Gurrrrl your writing is 🔥🔥🔥
I love it!!! And i wanted to ask for some boyfriend coded Ivy, cuddling you in a cozy morning, waking you up with kisses and praises and ending with him cuddling and pounding into you hard while grabbing your throat and kissing your shoulders. Please ...please? Ty
Eternally grateful my dear 💗
𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓
𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 (𝘪v) 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 3,747
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝗮 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝗺…𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲…
𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: um...this is just pure filth. innocent, at first. but complete filth. that i had way too much fun writing. sexual, overstimulating filth. read at your own discretion. please. (also thank you so much for the request, i had way too much fucking fun with this and i hope you enjoy it as much as i do. i'm a little bit too proud of this one).
𝘛𝘞: rough kissing / biting / marking (neck, shoulder, jaw), throat holding / choking (light breath play), rough sex (deep thrusting, bedframe rattling, overstimulation), crying during sex (tears from intensity/pleasure), possessive dirty talk / profanity, sweat / spit messiness, intense orgasm / simultaneous climax
𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 !
.𖥔 ݁ ˖
The world outside was still muted, a blurred watercolor of grey and gold spilling through the thin curtains, but inside the room the air was heavy with warmth. It felt like being suspended in the center of something private and endless -- rain whispering at the window, the scent of damp wood from the night before, the slight hiss of breath from the man behind you. IV's weight shifted the mattress so subtly you could feel each movement like a tide beneath you; first the drag of his forearm along the sheets, then the slow press of his chest to your back, the faint scratch of stubble grazing your neck. He didn't rush. Instead, he breathed you in, nose buried in your hair, lips brushing the crown of your head, his sigh a low, almost inaudible sound against your skin. He smelled of cedar, a touch of iron, and something deeper and warmer you'd learned was just him. The room itself seemed to lean into that scent, curtains barely moving, the bedside lamp still casting an amber glow that softened every edge.
His hand slid from your waist upward, palm smoothing across your ribs, fingers spreading wide as though to feel each breath you drew. The contrast of his skin -- warm, rougher than yours -- made you shiver even in the still air. He kissed a path across your shoulder, lips dragging slightly, tongue flicking out now and then to taste the skin he'd just kissed. The kisses weren't hurried or mechanical; they were slow explorations, like someone trying to memorize a route by touch alone. You could feel the weight of his hair brushing your back as he moved, the rise and fall of his chest against you, the way he exhaled your name in a voice that rumbled more than he spoke. When he finally murmured "Good morning," it wasn't a greeting so much as a prayer, his lips still moving against the side of your throat. He shifted his hips, drawing you back against him, the heavy press of his thigh fitting between yours, his fingers drawing lazy circles just below your navel. The rain outside seemed to sync with the movement of his fingers, slow and rhythmic, and you realized he was coaxing you awake not just with touch but with the entire space around you, weaving scent, warmth, sound, and skin into a single cocoon.
His hand lingered low on your stomach, thumb stroking idly over the softness there, as though every curve was something sacred to him. He tilted his face to kiss just below your ear, the gentlest press of lips, before dragging his mouth lower, teeth scraping faintly over your neck. You could feel the tug of his breath, how his lips parted to suck, not enough to hurt but enough to leave your skin buzzing. Every shift of his body was deliberate, unhurried -- the slow grind of his hips into yours, the way his thigh pressed firmer between yours as though to coax them apart. The rhythm of the rain outside only heightened the intimacy; each drop against the windowpane sounded like punctuation to his movements. His murmurs came in fragments, each one pressed into your skin between kisses: "So warm here with you...don't want to let go...look at you, love, so beautiful even half-asleep."
When you finally turned toward him, your cheek brushing his chest, he was already waiting. His face hovered close, eyes soft but burning at the edges, and when his mouth found yours it was both sweet and consuming. The kiss dragged on slow, his lips moving with yours in long, deep puls, his tongue slipping past to stoke languidly against yours until you sighed into him. He kissed like a man intent on making you remember it later, drawing it out, stealing your breath in pieces. His hand slid higher, tracing the line of your ribs, then cupping your jaw with tenderness that belied the weight of his hold. He angled your face to kiss you deeper, thumb stroking beneath your ear, until you felt every nerve buzzing with the intimacy of it. When he broke away, it was only to press his forehead to yours, lips ghosting over your mouth as he whispered, "Mine. Always mine." And then he kissed you again, slower, sweeter, as though to prove it.
The warmth of his palm shifted lower, sliding from your jaw down the column of your throat with a touch so sure it made your breath hitch. He didn't squeeze, not yet, just let the weight of his hand rest there while his thumb stroked slow circles over the soft spot beneath your chin. His eyes stayed locked on yours, pupils dark, heavy-lidded, like a storm building behind glass. Outside, the rain deepened, a slow percussion that matched the subtle roll of his hips against yours. The thin cotton of the sheet dragged over your skin as he moved, warm from both your bodies, his thigh still nestled between yours, coaxing them wider. He bent his head again, mouth open against your collarbone, tongue sweeping a wet line up to the hollow of your throat before he kissed it shut. The sound he made -- a low, content hum -- vibrated through your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.
You felt the shift in him when his kisses moved lower, from reverent to hungry. His mouth worked at the edge of your shoulder, teeth scraping, then sucking, leaving damp, red marks blooming on your skin like wildflowers after rain. His hand slid down to your hip, fingers curving hard enough to leave prints, pulling you tighter against the insistent swell pressing against your thigh.
He dragged his mouth back up to your ear, breath ragged now, and whispered, "I need you."
The words were rough, almost a growl, but there was still a sweetness underneath them, like he was confessing something rather than demanding. His hips rolled forward again, slow but heavier this time, the movement dragging a quiet, involuntary moan from your lips that he caught with his mouth. He swallowed it greedily, kissing you harder, teeth grazing your lower lip until it trembled between his. The entire room seemed to shrink down to the sound of your breathing, the rain outside, and the deep, deliberate rhythm of his body drawing you awake.
The kiss broke only when he needed air, his lips dragging wetly from your mouth down the slope of your jaw, leaving a trail of heat and saliva that cooled in the draft of the room. His hand at your hip shifted, long fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, exploring slowly as though savoring the reveal of bare skin inch by inch. His touch was firm but reverent, tracing the dip of your waist, pausing at the edge of your ribs, mapping you with the patience of someone who wanted to relearn what he already knew. Every pass of his palm left goosebumps in its wake, your skin arching up into his touch, your breath catching in soft, uneven bursts. He pressed a kiss just below your ear and murmured, voice hoarse with sleep, "Every inch of you belongs to me...every morning, every night." His words sank in as deeply as his hands did, a vow whispered into the quiet.
When he finally pulled your shirt higher, baring more of you to the dim golden light, his mouth followed the path of his hand. He kissed lower, slow and deliberate, each press wetter than the last until his tongue swept a lazy curve over your chest. He mouthed at you with unhurried hunger, sucking lightly, then pulling back to watch your reaction before diving in again. The scrape of his teeth was faint but deliberate, leaving little shocks of pleasure that melted into warmth. His other hand came to your throat again, fingers curving around the column gently but possessively, his thumb brushing along your pulse as though counting it. The weight there forced you to tilt your head back, mouth parting in a small gasp he immediately rewarded by dragging his lips up again, biting at your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. The dual sensation of his hand steady at your throat and his mouth marking every inch of you left you trembling, trapped between being cherished and being claimed.
He lingered at your neck as if addicted to the taste, his mouth working with a slow persistence that left you tingling everywhere his lips had been. Each kiss sank deeper, wetter, followed by the faint scrape of teeth, until your skin carried a constellation of marks that throbbed warmly under his breath. The sound he made when you shivered -- half laugh, half growl -- poured straight into your bones. His hand tightened at your throat just enough for you to feel the shift in power, a reminder that his tenderness always carried a darker edge.
"So good for me," He whispered against your skin, the words smudging into the damp spot he'd just licked. His hips rocked against yours again, heavier now, a rhythm building even as he held back, teasing you with promise rather than giving you all of it.
The mattress creaked as he adjusted, bracing his weight with one arm while the other dragged your thigh over his hip, spreading you open beneath him. The sheets twisted, wrapping around your calf, while the heat of his body blanketed you. You felt the hard length of him pressing insistently against you through thin fabric, the thickness undeniable even before he entered you. He ground against you slowly, deliberately, his cock dragging over you until slickness dampened the barrier between. Each grind was accompanied by his mouth finding another part of you to worship -- your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your lips, the hollow of your throat. He whispered between the kisses, voice deep and shaking with restraint: "I could live here forever...inside you, under your skin...mine." The words made your pulse hammer against his thumb where it still stroked idly at your throat, syncing with the steady, possessive roll of his hips.
The pressure of his body settled fully over you, heaving in a way that felt protective and consuming all at once. His chest pressed into yours, every inhale of his lungs expanding against your ribs until you could feel his heartbeat reverberating through you. His hand, still firm at your throat, tilted your head just so -- enough for him to claim your mouth again, his kiss slower this time but devastatingly deep. He swallowed your breath, your little noises, coaxing you to open wider for him. His tongue slid languidly against yours, teasing, tasting, retreating only to push in deeper again until your head swam. The rain outside beat steadier now, a muffled applause for the rhythm he was building between your bodies, a syncopated backdrop to his every move.
When he finally pulled back from your lips, a thin thread of saliva stretched between you, glistening in the dim morning light before breaking against his chin. He didn't wipe it away -- he seemed to savor the sight, eyes dark with hunger as they flicked over your face, down to your parted lips. His free hand left your thigh only to push the last barrier away, tugging down the fabric until there was nothing separating his cock from you. He pressed in slowly, deliberately, the thick head sliding through slickness before breaching you in one unhurried thrust. The stretch stole the air from your lungs, a cry catching in your throat only to dissolve into a shudder when his hand squeezed just enough to remind you of his hold. He sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips were flush against yours, his breath ragged in your ear.
"There you are, he rasped, voice almost breaking. "So tight around me...fuck, you were made for this."
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, unmoving except for the tremor in his breath and the subtle twitch of his cock as your body adjusted around him. His forehead pressed to the curve of your shoulder, damp strands of hair clinging to his skin where sweat had already begun to gather. He kissed you there -- soft, reverent -- before dragging his lips lower, biting gently at the place where your neck met your shoulder. The drag of his teeth sent a shock racing through you, and when your body clenched in response, he groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating into your bones. His hand at your throat tightened fractionally, the weight of it grounding you as much as it claimed you, while his other hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise.
When he started to move, it wasn't with speed but with unbearable depth. He pulled out slowly, letting you feel every inch leave you, before sinking back in with a rolling thrust that made the mattress creak beneath your bodies. The sound of him filling you was obscene in the quiet -- slick, wet, perfectly timed with the rhythm of rain against glass. His lips moved over your skin constantly, as though he couldn't bear to stop tasting you: biting, sucking, whispering into every mark he left behind.
"That's it...take me...just like that," He muttered against your throat, his words broken up by his own gasps. Each thrust grew a little rougher, a little more insistent, the lazy rhythm sharpening until the bed shook with it, the air thick with the smell of sweat and sex. His thumb stroked lazily at your pulse, a steady counterpoint to the relentless drive of his hips, as if he were reminding you that even while he broke you open, you were safe in his hold.
The tempo of his thrusts shifted gradually, each stroke gaining force until the bedframe tapped a steady rhythm against the wall. His breath was ragged in your ear, each exhale spilling hot and damp across your skin before breaking into a low growl when your body clenched down around him. His hips snapped forward with a sharper edge now, the slap of skin on skin mingling with the slick sounds of him driving into you. You could feel him everywhere as he kissed along your jaw between thrusts, kissing so deep inside you, messy and desperate. When his teeth caught your earlobe, tugging, you gasped, and he laughed quietly, dark and pleased, before murmuring. "That's it, angel. Give me those sounds. Every one of them belongs to me."
The hand at your throat squeezed harder, not cutting off air completely but claiming all control over the angle of your head, over the way your breath hitched as his grip adjusted. His other hand dug into your hip, pulling you back onto him with every thrust so the impact went bone-deep. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress, the sheets twisted under your fingers as you tried to ground yourself against the sheer intensity of it. He leaned closer, mouth pressed to your shoulder, kissing and biting in alternating bursts of tenderness and hunger.
"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, the words broken and raw, "taking me so deep -- ahh, fuck -- you're perfect for me." His voice was rough velvet in your ear, the praise both gentle and filthy, each word tethering you tighter to him as his pace built towards something merciless.
His rhythm turned ruthless, each thrust driving you deeper into the mattress, the frame groaning in protest with every slam of his hips. The sound filled the room -- wet, heavy, obscene -- layered over your own cries that slipped free no matter how you tried to swallow them down. His grip on your throat shifted, thumb pressing against the underside of your jaw, tilting your head back so your mouth hung open. He watched you like that, his eyes burning, chest heaving as he pounded into you. "Look at you," He rasped, his voice shaking with the force of his thrusts. "So good for me...taking every inch like you were made for it." His words hit just as deep as his cock, each syllable vibrating against your skin as his mouth claimed your neck again, biting down until you gasped.
Your nails dug into his forearm, into the sheets, into anything you could reach, but he only growled at the sting, hips snapping harder as if your desperation spurred him on. His hand dragged from your throat to cradle your jaw, forcing you to turn and meet his mouth. The kiss was brutal, teeth clashing, tongues colliding, his groans spilling into your throat as he fucked you through it. He broke the kiss with a wet sound and immediately buried his face against your shoulder, biting hard enough to make you cry out. He shuddered at the sound, thrusts going erratic for a moment before he steadied himself, grinding into you so deep you swore you felt him everywhere. “Mine,” he growled into your skin, voice guttural, unrestrained. “Every fucking inch of you is mine.”
Your body couldn't hold back any longer -- the relentless drag of his cock inside you, the grind of his hips against your sweet spot with every pounding thrust, the pressure of his hand at your throat and the heat of his mouth on your shoulder -- it all crashed down in a wave so violent it stole the air from your lungs. The orgasm tore through you raw and unstoppable, your back arching hard into his chest, your nails raking down his arm as your vision blurred with tears. You sobbed his name, voice breaking into stuttered moans as your body seized and pulsed around him, the wet squelch of you clamping down only spurring him deeper. He growled at the feel of it, hips never slowing, his thrusts pounding through your climax until the overstimulation had you shaking, crying, gasping for air against the press of his palm.
He tilted your face toward him, and when his eyes caught the tear tracks streaking your cheeks, his whole body shuddered with need. His jaw clenched, sweat dripping from his temple as he rasped, "I know, I know...just a little bit more, baby. Just hold on for me." His voice was wrecked, desperate, every word tangled with the guttural sound of his pleasure as he drove into you with bruising force. His thrusts lost their practiced rhythm, turning frantic, messy, each one shoving him impossibly deeper as if he was trying to fuse himself into your body. The bed rattled violently under the force, his hand squeezing your throat harder, his other arm locking around your waist to hold you in place for the onslaught. Every sound from your lips -- every sob, every broken moan -- fed his frenzy, until he was fucking you like a man starved, hips slamming forward with such ferocity you thought you might break apart all over again.
Your body was still trembling, clenching around him in fluttering aftershocks that wouldn't stop, and he was unraveling with every pulse. IV's breath tore out of him in ragged gasps, his forehead pressed into the curve of your neck, hair damp and sticking to his temples as if he were burning up from his need for you. His thrusts lost their precision -- wild, frantic, impossibly deeper than before, the sound of his hips slamming into yours loud and wet and unrestrained. His hand at your throat shook with the force of his grip, not from control but from his own undoing, his thumb pressing hard into the hollow beneath your jaw as if anchoring himself there.
"Fuck--fuck--I can't--" The words snarled out against your skin, half curse, half prayer, broken with the sharp catch of his breath.
Every time you gripped him tighter, he groaned so deep it sounded like it was dragged straight from his chest, his cock jerking inside you as if he was already on the edge. He pulled back just far enough to slam into you again, the impact shaking the frame, the headboard rattling against the wall with brutal rhythm.
"So fucking tight, I can't hold it -- ahh, shit -- don't let me go, don't you dare," He babbled against your ear, his voice ragged and raw, almost incoherent with the force of it. He lifted his head just enough to look at you, to see the tears still wet on your cheeks, and the sight broke him open further. His eyes went glassy, his mouth twisting as if the pleasure was too much to bear. "Baby, please -- fuck -- please, just a little bit more, let me -- ahhh -- let me have it," He begged, hips pistoning hard and so fast that the whole world narrowed to the sound of skin slapping, the slick drag of him inside you, and the frantic, desperate way his body clung to yours like he might die if he stopped.
The desperation in his body bled into yours, every brutal thrust dragging you higher even though you’d thought there was nothing left in you. The wet smack of his hips meeting yours echoed in the room, mixed with your ragged cries and his broken growls. His hand clamped around your throat shook with the violence of his need, his thumb pressing into your pulse. His breath was hot and frantic in your ear, words tumbling out between gasps, “So close—fuck—I can feel you—don’t stop, don’t stop, baby, give it to me, cum with me, please.”
Your body clenched down on him again, hard and sudden, your orgasm ripping through you so fiercely it tore a sob from your throat. The tears blurred your vision, your mouth open in a soundless cry as you spasmed around his cock, milking him with every wave. That was what broke him—your body gripping him, your tears shining in the dim light, your voice cracking on his name. He let out a guttural snarl, his whole frame jerking as he buried himself to the hilt, cock pulsing hard inside you.
“Ahhh—fuck—yes—” he cried out, his voice wrecked, thrusts stuttering as he spilled deep. His release poured into you, hot and endless, his body shuddering violently as he clung to you like he’d drown without the anchor. The two of you broke apart together, shaking, gasping, trapped in the storm of it until all that was left was the sound of the rain outside and the desperate thrum of your hearts beating against each other.
