Summary: Baran has been a brat all day while you work from home and so that can only end with her being punished.
word count: 757
Warnings: MDNI, 18+, brat taming, nipple play, forced orgasms, overstimulation, light humiliation, teasing, power exchange, mild restraint
Authors note: This was a request which can be found here!
Baran had been an absolute menace all day.
From the moment you sat down at your desk for your remote work calls, she’d been testing every last ounce of your patience. First it was “accidentally” brushing against you in the tiniest shorts and cropped tank top she owned, then “forgetting” to wear a bra underneath. She’d sprawled across the couch in your peripheral vision, sighing dramatically, whining about how bored she was, how neglected she felt, how mean you were for working when she finally had a rare day off from the ED.
Every time you tried to focus, she’d find a new way to push: stealing your coffee, “tripping” into your lap only to wiggle away with a bratty little smirk, pouting and calling you “busybody” in that sweet, spoiled tone she knew drove you crazy.
By late afternoon, you’d had enough.
You pushed your chair back from the desk mid-email, reached out, and grabbed her wrist as she tried to saunter past you again with that smug little sway in her hips.
“Come here, Baran.”
Before she could sass you, you pulled her down firmly onto your lap, straddling you, her knees bracketing your thighs. Her breath hitched, eyes lighting up with victorious delight. She thought she’d won. She thought she was finally getting what she’d been begging for all day.
You let her grind against you once, just once, feeling how warm and needy she already was through those tiny shorts. Then your hands slid under her cropped top, pushing it up to expose her breasts.
Baran shivered, arching into your touch with a soft, eager sound. “Finally,” she whispered, voice dripping with triumph. “Knew you couldn’t ignore me forev—ah!”
Your fingers found her nipples, already stiff and sensitive from all her teasing and you began to play with them. Gently at first. Rolling. Pinching. Flicking. Using the pads of your thumbs to rub slow, maddening circles around the sensitive peaks while your other fingers lightly tugged and stroked.
Baran’s hips jerked, a broken little moan slipping out of her. She tried to grind down harder, chasing friction, but your free hand gripped her waist, holding her still.
“Shhh, darling,” you murmured softly against her ear, voice low and sweet, the perfect soft-dom tone that always melted her even when she was being a brat. “This is your punishment. I’m only going to tease these sensitive nipples until you cum from it. Over and over again.”
Her eyes widened. “W-what? No, wait…please, I need-”
You pinched both nipples at the same time, a little firmer, and she whimpered, hips twitching uselessly in your lap. You kept your touch focused, deliberate, and relentless alternating between soft caresses, sharp little twists, and slow, wet circles after you leaned in to lick your fingers. Every time she tried to rut against your thigh for more, you held her firmly in place.
“Look at you,” you cooed, kissing the side of her neck while your fingers never stopped. “So bratty all day just because you wanted attention. Now you have it, baby. All of it. Right here on these pretty, needy nipples.”
Baran’s breathing grew ragged. Her cheeks flushed dark, lips parted in desperate little gasps. She was trembling, trying so hard to be good now that the game had turned on her, but her body was betraying her whining, arching, pushing her breasts further into your hands.
You felt the first orgasm build in her faster than she expected. Her thighs shook around you, nipples swollen and glistening under your relentless touch. When she finally tipped over the edge, it was with a shocked, humiliated cry, cumming untouched except for your fingers on her chest.
You didn’t stop.
Even as she twitched and gasped through the aftershocks, you kept playing with her over-sensitive nipples, gentler now but just as focused.
“Too much…fuck…please…” she whimpered, burying her face in your shoulder, but her hips were still rolling weakly, chasing the humiliating pleasure.
“Poor little brat,” you whispered lovingly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You wanted my attention so badly. Now you’re going to take every bit of it. Again.”
You rolled her nipples between your fingers, slow and steady, feeling her start to climb once more.
“You’ve been a brat for the past five hours now so I think it’s only fair that you cum that many times for me like this.”
Baran moaned brokenly into your neck, already falling apart for the second time, completely at your mercy.
Toshinori Yagi x gentle dom!reader (no gendered pronouns or description given of reader)
Content: NSFW. Gentle domming Toshinori. Oral, nipple play, body worship (Toshi receiving) Just loving on him and giving him the head he deserves 🥰 Approx 900 words.
Across the decades, Toshinori has faced countless opponents without so much as flinching, yet he quivers when you kiss his chest. Slender legs trembling, and eyes squeezed shut.
“Oh wow,” he gasps, overwhelmed almost as soon as you get started. “Oh… wow…”
“That feel good?”
He nods, hardly able to reply as you lap the puckered bud of his nipple with the tip of your tongue, those big hands gripping the pillow at either side of his head. “W-oh- wow… yeah… ‘s good. Thank you.”
Though dauntless when facing villains, he surrenders to you so readily, that gentle, sweet man who has fought infinite bloody battles. His deep, comforting voice, so perfectly suited to reassuring, leading, and orating, is reduced to nothing more than fragmented, rumbling groans of pleasure and hoarsely whispered words of thanks. And his wounded, battle-scarred body, so accustomed to pain he hardly knows how to react to soft touches, is so sensitive to your every caress. And so very very grateful for them.
“My beautiful man,” you whisper against his scars.
And he laughs at that, breathlessly; in relief, in overwhelming gratitude, and happiness he never thought he could know.
When your kisses trail lower, to his hollow, undulating abdomen, he almost instinctively darts his hand down, his palm warm and heavy against your cheek, as if he has to check in on you, to make sure you really want to do this for him. It still floors him that you do. But of course you’re eager, kissing your way along the golden path of fuzz trailing down from his navel.
His blue eyes widen, radiant amongst their surrounding shadows. “Wait… let me… I want you to feel good too,” he says, his voice gravely and thick with arousal. “You don't have to–”
“Toshi, hush. Just close your eyes and let me take care of you.”
Easier said than done. Toshinori’s career as a pro-hero, heck, his life has centered around taking care of others. So switching off that instinct, allowing himself to be selfish, to be indulged, is a battle in and of itself. But if he’s anything, Toshinori is good for you. So responsive, so satisfying to pleasure, and so eager to please.
So, he forces himself to switch off that part of his brain as you continue your kisses; trailing over his belly, the hills of his hips, to those long, lean thighs while he squirms and gasps and whispers your name. His inner thighs are a particular weakness, bordering on ticklish as you tease his sensitive skin with your lips, tongue, and ever-so-gently, your teeth.
“Ohhh, love… my… goodness… you’re killing me…”
His head lolls back against the pillow as the sinews in his arms bulge from the strength of his grip on the pillow. And he’s so turned on, flushed and gasping, his abdomen beginning to glisten with a sheer coat of perspiration, lips parted in bliss. But these days it takes a little longer to get fully erect. Age and injury require patience from both of you.
A choked cry bursts from him as you take his semi-erect length into your mouth, sucking, licking, letting it harden against your eager tongue.
“Oh… jeez…” he groans, one hand buried in his wild golden hair. “Oh, I love you.”
The other hand instinctively seeks yours, your fingers interlacing across the fluttering plain of his stomach. You know him well enough to know he needs that. He needs your hand in his, he needs to hold on to you or he’s lost.
And it’s that gesture which really gets him there. Maybe it’s the security and intimacy, but within moments his cock is hardening; until it’s so big and so damn thick you have to wrap your free hand around his base and jerk him off while you take him to the back of your throat.
His grip tightens as he cries out in pleasure, feet sliding against the mattress as he searches for purchase while you suck and lick, and fuck him with your mouth. “Oh God, thank you. Thank you…”
“Can you cum for me, Toshi?” you ask, stroking his cock as you drink in the sight of him; all flustered and falling apart.
He nods, pulling in a breath. “Soon…huh- ohh close. S-oh close.”
So you suck, and lick, and stroke his heavy cock, feasting on the sight of him coming undone in the most delicious way. And before long his feet are lifting off the mattress, long legs quaking from the tension as he throws his arm across his eyes and gasps in pleasure. “Hah! Nghh– aha! Ha!”
And when he cums, he’s practically sobbing, so completely overwhelmed and grateful and so madly in love with you. He cums with his entire body, every inch of him dominated by sheer ecstasy; trembling, throbbing, tensing, his hand in yours the only part of him that remains steady. His orgasm is so strong, so consuming it’s as if he’s making up for all those decades he set his needs aside.
“Thank you,” he gasps, for the hundredth time since you got him into bed. “Jeez… you’re so perfect. So wonderful. I love you and I– thank you. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Of course I’m here,” you tell him, shuffling up the bed to smooth back the long, tousled tresses of his bangs and shower him in kisses. “I love you so much, Toshi.”
He smiles, cheeks glowing under the tender caress of your lips. “Thank you.”
Dennis laying across your lap and fucking your thighs while you spank him NEEED THAAT😛😛😛😛😛
MARIS BACK BABY!! love this idea btw…
Warnings: sub!dennis, softdom!reader, spanking.
“gonna need you to count for me okay honey?” he lets out a shuddering breath, the feeling of your warm palm delicately slide over the crest of his ass. He wiggles his hips for a moment trying to adjust, unable to stop the low mewl slinking from his lips as his cock slides further between your naked thighs beneath him.
“yeah..” It comes out in a wispy breath and you make a noise of disapproval. Raking your nails over his sensitive skin, not particularly painful but the action still sharp. “ma’am— yes ma’am, sorry” he whimpers.
“good boy.” Reaching up you ruffle his hair and he leans into it his eyes fluttering shut as you rake your fingers through his curls. Gently rubbing at his scalp, he sighs contently. Soft shivers travel through him relaxing his body even further. Then he feels your other hand lift from where it rested on his thighs. Less than a second later a sharp smack sounds throughout the room. He winces, hot sparks of pain rush through him. The kind that makes his back arch and cock twitch from where it sits pressed between the warm of your thighs. Melting down into molten pleasure, eyes shooting open as he gasps.
“one..” He groans out, fingers digging into the soft pillow beneath his head.
Smack!
“ah— two.” This time it comes out in a pitiful whine the comparable to that of a puppy begging for a treat. He drags out the “o” at the end. A sharp sting travels through him, this time shooting straight to his weeping cock. Heat blooms where your hand meets his flesh in a delightful pressure that makes his chest heave, thrusting his hips down. Moaning at the squeeze of your thighs on the shaft of his dick.
You smile, and press your thighs together slowly sliding them back and forth. Trapping his cock between them, flexing the muscles there enjoying the way it makes him tremble.
“o—oh that’s nice..feels good.” Tugging his lip between his teeth while his hips make shallow ruts downwards. “just like that dennis..keep goin’ while I continue yeah?”
Hiiiiii! I was thinking about a bit of angst and a bit of subBucky.
Imagine: Bucky being himself, thinking he does not deserve to be happy (all the dark thoughts he can have : doesn't deserve this, everything he touch breaks, etc...) so he tries to self-sabotage his new relationship with Reader (angsty Bucky doing something stupid to break the relation because he thinks reader will be better off of him). But Reader wants none of that. She's hurt, a lot, but she also knows her man (and she loves him) so she does not take the bait... and after a good exchange (not your decision Bucky!!) then smut... but she makes him "make it up to her" by him being a sub... And she makes him whimper and whine and beg... Until he realizes she's the only one, she loves him and she will not have any other.
Sorry. I went overboard with that. Of course, if you don't feel like writing it, feel free to ignore.
emma i think about this every day as well
----------
You find the note on the counter like a resignation letter from a man who thinks love is a job he’s failing at.
It’s careful, of course—Bucky is always careful when he’s breaking his own heart. Folded once. Your name written steady in blue ink. Inside, a string of apologies and one neat lie disguised as logic:
You deserve better. I keep messing this up. I’m sorry. It’s not you. —B.
You set it down next to his keys and the spare ring he uses to fidget when he’s anxious. The apartment is too quiet; the clock ticks like a metronome for a song you refuse to learn. You don’t chase him. You know him.
He’s not leaving. He’s hiding.
You find him on the stoop two floors down, elbows on knees, jaw shadowed, the line of his mouth carved mean on purpose. The night has that damp, city smell, and the streetlight stains his hair copper. He doesn’t look up when you sit. He’s practicing detachment, rehearsing indifference to spare you the live show.
“Your note’s dramatic,” you say softly.
“I meant it.” He stares at his hands. “I keep… I keep breaking things. It’s what I do.”
“You’re not a weather pattern,” you murmur. “You’re a person. And you don’t get to evacuate me for my own safety, Buck.”
“That’s not what—”
“You’re trying to decide for both of us.” You tap his knee. “Not your decision.”
His throat works. “You’d stay with a man who forgets to answer texts for hours because he’s spiraling? Who flinches at the doorbell? Who wants you until wanting hurts and then pushes you away because the hurting feels like proof?”
You take a breath. Honesty is the only thing that doesn’t rot. “I’d stay with you.” You nudge the note against his thigh. “But if you’re going to leave me, you’re going to have to look me in the eye and say it. Say you don’t want me.”
He finally looks. Those ocean-dark eyes are already wet around the edges. “Don’t—” He swallows. “Don’t make me lie like that.”
“Then stop lying like this.”
Silence stretches, taut but unbroken. Passing cars paint his knuckles with moving light. He’s trying to hold the story together—the one where he’s the poison and you’re the glass he’s trying not to crack—but the seams are showing.
“Bucky,” you say, gentler now, “you’re scared. I’m scared too. But I’m not going anywhere. And I—hey.” You catch his chin when he flinches away. “I love you.”
The words land like a match on wet wood: a hiss, a stubborn glow, a slow catch. His mouth trembles. “You shouldn’t.”
“That’s also not your decision.”
He laughs on a half-sob and drops his face into his hands. When he looks up again, he’s raw. “I don’t deserve—”
“Stop.” You thread your fingers through his hair, tug until he shivers. “Then earn it. With me. Not by leaving, by staying. You want to make this right?”
He nods once, helpless.
“Okay.” You stand and offer your hand. “Upstairs.”
—
You don’t kiss him at the door. You don’t soothe him with your mouth and let him pretend the apology is a thing that lives in a kiss. You walk him to the bedroom and turn on the small lamp, warm and low.
“Clothes off,” you say.
Color rides high in his cheekbones. He undresses like he’s confessing: shirt first—shoulders, scars, a horizon of muscle mapped by your hands a hundred times—then jeans, then shy where he’s never shy, like the shame tries to sit in his skin. You step closer and help with the last of it, steady, practical, unhurried. He’s already hard, humiliation flickering behind his eyes; you catch his jaw again and make him meet you.
“We’re not punishing you,” you murmur. “We’re correcting you. You don’t run when it’s hard. You kneel.”
His knees hit the carpet with a soft thump. He melts down so beautifully your chest aches—six feet of tension folding to devotion at the hinge of your words. You sweep your thumb across his lower lip and he parts for it, breath hot, pupils blown.
“Use your words,” you say.
“Yes.” He swallows. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy.” The two words make him shiver like you’ve pulled a wire in his spine. “Hands behind your back.”
He obeys, wrists crossed, every muscle singing restraint. You take your time undressing, letting the whisper of fabric, the slide of straps, the shape of you in the lamplight, turn the screws. He watches you like worship. When you step close, he noses the inside of your knee without being told, and you cradle his face.
“You tried to leave me with a letter,” you say. “So now you’re going to make it up to me with your mouth.”
A broken sound escapes him. “Please.”
“Ask better.”
“Please let me make it right.” He’s breathless. “Please let me—let me taste you. Please let me stay.”
The knot in your chest loosens. “That’s better.”
You guide him forward, one hand in his hair, and he surges like he’s starving, like all that self-hate has been alchemized into need. He starts too greedy, tongue frantic, and you clutch the back of his head and slow him down.
“Gentle,” you warn. “You’re not taking. You’re giving.”
He whines into you, corrects, learns, relearns. You tilt your hips and rock him where you want him until the apologies turn to moans and the moans turn to prayer. He keeps his hands laced behind him even when he shakes; the discipline makes your teeth sink into your lip.
“Look at me.” His eyes flick up, glassy. “You’re doing so good, baby. So good.”
He whimpers—high, desperate—and you ride his mouth until the ribbon of heat inside you pulls tight and snaps. You let yourself fall into it, loud and honest, and he swallows every tremor like penance, like proof.
When you pull him back by his hair, his chin is slick, his mouth pink and swollen. You stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Up. Bed.”
He climbs onto the mattress and you climb after him. You straddle his hips and sit heavy on his cock without giving him relief, the slick head framed against you, the threat of you everywhere. His hands twitch like he’s fighting muscle memory.
“Touch me,” you say, and his hands fly to your thighs, reverent. “Not yourself. You don’t get that until I say.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice is paper-thin.
You rock. He breaks. Soft, sweet sounds spill out—whimpers, bitten-off pleas, the kind of begging you only get when a man hands you the reins and keeps his eyes open for the ride. You lean forward and catch his mouth; he moans into you, obedient, adoring.
“Say it,” you breathe.
“I’m yours,” he gasps. “I’m—please, I’m yours. Don’t leave me.”
“Never.” You take him then, a slow slide that steals both your air. He sobs on the first thrust, the metal hand fisting in the sheet like he needs something unbreakable to hold while you break him open.
You set the pace and keep it, a firm, rolling rhythm that leaves him wrecked beneath you. You talk him through it, the way he likes, the way he needs when his thoughts go dark—good boy, stay with me, breathe, you’re doing so well, you’re mine—and every word unspools another knot. He starts to come apart properly, back arching, voice gone ragged.
“Please,” he begs. “Please, I—can I—please let me—”
“Not yet.” You brace your palm over his throat, gentle pressure, a reminder of surrender. His eyes flutter. “Ask again.”
“Please let me come in you. Please let me stay. Please let me be good.”
You kiss his eyelids, his temple, the scar along his cheek. “You are good.” You rise and drop, and his hands bruise your hips with devotion. “Give it to me.”
He obeys like it’s a vow. You ride him through it, take it, praise him for it, and when you finally follow, he gives you a sound that’s nothing but relief and adoration. You keep moving until the shudders fade into aftershocks, until the only thing left is breath and the hammering of two hearts in the same room.
You go still and feel him soften inside you, his hands smoothing mindlessly over your thighs like he’s petting a frightened thing calm. You bend down and press your forehead to his.
“Look at me,” you say again, softer. He does. Those eyes are clearer now, the storm blown past. “I love you. I’m not something you protect from yourself. I’m someone who chooses you.”
He nods, a shaky, boyish thing. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know.” You kiss him, slow as summer. “You’re going to keep telling me, not with notes, but with this.” You tap his chest. “With showing up. With talking to me. With staying when it’s ugly.”
“I can do that.” He swallows, and his eyes go bright again, but this time the shine looks a lot like hope. “Will you—” He clears his throat. “Will you tell me when I start to go? Pull me back?”
“Every time.”
You slide off and tuck yourself into his side, and he curls around you like a shield that finally understands it’s allowed to be held. His breathing evens. The room smells like sweat and skin and the smallest kind of miracle.
When you’re almost asleep, he murmurs, “Not my decision, huh?”
You smile into his chest. “Not even a little.”
His laugh is quiet, reverent. “Good,” he says, and kisses your hair. “Please keep deciding me.”
Characters: Dean x hunter female! reader, Sam as friend
A/N: Tehehe It was Mother's Day this past weekend! And my mind is a wild place! PS ya gurl has been having major migraines lately so I haven't been able to write much. But I have more things coming!
Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Very little plot! Fluff. Shameless Smut (PIV. Unprotected sex (don’t do this). Creampie. Cowgirl. Body worship. Breast Play. Titty Obessessed Dean. Big Dick Dean. Mommy kink. Reader being called Mommy. Dean being called Baby. Sub!Dean. Softdom!Reader.) Aftercare kinda. Reader hinted at being a little soft and curvy. Dean a little insecure. Confessions of feelings. No usage of Y/N. Not proofread
Word Count: 2.5K
“Here” you toss a pair of water bottles up into the front seat “you boys need to drink some water”
“Okay Mom” Dean grunts rolling his eyes, even as he picks up the bottle.
You flick Dean’s ear. Rude.
Sam chuckles “you do kinda mother us”
“If you two would take care of yourselves I wouldn’t have to”
————
You continued to take care of them in lots of little ways: reminding them to drink water, making Dean eat vegetables, keeping snacks for them in your bag, cleaning and dressing their wounds, calling on leads, making appointments, and probably more.
You don’t think anything of it, it’s just how you care for the people you love.
The boys don’t stop calling you ‘mom’. Earning them a glare or a flick to the ear most of the time. If you’re being honest you don't really mind. If you’re being really honest it warms something in you. To be needed.
It became a bit. A running joke. You’d feed them or scold them and they’d call you mom.
So when you found matching “I ❤️My Mom” t-shirts in some middle of nowhere town, you had to buy it for them.
They both scoffed at you, but they’ve worn it. Dean more than Sam. The first time they both pulled it on you cooed at them and pinched their cheeks and made them smile for for a picture.
“This is so cute!” You squealed as you took their photo, arms around each other.
“I feel ridiculous," Sam muttered.
“Shut it Sammy, just humor her alright?”
“Okay Okay thank you! You two can change now”
“Nope! We’re wearin it all day.” Dean grinned at you
“Awe proud mama moment” you coo at them, playing into the bit. But warmth spreads through your bones, the affection making them feel too soft to hold you up.
A few weeks and a few towns later, the Winchesters returned the favor.
You were doing research in the motel room while they were out following a lead. When they returned, each of them were hiding something behind their backs.
“We got you something” Dean said with a mischievous smirk. While Sam looked like he was trying to hide a smile.
They both pulled out their tshirts with a flourish. One said “Boy Mom” the other says “Hot Moms Read”
You couldn’t help but laugh at the two of them.
You pulled one on over the tanktop you had one right away.
“How do I look?” You asked with a smile
Dean looked at you with soft eyes.
Sam grins like a fool next to him. “Like a mom”
————
Months went by, you continue to ‘mother’ them. They continue to tease you about it, followed by kind smiles and thank yous.
Your relationship with Dean grows over the months too.
Sharing beds when necessary turned into all the time. You two started cuddling on couches. Fingers lingering when they brushed.
Now you're in the back of some dive bar, wearing your “Hot Moms Read” shirt. Which admittedly has seen better days. There’s a few holes in it (definitely not from a knife) and the bottom hem is got ripped off, so it frays and exposes just a hint of your stomach. It’s your favorite shirt.
Sam left hours ago, you can’t really remember why. You can’t think of anything to be honest, too focused on Dean's warm callused hands dragging over your exposed waist. Or on the way his warm breath on your ear, sends shivers down your spine.
The bar is crowded. You two had moved closer to hear each other but with the tension that’s been building and the alcohol making you feel braver, now you are practically in his lap. Your stool touching his, your legs draped over his thigh. His arms around you holding you close.
Your eyes watch as his plump, pink lips move when he pulls back to ask you something. You can’t hear his question over the noise in the place though. Or is that just your thundering heart?
“Huh?” You tilt your head at him
Those tempting lips curl into a smirk as his big hands drag you closer. His lips tickle your neck, making you shiver.
“Can I kiss you?” His question is pleading and growly and delicious.
Your breath hitches. You and Dean have bcoming increasingly more flirty and touchy lately, but he never crossed that line. You were beginning to feel like it was more of an impenetrable wall than mental boundary.
So you don’t answer with your words. You pull back just enough to crash your lips against his.
It’s not pretty. It’s not romantic nor gentle. It’s passionate. Messy. The long building tension finally snapping. Teeth clacking, tongues battling, lips sliding against each other. He swallows your moans, you swallow his groans.
He drags you off your stool and onto his thigh. Lips only leave yours to drag down your throat. You sigh and tip your head back as he nips and kisses back up to your ear.
“Goddamn honey, y’re perfect” it comes out a growl, lips and stubble sliding against the sensitive skin behind your ear
“Dean” you gasp out as he bites on your earlobe, teeth tugging on the jewelry just a little “let’s get out of here”
You’re not sure how you make it back to the motel. It’s a blur of messy kisses and his massive rough hands against your skin.
Dean’s stripped down to nothing leaning against the headboard, you straddle his hips still in your panties.
“You feel so good baby” you moan, head tipped back. Rolling your hips over his thick cock
Dean groans, clutching at your hips. Helping you move over him. “Y’re killin me here”
“Youre being so good to me baby” you coo, nails dragging up over his chest, up his throat, to pull at his short hair. Dragging him up to you
His lips latch on your nipple, groaning immediately into your breast. Hips thrusting up into your clothed core.
You whine at the way his mouth works you. “That's it baby, just like that.” One hand slips from his hair to the back of his neck, holding him in place
He pops off your tit, looking up through his thick lashes. Something soft and needy in his eyes. “Please, Mommy. I need you… please” he pants before switching to your other breast
Fuck his plea. His name for you. It was powerful. Intoxicating. You whine and grind your clit down on him. Your pussy clenches on nothing, dripping more of your arousal through your already soaked panties onto his throbbing cock.
“Say it again baby” you whimper “beg for me again”
You feel him swallow around your nipple, eyes flick to yours with uncertainty and need.
“Come on baby, be good for your Mommy. Beg for me and you can finally sink that fat cock inside me”
He groans into your soft skin before he releases your nipple. “Mommyy pleaseee” it was a low whimper, breath tickling your saliva drenched breast “Mommy I need you. ‘Ve been so good. Been waitin months for ya” each sentence a soft whimpering plea. Sending shivers down your spine.
“Fuck baby” you sat up just enough to tug your panties to the side and line him up with your dripping cunt.
He groans at the feeling of your warm wet heat against his tip. Hips thrusting up. Fingers digging into your soft hips.
“Mommy’s been waiting a long time for you too, baby. Let me take my time to feel you” you push down just a little, popping just that massive tip inside you.
You both moan at the feeling. “Fuck baby you feel so damn good inside me” it’s a breathy pant as your swivel your hips around him. Hips fingers gripping harder on your still panty-clad hips.
You sink down little by little. Stopping to roll your hips.
He feels incredible. Stretching you wide. Wide and long and perfect. Your gush and flutter around him. Even as you desperately try to slow your impending orgasm. Needing to take care of him more than anything.
He’s gone almost nonverbal as you work yourself into him. Just groaning and whimpering at you. His lips latch back on to your nipple, messier and harder. All teeth and tongue. Drooling over you.
You sink down the rest of the way, unable to help yourself. He fills you completely, more than you've ever been before. You tip your head back in a moan. Arching your back. Pushing your full breast farther against his head.
You rolled your hips, frantically. Your legs quivering, pussy walls fluttering. As you split yourself open on his fat cock, grinding him into your sensitive cervix. You’re not gonna last long.
“Come on baby. Cum for me. Let me hear you”
He whines and whimpers into your chest. Mumbling something into your skin. Hips frantically bucking up to meet yours.
You drag his head back, making him release you tit again to look at you.
You lean down, crashing your lips to his. It’s not quite a kiss. You’re both too busy chasing your orgasms. “Tell me” you pant against him.
“Fuckkk. Mommyyy” he whimpers against your lips. As you roll your hips a little harder. His words become a chant as his hips falter. Pulling your even closer as he buries his face in your cleavage. He grows impossibly bigger inside you , throbbing, twitching. The feeling of his seed spilling inside you drags you over the edge. You collapse over him as the waves of pleasure you’ve been holding back overtake you. You grind lazily down on him through it, trying to prolong both your orgasms.
“Fuck” you finally gasp as you catch your breath
Dean shudders against you, head still buried between your tits.
“So good De” you coo at him, trying to gently encourage him to say something
A wrecked muffed sound leaves him instead as you feel an undeniable wetness on the soft insides of your breasts.
“De” you whisper “baby what’s wrong”
He doesn’t answer right away, and you don’t push him. Letting him cry and sniffle into your cleavage as you rake your fingers through his short hair and rub soft circles into his back.
Eventually his tears slow and his looks up at you, those green eyes watery and nervous and a little bit ashamed as he blinks those full lashes.
“You’re okay baby, I got you” you coo as you continue petting him.
His eyes flutter shut, leaning into your touch as he admits in a gravely whisper, “I didn’t mean f’tonight to go like this. Honey ’ve thought bout being with you at least a thousand times. And none’ve them had me cryin and callin you…” his voice catches. The word stuck in his throat.
You don’t push him, just waiting it out as you gently caress him.
“Mommy” he finally gets out. “Ya probably never wanna touch me again after that”
You half to bite back a grin. You are literally stuffed full with his cock, running your fingers over every inch you can touch while he clutches at your hips and your tits are still wet from his mouth.
“Why would you think that baby?”
Dean scoffs, opening his eyes back to look at you smiling down at him.
Whatever he was going to say got lodged in his throat at the sight.
“You’re balls deep inside me baby and I haven’t stopped touching you. If you couldn’t tell, I loved when you called me Mommy. I asked you to keep using it.”
Those big green eyes blinked at you. Too many emotions swirling in them for you could tell whets he’s feeling now.
“Did you not like it?” Your voice is softer now, vulnerability creeping in. You didn’t want to be a mistake.
He swallows hard, “Definitely love it honey, I just…” he sighs, “What kind of fuckin man am I? Havin a damn mommy kink and cryin durin sex”
“Mine” you answer automatically before he can say anything else.
“Y’ don’t mean that” He gruffs out quickly trying to cut me off.
“I want you to be mine, Dean. And me to be yours.” Your words come out soft but serious. “If you want that, of course.”
“But-”
“I’ve been wanting this. Wanting you” your clench your pussy around him for emphasis and he groans. Head falling back against you cleavage “The more parts of you that show me just makes me want you more. And the fact that my protective, tough, kindhearted, badass crush likes to get a little soft and needy for me? Baby, I fucking love that”
Dean groans again. And you’re not sure if it’s your words or the way your pussy started fluttering around him as you worked yourself back up again as you talked about him like that.
He starts to kiss at your skin. Warm mouth leaving a trail over your breasts. Your neck. Shoulders. Collarbone. “What if I don’t only want to be soft n’ needy under ya?” Dean’s question is low, muffled by your skin.
You chuckle softly, dragging your nails a little harder against his back. “I’ll love that too, baby. As long as I still get you like this sometimes.”
“Honey y’re fuckin perfect.” He sighs, tilting his head up for a sweet kiss against your lips as you hold each other close.
Eventually, he pulls out of you. Making you both groan at the loss. Dean’s warm rough hands are so gentle as they move you. Stripping your ruined panties off and laying you back against the pillows like you’re made of glass.
He follows you down, laying between your spread legs and resting his head back against your chest. Your fingers make their way back into his hair automatically, running against his scalp in a soothing rhythm.
He’s quiet for a while. Breath steady and hands still on your skin. Probably asleep. You’re not far behind him, eyelids heavy as his warmth and weight press you perfectly into the mattress.
“Did you mean it honey?” Dean asks in a low whisper. Breath tickling your breasts.
“That you’re mine? That I’m yours? That you…that you like me calling you…Mommy?” He continues before you can ask what he means.
“Yeah baby. I meant what I said. You’re mine. I’m yours.” You lean down enough to press a kiss against his head. “And I definitely like being your Mommy”
He sighs out a breath, “Mine” he mumbles into your skin. Right out the edge of your areola.
You smile when you realize what he wants.
“Go on baby. Drink your milk before bed” you cup his neck and drag him over just a bit til his mouth is hovering over your nipple.
He groans softly and latches on your breast, suckling softly as he coaxes you both to sleep.
Can I request a Konig size difference, submissive kink unlocked Konig, being tied down to a chair (he lets you he knows he can break your knots you’ve been training weeks to suprise him with) he loves his plus size bby but damn if he doesn’t realize how much he likes when you are such a soft dom who likes to be called daddy…
You can spin this anyway you want!!!
A/N: you can request anything you want bb!! i hope you enjoy, thank you for reading <33
Warnings: smut, sub!konig, soft dom!reader, size difference, praise, konig’s tied to a chair, etc etc
(big boy😩 anyways!)
At the beginning, it was simply for his amusement. When you first came up to him, lashes fluttering innocently while you pitched the idea that you should be the one in charge for once, he smiled at the thought. His pretty little thing, dominating him? Surely that wouldn’t even work.
And when he saw you practicing those pathetic little knots? The ones you were gonna use to tie him up? The same ones he could snap in two seconds without breaking a sweat? He couldn’t help but chuckle, suddenly excited to see you try.
But when the time finally came, when you finally had him tied to that chair for the first time, at your mercy, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t tug out of the rope just to tease you.
He just looked at you. Real quiet. Real still. His chest rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths. Like it was all sinking in at once. That this wasn’t a joke to you. That you’d been training, planning, working to make this good for him.
And it was.
It was good.
Too good.
He swears his cock jumped the moment you knelt between his thighs, all soft and confident. Your voice sugary sweet, but firm. Your hands warm against his skin as you dragged your nails down his thighs.
He looked up at you from the chair, wrists bound, chest heaving—and for the first time, he felt small.
You stood over him, thick thighs soft and strong, your curves spilling out of the little number you’d picked just for tonight. And God, he can’t stop staring. Not at the ropes, not at the way your fingers tighten around his jaw—but at you. The way you take up space. The way your confidence wraps around him like a second set of binds. He’s massive, but right now, he feels like putty in your hands.
You’ve never looked more powerful.
“You gonna be good for me?” you’d asked, voice low.
“Ja…” His voice cracked. “Yes—yes, ma’am.”
That had made you tilt your head. Smile.
“No, baby,” you corrected gently, trailing your fingers up his chest, “Not ma’am.”
You leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
“Try again.”
And when he said it—whispered it like a confession, eyes fluttering shut with shame and need—you felt him twitch against the ropes.
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Summary: Headcanons for Faust having a soft dom partner
Warning: NSFW, little bit of begging, little bit of praise, hand stuff, Unprotected p in V, Subby Faust
꩜ Faust having a soft dom partner does not sound like that far of a stretch to me at all. It takes a lot of his focus not to turn into a whimpering, desperate puddle a lot of the time when the two of you are fucking, so I could see him falling into a subby role quite easily.
꩜ You'd take care of him after shows or long days in the studio. Run him a hot bath and wash his hair, which is easily one of his favourite things you do for him. He loves feeling your fingertips working shampoo into his scalp. It feels so intimate and loving that it can be overwhelming at times.
꩜ You'd massage those broad shoulders of his, sore from hours of banging on his drums, and press your lips to his warm skin every so often. You'd work your way down his arms, kneading the skin until you reached his big, calloused hands.
꩜ You'd worship them, peppering soft kisses over his knuckles while your thumbs pressed into his palms, working out any cramps or tension left from being wrapped around his sticks all night.
꩜ You'd get him dressed after his bath just to help him get them back off, gently guiding his hands away when he gets impatient and tries to do it himself, tutting at him when he persists.
꩜ Realistically, you probably wouldn't be able to restrain him, not with your hands, but I'd like to think that he needs this so bad. For you to take care of him, that he'll do pretty much anything you ask, if if he's panting desperately, waiting for you to touch him.
꩜ By the time you get him undressed, Faust would be begging, his voice whiny as his hips bucked up off the mattress.
"Please, Angel" He'd all but whimper "Need you-"
You'd shush him and wrap your hand around his cock.
"I've got you. Relax, my love. Let me take care of you."
꩜ God, the sounds this man would make while you caressed him would drive you wild. Little groans and gasps. Maybe he's muttering under his breath, cursing in his mother tongue, voice thick with need.
꩜ You'd undress yourself a little faster, knowing full well that he never lasts long when you go down on him and he'd appreciate you riding him more. He'd be shaking with anticipation as you ran his ruddy tip through your folds, lining it up with the dripping entrance of your cunt.
꩜ The moment you slide down onto him, as much as you can take of him at least, his breath would hitch and a low, broken moan would fall from his lips. Wounded, almost.
"Is that good, baby?" You'd coo, grinding yourself down on him, letting out a few sweet sounds of your own as his tip nudged your cervix. "Being so good for me. So patient."
"Fuck, Angel-" He'd groan, fingers digging into your hips in a desperate attempt to stop himself from flipping you over and slamming into you "Feels so fucking good- oh-"
꩜ If he's good and lets you set the pace without bucking up into you or pulling you down further, you'd eventually let him loose. You'd let him roll on top of you and pound into you until you're both coming undone.
꩜ He'd bury his face in the crook of your neck when he cums, muttering and whimpering into your skin.
"Thank you Angel, Thank you-fuck."
"Love you so fucking much"
꩜ Afterwards, you'd wait until you've both completely come down from your highs, gently trailing your fingers along his spine while he shudders in your arms, muttering how he'd done so good and that he'd fucked you so well.
꩜ You'd go get a washcloth and gently clean him up, pressing your lips to his skin as you went, telling him you loved him.
꩜ You'd fall asleep tangled in the sheets together, you, stroking his hair, and him with his cheek pressed against your tits, clutching your waist to his chest like a tether.
Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us
I don’t read much dom character stuff, but I could see that’s how Sunday prefers sex (as he needs to have control) at least starting out.
Maybe service top reader with soft dom Sunday
Reader wanting to take care of Sunday (maybe they’re in love but haven’t confessed yet and this is just fwb or something) and Sunday instructing reader how to best do that
Idk I’m more of a dom but I’m trying because I love Sunday and wanted to make sure you got prompts xo 😚
service top reader x Sunday is so fucking big brain like. I feel like Sunday’s need for control permeates every aspect of his life and it’s only in those moments where you’re topping him where you see the depths of his desire and how deeply he needs to be taken care of.
getting him to even admit he wants to be topped is a feat because he feels so safe having others at a distance—what’s more intimate than you fucking him? he instructs you with a clear, crisp voice, his heart pounding as you loom over him—he hopes you can’t hear it. prays you can’t.
his life has always been in service to someone else, his caretaker, robin, Ena. he needs someone to see past it all and take care of him. but he’d never admit that.
the closest he’ll get is when you’re making love to him and you hit that particular spot—he stutters, breath hitching, as he grasps at your shoulders with shaking hands and fluttering eyes, struggling to keep it together.
he needs this, desperation so raw and vulnerable it twists into a cry he can’t hold back and soon he’s sobbing in your arms. he tries to collect himself but when you kiss his forehead and fuck him harder, he has no choice but to let go and let you take care of him, even if it’s just for a few moments.
the first time this happened, Sunday became quiet, trying to maintain his composure, but each time, more and more, he began to cling to you, until he’s wrapped around you like a teddy bear, holding onto you for dear life.
no one else could understand—he wouldn’t let anyone else see him like this. but you somehow know how to break down all his walls.
