ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴠᴏʟ. xxɪ. october 21st, 2025. feat. by democracy, dean winchester/virgin!reader. curvy/mid-size reader. loss of virginity. semi-unprotected sex. face sitting!! oral f. receiving. multiple orgasms. slight overstimulation. dean being a sweetie. aftercare. hickies. I'm a munch!dean truther. lots of consent. consent is sexy.
"The banishing sigil requires equal parts virgin's blood, holy oil, and consecrated graveyard dirt mixed with black salt. Enough to draw the symbol four times. Got it?"
Sam chuckles. "Yeah, Bobby, we got it."
"Don't come cryin' to me if you muck it up, idjits."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Ah, Bobby, he of little faith—"
The line goes dead.
You sigh, opening your notebook where you keep the apothecary inventory written down. It's all in Baby's trunk, tucked in the corner in small bottles. "We have everything we need. Just gotta get a clean IV kit."
Sam nods. "I have one in the first aid kit."
You sigh, rolling up your sleeve. "Always bleeding for the Winchesters."
Dean's eyes widen, darting between you and Sam. "Wait. What are you...? It's not gonna work. You need a virgin's blood—"
"Got one right here," you deadpan.
"You're not a virgin," Dean says, "I mean, look at you."
"I'm sure whatever insulting thing you're planning to say is very clever, but can we just get this over with?"
Sam prepares the kit.
Instead of being confused, Dean's face has changed to offended. "How come he knows and I don't?"
"Where do you think the last vial of virgin blood came from, De?"
"I don't know!" He pauses, remembering the last case you had that required it. It was a smaller amount then, and because you and Sam were handling the research stuff, he'd been the one to prick you. And Dean never asked.
You decide to let Dean stew with his weird feelings about the virginity problem, offering your arm for Sam to tourniquet your bicep and prick. After he gets the blood he needs, the three of you get the case wrapped up before midnight. Sam decides to go to bed, but you and Dean head a block down from the motel for celebratory beers and pub fries.
He keeps sneaking glances at you across the table, and you know what he's thinking because he's Dean, and you've been hunting with him since he and Sam ran into you on a job back in '06. Two years later, you're inseparable. Sure, demons and monsters and all that suck, but they're the closest thing you have to family.
"Spit it out, Winchester."
"I guess I just don't get it."
"Get what?"
"How you're a virgin."
You blush, then scoff. You know why. You're not quite plus-sized, but there's a little more of you, and in the age of low-rise jeans and flat bellies, it's hard not to feel like you're not enough, or too much, rather. "It's not rocket science."
"I just don't understand," he says. "I mean, come on. You're gorgeous, and smart, and wicked funny. A better shot than Sam, but don't tell him I said that."
You scoff. "You don't have to say that stuff."
Incredulous, he knocks back another sip of his liquor. You went for harder stuff an hour ago, which is the only reason you two are comfortable enough to have this conversation. "I know. I'm not doin' it because I have to, I'm doing it because it's a goddamn crime you haven't gotten laid. Unless it's not your thing. Like you, uh, not-sexual?"
"Asexual," you correct him. "And no, I'm not asexual. I just... Guys don't look at me like that."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Dean, seriously, I'm not..."
His eyebrows shoot up so high they crease his forehead. He stares at you like you're a Martian. "Two guys have hit on you today, just in the time we've been at this bar. Hell, I've been flirting with you since Day One. I just assumed you weren't interested, or maybe you have someone better in mind." Honest Dean comes out when he switches from beers to Long Islands. A small brush of insecurity colors his tone.
You can't believe he thinks there could ever be anyone better. How could you not be a little in love with Dean Winchester? He makes everyone he talks to feel like the only person in the room. It's magic. Not to mention, he's hot as hell and tall and smarter than he gives himself credit for.
"I didn't realize you were interested," you admit.
"Well, I am."
You can't remember your own name right now. His eyes are locked on yours, and the bar is so hot, almost too hot. You're reeling, trying to find a response to his words.
"Even now?" you finally ask.
"If you'd do me the honor," he says, and that smirk of his lights up across his mouth. "I'd love to be your first."
You reach for your coat slowly, the heat traveling from the apples of your cheeks down your neck, and then lower. "Guess we'll have to find another virgin next time we need some blood."
He throws two twenties on the table, and then he pulls you into the night.
You have your own room at the motel, which is a necessity when you spend the majority of your time with two stinky overgrown boys who argues most of the time. You reach for your key with a shaking hand, a little nervous. Dean's closes over yours, steadying your fingers.
"You okay?" he asks. "We don't have to—"
"I want to," you assure him. "I'm just scared I'll be... bad at it."
He chuckles, unlocking the door and pushing it open for you. "I doubt you could ever be bad at anything."
The door closes. He backs you into it, locking it behind you. As the chain slides into place, he cups your chin, lifting your face to his.
"Tell me to stop if you want to stop," he murmurs. "I swear, I will."
"Kiss me," you plead.
He does.
And holy fuck. It's better than you imagined.
His lips find yours and learn your rhythm right away, falling into effortless form. He cups your face with two big, rough hands, and you scramble to hold the front of his shirt for purchase to stay balanced. It's a world-rocking kiss. The kind of kiss that'll haunt you for days after. When his tongue meets yours, and you moan softly, you feel him everywhere, and your desire becomes a lit match.
You're not a virgin because you want to be. You've just never had the opportunity, and apparently, you're oblivious. But it doesn't matter now because your best friend, Dean, is taking care of you. You'll be okay because this is your Dean, and you trust him.
One hand slides under your shirt, skimming your belly before tugging at the hem. "Lift your arms for me?"
You do.
He chokes on his breath when he sees your bare chest. Ample cleavage spilling out of your bra, breathless, face flushed. Your hair is wild from his hands, and then he's on you again, kissing and cupping your tits through your bra, and when his thumbs roll over the cotton and make your nipples harden, your knees almost buckle.
He reaches for your hips with both hands, starting to tug you up.
"What are you?"
"Hold on tight," he says, and then he lifts you off the floor. Your legs wrap around his waist, and you giggle, then start to panic.
"Dean—"
"What?" he asks, soft, careful. "You want to stop?"
"No, it's not that. It's just that I'm..."
"You're what, baby?"
Baby. Fuck, you love the way he says it. "Heavy."
He snorts. "I've carried Sam out of a burning building and hauled his drunk ass around plenty of times. You're like a feather compared to that giant."
You know he's not kidding. He doesn't seem to be straining a muscle holding you, and so you let all the voices fall away as he kisses you again, grinding his hard cock against your core. You can feel him heavy in his jeans, just as affected as you are, and part of you is amazed that you're making him feel like this.
"Gonna get you ready," he says, his voice thick with want, rumbling out of his throat. He sets you down on the mattress, and you feel him unzip your jeans. Reflexively, you lift your hips, and then he has you down to that bra and your damp panties, which have a very noticeable wet spot on them.
You swallow hard, wondering if you're supposed to be self-conscious, but the way he looks at you with such raw amazement makes you think you don't have a thing to worry about.
He kisses your neck, sucking little marks against your collarbone and the swell of your tits. With three fingers in a smooth flick, your bra is unclasped, and then it's cast somewhere behind him. He marvels at the way your tits fit in his hands, too big for him to hold all the way, and the sound that comes out of him is so deep and primal you ache.
Then he sucks one nipple into his mouth, and you nearly fly off the bed. He just chuckles, tweaking your other one with his fingers, playing you like a violin under him until you're almost begging him to touch you there.
His hand slides into your wet panties, and you sigh with relief. He parts your folds with two thick digits, swirling around your clit, seeing which touches make you moan the loudest.
"Okay?" he asks.
You nod.
He starts working you open, and when his first finger finds your entrance, you could sob with relief. He pushes one in you first, stretching, feeling, working the spots that make you feel like you're floating, and then he adds another, fucking in and out of you at the same speed he's stroking your clit. You bite down on your lip, trying to muffle the sounds, but the closer you get to the edge, the harder it is to keep it down.
"Want to hear you, baby," he says, using his free hand to remove your lip from between your teeth. "Make some noise for me, sweetheart. You close?"
You nod, moaning his name.
"That's good. Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeeze my fingers, okay?"
You nod, and then seconds later, you explode, the coil in your belly unraveling as you grind against his hand, writhing and trembling. He kisses you through it, touching you until your tremors stop, and then he takes his slick hand out of your panties and licks his fingers clean.
"Want to see you," you whisper, your voice small, almost fucked out already.
He steps back, slowly taking off his clothes one article at a time. You've seen him naked before, mostly because Dean has always been very comfortable walking around in any state of undress, but this is different. This is heated, and it's just for you.
When he's down to just his boxer-briefs, his cock outlined in the thin fabric, pre-cum forming a wet spot in the light blue material, your mouth waters. He's big, and you're not sure how he's going to fit, but you want to try, because he's... everything you never dared to wish for.
He lays down on the bed beside you.
"Do you have a condom?" you ask.
He shakes his head. "I mean, I do. In my room. Next, uh, door, but I wasn't plannin' on that part yet. Want to make sure it doesn't hurt. To do that, I need you dripping."
Your breath hitches.
"Sit on my face," he says.
"Dean..."
"If you give me that 'I'm heavy' shit again, I swear to God, I'm gonna fuck you in front of a mirror until the only thing you can say is that you're perfect."
And it's a threat you'd like to see come to pass, one day. But you know he wants this, and you can't deny you're curious about the way that stubble would feel between your legs. You straddle him, and impatiently, he yanks you up and over his shoulders, planting you on his mouth.
And you nearly melt.
Your hands hold the headboard as his tongue spells his name on your clit, sucking and teasing, and then his nose bumps against that same sensitive nub as he devours your cunt, working you open with his tongue. You cum again, and he doesn't let up, doesn't let you recover. Your orgasm seems to last forever, and as he slurps everything you give him greedily, you scream his name so loud that everyone in the motel knows it.
When you finally fall off his face, spent and oversensitive, he kisses your shoulder. His mouth is slick with you. "I think I made you squirt. Like Niagara fuckin' Falls. That was hot."
You'd be embarrassed normally, but this feels too perfect to be embarrassing. He kisses you again, slower, letting you taste yourself.
"You got condoms, baby?" he asks.
You shake your head.
"Let me throw some pants on, I'll go get one—"
"I'm on the pill."
His eyebrows shoot up again, eyes bulging in shock. "I thought..."
"For period stuff, Dean. I need to get you a woman's health magazine."
"Gotcha. No need. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
You nod. "Want to feel you. All of you. Are you clean?"
"Got tested recently. Sam was giving me shit, wanted to be sure."
"Do you use protection with, um, other girls?"
Now he looks lost. "Other...?"
"Aren't there others?"
He shakes his head. "Baby, you've got me so hooked on you I can't see anyone else. It's been months since I... I mean, come on. Been hung up on you." He says your name softly, and you might cry because of how tenderly the word sounds on his lips. Your name is so beautiful when he says it.
You kiss him again. "I've been hung up on you, too."
He smiles against your lips. "We can come back to this conversation later. I need you, baby. I need this. Fuck. Are you ready?"
You nod.
He spreads your legs further apart and shucks off his boxers before settling between your thighs, squeezing the supple flesh of them reassuringly before he guides himself between your folds. He looks at you as the blunt head of his cock slips against your wet heat, and when you nod, he starts easing inside.
It doesn't hurt, but the pressure is definitely different. He's bigger than your fingers and all of the toys you've experimented with, but it feels nice, being stuffed with Dean. When he finally bottoms out, you're stretched to the brim, nearly overwhelmed with how much he fills you out. You can feel him nudging your cervix; he's so fucking deep, and you're so close just by the way he strokes every gummy spot with his thick length.
He blows out a breath, shaking.
"Dean?"
"Sorry," he laughs, a little sheepish. "Just trying not to cum is all."
"Oh!" you exclaim softly.
An experimental roll of his hips has you both moaning. "You feel so good, baby," he groans, starting to move in and out, slowly stretching you further before sliding home again. "So tight. So perfect. Like you were made to take me. Fuck. That's it. That's a good girl."
You start rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, and you can feel what it does to him as he holds you a little tighter, his control slipping. He starts to fuck you harder, bringing one of your legs up over his shoulder, and the new angle makes you tighten, another orgasm about to make your world burst with stars.
"So beautiful when you cum. Fuck, you're just so beautiful. So good. Oh, baby," he murmurs. "That's right. Just a little more. Hold on a second, want you to cum with me."
He starts getting more frantic now, skin against skin slapping, and you're so wet you can hear it, and he's an animal panting over you, finding the places that make you sing again and again with his cock. His name falls from your lips until you can only make sounds, soft little whimpers.
And then he cums with you, painting your cunt white with hot ropes of his release. You feel it pooling between your thighs when he pulls his softening cock out of you, relaxing beside you on the bed once more.
He pulls you into his chest, stroking your hair. He reaches beside the bed for the tissues with one hand, cleaning the mess between your legs so tenderly before he holds you tighter.
"You alright?" he asks, his lips pressing between your brows.
"Yeah," you whisper, "I'm perfect."
"Good," he says.
"Hey, De?"
"Yeah?"
"Can we do that again?"
He nods, trying and failing at hiding his smile. "If you'll have me, I think I'd like to do this a million times, and other things too."
"Boyfriend things?"
He kisses you as his answer, then whispers his reply against your mouth as he rolls you onto your back again. "Boyfriend things."
I miss Birdie!reader so bad. The friends-to-lovers pipeline for Dean Winchester is my favorite. After Kinktober, we can be right back to the slowburn ;) Thanks for reading!! Feel free to check out my series or other Kinktober installments! And drink some water!! Just because you came to my page thirsty doesn't mean you gotta leave that way.
Warnings: SMUT (public sex, oral f receiving, adiran's a munch, piv)
Summary: Adrian wants to have car sex?!
Word Count: 2,000+
A/N: I accidentally posted this on the 1st instead of the 3rd, so if you’ve seeing this again, I had to delete it. Sorry to everyone who liked, reposted, and commented. I didn’t even get to read what you said I just panic deleted it🥲
“Wanna have car sex?”
Your head whipped over to look at your boyfriend who was still driving like he didn’t just ask you such a vulgar question.
“What?”
“Do you want to have car sex?” He repeated like it was obvious.
One moment you two are talking about how cool it would be if Chris’s suit was teal to match Adiran’s and the next he’s asking you if you wanna have sex? You almost reminded him about how illegal it is, but couldn’t help to stop and see where this was going. “You serious?”
“Yeah.” He pulls into the Chuck E. Cheese parking lot.
Besides the red sign and a few street lamps, the parking lot was dark and empty.
“Here?”
“Please, baby? It’s almost midnight, no one’s around.” He parked the car and turned to you. “My cock is really hard.” He gave you those puppy eyes through his silver glasses. The glow of the sign turned everything red, harshening the shadows, and making him look hotter if that’s even possible.
“Yeah, okay.” A smile curls on your lips as his eyes light up.
With a big ol’ grin on his face, he quickly lunged across the center console, grabbing your face with both hands and planting a kiss on your lips. Everytime he kissed you, he made it as special as the first. He’d never take it for granted, not when he was risking life and limb everyday.
After the kiss, you both quickly slide into the back seat shedding your clothes as fast as possible. Adrian couldn’t keep his lips off of you, kissing every inch of your face and neck.
“I’ve been hard since my mission earlier. I killed like 5 drug dealers.” The evidence grinded into your already soaked panties.
“Ugh, Adrian, you said you wouldn’t talk about killing people during sex anymore.” You groan as you kick his jeans off.
He pauses kissing your neck to look at you. “I know, I’m just trying to say that killing makes me horny and I missed you.”
“Adrian.” You chided him. If you didn’t stop him now, he’d be talking about his kill count until you cum. It’s happened a few times.
“Okay, okay!” He dives back down to suck more hickies into your neck. His hand slides down your body rubbing your clit through your panties. “So wet.” He growled.
His index finger hooks around the lacey material, pulling it to the side.
“Please.” You whimpered, bucking your hips for more. “Need you inside me.”
“God, I wanna taste you so bad.” He sighs, watching how his middle finger pushes past your lips, brushing against your opening, collecting your wetness, and sliding up to your clit.
He massaged tight circles into your clit, causing you to let out those pathetic needy moans he loves. A smile grew on his face as he watched your reaction. Adrian was obsessed with making you feel good. Some days you’ll even quiz him on animal facts while he eats you out, mumbling the answers into your pussy. You only did it on special occasions and he fucking loved it.
“But I need you to fuck me.” You whine
“Just a quick taste.”
He grabs your legs, tossing them over his shoulders before taking your hips and lifting your entire lower half up to his mouth. He didn’t give you any soft licks like he normally did, instead, he nuzzled right into your cunt and let his tongue invade every inch. It was sloppy and needy. He didn’t give a fuck if his face was covered in your slick, he fucking loved it. The metal of his glasses were ice cold compared to the heat that was generating between your legs.
“Adrian!” You squirm and squeal.
You were folded in half, left to his whim. Your hands desperately try to find purchase, clawing and grabbing at the leather seat and headrest.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans into your pussy. “So fucking good. You can try it when I kiss you.”
You wouldn’t be able to stop moaning if you tried. His tongue was absolutely ruthless. In random intervals, he lapped from bottom to top, swirled his tongue around your bud or flicked it, or he’d flat out plunge right into your sopping cunt.
The sight and sound alone could send you over the edge. The way he closed his eyes to concentrate on you, his glasses fogged up, the squelching of your pussy every time he nuzzled deeper into you.
“Oh god! I’m getting so close!” You cried out, your walls clenching around his tongue. “Adrian, Adrian! Oh, Adrian please! Adri- HEY!” You snap out of your haze of bliss when he suddenly pulls away.
“I just wanted a taste.” He shrugged and laid you back down.
A frustrated groan leaves your lips. “Not nice.”
His brows furrow, the fog in his glasses slowly going away. “I’m very nice to you! You’re my best friend!” He pushed down his underwear, letting his cock spring free and slap against his abs. “I don’t stick my tongue in anyone else’s pussy. Plus this week alone you’ve cum 9 times and we’ve only had sex 4 times. Most men can’t make their girlfriends or wives cum once a week.” He grimaces at the thought before he presses his tip against your cunt and slowly pushes in.
You let out a long moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his size. It slightly burns, but in the addicting way that only your boyfriend could create. He gives a few experimental shallow thrusts, making sure you’re good. Once your face doesn’t show any signs of discomfort and only sweet gasps come out of your lips, he tosses one of your legs back on his shoulder, and starts plowing you.
“Men who can’t make-ngh their girlfriends or wives come- ngh should honestly be shot.” He grunts out between violent thrusts that make the whole car shake and squeak. “And guys who won’t eat pussy... I mean, why wouldn’t you!”
You’d beg him to shut the fuck up if you could, but the babbling of random symbols was the extent of your ability to speak.
Adrian falls forward a bit, placing a hand on the door and the other on your thigh. “I’d eat you out any day- oh wow! Wow, you’re really tight right now, fuck!” He moans. “ I love how you taste, though. I’d choose you over ice cream, or sushi, or mashed potatoes, or…”
As he lists off every food to exist, you weakly bring your hand up to cover his mouth. Except the way he was hitting your g-spot right now was blurring your vision into a thousand stars. So, you end up bumping his glasses and nose in a desperate attempt to stop him.
“…or pasta, or beer-“
You give up and grab his jaw that was still slick with your taste, and yank him down to kiss you.
That did the trick.
Adrian immediately moans into the kiss. Without his mind focused on rambling, his strokes became more precise. His hips rolled against yours perfectly, brushing against your clit in the process. Your fingers tangle in his curls, pulling a low moan from him.
Despite it being a cold night, the car was hot and sticky. By the way your boyfriend was hammering into you, you would have thought it had been months since you two last fucked. One of your hands presses back against the dewy glass of the window as you desperately try to buck back into him.
“Shit! You’re tight!” He winces and breaks away from your neck.
He leans back again, wanting to watch how he splits you open, and god, was that a sight. One of his all time favorite, right after fucking his cum into you. Your pussy gripped his dick with every drag, coating him in your glistening juices. You were starting to cream, creating a ring of white sin around the base of his cock, dripping down his balls that slap against your ass. It was an absolutely vulgar sight, but one he’ll forever be in love with.
“So fucking pretty.” He whines, watching the sight.
“Adrian! Ah!”
“You like it like this? Like it in the back of my car?”
Eyes barely open, you lazily bob your head, barely able to focus on anything but his dick mercilessly hitting that special spot deep inside you.
He notices your toes curl as you get close to your climax. He turns his head and kisses your ankle that rests on his shoulder.
“So deep- AHGN! Like that! Yes, yes!” You gasp for air as he knocks it out of your lungs with each thrust.
“I love you.” He mumbles into the skin of your calf as he continues to ruthlessly plow you. “You’re my best friend.” Adiran leans back over you again to kiss you, muffling the moans rolling off your tongue. “Say it.” He begs against your lips. “Tell me you love me — that I’m your best friend, and I’ll let you cum. I’ll let you cum so hard.”
The desperate tone of his voice and the way he traded his steady pace for fast faltering thrusts was your way of knowing he was on the edge
“I love you, Adrian.” You whimpered against his lips. “I love you so much. Ngh! Ngh! You’ll a-ah-always be my best friend.” Your heavy lidded eyes looked into his. His glasses lopsided on his nose, just barely hanging on.
“Fuck, fuuuuck! Cum. Cum all over my cock!” He gritted his teeth, holding back just long enough for you to cum first.
Your pussy squeezes and throbs around him as you cum. The car fills with your high pitched moans and gasps while your orgasm rips through you, making the entire world disappear except for Adrian. The throbbing of your pussy was the final straw. He came moaning and babbling your name, desperately fucking you, prolonging your highs as long as possible. You could feel him twitching inside you, emptying every drop into you.
You stay like this for a few minutes, needing the time to catch your breaths and come back to reality. When you eventually do, you notice how the windows completely fogged up, a few smeared hand prints left behind.
“How was that?” He sighs into your neck, giving it a kiss before sitting up.
“Really fucking hot.” You hum, your voice sounding raw, now.
Adiran gives you a big smile like he just saw a manta ray. Fixing his sideways glasses back into place, he asks, “Yeah? You liked fucking in the back of my car?”
You smiled back and lazily nodded, watching him carefully slide out of you and pull his boxers on.
“Good, I can schedule it again.” He sits back and turns his attention to the window and draws faces into the fogged up windows.
Your aching body protests as you sit up. “Schedule it? What?”
He looks back. “You didn’t think we were doing this illegally, were you?”
Your brows furrow at him. “Adrian, what are you talking about?”
“I rented the parking lot out.” He goes back to drawing on the window, writing We Fucked Here. “I gave the Chuck E. Cheese franchise owner 100 bucks to use the parking lot for an hour and a half. Plus, I added signs around the place so no one comes around. I’m not a monster.” He snorts, finding the idea of doing this illegally ridiculous.
You were completely shocked. It makes sense he would go through these hoops to ensure no laws were broken, but still insane. ”Oh my god!”
“What! It’s the only way we could have car sex legally unless you want to do it in my mom’s garage!”
You shake your head and chuckle quietly to yourself. Maybe you were the fool for thinking he’d actually break the rules. It’s Adrian, the same boyfriend who prided himself on killing graffiti artists and god knows who else.
Adrian simply continues to draw on the windows, only wearing his boxers still.
“An hour and a half?”
He checks the clock on the dashboard. “We still have time if you wanna go again.”
“Yeah, okay.”
A/N: First Adrian Fic🥰 I might have to do more if it’s received well so lmk!
Permanent Tag List: @what-iwish-you-knew @infuriatinglyoptimistic @harriedandharassed
warning: knotting, breeding, bleeding, scratching, biting, rough sex
A/N: all of my monstertober posts will be up on Patreon/Kofi first, so if you’d like to read them now, go there!
Leo had been rather clingy the past few days, his arm always around your waist and his face buried in your hair at all times of the day. You had never seen him like this before.
You could always see him subtly sniffing the air around you like a beast picking up a pleasing scent before he’d huff and turn away, embarrassed.
“Hey, Leo…” you called out, peeking at him from the doorway.
The second he heard your voice, he jumped up and walked over, trying not to show how pleased he was to see you. “What’s up?”
With a smile, you held up a flier. “One of my favorite stores has a huge sale going on today, and I wanted to ask if you could come and help carry my bags, if you’re free.”
The man grinned down at you, leaning against the doorway. “Yeah, I can come.”
‘Wouldn’t want her to be out there on her own anyways,’ Leo thought, his nose twitching as he picked up your scent. He was too paranoid that some guy might look at or touch what was his. Even though he regularly scented you, people still seemed to not realize you weren’t available.
Leo stayed attached to your hip, one of his arms sling around your waist while you walked around the store. You held up different clothing items, ranting about certain items costing too much or cooing over how cute one of the skirts were, but he was too busy staring down some men who were checking you out.
This wasn’t too uncommon. A man could glance your way and the overly possessive Leo would be pulling you away until they left you alone… but today, he was not having it at all.
No one enjoyed their significant other being ogled at, and since he was feeling particularly cocky today, he walked towards the group with his chest puffed out.
“Eyeing my woman, huh?” he asked, chuckling dryly as his sharp teeth flashed in the light. You were too busy digging through a drawer of lingerie, trying to find your size to notice he left your size.
“Looking at someone ain’t illegal, pal,” one of the men said, nudging his friend. “What are you gonna do, fight us?”
The men were quick to the murderous look in Leo’s eyes and the way his hand flexed. Now, his nails looked sharper, like daggers ready to pierce their throats at any second.
They left without another word, mumbling insults about him once they were out of earshot. Leo didn’t really care, he was feeling an adrenaline rush from properly protecting his mate.
“Leo, what about this top- hey!”
You yelped as your boyfriend grabbed your arm. He wasn’t squeezing it hard enough to badly hurt you, but it was still a bit painful.
“Where are we going, Le-“
He silenced you after dragging you into an alley with his lips. Already, he was tugging at your clothes, his tongue fighting yours for dominance as he groped at your tits through your unbuttoned shirt.
“They should know you’re taken,” he mumbled against your mouth, his teeth nibbling your bottom lip. “I can’t stand when they look at you like that, you’re mine.”
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October 28th, (a bit ooc)husband!Dieter x wife!reader.
CW - MDNI : tipsy sex, kissing, undressing, manual stimulation, oral sex (cunnilingus and fellatio), vaginal penetration, orgasms, and bodily fluids, first time (including references to pain, inexperience, and awkwardness during sex), references to cigarette use, strong language
WC : 5476 = 32121 characters
The drive to the manor was a furnace. Fogged-up windows, leather that stuck, and that damn heat clinging to your necks. The driver kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight, but you felt him sneak a glance in the rearview. Too bad. You had Dieter at your mouth and his hands locked on your waist, gripping like he meant to keep you there for good. You devoured each other’s mouths with no shame, wine-and-tobacco breath, teeth knocking, a laugh skidding out of control. Your palms slid under his jacket, searching for the stiffness of the fabric, the heat of his back, the line of his shoulder blades; he, simpler, grabbed your hips with that grip that says I want you and I’ve got you.
The car took the last corner with a screech. A speed bump, your lips missing, a grunt slipping into a curse. The engine cut. Heavy silence, just the dashboard clock ticking and your breathing thudding too loud for the space. The driver turned, a “we’ve arrived” dry as a lid snapping shut. You wiped the spit from the corner of Dieter’s mouth with your thumb and it made you both laugh again, nervous, like kids who just broke a vase.
The air outside hit you full in the face, damp, tepid. The manor stood there, tidy and new, a façade still too white, shutters creaking on over-oiled hinges. It smelled of fresh paint and wax. The driver hauled the suitcases, snapped out a “good evening” that meant I saw nothing, I want to know nothing. Dieter slipped him a bill without looking. You already had one hand on the button of your dress, the other digging for the keys in a bag that had decided to betray you.
The door gave with a sharp crack, and the click of the lock sounded like a green light. You let out a slightly dirty, relieved laugh that woke the hall’s echo. Floor too shiny, a rug rolled against a wall, frames set right on the floor: a house not yet broken in. You kicked off your heels on the fly—one slammed into the baseboard, the other spun like a top before dropping. Bare feet. Cold wood. Skin drinking the shiver. Dieter dropped his jacket on the floor, missed the coat rack, didn’t care. “Upstairs,” he said, voice low and rough, and his warm hand pushed you between the shoulder blades.
The stairs complained. Two steps and already your shoulders were bumping. You turned to take his mouth blind, the banister in your lower back, the damp wallpaper against your shoulder blade. He bit a little, just enough to steal a small curse from your throat, and you answered by grabbing his belt like a handle, a sharp tug that brought him down a notch. He laughed in turn, a cracked laugh, because he was short of breath—so were you. He said something that was only a breath at your ear, like “fuck, come on,” and that was enough.
You finished the stairs at a charge, the handrail thudding against the wall, the house discovering your noises and learning your names through them. Landing. Warm dust smell. A bare bulb, dirty yellow. The master bedroom swallowed you like a black mouth. Big room, new sheets on a bed too wide, suitcases squared at the foot. A curtain flapped, window ajar, night outside pouring like ink.
Dieter slammed the door with his wrist. The noise went straight through your ribcage. “Here,” he growled, nothing more needed. His fingers were already at his buttons, the shirt giving way from bottom to top, one by one, with that clumsy hurry of overcharged nights.
You yanked your dress over your head in one go, a clean motion that dragged a satisfied sigh out of you because—miracle—the zipper didn’t snag. The fabric slipped down your arms with a clear shhhing, then the dull pouf when it hit the carpet. You both snickered—yes, again—because the dress on the floor was the starting whistle.
He took you again. Not gentle. Plain. His palms went back to their place on your waist and drew you to him, belly to belly, no manners. You shoved your fingers into his nape, felt the sweat starting there, the heat piling up already, and you pulled his mouth to yours like drinking. Your teeth collided again; you swore between his lips; he swallowed it with a low sound, almost a laugh. His shirt ended up hanging half off a sleeve; he shrugged it away, the fabric hissed and flopped on the floor, defeated.
The room spun a little, drunkenness varnishing the edges and making every gesture heavier and simpler. You felt his belt under your fingers, cold, solid, and you jerked it like a bell. The leather groaned. He tried to free it blind, swore because the buckle slipped, swore louder when it resisted. You laughed, head tipped back a little, because the scene was joyfully pathetic: two bodies too hurried in a room too big.
He lifted you. No question. His hands found you cleanly, hoisted you without elegance, and a little gasp popped out of you before you crashed onto the mattress. The bed answered with a heavy sigh, springs creaking like a secret.
You bounced, mouth open on an amused “shit,” your hair spilled across the new pillow that had been waiting for this. He leaned over you, arms braced on either side, smell of skin and detergent, a warm halo that took you whole. He wrestled that damned belt again, fingers more nervous than precise. Clack. The buckle finally gave like a confession.
You caught his wrist to stop him for a second, just to look him full in the face. Burning eyes, wide pupils, a red thread at the corner of his lip. You told him low, simple, no sugar: “Hurry.” He breathed your name like a curse.
You snapped on the little bedside lamp in a rush, a clumsy gesture that threw a pale yellow glow across the bed, like a timid spotlight on a scene too intimate. Then you focused back on your husband—your new husband, hell, that word still sticking like a fresh label.
Your gaze slid from his dark eyes—deep wells where the booze still danced—down to the moles sprinkled over his face. You bit your lower lip hard enough to sting at the sight of that ragged constellation that melted you.
God, those damn moles could make you wet. They were everywhere, like a map of the sky drawn on his skin: around his mouth, in the hollow of his neck, even a small rebel cluster on his cheek drifting toward his jaw.
Dieter, with that elegant-ruffian air, wore them like a signature, and you were crazy for it, as if each dot were a silent invitation to devour him.
You heard him ask you in a hoarse voice, almost a breathless whisper, if you liked them—those spots that sometimes made him self-conscious. But you didn’t answer, already too far gone in your drunken heat, that warmth crawling from your belly down your thighs, blurring your thoughts and making your body impatient. Dinner’s wine still hummed in your veins, mixing everything up: excitement, nerves, that raw hunger tightening your throat.
You pushed yourself up a little, the new mattress squeaking under your weight, and unhooked your white lace bra in a fluid move—or almost, because the clasp fought you for a second, dragging a short, frustrated growl out of you. Your skin flushed from the effort—or maybe from his stare already burning you—and you tossed it aside without aiming, where it landed with a soft rustle, like a surrendered white flag.
You smiled seeing his eyes lock on your breasts, wide-eyed, pupils blown by desire and the thin light. Your nipples tightened in the cool air drifting through the open window, a shiver running you like a charge, arching your back without your say-so.
He lowered his head slowly, almost with a hesitation that was all bluff, and took one between his warm, wet lips. A sigh slid out of you, long and trembling, pleasure thrumming in your chest like a plucked string. Your hands slipped into his hair—those dark, slightly messy locks still carrying the smell of the night outside: damp earth, a stolen cigarette on the stoop.
You urged him on with a small pressure, fingers sunk into his scalp, steering him without words because words would have wrecked it. You felt like a horny teenager—cheeks burning, heart pounding too hard against your ribs—but what for? You were a freshly married couple of twenty-three, absolute novices who had never made love, not even really fooled around in a car’s shadow or a movie theater.
Everything was new, awkward, electric: your bodies learning each other like a blank map, every touch a discovery sparking off. Dieter glanced up at you, a crooked smile as his tongue circled your nipple, a move that dragged a low, involuntary moan from you. His free hand slid up your thigh, a warm palm on bare skin, searching, exploring with that firm grip that had reminded you of the car earlier—those hips gripped like you might fly off.
The bed creaked as he shifted, his weight bowing the springs, and you felt his breath against your collarbone, uneven, charged. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he muttered against your skin, a gravelly voice like grit, and it made you laugh softly, a breathless laugh that dissolved in the room’s tepid air. Your fingers ran down his back, traced the line of his spine, felt the muscles jump under your nails—not too hard, just enough to make him shiver in turn.
The unbuckled belt still dangled at his waist, a ridiculous detail that added to the joyful urgency of the scene: two rushed kids in a too-big bed, a house that still smelled new around you. You yanked at his open shirt, nearly ripping it off his shoulders, exposing more of those moles that obsessed you—one on the shoulder, another in the hollow of his back. He growled your name again, like a prayer or a curse, and pulled you against him, skin to skin, the first sweat sticking everything, making the moves slicker, more intimate.
You moaned—a low, rough sound slipping out unfiltered—feeling his erection rub against your vulva still hidden under lace panties, already soaked with impatience for hours now—since that endless dinner where every shared look lit a fuse, since the car where his hands had promised you without a word.
Dieter in a suit, wearing a wolf-in-gentleman clothing, did a number on you, as if the taut fabric over his shoulders, the loosened tie still hanging at his throat, were a weapon made to drive you mad. His hard cock pressed against you, a slow, insistent rub that shot jolts through your belly, making you squeeze your thighs by reflex—even though that didn’t help, it made everything worse: the pulsing heat, the damp cling of fabric to your skin, the need pounding like a drum.
You looked lower through half-lidded eyes blurred by desire, clutching his bare shoulders—those firm muscles under your palms, still hot from the hasty run up the stairs, with that constellation dropping onto his chest. You stared at the obvious tent in his boxers, the stretched fabric grinding against you with clumsy urgency, saw the damp patch spreading there, caused by you—by this improvised foreplay turned delicious torment.
Hell, it was your fault—your overflowing arousal marking him like a seal—and it made you smile anyway, a predatory smile, because seeing Dieter like that, vulnerable and hard at once, gave you a thrilling power. His hips rolled against yours, an instinctive rhythm already mimicking what was coming, and every contact dragged a wet little sound, the whisper of fabric filling the too-quiet room, with the tepid air still carrying fresh paint and the mix of your sweat.
You looked him right in the eyes, pressing him with an impatient, almost pleading glare—take that damned panty off, for God’s sake, before you do it yourself. He snickered, a deep, breathless laugh that vibrated against your skin, nibbling a few seconds more at the formerly neglected nipple—the one now pointing like an accusation, sensitive to every faint breath.
His tongue traced a lazy, damp path, slipping down from your chest to your belly, kissing bare skin with a hurry that betrayed his state: too caught in his excitement, his still-fogged vision, to think about what came next. His teeth grazed your panty’s elastic, a teasing move that made your back arch, a little gasp snagging in your throat.
He tugged it gently with his fingertips, the fabric sliding off your hips with a slow shhhhing, like a veil falling, finally revealing flushed skin, the blatant wet shining under the bedside lamp. Dieter growled something unintelligible—maybe a German curse—eyes glued there, and his hands took over, parting your thighs with a firm grip that said everything: no more waiting, no more games.
You mewled with want, an animal, rough sound that surprised you, your back bending like a bow under the tension when you felt his warm breath against your exposed vulva—this mild current of air, steeped in wine-and-cigarette breath, skimming your bare skin like a ghost touch.
He looked for a long time, Dieter, eyes narrowed in the lamp’s yellowish penumbra, taking in your swollen outer lips, flushed with blood and the impatience building since the car; then his gaze slid to your inner lips, more delicate, rimmed with wet that gleamed like dew in the stingy light.
And finally, to your clitoris, swollen and pulsing like a miniature heart, standing there like a mute indictment of your desire. Everything was wet with excitement—your excitement spilling over for hours—making every centimeter of skin more sensitive, more electric, as if the slightest touch could trigger a storm. The room’s air, still steeped in that new-house smell—paint and wax mixed with your budding sweat—amplified everything, sticking to your nostrils, making you even more aware of your body opening, shameless.
A heavy moan tore out of you, a guttural sound vibrating in your throat like a growl, when he set his calloused thumb on what crowns the lips—your clitoris, fuck—that fire point that sent a jolt straight through your belly. He found it on the first try, gauging it from your explosive reaction: your hips jerking up in a snap as if your body meant to swallow his finger, your thighs trembling against the fresh sheets crinkling under you.
You didn’t know by what magic he landed on it right away—instinct maybe, or that raw connection you’d forged in the evening’s rush, those looks at dinner that already said everything. But it spared you the awkward talk—that clumsy “Uh, Dieter… a little higher, please,” the sort of line that would have broken the rhythm and turned drunkenness into comedy. Instead he smiled crookedly—that rogue smile stretching lips dotted with moles—and pressed a little more, a slow circle that wrung another mewl out of you, your eyelids falling despite you.
Your hands clawed the fresh sheets, fingers cramping in the new fabric that wrinkled under your palms, while he moved his thumb with unexpected precision, a soft but insistent back-and-forth that made pleasure pulse like a rising wave. He stopped your squirming by planting his broad hand on your belly, a warm, firm palm pressing just enough to pin you to the mattress, your arched back protesting the forced stillness.
The bed creaked under the pressure, a spring’s complaint echoing your own, and Dieter looked over your pubis, his dark eyes traveling up your bare stomach, your breasts still reddened by his kisses, to your head tipped back on the soft pillows. Already lost in your bliss, cheeks on fire, mouth open on ragged breaths, you were mewling nonsense—chopped words, half curses, half names, “Dieter… fuck… yes…”—that dissolved into the room’s heavy air. He laughed quietly, a deep laugh that vibrated against your skin as he bent his head, his breath skimming your navel, and sped up his thumb, pushing you closer to the edge, toward the chaos you’d waited for so long.
Dieter smiled at all of it—that crooked smile digging a dimple by his beauty marks, those little dark points shining under the first sweat—as if he savored your total surrender: your face twisted with ecstasy, your mewls filling the room like a rough music, the blatant wet gleaming between your thighs. He looked like a kid in front of an unwrapped gift, eyes bright with a hunger he no longer hid, before finally sealing his lips around your clitoris—closing over it with a hot, wet suction that ripped a muffled cry from you.
His tongue brushed the swollen bud, a slow spiral sending lightning into your loins, while his index searched your opening, sliding over your wet skin with a nearly comic hesitation, as if mapping unknown territory. Mild night air still slipped in through the window, carrying a whiff of damp earth that mixed with the raw smell of your arousal, making everything heavier, more primal.
You bit your lower lip hard enough to taste metal mixing with wine on your breath as you felt a first finger sink into your tight opening—a slow, intrusive glide stretching your walls with a new pressure, making you gasp like air had suddenly run out. But you felt him freeze, that finger stuck there, motionless, clearly unsure what to do now—lost in this intimacy he was discovering for the first time, his uneven breath against your skin betraying his uncertainty. The new mattress squeaked under your involuntary movements, your hips rolling on their own, wanting more; the room seemed to hold its breath, the curtains beating softly like a distant pulse.
You looked down through heavy lids, saw him watch you over your pubis, dark eyes narrowed in concentration while he licked your clitoris with eager clumsiness—his tongue dragging, sucking, sending waves that made you shake. Between faint moans—those low sounds vibrating in your throat like restrained laments—you told him, words chopped by pleasure and urgency:
“Like that, Dieter… do it like the sign you make when you tell someone to come here.
“Curl your finger up, goddamn it—toward me.
“Yes, like you’re beckoning me… fuck, yes.”
And when he did it—that curved motion, that hook inside touching right there, against that sensitive spot already pulsing—you groaned long, a sustained cry that rang off the new walls; you dropped back on the bed like a ragdoll, your arched back collapsing in a rush. Your hair spilled over the pillow, sweaty and sticking; you felt him do exactly what you told him, that paced, rhythmic motion rubbing, searching, filling you with a liquid heat rising like a tide. The drunkenness and the arousal were a perfect combo—the wine blurring the edges of your vision, amping every sensation to the unbearable—you felt like you were climaxing with each movement, little explosions shaking your belly, making you clamp down around his finger as if to keep it prisoner.
Then your eyes flew wide—surprise cutting your breath—when you felt him add another finger, that second intruder stretching everything a little more, sliding in on the slick that eased the way, while his mouth sucked your clitoris with a ravenous pull—a hot vacuum tugging your nerves like a taut cord. Christ, it was too much and not enough, your hands clenched in the sheets rucked under your nails, the bed protesting in dull cracks, and Dieter growling against you—vibrations traveling up through your body like an echo. Night kept murmuring outside, indifferent; but here, in this bubble of flesh and sweat, you were tipping into the abyss—sensation by sensation—with him learning on the job, clumsy and perfect.
Your orgasm hit like a sneak wave, a riptide surging all at once, drowning you without warning—your muscles contracting around his fingers, your clitoris throbbing under his mouth with an intensity that made you see stars—literally, points of light dancing behind your closed lids. You cried out, a rough, broken sound ripping across the room, your hips lifting despite his hand on your belly, your body shaking as if current ran from end to end.
The wine hyped everything—that hum in your veins making the sensations sharper, more chaotic—as if every nerve were bare. Dieter looked up just in time to see you like that, lost among stars, face twisted with ecstasy, mouth open on a never-ending moan, and a proud smile tugged his lips—that crooked smile, with moles seeming to shine under the lamp—as if he congratulated himself for triggering this, turning his novice into a panting wreck.
He watched you the whole time—eyes locked on your face, on your breasts heaving erratically, on your thighs still trembling against the rumpled sheets. Hell, he looked so proud, that rogue—his chest rising and falling fast, still breathless from the effort, yet too keyed up to stop there. He pushed up onto his knees, the mattress squealing under his weight, and slid a hand into his taut boxer briefs, palming his cock with a frank, urgent stroke—his hard, veiny shaft pulsing under his fingers, too swollen to ignore any longer.
Your wet still shone on his lips; he growled low, a deep sound vibrating in the warm air, while his hand moved up and down slowly as if to calm himself, which did nothing—if anything, it made him harder, more impatient. You were both drunk—the wine still varnishing your moves, making everything a little blurry, a little clumsy, but so much more intense—your breathless laughs mixing with his, curses slipping out unfiltered.
He leaned over you on his knees again and bit your inner thigh, a sharp nip but not too hard, just enough to leave a red mark that stung deliciously, jerking a surprised yelp from you. Then he moved up, his hot mouth dragging over skin still sensitive, planting hickeys in the hollow of your neck, sucking with an avidity that arched you again—those small purple badges blooming under his lips, souvenirs of this mad night—while his free hand smoothed your belly, easing the last waves of your climax. You were both drunk enough for the room to tilt—the chamber dancing at the edges of your vision—but it made everything funnier, freer, like inhibition had melted with the alcohol.
“Fuck, you’re incredible,” he muttered against your skin, voice rasping, before biting your shoulder this time—a pinch sending a jolt straight between your thighs, wringing another moan from you even as your body trembled with fatigue.
Then, without a word, he sat back against the headboard, wedging pillows behind him, legs stretched out on the new mattress that still protested. He hauled you to him with a firm grip, your weak thighs straddling his, and you settled over him, face to face, lazy-man style—whatever the name, it was perfect for your drunk, impatient bodies. His cock, standing, brushed your entrance, slick with both of you, and you sank down slowly, taking him in with a smooth slide that made you moan in unison—that tight, stretching fullness pulsing around him.
Feet planted on the bed on either side of his hips, you started to move—an up-and-down rhythm putting you in control, your hands on his shoulders for balance while his palms gripped your ass, guiding without bossing. Drunk as you were, the motions were a little jerky, awkward—laughs skidding between gasps—but fuck, it felt good: his cock hitting just there with every descent, your breasts bouncing against his chest, his eyes never leaving yours, bright with that lingering pride. Night kept tapping at the window, but here, in this mess of flesh and sweat, you lost yourselves in each other—sensation by sensation—till dawn maybe.
Barely a few dozen seconds after you started riding him in that ragged rhythm that had you panting like crazy, Dieter yanked you up in a sudden move—his hands firm under your ass—pinning you on your back with an urgency that made the bed crack like an old bone. He was desperate, this man—dark eyes bright with raw hunger, amplified by the spin in your heads—the wine smudging the edges, gestures a bit too rough, a bit too impatient.
You landed on the new mattress, pillows scattering around you, your back absorbing the shock with a shiver, and he slid between your thighs in a blink, pushing back into you with a blunt thrust, slipping easily in your wet still pulsing from the orgasm. Missionary—basic, intimate—your faces so close you felt his rough breath against your mouth, wine and sweat mixed, while he started quick strokes, clumsy—no finesse, just desperate haste—his hips smacking yours with a wet, steady sound filling the room like a frantic heartbeat.
His hands found your breasts and grabbed without gentleness, calloused palms pinching, kneading, tugging at your hard nipples with an avidity that made you moan, your body arching under him as if asking for more. He was everywhere—Dieter—his weight pinning you, his moles dancing under the yellowish lamp while he murmured dirty things in your ear—voice low and breathless, chopped by effort and booze that made him even rougher, more direct:
“Fuck, your tits… I’m going to devour them, mark them all over.”
Desperate, yes—his movements speeding up, sometimes misfiring—a thrust slipping off a little, yanking a breathless laugh out of you tangled with a cry, because you were both drunk, making it joyfully chaotic, unpredictable. His cock throbbed inside you, hard and insistent, rubbing your tender walls with every stroke, sending charges that made you clench around him, your nails raking his back, scoring red lines across skin sprinkled with those damned moles that drove you mad.
The room tilted—sweat and sex sticking to the warm air, night still murmuring its indifference through the open window—but here it was pure desperation, that hunger pushing him to take you harder, faster, like the world would end at dawn. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your moans answering his dirty whispers, and it was perfect in its clumsiness—this first time that wouldn’t stop consuming you both.
His thrusts turned more frantic, more desperate, as if wine and want were shoving him over the edge—his hips slapping yours in a jerky rhythm that shook you all over, your breasts bouncing under his hands kneading them, pinching your nipples with an urgency that made you moan in echo. Then his orgasm hit him all at once, a rough growl vibrating in his chest and climbing to his throat like a muffled roar—his eyes squeezing shut, his face grimacing with pure, brute pleasure, his moles seeming to dance under the sweat beading his skin.
He drove one last deep thrust, shaking, his whole body tensing against you, and you felt him come inside—hot, pulsing spurts filling you with liquid heat, overflowing—while he panted your name like a cracked curse, “Fuck… goddamn… yes…” His muscles shuddered, a wave running from feet to head, and he collapsed on you—heavy and damp—pressing you into the new mattress, his ragged breath thudding against your neck, tobacco and wine hanging in the warm air.
Before shifting off, he stayed there a second, panting, heart pounding against your chest like a mad drum; then he rolled to the side with a tired grunt, sprawled on his back, arms flung wide like a sated crucifix. The climax dropped him back into his drunkenness—alcohol’s veil thinning a bit—leaving him breathless, lids heavy, a lazy smile on his lips as reality seeped back: the room still spinning slightly, the smell of sweat and sex sunk into the rumpled sheets.
You looked at each other in the lamp’s yellowish glow, a gaze loaded with fresh, spent complicity, and a low laugh slipped from your lips despite the fatigue. As you felt his semen slowly leak between your thighs—hot and sticky—seeping onto the sheets with a soft, wet sound, a dull ache bloomed, throbbing, because it was your first time—that intimate burn, stretched, reminding you of the recent intrusion, your walls still tender and protesting. Sitting up carefully, the mattress squeaking, you winced a little, resting a hand on your belly to soothe it—and that’s when you saw him hardening again, his cock already rising, veiny and gleaming in the stingy light, as if the orgasm had been only a pause.
You tried to ask with your eyes, pupils blown saying everything—Already? Christ, how?—a mix of disbelief and want heating your cheeks—but he was busy lighting a cigarette, that bastard addict, fumbling with a trembling hand in the bedside table for his crumpled pack, the lighter snapping sharp in the post-coital quiet. He drew deep, blew gray smoke toward the ceiling with a satisfied sigh—the acrid smell mixing with your bodies—watching you with one arched brow.
You leaned in slowly toward his hard cock, your lips brushing the warm air around it—hesitant but curious—feeling the heat still coming off it, and he smiled, that rogue smile carving his dimples, letting you go without a word—just a lazy nod, the cigarette hanging at the corner of his mouth—like a silent invite to pick the game back up in this night stretching on, drunk and insatiable.
You brought your lips to his hard cock—still slick with your mixed mess—hesitant like a novice learning the ground; your warm breath first skimming the hot, veined skin pulsing under your eyes like an impatient heart. Christ, you were drunk—the wine still spinning in your head—making your motions a bit slow, a bit imprecise, but it only amped the excitement, that clumsiness flushing your ears.
You took him in your mouth gently, your lips stretching around the swollen head, salted with sweat and the leftover come, your tongue dragging timidly over the glans with blatant inexperience—no fancy technique, just a raw instinct pushing you to suck, to lick in clumsy circles, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin sometimes, drawing a low growl from Dieter that vibrated in the smoky air.
The room smelled like stale smoke now, that acrid scent mixing with your bodies—sticky and intimate—while you went lower, your hand catching the base to steady, pumping slowly as your cheeks hollowed with the effort.
Your eyes met his for a second—those dark pupils dilated by booze and want—and he smiled wider, blowing a plume of smoke that hovered above you like a gray veil, stinging your nostrils not that you cared—if anything, it heightened everything, the smoke seeping into your lungs by accident and making your head heavier, more surrendered to that primal act.
He sank back a little more against the headboard, the mattress squeaking under him, letting the cigarette dangle like a prop—its ember casting dancing shadows across the moles sprinkled on his chest. You sped up despite your inexperience, your mouth sliding faster, wetter, taking what you could without forcing, your muffled moans vibrating around him and making him twitch—fuck, it was like every suck tugged a cord in him—his hips lifting by reflex, pushing a bit deeper into your throat, which burned with a sweet sting.
Drunkenness blurred everything—tears pricking your eyes not from sadness but effort, mixing salt with the drool trailing down his shaft—making it all slick, staining the new sheets already soaked with traces of your night.
Dieter grunted chopped words, “Fuck… keep going… yeah, like that,” his rasp cut by panting, a hand coming to rest on your nape without forcing—just to guide, to feel your sweat-sticky hair under his fingers. The cigarette trembled at his lips, ash falling in a fine rain on his stomach, indifferent to the chaos, while you felt his body tense—muscles hardening under your free hand stroking his thigh—tracing those constellations of moles that still fascinated you, even in this boozy fog where every sensation was amplified, raw, unfiltered.
And then he came—fast, maybe too fast—an orgasm jolting him like a shock: a heavy, guttural moan rolling through the room like a primal rumble, the cigarette wagging dangerously at his lips, threatening to drop on the sheets as his whole body clenched. You felt him pulse in your mouth—hot, salty spurts that surprised you—making you swallow part by reflex, the rest spilling at the corners of your lips, sliding down your chin in a hot, sticky trail.
God, he was beautiful like that—lost in his ecstasy—eyes half-closed, face twisted with pure pleasure, those moles darker under the sheen of sweat, his chest heaving erratically as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, mixing the scent of tobacco with his come. You drew back slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, a breathless smile on your lips despite the inexperience heating your cheeks, his taste still on your tongue—bitter and addictive. Dieter slumped back into the pillows, panting, finally catching the cigarette with a shaky hand for one last drag.
I think this one shot is the worst of my kink/flufftober. 🧍♀️
A shitty mission and a shared bed means feelings boiling over
Mention of injury, reader grinding on Bucky in her sleep, unprotected sex
You were tired, this mission had dragged on and on. Shaky intel caused what should have wrapped in two days to drag onto four. Now you and Bucky were stopping at some back road off the beaten path motel to crash for a few hours before you actually got back on the road for the drive back to the tower.
When he pulled into the parking lot he parked near the lobby then waved a hand at the glove box “Hand me those gloves that's in there will you?” He always kept a pair at hand so when you were in smaller areas like this he didn’t draw any attention with his left hand. “They’re not gonna make a big deal out of it Buck. I swear we saw some dude with a glass eye and prosthetic leg at the gas station that had a taxidermy crow on his shoulder when we stopped to fill up. I don’t think a metal hand is gonna be a show stopper”
He smirked “Guess not huh?” he shrugged and motioned for you to grab your duffle bag “Come on then” you nodded and grabbed the bag. He locked the suv then waited for you to get next to him before heading into the lobby. The woman looked up from reading a book that had some badly photoshopped image of a cowboy and some princess on it.
“We need two rooms,” Bucky said with a forced smile. She raised an eyebrow, looking from you to him. You self consciously smoothed your hair down, remembering the line of stitches on your cheek. God you probably looked like a hot mess next to Bucky. He always looked like the walking definition of a fucking wet dream.
She typed on the computer and laughed “Sorry hot stuff, only one room left” Bucky cut his eyes at you “That ok?” you nodded “Yeah, no big deal” he looked back at her “We’ll take it”
The two of you followed the sidewalk around to the room. When Bucky pushed the door open you had the urge to offer to sleep in the car. Sitting in the middle of the room was one queen size bed. “Well shit” he muttered, the two of you walking far enough into the room to drop your bags onto the table just inside the door.
He scrubbed a hand down his face “I can sleep on the floor sweetheart. I’ve had worse” you shook your head "Nonsense Bucky. We’re both adults. We can share a damn bed” he didn’t seem like he wanted to agree and that made something inside of you twist. Was the prospect of just sharing a bed with you so horrible? You’d been harboring a crush on this man for months and he was horrified at sleeping next to you. Your face burnt with the silence until he nodded “Ok”
After a round of showers, you and Bucky stood at the foot of the bed. You motioned to it “Any preference?” he nodded “I’m sleeping closest to the door. Nothing against you, I know you’re plenty capable but just in case something was to happen, I’d rather be between you and whatever comes in” you felt your heart flip but reminded you that was just Bucky. He protected the team. “Fine by me” you replied and crawled up onto the bed, taking the side nearest the bathroom.
Once you were both under the blanket, you turned on your side. Bucky switched off the lamp and whispered “Night doll” “Night Bucky”
Bucky wasn’t sure what had woke him up. It wasn’t a nightmare, no he would’ve recognized that feeling. He laid there for a moment, trying to register what it was. There was no threat, no feeling of danger. That was when the sound hit his ears. A light little breath from you.
He shifted and realized that somehow the two of you had moved closer in sleep. Your ass was damn near flush against his crotch. What woke him up was the fact that you were moving just enough in your sleep for your ass to rub against him. He swallowed hard, watching you for a moment trying to gauge what to do.
He’d long since harboured an attraction to you. God you were amazing, beautiful, sweet, kind and smart. He just didn’t know if he deserved to even try to have you. You needed someone as good as you, someone without the blood on their hands. Someone who was a bit closer in age.
When your back arched up and you made direct contact with his cock, your bodies meeting through the layers of clothes he grunted low, hand flying out to grab your hip and still your movements. “Doll, wake up”
You were groggy, half asleep. You couldn’t remember what you’d been dreaming about but it had something to do with Bucky and a blanket under a sky full of stars. When his voice cut through your head “Doll, wake up” you startled “Huh?”
You opened your eyes and realized you were right against him. Your ass was on him and oh god, he was hard as a rock. Were you? Oh fuck you’d been grinding on him in your sleep. You’d fucking molested the man. “I am so sorry Bucky” you muttered, trying to climb back to your side of the bed or better yet under the bed into the abyss. “It’s ok” he assured you.
You turned to face him, your face on fire “I didn’t, fuck I didn’t mean to do that” he smiled softly “Good dream?” you hid your face in your hands “Damn good dream” you hoped he’d let it go, let you go to sleep or just hide but instead you felt his flesh hand gently pry your fingers away from your face. His crystal blue eyes searched your face as he asked “Who were you dreaming about?”
“Do you want an honest answer here?” his eyes darkened just a bit, “Depends on the honest answer” you held his eyes and whispered “You”
You weren’t sure what response to expect. Would he laugh? Would he let you down easy? Would he pull away completely? Instead he smiled “Good answer” and tugged you into his arms, you didn’t have time to question why or what he was doing before his lips were on yours.
You melted against him, arms hooking around his neck. He pushed you over onto your back, crawling on top of you. You hooked your legs up around his waist, a pathetic sound escaping you when he rolled his hips into yours, his hardened length rutting against your dripping cunt through the layers of clothes “Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted you” he breathed against your lips.
You pulled back from the kiss, looking across his face for any hesitation “Then why haven’t you said anything?” “Didn’t think I was good enough. Didn’t think you’d want me” he admitted. You shook your head “Fuck you James Barnes. You are amazing” and tugged him into a kiss that was messy, tongue and teeth, your fingers tangling in his hairs, his hands tugging at your clothes.
It didn’t take much for both of you to be rid of the barriers between your bodies, he hesitated with the head of his cock teasing your core “You’re sure?” “Please Bucky. I’ve wanted you and only you for so long” at that he pushed into you achingly slow. You gasped out, pulling him into a kiss as he stretched your body around him.
“Feels so good” he breathed into your mouth. You smiled against his lips “You feel amazing” he kissed down your neck, teasing at the sensitive flesh as he gave a roll of his hips, pushing his cock deeper into you. “Just like that baby” you breathed and he smiled against your skin “Baby huh? I like that”
He pulled almost all the way out then slammed back into you. Your back arched, nails biting into his flesh “Gonna start calling me baby in front of the team doll face?” he teased. You nodded dumbly “Honey I’ll call you anything you want if you don’t stop” he laughed, a full chest laugh when you said that. “Oh sweetheart, I don’t plan on stopping until every damn person in this shitty little motel knows just who is making you feel this good” the hesitation was gone, replaced by a man who was staking a claim, making a decision. If you wanted him by god you were gonna get him, everything he had to offer was yours and he was going to make sure you didn’t regret it.
anzai who’s fallen deep into his love for you has found himself in a lust— but can he control himself?
masturbation ,biting, blood smear, blood drinking, p in v, rut like themes, scratching, a semi shy anzai. not proofread.
he felt so disgusted by himself, how could he think about you in this way? you were more than this— you deserved more to be a simple thought that only gave himself pleasure. you weren’t some girl who was helping him come in his hand.
no, you were more than that, you were a huge crush he had for you ever since you came onto the job. (both of you had already spoke of this, but he still feels like even if you were dating, he’d have the hugest crush on you still ) he bit his lip, a hand stifling his moans and he flicks his wrists faster. oh god, how he wants you so bad. he wishes he could admit how he thinks of you in such an ungodly hour and way— but he cant, knowing how cruel the world can be towards devils.
but he feels so good, its better than him sinking his teeth into you somewhere. he cant, he has to find other ways of pleasure than that.
his hips buck up, a grunt rippling through his throat and he gasps. “oh, god..” he moans softly, his closed eyes squeezing tighter and he whines. “please..” his forearm covers his eyes, his balls lurching a little from the edging he gave himself. he grants himself ecstasy, feeling himself release fat, thick globs of semen ooze from his cockhead.
“where have you been, anzaii?” practically jumping out of your skin when he opens and quickly slams the door. your heart settles down, only realizing its your deviled beloved boyfriend, and sigh. “told you about suddenly coming in.”
“sorry,” he apologized, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek and he plops onto the side of the bed— your shared bed, next to you. “i just had to handle.. some things.”
“some things?” you ask, clarifying. you watch him nod his head, not even daring to look your direction— nor your face. “like what?” you ask, his face turning crimson and he starts to bounce his knee. “aaanzai?”
“i— uh..” he starts, stammering over every other word and he swallows thick spit. “i.. almost transformed. and i had to handle that.”
“you couldve just asked me for help, you know.” you sigh, going back to your phone and scrolling to try and ignore his words, you hated how he just had to do everything on his own. “cant even let your girlfriend help you with anything.”
he looks at you stunned, and a pang hits his heart. “yeah, i know— its just-“
“its just what, anzai?” you snip at him, eyes snapping to him. “that youre afraid of what’ll happen? youre not sure how i would look at you?” you badger him, you hate doing this to him, but you’re his girlfriend for fuck sakes! and your supposed to help him! “what could it possibly be that i cannot do to help you?”
he only stares at you, throat dry and his knee stops bouncing. he sighs, putting his palms over your hands. “i just—“
you cut him off, pressing your lips to his own and small tears dribble down your face. your smaller hands find their way onto his neck, pulling yourself a little closer onto him. he reciprocates, pulling you closer by your back and he breathes heavy through his nose, cocking his head to the side. “anzai, please, just let me help you— for once in this lifetime.”
he nods, sucking onto your bottom lip and pressing you down into the bed. his groin pressed against your clothed cunny, his groans spilling into your mouth as he feels your heartbeat from between your legs. he pins your hands by entwining his, the sweat mixing into your skin. he pulls up, staring down into your eyes and his eyes are red, yellow and black slits for pupils.
your heart beats faster, your head spins from how the room is starting to become a little stuffy— but you didnt mind, your lips parting open and spreading your legs a little more for him to make himself at home. “anzai..” you softly say, taking his hand and placing it to your dampened shorts. “please..”
he watches intensely, his heart of his own races and he nods. he takes his fingers and laced them around your waistband, pulling your inside shorts down and stills. god, youre wet.. and he has to reevaluate himself before he takes two fingers to lap up your juices— pressing the digits onto his tongue and he moans.
his eyes snap back to your face, pouncing onto you and he pulls your top and bra off, watching your naked movements. he feels.. new, but safe. and he leans forward, sticking his tongue out to flick at your perky nipple. he grabs his belt buckle, undoing the metal and he pulls his aching cock out; pressing his lips to yours again.
you squeak in his mouth, your arms around his neck and legs caging him in and a moan bubbles out when you feel his cock slide against your folds. you open your eyes, seeing his fangs out and glimmering in the light as he keeps his own closed— for now, at least.
“is.. this okay?” he asks, slowly thrusting his undercock against your clit and gathering your juices onto his shaft and some of his balls. “need you now.. more than ever, angel.”
you nod, feeling the stretch of your cunt open up to him as he slips himself in. he wasn’t exactly huge, nor was he average. its been a long time since you got laid, sensually of course. your old flings never had sex with you, just mere fucking.
he pauses at each inch sinking into you, a shaky breath at each inch and biting his lip. he cant help it, feeling your walls spasm onto his length and holding your hands down to keep himself grounded to earth. thats what he loved you for, for keeping him to earth.
“you ready..?” you ask, watching him tremble and your fingers trace his skin. “we can stop here if you—“
“i dont want to stop.” he redirects, kissing your shoulder. “im okay, we can keep going.”
you nod, a soft moan as he moved his hips inside of you, then pulling hisself back— just to push in deeper and deeper each time he got closer to your womb. “anzai..” you softly say, eyes closed and he feels it.
your pulse.
he feels his temperature rise up just a bit, well, it was already risen. he furrows his head into the crook of your neck, kissing and open mouth sucking on your skin. the sounds of his cock plunging into your juicy pussy echoing throughout the walls and his moans into your skin.
“wanted this for so long, so so long..” he whines, his left hand clawing at the fabric and the sound of it tearing alerts you for a second. he moans when you clamp down on his cock, sucking him in deeper than he already was and he jolts a bit. his mind starts to slip, his hand on yours to keep you close..
he grunts, his thrusts becoming more aggressive until you feel his adams apple start to bob a little, and he breathes heavier against your skin— and then you feel it.
he bit you, trying to desperately hide his moans. and yet, his teeth sink deeper into your skin, your flesh pulsating and he eagerly drinks the red liquid that oozes out from two puncture wounds. “a-anzai—“
he pulls you tightly to him, his thrusts starting to become ravaging and he pulls away, lips tinted with a deep red and he stares down at your shoulder. his hand subconsciously moves and presses against your wound, smearing red down to your breasts and a thumb caressing your lips.
“an—“ you try to say, but the devil’s lips press to yours again, it tastes like metal in his mouth. nothing you havent dealt with before, since you sometimes bite the inside of your cheek as a subconscious response or tic. and your moans spill as he continues to knock winds from your body.
“anzai, anzai, anzai!” you squeal, trying desperately to catch your breath and he nods, kissing the lobe of your ear to come undone, to help him get better. the coil in your tummy, thats been so eager and desperate to snap for however long hes been around you— it finally snapped, your walls spasming onto him and he gasps.
the sucking of your walls that pulls him in closer does something to him, his eyes rolling back and he grits his teeth, pulling his hips back in a desperate attempt and fat globs of his come dribble onto the back of your thighs.
both of you, together, lay against the soft mattress and he realizes what he’s done. “oh god,” he starts, pressing his digits to your shoulder. “i.. im sorry—“
“its okay, you didnt take a whole bunch..” you assure him, pressing the wound. “and you stopped when you shouldve, so its all okay. youre building your tolerance, remember?”
he nods, scooting himself closer to you and then taking your hands into his. “did you enjoy yourself?” he asks, his eyes back to having his dark circles and not his transformed state. “did i pressure you?”
“yes and no.” you say, a smile on your face.
“yes and no that you enjoyed yourself?” he asks, a little lost but hes got his heart in the right direction.
“yes i enjoyed myself and no you didn’t pressure me, anzai.” you correct him, kissing his lips. “its okay, i got to help you.”
“.. would you help me like this more often? you dont have to, but if you do then thats also okay—“
notes; my first every kinktober as a writer! kinktober fics are on odd numbered days, flufftober are even days. a mix of characters (both male and female- but mostly men) from criminal minds, acotar, stranger things, euphoria (rue only), call of duty, throne of glass, harry potter (marauders era), outer banks, marvel and slashers (brahms only). list is a mix of different prompt lists, including ones from the official flufftober and kinktober accounts. mwah <3
day 1- hand kink with spencer reid
day 2- “i’ve got you,” with rhysand
day 3- overstim with emily prentiss
day 4- holding hands with billy hargrove
day 5- cockwarming with azriel
day 6- porch swing with rue bennett
day 7- somnophilia with johnny soap mactavish
day 8- gifts with spencer reid
day 9- edging with nancy wheeler
day 10- sweet tooth with fenrys moonbeam
day 11- doctor x patient with remus lupin pt2
day 12- rainy day with remus lupin
day 13- thigh riding with simon riley
day 14- first kisses with sirius black
day 15- degradation with rafe cameron
day 16- music to watch boys to with poly!marauders
