(dealer!ellie x reader · post-fight makeup sex · smut)
————
it starts with a slammed door.
“fuck you, ellie.”
“fuck me?” she barks back, jaw tight, eyes already sharp. “are you fucking serious?”
you laugh — bitter. cruel. because you’re pissed. because your chest hurts. because she’s looking at you like you’re the one who started it, when she’s the one who pushed, like always.
you shove past her. “yeah. yeah, i’m serious.”
you don’t even remember what sparked it this time. something stupid. something small. a flinch, a tone, the way she didn’t answer you earlier when you reached for her. it built up in your throat like smoke and then exploded — now you’re both standing in her shitty apartment, red-faced and shaking, pacing like trapped animals.
ellie runs a hand through her hair, turning away from you. pacing.
“you’re unbelievable,” she mutters.
“yeah? then why the fuck do you keep me around?” you snap, too fast, too loud.
she stops.
turns.
and for a second, it’s quiet.
her eyes are dark — not angry, not anymore. just… wrecked.
“don’t say that,” she says, low. “don’t fucking say that.”
“why not?” you bite. “maybe you should just let me go.”
she walks toward you, slow. steps careful. voice trembling now:
“you don’t mean that.”
you shake your head. “you think i don’t notice? how you pull away when it gets too close? how you pretend none of this means anything?”
she’s in front of you now.
you’re breathing hard. her nostrils flare.
“you think i don’t feel it?” you whisper. “every fucking time you look at me like you wanna kiss me but never do? every time you hold me like i matter and then act like it didn’t happen?”
and that’s it.
that’s what breaks her.
her mouth crashes into yours without warning — desperate, feral, like she’s been biting it back for months and can’t take it anymore. her hands are in your hair, gripping too tight. your spine hits the wall and she presses into you like she needs you to feel every part of her — chest heaving, lips open, teeth dragging.
you groan into her mouth, grab at her hoodie, tug it over her head with shaking hands. her shirt goes with it. you bite her collarbone. she hisses.
“you’re such a fuckin’ brat,” she growls against your jaw, panting. “talkin’ to me like that—”
“you like it,” you gasp.
she smirks — dangerous. teeth bared. “yeah, i do.”
her thigh slots between yours. you roll your hips down without thinking, desperate for friction. her hands grip your waist, shove you harder against the wall, and she kisses you again — rougher this time. angrier. wetter.
your moan gets caught in her mouth.
“bed,” you whisper.
“no.” her voice is low. ragged. “right here.”
she unbuttons your jeans like she’s mad at them. shoves them down with your underwear. doesn’t wait. doesn’t tease.
her hand slips between your thighs and you gasp — knees nearly buckling, back arching. her fingers are warm and rough and purposeful. she curls them up, slow at first, watching your face like it’s her favorite movie.
“mad at me?” she murmurs.
you shake your head, dazed.
“still think i don’t want you?”
“fuck, ellie—”
she grins. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”
she starts fucking you with her fingers — deep, steady, no mercy. your head falls back against the wall, mouth open, eyes fluttering. your hands claw at her arms, her back, her shoulders. trying to anchor. trying to stay.
“god, you’re—” she kisses your neck, your chest. “—so fucking wet. can’t believe i waited this long.”
you whimper, rocking against her palm, grinding into every thrust like it’s the last thing you’ll ever feel. your body’s already buzzing, tight and slick and close.
“ellie, i—i’m gonna—”
“good.” her mouth is on your throat, licking sweat. “fuckin’ do it.”
you come with a stuttering cry, body shaking, her name leaving your lips like a prayer.
but she doesn’t stop.
she holds you up with one arm around your waist, keeps her fingers inside, slows the pace, kisses the corner of your mouth.
“you think we’re done?” she whispers. “i’m not done.”
you’re dizzy. breathless. wet all over.
you reach for her belt.
she helps you, eyes locked on yours the whole time — unbuckling, unzipping, shedding denim and underwear in seconds. she pushes you back again, lifts your thigh, presses her cunt to yours and gasps — forehead falling to your shoulder.
you rock together. slick against slick. sloppy and frantic. her arms wrapped around you, your fingers digging into her back.
“i love you,” she breathes — too fast, too quiet.
you freeze. she doesn’t.
“i love you,” she says again, desperate. angry. like it hurts her to admit.
you kiss her hard. cry against her mouth. wrap your arms around her and grind down, faster now, chasing that edge again with her hips slamming up to meet yours.
you both come again — loud, messy, shaking in each other’s arms. her face buried in your neck, yours in her hair. sweaty. flushed. ruined.
when you finally pull back, her lip’s bleeding. your eyes are glassy.
she kisses you slow this time. soft.
“still mad?” she whispers.
you breathe out a laugh. “yeah. but i’ll get over it.”
You’d left work early, giving yourself a rare head start on the evening, and part of you had been giddy knowing Matsuda would be coming by later. You’d teased him that morning in the NPA break room, leaning close over his coffee and whispering, “Don’t you dare ditch me tonight, baby. I want you over.” His ears had gone red instantly, but he nodded quickly like always.
The quiet of your apartment had a comfort to it, even if you kept glancing at the door, waiting for him to use that spare key you’d pressed into his palm months ago.
Now, hours later, you were curled up on the couch waiting for him. The ticking of the clock on the wall dragged on until finally you heard the familiar rattle of keys and then the muted click of the lock. He stepped inside, shoulders tight, jacket half hanging off him. He toed off his shoes without meeting your gaze, setting them down like the day itself had weighed too heavy.
“Hey, love,” you called softly from the couch, already reading his mood.
He tried to force a smile. “Hey. Sorry I’m late.”
You stood, crossed the room, and brushed your fingers over his jaw. “You’re always worth the wait.”
He gave you a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The set of his mouth was sharp, frustrated.
“What’s wrong?” you asked.
“Nothing,” he muttered, moving past you, shrugging out of his jacket. “Long day, that’s all.”
You followed. “Baby.” You caught his arm before he could escape fully into the bathroom. “Talk to me,” you murmured.
He swallowed, shoulders lifting in a useless shrug. “Sometimes I think they don’t take me seriously. I hear them.” His voice cracked on the last word before he quickly shook his head. “But it’s fine. Really. I don’t care.”
You frowned. “Matsuda.”
“Sweetheart, please—drop it, okay? I said it’s fine.” He slipped away from your hand, not unkind, but firm. And then he was retreating, mumbling something about a shower.
You let him go, for now. He disappeared into the bathroom, the hiss of water running filling the silence.
When he emerged, steam curling at his heels, the sight nearly stopped your breath. His dark hair dripped wet, plastered messily across his forehead, droplets trailing down over defined collarbones, chest, stomach. The towel sat low on his hips, clinging precariously.
You were, leaning in the doorframe of the bedroom, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips. “Come here, baby.”
He blinked, then padded over, obedient even in his stubborn moods. When he stopped right in front of you, his eyes found yours, soft brown flecked with something tired, something aching.
You slipped your arms around his torso, pulling him closer until your cheek brushed the heat of his damp skin. “Moody thing,” you murmured against him.
“I’m not—” he began to argue, but you felt it, the weight of his voice cracking.
You leaned back, loosening your arms only to let your hands slide up, framing his face. His wet hair stuck to your fingers. “Don’t argue with me,” you whispered, velvet sharpness in your tone.
His eyes softened, throat working. You pulled him down to you, closing the last inch between you, your lips pressing to his. The kiss was soft, but it carried heat, a deliberate fire that made him shiver against you.
He kissed back like he always did with you—gentle, almost reverent, like you were something he couldn’t quite believe he’d gotten to keep. His hands trembled faintly against your waist before he steadied, clutching you closer.
When you pulled back, your breath mingled with his. “That’s better.”
“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking just enough to betray what he’d been holding in all day.
“I know, baby.” You smiled against his lips. “And I love you. More than they ever could understand.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, letting him fall into you.
His damp hair clung to his forehead as he leaned into you, kissing you again until his body pressed flush with yours. Step by step, he walked you backwards down the short hall, his hand finding your hip like he needed to hold on.
“You wanna lay down?” he murmured, voice rougher than before.
You grinned up at him, all teeth and velvet confidence, a little devil smile that made his stomach knot.
“Oh, you are something, woman…” he muttered with a crooked smile of his own, a touch of awe underneath it.
Instead of letting him lead, you shifted your weight, turning him with a firm push. He hit the mattress with a soft bounce, wide-eyed for just a second before he let out a half-laugh, half-breath, looking up at you like he couldn’t believe his luck.
You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your pants and slid them down in one smooth motion, leaving only your panties and his oversized shirt.
His eyes followed every movement, lips parting, breath uneven.
You climbed onto the bed without hesitation, settling astride his hips, your knees braced against the mattress, his towel the only thing between you. You leaned down slightly, your weight pinning him deliciously, and he looked up at you with a mixture of adoration and hunger.
“Sweetheart—” His voice was soft, reverent, almost pleading.
You tilted your head, brushing wet strands of hair back from his forehead with slow fingers. “Moody baby looks a little better already.”
That earned you a quiet laugh, his chest rising under your hands. His own fingers finally dared to skim over your thighs, trembling faintly but eager, like he always was with you.
And beneath it all, his eyes never left your face, like you were the only thing anchoring him, the only thing that mattered after a day that had worn him down. You leaned down, capturing his lips again. The kind of kiss that made your chest ache with how much of him you held. He melted into it instantly, sighing against your mouth like he’d been waiting all day just for this.
The subtle press beneath the towel, twitching up against you as your weight shifted.
His breath hitched, hot and shaky against your lips, his chest heaving as the kiss deepened. You shifted your hips just slightly, rolling them slow against his, and his soft groan vibrated into your mouth. “Mmh—love…” he whispered, voice tight, almost pained from how quickly you could undo him.
You smiled against him, your lips brushing his as you murmured, “I feel you, baby.”
He flushed instantly, the tips of his ears turning scarlet. “S-sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize.” Your voice cut him off, low and velvet-smooth. You rolled your hips again, firmer this time, and the sound he made nearly broke him, breathless, desperate, his hands clutching at your thighs like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you still or beg for more.
Your oversized shirt hung loose as you straddled him, your hair falling forward, framing his flushed face. His eyes looked up at you wide, glassy with need, full of the kind of love that burned.
You kissed him again, swallowing his shaky breaths, keeping him trapped between your mouth and your body.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, voice breaking, “you’re driving me crazy.”
And you grinned like the devil you were, shifting once more so he could feel just how much control you had over him.
Your lips stayed locked on his, soft but deep, pulling another low groan from his chest. His hands slid up, trembling a little as they gripped your hips, but he didn’t guide, he just held, letting you move the way you wanted.
You shifted against him again, slower this time, dragging the heat of your body right over his length where the towel strained. His breath caught, hot and shaky, spilling into your mouth as you kissed him harder.
When you finally pulled back just enough to whisper, your lips brushed his jaw. “So hard for me already, baby?”
His eyes fluttered open, wide and flustered, his face turning pink as he tried to swallow down a sound. “Y-yeah, I… I can’t help it, love. You—” He broke off with a sharp inhale when you rocked your hips once more, firmer this time, sending another shiver down his spine.
You smiled against his skin, trailing soft kisses along his jaw before returning to his mouth. “Good boy,” you murmured between kisses, velvet and commanding, “you feel so perfect.”
He whimpered softly, pressing up into you without even meaning to, his control slipping with every slow grind you gave him. Your fingers brushed through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and your tone softened. “You had such a rough day… and look at you now. Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”
His chest rose sharply, almost trembling at the praise, his hands tightening on your thighs like he was trying to anchor himself. “…God, I love you,” he whispered hoarsely, kissing you again with a mix of desperation and pure devotion.
You shifted back slowly, deliberately, until you were sitting right on his thighs. The towel loosened under your fingers, your nimble hands tugging at the knot until it gave way. The fabric slipped open just enough, leaving him bare beneath you, his length straining upward, flushed and needy.
You let your hips roll, rubbing yourself over him through the thin fabric of your panties, the heat of him pressed against you.
His head tipped back into the mattress instantly, a broken sound slipping from his throat. “My god—”
The sound made you laugh softly, low and dangerous, your smile wicked as you leaned forward to kiss his throat. “Look at you,” you murmured, voice dripping velvet, “so hard, so eager—all for me.”
He shuddered, a hand fisting in the sheets.
You rocked again, slow and steady, dragging the damp fabric of your panties against him, teasing yourself just as much as him. “Sweetheart,” you purred against his ear, “you don’t even know what you do to me when you’re like this. Wet hair, hot body, flushed and begging without a single word…”
His breath hitched, chest rising sharp beneath you. “I’m— I’d do anything for you, baby, I—”
“Mhm, I know,” you cut him off with another languid grind, pressing down harder this time, savoring the way he groaned. You kissed his lips again, tasting the tremble in his breath, keeping your voice low and eloquent against his mouth.
“You’re perfect like this. My beautiful boy, undone under me. Mine to love, mine to ruin, mine to take care of.”
His hands finally found your waist, gripping as though he’d fall apart without you. You leaned down, pressing your lips to the damp line of his throat, licking slowly over the flutter of his pulse before biting down gently. His breath came sharp and heavy, chest rising beneath you.
Your kisses trailed upward, hot and deliberate, along his jaw, the corner of his mouth, his cheek. He turned his head into it like he couldn’t help himself, lips parting in a shaky sigh.
Your hand slid down from his chest to his waist, tracing the tension in his muscles, until you found his hand gripping at you. You laced your fingers through his, guiding it higher on your body, making him hold you the way you wanted.
“Sweetheart…” he gasped, voice breaking when your hips rocked again, slick dragging over him with no barrier now but your thin panties.
You kissed his neck once more, your teeth grazing the curve of it. “Just let me take you apart. Don’t think about them, don’t think about today. Just me.”
He groaned, low and desperate, his hips jerking up into you without thought, seeking friction. You laughed softly against his skin, wicked and tender all at once. “You are so needy for me already.”
That lit him up, his grip tightening on your waist as though he was drowning under the way you moved against him. “I—I can’t…” he stammered, already unraveling, “I can’t hold it if you—”
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your smile sharp, hungry, full of love. “Then don’t.”
You ground down harder, messy now, desperate now, your lips crashing back to his as he let out a sound that was half-moan, half-broken plea. His voice cracked into the air, hoarse and desperate, “Shit—please, just sit down on it.”
You pulled back only enough to see his face, flushed and trembling, his hair still wet and clinging to his temples. That pleading look in his eyes nearly unraveled you, but instead, you smirked slow, wicked.
“Oh?” Your voice dripped like honey, hot and teasing as you rolled your hips over him again, just shy of giving him what he begged for. “You want me to fuck myself with it, hm?”
He groaned, head tipping back against the pillow, knuckles white on your waist. “Yeah—shit, please,” he gasped, voice wrecked, soft-spoken desperation spilling from him.
You leaned down, lips brushing his, giving him a slow kiss that broke with a quiet laugh against his mouth. “My sweet boy,” you whispered, “so polite even when you’re begging.”
Your fingers wrapped around him, guiding his length up against your soaked panties, dragging the tip through your slick until both of you were trembling. His breath hitched, eyes squeezed shut as he tried not to lose it too soon.
“Feels like you’re begging me without words already,” you murmured, rolling your hips again, letting him feel just how close you were. “So hard, so perfect. You want me to take you in, want me to ride you until you forget every shitty thing they said about you?”
“Y-yes,” he gasped, nearly trembling under you, “please, love, please, I need it—”
The way he broke on the word need nearly undid you. You held him right on the edge, dragging his head against your soaked panties, rolling your hips so slow it was cruel. Every time his breath hitched, every moan that spilled out of him only made you smile sharper.
“Look at you. Begging so pretty for me,” you purred, brushing kisses along his jaw, your hand still teasing over him but never giving in fully. “All worked up, and I haven’t even let you inside yet.”
“That’s the point, sweetheart.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, smug and soft all at once. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ll take it when I give it to you.”
But then his restraint shattered. With a sudden thrust, his hips drove upward, hard and desperate. The thickness of him shoved past your panties, forcing a gasp out of you, your body jolting at the unexpected invasion.
“I—I cannot wait, I—fuck,” he choked out, eyes squeezed shut, as though even he was shocked at himself for snapping like that.
Your breath caught, your nails digging into his chest as you stared down at him, wide-eyed for a heartbeat. You hadn’t expected it, not from him—your softspoken man, desperate enough to push. “Hey!” you gasped, voice breaking with surprise and heat all tangled together.
His eyes flew open, wild and almost guilty, searching your face. “I—s-sorry, love, I—”
But the sight of him made a dangerous smile pull across your lips. “…Don’t apologize.” You ground down against him harder, your breath shaky. “Do it again.”
Your words broke something in him. The second you told him not to apologize, something desperate flared in his eyes. His hands shot to your hips, gripping hard, and then he pushed up into you again, rough, messy, nothing like the sweet, hesitant touches you were used to.
You gasped, the force of it knocking a moan from your throat as he bucked his hips under you. “Just like that,” you breathed, your smile curving wicked even as you trembled from the shock of it. “Good boy—take what you need.”
“God—baby—” he groaned, voice breaking, hips rutting up into you over and over. His breath came in short, harsh bursts, chest heaving like he couldn’t get enough air.
You leaned down, kissing him hard, swallowing the whimpers spilling from him as you let him lose it under you. “Yes, sweetheart,” you whispered hot against his lips when you pulled back, rocking with him, praising him through every frantic thrust. “Just like that. You feel so good, you’re making me feel so good.”
He whimpered, his brows furrowed tight as he clutched you closer. “I—fuck, I can’t—I can’t hold it, you’re—” His words dissolved into moans, ragged and desperate.
You dragged your nails down his chest, gasping as his rhythm grew sloppy, raw, overwhelming. “My beautiful boy,” you praised, voice velvet but breathless, “losing yourself under me. So perfect. So fucking hot.”
He let out another wrecked moan, head falling back, throat bared as he thrust up into you with everything he had left. His whimpers filled the room, broken and messy, his whole body trembling as he came apart beneath you.
And you kissed him through it, holding his face, praising him until all he could do was gasp and cling to you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. His chest was still heaving, breaths sharp and ragged, his skin damp with sweat. Head tipped back into the pillow, mouth parted, lips swollen from your kisses, he looked completely wrecked.
And yet, when you rolled your hips again, dragging yourself over him, you felt it: he was still achingly hard inside you. A dark, hungry smile spread over your lips as you leaned down, brushing your mouth against his jaw. “Still hard?“
A broken sound spilled out of him, half-moan, half-whimper, his fingers digging into your waist. “I—shit—love, I can’t… I can’t stop—” His voice was wrecked, breath still coming in those short, heavy bursts.
You kissed the corner of his open mouth, slow and deliberate, before whispering against his lips, “Good. Don’t stop. You’re not done yet, sweetheart.”
He whimpered again, the sound desperate, his body trembling beneath you as he tried to move his hips, messy, needy, still grinding up into you even though he was already spent.
Your hand slid into his damp hair, tugging gently to make him look at you. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, but burning with something deeper.
“That’s it,” you murmured, shifting on him again, making both of you gasp at the drag. “You’re perfect.”
His lips trembled around another moan, his head falling back again as his breath caught in his throat. “I—I love you,” he gasped, broken, “I love you so much…”
His moans tore through the room, raw, desperate and shameless. Every thrust of his hips up into you came with another broken sound, his breaths hot and uneven against your throat when you leaned down. His hands gripped your waist tight, sliding up to clutch at your stomach like he was trying to anchor himself to you, hold you in place so he wouldn’t lose you. The harder he clung, the more his whimpers spilled out, choked and frantic. “Love—oh god—please—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” you gasped, grinding down on him, your nails dragging across his chest. “You’re so good for me, sweetheart. So desperate, so perfect—”
He cried out when you clenched around him, his body trembling under yours, hips rutting messily even though he was already spent. The sight of him—mouth open, eyes half-closed, begging without words, set fire through your veins.
It wasn’t just the way he filled you, the thick stretch hitting deep every time he thrust up, it was the sounds he made. The helpless whimpers, the stutter of your name on his lips, the hot and heavy breaths that hitched every time you praised him.
Your body tightened, heat building low and sharp, your rhythm faltering as the desperation in his voice undid you. “Fuck—baby, you’re gonna make me—”
Your climax ripped through you suddenly, violently, dragged out by nothing but the feel of him and the way he worshipped you with every moan. You came hard, clutching his face, kissing him rough as you broke apart on top of him.
He whimpered into your mouth, still clinging to your waist, still thrusting up weakly, desperate to give you everything even while you shook around him. When you finally pulled back for air, both of you wrecked and gasping, you whispered against his lips, voice shaky but sure: “You’re all mine. Every bit of you.”
And all he could do was nod, trembling, eyes wet, whispering back, “Always, love. Always.”
You finally let your body collapse beside him, the mattress dipping as you rolled onto your back. His hands reached for you instantly, fumbling and desperate, until you pulled him into your arms.
He let out a sharp inhale the moment his face pressed into your chest, cheek resting against the soft swell of your breasts. His whole body melted, trembling with the aftershocks, clutching at your waist like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space.
“You smell so good,” he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked, every word muffled against your skin.
You hummed softly, still catching your breath, the sound vibrating in your throat as your fingers found their way into his damp hair. You raked through the wet strands slowly, tenderly, combing them back from his forehead.
His chest rose and fell too fast at first, but as you stroked him, he began to settle. His lips brushed lazily against your skin, just little movements that said more than words ever could.
His hand slid slowly under your shirt, fingers tentative at first, then firmer as they spread over your bare skin. The warmth of his palm against your breast made you draw in a sharp breath, your chest rising under his touch.
From where he lay half-tucked beneath you, his lips began trailing upward, soft kisses pressed against your jaw, then lower, finding the curve of your throat. Each one sent a shiver through you, your hand tightening instinctively in his damp hair. “Let me take this off…please,” he whispered into your neck, his voice low and wrecked, almost reverent.
The sound of him begging like that pulled a smile from you even as your own breath hitched. “How cute” you murmured, tilting your head to give him more of your throat. “Always so good with your manners.”
He kissed the spot where your pulse fluttered, shuddering against you, waiting. You shifted a little, guiding him with you, the shirt riding up as you both moved. His hands helped you, fumbling in his eagerness but still gentle, lifting the fabric over your stomach, over your chest. His mouth never left your skin, kissing higher with each inch revealed.
By the time the shirt cleared your head and was tossed aside, he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes blown wide, lips swollen, chest still rising heavy. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, almost like he was afraid to say it too loud.
His hands were everywhere now, one sliding down under you, cupping you firmly from beneath as if to hold you steady in his grip, the solid weight of his arm pressing against your spine. The other dragged slowly over your stomach, savoring every inch of skin, fingers trembling with want but moving with deliberate care.
He shifted lower, his lips brushing over the soft curve of your stomach, kissing reverently, almost worshipful. His breath was hot, uneven, every exhale betraying how undone he already was. Then he moved up, pressing open-mouthed kisses that grew hungrier with each one until his mouth found your breast. His lips closed around you, tongue flicking, swirling, drawing another sharp gasp from your throat as your back arched.
“Baby,” you breathed, your hand tightening in his hair as he groaned softly against you. His tongue dragged higher, hot and wet, tracing your skin all the way up. Then his mouth sealed at your neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive flesh there until your pulse raced under his tongue.
“Mm, sweetheart…” he murmured between the kisses, voice low and hoarse, “you taste..so fucking good.” The suction at your neck turned harsher, his teeth grazing you just enough to make your breath hitch, and then he soothed the spot with another wet, lingering kiss.
All the while, his hands never stopped roaming, one cupping you from below, the other stroking your stomach, sliding dangerously close to where you needed him most. His voice broke against your skin, soft and desperate, his lips brushing over the swell of your chest.
“You’ve been so good for me—” he whispered, the words shaky, reverent, “—let me be good to you.”
The promise hung between you, hot and trembling, as his mouth traveled lower again. He kissed across your chest slowly, leaving little trails of warmth, then let his lips close around your skin, sucking until heat bloomed under the surface. A sharp sting, soothed by his tongue, followed by another kiss.
Then another. And another.
Little hickeys, deliberate, dotting the places only the two of you would ever see, high on the swell of your breast where a shirt would cover, just above your ribs, beneath the curve where the fabric would never slip.
He groaned against your skin, the sound almost broken with need, as though every mark he left was a plea, a claim, and a devotion all at once.
“Mmh, baby…” you breathed, your fingers threading tighter into his hair as your back arched to meet his mouth. He kissed up to your collarbone, sucking gently until another bruise blossomed there, his tongue smoothing over it before moving higher. His lips dragged along the curve of your throat, sucking hard enough to make you gasp. Each mark felt like fire and love at once, the heat of him searing into you as he whispered hoarsely against your skin, “My beautiful girl.”
His lips trailed over you like a prayer. Every kiss was slow, reverent, each little suction mark pressed into your skin carrying the weight of all the things he couldn’t put into words.
“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your chest before his mouth sealed over you again. Another bruise bloomed under his tongue, right beneath your collarbone, hidden from anyone else’s eyes.
His hand on your spine slid higher, holding you close, while the one at your stomach stroked you in languid circles, grounding himself in the feel of your body.
“I love you so much,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing over the soft curve of your breast, his teeth grazing lightly before soothing with his tongue. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”
Your head fell back, a soft sound escaping you as his mouth moved higher again, kissing up the column of your throat, dotting you with faint marks along the way. He lingered there, sucking gently at the spot just beneath your jaw, making you gasp. He pulled back only an inch, enough to murmur against your damp skin, voice low and hoarse. “You smell like home to me.”
Your hand threaded tighter into his still-wet hair, tugging gently as your chest rose against his. He groaned at the contact, pressing his lips back to your throat, marking you again and again.
Little constellations of love and hunger scattered across your skin, over your ribs, between your breasts, your collarbone, the tender dip of your shoulder. Each one hidden, secret, belonging only to the two of you.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing just beneath your ear, “I want you to feel me everywhere—even when I’m not there.”
His mouth claimed another piece of you, sucking until your breath hitched, then soothing it with a kiss as soft as a vow.
You tugged at his hair, pulling him up from your skin until his face hovered just above yours. His eyes never left you—dark, wide, so full of love they nearly ached.
“Such a good man,” you whispered, velvet and teasing but laced with truth, “covering me in your kisses.”
The way he looked at you then, like you’d hung the stars just for him, nearly undid you. He leaned down, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was deep and consuming, hot with devotion, melting you into him until you both forgot where one ended and the other began.
You pulled him gently back down into your side, guiding his head to rest against you. His breath was still unsteady, his lips pressing one last kiss to your bare chest before he sighed, his body finally beginning to relax.
“Get some sleep, baby,” he murmured into your skin, voice husky and tender. “We have to wake early.” His hand slid lazily from your ribs, tracing down over the curve of your waist to your hip, holding you possessively but soft.
You let out a low, wicked hum, brushing your lips against his temple. “Yeah, maybe early enough to get a second round.”
That made him laugh quietly against your chest, the sound muffled and fond. You caught his lips again, slow and warm, before pulling him tighter into you. “I love you,” he whispered, already drifting.
“I know,” you murmured back, stroking through his damp hair as his breathing evened out, “and I love you.”
Wrapped around each other, bare skin pressed close, you let the quiet take over—warm, full, the promise of morning heat lingering between you as sleep finally claimed you both.
The morning light slipped gently through the curtains, warm and golden, spilling across the sheets where you still lay tangled. A soft clink on the nightstand was the first thing you registered—the faint sound of porcelain as he set down a steaming cup of coffee.
Then his presence followed. Tota, kneeling beside the bed now, his dark hair still mussed from sleep, only his briefs clinging low to his hips. He reached out with careful fingers, brushing them through your hair in long, tender strokes. His touch was so delicate it made you stir, your lips curling before your eyes even opened.
“Good morning, my love,” he whispered, voice husky and warm, his lips brushing the words close to your ear.
You stretched languidly, a satisfied hum leaving you as your body arched. “God—I’m sore,” you murmured, voice low with sleep, “and I feel your kisses everywhere.” Finally, your eyes blinked open, finding him kneeling there with that crooked little smile. You smirked up at him knowingly.
His chest rose a little faster at your words, the blush climbing faintly to his cheeks. His thumb brushed over your temple before he leaned in, kissing your forehead with a tenderness that almost hurt. “Good,” he whispered, almost reverent, his voice a low rumble that settled deep inside your chest.
You watched him for a moment, drinking him in—the faint marks on his throat, the way his muscles shifted as he moved, the quiet devotion in his gaze that never seemed to leave you.
With one last lingering look, he pushed to his feet, stretching briefly before padding toward the bathroom. The sound of water running filled the quiet morning, a soft, domestic hum.
Left in the sheets, the warmth of his kiss still on your forehead and the scent of fresh coffee curling in the air, you couldn’t help but smile, your body humming with the echo of his love and the promise of more to come.
When he came back, the quiet pad of his footsteps drew your gaze from the sheets. His hair was still damp from his brush, neat now, and the faint mint on his breath told you he’d just finished at the sink. Standing in the doorway, he looked relaxed in a way he rarely did anywhere else but here.
“You wanna drive with me?” he asked, leaning casually against the frame, but the softness in his tone betrayed how much he wanted you there.
“Yes, baby. Let me get ready,” you whispered, voice still heavy with the drowsy warmth of morning. You slipped out of bed, stretching before tugging his shirt, rumpled from the night before, back over your bare shoulders. The hem brushed the tops of your thighs, leaving your panties peeking beneath.
When you glanced up, he was just… staring. Not with hunger exactly, but with that wide-eyed, overwhelmed awe he always got when he forgot to mask how much he adored you. “One day,” he said quietly, almost like it slipped out before he could think, “I’m going to marry you.”
You paused beside him, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile as you reached for him. “Of course you will.”
You pulled him down into another kiss before he could say anything else, your fingers curling into the back of his neck. His breath caught, his lips molding to yours with that familiar softness, hot with promise. When you finally pulled back, you pressed your forehead to his, your smirk widening. “And I’ll make sure you’re the happiest man alive when you do.”
His cheeks flushed, his hands finding your waist as though he needed to hold you to believe it.
The drive was short, a comfortable silence hanging between you both broken only by the occasional brush of his hand over yours on the gearshift. When you arrived at the NPA, the shift into work-mode was almost immediate: badges clipped, posture straighter, the professional air slipping over you like armor.
But for you, the real fun began once you stepped inside.
The first time you crossed paths with him that morning, he was bent slightly over his desk, pen scratching across reports. You slowed just enough to pass behind his chair, leaning down as if you were simply checking a file. Your lips brushed his ear.
“Such a good boy,” you whispered, your voice velvet and low, “already working so hard.”
He jolted, the pen skittering slightly across the paper before he caught himself. His ears burned red, his head ducking lower over the document. “…Love,” he murmured back, barely audible, “someone will hear you.”
You smirked and kept walking.
The second time, you found him by the copy machine, papers stacked neatly in his arms. You brushed way closer than necessary as you reached for the tray beside him. Your breath ghosted over his ear. “Mm, all neat and organized too. Do you know how hot it is, baby, watching you be so perfect at your job?”
His throat bobbed, the stack of papers nearly slipping from his grasp. He avoided your eyes, muttering, “Please…” but the way his voice cracked told you he wasn’t asking you to stop.
By midday, he was a wreck. Sitting at his desk, glasses slipping down his nose as he typed into the computer with single-minded determination. You drifted close, pretending to drop a file on his desk. Your fingers brushed his shoulder, and you leaned down just enough.
“My good boy,” you breathed, every syllable molten against his skin. “Sitting so nice, getting all his work done. You have no idea what I’m going to do to you when we get home.”
He nearly choked on air, his hands freezing on the keyboard before he forced them back into motion, shoulders trembling.
From across the office, you caught his glance later, dark eyes flicking up, cheeks flushed, breath visibly shallow. He was holding himself together with frayed threads, but the way he looked at you said it all.
After work, he air outside was cool, humming faintly with the traffic in the street. You leaned against the side of the building, arms crossed, waiting. The doors finally swung open and there he was, tie loosened, suit jacket in one hand, his expression already wrecked with barely-contained need.
He didn’t slow down. His other hand shot out, threading into your hair, pulling your head back just enough to crash his mouth onto yours. The kiss was desperate, messy, full of the hunger he’d bottled up all day. His lips moved frantically against yours, teeth clashing, tongue pushing past your lips like a man starved. You smirked into it, breaking away only long enough to murmur, “Oh? What did I do to deserve that, baby?”
His answer came ragged, torn between gasps and kisses. “You—shit—you made me hard the whole day. Whispering all that stuff—” His breath shuddered as he kissed you again, hand tugging tighter in your hair. “I am so, so starved.”
Your laugh was low, sultry, brushing hot against his lips before you kissed him back, deep and commanding, your hands flattening over his chest. “Good,” you whispered against his mouth, your smile sharp. “That’s exactly how I wanted you.”
He groaned, pressing you harder against the wall, kissing you like he needed you to breathe. His suit jacket fell forgotten at your feet, his fingers digging into your waist with a desperation that trembled all the way through him.
You grabbed his side firmly, grounding him with a touch that made him falter mid-kiss. His lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot and ragged. “Come, let’s go home, baby,” you whispered, velvet and commanding.
He swallowed hard, nodding, eyes blown wide. You bent to scoop up his crumpled jacket, shoving it into his hand before tugging him toward the car. He followed without a word, his fingers twitching like he could barely stand not to touch you again.
The drive back was thick with tension, every glance he threw you full of raw hunger. His hand curling on the gearshift only to drift close to your knee, hesitating, desperate.
And you? You just smiled, one hand sliding deliberately over his thigh, slow enough to make him bite back a moan.
By the time the building lights of the city blurred past, his chest was rising too fast, his jaw clenched, his body humming with need. The only thing hotter than the way he looked right then was the promise waiting the moment you both walked through your door.
We both enjoyed that more than we should have.
If this found the wrong place in your head, the Masterlist has more. If you want me to make it personal, Requests are open.
Okay genuinely need help finding a fic that I can’t get out of my head. I’m a little fuzzy with the details but I do know it’s at least a 2 part blurb from like a year or two ago. It’s Joel Miller (this fic was straight up smut with a semi plot) all I remember from the first part is that reader is working as a glory hole girl (basically they get paid with ration cards and it’s under the radar for obvious reasons) and somehow Joel ends up going and finding reader. He becomes extremely possessive over her and won’t share to the point where he gets yelled at by someone else for not sharing lol, reader is like super into it too cause typically she’s like bored out of her mind because everyone else just uses her to get themselves off but Joel makes sure to focus on her. And then when he pays and leaves behind his number it transports us to the part two where reader debate’s seeing him in person cause mind you they’ve never seen each others faces before, ultimately she decides it’s a good idea and meets up with him and gets completely rearranged…
So yeah if anyone remembers this fic I would greatly appreciate the link 🫡 like I’m so frustrated with myself that I forgot to save the link and the author of it because I think about it from time to time. Any and all help would be greatly appreciated <3
Last night you had been having passionate, hot sex with Tom. He made you do things you never imagined you would ever do. He did things to you that still make you blush today. Merely thinking about his touch sends you right over the edge again.
You left his hotel room in the small hours of the morning, not to attract attention - you were going to see him at the premiere tonight again, anyway.
When you arrive at the red carpet, he greets you with a knowing smile. His eyes are full of promises for the night to come…
A/N: This may seem like non-con, so if that bothers you, you may want to proceed with caution. I don’t want to say anything more for fear of ruining the ending, but I figured I should post a little warning.
“Tom?”
You call his name as you step into your apartment, wondering if he’s even here. You had to work later than expected; your boss asked you to stay for an extra couple of hours. Of course you said yes, knowing the money would be worth it.
The only thing you’d forgotten to do was call Tom to let him know. You just hoped he wasn’t too upset by this.
“Tom?” you call again, dropping your purse and your keys on the table.
Maybe he had changed his mind about coming over. Or maybe he had come over and had gotten tired of waiting for you, so he’d gone back home. How disappointing. You’d have to call him and try to make it up to him. He’d understand.
You sigh and make your way to your bedroom, wanting nothing more than to kick off your shoes, change into something a little more comfortable, and crawl into bed. You open the door and flip the light switch to turn on the lamp, letting out a scream when you see someone standing next to your bed. It takes a second for you to register Tom’s features. When you do, you start to relax, but something about his appearance seems off.
His eyes look darker, his expression unreadable. And his arms are folded across his chest. He’s giving off an almost angry vibe. You stare at him curiously, unsure now. Should you be afraid, or is this some sort of game he’s playing?
“What kept you, my dear?” he asks, his tone giving no hint as to what he is feeling or thinking. “I’ve been waiting a while for you. Explain yourself.”
You frown at him; he’s never spoken to you like this before. “Tom, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you. Lily asked if I could work a little late, so I said sure. I do like my job, you know?”
“I know you do. But if you’re going to change your plans and keep me in the dark about it, well, that’s just not acceptable.”
“I’m sorry, Tom,” you say sincerely, stepping out of your shoes. “I really am.”
“I don’t believe you,” he states, simply staring at you with that neutral expression. It’s beginning to creep you out. “Come here, right now.”
“Wha-?”
You start to ask him what his problem is, but he cuts you off, repeating himself, only this time, sounding a lot more dangerous. “I said, come here, right…now.”
You walk over to him hesitantly, feeling a little worried. What has gotten into him? He’s usually such a soft-spoken gentleman, but now…you don’t know what to think of him now.
He grabs your wrist when you are close enough, pulling you to him roughly. He cups your chin, forcing you to look at him. He makes a tsk noise and mutters, “You’re going to have to be punished for this. Strip for me and turn around.”
“Tom, what…?”
You’re starting to freak out a little; why is he doing this to you? Before you can ask for a proper response, he’s grabbing your arm and turning you away from him. You glance over your shoulder, struggling against his grip. He raises his free hand and brings it down hard across your behind, startling you more than anything else.
“What the hell are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising in pitch. “Tom, stop it!”
“I said strip,” he growled. “I’m going to punish you for making me wait.”
You shudder, his words terrifying you and turning you on at the same time. Even though that sharp slap did sting a little, just thinking about Tom doing it again makes you feel hot and bothered. Maybe you should go along with whatever he says. You might actually enjoy it.
You begin to undress, feeling a little awkward and nervous. When all of your clothes are lying in a heap on the floor, you straighten up, still facing away from him. You hear him shifting behind you, a curious sound filling you with anticipation. You’re trying to figure out what he’s doing back there when you hear the snap of leather.
Oh, shit!
Tom brings his belt down across your ass, making you jump and cry out. Damn, that stings! You close your eyes, your chest heaving as your breathing picks up. He slaps your behind with the belt again, this time from a different angle. You take a step forward, your knees feeling weak.
“No, no,” he scolds you, grabbing your arm again. “None of that now. I won’t have you trying to escape. I’ll only punish you more if you do. Turn around and get on the bed. On your hands and knees.”
You swallow hard, trying to stifle the anxiety that’s trying to take over your mind and body. You carefully maneuver into position, your arms shaking a little. You feel him come up behind you, running his fingertips lightly over your flushed skin.
“That’s more like it,” he whispers. “But I think, just to make sure you know your place, I’m going to have to tie you up.”
It feels as though your heart has stopped. Tie you up? You’re starting to freak out now, but you stay quiet, your curiosity and arousal getting the best of you.
He returns a moment later with a pair of black fuzzy handcuffs and two silk scarves. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as he pushes on your back, forcing you down. Your ass is in the air, but the rest of you is flat on the bed. He quickly takes your wrists and snaps the cuffs over them. Then he loops one of the scarves through the cuffs, tying it in a knot before tying the other end of the scarf to the headboard. You tug experimentally at your bonds, but they’re tight; you’re officially secured to the bed.
Tom takes the second scarf and wraps it around your eyes like a blindfold. You’re panting now, filled with nervous anticipation. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, though, which kind of surprises you. You hadn’t realized that having your ability to see and touch during intimate moments taken away would be such a turn on.
“There, that’s better,” he says, an appreciative tone to his voice. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Punishment. Let’s see…how many strikes will it take to make you come? Let’s find out.”
You gasp, waiting to feel the sting of the leather against your skin. When nothing happens, you call out, “Tom?”
It’s quiet. Too quiet. Did he leave you here like this? You start to fret, hoping he comes back. You don’t think you can stay in this position all night.
You’re about to start hollering for him when the belt comes down upon your rear. You gasp loudly, your bonds cutting into your wrists as you jerk your arms back in surprise. He swats you again, harder this time. You squeal into the mattress, your ass stinging from the pain.
You can feel yourself becoming increasingly wet down there; it’s starting to drip down your thighs. Tom continues spanking you with his belt, your moans and cries getting louder and more desperate. You can feel your body inching closer to that magical peak, knowing you’re going to tip over the edge soon.
“My, my, you are a very naughty girl,” he says; you can hear the laughter in his voice. “So wet and so close. I think your stunning ass has had enough. Your skin is a lovely shade of red now.”
He chuckles, and the next thing you feel is his soft lips placing tender kisses all over the welts his belt has left behind. You sigh and squirm, enjoying the tingling in your spine. And when you feel the tip of his tongue brush lightly against your entrance, you try to force your hips back, begging for more.
“Uh-uh,” he teases, his voice practically dripping with mirth. “I’m in control tonight. And I’m not quite done punishing you yet.”
“Please,” you beg, your voice muffled. “Tom, I don’t think I can take anymore. Just fuck me already.”
Tom slaps your ass, eliciting a cry from your lips. “God, I love it when you beg. I love hearing you plead for my hard cock. I love hearing you whimper when I finally give you what you want. But right now, you’re going to keep that pretty little mouth shut. You will not speak unless I tell you to, understand? And you are not allowed to come unless I give you permission.”
You mumble something into the mattress, frustrated, horny, and excited. There’s still a little bit of fear mixed in there, but only because you can’t see or move around like you want to.
You feel his hands on your waist and hear him whisper in your ear, “Roll over onto your back.”
You don’t even think that’s possible. Your arms are tied and your knees feel like they’re glued to the bed. But another sharp slap to your ass has you struggling to do as he asked. You manage to scoot forward a little, raising your upper body until you’re able to rest on all fours again. The handcuffs are digging in, and you know you’ll have bruises from them, but right now, you really don’t care.
After shifting a few more times, you’re able to lie on your back, your arms hurting a little from twisting them so you could get into this position. You hear Tom moving around, although you have no idea what he’s up to now. Oh, how you wish you could see.
Once again, his hands are on you; this time, they’re caressing your breasts. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, turning them into hardened peaks. When he stops, you moan, craving contact. But when you feel him pressing something against your nipple, gently letting it close around the little nub, you realize that maybe getting what you want isn’t always such a good thing.
Tom secures a clamp to your other nipple, then tugs on them both. You cry out, arching your back as a jolt of pain courses through your body. You nipples ache, but the pain only turns you on even more. You feel slightly bothered by this revelation, but at the same time, it’s also the greatest thing you’ve ever experienced.
“Keep quiet,” he murmurs, snapping the leather of his belt. “Every time you make a sound, I’m going to pull on the clamps. You don’t want that, now do you?”
You shake your head, biting down on your lip. You try to stay focused, willing yourself to stay calm. When he brings the belt down across your breasts, your teeth press harder into the skin of your lip. He finds a lazy rhythm, the leather so soft, and yet so hard, as it strikes your chest again and again.
You don’t know how much longer you’re going to last. Your entire body is buzzing; the pain, the pleasure, it’s all too much. You let out a soft groan, but Tom still hears it. The hand holding the belt stills for just a moment, while his other hand reaches down and grabs the clamp on your left nipple. He gives it a quick tug; you almost let out a squeak, but manage to hold it back. You’re panting now, biting your lip so hard it draws blood.
“See, you’re learning,” he says in a smug tone. “Let’s move on.”
He slaps your breasts one last time with the belt before dragging it down your stomach. He lets it drop; it feels like a curled snake on your belly, ready to strike. That thought sends another wave of fear crashing through you. But you force it away, not wanting Tom to know how conflicted you are right now.
His hands are on your knees, pushing them apart. He takes hold of your ankles and carefully raises each leg. Once you’re fully exposed to him, he lets out a growl and takes the belt.
“You’re positively dripping, my dear,” he exclaims, his voice tinged with arousal and amusement. “You want me to make you come? Tell me what you want.”
“You, Tom!”
He laughs. “Well, darling, you can’t have me just yet. You can, however, have my belt. You are still being punished, you know.”
You gasp and try to close your legs, but he forces them back open. Reaching up, he gives another pleasantly unpleasant tug on the clamp attached to your right nipple. “Do not move. You may speak, if you wish. I want to hear you scream.”
Without another word, he lashes out with the belt, striking your inner thigh. You inhale sharply, the sound a high-pitched gasp. He does it a second time, hitting the opposite thigh. Your skin is tingling, burning. It hurts so good. The third strike hits you fully between the legs.
“Tom!” you shriek, jerking your arms. The cuffs dig in tighter, making you moan. You wish he would take the blindfold off so you could see exactly what he is doing to you. But you know he won’t. He’s enjoying this way too much.
“That’s right, darling. Scream for me. I’m so hard right now. When we’re finished, I’m going to fuck you like an animal.”
Your eyes widen behind the scarf and a whimper of anticipation escapes your lips. If you can just hold out a little longer, you’ll finally get what you want. Excitement takes over, numbing the pain. All you want now is for Tom to hurry up with the punishment.
The belt lashes against your most sensitive area repeatedly, making your body quiver. You call his name again, writhing on the bed. You can feel your orgasm creeping closer, but you hold it back, even though you want nothing more than to finally get your release.
When he stops, you hear the belt thump to the floor. You wait, hoping Tom will untie you now and let you touch him. Instead, you feel warm breath against your ear, his lips just grazing your skin. “Darling, you were magnificent. I think it’s time for your reward.”
You can’t even form the words to thank him. You’re on high alert, your body on the verge of exploding.
You hear him unzip his pants and pull them off. Then you feel his weight on the bed, hovering over you. “Tom? Can you take the cuffs off? And the blindfold? And the clamps, too, please?”
“Oh, no,” he chuckles, his hands on your knees. “You’re at my mercy. I’m going to have my way with you now. When I’m satisfied, I will release you from your bonds.”
You whine, needing to touch him. To see him. You both hate and love him for this.
Before you can ask again, he thrusts into you, hard and fast. You cry out, your orgasm hitting you so forcefully, your toes curl and your knees feel weak.
Tom is pounding into you, making you screaming incoherently. It’s too much. Way too much. Every nerve in your body is over sensitized now, and his merciless cock is only making it worse.
“Tom! Please stop! I can’t…”
His hand cuts you off, covering your mouth as he continues to ravage your body. He’s grunting and growling; the sounds are so amazingly arousing. Such a turn-on.
“Shut up,” he tells you, his hips smacking against yours relentlessly. “Just shut up and take it.”
His hand slides from your mouth and moves between your legs, his thumb finding your clit. He strokes it hard, bringing you close to yet another orgasm. Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. Your chest is heaving and you cannot control the noises that are bubbling up from your throat.
Tom lifts one leg, throwing it over his shoulder. This new angle lets him hit deeper, his cock finding that sweet spot inside. You’re tugging at your bonds, desperately trying to reach him. He only laughs, thrusting harder. You can feel him throbbing inside of you, his own release pending.
You come again as he pinches your clit. Your entire body has started to go numb from the immense pleasure.
He’s pounding into you faster now, making your whole body shudder. You feel a third orgasm creeping up on you; you can’t help but marvel at how awesome this actually is.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, fuck, Tom! Yes, yes, yes! Oh, gods…oh, gods. Fuck me just like that, Tom. Oh, oh, oh! I’m…so…close…OH!”
You come again, white spots bursting and dancing behind your eyes. You hear him shout your name just as he releases into you, his entire body stiff.
When he’s finished, he pulls out and flops back on the bed, panting. You moan softly, your body spent, exhausted.
Tom props himself up on his elbow and kisses your cheek. Slowly, he removes the clamps from your nipples and the scarf from around your eyes. You blink up at him; his skin is flushed and sweaty, and he has a smug smile on his face.
“Would you like me to untie you now?” he asks, winking at you.
“Yes, please,” you say with a nod. “My wrists are burning.”
Tom tsks and shakes his head. “Darling, you shouldn’t have tried so hard to get loose. You needed to learn a lesson. And I was happy to be the one to teach you.”
He reaches out, taking the key for the cuffs from the nightstand. He unlocks the cuffs, releasing your wrists. You sigh with relief, rubbing them gently. There are red marks from where they’ve dug in, but you know they’ll fade soon enough.
You carefully crawl on top of him, leaning down to kiss him happily.
“Thank you for that, Tom,” you tell him, unable to control your grin. “You really did scare me a couple of times, though. I honestly thought you were mad at me.”
He laughs. “Darling, when you texted me and told me what you wanted to try, I was a bit surprised, but I was willing to go along with it. I’m definitely glad I did. That was mind-blowing.”
“Yes, yes it was,” you agree, smirking as you grab his wrists, pinning them behind his head. “But now it’s time for my revenge.”
Fic rec: I seen the summary under wincest and people looking for the fic. I've got it saved in my delicious
BE WARNED!!!! THERE IS A TON OF HET THAT LEADS UP TO THE GAY! SO FUCKING HOT AND FILTHY THOUGH! One of my favorites
The Air Moves in to Fill the Spaces Where My Body's Been
Summary: It's not about Dean. Really.
SEQUEL:
The Frightened Inch Between Our Skins
Summary: So, now that Dean knows what Sam’s been up to, they’re fucking like bunnies. They play footsie under the Formica table in the diner while Dean eats waffles, they make out in the backseat when they’re tired of driving, and Dean wants to know if they can have deep-fried Twinkies at the reception when they get gay married in Massachusetts.
