you want me to fuck you against this chair…drag you over my cock ’til you’re crying.” He lets out a groan.
“Charles…”
He hums. “Still not giving in?”
You exhale shakily. You want to so bad. “Y’know the rules.”
He lets out a soft laugh. Closes his eyes for a few moments. His hands pressing down harder on his cock.
“Do you know how fucking hard it is not to make love to you right now?”
Your body stills. Pulse thrumming.
“You’re everything to me,” he says. “Not just the sex. Not just your body. You.” His voice cracks a bit. Fingers still teasing the base of his cock through the fabric of his suit.
“I’d wait forever if I had to.”
He turns to look at you. Eyes locking with yours. “But if you don’t let me fuck you soon, m’gonna come in my hand thinking about how tight your cunt squeezes me.”
You bite your lip. Thighs pressing together. Nipples aching.
His smile widens.
“Thought so.”
And then Charles gets up, fists his towel over his shoulder, and heads inside.
-
You’ve barely made it thirty minutes outside of Monaco before Charles starts being a menace.
And the Ferrari is too sleek, too fast, and too tiny for the kind of restraint he’s pretending to have.
It starts with his hand.
Resting casually on the gear shift before innocently slipping to your thigh. You don’t look at him. Just take a small sip from your water bottle like you barely know he’s there.
The heat of his palm slipping through the thin fabric of your sundress.
His hand trails a little higher.
You glance at him. Eyes narrowed. “Really?”
His lips twitch, but his eyes stay focused on the road ahead. “What?”
“Your hand.”
“Oh.” He squeezes your thigh. “This one?”
You shake your head, pushing his hand playfully off your leg.
He laughs, moves his hand to lower the air conditioning, then places it back on your thigh like you didn’t just shove him off. “Just lovin’ on you, baby.”
“More like manipulating me.”
“Can’t a man touch his girlfriend?”
“Not one that can’t keep it in his pants.”
He hums. Pretending to think. “Technically, I’ve kept it in my pants for…” His eyes shift to look at the clock. Doing math in his head. “Four and a half days.”
You snort. “Want a trophy?”
“No,” his lips curl. “Just your cunt.”
You choke, turning your head abruptly to him. “Charles!”
“Mon amour,” he groans, tossing his head back against the seat. “You’ve no idea how hard this is.”
“I do,” you cross your legs.
“Oh, don’t fuckin’ do that,” he nearly whines. “Don’t squeeze your thighs like you’re the one in pain.”
“Keep your hands to yourself” You look back at the road.
“I’ve kept my cock to myself…doesn’t that get me a reward?”
“You jerked off twice yesterday.”
His eyes widen slightly. Cheeks redden. “Because you wore that little fuckin’ robe all around the house. Teasing me. M’gonna burn it after this week, I swear.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“Me?” He scoffs. “You’re the one who said no sex for a week because I forgot to text back.”
“You called me dramatic.”
“I called you beautiful,” he argues. “And then I called you dramatic. Which you then proved by banning sex for a week. So honestly, I was right.”
You groan.
He smiles.
There’s a pause of silence. Just the low rumble of the car engine. The low music humming.
“Are you wet right now?”
You feel your back stiffen.
“Charles.”
“I just wanna know,” His eyes still on the road. Fingers dragging slowly up and down your leg. “I mean..you’re wearin’ this little dress. It’s warm out. And you’ve barely touched me in four days.”
“You’re acting like its been a year.”
He smirks. “Just tell me.”
He inches his fingers a little higher, fingers toying with the hem of your dress.
You clench your jaw. Turn to look out the window.
He hums.
“That’s what I thought.”
-
You’re lying back against the pillows with your robe loosely tied. Legs parted just enough to let him between them as he hovers over you. One knee between your thighs and the other digging into the mattress near your hip. His skin is warm. Like it usually is, but it’s also flushed a light shade of red from his recent shower. And he smells like the mint toothpaste and your vanilla scented shampoo that he always loves to steal whenever you buy it
And his lips are already on you.
It’s gentle. Just the slow sweep of his mouth on yours. Sweet. But then he sighs into it. A deep, frustrated, and needy sound..and then he’s deepening it.
His lips parting yours. Not rushed or anything but full. His tongue slipping in with a kind of insatiable hunger he always has.
You let him in deeper, lips parting for him, and his tongue slides against yours. Slow and smooth. Until you let out a soft whimper, and then it gets dirtier.
Sloppier.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans into your lips. “Don’t make that sound.”
You whimper again anyways. His hips pressing down to meet yours. Cock heavy and hard beneath the grey sweatpants. And you feel the thick outline of it against your core through the thin fabric of your panties.
Not thrusting. Just a slow, grinding drag of his cock against you.
Your breath catches. And he groans at the feeling.
“Y’feel that?” He pants against you. “Fuckin’ aching. Have been for days, mon amour…thought you’d break by now.”
You open your mouth to respond but he cuts you off with another kiss. And his hand slips beneath your robe, gliding over your skin before settling on the space beneath your breast. Not grabbing or groping. Just holding you.
“I love you,” he mutters into your mouth. “So much…like so much it’s make me fuckin’ stupid.”
Your head tips back and he kisses down your neck. A few slow, wet drags of his mouth over his throat while he drags his hips against your core again.
You whimper. And he grunts.
“You’re not helping,” his voice cracks. Hoarse. “You sound like you want it.”
And you do. Fucking god you want it. But you won’t say it. Not yet. Instead, you keep your fingers woven into his hair, tugging gently, with your mouth parted as he grinds against you again.
Another kiss. Deep and desperate. Tongue licking yours like he needs it to breathe. And he groans when he feels you arch up into him.
“Mon amour…” He pants, dragging his lips back toward your neck. Peppering kisses to the skin right beneath your jaw. “Fuck…you’re killing me.”
And then you feel something shift in him. You feel it in the way his hips slow. In the way his hold tightens. Like he’s trying to pull himself back from the edge with everything he has left in him.
You open your mouth to ask why did you stop. But he shakes his head before you can get any words out.
“Can’t do this,” his voice is soft. “Not yet…”
You furrow your brows.
“I want to,” he breathes, eyes flicking shut for a moment. “You’ve got no idea how fuckin’ much I want to.”
His mouth is close enough to kiss. But he doesn’t move.
“I thought you’d break by now,” he whispers, a soft smile near your cheek.
You smile. A little breathless.
“I’ve never seen you this worked up,” you drag your hand to cradle his jaw. Brushing your thumb along his cheek.
And he laughs under his breath. More of a frustrated sigh. “Yeah…well, I’ve never been told I couldn’t fuck you. It’s messing with my head.”
He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then your forehead.
“I love you,” he says again. Slower. Quieter. “More than I want to fuck you. Which is saying a lot.”
You laugh, and he grins.
Then he’s pulling back completely. Settling beside you on the pillows, one hand still on your thigh.
“And when you do give in…” His voice lowers. “You won’t be able to walk the next day.”
-
The water is hot. Clinging to your skin as the steam fogs up the mirror and waves around the bathroom. A slight scent wafting in the air from the bubbles that used to be in there, but have gone down after sitting in there for some time. The candle on the table beside the tub has burned low.
It’s peaceful. But your body just is not.
You’ve been on edge for days. Muscles aching with tension that no amount of sleep or stretching can remove. You’ve spent every night tangled in the sheets with your thighs pressed tight, occasionally grinding into nothing. You’ve been waking up with slick between your legs. The echo of Charles’s voice in your head whispering the things he’d do if you just caved.
Charles leans agains the frame of the bathroom, arms crossed over his bare chest. Eyes trailing down the curve of your wet body. Just watching.
He’s in those sweats again. Low on his hips, a little damp from where they clung to his freshly showered skin. And yet again, the outline of his cock is very apparent.
“Pretty girl,” he mutters. “Hiding from me again?”
You blink at him, slipping a little deeper in to the water. “M’not hiding.”
“No?” He pushes off the frame and steps closer toward the tub. Slow. “Then why do I keep finding you in here, touching yourself like I’m not here?”
You scoff. Cheeks reddening. “I was not!”
He hums. A small smirk on his lips. “Liar.”
He kneels beside the tub. And the movement of him bending down makes the waistband of his sweats dip just a little bit lower to show the sharp toned lines leading beneath it. The same lines you’ve kissed thousands of times. The ones you’ve bitten before he’s had your face pressed into the mattress.
He dips his fingers into the water. Reaching for your thigh. “Y’gonna tell me how wet you are?”
“Charles.”
“Beg me to stop teasing you?” His eyes darken. “Or beg for more?”
You exhale deeply. Your chest rising and falling. Charles eyes trailing to where your nipples peak through the soapy water. “I said no sex.”
He shrugs. “We went over this, mon ange. Doesn’t mean I cant touch…”
Your cunt clenches around nothing. Thighs slightly twitching as he leans over the edge of the tub, his lips ghosting the skin of your neck.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you.” He presses a kiss. “Doesn’t mean I can’t talk like this.” Another kiss, closer to your jaw. “Doesn’t mean I can’t make you wet.”
You suck in a sharp breath. Head falling further back against the tub. “You’re awful.”
“I’m in love with you,” he whispers. Nose pressing into your jaw. “And I want to fuck you so bad that it’s killing me.”
Your body erupts in goosebumps regardless of the steaming water.
“Charles…”
“Let me in,” he says. Voice rough and low. “Please. I’ll be good. I’ll be slow. Whatever you want…just…please,” He closes his eyes for a quick second. “Need to feel you again. I cant do this anymore.”
You hesitate.
Nod.
His sweats hit the tiled floor so fast that it makes your stomach clench with need. He’s in the tub not even a breath later. The water of the tub sloshing around, some of it spilling over the edge in the process. Until he slips in behind you, settling as he drags your back into his chest.
His cock thick and hot as it rests between your butt under the water.
You barely register how quickly he settled in the tub, before he’s gripping your thighs, pressing an open mouth kiss to your neck.
You instinctively grind against him once.
And his entire body jolts.
“You’re gonna kill me…gonna fuckin’ kill me.” He mutters.
And then he’s pulling you up into him. Until the fat head of his cock is nudging against your core.
“Say you want it,” he breathes. Nipping at your ear lobe. “Say you want me to fuck you.”
You whimper. And his grip on you tightens.
“Say it,” Charles practically begs. Cock twitching against you. “Say you want me.”
His mouth finds your neck again. Kissing like a starved man. Sucking until your skin burns and his teeth scrape against you. One of his hand slips down, his palm splayed against the skin of your belly. While the other hooks behind your thigh, spreading you open.
And then you say it. Broken. Soft. Like you can barely even breathe. Want you…want you to fuck me…ple..
You don’t even finish your sentence before Charles is groaning. Lifting you a tiny bit to guide the thick head of his cock into you. And he doesn’t slam or rush into you. He just pushes in slow, like he wants to feel the slow stretch of each inch pushing into you.
“Fuckin’ Christ,” he pants at the same time you moan a loud Oh my God…
And then he’s gone.
There’s no rhythm or patience. Just frantic, deep thrusts. The harsh sound of skin on skin barely muffled by the splashing water.
His hands gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t. And he’s so deep that it almost burns. Hitting that spot deep in your belly just right every single time.
“Fuck…fuck fuck f-fuck, baby….can’t hold it,” he grunts. Forehead pressed into your shoulder. Mouth pressing sloppy kisses down your neck.
You whimper. The heat building in your tummy too fast. Your thighs tightening and cunt clenching.
“Charles…oh my god…”
And then you’re coming.
Cunt clenching so hard that he chokes. A moan ripping from his throat as his cock twitches once…twice…
And then he’s done for.
Burying himself so deep into you that he shudders as he spills inside. Hips grinding helplessly. Cursing your name over and over.
When its over, he slumps against the tub. You leaning into him.
Breathless. Content.
“Consider that a gift,” he mumbles into your skin. “Cause I’m not going easy on you now.”
-
Charles doesn’t let go of you.
Not even after he’s spilled inside you. Not after your cunt clenched around him so hard that it sent some of the water over the bath edge. His chest is still rising and falling. Arms wrapped tightly around you.
But eventually he moves.
Your thighs tremble as you try to shift around, but then he’s grabbing under your knees and arms in one quick motion. Lifting you straight out of the tub.
The bathroom air is cool, but his skin is hot and flushed against yours. Cock still hard against you, like he didn’t just come. Like he didn’t even take the edge off.
He lowers you onto the mattress slowly. Carefully. Like you’re something he worships (he does). Something he owns. But the second your back digs into the mattress, the illusion is gone.
“Y’think that little fuck in the bath was enough?” His voice low and sharp. “Think I’m satisfied?” He’s already climbing over you, one knee between your thighs. His cock dragging against your stomach.
You try to reach around him, but he grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head with a single hand. His eyes burning.
“Don’t touch me like you’re all fuckin’ sweet or something,” he snaps, brushing his nose against yours. “You’ve been cruel all week.”
His other hand trails down your body. Slow. So slow that goosebumps follow. Stopping right near your cunt. Fingers skimming so close, but never landing where you want them the most.
You whimper beneath him, legs twitching a bit. But it only causes him to spread them wider.
He leans in close to your ear. And you can feel his breath against your skin. “I should edge you ’til you cry. Over and over. Want you sobbing.”
His grip on your wrist tightens as he slips his cock between your folds. Not pushing in. Just dragging the fat tip against your clit.
“Y’feel how soaked you are?” He hisses.
And then he drags it lower, pushing the tip barely into you. Maybe an inch. Before he’s pulling it back out.
You moan, head falling deeper in the cushion of the mattress.
And he grins. All mean. “Oh, y’like that, yeah?” He huffs a laugh. “That little taste? Cause that’s all you get….until you admit it.”
You breathe in sharply. Eyes pleading for something.
“Admit you like being denied, baby. Admit that you love being treated like a toy…that it gets you wet.”
He taps his cock against your entrance again. Messing with you. And your hips roll into him, trying to catch him…but his hand moves to your waist and grips it hard. Pinning you down.
“Nu-uh,” He grunts, dragging his lips over your cheek. “You’ll get what I give.”
“Charles…”
“Shhhh.” He’s smiling. But it’s not nice. It’s cocky and mean. “Been dripping for the past six days, hm?”
His fingers come up to the skin beneath your jaw, cradling it as he turns your face toward his.
“Say it.”
You blink, lips parted. “What?”
“That you like bein’ teased…denied. Edged…”
You bite your lip, eyes narrowing.
But he’s dragging the head of his cock against you. Slower. And the movement has you gasping.
And he does it again.
Again.
And again.
Dragging his cock against your core, barely nudging in before he stops completely. Pinning you down harder with each twitch of your hips.
You’re drenched. Thighs sticky with need. Body trembling with want. And aching.
He looks at you like you’re the most precious thing his eyes have ever seen. The way your skin flushes, the way your thighs shake, the way your eyes narrow in frustration.
“Y’feel how soaked you are, m’god baby…” He hisses, still barely pushing in.
And you gasp. High and desperate, as your fingers fist the pillow above your head.
He sinks in…just a little bit.
And the stretch of his cock is enough to make your cunt clench down hard around almost nothing. But he pulls back out just as fast.
Charles laughs. Cruel.
You whimper as he taps the head of his cock against your clit again. Lines himself up and pushes in again.
Just enough to feel that stretching burn.
“Fuck,” he groans. And then he’s leaning back off of you to shove two fingers deep into your cunt.
And you cry out, back arching off the mattress.
His fingers curl up instantly, hitting that spongy spot he knows you love oh so well. The spot that makes your vision blur.
You squeeze your thighs around his wrist. Bucking your hips against his hand as he works against you. Pushing and curling deep. His palm grinding against your clit.
“Fuck…f-fuck Charles…” You gasp, careening forward to reach for his shoulders.
And his eyes watch the way your face twists, the way your bottom lip catches between your teeth.
“That’s it,” he mutters. “Getting close already, yeah?”
You nod quickly, legs shaking.
“Can feel it,” he grins as his fingers fuck into you harder. Faster. “You’re so fuckin’ close.”
And you whimper as your orgasm approaches. It’s right there. Like right there.
And then he pulls out.
And you let out a loud sob. Hips jerking. Chasing nothing as you pant and cry out.
Charles lifts his soaked fingers to your mouth. Presses them to your lips.
“Taste what you fuckin’ can’t have,” he snarls.
You suck his fingers in almost instantly. Tongue lapping against his fingers like you’re starving for it. Charles watches with his jaw clenched. His eyes glued to the way your mouth works against his fingers.
He pulls them free with a loud wet pop. His hand grabbing your face, squeezing your cheeks, with a single hand. Forcing your face to look at him.
“Y’think I’m just gonna let you come when you were mean to me all week?” His lips brush against yours. “Tellin’ me I can’t have you…can’t…” He laughs. “You’re literally mine…walking around in all those tiny fuckin’ shorts…the fuckin’ robe.”
He lets go of your face, pushing you back down against the mattress. Pressing his cock into your folds again. Hot and heavy.
And he thrusts forward, still not pushing in. Just nudging. Sitting there.
“Please…” You beg.
But he shakes his head.
“No,” he huffs. “Not til you’re begging. Not til you tell me that this little cunt’s mine to ruin whenever I say so or please.”
You sob again.
His hand slips down to your clit. The rough pads of his fingers brushing over you. Pressing.
“I like it,” you moan. He presses his fingers harder. “Lo…love when you tease me. I..fuck..”
And then his mouth is crashing into you. Cock pushing forward. Thick and so fucking hard.
He drives in deep.
And the stretch is so good that you think you might cry.
Charles moans right into your mouth. Forehead pressed against yours.
He thrusts again. And again. Deep. Punishing.
And it’s too much.
You sob out as your orgasm rises. Your body exploding, thighs clenching around him as you come hard around him. Shaking.
And Charles swears violently. Driving his hips in harder. Faster.
Hips stuttering until he’s spilling inside you again. White, hot sticky ropes of it. And it just keeps going.
There’s so much of it that he fills you until you’re full. Leaking out of you even when he’s stuffed deep inside.
“Fuck…f-fuck, baby,” he breathes. His head falling into the crevice of your neck. Kissing you.
His hips slow. A few slow, lazy and greedy pumps just to feel you again. Because he can.
And you’re still panting beneath him. Limbs loose and sweaty. His weight pressing into you like a weighted blanket, cock still buried deep.
He moves a bit. Only to brush your hair out of your face.
And he looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real. Eyes shining.
You blink at him. Blushing. “What?”
He just smiles. “Can’t believe I survived six days of that.”
You laugh. “You barely did.”
He nods. “Yeah…thought about proposing on day three…just to see if you’d break.”
Your eyes widen. Heart hammering. “What?”
And his grin widens. “Would’ve done it too…one knee…cock hard as fuck.”
You snort, weaving your fingers into his hair. “You’re disgusting.”
“Mmm,” he hums. “But you love me.”
You roll your eyes. Playfully. Lovingly. “Unfortunately.”
Charles sighs like he’s never been happier. Still buried inside you. Still leaning his weight into you.
but also can we be obsessed with Clark's thighs for a minute---😳
somewhere meant to be
a/n: ask and you shall always ALWAYS receive being obsessed with clark's thighs. the way i've been itching to write the most insane filth imaginable, but the burn out is taking its sweet time fading. so this is perfect timing! i literally just saw it for a third time so i am ready to churn out everything and anything about his thighs. because well fuck i need to sit on them. and that's it. that's the post. enjoy babes!
summary: your favorite spot in the house wasn't the leather chair that had seen better days. it was the way he sat in it - more specifically how.
word count: 1.7k+
pairing: clark kent x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, thigh riding, not necessarily body worship but its up there, complimenting this gorgeous man, fluff, teasing, romance, he's got a dirty mouth in this one, sloppy makeouts that had my mind reeling, they're obsessed with each other.
Time moved quick in the confines of The Daily Planet. Days passing by in the blink of an eye, hours and minutes fleeting moments you could barely cling to even as the clock ticked steadily—taunting you with how much was left. And you took it in stride most days. Swam with the crashing waves, chased each story with ease, because you knew something better awaited you. Once the clock struck eight you were no longer bound to the gilded floors of your home away from home.
Time finally settled into place, giving you a chance to find yourself here. Spread across his lap as your lips and found solace along his and breath ceased to exist.
There weren’t that many things you’d give up over time for. Always a strong believer in the night owl life of a reporter always on duty. But for Clark Kent you’d wipe the slate clean, hand over your time sheet, and wave goodbye to the coworkers who had a strong inkling of the man you were desperate to see. They knew you were dating—they just never bothered to say it out loud.
“I need to put the pizza in the oven,” you mumbled, tugging at his curls for just a split second to hear him groan—his hips bucking up into yours. He was already hard, probably leaking a mess into his slacks. You fought the urge to slip down between his thick thighs and forced yourself to get up.
Much to his disappointment.
Flushed cheeks and a dimpled smile met your half lidded gaze. “I knew I should have ordered something.”
“Why? There’s perfectly good food here.”
“Not when one of us eats more than your average human,” he sighed, settling further into the leather chair—his legs falling open and head finding its usual spot on the leather back.
You sucked in a breath to avoid crawling on your knees towards the obvious bulge in his charcoal hued pants. “That’s why I bought two at the store.”
“I’ll still place an order.”
“Clark-”
“And call in to the donut shop you like for a box of sprinkled chocolates for the morning.”
Perfect.
He was utterly and absolutely perfect.
The type of man you liked to kid yourself into believing only existed in the fantastical worlds of fiction. The man who brought you lunch because you always forgot yours in the back of the fridge, saved the cherry on top of his shakes for your very own delight, and swooped in to save the day. No matter how small the catastrophe or how large the destruction.
The phone looked minuscule in his hands as he tapped the number in, his hair still disheveled from your hands tugging on it less than five minutes prior. You had to pry yourself off him to get things done most days. Entirely too addicted to the way his tongue slid against yours, the taste of his disgusting coffee that was mainly syrups and sugars still stuck on the back of your taste buds.
You struggled to breathe in his presence. Unable to focus on menial tasks around your apartment when he looked like this. Unruly and at peace and taking up far too much space while still looking like he couldn’t belong anywhere else.
You knew you loved him.
You knew he knew it too.
How could you not? When Clark Kent made loving him easier than pressing the button on your oven to set the timer; when loving him came quick and with a breathless gasp. As if he’d just taken you flying somewhere for the very first time.
The timer beeped as you punched in the numbers for thirty minutes, practically skipping on your way back to his slumped form in his favorite chair. Comfortable, warm, welcoming enough for you to slide right back into your favorite place. Perched on his thigh with his broad hands holding tight onto your hips to keep the balance—to make sure you wouldn’t fall.
“You’re so pretty,” you sighed, cupping his cheek and pressing your thumb along the rounded cheekbone.
His lips found a home on your wrist, black long lashes fluttering as he breathed you in. “You’re prettier than me honey.”
“Doubt that.”
He smiled and your heart kicked up a notch, beating a drum solo that would put any rock star to shame. “You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Took my breath away that first day.”
“Clark,” you protested, yet could feel the desperate plea curling low in your gut to hear just a bit more. Maybe it was gluttonous of you, but he never held back with his compliments. Not when it came to you.
“What’s so pretty about me huh? ‘M just some guy.”
“Well you’re Superman.” He nodded, tugging you closer until his nose was against your cheek, lips dragging feather-light along your own as you spoke words that would have taken an entire bottle of liquid courage to even think about. “You’re eyes are…they’re as blue as the Aegean sea. And your lips are…”
“My lips…”
“They’re just…um…and your thighs-” His brows shot up, lips curling into a grin that gave you away. “I like them.”
“You do?” His hands guided you even as the question lingered on the tip of your tongue, pulling you to straddle his left thigh, and sucking in a breath at the sight of your skirt riding up high enough to show a peek of pink between your legs. “Gosh honey. You’re soaked.”
“Yeah,” you whined.
Even though you could barely see his face in the glow of your lights, you could feel the heat radiate off his cheeks. The crimson hued flush of a man in love—a man who wanted to spread you on the carpet near your fireplace and eat you alive. He could. He knew entirely how easy it would be to lift you, to bury his head between your soft thighs and pull sounds he could only imagine from your parted lips.
But you were beginning to move, unconsciously shifting back and forth along his thigh—your eyes glazed and breaths shallow. He could hear your heart as if it were his own, smell the thick heady arousal trapped beneath satin and lace. Clark’s mind went blank as he dragged you the final few centimeters towards the only place he belonged.
His lips sealed over yours, a sighed out moan lost to the heat of his tongue licking deep into you, memorizing the taste of the salty chips you’d been snacking on an hour ago. His cock throbbed in his slacks, the belt at his waist the perfect pressure to grind on when you did the unthinkable. You fucked yourself along his thigh with a high pitched cry, your hands curling into his hair to mess it up some more; he was pretty sure even the wind itself wouldn’t fix that mess (not that he wanted it to).
“C-Clark I need-”
“I know what you need baby,” he gasped, taking over as your muscles strained beneath soft skin his fingers pressed into. “I’ll get you there. Yeah? I’ll take care of my sweet girl.”
“Uh-huh,” you uttered and to his ears you sounded far off. Lost in an entirely different world.
You however could barely hear your own voice over the rush of blood pumping in your ears, the unsteady thud of a heart that practically screamed Clark’s name.
Sitting up slightly he pushed you down along his thigh, feeling your slick form a damp stain along the already dark fabric. He’d mouth at it later to taste the remnants of your cunt, his teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to stifle his pathetic moan. If only you could hear how his heart raced for you. The way his hands shook as he pushed his thigh up until you were bouncing on it.
“Can smell you baby,” he pushed into your mouth, one hand curling around the nape of your neck to hold you in place. “Almost there?”
You nodded, crying out as you finally found that perfect amount of pleasure, another wave of your sticky wetness leaking out through the already ruined fabric of your panties. Clark’s pupils went wide, the black cloud of need overtaking everything else. He could hear the sizzle of the pizza in the oven, smell the burning crust, but he wouldn’t take care of the mess until you came on his fucking thigh.
Until he heard you sob his name and felt you gush onto pants he’d have to throw out in the morning. But it was all okay. He could find a new pair. And he’d let you ruin those too.
“I’m gonna—fuck—Clark!”
You needed something more, one last thing to push you over the edge. But Clark could feel it forming before he even said the words—your stupefied look every time he cursed (mainly under his breath and to himself) all he needed to understand your affinity. You liked when he got dirty, when he went rough around the edges.
When he said the thing he’d never dare to say.
He mouth latched onto your throat when your head fell back. “C’mon baby. Soak on my fucking leg for me.”
It burst with a broken sob against his bruised lips, your hips moving rapidly along his muscled thigh and clit throbbing as you broke in his hold. Clark mouthed at your neck, guiding your trembling form along his limb with ease. Even when you tugged at his curls to find his lips once more and pressed a hand to his stomach to press your clit down just a bit harder. He kept you in his hold—unwilling to part with you.
“I told you,” he breathed, smiling like he was the one who just came within an inch of his life. “Prettiest person in the entire world.”
“The pizza’s burning,” you mumbled, grinning wide as he kissed you one last time and deposited you gently on the couch across from him.
“Hey Clark.” He hummed, holding the searing pan with his bare hand as if it were nothing. “I love you.”
The pan his the counter with a loud clatter, his lips pulling wide and eyes sparkling even in the shitty kitchen light. And before you could prepare yourself for it, the two hundred something pound Krytonian man had dropped himself over you, caging you in with a sloppy spit filled kiss you felt down to your toes.
“I love you too,” he panted heavily, diving down for another taste.
The pizzas—charred to their fucking core—forgotten about in the sink.
summary — your hot neighbor heard your baby screams, and he volunteered to help you while you shower
warnings — baby scream, fluff, you having throw up in your hair
a/n — i’m reading a book called “life to short” and the scene was so cute i got to write it
The shrill, insistent cries of a small human being ripped through the thin membrane of your sanity. It was 6:00 AM, though the pre-dawn gloom still clung stubbornly to the windows, mimicking the darkness that felt perpetually draped over your life these days.
Your baby, whose tiny lungs seemed to be powered by industrial-grade bellows, had decided that dawn was the perfect time for a full-throttle vocal performance.
You dragged a hand across your face, feeling the grit of exhaustion under your eyelids, then reached up, fingers finding something suspiciously damp and chunky tangled in your hair. God, was that carrot puree? Or worse. It was always worse.
Every single bone in your body screamed for respite, for silence, for just five minutes where no one needed anything from you. You’d been up all night, pacing, bouncing, whispering reassurances to a creature whose sole mission seemed to be the eradication of your sleep.
You smelled faintly of sour milk and desperation. Your clothes, a dubious combination of yesterday's leggings and a faded nursing tank, bore the faint but undeniable stains of recent skirmishes with baby bodily fluids. You were a walking, breathing monument to maternal disarray.
Just as you considered the profound comfort of simply sliding to the floor and joining your baby in a symphony of despair, a firm, rhythmic knock echoed through the apartment. You froze, heart thumping a bewildered rhythm against your ribs. Who, in the name of all that was holy, would be at your door at this hour? Your mother knew better. Your friends were still probably comatose.
Creeping to the peephole, you peered through the tiny lens. And there he was. Rafe Cameron.
He stood on your porch, leaning casually against the doorframe, looking unfairly put-together. His blonde hair, still slightly damp, hinted at a recent shower – a concept so foreign to your current existence it felt like a cruel joke. He was wearing a plain gray t-shirt that, frustratingly, hugged his shoulders and arms in a way that screamed "effortless perfection."
Even from this distorted angle, his sharp jawline and the lazy confidence in his posture were palpable. He was, objectively, your hot neighbor. And you, objectively, looked like you'd wrestled a badger and lost. Badly.
Taking a deep breath that did nothing to alleviate the pungent aroma clinging to you, you unlatched the door, opening it just a crack. "Hey, Rafe," you mumbled, trying to subtly tuck the clump of dubious hair behind your ear. It snagged, of course, and you winced.
He straightened, his blue eyes, usually sparking with mischief or a hint of recklessness, softened almost imperceptibly. "Morning," he said, his voice a low rumble. He tilted his head, a faint, sympathetic smirk playing on his lips as another ear-splitting shriek erupted from the nursery. "Sounds like someone's having a rough start."
You let out a humorless laugh, a dry, raspy sound. "That's one way to put it. My kid thinks they're auditioning for a touring heavy metal band. I'm pretty sure I have throw-up in my hair, and I haven't seen the inside of a shower in well, let's just say a long time." You gestured vaguely at your head, then at the baby monitor clutched in your hand, which was currently emitting the auditory equivalent of a smoke alarm.
Rafe's smirk faded, replaced by something genuinely concerned. He ran a hand through his own, immaculately styled hair. "Man, that sucks." He paused, his gaze drifting from your exhausted face to the monitor, where the baby's cries escalated into a full-blown roar. "Look," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I was just about to make some coffee, head out for a surf. But, uh if you wanted to grab a quick shower or something, I could… you know, keep an eye on the little guy. Or girl."
You stared at him, jaw slack. A shower. A hot, uninterrupted shower. The very thought sent a dizzying wave of longing through you. It was a mythical luxury, whispered about in hushed tones by other beleaguered parents, a legend you’d long since given up on. And Rafe, the guy who usually seemed more concerned with his next adrenaline rush than childcare, was offering to stand sentinel over your screaming, possibly projectile-vomiting infant?
"Are you serious?" you croaked, the words barely escaping your throat. It felt like a test, like he was playing some elaborate prank.
He chuckled, a low, easy sound. "Yeah, I'm serious. I mean, how bad can it be? I've dealt with my cousin little monsters before. Pretty sure I'm immune to anything less than a full-on tantrum from a five-year-old." He gestured towards the nursery. "Besides, you look like you're about two minutes from falling over. Go get clean."
A wave of relief so profound it threatened to buckle your knees washed over you. The prospect of hot water, shampoo, and the blissful feeling of being truly, utterly clean, even for a mere ten minutes, was overwhelmingly tempting. All thoughts of propriety, of the sheer oddness of leaving your child with Rafe Cameron, vanished in a cloud of desperate anticipation.
"Oh my god, Rafe," you breathed, a tear pricking at the corner of your eye. "You would be an absolute lifesaver. I could kiss you."
He laughed outright then, a flash of his usual roguish charm returning. "Let's save that for after the shower, then," he teased, stepping past you into the living room, his eyes scanning the chaos with an almost clinical detachment. "Go on. I'll be right here."
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, a flicker of parental guilt, then caught another whiff of yourself. And that was it. You practically sprinted for the bathroom, not daring to look back, not wanting to give yourself time to second-guess this wildly irresponsible, yet utterly necessary, decision.
The bathroom felt like a sanctuary, a quiet, steamy oasis. You locked the door behind you, a small, defiant act of reclaiming a sliver of personal space. The instant the hot water hit your skin, a sigh escaped your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated bliss.
You scrubbed at your hair with frantic, grateful hands, working in shampoo until thick, luxurious suds replaced the sticky residue. The scent of coconut and vanilla, a smell you hadn’t truly registered in weeks, filled your nostrils, a small piece of normalcy in the chaos.
From the living room, through the closed door, the baby monitor offered a strange symphony. The piercing shrieks had indeed subsided. Instead, you heard a low rumble of Rafe's voice, surprisingly soothing, followed by gentle coos and gurgles from your baby.
You paused, a dripping hand suspended in mid-air. What was he doing? Was he a baby whisperer? The idea was almost comical, conjuring images of Rafe Cameron, charming an infant into submission. Yet, the relative quiet that had descended upon your apartment was undeniable proof of his success.
You washed the grime of sleepless nights and baby spit-up from your body, letting the hot water sluice away the tension in your shoulders. It wasn't a long shower – maybe seven minutes, max – but it felt like a spa day. You emerged feeling like a new human, albeit a slightly damp one.
You quickly wrapped your hair in a towel, then pulled on the cleanest, least-stained pair of sweats you could find and a fresh, blessedly unsullied t-shirt. The world already seemed a little less blurry around the edges.
Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the bathroom door and stepped back into the living room, half-expecting to find a scene of utter devastation – Rafe tied up with burp cloths, the baby covered in marker, the room turned upside down. Instead, you found peace.
Rafe was sitting on your worn armchair, the baby nestled securely against his chest, head tucked under his chin. Your little one was utterly, completely silent. Not just quiet, but content. her tiny hand was fisted around Rafe's finger, and their eyes, wide and curious, were fixed on his face.
Rafe himself looked bewildered, almost. He was gently rocking, a faint, surprised smile playing on his lips as he gazed down at the baby. He wasn't talking, just rocking, a soft, almost domestic hum filling the space between them.
He looked up as you entered, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Hey," he murmured, his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping (or at least, very quiet) infant. He looked genuinely intrigued by the small creature in his arms. "she, uh they just kinda stopped. After a minute or two."
You walked over, disbelief warring with profound gratitude. "I- I don't know what to say. You got her to calm down." It was less a question, more an awe-filled statement.
He shrugged, a small, self-conscious smile gracing his features. "Guess I've still got the touch. My niece used to pull this trick on me." He gently shifted the baby, who stirred slightly but remained blissfully silent. "What do you do now? Does she, like, nap? Or are they just recharging?"
You let out a soft, genuine laugh, the first one in days that didn't feel forced. "Hopefully nap. Thank you, Rafe. Seriously. That was I don't even have words."
He met your gaze, and for a moment, the usual guard in his eyes seemed to drop, replaced by something warm and almost vulnerable. "No problem," he said quietly, then cleared his throat. He carefully handed her back to you, his movements surprisingly gentle.
"Just glad I could help." He stood, stretching slightly. "Well, I should probably go get that coffee. And hit the waves before the tourists clog everything up." He glanced at your baby one last time, a strange, almost wistful expression on his face, before turning to leave.
Ho ho ho… and welcome to the Christmas Special! I had so much fun writing it. I have some other things for the season to put up that I'm excited about, and I figured I'd shake up the routine a little bit. I really want to hear your thoughts!
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WC- 9.7k (its a big one)
Warnings- smut, yearning, unprotected sex, sooooo fluffy and soft, cream pie, friends to lovers
“Honey, I’m home!” Harry called out as he opened the door to her apartment with the spare key he had, balancing a large pizza and a bottle of wine in his arms. Kicking the door shut behind him, he locked it with a snicker before making his way over to her.
He took in the sight of her, surrounded by a borderline overwhelming amount of various Christmas decorations in bags from the shops or boxes she’d brought up from storage, sitting in the middle of it all with her hair up in a messy bun, wearing an oversized Christmas sweater and fuzzy socks.
Harry had unsurprisingly replied yes without hesitation when she had asked if he wanted to come over and spend the night helping her decorate her flat for Christmas. He loved the holiday almost as much as she did, but that wasn’t the real reason he had said yes.
Harry took any excuse he could get to spend time with Y/N. His crush on her had never faded from being childhood friends with what he learned to be butterflies lingering in his stomach whenever she leaned her head on his shoulder, and it felt even better knowing they’d been getting increasingly close now that she had moved back into town.
She’d been gone for about two years for a job that had all but sucked the life out of her and despite still texting a lot, he’d felt the hole in his life with her being gone. Y/N hadn’t been far, only about an hour out, but it wasn’t like this. He couldn’t just pop over and meet her for coffee or a drink, he couldn’t just run to pick her up when she got a little too much to drink when she was out with her girlfriends, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to take any bit of time with her for granted.
Spending the night on her sofa, eating pizza and drinking wine while decorating her flat for the second year in a row after missing her for the two before sounded like the perfect way to spend his evening and he’d choose it over the date he’d canceled tonight for this any day.
It was pointless to think he would be able to move on from her. The light of his life was in front of him trying to justify her hoard of Christmas decor and he felt like a dog wagging his damn tail at her.
“I know I went overboard, but I don’t think what I had last year was enough… so I sort of went behind your back and bought up the clearance last year and had it in my storage until now, so I only went slightly broke from buying it all.” She sighed, standing up from her kneeling position and stretching her arms over her head. “I’ll open the wine if you set up the tree, pretty please?”
“You know I can’t say no t’you, little dove.” He let out a sigh and set the pizza box down on the coffee table. “But don’t think I didn’t hear that little quip about goin’ behind my back. Rude.” His joke was met with a throw pillow being tossed his way which he swiftly caught before grabbing the box for the tree and dragged it over to where she had been talking about setting it up all week.
In reality, she had sent an entire mock up of how she wanted her living room to look she had sketched out over a photo of the room on her tablet. Christmas was that serious for Y/N and he knew better than to overlook it.
Sitting on the arm chair, he huffed as he hauled the tree out of the box and started to assemble it, trying to avoid poking himself in the face with the plastic pine needles. It was going to take a while to get it to the right ‘fluff’ level as she liked it to be but he would do it for the happy grin on her pretty face and the hugs she gave him. They were the best fucking hugs, so it was a perfect reward- at least for him.
He was used to her going overboard with decorations because Y/N always had- she did for most holidays. Her apartment looked like a winter wonderland every year, a pink and red Cupid’s pad on Valentine’s Day, a 90’s kid dream Halloween set up, all of the holidays were honored when it came to her.
"You always did show favoritism when it came to Christmas, so I shouldn’t be surprised that y’snuck back to the store. I’m just sad I missed out on a haul." He teased lightly as he clicked one of the metal poles for the first tier into place on the base of the tree.
"I don’t have any shame in it.” Y/N sniffed, placing the wine glasses on the counter. “I love Christmas more than any other holiday and I’d put that in my autobiography. The music is the best for a reason. It's the most wonderful time of the year!" Y/N sung slightly off key as she uncorked the bottle. “You can't blame me for wanting my apartment to look amazing. We need more whimsy in this world and we have to create it as adults. Besides, you know how much I love decorating. If you want me to do your place one year I’d be happy to, but you’ll need a good budget. You barely put up anything!"
“Why would I if I come over here and see a department store level display?” He raised a brow, spreading out the branches for the next level. The comment had its intended effect as she preened, bouncing on the pads of her feet.
“Compliments will get you everywhere, mister.” Y/N liked flattery and he was full of it. More than she was likely ever aware of, with lots of things he wanted to say but held back- but it wasn’t the right time. Not yet.
Soon, hopefully. He really wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back.
“I’ll keep that in mind, dove. C’mon and put on the music. Think we’re old pros at this by now, we can get this done in record time.”
——-
After devouring a few slices of pizza each and drinking two glasses of wine that Harry had been scolded for spending a bit too much money on for a girl who liked box wine on a normal day, they moved onto the ornament portion of the evening. Y/N was… particular about where each ornament went on the tree - it was practically down to a science to her. She'd spent fifteen minutes deciding where to put one single ornament before, so Harry was used to this part taking a while. He didn't mind though.
Maybe for anyone else he would be irritated at the back and forth, the contemplation over things that realistically no one else would ever realize nor care about- but with Y/N he was man enough to admit to himself that he found it adorable how passionate she was about decorating, and he was a self proclaimed loverboy when it came to anything to do with the woman.
None of their other friends had been able to truly enjoy decorating with Y/N because of this particular section but he happily moved the baubles from branch up and branch down and let her look from multiple angles because it gave him an excuse to stare at her.
She was comfortable tonight, and something about the fact that she felt good enough around him that she didn’t bother with a lick of makeup and wore her silly sweater and fuzzy socks with a pair of Santa boots bobbing around on a headband next to her messily done bun had him feeling extra lucky.
Not many people got to see Y/N like this- sort of the truest form. She was bare faced except her cranberry Vaseline lip balm that had made his mouth water to smell when she offered him a sniff, and he was greedy with getting to look at her in her softest state. The wine didn’t help with how soft she made him feel, but he liked the amplified feeling.
Nothing he felt for Y/N ever felt wrong, regardless of how many times he tried to talk himself out of his feelings for her.
“We’re almost done, I promise.” Y/N bit her lip as she checked the time on her phone. It was midnight already but the time always flew when it was the both of them. “I think this is the best tree yet, H. I really do.”
"It's the best one yet, alright." Harry agreed, taking one of the hooks and threading it through the top of their last little round of ornaments. He loved seeing her like this - happy, relaxed, and in her own little world of twinkling lights and shiny ornaments. It suited her, and he found himself falling even deeper under her spell.
Every time he tried to release himself from it he found the resistance was enough to keep him from letting go.
His train of thought was interrupted by the beginnings of a song that he was quickly coming to hate after hearing it for a third time this season. “Oh for fucks sake… Can you grab my phone from the coffee table? I want to change the song. I can’t listen to songs about grandmothers being run over by deer any longer.”
Y/N listened easily,grabbed Harry’s phone from the coffee table, her fingers brushing against the smooth edge of the table as she did so. As she picked up the phone, she couldn’t help but notice the notification light flashing on the screen. Curiosity getting the better of her, she tapped the screen to unlock it and see what the notification was for.
‘From: maybe: Lindsey Brown
I’m sad I don’t get to see you tonight, I was looking forward to it :(‘
“Who’s Lindsey?” Y/N asked, placing the phone in his hand as she took the ornament from his other. “And why did you cancel on her for tonight? Please tell me this didn’t ruin your plans.”
There was a strange tilt to her voice that had him frowning, clicking to the next song quickly before pocketing the phone. He hadn’t intended on her finding out he ditched a date to be here but he wasn’t necessarily ashamed about it.
“Just a girl I met on an app. I tried to get back out there but when you asked me to come, I cancelled.” He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. The man knew he might have been failing but he busied himself with the next ornament. “It’s our thing. I’d much rather be here.”
Y/N processed this information, her expression keeping neutral. "So, you had a date tonight and canceled it to decorate my flat instead." She summarized, taking the next ornament from him and moving it to a different branch. "Does this girl know she's been ghosted?" Her tone was off, he knew, but there was an undercurrent of something else - jealousy maybe? He wasn't sure.
Maybe that was wishful thinking.
"Because if she's texting you like that she probably doesn't."
“I haven’t exactly ghosted her yet.” Harry had a tendency to… do that. He didn’t mean to, honest. It wasn’t blatant or necessarily purposeful most of the time but his interest in anyone but Y/N always dwindled down to nothing but polite disinterest and he would forget to answer unless he was double texted. It was a flaw of his, he knew, because he did try to communicate that he didn’t feel a connection when he didn’t- but the accidental ghosting happened more than he would have liked. “I was trying to put myself out there but I’ve come to the conclusion for the third time that the apps aren’t for me. I can’t stomach them anymore.”
“Yeah, well, poor girl probably thought she was gonna get some action tonight.” Y/N commented dryly, hanging the last ornament on the tree and stepping back to admire it. It looked even more perfect than the previous years, the classic colors she had decided on blending beautifully and the lights she had special ordered twinkling like little stars. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her sweater to her body. “At least she won’t be waiting up for you tonight. You’re not going back out, you’re staying here.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and Harry found himself raising a brow at the tiniest hint of irritation in it. She knew damn well he wasn’t leaving with his duffle bag slumped over by the sofa, but he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t feel a thrill at the base of his spine at her claiming his time tonight.
“Of course.” He simpered, reaching out to flick one of the mini boots on her headband. “Meant it when I said there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, dove. It’s why I canceled in the first place. I’d choose spending time with you a million times over.”
Was it a slightly intense statement? Yeah, and he knew he probably laid it on a bit thick, but it was the truth.
Y/N let out a hum as she turned back to the tree, adjusting a few ornaments unnecessarily. They were already perfect and they both knew she’d end up moving them back, but he understood the need to do something with her hands. He wished he had more ornaments to hook.
"Well, I'm glad you chose wisely then." She muttered softly, her voice slightly huskier than before from the wine and late night and maybe something else, but he could only hope. He caught the glance back at him over her shoulder, catching his gaze already on her and he didn’t hesitate to hide that he had already been looking at her. Something passed between them at that moment, the air felt charged, but she turned back to the tree and he felt air rush back into his chest.
Fuck, he was going insane. Well and true insanity.
“Do you want to change into your pajamas so we can watch Home Alone?” Y/N spoke without looking at him, adjusting the garland on the tree. “Or we can go to sleep if you’re too tired-“
“I’m never too tired for a movie. You’re the one who always falls asleep.” Harry snickered, watching her snap her head back towards him.
“No I do not!” She attempted to defend herself, but resistance was futile. “You’re a liar.”
“Yes, you do. Drool on my shirt and everything.” And it was by far his favorite thing, just having her curled into his side, and he would fight through any exhaustion to get the chance to cuddle in next to her.
“I do not drool! What the fuck!” She squeaked, hand wiping at her face as if it would magically appear. “This is slander.”
“Okay, you don’t.” His tone conveyed he believed anything but- because he didn’t. He had definitely been dribbled on by her but he didn’t mind.
“I don’t!” She defended, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t be smart with me, Har. That’s not the Christmas spirit.”
“Why don’t you go get changed into your pajamas too, dove.” He smirked, letting her sputter behind him as he dug through his duffle for his plaid pajama pants and black tee shirt.
“You’re going to get coal for Christmas. Got a direct line to Santa and I’m telling him.” Y/N muttered as she stomped over to her room, closing her door.
Harry didn’t need the confirmation, but the way his heart throbbed in his chest only reinforced that he was most definitely in love- and most definitely fucked.
———
The movie had ended about twenty minutes ago and Y/N had fallen asleep halfway through, exactly like he knew she would. Something else was playing in the background but he wasn’t paying attention. It was hard to focus on anything else but her. She was curled into his side perfectly, her head resting right over his heart like it was designed to fit there. His arm was wrapped around her middle, keeping her close as her breaths evened out into soft little snores that made his chest ache.
If he could ask for one single thing for Christmas for the rest of his life, it would be this right here.
There was no way to properly describe the level of peace he felt holding her. He was under no disillusion that this wasn’t normal for most friendships, but Y/N had always been a cuddle bug and Harry had always been greedy for her attention and affection, so it came naturally.
Nothing compared to the sweet green apple shampoo and her body wash he always stole- some sort of philosophy one about cashmere or something- and the feel of her body warmth bleeding through her pajamas that were a simple buffalo check bottom and black tank top. The blanket was pulled over the both of them but he knew she sought out his warmth before anything else, and the pride he held from that never faded.
A soft sound left her throat as she curled her fingers into his shirt, letting out a sleepy call of his name as her cheek rubbed against the softness of his worn cotton shirt.
“Hm? What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Fingers stroked the hair that had fallen from her bun back behind her ear, her little headband resting on the coffee table after one too many ‘kicks’ to the chin by the little boots when the movie had started.
It was easier to get away with being sweeter and softer with her when she was sleepy, coddling her like he always wanted to.
“M’not sleepin’.”
“You were.” He chuckled, thumbing over the side of her neck. “That’s okay. We’ve seen this one a million times.”
“No, m’up..” Y/N grumbled, lifting her head up to glare up at him with sleep heavy eyes that seemed to swallow up the color of her pupils. It was really fucking cute, actually. Her face was puffy from sleep and he knew if he lifted the blanket he’d find her feet and leg not on his curled up underneath her like a cat. “I’m not sleepin’, Harry. I’m awake. I’m looking at you.” She paused, blinking slowly at him. “You’re annoying.”
“I’m so annoying… so you don’t want me to be your pillow anymore, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.” Y/N was quick to deny, narrowing her eyes slightly as she let her head flop down on his chest. “I like when you’re my pillow. I always feel really safe.”
"Well that's good to know." Harry whispered softly, undoing the floppy bun that had gotten looser with time and ran his fingers over her hair. "Because I like being your pillow too." He felt her relax even more into him at his words, her breathing evening out again but staying awake this time. Her fingers played with the hem of his shirt absentmindedly while she stared up at him with those heavy-lidded eyes that always made his chest feel tight. The room was only lit by the television and the twinkling star lights on the tree and fuck, his heart felt so full it could burst.
“You’re so gorgeous. S’fucking crazy.” He could blame the residual buzz of the wine for his words, but they had slipped past his lips because they couldn’t be held back anymore. Compliments were plentiful for her from him, but the huskier tone of voice he said it in wasn’t the usual.
Y/N's breath hitched audibly slightly at his words, her eyes fluttering down and then back up to meet his. She was used to him complimenting her, but there was something different about this one and he could tell that she could feel it. Something more intense. "Shut up..." She whispered half heartedly, but there was no real heat behind it. Just an embarrassed response. Her fingers tightened slightly on his shirt as she held him closer. “I look insane right now, probably.”
“I love when you look like this.” He admitted another honest thought. It was hard not to feel his stomach rolling as he spoke but his mouth was working before his brain could. It knew all the things he wanted to say to her and had always held back. “I love when you’re… undone like this. Natural in the way where I know you’re comfortable. You’re always stunning, don’t get me wrong but… I love that you’re comfortable with me and let me see you. I’ve never seen someone so pretty.”
"Harry..." Y/N's voice was soft and shy, a hushed whisper as she processed his words and seemingly decided to believe him. Her fingers traced patterns on his chest while she searched his face in the dim light for any sign that he might be joking or teasing, but she knew better than that now didn’t she? Harry never joked about things like this, let alone when it came down between the two of them alone together like this. Late night cuddles always felt different than during daylight hours spent together among friends or family gatherings. More intimate, more vulnerable in ways no one else got from either of them.
“I’m not joking. It makes me happy to see parts of you I know other people really don’t. I love that I get to know you.”
"I like that you know me like this, too." Y/N admitted quietly, her thumb gently caressing his cheek in a way that had him holding his breath momentarily. The wine had lowered their inhibitions slightly, making honest conversations easier than usual, and touch more liberal than before. There had always been a slight barrier there despite how open they were with each other, but feeling her touch his face for the sake of just to feel him had his stomach hot.
"No one else gets this side of me, but I don’t mind letting you see it. I know I can be difficult.” She gave him a bittersweet smile as her thumb stroked up on his cheek, going against the grain of his stubble to tickle the pad of her finger. “But you’re still so good to me. Thank you for that. I know I take the whole decorating thing a lot more seriously than people would like but knowing you indulge in it with me and you don’t complain means more to me than you know.”
Harry closed his eyes briefly, savoring the feeling of her gentle caress before opening them again to meet her beautiful eyes yet again. His hand came up to cover hers, pressing it against his face as he leaned into the touch. "You're not difficult, Y/N." He murmured. In fact, he didn’t like that she thought that at all because it meant someone else had implied it before. Maybe they didn’t understand her the way he did- in fact, he very much doubted it- but anyone who made someone feel like too much for their excitement was a dick in his opinion.
"You're passionate and particular, and I love that about you. Your enthusiasm is infectious and your attention to detail is something I've always admired. There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want, yeah? I’m always happy to give you what you need."
“Anything?” The question was hushed and slightly hesitant as she looked over his eyes, watching him as he gave her a nod, responding in a quiet, hoarse whisper.
“Yeah. Anything you want, I think I’d find a way to give it to you.”
“Well then… If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”
The moment hung heavy between them, the air thick with unspoken words and pent up emotion that surprised the hell out of him. The tension he felt had never fully been one sided but he had never once expected her to be the one to break the ice- let alone at a moment like this.
Harry's heart was nearly in his throat as he searched her face, looking for any sign that this was just the wine talking or a joke, but he found none of that. All he saw was nerves and a hint of vulnerable curiosity that made his stomach flip. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow as he answered her question, his free hand coming up to gently cup her jaw. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, parting it slightly as he leaned in closer, feeling her take a sharp inhale as he spoke.
“I’d say yes, because I’ve been wanting to do it for longer than you could ever imagine.”
Watching her tilt her face up towards him, she let her eyes go between his lips and back up to his eyes before uttering the sentence he had been dying to hear.
“Kiss me, please.”
Harry was gentle with her, pressing his lips softly against hers, letting his lips linger before applying a little more pressure as she leaned into his hand as it caressed her soft cheek, the heat of it warming his palm. Handling her with care was what he had been hoping to do when he imagined it every other time, and that was exactly what he was going to do now. His hand stayed on her jaw while the other ever so gingerly wrapped around her waist beneath the blanket they shared as he leaned into her slowly, feeling it out.
It started slow and sweet, exploratory really, their lips just pressing gently against each other like they were testing the waters before diving in completely. There was no tongue, just lips meeting softly with the occasional gentle brush of noses as they learned the shape of each other's lips. It was probably the most innocent kiss Harry had ever experienced at thirty something years old but somehow it felt more intimate than anything else he had done because it was Y/N. The woman he had been all but gone for nearly his entire life.
The little noise that came from her throat matched the hand that gently fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened slightly. It was hard to let her control the show but he knew he had to because it would be so, so easy to get carried away when the excitement buzzed through his body, finally letting himself feel her. He wanted to taste her, to know every crevice and dip of her body and he had been holding back for years, but he was only going to take what she was willing to hand over.
His lips parted just enough to allow her access if she wanted it, but he didn’t push for more than the soft, repetitive pecks that got longer with each press. The hand on her waist slid up slightly to rest on her lower back, urging her closer until there was little space between them at all. Her leg over his thigh, his hand on her face and splayed over her back, he held her to him as she easily melted into his body and pulled herself into him to match- and fuck, the relief he felt was immense.
It wasn’t just him that felt this, and he knew it just by how she touched him. The kiss became a little more urgent but still tender as she whimpered softly against his lips- a sound that went straight to his stomach and made it flip.
A stroke of his thumb caressed her jaw, his other hand slowly sliding up her back to rest at the nape of her neck as her fingers tangled back into his necklace, giving him a bit of a tug. His own groan vibrated against her lips as he felt her pulse quicken under his fingertips, matching his own racing heartbeat. The kiss deepened slowly, their lips parting just enough to allow their breaths to mingle before Harry’s tongue gently traced her bottom lip, asking for entrance- asking for a little bit more.
He wanted her to set the pace, to show him what she wanted, but he also had a feeling that she needed some coaxing. All of this was brand fucking new, something they’d never done before, and he wanted to get it right.
This was everything he had been wanting for years, and he wanted to give her a reason to want more.
Harry took her silent nod as an answer, his tongue brushing against hers in a soft, curious stroke. He kept the kiss gentle, his hand at the back of her neck applying just enough pressure to hold her in place as he coaxed her tongue out to play with his. He was being careful, so fucking careful because he knew this was a big deal for both of them, pushing the boundary of their friendship to something hopefully more- but he was only human.
Tasting her on his tongue had him breathing harder, feeling greedier as her fingers left his shirt to stroke through his hair.
She had no idea what it did to him to feel the accidental tug when she carded through the waves of his hair, making a deep groan resonate through his throat and into her mouth, the sharp inhale as he kissed her harder getting another whimper from her as she repeated the same thing. “Y/N…” He whispered, voice husky as he pulled back just for a moment to see her glazed eyes peering back at him. “What are y’doing to me, hm?”
Her response was another soft kiss, but this time she initiated it, pressing her lips fully against his own before gently sucking his bottom lip between hers. It was a statement now, not just testing the waters- they were diving into the deep end and Harry was drowning happily in her kisses.
There was nothing he had ever wanted more than to have her kiss him and give him this part of herself, and he could have sworn he was dreaming if he couldn’t feel the pulse under his thumb and the heat in his lower stomach as her teeth grazed his bottom lip, giving it a little tug.
“Yeah?” He chuckled under his breath, nudging his nose with hers. “Is that how y’want this to go?”
"I think so." The girl whispered back against his lips, the words muffled between kisses that grew slightly more urgent with each passing second. He knew she was feeling the shift in energy between them because it matched his perfectly- that buzz of excitement and nervousness mixing together as they explored each other's mouths like teenagers discovering kissing for the first time. Except it was abundantly clear that they weren't teenagers anymore, he wasn’t on the sidelines just yearning for her, and it was becoming clear to him now they had both wanted this for who knew how long.
"Alright then, sweetheart." He murmured against her lips before capturing them again in a deeper kiss- finally letting himself indulge. His hands moved from her neck back down to to her waist, pulling her flush against him as he laid back on the couch, pulling her with him and manhandling her just enough so she was straddling his hips, but she seemed to like it based off of the little squeal she let out before it was followed with giggles that he mirrored.
God, he felt fucking giddy. Feeling her pressed up against him without the restraint he usually made himself follow to not get too excited, not let himself overthink it, there was a freedom to it that had him nearly vibrating with excitement.
Y/N was straddled on his lap, kissing him back with matched fervor, and he couldn’t ask for more.
The blanket fell away completely as they both got lost in the moment - lost in each other. Harry's hands roamed over her body, letting the heat bleed through her pajamas and into his palms as he touched places he'd always wanted but never allowed himself to go before this moment. Gliding over her hips and down towards her thighs, giving them a squeeze as she shifted closer and held herself up on his lap, he let out another groan of her name as she took his hand and guided it to her ass.
The lightheaded feeling was enough to make him let his head fall back into the back of the couch, following with his other hand to take the handfuls of soft ass that he had only fucking dreamed of. “You’re going t’kill me, dove. Fucks sake.”
"Is this okay?" She breathed against his mouth between kisses that seemed to go from sweet to heated in a blink of an eye, but the both of them were feeding into it. His hands on her ass and hers back in his hair as they tasted each other’s tongues, heavy breathing and soft sounds of approval leaving them and giving them both new sides of one another that they’d never been exposed to before.
Her hips moved slightly against his own, not quite grinding down on him but definitely putting a bit pressure where they both felt it through their pajama bottoms. It was not quite as innocent as their kissing had started as anymore because Harry was getting fucking hard as nails beneath her just from this, and there was no way she couldn't feel it.
“As long as it’s okay with you, baby.” The newer pet name fell from his tongue without a second thought before he kissed down her jaw. Now that he’d had permission to kiss her, it was hard to keep his mouth off. “I’ve been wanting to be like this for ages and I’m okay with a-anything you want. Just want you.”
Y/N smiled and he could feel it as her face shifted, sitting herself fully against his thickening cock as he let out a wheezed little grunt. “Me too. We… Fuck, you’re so big.” She gasped as her hips dragged her clothed cunt against his erection. “Oh my god, where the fuck were you hiding that? Why did you hide that from me?”
“Baby- Y/N, you can’t talk like that.” Harry all but gasped, eyes in a hazy panic as he pulled his mouth from her to look at her with a pained expression. “It's embarrassing but you’ll make this end way too fast if you talk like that.”
"Is that so?" Y/N asked with faux innocence that he could see straight through with the glint in her eyes as she shifted her hips again, dragging herself over his length. He knew she was likely to feel every inch of him through his pajama bottoms and it had his fingertips digging into the plush of her ass, biting back a grunt as he could feel the heat of her through it all.
"Maybe I should keep talking then." She whispered, leaning down to press soft kisses to his neck. "Because we’ve both been putting this off for a long, long time it seems- and I don’t think either of us want to waste any more time without feeling exactly what we do to each other.”
“And how do you feel about me?” Harry wanted to hear her say it. He needed the confirmation out loud that this hadn’t been a one sided yearning, but something they’d both been craving and too nervous to mess up to go for it until the pot boiled over.
Pulling her face from his neck, she stroked the hair back off of his forehead as she gave him a shy smile, a contrast to her bravado before. The drag of her hips paused as she took in a shaky breath, leaning in to kiss his lips in a softer peck, nuzzling her nose against his own. “I feel a whole lot about you. My best friend, the only person in the whole world who thinks that I’m even somewhat sane about the decorating and chooses to do it with me… I think we’ve been dancing around how we feel for a long time because we don’t want to mess up the years of how good it’s been… but it can only get better.” She murmured. “I want more with you. More than just being your friend. I want to be with you, H. So badly. I can’t pretend that only being best friends is something sustainable when all I want to do is crawl on your lap and kiss you just like this.”
"Shit, Y/N." Harry whispered against her lips, letting himself smile. Her words had him reeling, confirming every single thing he had felt for years but never dared to hope she felt too. "Yeah? You really want more with me?" He asked hoarsely, searching her eyes for any hint of doubt- but he didn’t find a shred of it.
“Mhm. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, and I never want to decorate for Christmas with anyone else again. Just with you.” Tears gathered in her waterline as she let out a little wet laugh, cut off by his lips as he kissed her over and over again. The giggles were reciprocated, bubbling out of his throat as he turned them over and let her back hit the sofa. “Harry!”
“Fuck, yes. Yes, that’s all I want.” He rasped, grinning bright as he kissed her cheeks, over her nose, her brows, wherever his lips could reach.
“You can have me.” She squirmed slightly under him, wrapping her legs around his hips. The smile on his face rivaled his, nails dragging over the planes of his back as she caught her breath back. “You’ve always had me. I’m glad you cancelled that date to come and see me. I’m so happy, I can’t even tell you.”
"I cancelled because I wanted to be with you, baby." Harry pressed kisses over her face, down her neck, and back up again as he settled between her thighs. He could feel her wrapped around him perfectly, pressing right between her legs through their clothing- something he never thought he'd get to experience with her like this. His eyes roamed over her face in slight disbelief as he held himself above her on his elbows, looking down at her with pure adoration. "I only ever want t’be with you. I’d drop everything the moment you asked for me. I’ve belonged to you for a long time.”
“Show me.” Y/N purred, teeth digging into her bottom lip as her hands slipped under his tee shirt to feel the hot skin of his back. Skin against skin, that was what he craved. “Show me that m’yours and you’re mine. I don’t…” A shadow of shyness passed over her face as she peered back up at him after looking between their bodies. “I just want you inside me. I’m so wet and I know it’s gonna hurt a little but I want to feel the sting. I want to stretch around you. Please?” Her plea was soft as she lifted her face back up to his, pressing her pouty lips back to his. “Please, Harry, baby? It’s what I want.”
"Jesus, Y/N." Harry groaned softly, pressing his forehead to hers. "Sweetheart, are you sure? Cause I don’t wanna fuck up the moment by rushing and hurting you." Harry’s dick wasn’t small and she knew that, but he also could admit that the idea of what she had asked him for had his head spinning. Nothing had ever sounded hotter.
“So sure.” She nodded, fingers grabbing at the hem of his shirt. “Off. I want it all off. I want to feel every part of us together.”
“Anything for you.” He spoke the words again that he was sure he would spend the rest of his life uttering.
Harry quickly obliged to her request, pulling his shirt off and revealing his tattooed chest to her before he threw the shirt aside, leaning back down to capture her lips again. His hands immediately went to her pajama top, pushing it up to reveal her breasts, and he felt himself stop to let himself admire a view he had been aching to have. He’d only ever caught glimpses, albeit some of them accidental and most of the other when she was in her bathing suits but fuck, they were perfect. Better than he had imagined even when he fisted his cock and stroked off to the thought of her.
"Goddamnit, dove." He moaned, moving his mouth down until it was flush against her breast. It was hard to hold back when he had full permission to touch her body, knowing damn well that she was just as worked up as he was. His lips wrapped around one nipple, sucking gently as his tongue flicked over the sensitive point- alternating back and forth between the two as his hands worked to push her pajama bottoms down. He needed more, needed to feel her against him without any barrier. "Lift up for me. Need these off."
It was borderline overwhelming to taste the skin of her tits as he sucked at the sensitive nipple, the feel of her fingers grabbing at his hair as she let him tug her panties and pajamas down in one go before letting them crumple to a heap on the floor beside the couch.
“Oh, shit.” Y/N hissed as his teeth grazed her nipple, hips bucking up as his hand came over her cunt to cup over it.
She was far more wet than he had originally thought. The temptation of the view was the only thing humanly possible to get his mouth off of her as he pulled back, ignoring the string of spit connecting his bottom lip to the sensitive bud in favor of looking at her glistening cunt.
“Oh, baby… You were talking about me hiding my cock from you, but what about this, hm?” His long fingers spread her open, exposing the softness of her to him. “Hiding this pretty pussy from me… S’just not fair.”
It felt criminal to know that it was likely that she had gotten wet for him before and he just hadn’t known. If he had, he would have taken care of her. He wouldn’t have needed anything in return, either- if Y/N had asked him to get her off, he would have done it every day without her even looking at his cock- but thankfully, selfishly, he was going to get it all.
"Look at you..." He murmured, his voice thick as he traced her folds gently. "So fucking wet for me." His thumb brushed over her clit, eliciting a soft gasp from her. He leaned down to kiss her inner thigh before moving higher, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive skin until he reached her center.
“M’sorry. I’ll give you my cock, but I need a taste. I’ve lived without it for too long, and you smell too fucking good.” Without hesitation, he licked up her slit slowly from bottom to top before sucking gently on her clit.
"Harry! Oh my god- fuck, you’re filthy." Y/N cursed out, her hands immediately going to his hair, gripping it tightly as he licked her up like he was starving for it. Which honestly? He kind of was. He had been fantasizing about this moment for years without knowing if or when it would actually happen, and he was indulging in it now that he knew he could. Her hips rolled up against his mouth and he groaned in approval against her cunt, sucking her clit harder before pulling back with a filthy, frankly lewd sound before letting his tongue explore her folds like he had always wanted to do.
“I needed this. Needed to have this pussy, needed you to be mine. Tastes so fucking good, honey. I’m going to spend so much time here. I want to make you cum on my tongue until you’re crying.” He panted, letting loose a little bit as he all but nuzzled himself into her pussy. “You’ll let me, hm? Let me lick my cum out of this pretty pussy once you’ve cum around me?”
"Fucking yes." She whimpered, the muscles of her legs tensing around his head as she pulled him from her pussy. “I can’t- I want to cum on your cock first. Please, Har- I’ll let you have me as much as you want, but get inside me. I’m not gonna last long, I need you to stretch me open and fill me up.”
Harry’s throat bobbed with his swallow as he pulled back up her body, face shiny with her. It felt wrong to waste any but he wasn’t sure how she felt about getting so messy, so he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning down to capture her lips again, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “Anything you want, sweetheart. I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna make sure you’re gonna feel me for days.”
“I know I’m gonna feel it.” She grinned against his mouth, feeling his bottoms push down and hearing the slap of his cock as it hit his stomach. “I’m clean. I want it in me, I want you to finish in me, please. I don’t want anything in between us.”
Harry groaned against her mouth, his large palm finding her inner thigh and spreading her wide while the other gripped his dick, giving it a few strokes. "You’re gonna kill me. I’m clean too, baby. I get tested every few months, and I haven’t been with anyone in months. Just been… waiting." Waiting for her. He admitted it shamelessly, dragging the head of his cock through her pussy as she shuddered underneath him.
Could he have drawn this out a bit more? Yeah, he could. One day he’d tease her until she was begging and pleading for his cock inside of her, but neither of them could handle that right now. They needed each other more than anything.
“Hold on to me, baby. I’m going t’give you what you want. Have to go a little slow.”
Harry pressed the head of his dick against her entrance, feeling the heat of her against the tip. He pushed forward slowly, the fat head of his cock spreading her open as he watched her face carefully for any sign of discomfort. Her lips parted on a gasp as she felt herself stretch around him, nails digging into his biceps as he sank into her inch by inch. It was agonizingly slow, the drag of his thick length parting her so slowly that they could both feel every ridge as he pushed deeper and deeper inside.
"Shh, it’s alright." He murmured softly, pausing for a moment to let her adjust to his size. He was large, thick and long, and he could feel her quiver as she stretched to accommodate him. "Breathe through it, baby. I’m not gonna move until you’re ready." He leaned down to press gentle kisses to her face, his hands roaming over her face soothingly as he held himself still inside of her. "You’re doing so good taking me. Look at you, my perfect girl, spreading so perfectly for me."
"I’m good, I’m good..." She gasped out softly, wrapping her arms around his neck as she felt herself adjust to his size slowly but surely. The initial shock of pain had seemed to fade as he bottomed out inside of her slowly- filling her completely until she felt like he was touching places inside of her that he was fairly certain no one ever had before.
The possessive part of him reared its head as he kissed her again, feeling himself twitch inside of her as he let her feel him sit still inside of her. “This is what we should have been doing for years.” He murmured against her cheek. “You’ve always been mine… I’ve always been yours. You’re fucking everything to me, Y/N. No one else is ever going to feel this again. This feeling is just for us.”
“Mhm. Yes, it’s only for us.” Y/N confirmed with a nearly drunken smile, arms around his neck pulling him into her so she could lick back into his mouth. There was no possible way to get closer with her body wrapped entirely around him, but the urge was there. Nothing would ever feel close enough again, knowing how deep he could get.. “You can move. M’okay.”
Harry hummed against her lips as he began to move slowly, giving her shallow thrusts that didn’t move him inside of her much at all- just enough to have the head of his dick drag through her walls slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to have her whimper against his mouth as he kissed her. His hips moved in small, lazy circles as he held himself buried deep inside of her, feeling her stretch around him beautifully.
She was made for him, and he was made for her. No one would ever be able to convince him otherwise.
"You feel so fucking good." He whispered, his body covering hers completely as he moved inside of her slow and deep. He pulled back slightly before sliding back in, the movement eliciting a soft moan from her that had his teeth clenching. There was no better sound than her pleasure, especially when he was the one making her feel it.
"This is better than anything. Better than any fantasy I had about you, better than any time I’ve touched myself- I knew it would be. S’always been you." He admitted freely, knowing he could say anything with her without judgement. It had always been that way between them but with the last barrier ripped to shreds, he felt damn near delirious. "I could fuck you slow like this forever and be perfectly happy. M’so happy, dove. You’re all I want.”
“Harry.” Y/N whined, kissing him at the end of his sentence. “This is perfect. I-I’m so full. I’ve never felt so whole and happy and…” She sniffled, digging her heels into his back as she clung to him. “Love you. Love you so much.”
Harry's eyes welled with tears as he heard her the confession she had beaten him to yet again, his heart overflowing with matched love that he couldn’t contain any longer. There was no way to hold back anymore. The walls had fallen and it was flooding in, and he felt like he was dreaming.
He buried his face in her neck, his arms wrapping tightly around her as he held her close, his hips moving slowly as he tried to stay deep inside of her. “I love you too. I love you so fucking much.” He whispered against her skin between kisses and soft breaths. His voice broke with emotion as he repeated the words over and over again like a prayer. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”
The slower, deeper thrusts became more urgent as their emotions spilled over into their movements. Harry's hips picked up a steady rhythm, hitting a spot inside Y/N that made her gasp and claw at his back. The sweet, slow love-making was quickly turned heated in a blink of an eye, but it was only to be expected. They’d beeen holding on for so fucking long, and the restrained emotions boiled over again as they poured their years of unsaid feelings into every touch, every kiss, every thrust.
“Oh, fuck, like that.” Y/N mewled, legs quivering around his waist. “Just like that, fuck me like that. Holy shit. Oh my god, Harry..." She panted, watching him above her.
He was a mess and he knew it- sweat dotting his forehead, muscles straining, tattoos shifting with each movement, but he was completely focused on her. Y/N looked like a wet dream, his only dream for the near last decade, and he couldn’t look away. Especially not when he could feel her start to throb around him. "Right there, baby. Right fucking there. You’re hitting- oh, fuck-" She let her head fall back as he picked up the pace, the only thing keeping her from jolting was his arms around her from each thrust. “Just like that, you’re gonna make me cum.”
"Yeah, I am." Harry cooed, feeling her walls tighten around him like a vice as he thrust into her harder. “You’re gonna let go for me. I can feel it, my perfect girl. You’re so beautiful, it feels so good around me. You’re a dream come true. I want it all, every bit of you.”
He could feel her orgasm building, her pussy fluttering and gripping his dick like it never wanted to let go. It made his balls tighten and his own release started to build, but he refused to cum before her. Not tonight, not their first time. He wanted to feel her come undone around him completely before he filled her up with his cum.
“Can’t stop it, I can’t hold it back, I gotta cum.” She panted, clawing at his back as her wild eyes looked up at him. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Harry-.” There was a pause before she gasped. “M’cumming, m’cumming- oh my god.”
The first spasming pulse of her pussy felt like heaven. One instant she was tight and perfect around him, the next she started milking his cock with her orgasm, her back arching and breasts pressing against his chest as she let out a loud, beautiful cry that came from his dreams. Making her orgasm, feeling her cum around his cock, it was a sensation he knew would never lose its appeal. It took his breath as he fucked her through it, listening to the soft little sob of his name as she held onto him and her thighs trembled.
Harry groaned deep in his chest, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he felt her gush around him, inhaling the scent of her as he felt the pulse in his balls from how good it felt. "Good girl... just like that, let go for me. Fuck, you're so pretty when you cum for me." He slurred, thrusting sloppy as he held himself over her. “I can’t stop it. Just hold on t’me, just stay close, need you close-“
Harry's mouth fell open in a silent cry as his orgasm hit him like a fucking truck. His hips stuttered forward one last time before he bottomed out inside of her, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he filled her with rope after rope of hot cum. His head fell forward against her forehead as he breathed heavily, feeling her walls flutter around him as finally a garbled moan left his swollen mouth.
He felt like he was floating as his orgasm tore through him, his hips jerking forward as he emptied himself inside of her perfect little pussy. His arms shook with the effort of holding himself up as he filled her with his load, his balls emptying inside of her with a force he has never felt in his life. The lightheaded feeling stayed as he lowered onto his elbows, kissing the corner of Y/N’s lips as he murmured against them, keeping the both of them solid in the aftershocks.
"Fuck, baby... Fuck, I love you s’much." Harry panted against her lips, his cock jerking weakly as he filled her with his the last of his cum. "So fucking perfect... You're everything... I've never... Fuck." He broke down into incoherent babbling as he pressed soft kisses all over her face and neck, praising her through clenched teeth and swollen lips. "My girl... My perfect fucking girl... I love you so much."
"I love you too." Y/N whispered back, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he stayed buried inside of her. He could feel his cum leaking out around where they were joined, making a mess between them but neither of them cared. Harry lifted his head to look at her with hazy, loving eyes as he stroked her hair back from her forehead.
"That was... That was better than anything I've ever felt." He admitted hoarsely. "Being inside you like this, hearing you say you love me… Feeling that love for me and being so close to you? It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Y/N's eyes went a little glassy as she smiled softly up at him, her fingers gently tracing over his cheeks and into his hair. "Same here." She whispered. "I can't even describe how good that felt. Having you inside me, knowing that you love me like that... It’s like a dream come true." She sniffled a little, her nose wrinkling. “This is perfect. I was so scared of asking for more but I wish we’d done it sooner.”
"Me too, baby. Me fucking too." Harry nuzzled into her, inhaling the scent of her mingled with a little bit of him and sex, he was fairly certain nothing would top it. "I was so fucking scared of ruining everything. Of pushing too hard and making you run away. But this? This is worth every fucking second of waiting. You're worth it." He peeked up at her, his lips curling into another smile as he took in the best thing he had seen this year. "I'm glad you asked for more. I'm glad we're doin' this. I'm glad I get to love you like this. You being mine is the best gift I ever could have asked for.”
Adrian who gets so disappointed that his healing powers mean your hickeys never last.
The first time your sweet, wholesome pecks turn into passionate making out, your lips trailing over his neck and chest and leaving a meadow of blooming violet bruises, Adrian swears he's never looked better. He wants to wear every love bite proudly for the whole world to see, to let everyone know that he belongs to you, body and soul. And then ten minutes later as he's staring at himself in your bathroom mirror he can see them fade away in real time, crying out "no! fuck! come back!" and barging back into your bedroom to demand you kiss him even harder this time.
No matter how hard you both try, your jaw aching from sucking over his throat, his hands grabbing your hips and grinding against you until you bite down on his shoulder and leave a deep impression in his skin; it's always gone far too soon for Adrian's liking. So instead you improvise, putting on a fresh coat of your best lipstick just as he comes over and peppering his cheeks and chest in deep scarlet hearts, each lip shaped stain lasting him the rest of the day and finally giving him something to brag about to anyone who'll listen.
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