#mxm smut

[snnkihaven]

Sunki Audio

Minors DNI

Contains moans, whimpering, groans, vibrating

sub!sunoo x dom!ni-ki (m/m)

[bruceshubby]

Daddy - Jack Abbot X Male Reader

[A/N] Alright, so... this has a lot of smut and sex scenes, so be aware of that before reading. It is also the first time I write smut here, and there is no better character for it than Jack. As usual, reposting really helps my work :)

Word Count: 2.135.

Synopsis: Fucking your father's best friend was wild, but it was also the best sex of your life. What was meant to be a one-night thing turned into an addiction that needed to be fed daily, until your father, Robby, walked into your room and found Jack fingering you.

Warnings: smut, violence, age gap, explicit language, alcool consuption, threats.

Minors DNI!

Check the rest of my work (masterlist) here!

It all started innocently. Your dad went to Jack's place to watch a game, and you had to stay a few extra hours at the library cataloguing a box of new arrivals, which was a bit boring, so you got home exhausted. You took a shower, fixed something quick to eat, and went upstairs to watch something in your room. You managed to watch twenty minutes of Sex in the City before you sleep took the best out of you. 

You woke up in the middle of the night, thirsty, and got up to have a glass of water. As you were wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, you wrapped yourself in a fluffy robe, and your father's door was closed, so he probably got home after you fell asleep. 

You turned on the kitchen lights and heard someone yawning in the living room. You slowly peeked into the room and found Jack stretching his back and getting up from the couch. "Robby? What time is it?" He spoke walking towards the kitchen.

"It's me," You said, simply taking a sip of your water. "It's two-thirty, sorry for flashing the lights on your face, I didn't know you were here," You said, taking a look at him. He was wearing an almost transparent white undershirt and a pair of dark and light blue plaid boxer shorts. 

"Power ran out mid-game, and we came over to watch the rest of it here," He explained, stretching his back once again. The movement made his shirt go up and reveal part of his abdomen; your eyes were immediately drawn there, and his shorts that seemed to be getting tighter by the second. 

"Midnight-wood, huh?" You teased, placing the now-empty glass inside the dishwasher. "Oh... well, I'm old, not dead," He defended himself. "I might take you up on that," You teased once again. You didn't know exaclty were that was coming from, maybe a few years of repressed feelings for him, and the multiple times you masturbated thinking about him on top of you. 

Shit, you really wanted that guy. 

You turned to face him, and at the same time, he seemed to be a bit shocked; his cock was now bulging and definitely hard. "What? I've seen you checking me out discreetly a few times." You spoke, getting closer to him. "Yeah, but you are Robbby's son," He spoke, taking a step back and leaning against the counter. "Let's pretend I'm not then," You said, ending the distance between you two and attacking his lips. His short beard scraped against your chin, and his avid tongue explored your mouth. Your cocks rubbed against each other with a thin piece of fabric in between them. 

"Shit, kid, I" He spoke and you susshed him "Just enjoy it" You knelt in front of him and pulled down the boxer shorts down to his anckles. Damn, he was big; it wasn't a surprise, he had big dick energy, but actually seeing it was arousing. 

Swallowing his length was difficult; you teared up multiple times and gagged a few, and that made him enjoy it even more. "Are you crying for me, Doll? C'mon I know you can take it," He spoke, holding your head and trusthing his hips against your face "Fuck your throath feels amazing" Jack spoke enjoying the pressure your mouth, thongue and throath applied against his lenght. 

The male facefucked you for a while until he came deep inside your throat. You gasped for air when he removed his cock from your mouth. Jack softly slapped your left cheek and placed another kiss on your lips "You should go back to your room. We don't want to wake up your dad, and if you stay down here I'm positive i'll make you scream" Jack spoke and you gulped. 

You had a taste of him, and you wanted more, so much more. 

~ X ~

Nine months later, and you never expected that blowing your dad's best friend in the middle of the kitchen during the night would result in you riding him, yet here you were. Jack's hands were placed at the side of your body, and he guided you up and down as he rearranged your insides. That definitely wasn't on your bingo card, and you hated yourself for that, but no one fucked you as good as Jack did; somehow, he knew exactly how to make you cum, whine, and purr for him. 

"Shit, daddy... " You mumbled, holding onto the bedframe as Jack started pumping harder against your prostate. Needless to say, that was enough to make both of you cum together, your third time and his second. "You are amazing," He whispered, hugging you and placing a kiss on your forehead. 

"What do you need? Water? Food? A shower," Jack asked, and you smiled, hugging him. "Probably all that, but at least thirty minutes of cuddling with you before," You pleaded, and he laughed, grabbing you as if you were weightless and placing you by his side, turning you into the small spoon. "No need to ask twice, Angel." Jack wrapped you in his arms, and you snuggled there for a good amount of time. 

Once you felt ready to get up, Jack took you for a long shower filled with kisses and helping hands. After the shower, he'd prepared a snack and would leave before you had to go to work. That's how most of your afternoons went by, in between classes from college and the part-time job you had at the public library, Jack would stop by and take care of you. 

Telling your father was absolutely off the table, and it was something you both agreed to after the first time you slept together. Robby knew you were queer since he found you kissing your neighbor on your 12-year-old birthday. The real issue was the fact that you were seeing a guy much older than you, and that guy was his best friend.

Hiding it was getting harder; he saw a few hickeys on your neck, and a pair of Jack's underwear also ended up in your basket of dirty laundry by accident. You liked asking about your father's day when he got home. The hospital was a lot for him, so having someone to share with was important, and you wanted to be there for him. 

During one of those conversations about his day, he said that Jack seemed happier than usual. He suspected his friend had a girlfriend. You choked on your food when he told you that you were the "girlfriend"; hopefully, he wouldn't put 2 + 2 together and figure it out, but you reminded Jack to be more careful. 

The closest call happened in your house during dinner, it was a Saturday, and Jack was there to watch the Super Bowl. Despite loving your father, you hated football, so you'd only come downstairs to watch the halftime show and get back to your room when the game was back. 

After the Chiefs victory, much to your father's delight, you guys had pizza for dinner and sat together around the table. Abbot was right in front of you, and your dad was by your side. 

"Daddy, can I have the ranch, please?" You asked about cleaning your mouth with a napkin when it all happened. Jack and your dad reached for the dressing at the same time, and Jack managed to pick it up first. You kicked him violently under the table, and he realized what he had done. 

"Sorry, I was closest to it" He spoke, shoving pizza inside his mouth, you tried to make some small talk about something else and it apparently worked, your dad was probably too drunk and too extasiated about the chiefs win so he decided not to drag the "Daddy" event, but his subconcious surely registered it and that took a few hours of sleep from you. 

And then, the day you dreaded for a long time came, Jack was still on top of you, kissing and biting your earlobe as he slowly exited your hole. Your dad was supposed to be at the hospital for at least another five hours, so the idea of him showing up did not cross your mind. 

"You know, there is a huge hematoma on my calf  after you kicked me under the table." Jack said, "So you went extra hard today in retribution?" You asked while slowly sitting down, feeling some pain in your bottom. 

"Did daddy wreck your ass?" He was smiling from ear to ear and running his fingers inside your hole. "Yeah, you did," You said back, kissing his lips while his fingers twirled inside you. "Fuck" You sighed as he added another one. 

"Hey, son, I got you... What the fuck?" Robby's voice echoed from your door, and everything froze. You slowly turned your head towards the door and saw your dad standing there, red with anger, holding a Starbucks bag. "Dad, I..." You tried speaking, but there was nothing to be said. You were naked, Jack was naked, you two were kissing, and his fingers, until three seconds ago, were inside your ass. 

Robby dropped the bag and jumped towards Abbot, pressing him against the wall. "You're fucking my son? Are you out of your goddam mind?" Robby screamed. 

"Dad, please," You pleaded, getting in between them. "Let's talk, please don't do this," You cried out with tears rolling down your cheeks. "Did he hurt you? Did he force you to do this?" Robby asked, and you cried even more, "No, Dad, I promise he didn't do anything wrong. It was consensual," You said. 

Robby looked Jack up and down and took a step back, running his hands over his head. "Get dressed, both of you. We need to talk." He ordered and left the room. You allowed your tears to roll freely, and a suppressed cry echoed from your throat. Jack held you in his arms and promised a million times it was okay, but you couldn't wrap your head around it.

You got dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie and went downstairs. Jack got dressed and accompanied you. Robby was sitting at the dining table with his hands crossed, resting on top of it. 

 You sat at the table completely embarrassed, your face was burning, and your ass was aching. You avoided visual contact, and Jack tried to start the conversation, "Robby, I..." Your father interrupted him with a simple hand gesture. "

"How long?" Robby asked, and you swallowed dryly, "Dad..." You started, and Jack spoke, "Nine months." He knew your father well; they worked together, and during a crisis, Robby needed precise information and not smoke blown up his ass. 

"Who started it? How did it start?" He asked, "I did. That night, you guys were supposed to go to Jack's place to watch some game, but the power was out, and you guys came here; that's when it started," You confessed. "I woke up in the middle of the night to grab some water and saw Jack sleeping on the couch. He woke up when I came downstairs and... well, you can imagine," You added 

"I'd rather not," Robby said, and you gulped. "He is old enough to be your dad, you know that? He is my age," He said, and you looked down. "Dad, I'm an adult... I know it seems weird, but I like Jack. I really like him." You spoke, and the male grabbed your hand under the table.

"You better be the best fucking boyfriend in this world or I will fucking end you. Do you understand me? I don't care how long you've been in the army, if my son as much as sheds a tear because of you, I'll end your existence here," Robby threatened Jack, and the male smiled softly.  

You breathed in relief and also cried, "Hopefully those tears don't count?" Jack tried joking, and Robby remained static. "Don't push it," Your father instructed, and Jack gave him a thumbs up. "No more secrets, okay? I... I need some time to forget what I just saw," Robby said. 

"What do you mean?" You inquired, partially scared because you thought he was having a delirium, and also worried he meant to break you and Jack up. "My best friend fingering my son, that's what I want to forget." Robby vented, covering his face, Jack held his laughter, and your face basically erupted, "Oh... that... yes. Okay," You mumbled, looking for words. 

"I'm hitting the shower." You said getting up, and Jack moved to follow you, but Robby stopped him. "Go take your shower, son. But you're staying right here, Jack," Your dad said, and you ran upstairs wanting to lock yourself inside the bathroom forever. 

[m34cii]

Still mine, still yours. s.ryomen [pt.1]

Pairings. Ooc Sukuna x Male reader

synopsis. You and Sukuna broke up, you believed he deserved better, but he proved you wrong.

warnings. stalking behavior, cursing? idk mane nothing too bad... yet

[pt.2 here] You still thought about him, it was hard to forget him, he invaded your mind, when you’re walking down the street you think you see his pink tousled hair, but when you approach the mystery it’s not who you wish it is. Sometimes you felt something or someone watching you, don’t know the exact reason for this paranoia, but there would be days where you felt a pair of eyes burrowing themselves into your body, but every time you checked your surroundings there was nothing. The other day you were visiting the library, just when you were about to leave you noticed a book that Sukuna once read, it was the only book he read because you gifted it to him. You smiled softly caressing the cover as thoughts of him began to flood your mind. Then you felt the familiar feeling again, and just like routine you looked up and checked your surroundings, but once again nothing, it was seriously strange and you were growing a bit scared. It was Friday, you just finished your last class of the day. To reward yourself you decided to stop by the campus cafe. As you approached the counter to take your usual order, turning on your heels to find a seat, you were surprised by the attendance of Uruame as they stood behind you. “Oh! Uruame, I didn’t notice you..” Stepping off to the side allowing them to order as well.“Hello Y/n.” Uruame moved to the counter ordering ice water (idk man) “How you’ve been? I haven’t seen you in a while.” You both sat down near a window, you sip at your coffee waiting for Uraume's response. “I’ve been well, nothing special, you?” “Same as well, heh it’s my first time seeing you here though. Is this your first time?” They nodded as they sipped on their water. “Are you still in contact with Sukuna?” You choked on your coffee, while spilling some onto your shirt. “Ah, shit..” you wiped at the stain, but it only looked worse. “Sorry Uruame, you caught me off guard.” You cleared your throat dapping napkins on your shirt. “Uh..Sukuna..No I haven’t been in contact with him..” You set your cup and napkins down, your mood slightly sinking “I’m sure he told you why things broke off..” You tried to hide your sadness, giving them a soft smile, but Uruame was no idiot, they saw right through you.

“Mm..He did and he won’t stop talking about it.” They glanced out the window then reverting their eyes back to you. “Constantly talking about that day, always “What could I have done to prevent it ""Was I the problem??” and many more.” It would be a lie if you weren’t baffled by this information, not even baffled, just stunned, you didn’t know Sukuna could convey such emotions. During your time together he was so confident and prideful, nothing insulted him or phased him, of course when it came to you he would have to do something about it, but this is HIM we’re talking about. “Oh..wow..well, Sukuna wasn’t the issue..I felt that I wasn’t enough for him.” Which was true, the whole reason you both broke up was because you felt that he could find better, probably a cute girl or boy that matched his level. You weren’t an outsider, you had friends, you were somewhat confident and prideful, but nothing like Sukuna. He had it all, popularity, many beautiful and cute admirers, and so much more, he was basically the king and you were the jester…or that's how you felt at times. Only there to please him. So you offered to break up, not just for your wellbeing, but for Sukuna to find someone better than you, someone who was exactly his match. Uruame stared at you in silence, trying to read you, see what you were thinking. They let out a sigh and pulled out their phone. “What’s your number?” you fumbled in your pockets trying to pull it out. They typed your number into their contacts, sending a message to make sure you got their text. “Call me or text me whenever, but a word of advice, talk to him.” They rose from their seat, making their way to the exit taking a pause. “Also..I think you were more than enough.” You sat in your seat watching their silhouette venture off. You sat there shocked by their information. You were more than enough that phrase replayed in your mind over and over. Taking one last sip of your coffee, you got up leaving the cafe. You unlocked your apartment door, tossing your keys to the side as you shuffled your shoes off. Exhausted by the day after running into Uruame you went to run some errands, returning a book you finished, stopping by the grocery store, and getting a money order to be ahead of rent. You didn’t have to undress immediately making your way to the couch, collapsing on it. You dug for your phone in your pocket, you checked to see any messages, some from your friends or classes, nothing from Uruame. You weren’t expecting for Uruame to be the one to text first. You tossed the phone onto the coffee table as you groaned into a pillow. Just when exhaustion was about to swipe you your phone began to ring. You grumbled frustrated from the interruption, grabbing the device off the table and looked at the caller ID; unknown. Thinking nothing of it you answered. “Hello?” it was silent except for the muffled sounds of traffic. “Hello?...Listen if this a prank I’m hanging u-""Hey.” …Sukuna?? You recognized the voice immediately, sitting up from the couch you focused more on the call “Sukuna?? Is that really you?” It was silent again, which was adding onto your frustration earlier, but that quickly went away when he spoke. “Yeah it’s me..How ya been” Could be better. Is what you wanted to say, but you lied “Fine..you?” “Shitty.”

Author note. Yall im fucking tired, I have a cold and been working on this til 4:19 a.m. But I felt guilty for just stopping. I know I have potential, but a lot has been going on, but on a good note I got a new laptop so I'm able to do more,I already have part 2 ready, but im exhausted so i'll post it in the morning. But yeah, this sickness is just the only thing slowing me down, but anyways I hoped you enjoyed!!

[liliacsdelight]

No Hands, No Mercy

Mean man x Black!Gn!Reader

◌.˚1,897 words, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), riding, pet names/name-calling (e.g., sweetheart, toy, nasty slut, etc), bondage, dirty talk, degradation & praise, post-sex use, oral, face-fucking, creampie (wrap it), etc◌.˚

Idk about this one...

  ◌.˚18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽◌.˚

Your wrists are bound behind your back, tight and high between your shoulder blades. Ankles wide, knees sinking into the sheets. You're already shaking. Already dripping. And he hasn’t even touched you yet.

He’s sitting back against the headboard, broad, solid, legs spread. One hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily stroking himself while he watches you try to breathe through it.

“You’re taking your sweet fuckin’ time,” he says, voice low and full of that rough disapproval that makes your stomach flip. “Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hm?”

You bite your lip. Wobble your hips. Try to lift yourself onto him, knees trembling without your hands to help you balance. He chuckles meanly. Doesn’t lift a finger.

“No, don’t ask for help now,” he says. “You wanted to ride. You begged for it. So go on.”

You let out a desperate breath. Lower yourself, thighs trembling, until the thick head of his dick presses just barely where you need it.

He watches you. Doesn’t blink.

“You even gonna be able to take it?” he says. “You’re all wobbly. Shakin’. Don’t go dumb on me already, baby—we haven’t even started.”

You whimper. And then you sink down. It’s instant that burn, that stretch, that raw, impossible fullness. You moan like you can’t help it, chest arching, back tensing against the strain of your bound arms.

He groans low more possessive than pleased.

“There you go,” he breathes. “Take it all. Mghn—Fuck, that’s tight.”

You bottom out and shudder. You’re trembling from trying to keep yourself upright hands bound, thighs screaming, sweat starting to slick your skin already.

He leans forward just a little. Slaps your thigh.

“Move.”

You flinch. He grins.

“You're not just gonna lay there and look ruined, sweetheart. You’re gonna use me. Come on, fuck that desperate little hole on me like you're supposed to.”

You bite back a moan. Start to move. Slow at first lifting and rolling your hips, breath catching every time you drop down again. His dick drags against your insides just right, just sharp enough to make your vision spot.

“Look at that,” he says, watching every twitch, every bounce. “Barely holding yourself up. Whinin’ already.”

You gasp your arms burn behind you, tied tight, no leverage to steady yourself. Just your thighs, your will, and his filthy words.

“You look so pretty like this,” he murmurs, tone dark and lazy. “Bet you can feel me everywhere, huh?”

You nod, panting.

He reaches up, grabs your jaw. Tilts your face down to meet his eyes.

“I wanna see it when you lose it,” he says. “You hear me? Keep lookin’ at me while you ride me like a good fuckin’ toy.”

You cry out—louder now—as you bounce harder, sloppier, your body folding into itself. Your legs start to shake, thighs spasming, breath hitching in and out of your chest.

You’re close. Too close. And he knows.

He grabs your hip, slams you down harder. Keeps you there.

“You gonna cum like this? Tied up, no hands, ridin’ me like you’re fuckin’ starved for it?”

You whimper. Nod. Plead.

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come on. Cum for me. Prove who owns this dick.”

You fall apart—everything clenching, locking, shattering around the thick, brutal pressure of him inside you. You gasp his name, head thrown back, back arching hard.

And then he moves.

He starts fucking up into you—brutal, deep thrusts while you’re still trembling from the high, while your arms are still bound, while you can’t do anything but take it.

You scream. You can’t help it.

“You thought we were done?” he snaps. “Nah. I ain’t lettin’ you off that easy.”

You’re drooling. Shaking. Wrecked. And he’s loving it. One hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your cheeks to stroke right over your slick hole.

“Look at this mess,” he says. “All this for me. And you ain’t even touched yourself once.”

You moan—it’s too much, you can’t keep up—“Yeah,” he rasps. “Now ride.”

You do. Broken. Gutted. Unraveling all over again with his dick still thick and heavy inside you. And when he cums—loud, possessive, still holding your hip like he owns every twitch in your body—he keeps you there.

Still tied. Still full. Still shaking.

“Next time,” he breathes, lips brushing your shoulder, “I tie you tighter. And make you cum ‘til you cry for me.”

𒈔ٍ⃛

You're still shaking. Arms pulled behind you, wrists bound raw. Hips trembling. His cum leaking out of you, slick between your thighs, staining your skin and the sheets beneath.

He hasn’t untied you. He hasn’t moved.

Just sits back against the headboard, chest rising slow, cock still wet and half-hard between his thighs. Watching you like he’s not finished—because he’s not.

“You think we’re done?” he says, voice low, still catching on breath. “That you get to just lay there, leakin’ all pretty, after ridin’ me like that? Half-assed?”

You don’t answer. Can’t. Not with your throat dry and your brain fogged. He leans forward, grabs your chin.

“Didn’t fuck that mouth,” he murmurs. “Guess I oughta fix that.”

You whine. He smirks.

“C’mere.”

He manhandles you down, rough but sure—fists in your hair, dragging you off his lap and onto your knees between his legs. You’re still bound, arms behind your back, shoulders aching. You wobble. He spreads his thighs wider, slaps his heavy cock across your cheek.

“Open.”

You do. Mouth wide, lips slick, eyes already glassy.

“Yeah,” he mocks. “That’s what I thought.”

He guides your head down, lets you wrap your lips around him. You taste yourself. Him. Sweat and filth and ownership.

And he doesn’t let you go slow. He rocks up into your mouth—steady thrusts, cock dragging along your tongue, pushing deep. You gag. He groans.

“Damn... that mouth,” he mutters. “So soft. So good. Should’ve fucked your face first.”

You choke again—spit spilling down your chin. He doesn’t stop.

“You like that?” he askes. “Tied up, gettin’ used like a fuckin' slut?”

You moan. He slaps your cheek with the head of his cock again.

“Sloppy mess. That’s what you are. You gonna clean me up like a good little thing, or I gotta choke it down your throat myself?”

You answer the only way you can—swallowing him deep, sucking hard, tongue messy and hungry as you hollow your cheeks.

He hisses, hand tight in your hair.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Take all of it. Worship it. Show me how good you take it.”

You suck harder. Filthy. Desperate. He twitches in your mouth. Grunts. Hips stuttering.

“Fffuck. Gonna make me cum again. Gonna fill that throat until you're choking on it.”

You moan around him, swallowing when he hits the back of your throat. Your eyes water. Your jaw aches. Your arms burn. And you love it.

He cums with a curse—deep, hot, brutal. His grip tight in your hair. His thighs tensed around your head. You gag once, twice, but you don’t pull back.

You take it. All of it.

When he finally lets go, you’re still panting, spit-slick and ruined. He grabs your jaw, makes you look up at him.

“Now that’s a fuckin’ sight,” he mutters. “Mouth wrecked. Body used. And still so fuckin’ eager.”

You can’t speak. He leans down, kisses your forehead. Tender in a cruel way.

“All mine,” he whispers.

And you know it’s true, because you’re still on your knees waiting for more.

◌.˚𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓒𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰◌.˚

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Black lace divider by @/ereygr

All works © liliacsdelight 2025. Do not modify, plagiarize, or repost my work.

[multi-stays]

I'm Not Cute Anymore

Paring: Sub!Minho X Dom!Male!Reader

Genre: Smut

Inspo Quote: As cute as a button, especially when unbuttoned.

Summary: Feeling his relationship with you is getting dull, Minho cranks the heat up in the form of a satin pink apron.

My Pookies: @leeknowfan @adorned-lover @intrikatie

Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Anal Sex, Cum Eating, Ass Smacking, Age Gap, Swear Words, Pet Names (Daddy, Slut, Etc)

This had to fix everything and it arrived with a subtle knock on the door. Minho marveled at the satin-pink box placed in his hands, taking in every small detail. Surprisingly, it was quite hard to find one in his size, in his desired color, for his desired purpose. He had everything planned out, and it had to be the way he wanted it.

One, two, three spins in the mirror to make sure every ruffle was perfect and that his ass looked ok in the mini shorts that matched in color. Minho wasn't really one to bake but tonight he definitely wasn’t making cookies in the oven. His paranoia crept back up on him, settling in his stomach as he checked around the corner to make sure you weren't coming.

Seeing the coast was clear, he slowly walked to your shared bedroom where he seen you last. His ruffled white socks that went just to his ankles made gliding across the hardwood easy, barely making any noise at all. The lace around the cuff itched his skin each time he took a small step as it wasn't used to being touched so lightly. He pushed through the discomfort and changed to a faster stride in search of relief from the friction. Before he knew it he was standing quietly in your view. Your nose was stuck in a book, impossible to put down and always wanting the next chapter when your eyes peered over the top of the pages.

“Fuck,” was all that could escape your lips, carried out just under your breath. He stood at the door frame, unable to walk any closer in his chosen outfit. A baby pink apron fashioned with a bow to the chest. Just under the edge of the apron was a matching pair of mini shorts that hugged his thighs snuggly. The small bow-shaped button on the shorts matched the bows on the apron and you didn't know how much longer you could hold still with him looking at you the way he was.

All the nerves in your body were tingling and the chemicals in the open room were rising. Minho tilted his head at you like the curious cat he was, searching in your face for an answer. An answer to the question he hopes this outfit will fix. “Does it look ok?” he asked with a fake spurt of confidence, trying to break the uncomfortable stare you had on him.

He couldn’t tell if you liked it or just thought it was plain silly. Doubt set in his mind, with thoughts of retreating to the bathroom and exchanging his apron for the light-washed jeans he wore so often. Alongside it, his comfy striped sweater that was prolly collecting hair from off the floor.

Your breathing was unsteady as you drooled over his juicy thighs, which you so missed having the pleasure of seeing. “Get over here.” Your tone was harsh and your expression blank as you held yourself back from coming undone just over the sight of him. His unease was written on his face and you knew how to rid him of it quickly.

As he neared the bed, you took his hand and your other tucked a finger under his chin to force him to look you in the eye. “Aren't you as cute as a button?” you asked, trailing that same finger down his throat, over his stomach till you reached the surprisingly soft shorts that were too small in all the right places. His cock throbbed in your hand as you palmed him, squeezing ever so slightly. A small smirk popped on your face at the discovery he had no underwear on, making Minho swallow his spit dryly.

Finding the single bow that held the shorts on, you pushed it through the little hole and felt the fabric relax on his hips. A sigh accompanied by a shudder left Minho’s exposed body when he realized how much this turned you on. He pushed all his doubts aside at the sight of the leakage darkening your shorts, which made his mouth water. Minho didn't know which he wanted more, fucked or gagged but he knew one thing, you'd make that decision for him.

Your eyes never left his as you pushed the shorts off his supple thighs that did a horrible job of hiding his drippy cock. When there was nothing left but his sheepish smile and the pink smock you snapped, flipping him around so he was bent over the edge of the bed. You wanted nothing more than to see his juicy asshole, and there it was gaping in front of you.

“Such a slutty little thing,” you said tracing a small circle on the apple of his ass. Minho loved it when you were rough and he hadn't had it like this in such a long time. “Fuck me Daddy,” he said with a groan as your hand smacked the exposed skin you touched so tenderly after.

~

It's funny what a few years could do to someone's head. Though small, the age gap between the two of you made Minho horny. It was no secret he liked older guys so even a little space in years made his cock twitch for you more.

The short venture your hand traveled from his thigh to his ass could only be described as delicious. His round muscular cheek collided with your hand so softly when you went for a smack. Hard enough he could feel it, and the room filled with the sting, but soft enough to make him jiggle. After he let out another strained cry you put him out of his suffering, gripping his hips to steady yourself and pushing in slow.

When you reached halfway you jolted forward into him, not being able to stop yourself from how good he felt surrounding you. “Fuck me, fuck me hard,” Minho demanded through his teeth, as he bit his tongue when your hips began pounding into him. The skin on his back swallowed the thin strap around his waist as he arched back into you more and more.

His head swung down with spit leaking off his upper lip much like his cock. The tip of his penis leaked precum down onto the bed, making two wet stains under Minho from two separate places. The more he moaned into the empty space in front of him, the more you yearned to hear him be louder. You managed to slap him one last time before curling your groin up into him to finish emptying your load.

“Taking all my cum, you like that Slut?” you asked slamming into him hard. You couldn't help how horny you were for him and it'd been too long since sex was fun. Minho’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as you grabbed the soft band along his back that held the apron on and used it like a handle. A small cracking sound from the stitches popping out nestled under your mixed moans, with your orgasm finally coming down.

When you stopped fucking Minho everything that was blurred from pleasure, came into view. How red Minho’s ass was from you smacking and fucking him roughly. The giant puddle of cum between his legs that matched yours spread all over the back of his thighs. It dripped out of Minho’s asshole with small gusts of trapped air helping to push it out. Sinful, gross, and messy but you both loved how it felt.

Slowly you drug your finger through your cum on his leg and waited for him to turn around. His shaky legs swung around on the bed to face you and got met with exactly what he wanted. “Open,” you said softly, tapping his chin for him to understand. He obeyed sweetly, sucking your finger into his mouth with a deliberate soft moan.

“I think I ruined your apron,” you said with a chuckle as you examined how badly the strap was broken. It hung off the other, only being held together by the small bow Minho tied earlier. “I don't think I need it anymore, do I?” Minho asked teasingly, looking down at your limp yet twitchy cock.

With hurried legs and a bunny grin, Minho scurried into the bathroom as you chased his jiggly ass down the hall. Oftentimes after, you tease how much you love it when Minho bakes you cookies, confusing everyone, cause he truly hates baking.

[molecule626]

Mature Marauders ⚠️

Sirius didn’t understand what the fuss was about when it comes to sex. He found it a bit boring and just hoped the girls would finish sooner.

Until he and Remus finally got together and Remus had him writhing, wet and sweaty; panting into the mattress.

and in his euphoric haze he murmurs “…so this is what sex is supposed to feel like..hehe”

[urween]

❝ Arsonist’s Lullaby ❞

| Poindexter x ftm!reader

smut and angst / pathetic!dex / DDBA!dex / implied Dexmatt / manipulation / porn with a plot / unhealthy sex / dex is unmedicated / weird and awkward social interactions / implicit sexual consent (do not reproduce, consent is essential) / dub-con from dex / bloodkink / Dex projects Matthew onto reader / pain kink / masturbation / soft dom!reader / sub!dex / reader is into his kink / marking / lot of foreplay / spine scar / caring and gentle!reader / no aftercare / mention of : panic attack, mental institutions, blood, fights, AVTF, psychological struggles

summary: Everything happened too fast, and while you thought you'd found a simple one-night stand, you instead end up in the middle of a storm.

A/N: I really love this one, hope you’ll enjoy it too! Also, the fic's name is based on one of Hozier's song I really like and that matches with Dex.

wc: 4.8k

english isn’t my first language, sorry for the mistakes ♡

Females DNI

The sunlight over New York that day was generous, birds chirping cheerfully from every branch they crossed. Clouds looked like drops of paint spilled across the bright blue sky, as if the celestial painter had accidentally tipped some warm milk onto the atmospheric canvas. You had taken advantage of the clear weather to breathe in the mixed scents of a neighborhood you barely knew. Restaurants, gyms, cafés—and you had also spotted a bank.

And then you saw him at the corner of a street. He walked with the kind of confidence only certain men possessed, the kind that could make a shiver run down your spine. His hands were shoved firmly into the high pockets of a jacket perfectly tailored to his waist. Head held high, he was whistling—the sound having first drawn your attention to him.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen a handsome stranger in the street, and maybe the sunlight, suddenly too bright, had filled you with a burst of courage you didn’t think you had. So you followed him, trying to catch up to his long strides in hopes of starting a conversation.

He was heading into a diner, a uselessly lit neon sign displaying the name “Bel Aire Diner.” You didn’t know the place, and from here it honestly didn’t look very appealing, but you stepped inside anyway because he did.

“Thanks,” you said, closing the door he had held open after hearing your footsteps behind him.

Your voice didn’t seem to reach his ears. His gaze looked relaxed yet condensed into a narrow tube—like he was listing a pattern step by step inside his head. He walked up to the counter and lazily pulled out one of the unappealing stools.

Come on, it’s just a man, you encouraged yourself inwardly while taking a breath of fresh air. You didn’t notice the lobsters trying to escape their glass prison, nor the little dog sitting on its owner’s lap. Your attention was fixed entirely on the relaxed silhouette of the man with dusty-gold hair.

“Hi,” the stool creaked faintly against the floor as you pulled it out to sit beside him.

Dex restrained the instinctive twitch in his jaw. He spent a few moments deciphering the color of a cup far too red sitting in front of him, then finally let you see his face—a friendly expression he mastered perfectly. “Hi.”

To him, you were a parasite. A buzzing fly hovering around his freshly polished plan. Under different circumstances, you could’ve been seen as a beetle to crush, or a butterfly with pretty colors. But right now, in this exact moment, you were a fly.

“I’ll take a banana milkshake please,” your voice rang far too loudly beside his already boiling ears.

The ambient scent of caffeine filled your lungs, coating them with another layer of courage—or recklessness. The man beside you stared for two long seconds at the waitress pulling a large clean glass from one of the cupboards. Then his gaze dropped back to you, with a new gleam embedded deep in his pupils that you didn’t understand at the time.

It wasn’t interest. At least, not the kind you imagined. No, it was the same look a cat gave at a mouse’s sweet silhouette. That visceral curiosity of wanting to catch the poor little thing out of sheer boredom—just to entertain itself for a while.

Dex was looking at you, and now you had his attention, because with every word you spoke you became even more of a problem to solve. The kind of problem he solved with one single equation—assuming you pushed him far enough to reach that result.

“If I give you my number, you’ll leave this place?” his voice asked, far too calm, vibrating despite itself with an electrically dangerous smile.

The question caught you off guard, his unreadable expression only deepening your confusion. He looked controlled, but excessively so—unstable. The slight smile lingering on his lips, the wrinkles at the corners of his narrowed eyes—everything seemed restrained, contained. But the way you swallowed wasn’t frightened at all. Quite the opposite. It was innovative, new. The human mind fears the unknown, yet in that moment you decided to mute every warning light just long enough to savor the thrill sliding down your spine.

“Yeah I will.”

“Perfect,” a smile carved itself differently onto his features—a smile that had appeared before his thoughts could catch up and restrain it.

And that was how you ended up with the stranger’s number saved in your contacts under the name Tony.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He should’ve understood. He should’ve understood why Dex did all of this. Why didn’t he understand? 

His still-booted feet struck the shattered remains of a picture frame broken across the floor. The room was drowned in silent, frozen chaos. Impact marks on the walls, overturned furniture, blood staining the wallpaper. Dex stared at the scene, unable to process the events—unable to handle them.

Daredevil had found him, they had fought, and then Dex had run away. But he had wanted to come back, just to see, just to witness it.

His heart was beating too fast for the situation. The adrenaline from the fight had faded long ago, and yet the pounding of his heartbeat slammed violently against his ribcage. It vibrated through his body, rippling against every rib until it settled deep inside his stomach. The taste of blood still flooded his mouth, something he had learned to enjoy—something he may have always enjoyed.

The Task Force brigade would arrive soon, he knew it. The neighbors must have called those idiots, thinking they were being useful.

Dex was useful, yes he was. He needed to be.

So why didn’t Murdock see it? Why hadn’t he noticed? He did things right, he did everything right. Why did Matthew look at him like a dog failing a trick? Dex had learned all the tricks, and he showed them to him, so why wasn’t he proud?

A spiral had begun the moment Daredevil stepped into Dex’s intimacy. A whirlwind growing taller and wider behind him. He could feel its icy current. He could already feel his muscles slipping into hypothermia, his teeth shaking. He wanted to curl inward, hide inside a shell and only emerge once all of this was over—once the storm died down. But he remained frozen in the wind that had numbed his entire body. It always took over. Always.

Anger, disappointment, disgust, then distress. A cycle structuring his thoughts into an obsessive choreography. Obsession, need, craving. Air no longer reached his lungs properly.

Solution—he needed a solution.

The repeated blinking of his eyelids created a cinematic effect around the trembling phone held in his left hand. Blood was rushing to the wrong place, the worst place.

Need to please him, need to please him. Why can’t he accept my sacrifice?

Several streets away, resting on your bedside table, your phone vibrated. A quick, sharp vibration signaling a new message.

Tony 💌—can we meet up?

The overly bright screen made you squint slightly. A stray droplet of water slid down the back of your neck, running along your still-bare spine from your shower. You had to dig through your short-term memory to find a trace of this “Tony.” Then finally, it came back.

—hello? —so you ditch me and now you change ur mind?

💌—sry 💌—wasn’t in the mood 💌—can we meet? pls

You rolled your eyes, tossing your phone onto the sheets while you went to grab clean clothes. You weren’t difficult in bed, but there still had to be some minimum effort involved. This Tony guy would need to show a little more interest.

💌—I’m sorry for how I treated you 💌—was not good 💌—pls I need to see someone

Your eyes skimmed the notifications while pulling on a t-shirt. Apologizing was already a good start. Most people stopped before that point. But you still wanted to see him struggle a little more, just to know whether he’d really hold out.

—so now I’m just “someone” —you makes things worse yk

💌—ok ok I’m sorry yes I want to fuck 💌—and you’re the only option 💌—sorry

An amused smile spread across your face. At least it was honest. And actually, for a hookup that was all that really mattered, so why keep denying it?

—’k because I love honesty —and you’re hot

Your fingers mechanically typed your address, not wanting to make the effort of going out just to fuck in some shabby hotel.

Dex was already on his way. He had left his apartment the second the little reply bubbles appeared in your conversation. He didn’t have time to find someone else, to pay someone. And he needed someone. He needed a substitute. Someone strong, confident, assured. Someone who could place their hands where bloodstains were drying—where an imprint had sunk deep into flesh. You matched, at least a little, and that was enough for him.

He was freezing. His skin felt tight—shivering every time fabric brushed against him. It hurt. God, it hurt.

For a fleeting instant, his mind wandered to the medication he had stopped taking months ago, since the mental institution. The medication would’ve stopped all of this. He knew it.

His pale knuckles tapped weakly against the smooth wood of what he hoped was your door. On the other side, your hand settled against the cold handle, fingers brushing the wood.

The hallway light gently spilled into your apartment when you opened the door. And there stood a man—Tony. Completely ravaged by an ache you didn’t know and yet could smell.

He vibrated with a deafening intensity.

“Hi come—” His lips crashed against yours, and suddenly the ache had a taste.

Salty. Chemical. A bitterness like household cleaner forced down your throat. You swallowed, your back colliding with the nearest solid surface. Somehow, amidst the storm, your hand still managed to shut the front door. The man was suffocating you—not physically. In fact, he hadn’t touched you at all, barely even looked at you. But his lips acted like a conduit siphoning something out of you. Maybe your common sense. Your dignity.

You were starting to run out of air. He wasn’t even moving his lips. His tongue wasn’t searching for yours.

Your fleeting hand pressed against his chest, feeling the soaked fabric of his shirt beneath your palm. “Wait—wait, let me breathe.”

Your eyes tried to adjust to the sight before you. He was sweating, but more importantly covered in blood. Now that his mouth no longer monopolized your attention, you could smell the iron clinging to him. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing far too much of the earthy color of his irises. He was panting, each exhale striking your face.

He looked like a dog that had lost its owner. A wolf hit by a car—or rather, a deer.

He was waiting for something from you, like you were about to order him back into his basket or reveal treats hidden in your pockets. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something—anything, because holy shit this situation was surreal, abnormal. But the words never found their way to your vocal cords. They all shoved each other deeper into your throat instead.

He looked pathetic like this, and the problem was that you found it incredibly attractive. Just like the blood now staining the corner of your lips. Just like the coldness of his skin.

Actually, the storm—the ache acting like a rope around your neck—was captivating. Being held down this way by an invisible force, restrained by abstract hands, it was thrilling. Nothing new about that. Humans had always craved being held, no matter the method. Still, it remained disorienting and exciting.

“You still want to fuck?” were the first words you forced out of your throat.

Dex nodded vigorously, his eyes never leaving yours for even a fraction of a second. He pierced through you in the filthiest way possible, the most sickening, disgusting way.

“Right then let’s head up to my room.”

He followed you, his footsteps unconsciously mirroring yours, slipping into the prints only his eyes could see. The concept of a bar suddenly felt instinctive to you, an atmospheric pressure capable of crushing the human body through self-destruction alone. Our own weight multiplied until it resulted in death. Our very impact causing an explosion.

Your bedroom door was already open. You stepped in first, with the strange feeling the man behind you wouldn’t have wanted to pass ahead.

A creak, a lock clicking shut, and your back once again struck a surface far too hard for your poor muscles. His lips were on yours again, but this time you took the reins, imposed your own rhythm. A storm couldn’t be controlled, but you could at least try to follow the circular motion of its gusts. You forced your way into his mouth, your tongue slipping in like a serpent entering Eden. He whimpered faintly, the sound swallowed immediately within the chaotic dance your tongues began. Your hand searched for stability, as though despite the excitement you feared your body might be swept away and shredded apart in the air. His sticky hair tangled between your fingers, accidentally knotting together blood and sweat—a lock keeping him trapped in your grasp. His weight crushed harder and harder against yours, pinning you between himself and the wall until breathing became difficult.

You yanked your hand sharply, forcing his head back. Your lips separated noisily, teeth knocking together for an instant. He groaned, his head still firmly held in your grip. The taste of blood coated your entire mouth, making your brain wonder whether you yourself were bleeding.

It was intoxicating.

Dex trembled, his knees struggling to hold his weight upright. It hurt, it hurt so badly. Your touch reminded him of his. He could almost feel fists slamming into his ribs again, horns grazing his shoulder.

Your glassy eyes observed the image the man before you offered. He looked insane like this, completely ruined.

You straightened slightly, releasing your hold on his skull. And to your surprise, he collapsed immediately to the floor, dropping to his knees in front of you.

“You—you good? Tony, you want to stop?”

His glossy eyes met yours, pupils charcoal-black. It took him time to process your voice, as though he first needed to make space inside his head before acknowledging your words. But his head answered before his vocal cords did. He slowly shook it side to side, his gaze jumping between your eyes, searching for a color he wanted to recognize.

His hands settled on your thighs before you even noticed. He gripped tightly, nearly pinching the muscle. His face pressed against your hipbone, and you physically felt a heartbeat miss its route, forgetting to follow its vascular path. He looked like a puppy like this—a puppy with blood coating its jaws, a dead rat laid proudly at your feet.

“Call me Dex, please my name’s Dex,” he whispered breathlessly, fingers sliding beneath your shirt to reach your bare stomach. His lips pressed to your skin, and for the first time in your life you felt like a kiss could also be a bite—a snakebite. “Please call me Dex, please I need you to call me Dex,” his saliva staining your skin in a way that felt permanent.

“Such a freak, you know that?” This time a wide, stupid grin spread across his lips, making you smile despite yourself. “Ok I need you to listen, can you do that for me?”

He nodded, the involuntarily sexy gesture making you swallow hard. Your eyes searched for an easy word to remember. “Red. Red is our safeword, ok?” Your partner’s eyes closed for a moment and you thought you heard a strangled moan. How could you have known that word was the nickname of the man putting Dex in this state? How could you have known his cock was throbbing just from hearing it?

Your fingers tightened around Dex’s chin, forcing his head back up toward you. “I asked you a question. Use your words. Red is our safeword, understood?”

“Understood,” his voice dripped out.

You shifted away from him, constantly burning beneath the intensity of the gaze that refused to release you. “C’mon. On the bed.”

For a moment, you thought about your trans identity, about how you hadn’t really had time to bring it up to him. Then you saw him, ghostlike, crawling toward your bed, desperate and pathetic for an unnamed service. You saw the curve of his back, deciphering the waves of his spine beneath the fabric. And then you saw yourself—not physically but sensorially—shaking in a way similar to him, ache scratching at the inside of your carcass. And suddenly, what was inside your pants became ridiculous compared to the strange molecules filling your four lungs.

Your hand found its way to the nearest part of the man lying on your bed.

His back—his spine.

Your index finger followed by your middle met the damp texture of the shirt he wore. Your eyes slowly traveled across his entire silhouette, admiring the face he tried to hide in the sheets, then the dip of his lower back. An invisible force pushed you to fully touch his spine, your palm settling entirely between his shoulder blades. And as though your touch had burned him, he arched his back. As though your hand carried an energy too heavy, he moaned open-mouthed, a poor scrap of sheet trying to absorb the sweet sound. Your eyes widened more and more at each reaction his body had to yours. It was new, unusual—a concept to explore, to turn over from every angle.

On a second impulse, you moved closer, one knee sinking into the mattress so your still-standing body could lean over his. Dex whimpered like an injured animal, lips shaping muffled words.

Your hand pressed harder against the area that seemed so sensitive to him. A second moan tore from his throat, louder this time.

Your eyes devoured the sight, and you realized you needed more. You needed to touch him, to see his skin, to hear every other sound he could make.

So your second knee joined the first, sinking the mattress deeper beneath the pressure. Your hands sprang into action as though a switch had been flipped—electric current restored to your muscles. Dex helped you pull off his shirt, and you removed yours as well. As though he had always been meant to do this, Dex rolled back onto his stomach, propped up slightly on his elbows. No sweat coated your back; instead, it was replaced by waves of irrational shivers that refused to stop. Seeing your partner’s position, you leaned over him—trying to ignore the visible jolt of anticipation that crossed him—and grabbed one of your pillows. His gaze, still glassy and dependent, never left you. He waited for the slightest request from you, the smallest demand. You motioned for him to place the pillow beneath his torso so his body wouldn’t tire unnecessarily—and of course, he obeyed.

Straightening up, you settled your seated weight on the tops of Dex’s thighs, your legs straddling his. And then you saw it, splitting his back in two.

A scar.

Large. Long.

At first it had gone unnoticed, hidden by the dim lighting. But now it leapt at you, making your lips part and your eyes widen. You understood now why your fingers had felt like fire when they brushed his back, why your hand carried so much energy whenever it neared that area.

Driven by an irrepressible urge, you leaned down. Your hands naturally rested on either side of Dex’s head, surrounding him in the best possible way. And your lips met the scar. The imperfect, discolored, horrific skin of it. You kissed that damaged flesh, not because you wanted to fix it, but simply because you wanted to—because it was terribly mesmerizing and your lips needed to touch it.

“Oh god don’t—” Dex began melting beneath your touch, more and more with every kiss pressed along his spine. “Don’t touch—” Every sentence suffocated before it could fully form. And your hand sliding along his back did nothing to help his diction.

You continued your kisses, accompanied by your wandering hand in the dip of his back. You grabbed his hip, his pelvis instinctively lifting at the contact. A small chuckle left your lips, sending a puff of air across the dampness left behind by your kisses.

The atmosphere around you—smothering your cells—deepened. The pressure weighing down your human body became scorching, clawing the air from your lungs with bare hands. And you knew its source. He was lying beneath you, trembling harder than you had ever seen someone tremble. He produced this macabre mechanism. And he suffered from it, perhaps even more than you did.

Suddenly, those gentle caresses began to ring false. Those kisses were creating acidic marks on his skin despite yourself, acid eating away at something inside him. Your lips had touched it, drawn like an insect to the venom coating the back of a multicolored frog. You wanted more too. More than these futile little caresses.

Your hand left the delicious dip of his back, instead grabbing his shoulder to force him onto his back. His face turned toward you, such a disconcerting picture that it froze you for a second.

That expression of need, of pleading, had never left his eyes.

He wanted more from you.

Always more.

You shifted your weight with the support of one hand against the mattress, your hips once again settling over his thighs. Even through the layers of fabric separating you from his body, you could feel the thickness of his muscles—contracting more with every movement you made.

Your eyes locked onto his, refusing to leave now that they had found them. Your hand blindly found the opening of his pants, undoing it like a seasoned burglar. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple rolling through your peripheral vision. Your second hand joined the first, yanking the garment from his body in one sharp motion. He barely moved, obediently lifting his legs when you silently asked him to.

And then, when your hand tried to return to his hips, a strange texture made you glance down.

He had already come in his pants.

A breath escaped your lungs at the sight. Your eyes snapped back to his face, a face flushed with a mixture of shame and excitement intensified infinitely by the expression painted across your own features.

Your palm never left the bulge desperately trying to gain friction against it. You pressed down—not softly, not gently. He moaned loudly, head falling back despite himself. He trembled beneath you, beneath your grip. His cock was throbbing, creating an even worse mess in his underwear.

You needed to touch him.

Saliva gathered in your mouth, blood rushed between your legs, making you throb too.

So you finally pulled off his boxers, unable to stop yourself from smiling at the true state of them. Then your eyes fell back onto the subject of your thoughts, twitching ridiculously beneath the burn of your stare alone. You wanted to take him in your hand, your mouth, inside you—anywhere. You wanted to taste him, breathe in his scent until it gave you a headache, until you could no longer erase his traces from your memory.

But instead, the pads of your fingers brushed along the flushed skin of his cock.

Your gaze lifted back to Dex’s face now hidden behind one arm. You let him do it, let him think he could hide from you. Small loud sighs echoed through your bedroom, all coming from one single person. You still didn’t let your palm fully touch his cock, only your fingers stroking up and down his length.

His back arched beneath your gaze, his spine cracking occasionally in the sexiest way possible.

Then it was your turn to break. He was too loud, too visual, too intoxicating for you to hold out any longer.

Your hand finally wrapped fully around his dick, making him sob gorgeously and costing you yet another breath. Your heartbeat was just as fast as his, even though no hands touched you the way yours touched him. But he transferred everything onto you, dripping all over you—metaphorically and literally.

You leaned over his body once again, your free hand reclaiming its place beside his head. He barely noticed your movement, his mind too crowded by the motions of your hand lower down. Yet his eyes still found a way back to yours.

He cried.

He was crying.

Clear tears streamed down his cheeks and temples, creating dark stains on the sheets around his head. You wanted to speak to him, but words failed you and you had the feeling he was trapped in the same situation. Muted by tape far too sticky to remove.

So the silence remained exactly as it had settled between you, and strangely enough it was louder than any sentence either of you could have spoken.

However, the symphony playing in the background only grew louder. Wetness, whimpers.

Your gaze tore itself away from his and you heard a faint cry from that single act. Pre-cum leaked from his cock, mixing with the remnants of his earlier orgasm. He was close, he had looked close since the moment he entered your apartment. Your movements sped up, wanting to pull more sounds, more reactions out of him.

“You close?” you asked even though you already knew the answer.

“I am,” his broken voice answered, wavering between high and low tones.

Your own hips made faint unconscious movements against the nearest source of friction they could find, desperately seeking some relief from this infernal suffering. You straightened once again, your body drowning in that intoxicating discomfort.

A hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed your arm, making you almost jump from how burning the contact felt. Dex tried pulling you toward him, his orgasm striking him in small blows—punches forcing more blood to spray with every hit.

He looked pathetic like this—trying to obtain a touch that seemed to consume him.

And yet you gave in, because you weren’t any better than him, and because you too wanted to become ashes just to feel the flames calcine your body for a second. You pulled him against you, his own weight collapsing onto you without restraint. Your bodies toppled farther into the bed, ankles and shins tangled in the sticky sheets.

He threw himself at your lips. He devoured them. Not from want, nor from genuine desire—but because he needed it. He needed to feel something, even if it was disgust toward himself or sensory overstimulation. He needed to burn, to be scorched to the bone, because whatever gnawed at him never hesitated to reach such deep parts of his being.

Maybe if he burned alive, this ache would burn too—no matter if it killed him, no matter if it dragged you down with him.

His saliva stained yours like gasoline. His teeth clicked against yours like a lighter. You were drowning in a bath of combustible liquid that, if it didn’t burn you, would dissolve your insides with acid.

His bare skin rubbed against yours, his cock leaking over your body, repeatedly slapping against the sensitive skin of your stomach. He was breathless, and so were you. Your frantic breaths mingled over and over inside formless kisses.

Your hand found its way to his neck, then his hair. The blood had dried in his blond strands, cracking when your fingers tangled through them, your second hand joining the first. You held him in your hands, his skull resting in your sweaty palms—while he held you in his fangs. His hands planted on either side of your head painfully gripped the sheets, his knuckles white as snow.

Again, you were suffocating, and he was suffocating with you. The air he exhaled into your mouth stole the oxygen from your lungs. He bit your lips hard enough to make them bleed. And in loud, broken moans, he tried to collect the scarlet liquid like an elixir—like a solution.

Then all at once he exploded over you. His head collapsed against your chest while he cried through his orgasm. Muffled cries, sobs you couldn’t characterize. White streaks coated your stomach, mixing with sweat and older traces of blood.

His arms began trembling, his tears endlessly falling into the reddish puddle sliding along your collarbones. He stained you in every possible way. With his sorrow, his problems, his pain and his pleasure. He poured himself all over you, without you being able to stop him—without you even wanting to.

Later that night, when Morpheus finally released you from his sedative embrace, the bed felt strangely empty, the sheets cold. Your eyelids opened and somehow you weren’t surprised to discover you were now alone in the bed.

Dex was gone, and his number had mysteriously vanished from your contacts.

He left you with ruined sheets, and gasoline flowing through your veins.

marvel masterlist

images : Pinterest

dividers : @uzmacchiato , @/cafekitsune and @/poiindexters

[binachanblog]

TILL THE BREAK OF DAWN!

Making sweet ( and jealous) love with your boyfriend, Mammon.

+18, Male!Reader! Implied marathon sex! Jealous!sex! Implied puppy play! Collaring mentioned! Bottom!Mammon! Top!Reader! Established relationship! Male x Male! Anal! Dry humping mentioned!

The first one for our Pride Month is ready!! More will come this week! (I think :p)

Reblogs and comments appreciated! <3

"Fuck- you are tight! So eager-hnng!"

The wet and continuous sound of your balls slapping his ass, flared your nostrils, the cold sweat on your back gluing you to the leather couch on his room. Your hands anchoring yourself on his quick hips. Mammon was rentless. The demon of greed completely using you for his own pleasure.

"You are doing so well, moni..."

Currently, your boyfriend is riding you like there's no tomorrow. The plumpness of his ass wet and stick from your previous dry humping session. However, just a few hours ago, both of you were on a high fashion event to celebrate the anniversary of one of Devildom's most famous publishing houses.

Your boyfriend was invited — along with other models —to take part in a major photoshoot, complete with an after-hours party. The atmosphere felt suffocating; so many beautiful people paired with so many hands and revealing poses with other models, left you with a feeling of insignificance.

Not because of the status of all those people, or their connections and influence, but for the simple fact that your boyfriend seemed...public. He laughed and seemed completely comfortable with the groping and teasing mood. You knew the photos needed to convey emotion, but that didn't stop a lump from forming in your throat.

Your eyes were focused on the way his nipples presented themselves to you; the arch of his spine made his chocolate-hued skin gleam just right in the light of the hellish moon. Your boyfriend was your, boyfriend, but you still couldn't shake the fucking feeling of not having even a little bit of the demon for yourself.

You lost yourself on your thoughts, trying to focus again to properly pleasure the beautiful man that was shaping your cock inside his hole. You hands meekly caressed his waist, up and down, trying oh, so hard, to calm the storm that was building inside your heart.

Mammons pace stoped abruptly, his hole clenching in a mean way - making you hiss under your breath - when your hips started to meet his mid way.

"Oh-ohmy-fuck!"

You nuzzled your head deep on his chest, lazily catching one of his nipples on your mouth, sucking harsily and making a mess on his beautiful skin, clearly contrasting with the rhythm of your hips.

Your muffled voiced startled him a little, his pleasure fogged mind trying to understand what you were saying, but the way you were beating his prostate with no mercy left only an trail of saliva and a bite on his own lips as an question.

He clenched again, harder, the rythm you were forcing both to face slowly growing unbearable. His moans ecchoed to his entire room, wild and unhinged, like the roar of a beast reveling in its glorious and well-deserved feast.

"Who do they thi-nk!theyare!.."

You bit his other nipple, and Mammon gave you an sweet welp, a whine so tiny you almost didn't hear it if it wasn't for you keen sense involving anything the demon of greed did. Your eyes locked on how his cock was weeping and honeyed with cum. It looked beautiful, and your mouth watered in desire.

You grabbed a fist of his cloud colored hair, forcing him to look into you eyes. His own were dazed and unfocused, but it clearly took notice of how beautiful his marks looked on your body. The pace slowed down, and you closed the distance between your mouth and his. The kiss was messy. Spit everywhere and the need for coordination was not necessary.

"Say it. Mammon, say t-that you are mine."

He looked confused for a second, as if his belonging to you were clearly and purely visible. Of course Mammon noticed how you were feeling, how could he not when he saw you shooting daggers at anyone and everyone that came to instruct him or simply touch up his makeup?

But how could he offer you any words of comfort when you had him pinned against the wall from the moment the two of you stepped into his room? He had no time to voice his unconditional love for you, neither on the return trip nor upon arrival.

Your body was overcomed by your emotions, and like a domino effect, he had spent hours feeling those emotions manifest as physical —and utterly delightful— actions.

All he could do was offer you his supple body as a way of saying that he was, always had been, and always would be, entirely yours. So he took everything you gave him, with immense pleasure.

He gave you another harsh clench, and you felt your balls pulse in a well know way. No, you can't cum right now, you need to make sure he has you engraved on his mind 24/7. You need this.

With sudden and brutal force, you lift the two of you off that sofa — which will clearly be reeking by tomorrow — and carried both of you to the bed; still connected and deeper than ever, the new position leaving him completely filled. His hands searching for support on your shoulder blades when a loud and lewd moan left his throat.

"I love you, Mammon. But I can't stand you. I can't stand how your pretty skin shines in the flashing lights of the professional cameras, t-they shouldn't see what's mine, right? Say it, Moni, say that you are mine."

Without giving him the proper time to think of an answer, you detached from his precious hole and threw him on his bed, quickly rearranging the position, arching his body into a beautiful curve.

The view was absolutely insane.

His expensive baby tee all crunched up, his beautiful legs holding his body up while his head was down on the bed, his hole pulsing fervently, blinking at you and leaking a considerable amount of cum.

"You wear those tight shirts jus' fo' me don' you? I see how you arch your back when I'm next to you. Those thighs jeans got me working on myself for hours on end-"

A whine comes out of his lips with your words, and he lightly shakes his ass from one side to the other, trying to make you hurry up and continue to fuck him dumb. Eagerly you get behind him, shoving two fingers inside his puckering hole just to confirm how soft and ready he was. Melting, indeed.

You increase the speed that your fingers were working on him, not going all the way out, but simply hitting his sweet spot over and over again, no mercy, no breaks, just lascivious moans from a demon who clearly had no thoughts besides getting dicked down by you.

"H-hurry up-!"

His voice came softer than has ever been with your skillful fingers massaging his prostate. His arch becoming more sophisticated, his body clearly craving more.

"Nuh-uh. Say it first. Say who do you belong to, or else, you will come on my fingers only."

The urge grew stronger at the bottom of his belly, and you caught a glimpse of how hard and flushed his cock was, he was ready to cum.

"I am! I am yours! Y-youknow-fuck- you know that! Pleaseplease! Stop! P-please-iwannacumon-your co-ck!"

His crying voice sent sparkles through your body and you too had to behave yourself not to cum just from the choosing of his words. Fuck, you wish you could see his face properly, you love when his pretty eyes get all mushy and teary.

To his relief, the "torture" your fingers were making him endure ceased, and the proudness on your chest shined like a million suns exploding at the same time.

"Good puppy! You are so cute Moni, my favorite and only puppy..."

Finally, you lined up with his shamessly eager hole, giving an slow and gentle trust, going all the way and filling him to the brim again. The moan of satisfaction you heard from your boyfriend's mouth had you moaning his name slyly, the jealousy from earlier finally dissapating on the melting temperature his wet cavity welcomed you.

Feeling sorry for his back, you adjust the position again. Doggie. Perfect for this moment, for him. You started moving, the wet plap plap plap gaining its significant place on the room again. You both were so sensitive and euphoric that for sure, it wouldn't be long for the climax to bliss the room.

"You look so cute Moni. Aaah, I wish I had put your collar on. Red looks so good on you-"

Maybe you were not so sorry for his back at all because, the moment his plump lips uttered an gagged 'I love you', you tugged at his hair again, with vigor, his body arching, and you felt and saw how his ass jiggled with every thrust you gave him.

"You're close, aren't you? Yeah? Ohmy- bark for me puppy, loud and clear, k'?"

Your hand migrated from his hair and quickly found place on his his throat, pressing your palm flat against it and forcing his head upward. The kiss you gave him messed up in this position, consisting solely of the obscene caress of your tongues laying flat on each other, trying to knot themselfs together and sharing saliva in a tantalizing way.

Feeling your own high approaching, your other hand reached for Mammon's neglected cock, smushing the tip against your fingers and caressing all the way down to his balls to fully and only jerk him off impatiently.

His head lowered down with an especial hard thrust that pocked his sweet spot, forcing your hand out of his throat and of his cock. His whole body trembling in pleasure while his balls contracted themselfs, expelling his - still thick - cum.

Even with his arch compromised, you placed both hands on his abdomen, holding him in the position however you could. Soon after him, your body locked in shock when his mouth started to free loud and whiny moans from the overstimulation you were offering, his hole clenching incredibly good and trying to expel your furious and cumming cock from there.

Unable to bear the weight of your own body, you collapsed on top of your boyfriend; dizzy with the aftershocks and out of your mind from the warm feeling your cum and his tight hole nuzzling your cock, as if nursing it to sleep.

It got cozy, the feeling of your bodies glued together, still connect physically and sentimentaly, the deep and ragged breaths trying to calm themselfs, the smell of sex and the evidences everywhere, it got cozy...it felt like the purest form of love.

You moved off him after a few minutes, only to hear a murmur of complaint.

"Where u goin'?"

You didn't answer, only positioning yourself as the little spoon, entering his tired hole again and shooting an 'sorry' glare when Mammon hissed.

You hid your face on his sweaty neck, showering his soft skin in little pecks that brought out of him a hoarse and tired little giggle. His hand tangled in your hair as he breathed in your natural scent and sighed with satisfaction.

"You know I luv u', right?"

You smirked against his collarbone.

"I do."

You felt a kiss to your scalp, and your hand snaked its way to his leg, repositioning it at your waist, granting better access for a comfortable and lovingly session of sleepy cockwarming.

"And you looked gorgeous today. I am proud of you."

Mammon tugged at your hair with no force at all, muttering a 'shut up' while hiding his face on your locks of hair. He was blushing for sure.

And he was yours, for sure.