"Sunghoon lives for nights like this you in his lap, tits in his mouth, windows fogged beyond saving."
Pairing:박성훈 x f!reader.ִֶָ𓂃ּ ֶָ֢.
Content+Warnings: Explicit sexual content,fwb? Casual sex,Unprotected sex + creampie,Heavy breast/nipple play & tit worship,Multiple sex positions in a car cowgirl, folded missionary, doggy style,Fingering, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms,Dirty talk?,Light pain/pleasure mix (hard pinching, biting, slapping on breasts),Marking/hickeys,Strong language
Wc: 4k
Mdni
Note: saw this on tw those hands looked sm like hoon's 🚬 idk vro..
The notification lit up your phone at 11:47 pm.
Hoon: you up?
You stared at it for a second, thumb hovering. You knew exactly what it meant. It had been the same for the last few months, ever since that night Yunjin dragged him along to your group’s late dinner and he’d spent half the evening staring at your chest like it was the only thing worth looking at. Some tipsy flirting and you ended up in his car.
You typed back
You: yeah,where?
Hoon:outside in 15
You didn’t bother dressing up. Black cami n some boy shorts, nothing underneath. Your nipples were already tightening just from the anticipation. You grabbed your keys and slipped out.
His matte black car was idling by the curb, tinted windows hiding everything. You climbed in. The scent of his cologne — something woody and expensive hit you immediately. Sunghoon was slouched in the driver’s seat wearing a plain black tee that looked two sizes too small. The fabric stretched obscenely across his broad chest and thick shoulders, biceps bulging even when he wasn’t flexing.
He didn’t say hi. Just reached over, big hand landing high on your thigh, squeezing once as he pulled away from the curb.
“Missed you,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking to your covered chest.
You laughed softly. “sure.”
The drive was quiet except for the low hum of R&B playing through the speakers. His hand stayed on your thigh the whole time, thumb rubbing slow circles higher and higher until it slipped under the hem of your shorts. Not pushing further. Just teasing. Building it.
He drove farther than usual tonight, leaving the busy streets behind until he turned into a quiet, half-empty parking lot behind an old business park. No cameras. No people. Just distant streetlights painting faint orange stripes across the fogged windows once he killed the engine.
Silence settled. Thick. Heavy.
Sunghoon turned toward you, dark eyes locked on your body. “C'mere.”
You unbuckled and climbed over the console, knees settling on either side of his thick thighs. The moment you were in his lap, his hands were on you. His big palms shoved under your cami and pushed it up roughly, bunching the fabric right under your chin. Cool air hit your bare skin for half a second before his hot hands covered you.
“shit” he groaned, squeezing immediately.
His fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of your tits, kneading hard, pushing them together, spreading them apart.His thumbs dragged over your nipples, flicking them back and forth until they were stiff peaks, then pinched hard enough to make you gasp.
You arched into his touch, hands bracing on his broad shoulders. The muscles there were rock-solid under your palms.
Sunghoon’s breathing was already getting heavier. He leaned in, burying his face between your breasts, inhaling like he was addicted. Then he started sucking wet, open-mouthed kisses all over the soft skin, leaving faint marks. One hand kept mauling your right tit, squeezing rhythmically while the other slid to your back, pulling you closer so he could suck a nipple into his mouth.
The wet heat made you moan. He sucked harder, tongue flicking rapidly, teeth grazing just enough. His free hand worked the other breast rolling the nipple, tugging, slapping the underside lightly so it jiggled against his palm.
You rocked your hips slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants, feeling him thicken. The car was heating up fast. Windows already fogging at the edges.
He pulled back just enough to yank your cami completely off, tossing it into the backseat. Then he attacked again. Both hands on your chest, pushing your tits up and together so he could drag his tongue across both nipples at once. He sucked them into his mouth together, groaning deep in his throat as he did it. The vibration went straight between your legs.
Your hands slid into his hair, gripping the dark strands as he worked you over. He was relentless squeezing, kneading, sucking, biting softly. Every time you moaned, he did it harder. His cock was fully hard now, pressing insistently against your soaked shorts.
“Shorts off,”
You lifted up just enough to shove them down. He helped, big hands yanking them down your thighs along with your panties. The second you were bare, he pulled you back down, but not before shoving his own sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free his thick cock. It slapped heavy against his abs flushed, veined, already leaking.
You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly. Sunghoon hissed, hips bucking once, but his eyes stayed glued to your chest.
“Wan' 'em around me,” he said.
You leaned forward, pressing your tits together around his cock. Sunghoon cursed loudly, head falling back against the seat as you started moving. The sight of his thick length sliding between your soft breasts made him throb. He reached down and helped, hands covering yours, squeezing your tits tighter around him, thumbs still flicking your nipples.
“Shit… look at that,” he groaned, watching mesmerized as the head of his cock disappeared and reappeared between your cleavage. Precum smeared across your skin, making everything slicker. He thrust up gently, fucking your tits while his hands kept them pressed tight. After a few minutes he grabbed your hips and pulled you up, lining himself up with your dripping entrance.
"Ride me?"
You sank down onto him inch by inch, gasping at the stretch. He was thick always took you a moment to adjust. The second you bottomed out, Sunghoon’s hands returned to your chest like magnets. He squeezed hard, using your tits as handles while you started rolling your hips.
The car rocked gently. Skin slapped against skin. His breathing was ragged, eyes half-lidded as he watched your breasts bounce in his grip. Every time you sank down, he thrust up to meet you, fingers digging deeper.
“Harder,” you whispered.
He grinned,Then he took over.
Gripping your ass with one hand, he fucked up into you fast and deep, the other hand still full of your tit. He slapped it lightly, watching it jiggle, then squeezed again, pinching the nipple until you cried out. The mix of pleasure and faint pain had you clenching around him.
He switched positions after a while pushing the seat back as far as it would go so you could lean back against the steering wheel. This angle let him see everything. He kept one hand on your chest, mauling both breasts while the other rubbed tight circles on your clit. His thrusts never slowed.
You came hard the first time, thighs shaking, walls fluttering around his cock as you moaned his name. Sunghoon didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, groaning at how tight you got,
When your orgasm faded, he pulled out suddenly and flipped you around. “Backseat rightnow baby”
You climbed over. He followed, muscular body filling the space. He laid you down across the seats, one of your legs hooked over the front seat, the other bent. Then he was on you again.
This time he pushed your knees toward your chest, folding you, and slid back inside in one smooth thrust. The new angle made you see stars. Sunghoon braced one hand on the seat behind you and started pounding deep, powerful strokes that made your tits bounce wildly.
He couldn’t resist. He leaned down, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his hand worked the other. The wet sounds of his mouth mixed with the obscene slap of skin and your broken moans. Every thrust pushed your breasts up toward his face. He motorboated them messily, groaning, then went back to sucking hard enough to leave marks.
“Love suckin' these while I’m inside you,” he panted. “So fucking soft… godamn.”
You reached between your bodies and rubbed your clit, chasing another high. Sunghoon noticed and replaced your hand with his, rubbing fast while he kept thrusting.
Your second orgasm hit even harder. You clenched around him, back arching, crying out as pleasure crashed through you. Sunghoon cursed, hips stuttering, but he held back.
He pulled out again, breathing hard. “Turn over. On your knees.”
The backseat was cramped, but you managed hands braced on the seat, ass up. Sunghoon knelt behind you, one foot on the floor. He rubbed his cock along your soaked folds once, twice, then pushed back in.
This position let him go even deeper. He gripped your hips at first, pounding hard, but soon one hand slid around to grab your swinging tits. He squeezed them from behind, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust. The angle made everything feel filthy and perfect.
He leaned over your back, chest pressed to you, one arm wrapped around so he could keep playing with your breasts while fucking. Fingers pinching, palm kneading, mouth sucking on your shoulder.
“You gon cum again? Want to feel it on my cock.”
His hand moved faster on your clit. His thrusts turned punishing deep, rapid strokes that had the whole car shaking. You came a third time, almost sobbing with how intense it felt, walls milking him tight.He buried himself deep and came hard, groaning loudly as he filled you, hips twitching with every pulse. His hand stayed on your tit the entire time, squeezing rhythmically like he was grounding himself.
You both collapsed, sweaty and breathing hard. The car reeked of sex. Windows completely fogged. Sunghoon stayed inside you for a long minute, lazily kissing your neck, hand still gently groping your sore, marked-up chest.
Eventually he pulled out with a wet sound and sat back, pulling you into his lap again. This time it was softer. He rested his forehead against yours, one big hand still idly cupping your breast, thumb brushing the nipple almost tenderly now.
“Better than the gym,” he muttered with a lazy smirk.
You hummed breathlessly. “mhm"
You stayed like that for a while naked, tangled, his hands tracing the marks he left.
“Round three?” he asked after ten minutes, already half-hard against your thigh.
You raised an eyebrow. “hell nah , don't wanna limp like a loser tomorrow."
He laughed and you both cleaned up as best you could with some wipes he kept in the car. You pulled your cami n shorts back on. He fixed his sweatpants.
He drove you home in comfortable silence, hand back on your thigh. When he pulled up to your building he leaned over and kissed you deep but short.
“Text me when you want it again,” he said.
You smiled. “You’ll probably text first.”
“Probably.”
You stepped out. He waited until you were inside before driving off.
When people would ask him why? ‘For safety,’ he’d be quick to respond, as if that’s all he was using it for…
Sure, it was for safety, but when his pretty little dove looked so sweet? It couldn’t just be for that.
Simon was the type of man to have his hand on the back of your neck when you two were rough-fucking. Holding your face down into the pillow below, watching you slobber over it — as he pounded you from behind, your hips arched to meet his thrusts.
He loved doggy style.
He loved it because his cock would drill you perfectly on the spot deep inside you that made you scream. But also because you couldn’t see his hands before they moved.
He carried his gun around with him to protect you.
But also to pick up when you’re oh-so-close to cumming — loading it, making sure you hear the click — and pressing it to the back of your head.
‘Good sluts will wait to cum,’ He’d mutter. It wasn’t just a phrase to get you riled up — he meant every word.
He pressed it tighter. ‘You will wait. Cum before my word, and I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out.’
… Hell, if that didn’t make you melt.
Your moans only got more lewd. More hoarse — begging, sobbing for him to let you cum — feeling his thick cock drill you full. It made your stomach feel way too hot. That familiar knot building in your gut.
He’d pull out before you got a chance to cum. His rough, calloused palm painfully slapping your sopping, gaping and abused hole.
He’d pause, hearing you whine, a shiver wracking through you.
Then, he’d drag the cold head of the gun down from your neck, tracing your spine. It made you convulse — but he held you still.
The metal, still frozen to the touch, heavy in his hands — tapping against your entrance.
The next thing you know — he’s filling you again, with the gun.
‘Cunt up, slut,’ was all he said — but it still made you see stars.
The sopping walls welcomed the gun — your toes curling behind you, jaw dropping slack — as he buries the gun to the trigger. All the cold, heavy metal pressing against all your hot, gushy walls. You tried to hold the whines and whimpers tumbling from your lips like a prayer.
He fucked you rough.
Probably ruining his favourite gun… but he could always go and get a new one, of course.
He’d never put a gun in his mouth for as long as you were beside him — but the moment you came, gushing out all your sweet, sweet juices, he put the barrel in his mouth and lapped it clean.
vi loves head. she loves getting head. she loves giving head more. but when you’re giving her a sloppy, messy, and absolutely filthy head? sign her up.
your gurgles would be resounding in your room, you would be all up on her fucking dick—knees bruising, spit dripping down your mouth, eyes tearing up. oh, you love it.
“baby, you need to brea–oh, fuck,” breathing ain’t shit when you’ve got her cock deep in your throat. “fuck, fuck, fuckk.”
vi’s all putty on your couch, her very own eyes rolling to the back of her head every time you take her to the base, then you do this trick where you swallow and moan and massage her sensitive dick with your throat.
may janna give her strength because you are one filthy woman.
seeing you on your knees between her manspreading legs, mouth sucking her in like a black hole? woof. vi’s hips would thrust upwards to chase your warm mouth when you tease her by slowly pulling back, leaving the reddened tip in.
“c’mon, baby, ‘m so close, so so close,” she whines out, looking like a puppy with the way her eyebrows furrow in need. she tries to gently push your head down, “please, please, please.”
you completely pull away, nuzzling your cheek to her twitching dick, “aren’t you a desperate baby?”
due to your edging, and her sensitivity, vi slumps back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. that changes because her dick is engulfed in heat again.
her hand snapping down to your head, you accept her roughness; letting her push your head down, your hands find themselves on top of her thighs.
“gonna cum, gonna–you’re gonna take it, yeah?” her breathing labors as hot white blinding heat envelops her figure, “mouth so good.”
not long after, you feel her warm cum inside your mouth, forcing itself down your throat. you’re gurgling again because vi’s dick is reading the back of your throat.
"Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" Your sweet voice replayed over and over in his mind. He hadn't flat out refused your offer, but he hadn't said yes either. Now as he laid under the rubble of the bomb Hydra had detonated, it was all he could think of.
You were friends, one of the only people besides Steve to make him feel welcome on the Avengers. The others were wary of him, and he didn’t blame them. He had done unforgivable things as The Winter Soldier. Now he was fighting for the right cause. He couldn't help the reoccurring nightmares of the horrors he encountered in his past. He didn't want to get too comfortable in his new life, the one Steve helped him obtain because he was scared The Winter Soldier was still lurking around in his brain somewhere.
That's why he never dated. Sam would tease him, telling him he could have anybody he wanted, but he settled for his hand every night. Bucky couldn't afford to get too close to anyone. Especially someone who was weaker than him like the opposite sex. He was scared he would lose control while being intimate and hurt or even kill his partners. So he never let anyone get too close, until you.
You came bouncing into his life unexpectedly. You were brought on the team shortly after him. He would never forget your first day. Steve introduced you to everyone at the morning meeting. You were all smiles, your bubbly personality instantly drawing him in. The others were making comparisons between the two of you immediately. You were so happy, so upbeat all the time and Steve was the only one who could get Bucky to crack his cold exterior and actually smile.
Despite your differences, you got along great. Which was a bonus since Tony liked to pair you together for missions. You worked well together, complimenting each other in ways you had never thought of. Who knew almost dying together every week can cause you to form close bonds? You were spending all your free time together. You introduced him to your favorite films, some of them were awful, but he would never tell you that. You would stay up late together watching old reruns of 90's sitcoms for comfort after long missions. Bucky would go shopping with you, holding every bag you had and never complaining.
The team thought something was going on between you. Why else would the cold super soldier follow you around like a lost puppy? They put Steve up to asking about it, but Bucky denied anything but friendship. There had never been anything happen in the whole year you knew each other. You never sat too close or crossed any boundaries, never thought about it until a month ago.
One of the longest, most dangerous missions you had ever been on finally came to a close. There had been too many casualties and you were upset. Even the comfort of your warm pajamas and favorite movie didn't ease your mind. Bucky thought you needed to be alone, so he told you goodnight and headed for his room. You called after him pleading him to stay with you. You couldn't be alone, not after that.
He hesitated, he never stayed the night with anyone because of his nightmares. Tony even gave him a pass when a mission required room sharing. He was the only one who didn't have to pair up. He was afraid he might hurt you or scare you during his sleep. He tried to tell you, but you couldn't be swayed. He found himself under your fluffy pink comforter on heart shaped pillows, surrounded by a mountain of stuffed animals but he felt oddly at home.
You tried to cuddle up to him, but he scooted away. He didn't want you too close to him while he was asleep just in case he had a nightmare. But you didn't care. You told him if he attacked you in his sleep, you would blast his dick off. That made him a little less worried. "How do Tony and Clint do it?" You asked as you wrapped your arms around him, trying to snuggle the grumpy super soldier. "Do what?" He relaxed a little under your touch. "The whole normal family thing. They have a wife, kids, the works, and they are the only ones. The rest of us can't keep a relationship for more than a month, and some only do one night stands. It's hard being a hero when you have to give up stuff like that."
Bucky considers your words carefully. "Is that something you want?" You throw your leg over him, trying to get comfortable. "Eventually, I want to settle down. I'm thinking at least ten years from now, not any time soon. It's just hard to tell who is asking you out for the right reasons or because you're famous. I can't tell you how many phones I've destroyed after dates because they were trying to live stream the whole thing. Is that why you don't date?"
Bucky tenses, explaining how his past as The Winter Soldier scared him away from anything like that. "So you haven't been having sex because you're scared you will hurt someone?" He nods and you giggle. Bucky looks at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm sorry Bucky, that's ridiculous. Your arm must be so tired! Oh my God! Do you use the metal one?" His silence makes you laugh harder. "Bucky there are super powered women you could have been sleeping with this whole time. People who could at least put up a fair fight if something like that happened, but you're okay now right? I thought the code words didn't work anymore." You rub his back soothingly.
You gasp as an idea hits you. "Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" It was like word vomit. You didn't mean to say it out loud, but you couldn't take it back now. Bucky is so still that you think he's fallen asleep. Thankful he didn't hear your unhinged suggestion, you lay your head down to go to sleep.
"You mean that?" Bucky asks after a few minutes of silence pass. "If it wouldn't hurt our friendship then, why not? I trust you. And I could hold my own if things went sideways. Plus, I'm a lot hotter than your hand, you have to admit that." The quip earned a chuckle from him. "Can I think about it?" He asks, his seriousness taking over. "Of course." You snuggle back into him, sleep finding you more quickly than you would've liked. That was a little over a month ago, neither of you brought it up afterward. You figured he didn't want to hurt your feelings, so you let it go.
Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand helping him to his feet. "I thought we lost you back there." He says leading him to the quinjet. On the ride home, Bucky thought about his life, how unhappy he had been lately. He thought of you and how he kept you at arm's length to protect you from himself. You were always so open to him, always letting him know what was on your mind. When you suggested the two of you sleep together, he was shocked. Of course, he wanted to but he couldn't. You were too sweet, he was jaded. He would end up hurting you somehow, he was sure of it. But you weren't scared of him, you trusted him.
Bucky thought of all the times he laid alone at night, masterbating when he could have went home with someone instead. He always turned them down, he couldn't risk it. He lived too dangerously. He could lose his life any moment saving the planet from the next alien attack. Wasn't it time he started living for himself? He had his mind made up when the quinjet landed. Steve told him to go get the cuts on his face and arm examined but he ignored him.
He almost ran to the elevator, not bothering to wait for Steve to get on before pressing the button to shut the doors. When it finally stopped on his floor, he walked by his room, stopping three doors down right outside of yours. He should have cared that it was three in the morning, that he would be waking you up, but he didn't. He tapped on the door loud enough to wake you.
He regretted coming straight here as he waited for you, he should have went to his room to shower first. His leather jacket was dirty and torn. There was a small gash on his arm that had finally stopped bleeding. His face was filthy and according to Steve, he had a cut there too. He probably looked terrifying. He thought about leaving to clean up, but then he heard the pitter patter of your feet as you approached the door.
You pull it open slightly at first, to see who is outside, opening it wider when you see him. He steps inside as you shut it back, locking it behind him. Bucky looks around the dark room noticing the glow from your tv. Your hair is messy, you must have been sleeping fitfully. His gaze drops to your body, you're wearing a black t-shirt that stops at your hips and black lace panties.
"Are you okay?" You ask taking in his disheveled appearance. You turn to get something to clean his wounds, his vibranium hand catches your wrist. "Bucky? What hap-" He picks you up with one arm, holding you close to his body as his lips crash into yours. He walks you to the edge of your bed, tumbling on top of you as your back hits your fluffy pink comforter.
"Do you still want this?" He asks, his voice rougher than he intended. You can't think clearly, not with him on top of you, caging you in like this. His blue eyes search your face as he waits for an answer. Your panties grow wetter with each second that passes. Your nipples are peaked under your shirt, desperate to be touched as you press your chest to his dirty leather jacket. "Yes" You somehow manage to whisper your confirmation.
His mouth is on yours again, rough and demanding, almost desperate. You cup his face with your hands, "Slow down, I'm not going anywhere." You assure him, breaking the kiss. He groans, hating the loss of contact. "Can't" He rasps, his face nuzzling against your neck. He nips and kisses the sensitive skin there, his tongue licking from your shoulder to your jaw.
His flesh hand travels to your chest, rubbing his thumb over your clothed nipple. He keeps kissing his way back down your throat until he reaches the collar of your shirt. His metal arm grabs the top, slipping underneath to get a good grip on it. He rips it down the center with little effort.
You gasp as the cold air hits your now exposed chest. But you're not cold for long, Bucky's lips capture a nipple between his lips tugging and sucking like his life depends on it while his flesh hand toys with the other one. You're not sure what has gotten into him, you never expected it to be like this, like he needs you.
He kisses a trail down your stomach to your panties. They aren't exactly see through, but they don't hide anything either. His vibranium fingers dig into your hip as he lowers his face, his pink tongue licking up the center of your soaked panties. You whimper underneath him, your fingers sliding in his hair, pulling at the short strands.
He grunts as he licks you through the lacy material. You try to close your legs around his head, hoping to bring yourself more relief. Bucky's steel grip on your hip tightens as he brings his flesh hand to your thigh, pulling it off him. He opens you wide, continuing his desperate assault on you. "I need more, please." You whine, needing to actually feel him against you.
He thankfully takes mercy on you, removing his hands to grab both sides of your panties. "Lift your hips for me." You do as your told, and he slides the unwanted garment off of you. He drags you to the edge of the bed, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. He parts your thighs, metal hand returning to its rightful place on your hip. You place your leg over his shoulder, taking a deep breath as the anticipation makes your skin prickle.
His hot breath on your soaked core makes you tremble. You feel him smirk against you. "I havent even touched you yet and you're shakin' like a leaf." A dark chuckle escapes him and he dives in. His tongue flat against you as he gathers your slick, bringing it to your clit and swirling it around. He moans, loving the way you taste. He wraps his lips around your most sensitve part, drawing you in, causing your hips to buck upward.
His grip on your hip tightens, a bruise beginning to form under his thumb. "Be a good girl for me. Stay still." His voice is soft, gentle, a complete contrast to his actions. He alternates between sucking you roughly and licking you slowly. You squirm underneath him, you're so close. He suddenly stops, removing his face from you.
His flesh hand rubbing your stomach, before laying his arm on you forcefully to keep you from moving. "I said stay still." He growls, his tongue swiping your clit before he sucks it between his lips once more. It takes every ounce of concentration you have to not writhe against him. You've never seen him like this so needy, almost feral. He's like a wild animal slurping you down like you're the first thing he's eaten in weeks. You don't dare to disturb him. So you lie as still as you can, letting him have you.
He needs this. He needs you. He flicks his tongue expertly over your clit, sendng you spiralling. He holds you down as he takes all he wants from you. He's not satisfied until you come three times. Your legs are wobbly, you couldn't get up if you had to. Tears stream down your face from how intense it was. He finally stands, unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down just enough to free himself.
He adjusts himself between your legs, filling you up. You gasp, grabbing onto his grimy leather jacket for support. You wonder why he didn't bother with getting undressed, but you don't mind. You love how dirty he is. How the filth on his jacket rubbing against your bare chest is the sexiest thing in the world right now. How you can see the cut on his arm, dried blood on his sleeve. You don't know if it's his or some Hydra asshole's, and you don't know which is hotter.
His hair is disheveled. His face is scraped, dirt from the mission caked on him, remnants of your arousal still on his mouth. He fills you completely over and over, holding you as close as he can. His pants rub the back of your thighs as he pounds into you. You caress his face, "Can I be on top?" You ask quietly, afraid you'll offend him some way in his feral state. He flips you so his back is on your mattress. Normally you would be upset that your sheets were getting dirty, but you didn't mind at all. You place your legs on either side of him, sliding down his length. Your ass hits the fabric of his jeans as you take all of him.
You look behind you noticing how big he looks on your bed. His leather boots covered in mud, hanging off the edge. A gush of arousal floods his lap, his hands hold your thighs, pulling you closer. You begin to lift yourself up and down on him, your legs still shaky from your earlier orgasms. Bucky notices you won't be able to keep it up for long, so he clutches your hips, taking over. He thrusts underneath you, your hands land on his shoulders needing to steady yourself. You love that it's giving the illusion that you're in control, your body on top of his, but he's calling all the shots, moving your body like he owns it.
You've never felt so full. It's as if Bucky can read your mind, his flesh hand pressing on the bulge he's making in your stomach. He works you harder now, his vibranium thumb coming between you to swirl your clit. Your vision goes blurry, stars bursting behind your eyelids. You come with a loud cry of his name. He follows shortly after, spilling inside you. He holds you close, as you listen to his breathing slow down as he drifts off to sleep while still inside you.
contains mutual masturbation, handjob, cumplay, cum in mouth, spit kink, fingering, overstimulation, oral, accidental orgasm, humping, filthy talk, light choking, dominance/submission, spit in mouth, possessive behavior, rough praise, explicit language, power play
You came home a little earlier than usual.
Nothing strange. You were tired, a little sweaty from the walk, and ready to collapse. Mikami’s shoes weren’t in the hallway, so you assumed he wasn’t home.
That’s why you didn’t notice it at first. The low sound—barely there. Something like a gasp. You paused mid-step, one foot still in your sneaker, brows furrowed.
Pulled your headphones out. There.
“Ah—fuck…” with a gasp. Your heart stopped. That wasn’t the neighbors. That wasn’t the wind or plumbing or TV. That was a moan. Deep, rough, breathy. Male.
You turned slowly. Light was seeping from under Mikami’s bedroom door.
Wait—was he home? You crept closer, completely silent, your breath held tight in your chest. You hovered near the door. And then you heard it—
“F-Fuck… so close… ahh—god…”
You stood there frozen. That was Mikami. Your clean, intense, obsessively restrained roommate. Moaning like that.
You bit your lip, eyes wide, blood rushing down your spine. The sound was unmistakable now. Wet, rhythmic, desperate. You could hear the slick motion of his hand stroking his cock—fast, tight, messy. The slight creak of his bed as his hips bucked up into nothing.
And then— “Shit—shit—I need—please—”
You pressed your thighs together without meaning to. He whimpered. A choked, broken sound, almost feminine with how high and wrecked it was. And then another. And another.
Your breath shook. You could barely believe this was Mikami. You’d never even seen him flinch. He barely smiled. Always so rigid. Cold. Controlled. But now?
He was falling apart on the other side of that door. Making the kinds of sounds you didn’t think a man like him could make.
“Fuuuuck—so fucking close—hah—ah—ahhh—”
You leaned in a little closer. The way he moaned. The way his voice dropped into something raw and wrecked. There was no name. No dirty talk. Just a stream of curses, soft cries, and short, gasping moans that told you everything.
He was close. You could hear it. Feel it in the rhythm of his breathing, the slap of skin, the tremble in his throat.
And then— “Ahhh—shit—fuck, fuck, fuck—ahh—”
Your mouth parted. You could practically hear the moment he spilled over, the sound of it—wet, ruined, a drawn-out cry muffled into his own wrist. Silence followed. Heavy, shaky.
You stood there, aroused out of your mind, dizzy from the heat pooling between your thighs.
Then, without a word, you turned. Not into your bedroom.
But toward the kitchen slowly, deliberately, just loud enough that the sound of your footsteps would carry down the hallway.
You made sure he’d hear the faucet. The fridge opening. The clink of a glass. Let him know you were home.
Let him sit in it. Let him wonder how long you’d been standing there. But the kitchen was quiet. You were sitting at the table, legs crossed, sipping slowly from a glass of water, heart still pounding from earlier, from what you’d heard. Your skin buzzed with heat, your lips twisted into something smug, and your patience? Barely hanging by a thread.
You heard the soft pad of footsteps before you saw him.
And then, there he was. Teru. Fresh from his room, completely unaware. Still flushed. Still breathing just a little too hard. Still wearing that black pullover that looked just slightly rumpled now. There was a faint, barely-there stain on the hem—right above the waistband of his grey boxers.
Boxers that did nothing to hide the fact that he was still half-hard.
You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. You just sat there in your seat, elbow resting lazily on the table, your expression a little too calm for someone who’d just heard their roommate whimpering into his sheets.
He didn’t see you at first. He moved to the sink, ran the tap, reached for a glass—and then he looked up. And froze.
The glass slipped slightly in his hand. His eyes locked on you—wide, stunned, guilty. “…You’re home,” he said, voice rough.
You took a sip of your water, cocking your head. “Mmhm.”
He blinked. His jaw tensed. He looked down at himself like he only just realized he wasn’t decent. His hands twitched—unsure whether to shield himself, turn around, or evaporate entirely.
Your gaze dragged lazily down his body. From his still-flushed face… to the tent in his boxers. You smiled. Sweet. Sinister.
“Didn’t know you were this hot.”
He flinched. Like the words physically hit him. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His throat bobbed. You let the silence sit. Let it stretch until it was so thick you could cut it. He looked wrecked. A man who thought he was alone and now realized he wasn’t. Not then. Not now.
You leaned forward, voice like honey laced with fire. “I mean—quiet, polite, the whole righteous act. But you in there? On your knees for your own hand like that? Moaning like a good little sinner?”
His breath hitched. Color bloomed in his cheeks. He looked like he was about to fold in on himself and like he couldn’t stop the way his cock twitched beneath the fabric.
You dragged your gaze down again. “Still hard?”
He clenched his jaw. His hand curled at his side.
“You should clean that,” you said softly, gesturing with your glass toward the faint stain on his shirt. “It’d be a shame if I had to point it out to someone else.”
His eyes snapped to yours. Alarmed. Needy. Angry. Embarrassed. You tilted your head, smiling even wider.
“I liked it,” you added, standing up slowly, walking past him on your way to your room, brushing too close—your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Next time, moan louder.”
And with that, you left him standing there, half-hard, humiliated, and trembling.
It was quiet again. Hours had passed. The apartment was still.
You’d showered. Put on a soft oversized t-shirt and slept without pants, sheets kicked half off in the summer heat. A dim lamp glowed on the far side of your room, humming gently in the silence. The buzz in your blood had dulled—but it hadn’t disappeared.
You’d been thinking about him. About the way he moaned. The way he whimpered. The way he’d looked at you, ruined and stunned, standing in the kitchen like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. Your eyes were closed now, half-asleep, legs tangled in the sheets.
Then— a knock. Soft. Hesitant. Three quiet taps.
You blinked. Rolled over slightly to glance at your door. Not loud enough to be urgent. But not casual either. Your heart lifted into your throat. You didn’t say anything at first. Just waited. The silence stretched—then:
“…It’s me,” came a voice. Low. Cautious. Raw.
You bit back a smile. “Come in,” you said, soft but clear.
The door opened. Just a sliver. Enough for the hallway light to slip in and for Teru to step through. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, framed in the doorway, backlit and hesitant. The same black pullover from earlier, now clean. Hair a little messier. Eyes darker. He didn’t look like himself.
He looked like someone trying to hold it together.
Your voice cut through the still air. “Can’t sleep?”
His eyes flicked down, then back up to you. His voice barely rose above a whisper. “…I can’t stop thinking about you.”
You sat up slowly. Let the sheet slip just enough to expose your bare thighs. “Yeah?” Your voice was velvet. Dangerous. “What exactly are you thinking about?”
He exhaled, shaky. You watched the way his jaw clenched. How his fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to clench them into fists.
“I didn’t know you were home,” he said. Like a confession.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean for you to… hear that.”
You smirked faintly. “But I did.”
He looked away. But didn’t leave. And God, he looked good like that with guilt curling around his posture, his control unraveling thread by thread. You leaned back against the pillows, lazy, knowing. “I liked it, you know.”
He froze.
“I liked hearing what you sound like when you fall apart,” you added, voice low. “Didn’t expect all those pretty little sounds from someone so… obedient.” His mouth parted, breath catching. His shoulders were tense. Almost like he wanted to turn and bolt—but couldn’t.
“Teru.” He looked at you. Really looked this time.
Your smile faded into something slower. “Come here.”
He hesitated. One heartbeat. Two. And then he crossed the room. Every step was reluctant. Controlled. As if fighting instinct. But he stopped just in front of your bed, close enough for you to smell the faint, clean soap still clinging to him.
You looked up at him from under your lashes. “I want to hear you again,” you said. “But this time, for me.”
He swallowed. You could see it in his face—shame, arousal, need. A perfect, burning storm. He nodded. Just once.
You patted the bed. “Get on your knees.”
And he did. Right there, between your legs, as you sat up, leaned forward, reached out with gentle fingers and cupped his flushed cheek.
“You’re so much prettier like this,” you whispered. He whimpered—already breathless.
He knelt.
Between your legs.
Silent. Still. Only the sound of your quiet breath and the hum of your bedside lamp filled the room. He looked up at you with those dark, desperate eyes—hungry in a way you’d never seen on him before. His black pullover hung loose on his frame, sleeves pushed up slightly. No glasses. Hair a little wild from earlier, from frustration, from running his hands through it as he broke down in his room.
His boxers were the only thing he wore below. They clung to him, tight and damp in the front, a clear outline of everything he was trying not to beg with. Still half-hard, still aching.
You didn’t touch him yet. You just let your hand drift up, cupping his face on one side. He leaned into it like it was instinct. Like he couldn’t help it.
You ran your thumb along the sharp line of his cheekbone, slow, deliberate. Then down, hovering just above his jaw. His breath hitched.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t dare blink.
You let your finger drift, feather-light, over his skin. Tracing the slope of his nose. Brushing down between his brows, to the soft curve above his lips. His lips parted—but not to speak. Just to breathe you in.
To submit. You smirked, just a little. “Didn’t know you could be this pretty,” you murmured.
He exhaled shakily. Your finger slid down to trace his bottom lip. Soft. Pink. Slightly swollen from biting it all night. Then you let your hand drop to his chest. Palm flat over his sternum. You felt the hammering of his heart.
He was trembling. Just barely. Not from fear. From restraint.
From everything he hadn’t said. Everything he’d imagined when your name spilled into his pillow hours earlier.
You tilted your head. “Show me how much you want it.”
And he nodded eager, breathless, and silent. He stared at you like he was starving. Still on his knees. Still between your thighs. But something had shifted in him. The restraint in his shoulders had cracked. The quiet obedience that had radiated off him—gone.
You saw it in his eyes. Not hunger. Possession.
You opened your mouth, maybe to tease him again—but he moved. Fast.
A hand shot up, large, firm fingers wrapping around the side of your throat, tilting your head back just slightly, just enough. “You like playing games, don’t you?” he said, voice low, gravel and heat. His other hand gripped your bare thigh, pulling you forward until you were flush against his chest, knees spread over his.
His palm on your neck didn’t squeeze but it commanded. Your breath stuttered. Your heart slammed in your chest. He leaned in, nose brushing yours, lips barely touching.
“Sitting there looking at me like that,” he muttered, eyes burning, “like you weren’t wet the second you heard me fuck my fist for you.” Your eyes widened, a gasp catching on your tongue. And then he kissed you.
No. Devoured you.
Mouth crashing into yours—hot, wet, filthy. His tongue slid between your lips with zero hesitation, tasting you like he’d dreamed about it every night and hated himself for it. Teeth grazing your bottom lip, the sound he made when you whimpered into his mouth, low, deep, hungry.
It was the kind of kiss that ruined oxygen. The kind that made you throb between your legs without a single touch where it mattered. He didn’t let up. One hand still on your throat, the other gripping your thigh tighter, holding you open against him like you belonged there.
You did. You moaned into the kiss, helpless, stunned—and felt the way his cock twitched hard under his boxers against your core.
You pulled back just enough to whisper—“Fuck.”
And he just smirked, licking his lips, eyes half-lidded and dark.
“You gonna be a good girl now?” he rasped.
You couldn’t even speak. Your body answered for you pressing closer, hips rolling, needing more. And Teru? He just smiled like a man who finally had permission to take what was his. He kissed you like a man losing control with hands on your waist, chest heaving, lips hot and urgent.
And then, without a word, he shifted forward. He leaned in, deepened the kiss, and gently pressed you back onto the mattress. You let him. Let him hover over you, black pullover falling forward, the weight of him between your legs making your breath hitch. His lips dragged down your jaw, the side of your neck, as he caged you beneath him.
But just as he started to settle— Your hands slid up his chest and gave him a firm push. He blinked, startled—but you didn’t wait. You climbed into his lap like you owned it, straddling him, thighs spread over his hips.
He leaned back onto the headboard, barely breathing, letting you take over and then his hands found your ass. Full, bare, soft. He squeezed once—then froze. Fingers digging in.
He dragged one hand slowly along the curve of your skin, brows lifting as his touch dipped between your thighs, skin to skin. You didn’t stop him.
You were watching his face when he realized. “Ohhh… no panties?” His voice dropped, that sharp edge of mock-scandalized heat curling into a smirk.
Then, filthier: “Fucking nasty.”
You laughed. Bright, unbothered, cocky. Your hips rolled against his once—slow and shameless—making him groan under his breath. “You’re one to talk,” you teased, licking your lips as you rocked against the hard bulge in his boxers, “half-hard and leaking for hours. What would your precious god say about that?”
His hands gripped you tighter, jaw twitching. The tension in his hips nearly snapped.
“You keep talking like that,” he growled, “and I’ll fuck that blasphemy out of you so deep you’ll forget your own name.”
You laughed again, sweet and wicked, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as your wet core ground down against him, bare skin on soft cotton—hot and soaking through.
You moved your hips again dragging yourself over him with a sigh so breathy and mockingly soft it made his entire jaw tighten. His head tipped back slightly against the headboard, his chest rising in sharp, heavy bursts under the black pullover. Hands locked on your hips like he couldn’t trust himself not to just snap and fuck you senseless.
You did it again—rolled your hips just right—and his cock twitched hard beneath you. “Ah—fuck,” he gasped, mouth falling open. “You’re… you’re so wet—shit.”
You smiled. Smug. Lazy. All over him like silk.
“Maybe I like teasing holy men,” you whispered, grinding again, right on the head of his cock, letting it press against your clit through the damp fabric until you let out a shaky little “ah—” of your own. His eyes flew to your face.
Open. Wild. Staring like he wanted to devour you, like he couldn’t decide whether to pray or sin harder.
His voice dropped lower filthy, breathless. “You wanna cum like this?” he murmured, his hips bucking up a little, “Dripping all over my cock without me even being inside you?”
You gasped. A soft, shocked inhale—mock surrender—as you bit your bottom lip and rolled against him again, slow and aching, grinding so close it had both of you trembling.
“Hah fuck—” The sound spilled out of you before you could stop it. Head tilted, chest flushed, lips parted. His hands tightened. “Fuck—keep doing that—just like that—ah—fuck, I can feel your pussy soaking through—”
You moaned again, dragging your hips in tight little circles over his cock, the friction too much and not enough, the fabric making it worse.
Your wet heat pulsed over him, and he could feel it all—every twitch, every gasp, every clench. His mouth stayed open, panting, eyes fixed on where you moved against him.
“You’re gonna make me cum in my fucking boxers,” he growled, voice shaking. “You like that? You like making me a mess?”
You leaned down, kissed him hard, whispered: “I do.”
And he moaned loud, wrecked, hungry. You didn’t rush.
You shifted back just a little, sliding down his thighs, your soaked core still hovering just above where he was straining beneath those boxers, the fabric damp with your slick. He looked up at you with glassy, wide eyes. Breath shallow. Lips parted. One hand still gripping your thigh like he couldn’t breathe without it.
You didn’t speak. Didn’t smirk. You just reached down slow—and dragged his boxers down his hips, over his cock. He groaned through his teeth as it sprang free, hard and heavy, flushed tip already leaking. You didn’t touch it. Didn’t stroke him. Just stared into his eyes as you lifted your hips.
And then you sank down. So. Fucking. Slowly.
The stretch made your breath catch, but you didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. You kept your gaze locked on his—your thighs shaking slightly as inch after inch slid inside you.
Teru gasped. His hands flew to your waist, but he didn’t move you. Didn’t dare. He just stared up at you like you were the holiest thing he’d ever seen. You took him so well. Too well.
And you whispered—barely above a breath, while still lowering onto him— “Eyes on me.”
He obeyed. Couldn’t do anything but. By the time you were fully seated, deep, tight, completely wrapped around him—he was already trembling. You rolled your hips once, slow and shallow, just to hear the whimper that broke out of him.
But then you stopped again. No bouncing. No grinding. Just held him inside you. Warm. Pulsing. Throbbing. Your chest brushed his, your mouth close to his ear as you breathed—
“Look. So big, you don’t even slide out when I bend.”
His breath hitched—then he laughed. A ragged, bastardly sound full of wrecked pride. You fucking tease,” he muttered, hands still gripping you like he was fighting gravity. To prove your point, you pushed your hips down even more—deeper, tighter, clenching just slightly.
He let out a filthy, desperate curse. “Oh—fuck—don’t—shit—”
You kissed his jaw, hot and slow. Whispered against his ear. “You feel that?” You clenched again—just to feel him twitch. “Feel me around you? So warm. So fucking wet for you.”
And when you said it— He moaned like you’d just ripped the holiness out of him. You stayed there so full of him, sitting heavy in his lap, stretched around him so deep it made your toes curl. His cock throbbed inside you. Hard. Desperate. Straining against the grip of your heat like he couldn’t believe it was real.
You moved. Barely. A slow, slow grind of your hips. Not up, not off—just a drag. Tight. Controlled.
And he gasped. Loud. Sharp. Like he’d just been struck.
“Oh—God, fuck, don’t—” But you did it again.
Hips rolling in lazy circles, slow and soaking, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you. You didn’t ride him. You wrecked him—inch by inch, slow drag by slow drag. His hands were trembling where they held your hips, unsure if he should grip you tighter or just pray. You leaned forward, skin against his, lips at his ear. “You gonna cum like this?” you whispered, voice like silk on fire. “From me just grinding on your cock like it’s nothing?”
He groaned, deep, raw, completely overwhelmed. “Shit—shit—I can’t—” His voice cracked. You rolled your hips again. Slower. Your clit dragged along the base of his cock, and your gasp spilled right into his mouth.
He was watching you like a man who hadn’t blinked in minutes, so hungry, flushed, sweat building on his neck. You clenched around him again, and he twitched so hard you could feel it in your thighs.
“Ah—f-fuck—please,” he breathed, eyes fluttering. “You’re so—so wet, it’s too much—”
You kissed him. Open. Deep. Slow. Tongue sliding against his, swallowing his next whimper. Your hands braced on his chest. You started to ride him now—but not fast. Just enough to make him feel every single glide, every slow slide of your soaked cunt around his cock.
You broke the kiss, lips brushing his as you murmured: “That’s it. Let me feel how bad you want it.” He shuddered under you. A moan ripped straight from his throat.
“F-fuck—please don’t stop—please—” Your head tilted, teasing, breath warm against his jaw. “Beg me nicer, Mikami.”
He opened his mouth—eyes wide, desperate, almost wrecked And whispered: “Please—please, don’t stop, I’ll be good—I swear I’ll be good—please let me cum in you—”
And you smiled, slow and wicked, as your hips rolled again—deep, wet, perfect. Your hips rocked in slow, wet circles as he trembled beneath you, cock twitching so deep inside, breath hitched, lips parted.
He was close. Too close. You felt it in the way his hands flexed on your hips, the way his eyes started to glaze. His moans were turning ragged, messy, frantic. So you leaned in, mouth at his ear, voice soft and sweet like sin.
“You’re not allowed to cum yet.”
His whole body shuddered. A broken, wrecked groan tore out of him, head tipping back against the wall, chest rising in sharp bursts. His eyes found yours again—wide, pleading, flushed all the way to his ears, mouth hanging open like he’d just been slapped. He looked like a kicked puppy.
“Aw,” you cooed, hips grinding down deeper just to make him squirm, “you’re so cute when you’re flushed like this. Can’t even pretend to be dominant anymore, sweetheart.”
He cursed through his teeth. Bit hard into his lip to shut himself up. Then snarled, voice dark and low: “Stop teasing me or I’ll fuck your brain out.”
You just laughed. Mocking. Dripping with delight. Unbothered.
Until his voice dropped again—deeper. Dangerous.
“I’ve been hard for hours.” His tone turned sharp. Final. “I mean what I said.”
Your laugh faltered. Just for a moment.
And that’s all he needed.
His hands flew to your hips, slammed you down onto him, deeper than before, and before you could recover, one strong arm slid behind your neck, yanked you forward into a tight headlock. His other arm locked around your waist, holding you in place.
You gasped—“Teru—” And then he fucked up into you.
Hard. Deep. Relentless. Your body jolted with every thrust, your breath punched from your lungs, mouth falling open in a stunned moan.
He laughed. Dark. Filthy. Victorious. “Yeah?” he panted between gritted teeth. “Who’s whimpering now, huh?” You tried to laugh again—tried—but it was broken halfway by a loud, helpless moan. His cock slammed into you again, and again—dragging loud, messy sounds from your throat as he fucked up into your soaked cunt like he had no intention of stopping.
But you still wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
You let your head fall against his shoulder, moaning louder, messier, deliberately letting your voice cry out right into his ear.
“Ahhh—fuck—right there—yes, yes—”
He growled, hips snapping up faster, brutal now. You felt him grin against your skin. “Keep talking. Go on. Moan louder,” he hissed. “Let everyone hear it.” You just moaned louder. He fucked you harder. You could barely breathe.
His arm stayed tight around your waist, the other still locked behind your neck, keeping you pressed chest to chest with him, no space, no mercy, no escape.
And he was still fucking into you. Hard. Deep. Slow now—too slow. You were shaking on top of him, lips parted, gasping into his skin, because the rhythm had changed. It wasn’t frantic anymore.
It was calculated. Cruel. Every time your body started to stutter—every time your walls began to clench around him in that perfect, desperate way—he changed the angle. Switched the depth. Pulled back just enough to stop you from falling over that edge. Over. And over. And over again.
“You wanna cum so bad, don’t you?” he whispered into your ear, voice low, smug, dangerous.
“I can feel it. Every time you squeeze around me like that—fuck, you’re trying to milk me, aren’t you?”
You whined completely ruined, head falling forward onto his shoulder. He chuckled darkly. “Too bad.”
You cried out, whole body twitching as he thrust in harder again but not deep enough. Not where you needed. “You’re not cumming until I say so.”
He kissed the edge of your jaw, biting it gently as your hips jerked, as your moans turned panicked and high. His cock dragged through your soaked, fluttering walls with devastating precision and fucking you with purpose, like he knew exactly where to aim and exactly how to pull back before it became too much.
You were clenching so hard, helpless, soaking him, so close you were shaking.
“You’re dripping,” he muttered into your neck, panting through his teeth. “Fucking soaking me, and I’m still not cumming. You know why?”
You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut. He slammed up into you once—brutal—and you gasped. “Because I’m going to make you lose your fucking mind first.”
He pulled you tighter, burying himself deeper, so deep it stole the air from your lungs. Your nails dug into his arms. Your body jerked with every thrust. But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight it. His voice was in your ear again, rougher now.
“Gonna keep fucking you like this until you break. Until you cum so hard on my cock you forget your own fucking name.”
You sobbed out a moan, head spinning, and he felt it—felt your body seize up— And again, he shifted. Changed the angle. Slowed down.
“Nope.”
A broken cry tore from your throat.
“Nuh-uh,” he rasped, mocking now, still smiling against your flushed cheek. “You don’t get to cum yet. You wanted to tease me? Laugh at me? Now it’s your turn, sweetheart.”
His grip tightened. You were locked against him. And he started grinding instead, hard, deep circles, dragging the tip of his cock right up against your most sensitive spot, not letting you move, not letting you cum, just making you feel everything.
“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you can’t take it.”
You couldn’t. You couldn’t say anything. You just moaned, high and desperate, trembling in his arms, completely at his mercy.
And he groaned through his teeth “Perfect.”
You twisted in his grip, hips jerking, thighs trembling, so close you couldn’t think. But the moment you tried to move, tried to pull back just enough to breathe or regain some kind of control, he tightened his hold.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
His cock slammed up into you harder than before, the shift so sudden it knocked a gasp from your chest. You clawed at his shoulder instinctively, but he was already rutting up into you, fast, rougher, deliberate. You moaned out his name, cracked and high, and that only made him growl—
“Fuck, that’s it—sound so fucking good for me—so tight, so wet—”
He wasn’t letting up. And the way he started to praise you, filthy and low between his gasps, made your body quake. “Such a good girl. Taking me so deep. You feel how soaked you are for me?” His voice was worship and sin, every word breaking you further. You clenched hard around him, thighs locking down on his hips, overwhelmed by the friction—raw, real, unbearable.
And then you felt it. The stagger in his rhythm. The hitch in his breath. He was losing it. Close. So close.
Your lips curled into a smug, breathless grin and you gasped—
“Try again—if you cum first, it’s all mouth.”
And that did it. His whole body tensed. He exhaled a shaky, broken sound—“Fuck—”—and immediately adjusted.
His grip on your waist loosened, only to let his other hand slide up, over your throat, palm flat, fingers curling gently, possessive and controlled. He pulled you in.
Your lips crashed together all rough, messy, teeth clashing—but beneath it all, there was something soft in it. The way his thumb stroked under your jaw, the way his mouth lingered just a little longer than needed.
He didn’t stop praising. “So perfect,” he murmured against your lips. “Feel you clenching. You love this, don’t you? Fuck—you’re dripping.”
And you were. You were soaking him. Every thrust made it worse—slick and deep, his cock grinding against every spot inside you like he was carving it into memory. And when he felt your body tense again—so close to breaking—he laughed under his breath, dark and satisfied. “Yeah,” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “That’s what I fucking thought.” And then—
He sat up. Pushed you upright. Still buried inside.
One hand still tight around your throat, holding you there, steady. His other hand slipped low, dragging between your legs—finding your clit. You choked on a moan.
Legs jolting. Back arching. You widened your stance, tilting your legs out, spreading wider so he could see it all: the way your slick dripped down his cock, the way your cunt fluttered around him like you were begging to be ruined. And when his fingers circled your clit—fast, precise, merciless—
You broke. “Oh—fuck—Teru—!”
He groaned at the sound of his name, the way you cried it out like a prayer, like a curse. You clenched down hard, walls spasming, and he didn’t stop—kept fucking up into you with ruthless rhythm as your orgasm ripped through you.
And all he did was watch. Eyes dark. Hand around your throat. Breath shaking with restraint.
“Good girl,” he whispered, reverent and wrecked
Your body was shaking. Chest heaving. Legs twitching. Sweat slicking every inch of your skin. You were still gasping for air when you finally let your hips lift—his cock slipping out of you, wet and still fucking hard, twitching against his stomach.
You whined from the loss of him. And he groaned, low and guttural, chest rising with restraint, fists clenching at his sides like he was still holding himself back.
You slid back—settling back between his open thighs, your cunt still pulsing from the orgasm he’d forced out of you. He looked wrecked. Flushed. Hair stuck to his forehead, lips parted, staring at you like you were both dream and nightmare.
And then— His eyes flicked down to his hand. The one that had been on your clit just moments ago. His thumb still glistened with your slick. And he brought it to his mouth. Licked it.
Slow. Shameless. “Dirty,” he muttered. His voice was rough, like it had been torn from his throat. Then, again—lower. “Fuck.”
You moaned at the sight of it—his open mouth, the way he sucked his own finger, how ruined and raw he looked. Your breath was still ragged, your thighs trembling but you weren’t done. Not even close. You leaned forward, eyes locked on his.
Then let a thick string of spit fall from your lips. It landed right on his cock—messy, hot, adding to the slick sheen already coating him. He gasped loud, head falling back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut. You wrapped your hand around him—slow, deliberate—and started to stroke him.
Long, tight pulls. The pace he’d tortured you with. Every time you felt him twitch—you slowed down.
“Y-You—” He couldn’t even speak. His voice cracked into a moan. Loud. Raw. So fucking real.
You bit your lip, stroking him again, thumb gliding over the head, smearing your spit with his precum. He was leaking so much it was dripping over your knuckles, down your wrist.
“Feels good, baby?” you whispered, teasing. He nodded frantically, throat working, chest heaving like he was about to explode. Your hand twisted at the tip and his entire body arched, another broken moan tearing from him as his abs tightened. You leaned in close to his ear, still jerking him slow, cruel. “I’m gonna make you cum just like this.”
“Gonna watch your pretty face when you fall apart.”
And he moaned so loud you could feel it vibrate through your chest. Your hand kept stroking him tight and slow, slick with spit and his precum, the sounds of it obscene in the silence between his ragged, helpless moans.
He was a mess.
Legs spread. Cock twitching in your fist. Head tipped back against the headboard as his chest heaved, his mouth wide open, breath coming in shattered gasps.
“Fuck—fuck—oh my god—please—”
You smiled, wicked and calm, watching him completely unravel in front of you. He’d been so composed earlier. So cocky. Controlled. But now?
Now he was loud. Wrecked. His knuckles white from gripping the sheets, his whole body shaking as you worked him slowly toward the edge without letting him fall.
“That’s it,” you cooed. “Let me hear you. Louder.”
And he did. “FUCK—ah—s-shit, don’t stop—don’t stop—please!”
You leaned in, your other hand bracing on his stomach as your grip around his cock got tighter, faster. You twisted just a little on the upstroke, and he cried out, loud enough you swore it echoed down the damn hallway.
“Look at you,” you breathed against his ear. “Moaning like that for me. So loud, baby. Bet the neighbors know now how filthy you are.”
He whimpered—genuinely whimpered—and then his voice broke: “I—I’m gonna cum—oh fuck, I can’t—please, please—”
You sped up, stroking harder, faster, hand soaked and warm and messy as you pushed him right to the edge. He was gasping, jerking into your hand, hips twitching like he didn’t even know how to move anymore.
Then his mouth dropped open. His head snapped forward and he shouted your name, loud, desperate, broken.
And he came. Hard. Hot spurts of cum spilled over your hand, his stomach, his thighs, his whole body jolting as he moaned so loud you could feel it in your bones.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t come down easy. He kept moaning, long, dragged-out sounds, breath hitching, hips twitching, completely gone. You stroked him through it—slow now, coaxing every last drop as he shuddered and gasped, whimpering through clenched teeth.
He finally slumped back, fucked out, flushed to his chest, still twitching under your touch. And you just smiled, sticky hand resting lightly on his stomach.
“Loudest man I’ve ever ruined.”
He didn’t even deny it. Just nodded weakly. Eyes glassy. Breath ruined. Voice barely a whisper— “…fuck.”
The air was thick. Your thighs were shaking.
You were kneeling on the bed, chest rising and falling, still catching your breath between his spread legs, your hands resting on his hips, still dripping with his cum.
Teru lay there, sprawled and flushed, chest bare, his cock twitching with the aftershocks, red and glistening, lying flat against his abdomen. His cheeks were pink, lips parted, still catching short little gasps like his body didn’t know how to settle.
And then, with his head tipped back against the pillow, voice raw and cocky and completely breathless— “Sorry,” he rasped. “You’re full of my cum.”
You blinked. Laughed through your exhale. “Yeah,” you said with a crooked grin, glancing down at your soaked fingers, “never saw a man cum so much.”
He moaned softly at that, biting his lip as his eyes dragged over you—kneeling there, wrecked, glistening with him. You brought your hand up, slowly licking a streak of him from your wrist up to your knuckle—just to watch the way his eyes fluttered shut and his cock twitched again, even post-orgasm.
“Fucking hell,” he breathed. You sat back on your heels, grinning, watching him come apart even after the high had crashed.
And then, voice lower, playful and smug: “So…You staying in my bed now, baby? Or crawling back to yours full of shame and cum?”
He cracked a lazy, half-ruined smile and covered his face with one arm. “If I move, I might die.”
You laughed, leaning forward to kiss his hip. “Good. Stay right there.”
You curled up next to him, hands still sticky, both of you too warm, too spent, too far gone to care. And when you finally did move, it was only because he reached out, pulled you against his chest, and whispered: “You’re gonna wreck me, you know that?”
You just smiled against his skin. “That’s the plan.”
The room was dim, quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only follows complete exhaustion. You both lay tangled in the sheets, half-naked and sticky, your legs draped loosely around his under the mess of blankets.
His chest rose slowly. Calm. Deep. He was asleep. Mostly.
He’d turned during the night—his back now to your chest, long body curled slightly inward, spine bare beneath the soft hem of the crumpled black pullover he’d never taken off. You hovered just behind him, the heat between you buzzing all over again.
You shifted closer. Close enough to breathe him in. Close enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your fingertips when you reached out—slow, careful—and let your hand trail from his ribs to his hipbone.
He stirred at the touch. A low, sleepy hum rumbled in his chest.
You smiled. Your hand moved lower. Fingertips dragged just above his waistband, then dipped under, grazing warm skin and the faint trail of hair there.
And then you did it again. Slower this time. Dirtier. Your palm settled against the front of his boxers, warm, soft pressure—right over the bulge already forming in his sleep.
His hips jerked slightly. A quiet, desperate sound slipped from his throat. Then—half-asleep, raspy and ruined—he whispered:
“Don’t tease me, not unless you’re ready to wake up with my cock inside you.”
You froze. Eyes wide, breath caught. And then—he grabbed your wrist. Not hard. Not fast. Just sure. Possessive. Warm fingers curling around your wrist, guiding it down.
And without looking at you, still barely awake, he pressed your hand over the hard length of his cock. Still through the fabric. Still so fucking hard.
You felt it twitch. He groaned. Deep. Low. Throaty. “Touch it properly,” he murmured. “Or I’ll fuck your hand until you beg to be filled.”
Your thighs clenched. You squeezed him once, and his hips shifted back into you, slow and greedy like he needed your heat all over again. He laughed—breathless. Sinful. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s what I thought.”
He was still half-asleep, your hand wrapped around his cock through his boxers, his body lax and warm against yours—until you chuckled behind him, voice soft and dangerous: “Then do it.”
There was a pause. He tensed slightly.
“…Huh?”
Your grin curled slow against his bare shoulder.
“Fuck my hand until I start to beg.”
And before he could even process that , you flattened your palm, cupped around the bulge in his boxers, and gave it a light slap. Not hard. Just enough to sting. Just enough to taunt.
That did it. His body snapped to life like something primal had been lit up from the inside.
He grabbed your wrist again but tighter this time, no hesitation—his grip rough and possessive, and you felt your body jerk forward, torso pressing against his back with a breathless laugh. His other hand slid down, tugging his boxers low, and then he dragged your hand underneath, until your fingers curled around the length of his bare cock.
And he was hard as hell. Your palm squeezed without mercy so tight, just to hear him moan. His head tipped back to yours, his breath catching in your ear like he was already close.
“Now that’s something I like to hear,” you whispered, your grip not relenting.
He groaned, low and wrecked. “Ahh—shut up—fuck—stop gripping me so tight—” he gasped, hips starting to rut into your hand like he couldn’t help it.
But you didn’t ease up. Didn’t stop teasing.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice syrup-slow and filthy: “You feel so fucking good. So thick in my hand. Is this how you get every morning, baby? Hm? All that discipline and you’re still this desperate?”
He whimpered. Actually whimpered. You licked the curve of his ear and kept going. “Keep fucking my hand like that—go on. Maybe I’ll let you cum on my stomach. Or maybe I’ll ride you while you’re whining. So full of me, you won’t even remember what it’s like to be empty.”
His moan was broken, wrecked, breathless cry, and his cock twitched hard in your palm as he kept rutting, faster now, chasing it like he’d been waiting all night to lose control.
He was grinding into your fist like his life depended on it—hips jerking, cock twitching in your hand, leaking, your grip just tight enough to make him curse every few seconds.
“Fuck—fuck—‘m gonna cum—please—”
You leaned in, voice dripping with filth and finality: “Then give it to me.”
He moaned loud, body seizing as he slammed his hips forward one last time—his orgasm tearing through him, cock twitching violently as thick streams of cum spilled over your hand, his abs, dripping down your fingers and soaking his boxers halfway down his thighs. “Oh my—fuck—” he groaned, head falling back into your shoulder, completely lost.
And you? You just smiled. Breathing heavy.
You lifted your hand—covered in him—and slid your fingers up to his lips from behind.
“Taste it.”
No hesitation. Not even a pause. He opened his mouth, took your cum-coated fingers in greedily, lips closing around them as his tongue dragged slow across your knuckles.
You moaned. Visibly shaken. The sight of him, moaning around your fingers, lashes fluttering, his own cum on his tongue, licking it like it belonged there—was too fucking much.
“Good boy,” you whispered hoarsely against his neck, grinding your hips just once against him in praise.
But he wasn’t done. Suddenly—he turned. Quick. Smooth. Hungry. He twisted, flipping you onto your back, mouth wet, breath rough, his cock still half-hard and twitching, glistening against his abs.
His palm wrapped around your throat. Not hard—just to hold you steady. Then he hovered above you, wild-eyed and flushed, grabbed your jaw again and shoved two of his fingers into your mouth. You moaned around them instinctively, and he groaned with it.
And then he spit into your mouth. You swallowed it around his fingers, whining, and just when your hips started to shift up in need, he slid his other hand down.
Two fingers plunged into your soaked cunt. You cried out, arching instantly—your body already soaked, twitching from the overstimulation of watching him lick cum off your fingers. “That get you wet?” he muttered, voice ragged, fingers curling inside you just right.
“Yeah? You like making me your toy and watching me swallow it?”
You moaned again, nodding helplessly as he thrust his fingers harder—relentless, hitting that spot over and over.
“Filthy girl. Should’ve known you’d love that.” You clenched around him, gasping, your thighs shaking under his weight.
He laughed hoarse and breathless. “You’re gonna cum on my fingers, and then I’m gonna fucking clean you up with my mouth.”
Your head tipped back. You were so close. And he just kept going, praising and ruining you at the same time, fingers slick, deep, fast, exactly how you needed it.
And this time? You were the one moaning loud.
Your thighs were still shaking, cunt fluttering around his fingers when he finally pulled back, his breath warm, lips swollen, eyes dark. “Now be still,” he said quietly, voice wrecked and reverent. “I said I’d clean you up.”
You didn’t have time to respond. He dropped between your legs without ceremony, spreading you open, tongue dragging slow and heavy through your soaked, overstimulated folds.
Your whole body jolted. “Ah—fuck, Teru—”
He moaned into your pussy, and it vibrated deep, sending shockwaves right through your spine. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you down, tongue licking messily, hungrily, not just your slick but his own cum, too, where it had dripped down from earlier.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned, lips smearing cum and spit over your clit, tongue flattening against it again and again.
But you noticed something else. The way his hips started moving. Automatically. You tilted your head and glanced down.
He was humping the edge of the mattress. Not even touching himself. Just mindlessly grinding his still-hard cock against the sheets, fucking the edge of your bed like he couldn’t stop, like your taste alone was too much.
His rhythm started to stutter. His breath came faster, tongue still lapping through your folds, desperate to clean you while his hips twitched against the bed.
“Teru?” you gasped, breathless. “You okay?”
He didn’t answer. He just groaned deep into your cunt, shaky, helpless—and then you saw it: He jerked back from the bed, chest rising, muscles tensing as he grabbed at his own cock—just in time— “Shit—fuck—fuck, I—”
He moaned loud, head tipped back, as his cum spilled again, hot and sudden into his hand, his hips still twitching from the force of it. His face twisted in overstimulated pleasure, lips parted, completely flushed.
“Oh my—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”
You were wide-eyed. Dripping. Still trembling. And then you burst out laughing. Half-moan, half-teasing.
“Did you just cum again from eating me out?”
He slumped onto the bed between your legs, breathing hard, cum on his fingers, mouth still glistening with your slick.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at you, dazed and wrecked.
“I’m never gonna survive living with you.”
You leaned forward, cupping his flushed face, licking your lips.
“Good.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.
You had begun to grow concerned. Three whole days and nights with zero attention? The guys had been home—well in your home not theirs given how sparse they kept their rooms, for three days now. Having returned from a particularly grueling looking deployment, you hadn’t asked questions, not even when you noticed the blood and grim on their vests only downcasting your eyes and welcoming them home. The last time you’d dared fix your lips to ask a question Simon had literally shooed you to your room and locked you in there for hours as the men argued just out of earshot. You'd learned your lesson.
You understood they were tired of course, but you had gotten so used to the treatment and attention like some sort of pavlov slut, you cursed yourself for it. Seriously though, not a single hand had smacked your ass and no dog whistles that could probably get someone arrested in the street had been directed at you. You had grown concerned, key word—had, past tense.
Now in the present you were more concerned about bucking your hips the right way, trying to reach your high as you bounced on johns dick. The callouses on his hands are a rough contrast to the supple skin of your breast as he cupped them, stopping them from their borderline painful bouncing. “Just like tha’ just like tha’ fuck fuck” he spat through clenched teeth his words a stressed out mantra signalling he was just as close as you were. You only mewled in response his sweat causing your bodies to sick to the leather of the couch, only amplifying the echo of the crude fap-fap-fap sounds of your skin. You couldn’t care less as you squealed hands tangling in the ringlets of his reddish whitish curls when you came. He followed not long after his hands making their way from your tits to hips, holding them still as he released inside you.
You sat slouched for a long moment, both of you heaving as you caught your breath. You eased off him gently, neither of you bothering to get dressed as you sat up. The rest of them had gone out drinking at some bar though Price always perfered the finer things, Smokey whisky, his fancy Cuban cigars that he kept refrigerated and of course some nice tight pussy. He had chosen to stay home with you and you were more than grateful as he slouched back into the cushions of the couch and you snuggled yourself under his arm.
“Thank you love, I really needed tha’” he murmured and you only gave a tired hum in response. Letting him nuzzle his beard into the top of your head.
“What happened on your last mission?” You finally willed yourself to inquire after a moment. He clicked his tongue in displeasure and before he even had the chance to part his lips the door swung open as if timed to torment you. The sergeants made their way in first, their arms hooked on each other's shoulders, signing two different songs entirely off key. The lieutenant not far behind them as he shut the door for them, all three of them kicking off their boots. They were painfully drunk judging by the flush on Johnny's face. You leaned further into John's chest, his arms patting you reassuringly and giving the soldiers a lazy wave.
“Birdie!” Johnny exclaimed, stumbling towards you when you finally noticed your naked forms on the couch. You despised the nickname but you greeted him anyway letting his pull you off of John and into a hug.
He let out huffs of childish giggles, his hand tracing the curve of your ass “you and capin’ ave fun?” He drawled. He didn’t give you the chance to reply, pushing your shoulders so you were laying back on the couch. “Wait, Johnny” you said through shallow laughs before a large hand wrapped around his shoulder. “Who decided it was your turn?” Simon asked turning Johnny around so he faced him, much to his annoyance. “wha? Why not?” Johnny asked, his accent thicker than ever. “Order of rank, captain, me, then you and Gaz” Simon explained bluntly as Johnny threw his hands up with a scoff. Their banter stopped the moment they heard your nervous giggles, clearly amused by their stupid arguments. “Shut it” Simon huffed his words holding no real malice as he grabbed your knees roughly splitting your legs open.
“Whoa whoa” Kyles voice called out from the kitchen, his glass of water forgotten as he made his way over. “Seriously? she ain’t some commodity” he stated pulling you across the couch by your ankles. “My hero” you whined as he gently planted kisses on your forehead. “Go relax” he commanded the two soldiers causing soap to snarl and retreat to the kitchen. His kisses moved lower and lower. From your neck to collar bone eventually focusing on your breast. “Come on man! Always fucking hogging. You know I need it” You heard Simon growl out his complaints only to be shut down by a warning from the captain. “Ghost” Price mumbled, making Simon’s protests die down instantly. Soap, now sitting himself down next to Price who had somehow without your notice gone to the fridge, snatched one of his Cuban cigars, lit it, and slid on his boxers as well.
You could only look in their direction for a moment before you gasped, your back arching off of the couch when Kyle ran his tongue from the bottom of your pussy to your clit. He repeated the slow motion until you whined and bucked into his face. He picked up his pace at your command. Tounge fucking you as John watched your face twist rubbing his already half hard cock through his boxers as his seargent sucked his seed out of you.
You couldn’t find it in you to protest as soap could no longer resist. Hiking one leg over your head and onto the couch, positioning his crotch to hover above your face, taking his dick out and tapping it against your lips until you opened for him.
“You got it baby, you got it” Kyle cooed into your core as Johnny eased his cock down your throat. “yeahhh she fucking does” he managed to spit before groaning at how your moth felt. Kyle lapped at your pussy causing you to moan around Johnny. “Whaever your doing gaz keep at it” Johnny hissed out gently bopping your head up till your nose made contact with his crotch. “Faster, Johnny” Simon called out from the sidelines earning him a harsh tap on the shoulder from John. Soap listened, moving your head up and down on him like you were a doll as you writhed under him, your screams of pleasure muffled by his cock as you came right on Kyle’s face.
The vibrations from your overstimulated cries alone as Kyle kissed your clit better threw Johnny over the edge. You choked trying to swallow all of him as he spilled into your mouth, his eyes rolling back. He eventually eased off of you patting your head as he did “every drop huh? dirty birdie” he teased just to watch your eyebrows pinch. Kyle’s thumbs rubbed tight circles into your hips as he slowly brought himself up to lean onto you only for a large hand to clamp down on his face and push him away. “The hell man?” He huffed out. “I’ve been waiting way too long. And you fucking owe me for what happened” Simon sneered out. Your brain was far too mushy to laugh at how Kyle snarled before getting off of you with a grunt, though you would have if you could.
Simon placed both hands on your hips pulling you up easily so you were sitting. “needa’ cooperate love” he said, his words less controlled than usual, clearly still drink and for some reason unbeknownst to you, very agitated. You only nodded in your mindless state. He planted a harsh kiss onto your swollen lips before dropping your hips and letting you flop back onto the couch. He wasted no time lining himself up with your wet, red entrance managing to shove the head of his cock in before you squealed. “I thought they prepared you” he said simply his eyebrows rising. “Just—easy, good god Simon” you breathed out before his massive hand easily cupped the bottom half of your face. “Just gonna have to take it” Simon grumbled “I’m in no mood for meaningless whining”
Your eyes rolled back just like johnnys had as Simon fed his cock into you without mercy. Sparing you a second of leeway to adjust before slamming into you. You felt every inch as he repeatedly pulled back out and bottomed out again, your gasps and moans mixing into one eventually turning into screams when he lifted his hand from your mouth. You heard the distant sounds of Johns panting as he squeezed his one cock dry to the sight of Simon fucking you like a mad animal. He pulled out for a moment letting your pussy flutter around nothing, tapping the tip of dick onto your clit as you quivered and squirted, allowing him to ease back in without issue.
The pain of your nails digging into his traps mixing with the pleasure of you squeezing around him caused him to choke on his own grunts. “Shit—shit—shit” He lifted your hips into the air and you flayed, hands shooting out to grab the leather on the couch as he stilled his thrusting, spilling deep into you. Your world seemed to be spinning when he finally pulled out and lowered you, placing his head onto your abdomen and burring his face into your stomach. “I’m sorry love” he panted out, the only thing you could do in response was pat his hair and blubber out incoherent words of reassurance.
The dozens of unanswered questions you had went unanswered still for another night as the two sergeants stood back up, hovering over your burnt out form. “Think you're done, lassie?” Soap asked in mock concern as Gaz half heartedly moved your hair out of your face. You could see the captain from the corner of your eye, the end of his cigar still pressed into his lips, his hand still wrapped around his cock despite the cum coating it now. He didn’t seem like he was keen on helping you out of this one, his men needed release after all and he knew just how much you loved being their anker.
