Can you write human Lyle x cleaner!Reader x Fike smut, reader is a timid loner cleaner and the two best friends decide to keep them for themselves
Reader is resistant to the idea and tries to escape every chance they get but secretly lets themselves be caught?
Resistance
Pairing: Lyle x fike x reader
Warnings: smut, nsfw, Mdni
A/N: hiya my love I hope you enjoy thank you for the request and as always I hope you enjoy 😁
The mop bucket tipped over with a loud clang, soapy water spreading across the lab floor like a slow-motion flood. You froze, hands shaking, already hearing the heavy footsteps rounding the corner before you saw them.
Lyle Wainfleet leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Messy little thing, aren't you?" Behind him, Fike chuckled, cracking his knuckles like he was savoring the sound. Neither of them moved to help.
You'd seen them around the base—always together, always watching. They weren't supposed to be in the sanitation sector this late. But rules never seemed to apply to them, especially not now, with the way Lyle's eyes dragged over your hunched shoulders like he was tallying up weaknesses.
"Think we oughta teach you how to clean up proper," Fike mused, stepping closer. The words curled around you, sticky-sweet and dangerous. You backed up until the counter dug into your spine. Nowhere left to go.
Lyle's boot came down on the mop handle with a decisive crunch, trapping it—and by extension, your escape route—beneath his weight. "Aw, don't look at us like that," he cooed, tilting his head like you were some skittish animal caught in a spotlight. "We're just gonna help." The way he said it made your stomach twist, the promise hanging between you like a noose waiting to drop.
Fike moved like he had all the time in the world, plucking a roll of duct tape from a maintenance cart with an ease that suggested he'd done this before. His fingers made quick work of tearing off a strip, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Hands out, sweetheart," he murmured, and when you hesitated, Lyle's grip on your wrist was sudden and unyielding, pressing your palm flat against the wet tile.
The first loop of tape bit into your skin, too tight, and you gasped. Fike's thumb smoothed over the edge like he was admiring his handiwork. "There. Now you'll stay put while we... assess the situation." Behind you, Lyle exhaled a laugh, warm against the nape of your neck. His fingers trailed up your arm, proprietary, mapping the flutter of your pulse.
"See?" Lyle whispered, close enough that you could smell the stale coffee on his breath. "We're real invested in your job performance." The words dripped false concern as Fike's hands settled on your hips, backing you into the solid wall of Lyle's chest. The counter dug into your thighs, the sharp edge a counterpoint to the slow, inevitable press of them crowding you in. Somewhere distant, a faucet dripped, marking time. They weren't letting you leave—not until they'd taken what they wanted.
The tape around your wrists was already chafing, the adhesive pulling at your skin every time you tested the bindings. Lyle clicked his tongue, dragging a calloused thumb over the reddening marks. "Naughty," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "You keep squirming like that, we'll have to reinforce things." Fike chuckled, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding free with a whisper that made your stomach drop.
Lyle's hands were suddenly everywhere—tilting your chin up, gripping your waist, sliding under your uniform shirt to pinch at the soft skin beneath. "Bet you've never been properly appreciated," he mused, his voice rough. "Always just... cleaning up after everyone." His fingers dug in, possessive. "But we see you. Every little flinch, every time you bite your lip." Fike crowded closer, his thigh pressing between yours, forcing them apart. "We've been watching," he confirmed, his palm sliding up your inner thigh, slow and inexorable. "Thinking about how pretty you'd look stretched out between us."
You gasped when Fike's teeth grazed your neck, his grip tightening to keep you still. Lyle's fingers tangled in your hair, wrenching your head back to expose your throat. "Shh, just take it," he coaxed, though his tone left no room for refusal. The counter dug into your back as Fike ripped your pants open, the fabric tearing with a sound that sent a jolt of fear—or something hotter—down your spine. Lyle smirked at your sharp inhale. "Yeah, you like that, don't you? Being ours."
The first slap landed hard enough to make your vision blur, Fike's handprint blooming across your thigh. "Good thing we're keeping you," he growled, leaning in close. "Doubt anyone else would know what to do with you." Lyle's laugh was dark as he pressed a kiss to your temple, almost tender, even as his fingers circled your throat. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmured. "We'll take real good care of you." The promise twisted in your gut, heavy and undeniable, as they began to claim you in earnest.
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the walls as Fike dragged you backward by your bound wrists, the tape biting deeper with every step. Lyle's fingers twisted in your hair, steering you toward the storage closet—the one with the broken lock they'd clearly scouted earlier. "Gonna keep you where you belong," Fike murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he kicked the door open with a thud. The scent of industrial cleaner and mildew hit you, undercut by something darker—the metallic tang of anticipation.
Inside, Lyle shoved you down onto a stack of folded tarps, the rough fabric scratching your bare thighs. "Stay," he ordered, pressing a boot between your shoulder blades when you twitched. Fike rummaged through the shelves, tossing aside bottles until he found what he wanted: zip ties, the thick industrial kind. He looped one around your ankle before you could kick out, cinching it tight enough to draw a whimper. "Ah-ah," Lyle chided, palming the back of your neck. "You're not leaving this closet until we say so." The words weren’t a threat—they were a fact, settling over you like a second skin.
Fike’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your ruined pants, yanking them down to your knees with a rip. "Look at you," he crooned, tracing the welt left by the zip tie. "All marked up before we even started." Lyle crowded behind you, his belt buckle digging into your spine as he leaned close. "Bet you’ve dreamed about this," he lied, knowing full well you hadn’t—that was the point. His hand slid between your legs, calloused fingers dragging over sensitive skin. "Gonna make sure you don’t forget who owns you."
The first thrust stole your breath, Fike’s grip on your hips bruising as he fucked into you from behind. Lyle’s laughter was a dark hum against your ear, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to make spots dance in your vision. "That’s it," he coaxed, voice dripping false sweetness. "Take it like a good little cleaner." The title twisted in your gut, degrading and electric. They moved in tandem, overwhelming you with sensation—every gasp, every flinch cataloged and exploited. When Fike finally came with a groan, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, Lyle was already unbuckling his belt. "Don’t worry," he murmured, pushing you onto your back. "We’ve got all night." The closet door swung shut behind him, sealing you in.
The flickering overhead light buzzed like a trapped insect, casting erratic shadows across the storage closet’s grimy walls as Lyle loomed over you, his belt buckle glinting in the dimness. "Gonna need you to be real quiet now," he murmured, pressing a finger to your swollen lips. The threat was unnecessary—you’d already learned how sound carried in the empty corridors, how the echo of a whimper could bring curious eyes. Fike’s grip on your thigh tightened, his thumb digging into the fresh bruise blooming there. "Unless you *want* someone to find you like this," he added, voice rough with amusement. The zip ties around your wrists had rubbed raw patches into your skin, but the pain was secondary to the way they anchored you between them, a living tether to their whims.
Lyle’s fingers traced the curve of your hip, possessive and slow, as Fike dragged a knife from his pocket—not to cut you free, but to slit your shirt open with a single, practiced flick. The fabric parted like skin under a scalpel, exposing your heaving chest to the stale air. "Better," Fike approved, palming a breast with casual ownership. "Should’ve had you working in just this from the start." His teeth grazed your nipple, sharp enough to make you jerk against the restraints. Lyle chuckled, catching your chin to force your gaze upward. "Look at you," he mused, thumb smearing the tears tracking down your cheeks. "All messy and used up. Bet you never thought you’d be *this* kind of dirty, huh?"
The taunt coiled in your gut, humiliation and arousal twisting together as Fike shoved two fingers into your mouth without warning. "Suck," he ordered, watching your lips stretch around his knuckles. "Gotta get you ready for round two." Behind you, Lyle unbuckled his pants with deliberate slowness, the sound of his zipper louder than it had any right to be. "Think she can take us both this time?" he asked, though the question wasn’t for you. Fike’s grin was all teeth as he withdrew his fingers, dragging them down your sternum. "Oh, she will," he promised, spreading your legs wider with his boot. "Or she’ll learn the hard way."
The first thrust punched a choked sound from your throat, Lyle’s hips snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt. Fike’s hand clamped over your mouth before the noise could escape, his breath hot against your ear. "Told you to be quiet," he reminded you, punctuating the words with a sharp slap to your inner thigh. The pain blurred into the overwhelming fullness of being stretched around them, their synchronized movements leaving no room for resistance—only surrender. Somewhere beyond the closet door, a mop bucket clattered to the floor, abandoned. No one was coming to clean up *this* mess.
The overhead bulb chose that moment to burn out with a dying flicker, plunging the closet into near-darkness—just the faint glow of emergency exit signs painting Lyle’s smirk in sickly red. "Perfect," he murmured, fingers tightening in your hair as Fike’s shadow loomed closer. "Now nobody’ll see how wrecked you look when we’re done." The zip ties creaked as you twisted instinctively, but Fike just chuckled, pressing a knee between your thighs to spread them wider. "Keep struggling," he urged, voice dripping mock encouragement. "Makes it more fun when you finally break."
Lyle’s palm cracked across your ass hard enough to leave a stinging imprint, the sound echoing off the metal shelves. "Think she’s learned her lesson yet?" he asked, dragging a fingernail down your spine. Fike hummed, considering, as he traced the bite marks littering your shoulders. "Nah," he decided, gripping your hips to yank you back onto his cock with a wet slide. "Gotta make it stick." The groan it punched out of you was smothered by Lyle’s hand clamping over your mouth, his other hand working his zipper open with teeth-gritting patience. "Swallow every drop," he ordered, pressing the head of his dick to your lips. "Or we start over."
Something metallic clattered outside the door—a dropped wrench, maybe—and for a heartbeat, all three of you froze. Then Fike laughed, low and dangerous, thrusting deeper as if daring someone to intervene. "Hope they’re listening," he growled, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to leave tomorrow’s bruises. Lyle’s thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, stretching it obscenely wider. "Bet you’d come just from the shame, huh? Knowing anyone could walk in and see you like this." The truth of it coiled hot in your gut, your muffled whimper vibrating around him as he fucked into your throat in time with Fike’s punishing pace.
When Lyle finally pulled back, letting you gasp for air, he wiped his thumb through the mess on your chin like he was cataloging evidence. "Looks like we found your real talent," he mused, showing it to Fike with a grin. The other man leaned in, licking it off with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact with you. "Told you she was worth keeping," Fike murmured, before sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he came. Lyle’s hand returned to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision swim. "Don’t worry," he soothed, as if that word could ever apply here. "We’re not done with you yet." The closet door rattled in its frame—from the wind, or a passing worker, or maybe just the force of their hunger—but it didn’t matter. You were theirs now.
thank you for taking the time to click on my page and read my stories. my writing has grown along with this account and i am personally grateful for those who have stuck with me since i first created this page. enjoy my content and make sure to share if you do!
MASTERLISTS
E L L I O T
D R A C O M A L F O Y
A R T D O N A L D S O N
G O J O S A T O R U
M E G U M I F U S H I G U R O
L E O N K E N N E D Y
FREQUENTLY ASKED
QUESTIONS
✩ do you take requests?
yes! as long as i know abt the character enough to represent them correctly
⭑ what do you write?
currently i write smut, angst, any genre tbh.
✩ who do you write for?
multi-tandom!
⭑ how long have you been writing for?
about nine years
✩ how long have you had this page?
i created this page a week before i turned 17, and have been posting off and on since!
A bit apprehensive when you first approached him, but easily softened when you asked for his help to reach something. He was fascinated by you and your kind eyes focused on him. He made sure to always be around and available if you needed something.
Once you start your relationship, he's very protective, hovering even closer and keeping a hand on your back or shoulder if you're okay with it.
Likes to crouch down and watch your face as you excitedly chatter about anything and everything
couldn't stop laughing when you first pulled on his hoodie and it completely covered your body
Has a hard time processing his second life, so you're his safe place at the end of a long day
Loves to try new things together! Food, activities, everything~
Likes to give kisses goodbye, will sit and rub your back before he leaves in the morning, whispering how much he cares for you
absolutely putty in your hands when you curl up against his side or in his lap
Loves to carry you around- piggy back rides, in his arms, over his shoulder, etc
Loves to have a game night
Will stop by your work with a small gift and a card just to see you smile for him
very wary when you said you wanted to go into the forest but went with you anyway and softened at how delighted you were by the flora and fauna
NSFW Below
Very loving
Loves to go at an achingly slow pace, watching you tremble in his arms as he pulls out, dragging his cock against your walls
Always grabbing your hips and tugging you closer
Needs to look in your eyes and will beg you for it
Likes the lotus position even if he's not inside you. Just loves when he's rubbing in between your legs, sharing soft kisses
Loves to sit you on the counter and give you oral or take his cock out and rub it between your legs until you end up pleading for him
Looooveees your legs over his shoulders, will be kissing your ankles or any bit of skin he can get to
Gives soft bites, afraid to hurt you
Shivers when you scratch down his back
Doesn't say much but is vocal with his groans against your skin
Will pull you to the edge of the bed, leaning over to press his chest against yours and rut into you until you're both spent, then press a soft kiss to your forehead
"It's not gonna work," Fike muttered, his fingers tracing the curve of Y/N's hip where her skin met the waistband of her shorts. The small fire between them crackled, throwing shadows across the woven mats of their shelter. His voice was half-amused, half-frustrated. "You know what happens when I try."
Y/N rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand. The humid night air clung to their bodies, making every touch stickier than usual. She smirked. "Yeah. You act like you’ve never done this before." Her toes brushed his calf, slow and deliberate. "And then you get embarrassed."
Fike exhaled through his nose, shifting uncomfortably. His pulse was already too fast—stupid, considering they hadn’t even started. The problem wasn’t lack of experience. The problem was her. The way she looked at him, the way she moved, the way she’d bite her lower lip without realizing it. He’d lasted two minutes last time, and that was with her on top, barely moving.
He reached for her, thumb skimming the inside of her thigh. "Fine," he said. "Tip. Just the tip. And you don’t get to laugh." Y/N grinned, already reaching for him, but Fike caught her wrist. "I mean it. Not a sound." She huffed but nodded, settling back against the mats as he hovered over her, trying to steady his breathing. His hands weren’t entirely steady—not with the way she was watching him, not with the way her chest rose and fell just a little too fast.
When he finally pushed in, just that first inch, the heat of her nearly undid him. He had to stop, gritting his teeth, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise. Y/N arched beneath him, a silent gasp parting her lips. That was worse. He could feel every twitch, every flutter around him, the tightness of her body welcoming him in shallow, teasing increments. His voice came out rough. "Don’t—don’t move."
She didn’t. But she didn’t have to. The slow drag of her body against his was torture. He kept his thrusts shallow, barely more than a rocking motion, the ridge of his cock catching against her in a way that made her toes curl against his leg. His fingers found her clit almost without thought, circling in slow, relentless strokes that matched his rhythm. The sounds she wasn’t allowed to make came out anyway—tiny, fractured breaths that he felt more than heard, swallowed by the humid air between them.
Her hips jerked when he pressed harder, her thighs clamping around his wrist. He could feel her tightening around him, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers scrabbled against the mats. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not when her entire body was tensing like a bowstring, not when every muscle in her stomach quivered. She came silently—just a sharp intake of breath and the sudden, slick clench of her body—but Fike felt it, the way her rhythm stuttered and broke around him.
And then, because the universe hated him, she laughed. A breathless, giddy little sound that made his stomach drop. "Oh," she murmured, still twitching around him, her voice shaky with amusement. "Now you’re definitely not pulling out."
Fike groaned, his forehead dropping to her collarbone. She wasn’t wrong—he could feel the stupid, inevitable tightening low in his gut, the way his hips stuttered without permission. Worse, she arched into him, greedy, her nails scraping down his back. "Stop moving," he gritted out, but it was pointless. She rolled her hips up, slow and deliberate, and he swore, his fingers digging into the swell of her ass.
She was still laughing when he came, his body locking up in a shuddering rush of heat that left him boneless and furious. "You—" He couldn’t even finish. Y/N stretched beneath him, smug as a satisfied cat, her thighs still trembling from her own release.
The fire popped. Somewhere outside, an animal shrieked. Fike didn’t move, his breath hot against her damp skin. "You’re the worst." His voice was muffled, half-hearted. Y/N carded her fingers through his hair, humming. "Yeah," she agreed, utterly unrepentant. "But you love it." He did, which was somehow worse. He lifted his head just enough to glare at her, but she was already grinning, her thumb tracing the curve of his bottom lip. "Round two?" she whispered, and Fike groaned again, dropping his forehead back to her shoulder. He was doomed.
Thank you for answering my question! ❤️ It definitely does help to know if I can request x male reader, as I know some people can be uncomfortable doing so. Thank you for being so sweet and kind as well! On the topic, can you write Fike x m!recom!reader x Lopez?
Pairing: Fike x male recom y/n x Lopez
Warnings: smut, nsfw, MDNI
A/n: Hiya my love I really hope you enjoy reading this would love feedback on this as it’s my first time writing male reader 😊 As always feel free to request anything 🥹
"Stop moving." Lopez's voice was sharp, but the way his fingers dug into Fike's hips betrayed his impatience.
Fike snorted, shifting against the rustling leaves beneath him. "Or what? You'll shoot me?"
A pause. Then Lopez exhaled through his nose, unamused, but his grip loosened just enough for Fike to twist around—just enough to see the flicker in those yellow eyes, the way Lopez's throat worked when he swallowed.
Neither of them had planned this. Not here, not like this—half-dressed in the dense undergrowth of Pandora's jungle, sweat sticking their skin together in ways that had nothing to do with humidity. Fike had been the one to push first, testing, always testing, because that's what he did. And Lopez—well, Lopez hadn't shoved him off.
That was the thing about recoms. They weren't built for hesitation.
Lopez's fingers tightened again, this time with purpose, as Fike arched back against him—deliberate, taunting. The leaves beneath them crunched, the sound lost under Lopez's hissed curse. "You're gonna get us both killed," he muttered, but his hips jerked forward anyway, the hard line of his cock pressing unmistakably against Fike's ass through their fatigues.
Fike grinned, sharp and reckless. "Wouldn't be the first time." He reached back, fingers hooking into the waistband of Lopez's pants, tugging just enough to make the other man snarl. Somewhere beyond the tangled vines and bioluminescent foliage, the jungle hummed with unseen life—but here, now, the only thing that mattered was the heat between them, the way Lopez's breath hitched when Fike rocked back against him.
A twig snapped.
They froze—but it wasn't an animal.
y/n stood at the edge of the clearing, his rifle slung over one shoulder, his expression caught between disbelief and something darker. Fike didn't miss the way his gaze dropped, lingering on Lopez's hands where they gripped Fike's hips.
"Busy?" y/n asked, dry as the dust on his boots.
Lopez didn't let go. "You volunteering?"
The challenge hung there, thick as the jungle air. y/n hesitated—but only for a second. Then he dropped his rifle, the thud of it hitting the ground muffled by the undergrowth, and stepped forward. Fike felt Lopez's grip tighten possessively, but it was too late. y/n's fingers were already at his belt, rough and impatient, and when he leaned in, his breath was hot against Fike's ear. "You two ever heard of a fucking tent?"
Fike laughed, breathless, as y/n's hands shoved between him and Lopez, as Lopez growled but didn't pull away. The leaves were damp under his knees when he went down, but he didn't care. Not when Lopez's fingers twisted in his hair, not when y/n's palm pressed against the small of his back, urging him forward.
Somewhere beyond the trees, a viperwolf howled—but the sound was drowned out by Lopez's groan.
The rifle's strap tangled in the vines as y/n kicked it aside, his boots crushing the bioluminescent moss underfoot. He didn't break eye contact with Lopez—didn't even blink—as he unsnapped his own fatigues with one hand, the other still braced against Fike's spine like he owned him.
Fike liked that. Liked the way y/n didn't ask, didn't hesitate. Liked the way Lopez's fingers went white-knuckled in his hair, yanking just hard enough to sting. He grinned up at y/n through his lashes, tongue dragging over his lower lip. "Thought you were gonna lecture us about protocol," he taunted, voice rough.
y/n's thumb pressed against the hinge of Fike's jaw, forcing his mouth wider. "Shut up," he muttered, but there was no heat in it—not when his cock was already heavy against Fike's cheek, not when Lopez was undoing his own belt behind them with a sharp jerk of his wrist.
The jungle didn't care. The vines curled indifferent around them, the air thick with the scent of musk and crushed foliage. Lopez spat into his palm and reached around to slick Fike up, his fingers blunt and ungentle, stretching him fast—too fast, but Fike arched into it anyway, a choked noise catching in his throat. y/n's hand fisted in his hair, holding him still as Lopez pushed in with a grunt, hips slamming forward in one brutal thrust.
Fike gasped, the sound punched out of him, his nails digging into y/n's thighs. y/n watched him with dark, hungry eyes, his grip tightening. "That's it," he murmured, voice low. "Take it."
Lopez didn't give him a choice. His rhythm was punishing from the start, each snap of his hips driving Fike harder against y/n's cock. Fike's mouth watered, his tongue darting out to lap at the head, and y/n swore under his breath, his free hand tangling in the back of Fike's shirt.
"Fuck," Lopez gritted out, his breath coming in harsh bursts against Fike's nape. His fingers dug bruises into Fike's hips, possessive, marking. "Should've known you'd be—" A sharp thrust cut him off, his teeth sinking into Fike's shoulder to muffle a groan.
y/n laughed, the sound tight with strain. "Should've known he'd be what? A slut for it?" He tugged Fike's hair, forcing his head back. "Look at him."
Fike did, his vision blurring at the edges, his body burning where Lopez split him open. y/n's cock glistened against his lips, and he didn't wait for permission—just leaned in and took him deep, throat working around the thick press of him.
y/n's hips jerked forward instinctively, his groan mingling with Lopez's. "Christ," he hissed, his fingers tightening almost painfully in Fike's hair. "You're fucking insatiable."
Lopez's pace stuttered, his breath coming ragged. "Gonna—"
Fike hummed around y/n's cock, the vibration wringing a sharp curse from him, and Lopez snarled, burying himself to the hilt as he came, his fingers leaving crescent moons in Fike's skin.
y/n wasn't far behind. He pulled Fike off just long enough to spit into his own palm, stroking himself roughly before shoving back between Fike's lips. "Swallow it," he ordered, voice rough, and Fike did—greedy, his tongue lapping up every drop as y/n's thighs trembled under his hands.
The jungle was silent around them, save for their harsh breathing. Lopez slumped against Fike's back, his forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. y/n's grip loosened, his fingers carding almost absently through Fike's hair.
Fike grinned, licking his lips. "So," he said, voice wrecked, "who's gonna explain this to Quaritch?"
hope it’s not too much to ask but could you do a fike x Mangkwan Na’vi/reader?
You missed
Pairing: Fike x mangkwan reader
Warnings: smut, nsfw, MDNI
A/n: Hiya my love thank you for the request hope you enjoy😊. As always feel free to request anything ❤️
The spear thudded into the tree trunk with a wet crack, vibrating slightly from the impact. Fike wiped his forehead, breathing hard—jungle air always clung thick in his throat after a hunt.
"You missed." The voice came from behind him—low, amused, carrying the rough edges of someone who didn't speak often. Fike turned, wiping sweat from his brow, and saw her leaning against a twisted root. A Mangkwan. Ash Clan markings streaked across her shoulders like smoke, her tail flicking lazily against the moss. "Third time today."
Fike yanked the spear free, the wood groaning as it came loose. "Maybe I wasn’t aiming for the tree." The lie tasted clumsy. She snorted, pushing off the root with her hips, and the way her muscles moved under that dark, patterned skin made his throat tighten.
The hunt had been called off hours ago—too hot, too thick with humidity—but y/n had stayed. Watched. He hadn’t asked why. The air between them crackled with something unsaid, something that had been building since the first time she’d knocked him flat during spear training, her knee pressed into his ribs, her breath warm against his cheek.
She stepped closer now, close enough that he could smell the sharp resin scent of the ash she painted herself with. Her fingers brushed the shaft of his spear, tracing the carvings. "You hold it wrong," she murmured, and her hand slid over his to adjust his grip. Her skin was hot. Fike’s pulse kicked hard.
Her fingers didn’t stop at his grip. They trailed up his wrist, over the ridge of his forearm, her touch deliberate as a hunter tracking prey. Fike’s breath hitched when her nails—blunted for training, but still sharp enough to tease—scraped lightly along the sensitive inner curve of his elbow. "You’re shaking," she observed, her voice a dark purr. The heat of her pressed against him now, close enough that the thin barrier of their loincloths did nothing to hide the hard line of his arousal.
The navi exhaled a low, knowing sound and tilted her head, her braids brushing his collarbone. "You think too much." Her teeth grazed his shoulder, not quite biting, and Fike shuddered. The spear slipped from his fingers, thumping softly into the moss. Her laugh was a vibration against his skin. "See? Better already."
The forest around them was alive with the hum of insects, the distant cry of a hexapede, but all Fike could focus on was the way y/n’s hips rolled against his, the friction maddening through the thin fabric. His hands found her waist, fingers digging into the dense muscle there, and she rewarded him with a throaty growl. "You learn fast," she murmured, nipping at his jaw.
Then her hand was between them, sliding beneath his loincloth, and Fike’s vision whited out for a second at the first rough stroke. His knees nearly buckled, but Mangkwan held him up, her strength effortless. "Mine," she breathed against his mouth, and the possessiveness in her voice sent a fresh wave of heat through him. He didn’t argue. Couldn’t. Not when she was peeling away the last barriers between them, not when her skin against his felt like coming home.
The world narrowed to the press of her body against his, the way her hips rolled with a rhythm older than either of them. Fike groaned as her nails traced down his chest, leaving faint, stinging trails in their wake—proof of her, of this, of something he couldn’t name yet. The Ash Clan warrior didn’t ask for permission, didn’t need it. Her tongue dragged over one of his markings, slow and deliberate, and Fike’s fingers tangled in her braids, pulling just enough to make her snarl.
She laughed against his skin, the sound vibrating through him, and then her mouth was on his, biting at his lower lip until he gasped. "You talk too much," she murmured, her hand sliding between them again, her grip firm. "But your body speaks well." The teasing scrape of her claws along his inner thigh made his breath stutter, and then she was pushing him back, his shoulders hitting the moss-covered ground. The damp earth smelled rich, alive, but all Fike could focus on was the way she straddled him, her thighs bracketing his hips, her eyes dark with intent.
She leaned down, her braids brushing his chest, and her teeth found the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder. Fike arched beneath her, his hands gripping her waist, feeling the flex of muscle as she moved against him. "Mine," she repeated, and this time it wasn’t just a claim—it was a promise. Her hips rolled, the friction maddening, and Fike’s grip tightened, his claws digging into her skin just enough to make her gasp.
The forest around them faded—the hum of insects, the distant calls of creatures, even the heat of the day—until there was only her, the slick heat of her body as she took him, the way her breath hitched when he thrust up into her. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, her movements sharp, demanding, and Fike met her with a growl, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, guiding her, matching her rhythm. The air between them crackled, thick with the scent of sweat and resin and something deeper, something primal.
Her rhythm was relentless, each downward thrust of her hips forcing a ragged sound from Fike’s throat. The wet heat of her clenched around him, tighter than the jungle’s humid grip, and when she leaned back—braids swaying, muscles taut—he could see the slick shine where their bodies joined. Y/n’s breath came in sharp bursts, her claws raking down his chest as she rolled her hips in a slow, torturous circle that had his tail thrashing against the moss. "Look at you," she murmured, her voice rough with satisfaction. "So eager."
Fike’s hands slid up her thighs, tracing the flex of muscle as she rode him, his thumbs pressing into the soft inner skin just to feel her shudder. She hissed, her nails biting into his shoulders, and ground down harder, taking him deeper. The sensation punched a groan from his chest, raw and unfiltered. Y/n’s answering laugh was breathless, her teeth flashing as she caught his lower lip between them. "Good," she growled against his mouth, her hips snapping forward in a sharp, punishing rhythm that left him seeing stars.
He could feel the coil of tension tightening low in his gut, the inevitable pull of release, but she denied him with a sharp roll of her hips that edged him back from the brink. "Not yet," she ordered, her voice thick with command. Her fingers twisted in his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat, and when she licked a hot stripe up the column of it, Fike’s hips jerked helplessly beneath her.
The world narrowed to the slap of skin, the choked sounds she tore from him, the way her body milked his with every movement. When she finally let him tip over the edge—her teeth in his shoulder, her name on his lips—it was with the visceral certainty that she’d ruin him for anyone else. And as she rode him through it, her own release shuddering through her with a low, guttural cry, Fike knew with terrifying clarity that he’d let her.
The aftermath was a slow, syrupy thing—her weight collapsing onto him, the sweat cooling between their bodies, the way her braids stuck to his chest when she turned her face into his neck. Fike’s lungs burned, his pulse still hammering in his throat where her teeth had left marks. He didn’t move, didn’t dare, even when she shifted and the movement sent a spark of oversensitivity shooting up his spine.
And no worries about not writing for Zhang, lovely! It's absolutely okay! If you haven't started, I had an idea of Fike driving himself crazy and just being so irritated because the reader is working later than usual, so Fike thinks the reader is seeing someone or talking to someone else.
But instead, the reader was actually just working later and being a workaholic, which was why they were drifting from Fike. So after some confrontation from Fike, he realizes he was worrying for nothing, and the reader shows Fike there's absolutely nothing to be worried about *wink wink* - ⚔️
Pairing: Fike x y/n
Warning: smut, nsfw, MDNI
A/n: hiya my beloved ⚔️ hope you enjoy thank you for the request 😊
"You're late again." Fike's voice was flat, but his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against the countertop, betraying the tension coiled beneath his skin. He hadn't meant to sound accusatory—hadn't meant to sound like *anything*, really—but the words came out sharp anyway, edged with something he couldn't quite swallow down.
The y/n sighed, dropping their bag onto the floor with a soft thud. "I know. I told you, it's just work." They didn't look at him as they said it, busy shrugging out of their jacket, and Fike's jaw tightened. That was the third time this week. The third time they'd come home with shadows under their eyes, their shoulders slumped, their attention scattered somewhere he couldn't reach.
Fike crossed his arms, leaning back against the kitchen counter. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of city life outside. Too quiet. He hated it. "You used to leave on time," he said, quieter now, but the words hung heavy between them.
The reader paused, finally turning to face him. Their expression was tired, a little exasperated, and Fike felt a hot twist of guilt in his gut—but it was drowned out by the louder, uglier feeling gnawing at him. "Things are busy right now," they said, rubbing at their temple. "It's not forever."
Fike wanted to believe that. He really did. But the silence that followed stretched too long, and his mind, always too quick to spiral, filled it with every worst-case scenario. Were they avoiding him? Was there someone else? The thought made his chest ache, but he couldn't bring himself to ask outright. Instead, he just watched them, his throat tight, his fingers still tapping that restless, uneven beat.
The air between them thickened, charged with something unspoken. Fike’s fingers stilled against the counter, but the tension didn’t leave his body. He inhaled sharply, the scent of coffee gone stale hours ago clinging to the air. "Busy," he repeated, the word tasting bitter. "You’ve been busy for weeks." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "You don’t even look at me when you come home anymore."
The y/n’s shoulders stiffened, their exhale sharp. "Fike—"
"No, just—" He pushed off the counter, crossing the space between them in two strides. His hands hovered, unsure whether to reach for them or shove into his pockets. He settled for clenching them at his sides. "Tell me the truth. Are you *tired* of me?" The question ripped out of him, raw and jagged. He hadn’t meant to ask it—hadn’t even known it was there, coiled in his chest like a live wire—but now that it was out, he couldn’t take it back.
The y/n blinked, their exhaustion momentarily replaced by something else—shock, maybe, or disbelief. Then, without warning, they let out a choked laugh. "Oh my god. *That’s* what you think?" They stepped closer, close enough that Fike could see the flecks of gold in their eyes, the faint crease between their brows. "You think I’m—what, sneaking around? With *who*?"
Fike’s throat worked. He could feel his pulse hammering, erratic and too fast. "I don’t know," he muttered. "Someone who isn’t driving you insane."
The reader’s expression softened, their hands lifting to frame his face. Their palms were warm against his skin, grounding. "You’re an idiot," they said, but there was no bite to it—just fondness, edged with exasperation. "I’ve been pulling double shifts because Jenkins *quit*, and now I’m drowning in paperwork. That’s it. There’s no one else." Their thumbs brushed his cheekbones, slow and deliberate. "It’s just you. It’s always been you."
Fike’s breath hitched. The knot in his chest loosened, just a little. "You swear?"
Instead of answering, the reader leaned in, pressing their forehead against his. Their breath ghosted over his lips. "Want proof?"
Fike didn’t get a chance to respond before they were sinking to their knees in front of him, their fingers making quick work of his belt. His brain short-circuited. "Wait—*here*?"
The y/n glanced up, their grin sharp and knowing. "You’re the one who needed convincing." Then their hands were on him, and Fike’s thoughts dissolved into static.
The kitchen light was too bright, the tile floor hard under his knees, but none of that mattered—not when their mouth was on him, hot and relentless. Fike’s hands tangled in their hair, his hips jerking forward instinctively. "Fuck," he gasped, his head tipping back. "Okay. Okay, I believe you."
The y/n hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight to his spine. They didn’t stop.
And as Fike unraveled under their touch, the last of his doubts faded into nothing.
Fike’s fingers tightened in their hair, his breath coming in ragged bursts as their tongue dragged along him with slow, deliberate precision. The edge of the counter dug into his lower back, but the discomfort barely registered—not when every nerve in his body was alight, sparking under their touch. He tried to say something, anything, but the words dissolved into a broken groan as they took him deeper, their throat working around him in a way that made his knees threaten to buckle.
The y/n didn’t let up. Their hands gripped his hips, anchoring him in place as they hollowed their cheeks, the pressure perfect, relentless. Fike could feel the coil in his gut tightening, heat pooling low and urgent. "Wait—" he choked out, but they ignored him, their pace never faltering. He wasn’t sure if he was begging them to stop or begging them not to, the line between pleasure and overstimulation blurring into something dizzying.
When the tension finally snapped, it hit him like a live wire. His back arched off the counter, a strangled curse tearing from his throat as he came, hard, their mouth still on him, swallowing every drop. The world narrowed to white-hot static, his pulse roaring in his ears. For a few seconds, all he could do was cling to them, his legs trembling, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
Slowly, the reader pulled back, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. Their lips were swollen, their gaze heavy-lidded but triumphant as they looked up at him. "Convinced now?" they murmured, their voice rough.
Fike exhaled a shaky laugh, his fingers loosening in their hair to stroke down the side of their face instead. His heart was still racing, his skin flushed and oversensitive. "Yeah," he admitted, voice raw. "Yeah, I’m convinced."
They smirked, pressing a kiss to the inside of his thigh before rising to their feet. Their knees cracked audibly, and they winced, stretching their legs with a grimace. "Next time, maybe the bed," they muttered, but there was no real complaint in it—just amusement, warm and familiar.
Fike caught their wrist as they moved to step away, pulling them in until their bodies were flush. He could feel the heat of their skin through their clothes, the steady rhythm of their heartbeat against his chest. "Sorry," he murmured, brushing his lips against their temple. "For being an idiot."
The y/n huffed a laugh, their arms looping around his waist. "You’re always an idiot," they said, but their tone was fond, their fingers tracing idle patterns against the small of his back. "But you’re *my* idiot."
Fike’s chest ached, but this time, it wasn’t from doubt. He tucked his face into the curve of their neck, breathing them in—the familiar scent of their shampoo, the faint tang of sweat from their long day. "Love you," he muttered, the words muffled against their skin.
They squeezed him tighter, their voice softening. "Love you too."
And just like that, the tension between them dissolved, replaced by something quieter, sweeter. The kitchen was still a mess, the night outside still dark, but for now, none of that mattered. They had this. They had each other.
summary : after dominic finds out you had a smut blog dedicated to him from your teenage years, he reacts in a different way than you expected.
warnings : smut, angst, fingering in car, fucking in public, oral (f) receiving, voyeurism, daddy!kink, degrading, blowjob, choking, reader passes out, not proof read lolz
authors note : yeah, this entire fic is a manifestation.
elliot masterlist dominic fike masterlist
When you were eighteen years old, you had the biggest crush on Dominic Fike.
No, you didn’t have posters littered upon your wall; or always talk about how godly he looked to your friends. You kept those emotions bottled within you—and decided to do something a bit more..personal.
You loved his music, you really did, and always found the way he carried himself to be so fucking attractive. Every single feature on his face was perfectly symmetrical to the other; and you had never felt so infatuated with a celebrity before.
His music would always be blaring in your ears, whether it was on the way to school or plugged into a small set of earphones while you did your homework.
You remember opening your laptop one night, searching up fanfiction about him, chewing on one of those sour candies that were always in between your teeth.
Dominic Fike x Reader | daddykink!
Furrowing your brows at the words, you were confused as to what a daddy kink was. So then you clicked on the link, and an entire new world was flashed before your eyes.
You didn’t even know what a kink was, but by the end of the night, your eyes burned by the dimly lit screen as you read numerous fics about him, living through different universes where he was your brothers’ best friend, friends with benefits, and alternate reality fics.
It was like your secret obsession, going on your computer right after school and reading a bunch of new stories. But then, eventually, you ran out of new works to read—
And decided to make your own.
Sitting criss crossed on your bed, your tongue poked out the corner of your lips, your fingers ached as you wrote thousands and thousands of words of pure erotica. At first, you were shy, blushing as you typed the first few sentences; but then it began to flow through your figure as you published your first fic.
After a day, you didn’t get any likes, so debated on deleting it. But then you got a notification a few hours later, signaling that someone had reblogged your post.
fikesfuturegf : love it! can’t wait for the next part !
Smiling down at your phone, you knew that you couldn’t stop now.
In a matter of two months, you had two thousand followers, always waiting for your next posts. It was about to become summer, so you kept up with the tumblr blog for a year, before getting accepted into UCLA, and was too busy moving to update anymore. After getting busy with school and working a two part time jobs to pay the rent for your studio; you just didn’t have anymore time to write.
In two years, you had completely forgotten about the blog. But still put your writing skills to use, looking for jobs online as a music writer; and published a few samples of your work. What you didn’t expect, was for a specific artist to email you—
Which is the entire reason you are now dating the man you wrote countless smut about.
The adrenaline and shock that slapped you in the face when you saw his manager’s email knocked the wind out of your figure. You were on break from your coffee shop job, checking your notifactions, and saw the small text besides the gmail emoticon app.
Hi!
This is Dominic Fike’s Manager, Eloise Harmen.
We’ve reviewed your work and are interested in working with you, and would love if you replied within the next few days!
Hopefully you agree, thank you.
Your thumbs moved so fast to reply, agreeing on a time and date. It didn’t feel real until you walked to the address they had given you, wearing your most professional outfit, eyes bulging when his studio door swung open by Dominic himself.
His hair was in blonde curls, with dark roots, looking fluffy and bouncy. Tan skin looking smooth and honey like, his red lips were glossy and soft looking, a grey pullover and red puffy vest matched with a pair of black skinny jeans behind his outfit.
Holy fuck. You came right there.
His eyes flickered when they met yours, swiping up and down your figure, before stretching his hand towards you with a charming smile, “You must be Y/N! I’m Dominic.”
Oh yeah, you knew.
Your mouth became dry, standing frozen in place, as the man that you’ve imagined fucking you inside a public bathroom, in his car, in a fucking magical rain forest, was standing right in front of your face. Your chest rose as his brows furrowed at your lack of words, worry swirling in his eyes.
“Are you—okay? You look a little pale.”
Slapping a hand against your forehead, you nodded, sending him a tight smile, “Uh, yeah. Fine.”
His smile faltered as he stepped aside, letting you in, “Okay, cool. Shall we?”
You didn’t say anything, awkwardly following him to the couch, and made a big distance between you two by sitting at the edge. You don’t notice the confused look that crossed his features, as he let out a small chuckle.
He rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t bite, y’know.”
Too caught up in the shock of it all, and how much better looking he was in person; you didn’t laugh, blinking at him as his beautiful voice sunk into your mind. He was so fucking good looking, making your breathing turn shallow as you realized you had been staring too long; and averted your gaze to the notebook in your hands, “I uh, I have a few samples for you.”
He nodded, clapping his hands together, afterwards sipping on the coffee from the table, “Alright, dope. Oh—did you want anything?” He offered, your heart fluttering as you looked up at him. You kept falling in love over and over again with his eyes, and how deep and brown they were; like the richest chocolate you’ve ever seen, “Coffee? Water? Weed?” He joked at the end.
You blinked, trying to not to get lost in those eyes, and shook your head before looking back down.
“No thank you.”
And for the next two hours, your tone had been clipped, reviewing which general idea of the samples he liked and what to bounce off of. The nerves didn’t fade at all, growing when you worried he thought you were weird, and somehow could read your mind and find out about all the things you’ve written about him. By the end of it, you were really sweaty, just wanting to leave so you could fan girl about it later in your room.
As soon as the session finished, you stood up, and Dominic sent you a crooked smile, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow right?”
Your eyes rounded, “Tomorrow?”
He frowned.
“I don’t know if El told you, but we’re working on an album. I’m gonna need at least ten samples in a month—and we need to work together everyday until then.”
Oh shit.
His eyes grew in size, “Is that…okay?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, freaking out on the inside, grabbing your notebook before rushing to the exit,
“See you.”
And for the past two weeks, sometimes in the late hours of the night, you would work amongst Dominic as you reviewed music samples that consisted of the audios he created and the lyrics you wrote.
He would always try to crack jokes, which were pretty funny, but you would forget to laugh; being to distracted by how enchanting his eyes were. You would barley look at him, not wanting to creep him out, and staid quiet and professional for the most part.
Then, one day, after you were packing up to leave—your figure was heading towards the door, but paused when he called your name, “Y/N—can I ask you something?”
You turned around, blinking at him, as you nodded stiffly, “Um, sure.”
Fuck. He found out about the blog.
That had to be it.
You were dead. He was going to sue you for being a fucking pervert.
Biting your bottom lip in anticipation, waiting for him to laugh in your face about how weird and gross you were, shock once again flooded you as he drew his brows together, “What’s your problem with me? Have I offended you in any way?”
You tilted your head, not expecting those words.
“My problem?”
He gulped, rubbing the back of his neck before mustering up a shy smile. Your heart melted.
“You barley speak, and act like you’re too disgusted to be near me. I just thought you had some beef with me,” he explained, stepping towards you. His tone was glum, “Which upsets me because—I’m into you. Like, really into you.”
This had to be a fucking joke.
You did not believe this.
The boy you’ve been literally fantasizing over for years just told you he had feelings for you, and thought you didn’t like him. It was humorous actually, making a laugh of disbelief fall from your lips, his cheeks turning pink as he figured you were laughing at his admission, “I’m guessing you don’t feel the same.”
You gulped, “No…no. I just—I like you too.”
His brows rose in surprise, “Word?”
Lips quirking into a smile, you nodded.
“Word.”
Sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip, he shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging, “Well then—can I take you out sometime? Like, on a date?”
You couldn’t agree fast enough.
Giggling like kids, your sock covered feet rubbed against your boyfriend of two years, Dom, as you laid on the couch. You wrapped your arms around his chest, not wanting him to leave for the studio, his scent of marijuana and manly cologne hitting your senses, “No! I don’t wanna share you, Dom.”
He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, leaving your cheeks pink before lightly pushing you off and standing up.
“I’ll be back soon,” he grabbed his keys from the table, smiling cutely at you, “Only for a few hours. Then we can watch Love Island and get stoned, hm?”
You pouted, but nodded, him kissing the top of your head before leaving the shared apartment you both lived in.
Letting out a sigh of content, you got a gmail notification, the ding! being heard from the table. Grabbing it from the surface, your eyes popped open at the text.
It was from your gmail, a robot animated message from tumblr, celebrating your six year anniversary since you’ve first posted on it. You had forgotten all about it. Clicking on the link, you were brought back to your old account, followers wondering where you had been and why you disappeared.
Reading your old works, biting on your thumbnail, you found to crazy that you were now with the person you used to write about. And you just say—the real thing was way better.
You didn’t notice how long you had been going through your works, not hearing the front door slamming shut, flinching when a pair of lips pressed against your neck, “Hey baby—what you reading?”
“Nothing—Dominic!”
He pulled the phone from your hands, a smile on his lips at first, not expecting for what he was about to get himself into. You felt like you were going to cry, hand flying to your mouth, as his brows furrowed as he scrolled downwards. His eyes flew to yours as you stared at him, horrified, hoping he didn’t break up with you and kick you out of the place.
It was embarrassing. You wanted to die.
He blinked, processing most likely, before his voice rasped, “Did you…write this?”
It was like word vomit. It kept spilling out and getting more worse.
“It was before I met you, and I forget about it—but when we met, I remembered and that’s why I was so cold, and I got this stupid text from tumblr that was celebrating my anniversary, and you weren’t supposed to—“
“Y/N,” he cut you off, placing the phone onto the table, “It’s okay. I don’t—think differently of you. It’s just…a little weird, not gonna lie.”
Twisting your mouth to the side, you nodded, “I know. If you want to break up with me—“
“Of course I don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head. But his eyes did flicker, “I just—didn’t expect it. It’s so….graphic.”
You gulped, “Do you think I’m a creep?”
He paused, his jaw tightening, and it sent you off. Standing up onto your feet, which padded against the wooden floor, you let out a cry, “Oh my god, you do!”
“Wait—Y/N..”
Slamming the door to the bathroom shut, tears rolled down your cheeks, covering a hand over your mouth as you quietly sobbed. Dom kept knocking on the door, repeating your name, and asked you to open the door. But you didn’t, hugging your knees, as you felt like your boyfriend didn’t love you anymore. I mean, could you blame him?
He must’ve thought you were such a pervert.
You regretted writing that stupid blog. You regretted even meeting him, because you had fallen so hard for him, and now he was going to leave you. It was all your fault; and you had no one to blame but yourself.
Time went by, and your boyfriend returned, knocking on the door once again, “Y/N—open the door, please.”
Sniffling, you had no choice but to do what he said, bracing yourself for him breaking up with you. He was a kind person, so he would do his best to do it gently, which hurt even more. Wiping at your eyes, you took a deep breath, and swung open the door.
One of his hands leaning above the door frame, his eyes rounded, brows raising; not expecting for you to finally open it. You stared at him with pink cheeks and nose, eyes puffy from crying, as you hugged yourself.
Your chest hurt as he looked at you, worry glossing over his eyes, “Are you okay?”
You shook your head.
“No, but I’ll pack my things. I understand—“
He took a step forward, knitting his brows, “I’m not breaking up with you. Some silly blog that you wrote when you were a kid doesn’t erase the two years we’ve had together,” he told you, pinching your chin with a small smile, “I mean, yeah, it’s a bit odd—but we don’t ever have to bring it up again. I’ll act like it never existed.”
You wiped your nose, sniffling, “I don’t know..”
His hand flew to your jaw, making you look up at him, and the sincerity in his eyes. He rubbed his jaw on the outline of your cheekbone, “I promise I don’t care. I really don’t. I love you.”
You nodded, still looking ashamed, and he tapped your cheek,
“What? You don’t love me anymore?” He teased, smirking down at you.
You laughed softly, him pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around your figure as you smelled his warm scent against your cheek. Fluttering your eyes shut, his fingers rubbed your scalp, still doubting yourself as you sighed against him.
“I love you too.”
A few weeks went by, and the incident wasn’t on your mind as much, doing your best to push it away from your mind. Dom’s like felt heavy in yours as he rubbed your cheekbone, the limo driver focusing on the road, as his fingertips trailed down to the waistband of your dress.
You had just attended an event together, and were on your way back home, and didn’t expect for things to take such a turn. You gasped into the kiss when his nimble fingers delved beneath the fabric of your underwear, his other hand moving to your thigh, as you felt him smirk against you, “Gotta be quiet, okay?”
Adrenaline shot through you as his thumb began to circle your clit, letting out a soft moan which he swallowed; your wetness sticky against his skin, “So fucking wet,” he muttered, sinking a finger into your pulsing heat, “You’re such a fucking slut for daddy, aren’t you? Getting finger fucked in the back of the car where anyone can see.”
Your lust duplicated as your hips rose to meet the thrusts of his fingers, cool medal ring burning the inside of your walls. Hand flying to his wrist, other one on his shoulder, you panted in his ear as he moved to suck the flesh of your neck, “Feels—so good. Holy shit, Dom.”
“Hm, does it?” He purred, adding a second finger, embarking a hiss from you as he quickened his pace.
You nodded, spreading your thighs further apart, pulling away to glance at the driver; who must’ve known what was going on. There’s no way he didn’t, not with how loud your heavy pants were or the slightly slick sounds of your pussy.
Dom didn’t like that your attention wasn’t on him, growling, “Look at me,” while his fingers gripped your chin, the other sliding in and out of your slit while your eyes hooded in pleasure. His thumb quickened its circles on your pearl, his teeth gritting as he forced you to look into his eyes, “Don’t look at him. He’s not making you cum, is he? It’s me. So fucking cream my fingers for me.”
Your lips fell open as your brows furrowed, the knot in your belly growing as his hot breath fanned your lips, “I’m gonna—“
“Then do it,” he snapped, making your eyes round before letting go all over his hand, “Good fucking girl. There we go.”
Your fist balled up the fabric of his button up, figure shuddering as his fingers slid from your soaking folds, rubbing your swollen nub as your orgasm shot through you. Sucking in a harsh breath, you bit your bottom lip, almost drawing blood as you tried your best to remain silent. Dissolving into pleasure, he didn’t break eye contact, watching with a faint smug smirk as you released onto him.
When you were coming down, the car parked in the familiar driveway of you apartment, the driver announcing your were home.
“Thanks, bro,” Dom called out, sucking on his fingers, before sending you a wink and hopping out the car.
Your legs shook as you followed after him.
You were pretty sure that was the hardest you ever came in your entire life.
Scrolling through your phone, you heard the door to Dom’s dressing room slam shut—causing your eyes to flicker up into his stormy ones. Your brows rose as his drew together, like bruised and swollen from probably biting on them; something he did when he was stressed. You sat up in your seat as he stalked over to you, veins protruding from his neck, as he cursed harshly, “I can’t hit the fucking notes. El keeps getting on my ass about it.”
You sympathized for him, standing up and walking over to him, “Hey, you got this,” you mumbled, hand falling on his shoulder,
“You have a show in twenty min—“
His hand flew to your wrist, pupils turning darker, his tone bitter, “You think I don’t know that? Hence why I’m fucking pissed,” he spat, shoving you against the wall. Your eyes rounded as he ripped the tank top you had on into two, breasts spilling out, hands flying to cup them before smashing his lips against yours, “I’m gonna take it out on you, and you’re going to fucking take it.”
Well—you weren’t one to deny that.
His fingers flew to the zipper of your shorts, leading you to kick them down your legs, his teeth clashing against yours as your chest pressed against his, “Suck my cock,” he ordered, and you dropped to your knees, looking up at him with big eyes. His eyes narrowed, “Is it gonna take itself out or what? Hurry the fuck up.”
Your heat clenched at his words, mean words, thighs pressing together as you got to work. Small hands flying to his zipper, the sound of it being opened ringing in the room, along with his heavy pants as he watched you intently with a cold look. Gulping, you spotted the hard dent in his boxers, mouth watering as you pulled those down as well.
His cock sprang upwards, head leaking with his cum pre-cum and beet red; his hand flying to wrap his long fingers around his shaft, “Stick out your tongue,” he barked, and when you did, he smirked lazily before tapping the tip onto your pink muscle, “Such a fucking cockslut f’me. Just a toy for me to fuck when I want, isn’t that right?”
You were about to respond, hazy in lust, but he slid his cock inside your mouth before rocking his hips. His hand made a makeshift ponytail with your hair, his chest sinking and rising quickly as he used your wet, warm mouth to get himself off, “God—so fucking tight. Feels so good—s-shit.”
His salty and tangy taste coated your tongue, thick shaft filling your throat as you gagged around it. Your eyes burned as they watered, making him snicker.
Your other hand began to pump his length, thinking he wanted to cum, but he pulled out with a pop—before bending down onto his knees and shooting his hand to your throat. Your eyes bulged as he guided you back to your feet, a furious look covering his features as his nostrils flared.
“Did I say you could do that, you fucking whore?” He spat in your face, and when you shook your head, his eyes turned darker, “Use your words.”
“No,” you whimpered, “No, daddy.”
He huffed, before ripping off your panties, hearing them tear as you cringed at the sound. This was so fucking hot. He rubbed his cock against your throbbing clit, looking into your eyes as he released his joke from your throat, “You want Daddy to fuck you, Y/N?”
You nodded, eyes brimmed with tears, as you almost sobbed, “Yes—please. I need Daddy’s cock in me!”
“Fuck,” he mumbled, his head sinking into your awaiting pussy, a long moan falling from your lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist, lifting yourself up and down as he fucked you at a harsh pace, “That’s right. Bounce on Daddy’s cock and make yourself cum.”
His manager banged on the door, “Dominic—you’re on in ten! Open up.”
He slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling your cries, as he tried his best to keep an even voice.
“I’ll be there, I’m busy right now.”
You heard her sigh, “Doing what?”
Panic filled your eyes, worried that she was going to hear you cum, or walk in on the two of you—but your boyfriend didn’t seem to really care, continuing his thrusts as he fucked into you, eyes glued to your worried ones.
“For fucks sake,” he shouted, rolling his eyes before delivering a harsh thrust, “I’m fucking busy. I’ll be there in a second.”
“Whatever.”
The sound of footsteps receded.
Your bottom lip quivered as his big cock kept poking at your cervix, arms wrapping around his neck as his pace was relentless. Your tits jiggled as he didn’t even bother to take off his hoodie, his scent flying up your nose, as you let out scream after scream as he took you against the wall.
“I’m gonna cum,” you wailed, head tipping back against the wall, “Daddy, I’m gonna—“
His hand returned to your throat, blocking your airways, “You gonna cum? Can you cum without breathing?” He taunted, making your brows furrow, before he pinched two fingers over your nostrils. Your eyes doubled in size as he chuckled wickedly, his pelvic bone rubbing against your clit, “Go ahead. Let’s see.”
You gasped as the lack of oxygen began to turn painful, which set you over the edge, clawing at his back as you tried to escape his grasp. The hot heat that overtook you was so fucking strong, you couldn’t handle it, not being able to breathe as you came hard.
He finally let go, which heightened your orgasm, leading you to black out from the intensity of it. The last thing you remembered was his thrusts stuttering, probably about to cum, and then everything faded.
Eyes jolting open, you woke up to Dom fully dressed again, towering over your slumped figure on the couch. His eyes were wide with worry, hand rubbing your cheek, as his face was significantly paler than usual.
“I went too far,” he apologized, his voice cracking, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You passed out because I choked you—“
Your brows furrowed, shaking your head, “No I didn’t. It was because it felt—so good,” you muttered, blinking up at him with hooded eyes and a tired smile, “That was the best sex I’ve ever had, Dom.”
His eyes still skeptical, his face flickered, “Are you sure—“
“I promise,” you assured, pulling his face down to kiss his sweet lips, “You can be rough with me. I won’t break, baby.”
He sighed in relief as you pulled away, pecking your forehead, “Whatever you want. As long as you’re comfortable,” he mumbled, “I gotta go. See you after?”
You nodded, “I’ll be here.”
Sitting on your chair, you were live on Instagram from Dom’s phone, since he had asked you to entertain his followers while he went to retrieve something. Reading the comments with a small smile, you thanked some which called you pretty, while others were asking if Dom was going to be releasing anymore albums this year.
But when you spotted your boyfriend under the desk, not noticing he was there when you first came to sit, a scream left your lips as he poked his curls between your thighs, “Holy shit!”
He chuckled quietly, holding a finger to his lips, before spreading them. You watched with furrowed brows before eyes rounding, him pulling aside your panties, feeling his warm muscle lick a stripe up your slit while looking up at you with those puppy dog eyes of his.
There was no way he was doing this right now. What the fuck.
Looking up at the comments, you tried to appear non-chalant, apologizing for your outburst and saying there was a random bug that had flown in from the window.
Biting down on your finger, sniffling a moan, your eyes squinted from pleasure; pretending to read the comments as your boyfriend fucked you with his tongue below the desk.
He shoved two fingers inside your pussy, before pumping them in and out quickly, wrapping his thick lips around your pulsating clit and sucking harshly. You worried they could hear him slurping crudely, hold jolting, as you tried your best to remain stone faced, “I do love dogs, actually. More—More than dog—cats.”
You felt your boyfriend snicker against your clit at the mistake, which vibrated against your core, making you shiver as the pleasure began to take over your mind. Your fingers tugged at his strands, trying to lift him away from you, but his mouth stuck to your pussy like glue as he tried to pull an orgasm from you.
Beginning to panic, feeling yourself teeter over the edge, your hands flew to the phone that was propped against a candle, “One sec guys, I’m gonna change,” you announced before muting yourself, and turning off the camera, and fell back onto the chair. Your feet planted onto his shoulders as your eyes crossed, “Fuck fuck fuck—I’m cumming!”
He hummed, as your pussy squirted into his mouth, your high washing over you. You threw your head back as you rolled your hips onto him, before slowly coming back down, watching as he wiped his mouth before standing up onto his feet once again.
You panted, looking up at him, “What has gotten into you, Dom? You’re doing all this risky, crazy shit.”
He smirked, sparkles dancing in his eyes, as he snickered.
“You know that blog you had?”
Your face dropped, realization hitting you. He was recreating the fics you wrote.
Laughing at the mortified look on your face, he threw his head back, “Thought you’d never catch on.”
