Do you ever eat popcorn out of the palm of your own hand with such ardent desperation that you feel like both a wild horse and the gentle schoolgirl feeding it treats to gain its affection
marcus using his power as a cop to get a warrant to go into his crush's house to steal their underwear
Oh yell heah
Also @vasiktomis come get your juice
Marcus x GN!Reader - NSFW/MDNI
Warnings: Marcus being a pervert, Marcus being a dirty cop (and a dirty man), masturbating, and boners.
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"No."
"This isn't an optional request. I have a warrant."
"Fuck no."
The end of his baton slid under your chin, Marcus' teeth baring as his gaze turns cold down at you. "I could bring you into the station instead. Have you waiting out in a cell all night, while I go through everything in your home? Maybe I'll call in a raid again." Silence meets him, as you simply glare. "Or you can let me through and we get this over and done within five minutes."
Your feet shuffle on the ground and Marcus already knows he's won the argument, even if you roll your eyes. "Fine."
The baton slides away from your skin, slowly so he can watch your throat bob. Pretend like he doesn't want to suck a mark right there. He's already feeling sick over what he's doing. You had done nothing wrong, of course, besides become the object of his fantasies.
If Grayson could see him, he wouldn't just be stripped off his badge, he'd be in a cell in Stillwater.
He wasn't sure if that would be enough to pay for his crimes.
You step aside, and his stomach turns. But doing this would be easier.
He doesn't think he'd be able to handle your laughter if you found out the truth. That the Sheriff of Piltover had feelings for some no-name Zaunite, who hated his fucking guts. Marcus isn't sure of when it started, perhaps the first time you'd been stopped for a search, where you had bared your teeth but hadn't flinched as he patted you down.
And then you just kept popping up. He'd see you on the street while making a patrol, brought into Piltover office because you were paying the fines for someone else.
When you attempt to follow him, he slams a hand on the door frame. "Stay here."
"Like fuck-"
"You want me to bring a raid in?"
Your glare meets him, but your shoulders are lowering. "I'll be in the living room."
That he doesn't argue or fight against, turning to the stairs himself. Though not before watching how your hips swayed as you walked, the soft curve of your ass before you sit on your couch.
His hands tightened on the railing, as he headed upstairs. Feeling ill that he even knew where your bedroom was. He had called a raid in last time, had seen your entire home. Where you kept your dishes, garbage, and dirty laundry.
Your bedroom is in a nicer state than what it had been left in the last raid. Nothing was broken or toppled over.
The laundry basket is where he had last seen it, though standing up now. He digs through it, stomach twisting.
Marcus hates himself for a lot of reasons. Getting a boner while searching for dirty underwear in your laundry hamper was probably now making it into the top five.
His fingers curl around an old pair of underwear, his stomach bubbling as he raises it to his face. Takes in a deep breath, and groans.
Fuck.
He's hard now. There was no way he could go back downstairs to you like this.
Without much thought, he slips down his fly and draws out his cock. Wrapping the underwear around his cock, fingers curling the fabric around the sensitive skin as he pumps steadily. Already imagining you beneath him, staring up at him desperately with your legs spread.
Marcus wants you to want him. Wants to watch you beg for his cock in your hole. Hear you moan and whimper and beg for him to fill you.
It makes him let out a loud groan, followed by another. Growing louder in volume, he is glad to be contained in this room.
Still, after he begins to moan your name, he feels the small pit in his stomach growing. Not shame, or at least not enough to stop, but fear you would hear him through the floor.
The gloved fingers of his free hand rise, slipping into his mouth. Silencing his noises, he stuffs his mouth full. Hand jerking your underwear over his cock, already leaking onto it.
Fuck, he was disgusting. And even though he knew it, he wasn't about to stop. Not when he has the fabric that has touched you so intimately, around his cock.
He thinks of leaving it there. For you to find, clearly soiled. What would you say? What would you do?
Probably curse him out, throw him out of your home if you could. And he would let you, he isn't so disgusting to not.
But if you showed a hint of interest? What then?
The thought has him jerking his wrist faster, and faster before he brings the fabric to the tip. Cummming hard into them, with a muffled groan around his fingers.
Once he's done, he takes a moment to consider what to do with the now wet underwear. His head clearer, he tucks it into the hamper, though he makes sure to exchange it for another set. Pressing this new pair to his face again, he takes another deep breath, before tucking it away into his pocket. Checking in the mirror to make sure it couldn't be seen, he heads back downstairs.
"You're lucky," he calls down. "The place is clean."
"I told you, Sheriff." You have your arms crossed, sitting on your couch. Eyes filled with heat, and your throat bobs before the next words. "I don't have anything."
"We'll keep an eye out, to make sure that's the case."
Your eyes are burning holes into him, and Marcus almost feels relief in your hatred.
It eases a little of his shame, as he leaves the house without a goodbye, and your underwear tucked away.
The realization doesn't hit him until he's back to his own house. Gently pressing in the key.
He hadn't shut the door.
Which meant when he had been moaning your name, you had probably heard him.
He remembers the heat in your gaze as he left the house, but now, now he isn't sure if it was meant to burn him or warm him up.
Marcus will get his answers tomorrow when he calls to have some of his officers deliver you to his office for questioning.
He was already this far gone, he thinks, turning the key and stepping inside. What were a few more stains on his badge in the end?
A/N: People think writing these is easy, but ya'll have no idea how much I blush while writing lol. Oh btw, my commissions are still open if anyone is interested just DM me.
Viktor has to have something to hold onto while you ride him. That or he likes to lie back on the bed and let you shake your hips back and forth.
What ever the case he wants you to be turned towards him, that way he can pull you into a kiss and fondle your breasts, pinch your nipples, take in and remember every reaction you give him.
"You look wonderful gliding up and down my cock, love. I'm sorry I can't do more for you tonight. But you, fuck, you wrap around me so deliciously. Come here, let me kiss you."
Jayce has a hard time keeping still while you ride him. His hands are tight and shaking on your hips. He grunts and moans with effort to keep still, letting you set a pace that you want.
As much as he needs to hold himself back from just jackhammering his cock into you, he really enjoys watching your tits bounce up and down while you ride him.
"Babe, you're griping me so tight. I won't be able to last long if you keep that up. Fuck just look at you, taking my cock so easily. Can you move faster for me baby, hm? Come on, I wanna see you bounce up and down on that cock."
Always makes sure to lock his door when you visit his office. He'll already be waiting for you, jerking off his dick and looking deep into your eyes.
He'll give you a smirk and pull you into his chair, on his lap. He'll line up his cock with your opening, waiting for you to sink down on his cock, his head falling back in pleasure.
"You're a very naughty girl aren't you. I'm gonna make such a mess of you. Come on now, come here. That's a girl. There you go, it's what you're here for after all. I know, I know. When ever you're ready. Fuck, darling... you feel so warm, go a bit slower, I want to savor this."
Vander loves it when you ride his cock. He lets you do it a lot. Due to his size he figures it might feel better for you if you set the pace.
He will hold you up, his hands on your ass, your legs thrown over his elbows, bracing yourself on his firm shoulders. He has no problem standing up and holding you like that the whole time, just letting you impale yourself on his hard cock.
"I didn't think you'd be so eager today darlin, but I guess I can't blame you, we've both been busy lately. Now I know you're impatient but slide down nice and slow. Just like that, don't hurt yourself cause of me. Now come on, take my dick nice and slow darlin, nice and slow."
What ever position you're in Ekko wants to be able to embrace you. He loves feeling your hips jolt, feel you squeeze him, loves to feel our body against his.
He always presses himself as close as possible when you ride him, burying his face between your tits and kissing them, sucking on your nipples as his hands run all over your body as you take his cock.
"Come on firefly, I know you can go faster than that can't you? Don't tease me now, I've been waiting for this for the entire day. To feel you on my cock, hug you, kiss you, feel you clenching around me. Like that, exactly like that. That's it. That's is love, come on, a little bit faster."
If you want to ride him he will let you do so, but he definitely wants to get his chance to fuck you later.
That being said he loves the sight of pushing up and down on his cock, sometimes he'll still your hips just for a moment before letting go.
"Come on now, you know how much I love teasing you. Ok, ok. So needy. Here you go, love, you can take my cock now. You look so pretty on it after all, how can I deny you?"
Finn likes being the one doing the work most of the time. He loves being able to fuck his cum into you, he likes being in control.
Even when you ride his cock he has control over you. He'll be behind you, keeping completely still while you brace yourself on the desk and fuck yourself on his dick. He'll sometimes push forward with his hips, just to mix it up but for the most part he'll let you have your way, if only for a while.
"Oh fuck, kitten. I knew you liked my cock, but who knew you were this desperate for it. Look at that, look at that pretty pussy, taking me so greedily. You need to go faster if you wanna make me cum."
Ohhh Issa, please tell us more details about your fantasies about your ✨professor✨ if it had been Charlie instead. Please 🥺?
Oh Mary I’ve been holding onto this and chipping away at it for almost exactly a month, so please indulge me on this <3 Recap for anyone who didn’t see that one post I made a month ago lol: this is straight self-indulgent nonsense where I pretend that Professor!Charlie Barber is the thesis advisor that I was so in love with back in college. ✨scandal✨
Extracurricular
Professor!Charlie Barber x Reader
Word Count: 4,277
Warnings: NSFW, age gap (RC is over 21), professor/student, fingering, semi-public sex (people could be in the next room)
You tap timidly on the doorframe, peering over the threshold to find Charlie lounging back in his desk chair, speaking softly on the phone. Whoever is on the other end must have said something funny because his face breaks out into a beautiful smile, one the only gets wider when he hears your knock and looks up to find you watching.
“Alright Henry, I’ll talk to you later. Love you, buddy.” Charlie puts his phone down on the desk and beckons you forward. You take a seat in the cushy leather chair he has set out for students, placing your bag neatly at your feet, crossing your ankles and tucking them to the side. There’s something about being in Charlie’s presence that makes you want to be prim. Want to come across proper and beautiful and refined.
Charlie leans forward, elbows on the surface of the desk, chin resting on clasped hands.
“I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”
“Not at all!” you’re quick to confirm. “And that phone call seemed important.” Charlie lets out a warm chuckle.
“My son, Henry, has a baseball game this weekend and wanted a few pointers. Poor kid, having me for a father in moments like this,” he adds, shaking his head with humor.
“Not much of a sportsman, I take it?” you ask, a gentle tease in your voice.
“You know, as luck would have it, dedicating your life to three degrees, a PhD program, and a healthy amount of historiographical research doesn’t really lend itself to tossing the ol’ pigskin around.” The corner of Charlie’s mouth quirks up and you curl your hand into a fist, letting your nails bite into your palm to dull the swooping feeling that overtakes your internal organs. This seems to go unnoticed by Charlie, who continues to conversation. “What about you? Managed to maintain any hobbies?”
“I used to play a few instruments. But that was before…” you trail off, looking down at the thick binder balanced in your lap. Charlie laughs and completes the statement.
“Before your thesis took over your life? Don’t I know how that feels.” He reaches a hand out then. “And that’s a perfect segue – let’s take a look, shall we?”
You hand him the binder over the desk and the two of you settle into your regular weekly routine of dissecting your current progress. Of course, its more Charlie talking than you. It’s always Charlie talking. And you love it that way. The way he drops his nose into your work, focused on your words and waxing poetic about your structure and sources and approach – it gives you the time to appreciate all the things you love about him. For starters, the way the muscle of his forearm flexes as he drags a guiding finger across the page in time to his reading – exposed as it is where he rolls his long sleeves up to the elbow by 3pm. It’s now 6pm, as it always is for your weekly check-in, and the setting sun outside his window bathes him in a warm light. At one point, when the shadows grow too long, Charlie switches on a small desk lamp to guarantee he’ll be able to still see the pages of your binder even as the sun disappears for good, as it often does during these meetings.
This week you’re lost in thought as you take him in. Charlie – your professor. Your thesis chair. Your mentor. But also, Charlie – the star of all of your fantasies. The subject of your nighttime musings and the daydreams that come, unbidden, as your eyes slip out of focus during class, blurring his animated figure in the middle of one of his lectures, leaving space for your mind to manipulate his form into every position imaginable. You watch his large hands turn a page in your binder deftly. The broad fingers that you picture sliding across your skin the way they slide across the paper. Fingers that would fit so perfectly inside you, in whatever capacity he wished…
Your thoughts trail off as the sound of your name brings you to a sudden awareness, realizing from the tone that it has been repeated, and possibly more than once based on the sympathetic look on Charlie’s face.
“I-I’m sorry, did I space out?” you stutter, feeling hot embarrassment spread over your whole body to the roots of your hair.
“A bit, yeah.” Charlie is still sympathetic. You hope for a second that he’ll take pity on you, chalk it up to exhaustion and let it go. But the stare he fixes you with is nothing short of intense as he closes your binder, seeming to consider something.
“It’s been a really hard day, I’m sorry Professor Barber - ”
“Charlie,” he corrects without missing a beat. His brow furrows. “You always call me Charlie. What’s with the formality all of a sudden?”
You take in his quizzical face as you gape back, not sure that there’s really anything you can say that will appropriately explain the way your brain has tuned into a channel that’s exclusively made up of static. The way your tongue has gone fuzzy and heavy in your mouth.
“You were like this today in class as well. And the last few classes, come to think of it,” Charlie goes on to observe. He clasps his hands over your binder on his desk and your eyes immediately follow the motion – a fact he does not miss. “Always staring, I’ve noticed, at my hands.”
Your eyes slam shut quicker than they’ve ever done before and you suck in an exhale so fast in practically sounds like a hiccup. You can’t see Charlie anymore, but you can hear the low chuckle that rumbles from somewhere in the bottom of his chest. Panic makes your throat feel parched, makes your tongue dart out to wet your lips instinctively. When you open your eyes you find his trained on those wetted lips before slowly lifting up to hold your gaze.
“Any reason for this?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.
You must be dreaming.
You’ve had these dreams before. They are the best kinds. The ones that sound like shitty porn but in the best way because they are perfectly tailored to your interests, your desires, your preferences. Dream Charlie has asked this question before, when your head laid on your pillow at two in the morning, desperate for sleep. You know the answer you often gave Dream Charlie, so almost on instinct you offer it now.
“I’ve found myself…distracted lately.”
“Are you suggesting that I am the distraction?”
Right on cue. The slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. The haze behind his eyes. The playful nature of the question. You have to be dreaming. The burning sensation in your throat, the one which had been playing with your nervous gag reflex, drops to your stomach and lower.
If this is a dream, you might as well follow the script, since you know it by heart after all.
“Yes, professor.”
It’s small, the reaction. The tightening of his jaw – so infinitesimal a lesser observer might not have noticed. However, you – a student of the planes of this man’s face – immediately notice the way the angle of his jaw becomes sharper. The way his cheek sucks in just a little, just enough to make his cheekbone a fraction more prominent. His teeth must be set on edge because he rolls his jaw for a second before parting those plush lips. So plush and so pink – a color you’ve wanted to taste and touch before putting a name to it.
“If I have been compromising your ability to focus on your studies in any way, my dear, I promise that it’s not been my intention.”
The words are so kind and yet so silky smooth in their delivery, it’s like he’s trying to caress your ear with the statement. It makes you smile. Especially the new term of endearment.
You might be a good-girl-to-the-core in real life, but you’ve always given Dream Charlie a bit of a hard time.
“Are you sure about that?”
Charlie’s smile expands to mirror your own. He leans back in his chair a bit, settling his still clasped hands over his lap, now out of view behind the desk.
“I might have derived a bit of pleasure from recognizing that your lack of focus was my fault,” he says with a nonchalant shrug.
“So you admit it?”
“What exactly am I admitting?”
“That you were actively trying to distract me.” You cross your legs one over the other and lean forward, knowing that the new position allows your skirt to ride up a bit and expose your thighs a little more. Knowing that with Charlie’s height and this angle, your cleavage will appear to its best advantage. The need to remain prim and proper which you had felt so deeply in your bones upon entering this office melting away as fire heats up in your core.
“Only on one condition, sweetheart.” Charlie cocks his head to one side before continuing. “You’d have to admit you’ve been trying to distract me this entire time as well.”
The breathless laugh that you let out is genuine.
“I absolutely have not.” But Charlie is shaking his head vehemently.
“With those skirts and those thigh-highs.”
“That’s fashion!” you protest, pulling your skirt a bit lower unconsciously. “You ever heard of dark academia? It’s a look!”
“Giving me eyes. Biting your lip when you raise your hand.” He’s teasing you. It’s clear in his eyes that none of these things are meant to be admonishments.
“Um, excuse me Mr. Perfectly-fitting-khakis and perfectly-wavy-hair,” you toss back, rolling your eyes. Charlie looks pleased.
“Ah, so you have been checking me out.”
“And apparently you have been as well,” you counter gesturing down to your lower half, decked out in said skirt and thigh-high sock combo. Charlie looks down at you appreciatively for a moment before leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands and his elbows on the surface of his desk, watching you.
“The khakis though?”
“And the tweed jacket you sometimes wear,” you affirm, laughing and leaning forward a bit more into his gravitational pull. “And the sweaters.”
“The sweaters do it for you?” Charlie looks taken aback, even more so when you nod enthusiastically. After a second of gazing at you he narrows his eyes a bit. “You do realize those are the most stereotypically “professor-y” things about me.”
You fight the urge to avert your gaze under the weight of the implication and maintain the eye contact.
“Yes.”
“So this is a type for you. You like…the professor look.” His voice has dropped a bit in volume. You look down for a second to consider your reply before looking back up at him through your eyelashes.
“I like it on you.”
You both let the statement echo in the air between you for a moment before speaking again. It is Charlie who breaks the silence first.
“I don’t do…this…you know.” His voice is genuine – more than it has been up until this point – and his eyes are soft. As if giving you an out, pointing the direction to a clean exit. You shake your head and match his tone.
“Neither do I.”
“It isn’t appropriate,” he adds.
“I know.” It’s odd. Dream Charlie usually goes straight for it. You’ve never experienced this kind of confrontation or hesitation in your nighttime fantasies. It makes butterflies erupt in your stomach to think of the outlandish possibility that this might, in fact, be happening in real life.
“But…you want it?” The question is quiet.
“Yes,” comes your equally quiet response. His eyes darken considerably and your stomach flips at the suddenness of the change.
“What do you want?”
You consider this for a moment. What do you want from him? You go down the laundry list of your fantasies. You want him to take you in his arms and make sweet, sweet love to you. You want him to throw you over his desk and take you like you’ve never been taken before. You want to moan his name until it reverberate through his little office and out into the night. However, in this moment when dream and reality seem to mix in the air between you, air made humid by want and hesitation and uncertainty, you realize that all of these things feel like too much too ask. Too much to wish for. And yet Charlie is staring at you, his eyes big and waiting and curious.
So you answer. And you aren’t greedy. But you are honest.
“Whatever you want to give.”
The change is immediate. The threshold is crossed. The barrier breached. Charlie nods slowly as he pushes his chair back a bit from his desk.
“Well then come over here, sweetheart.”
You don’t think, you just act.
Because in this moment it doesn’t matter that Charlie is your professor. It doesn’t matter that he’s your thesis advisor your mentor for that matter. It doesn’t matter that he’s older than you or that he has a son or that he’s recently divorced. All that matters is that the eye contact between you acts as a tether, pulling you up out of your chair and around the desk to the space in front of him, where you step between his legs silently, without specific prompting. Charlie’s clasped hands are back in his lap and he leans back in his chair, looking up at you. Drinking you in.
“You promise you want this, love?” His eyes are gentle. Again giving you a way out. An exit opportunity that you do not desire. You lean forward slowly, testing the waters as your hands make contact with his broad, solid shoulders. The first time you’ve ever truly touched the man who’s starred in your fantasies.
“More than anything.” You could be ashamed of how much that sounds like shitty porn, but again, you couldn’t care less. Not when his skin is hot beneath the fabric of his sweater. Not when his hands lift from his lap then to slide around the curve of your hips. Not when you look down to see that they had been hiding the growing bulge which now tents his slacks so deliciously you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’re anything but inexperienced but there’s something about this grown man absolutely devouring you with his eyes that makes you feel small and soft and vulnerable.
His massive hands glide around your hips to gently massage at the globes of your ass before smoothing back up to the dip of your waist. He squeezes twice at the flesh there while looking at you with hooded eyes.
“Can you hop up for me?” Charlie’s voice is low, hands pushing you gently backwards toward the desk which you hop up on without further prompting. Charlie stands then to move between your open legs before you can try to close them demurely. You feel the thickness of his body as it slots against your inner thighs. Air leaves your lungs in a gust when Charlie, now towering over you, grabs hold of you. He seems to register the gasp and loosens his grip immediately. He doesn’t know his own strength. Hasn’t had to be gentle, or rough for that matter, in a while.
You, on the other hand, kick into gear. The solidity of his hands on your body, the pinch of his grip on your waist, the hard nudge against your inner thigh, the warmth of his breath on your cheek – all of these are grounding. They are real. Your brain lurches forward at the realization that this is, in fact, happening, just as your body lurches forward to pull him down in blistering kiss. Charlie catches up quick, one hand flying to the back of your neck to bring you in close while the other gropes down to steady himself on your upper thigh.
Feeling his digits so close to where you want them has you pulling your legs open wider. Willing him to take things a step further. This doesn’t go unnoticed and soon Charlie is pulling away, chest rising and falling as he pants from the force of your kiss. His eyes are even darker now, lids hooded as he takes in your parted, now-swollen lips and your own lustful expression.
“You’re incredible, you know that?” He asks the question on a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. You shrug in his arms, distracted by the way his hand begins to smooth back and forth over the fabric of your skirt before finally dipping under the hem to caress the skin at the seam of your inner, upper thigh.
“You’re incredible,” you breathe back, but he shakes his head again.
“You’ve tried to get my attention, but I don’t think you truly understand how maddeningly successful you were.” His hand slides under your skirt to cup your mound – but just the top. Not the dripping heat below, where you really want him. He’s too busy trying to make a point you’re barely able to follow. “You carry yourself with such grace, such poise. You’re radiant when you walk into a room, and even more radiant when you open that pretty mouth up to speak.”
The hand at the back of your neck pulls around to trace the outline of your lips. They quiver under his touch and part unconsciously. This seems to please Charlie, who pinches your bottom lip lightly between his thumb and index finger as he continues.
“The way you handle yourself, the way you think and articulate – it’s mesmerizing, you know that, don’t you?” He leans forward to press kisses to your jaw and the space below your ear. You don’t know what to say to that, not with his lips on you, so you just inhale deeply, holding onto his biceps. “You’re so capable. So sure.”
His thumb passes back and forth over your pubic bone down under your skirt.
“I often find myself imagining what it would look like for you to let go.” His voice is so deep you feel it seeping into you where he murmurs it against the skin at the side of your throat. “What it would feel like to be the one who makes you come undone.”
The whimper that issues forth from you is completely unbidden and he’s quick to swallow it down. Sucking the sound in so it cannot echo through the room and give you away to anyone wandering the faculty wing afterhours, but also so that he can feel it vibrate down his own throat.
“You like that idea, too, hmm?” He asks huskily when he pulls away.
“Yes,” you whisper, not wanting to break the spell of the moment by speaking too loudly. “I really do, Charlie.”
Charlie chuckles against you quietly.
“There’s my girl. But perhaps this is a good time to call me Professor Barber.”
A thrill shoots through your spine, and though you feel no less fluttery and overwhelmed, you feel your nervousness and timidity begin to melt away. You’ve wanted this for how long? You’re going to enjoy this, damn it.
“You accused me of being into professors, but it seems that you are into students, Professor Barber,” you point out playfully. Charlie kisses the corner of your smirk.
“Only when the student is you,” he replies, slightly echoing your earlier statement about your interest in him.
“Oh yeah? Am I your favorite student?” Your smile broadens cheekily, only for your jaw to drop as his fingers suddenly breach the edge of your panties, finally finding your wet heat.
“What do you think?” His index finger slides through your folds, swirling around your waiting slick. You take the opportunity to drop your hand between you two, finding the thickened bulge pressing conspicuously into your thigh.
“I think you’re avoiding the quest – fuck!” You cut yourself off with a curse when Charlie inserts two fingers straight into your cunt, stretching you open abruptly. The hand you have on his clothed cock squeezes, as does the hand you have on his arm, but Charlie manages to keep his cool, inhaling through gritted teeth. He waits a second before he begins pumping his fingers in and out of your clenching sheath.
“I’m not avoiding anything, I’ll give it to you straight, sweetheart.” He adds his thumb to swirl circles over your clit as he speaks, his fingers thrusting in and out of your body while it squelches around him.
“I fought off every other professor in this department for the chance to be your thesis chair.” Charlie’s other hand moves to the neck of your blouse to run the pads of his fingers over your throat and collar bone. “I turned away ten other applicants that semester that I had you TA for me.” He pops the uppermost two buttons on your top and leans forward to deliver a lascivious suck to the dip above your clavicle. “I’m the one who nominated you for that fellowship you deserved.”
“Professor Barber I-I…” You’re too overwhelmed to continue. The information, his fingers, his lips – it’s all too much.
“So when you ask if you’re my favorite student, the answer is yes,” Charlie rumbles, licking a stripe up the column of your throat. When he reaches you ear he whispers in it, just as he doubles the pressure on your clit and curves his fingers to rub the upper wall of your cunt more pointedly. “You can thank me by letting me see what it looks like when you fall apart.”
So you do. Your legs shake around him and your hips buck, simultaneous seeking to increase and reduce the pressure onslaught being brought on by his talented fingers. A hand flails out to ground you to the desk, to the moment, and your palm splays blindly at your thesis binder.
As all your muscles convulse with the sweet, sweet pleasure, Charlie guides you down so that your back is flush against the surface of his desk. He leans down over your body, chest to heaving chest, to press kisses up your throat. Your jaw. Your cheek. Until finally he arrests your parted lips.
You should have been allowing bliss to course through your bloodstream as you came down, but you find your mind immediately racing as you consider everything you should be doing in this next moment. You should return the favor. You should run. You should pretend this was a mistake, you should pretend this never happened, you should make sure it will happen again.
As if he hears the gears turning in your mind Charlie pulls back to take in your expression, holding himself up on his forearms on either side of your body.
“All good in there?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss below your right eye. His eyes are still dark as they gaze down at you and his lips are kiss swollen. They look amazing, temporarily distracting you from your inner turmoil. So instead of answering him you lurch upward to pull him into another kiss, sweeping your tongue into his mouth with a little too much enthusiasm. You also make a choice about what to do next, dropping a hand down to the front of his slacks to once again rest on his clothed cock. Charlie moans into your mouth in response.
Yep. You were going to return the favor.
But before you can do so, however, a knock comes at the door. It would appear fate had different plans.
Charlie practically throws his body off of yours, one hand flying to his beautifully rumpled hair and the other to his pink, wet lips. You wide eyes meet as you jump from the table silently and frantically resituate your clothes into some semblance of respectability. Gaping at him you gesture at the door and Charlie finally calls out.
“Finishing up a meeting with another student – I’ll be done in a moment.”
A moment passes in the blink of an eye as you scoop up your belongings, your back to Charlie who has turned to his desk. Your entire body feels like it is on fire – from excitement, from shame, you’re not sure which – and you start to slink toward the door before you hear your name called. You swivel on your heel to find Charlie holding something out to you.
“Don’t forget your thesis,” he says, placing your assignment into your hands with a pointed look down at it. You follow his glance to find a post-it note with a phone number stuck to the surface of the binder.
Charlie’s phone number. You clutch the binder to your chest to hide the note.
You look up to find Charlie closer to you. He places one warm hand on your waist and the other under your chin.
“I expect to see the next draft by next week,” he says. His words are a little louder than necessary, probably for the benefit of whoever is standing outside the door. But his stare bores into you. “Contact me if you need anything.”
And with that you turn around and make a hasty retreat out the door, leaving a likely puzzled student, and the man of your dreams, in your wake as you and put as much distance between you and what you had just done.
Though truth be told, as you grip tightly onto your thesis binder and feel the ache burning deeper inside you, you’re also trying to decrease the distance between you and what’s hopefully more to come in the future.
~*~
Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @celestiasin @tlcwrites @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @edencherries @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @equivocalrabbit @soggywhore
Listen I'm using voice to text on my way home from work because I had a thought and I immediately said oh my God I have to send you an ask so I'm thinking comfortably mid-20s post high school. Eddie who has taken over running the local record store You walk in and Joan jett's. I Love Rock and roll comes on to the old rock radio station that he plays in the background because at this point the song is about 10 years old and you think that he's walked into the back room or there's nobody else in there and so you start singing it out loud. He walks out of the back room to you, singing the chorus of that song almost at full volume and immediately he's falling in love with you.
Please do with that thought what you will. Love you 💕💕
Claire. Light of my life. Fellow fantasizer of my fantasies.
This. Is. Brilliant. I can see it now.
The Record of You
Eddie Munson x Reader
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: NSFW, unprotected PIV sex
You don't think anything of the fact that nobody seems to be in the shop. The old owner Mr. Jenkins has been ancient since you were a child, often leaving the shop unattended for long stretches of time. Fully trusting the citizens of Hawkins to not rob him blind while he ate a tuna sandwich with his dog Jitters in the upstairs portion that served as his apartment.
You haven't been in town for a while so you don't know that Eddie Munson has taken over management of Hawkins' singular record store. You haven't seen him since he finally managed to finish high school and ended the night of graduation celebrating with his older friends Steve, Robin, and Nancy out at the bar at the end of main street (the younger kids who always seemed to follow him around like little lambs obviously couldn’t join in on that phase of the festivities). He had insisted on buying you a drink when he saw you - his smile wide and fueled by joy and PBR - and you ended up hanging out with him and his friends until the wee hours of the night.
His arms had remained respectfully, if not familiarly, around your shoulders at first. But as time went on and the drinks continued to flow, his arms found themselves wound around your waist. His hands found your hips. Your thighs. Your ass as he stepped behind you at the bar to call out “whatever the good lady wants, she gets!”
One thing led to another and you ended up in the back of his van as the dawn cracked, hazy and bruising in the sky. Both still fully clothed, Eddie had kissed you and kissed you until you were breathless and giggly. He sat you in his lap and ran his hands up and down your spine, pulling you down against him to feel how much you were affecting him.
But then the sun came up. And you told him the thing you weren’t telling him. About the flight you had to New York in just a few hours. The job you had lined up at a company larger than any Hawkins brick and mortar could ever fathom. You’d watched his face fall, but then his smile returned, even more blinding than before, as he congratulated you and wished you the best.
When you’d climbed out of his van, you’d urged yourself not to look back over your shoulder. Eddie was just a guy you’d grown up with. You’d never been particularly close - hellos in the halls at school that turned into waves at the grocery store and small talk at the gas station. But on this night you’d tasted him. Felt his hands on you. If you looked back you’d see the dimples you’d never noticed until a few hours prior. See the frizzy hair whose texture you now knew. And it would make it harder to walk away.
So you didn’t look back.
And you haven’t seen Eddie since.
So you have no idea he's in the back room stacking boxes of tapes and records when you walk into the record store and start perusing all these years later. The song that’s playing in the background comes to an end, leaving the customary beat of scratchy silence before the all too familiar opening notes of Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock and Roll” starts blaring from the speakers.
You laugh a little to yourself. This was your absolute favorite song in high school, and you’d yelled along to it religiously any time it had come on, in any circumstance.
As the first verse begins to play out, you try to resist, but it’s a lost cause. You start out just mumbling along to the lyrics. But before you know it you’re singing along at top volume as you thumb through records.
You don’t notice Eddie walk out of the back room, almost dropping an armful of records when he recognizes who’s singing in his store.
You get all the way to the end of the song without noticing his presence. In fact, by the end you’re even dancing around a bit. Eddie’s put down the records by this point, leaning against the check out counter with a massive grin on his face, enjoying the show. It isn’t until the song ends and the sound of clapping makes you whirl around that you realize you’re not alone.
“Forgive the intrusion, princess. Where can I pay for my ticket? Because a concert like that sure ain’t free.”
~*~
You spend an hour catching up with him. Hearing all about what he’s been doing and telling him everything that’s happened - good and bad - with your big time job. When you mention that big city living just wasn’t for you and that you’re here planning on moving back to Hawkins full time, you wonder if you’re imagining the glint of satisfaction in his eye.
After you’ve been speaking for a while he insists on closing up shop and making you dinner. You try to resist, telling him you can’t cut into his hours of operation, but he’s already flipping the sign on the door to say closed and grabbing your hand to drag you up the steps, ranting about how the Hawkins Welcome Committee would fine him if they found out he had a chance to welcome back a resident and didn’t take it.
Since taking over for Mr. Jenkins, Eddie’s been able to move out of his uncle’s trailer and into the upstairs apartment. Your heart swells taking in the ratty but homey decor that just feels so utterly Eddie. You’d always felt like Eddie Munson deserved better than the shitty circumstances life had thrown at him. You’re pleased to find that life seems to have taken a turn for the better.
Eddie doesn’t have much in his sparse kitchen, but he whips up a respectable pot of pasta which he serves on mismatched plates.
“I don’t have any wine or any of the shit that a classy lady like yourself would enjoy, unfortunately.” In spite of the humor in his words, he does seem genuinely disappointed that he can’t offer you anything nicer than one of the dozen PBRs he has in the fridge or a mug full of some shitty whiskey left over in his cupboard.
You happily accept the PBR, clinking it against his can when he raises it, laughing at the watery taste as it goes down. You haven’t laughed this much in a long time. You haven’t felt this warm and full and good in a long time.
Soon the sun has set outside the windows and you both have migrated into the living area. He’s on the couch next to his record player, loading up record after record. You’re on the floor next to him, reclining back against the seat cushions and listening as he rants about his current favorite bands. He’s always been so passionate. So fiery. It’s what you’ve always enjoyed about him from afar. That part of him has remained the same. So has his long hair and his worn out tee - though he’s switched out his customary Hellfire shirt for a Metallica one these days - and you can’t help but settle into the comfort of his constancy. His consistency.
His rings sparkle in the dim lighting of his apartment as he gesticulates wildly and his smile is wide as he continues explaining all about the modern state of metal. After a while it all gets to be too much. A lump is forming in your throat. A tension in your muscles. You hoist yourself up to join him on the couch and wait a beat, watching him hesitate and stop speaking at your sudden change of position.
“Eddie,” you breathe. Not really saying anything other than his name. Then you launch yourself at him. You fist your hands in his shirt and pull him to you, mashing your lips against his. His mouth tastes of stale beer but you’ve never loved a taste more in your life.
For a second he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. In fact, he doesn’t even return the kiss for a few heartbeats, so surprised he is by your sudden attention. But then he’s kissing you back, and his arms are winding around your waist. His hands find your hips, your thighs, your ass.
When his tongue enters your mouth you moan, completely uninhibited. Full volume, just like when you were singing in the record store earlier. You’re past the point in your life where you silence yourself and your reactions. You’ve lived a lot of life in these last few years and you deserve to enjoy things without being limited by doubt and self-censorship.
You rock against him, because you’ve climbed into his lap at this point, and suddenly you’re right back where you were in his van all those years ago.
And Eddie must be on this same internal time traveling journey because when you break away from him, panting, to paint kisses on his throat, he gasps out a question.
“Do you ever - think of that night. In my van?”
“I do,” you say into his skin. You hadn’t fixated on it. Hadn’t lost sleep pining over him. You’d been off and on to a different life at the time. But you’d be lying, or at least lying by omission if you didn’t tell him the true extent. “Sometimes I still get myself off to the thought of it.”
You’re ripped from his throat so suddenly you swear you get whiplash.
“You...get yourself...”
“Off. Yes,” you confirm, smiling as you realize how flustered he’s getting.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans out, surging forward and capturing your lips again. His hands wander with less hesitation now. He’s gripping and groping and it feels great. He feels solid and whole beneath you and around you and you want...
“More,” you breathe into his open mouth.
“Want to finish what we started, princess?” He asks, holding your chin to look into your eyes. You nod feverishly. Glad to see he’s no longer flustered. He’s got a smile on his face and his hands are pulling at your clothes.
Your jeans and top are discarded swiftly, leaving you in nothing but a bra and panties. Onces you’ve helped Eddie divest himself of everything but his black boxers, you climb back into his lap, resuming your previous motion of grinding down into him.
This is exactly what you were doing last time, but this time there are far fewer layers between you. You can feel the stiffness of his member no longer stifled but his jeans, rubbing at the apex of your thighs in the most delicious way.
“You feel so good,” you practically whimper, rolling your hips to find the friction you need. Eddie guides you with his hands at your waist, helping you find a rhythm that has you both shuddering.
“I’m not even inside you yet, baby,” he chuckles. You look him dead in the eye.
“What are you waiting for?” Your smirk is challenging. You’re trying to rile him up. And it works.
“You know now that you mention it...” he quips, and suddenly you’re being lifted and turned around. He bends you over the arm of the sofa, pushing your knees apart to widen your stance, your ass in the air. “I guess I’m not waiting for anything.”
“Eddie!” you chide with a laugh. His hands grab at the rounded curves of your ass with a light slap and he pulls you back against his pelvis as he shuffles up behind you. He rubs his clothed cock back and forth against your fabric-covered pussy and you moan, shifting your hips down to try and get him to hit your clit.
“Impatient?” He sounds amused and you pout.
“I think I’ve been more than patient up till now,” you argue.
“I know, baby, I know.” You feel him peel your underwear off of you and you shuffle your knees to aid him in removing the garment all together. You hiss out a gasp when you suddenly feel his cock, uncovered and warm against you, pushing at your pussy. Now it is his turn to hiss. “Are you always this beautifully wet or are you just happy to see me?”
“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson,” you say with a laugh, rolling your eyes. Your eyes cross mid-roll, however, when suddenly he’s pushing into you. You keen forward. “Oh fuckohfuckohfuck.”
“Thought you were done being patient,” he teases, though his own words are strained.
“Don’t make me - oh god! Wait so long next time!” you gasp. Eddie hears the promise inherent in those words but tries not to focus too much on it, lest he lose his cool immediately. He goes to work thrusting into you evenly, learning the way your body reacts. The things that make you pitch forward. The touches that have you biting the side of your fist to keep from screaming. Eventually that gets on his nerves.
“Don’t hold it in. Wanna hear you, princess,” he says, hauling you up so that you’re both up on your knees, his chest to your back.
“Well, I wanna see you,” you respond. You expect Eddie to throw you around again, but instead he eases out and turns you carefully, gently. He sits back against the couch cushions with his feet planted on the ground, pulling you into his lap. Right now you’re back in that very familiar position, with you grinding into his lap just as you had done earlier tonight - just as you had done that night in his van.
But this time he lifts you up and brings you back down on his cock. Your hands come to fist in his hair and you cry out at the delicious stretch.
“Thaaat’s it,” he encourages, dropping kisses on your neck, the hollow at the base of your throat, your collar bone. “Let me hear you, baby.”
“Eddie. Oh my - oh fuck.”
“You sound so pretty. Almost as pretty as you did putting Joan Jett to shame in the store earlier,” he chuckles. You let out a shaky laugh and try to bury your face in his neck but he doesn’t let you. “No more hiding, babygirl.”
As you get closer and closer to climax, you start to lose strength in your thighs and it becomes harder to lift yourself up and down on his cock. Eddie seems to notice this and he takes a firm hold on the underside of your ass and begins bouncing you up and down on him. The momentum, coupled with his upward thrusts, have you moaning all over again.
“Holy - oh fuck Eddie. Right there don’t slow down,” you whine, even as you know you’re so spent that your muscles can’t contribute much to the exertion for which you are begging. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact he seems like he’s on cloud nine taking in your bouncing breasts and your fucked out expression.
“Right there, baby? Yeah?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Hold onto me, princess. I’ve got you,” he says through gritted teeth and do hold onto him. You grasp at his flexing arm and thread your fingers through his hair, tugging as the ripple of your orgasm heats your belly.
When you cum, you recognize in a distant part of your brain that the record Eddie had put on earlier is still playing. The music adds ambience to the moment but you can’t quite make it out. It’s simply background for the music of your gasps and moans and chorus of “Eddie!”s.
And as Eddie cums and adds his own guttural groans and cries of your name to the din, you realize that there’s no other song you’d rather hear play on repeat.
~*~
Tiny tag list of some people who have publicly reacted to my Eddie thirsting: @millenialcatlady @theoncrayjoy @cowboy-kylo @addiiscryingrn @sacklerscumrag @shesthegirlnextdoor1 @ginnylupin
Oral recieving/ PiV Sex / Some Fingerplay/ Grinding/ Inexperienced reader/ Soft Dom Silco / Soft Dirty Talk/ Dubious Consent
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Author's comment:
I recently finished watching Arcane... so anyway, I started simping and I'm making it your problem :)
As for my Star Wars content followers- don't worry, there is more coming. I actually got three WIP's in the making, one with clone wars Rex, one with Tech and one with Crosshair, and there was an idea for something with Hunter but I haven't started that one yet. I don't know wich one will be finished first, that depends on my mood and motivation.
Playing on repeat while writing this: Going Down
Power Of Love
Niemand
PS: reblogging and commenting is always welcome.
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Following Chapters:
Little Flower Part 2 - Safe And Sound
Little Flower Part 3 - Cupidos (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 4 - Before You Killed Me (Violence 18+)
Little Flower Part 5 - Carried By Our Desolation (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 6 - The Morning After (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 7 - Love And War (Smut 18+
Little Flower Part 8 - Who We Really Are (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 9 - What We Deserve
Little Flower Part 10 - Liar
LittleFlower part 11 - Curiosity Killed The Cat
Little Flower Part 12 - Blood Bath (18+ Violence)
Little Flower Part 13 - Aftermath (18+ Smut)
Little Flower Part 14 - Backlash
Little Flower Part 15.1 - The Punishment Of Our Sins
Little Flower Part 15.2 - The Punishment Of Our Sins (18+)
Little Flower Part 16 - South Of Heaven
Little Flower Part 17 - A Turn Of Events (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 18 - A Bond Without A Future
Little Flower Part 19 - Tick Tock (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 20 - Wedding Night (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 21 - Back In Town
Little Flower Part 22 - Stressed Out (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 23 - Calm Moments
Little Flower Part 24 - Smoke And Fire (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 25 - Filth (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 26 - Sweet Comfort Of Love
Little Flower Part 27 - Stupid Ideas
Little Flower Part 28 - To Raise A Hand
Little Flower Part 29 - Stand Your Ground
Little Flower Part 30 - Never Again
Little Flower Part 31 - Everything You Want (Smut 18+)
Little Flower Part 32 - A Long Night (Smut 18 +)
Little Flower Part 33 - Influence
Little Flower Part 34 - Revelations
Little Flower Part 35 - The Weight Of A Decision
Arcane - Little Flower
So much potential had always been seen in you, at least your family had. And yet here you were, working at the front desk of a brothel. So much for potential. Things always went differently in Zaun, if you were too meek you didn't get very far. And unfortunately, you were one of those rather meek people.
It was only your second day and you were already fed up with this job, but you had to live on something. After two days you had already seen a lot of different customers and heard some noises that you would have liked to block out. But at least you were not one of the sex workers, that would be the last thing you wanted to do. Considering that you were still a virgin, that would also be completely inappropriate, at least in your opinion. Even if your boss saw it differently and had initially tried to persuade you to become one of the easy girls.
You reckoned as always with everything, but not with your next customer.
When he entered the brothel, his presence filled the entire building. A slim, tall man with dark hair combed back, a few gray strands, well dressed, sublime step. The left half of his aristocratic, prominent face was haggard with scars, his left eye mutated. The narrow nose in profile reminded of an eagle.
He moved directly toward you. You knew this man, had heard his name many times. Silco. A man who was feared in Zaun, just as he was respected. He didn't have nicknames like "The Eye of Zaun" and "The Industrialist" for nothing. This city was more or less his. He had a reputation for being ruthless and unscrupulous. He ruled over everything he owned with a hard hand and questionable ways and means. It was better not to mess with Silco.
He was outrageously attractive in his own way, at least that's how you looked at him.
Your heart beat up to your neck when he stopped in front of your counter, usually you had to greet people accordingly, but when he looked down at you, your voice got stuck in your throat.
Silco knew what effect he had on the people he met.
He smiled and under his gaze you seemed to get smaller and smaller.
"How can I be of service?" you finally asked, almost so quietly that he could barely hear you.
He looked you up and down, leaned a little further over the counter, closer to you and said, "You're awfully quiet, little flower."
His voice was smooth and dark, vibrating through your senses.
"What can I do for you?" you said a little louder this time.
He chuckled, "Unfortunately, I'm not here for pleasure, I need to have a conversation with your boss. Do you know where I can find her?"
You gulped and answered, "In her office," and pointed in the relevant direction.
One of his large, slender hands approached your face. He was wearing black leather gloves, one of his gloved fingers running along your right cheek.
"Pretty thing," he murmured, finally making his way to the office door with a wink in your direction.
Your mouth was dry and your heart was racing. It couldn't possibly be good when Silco paid you such attention.
Silco faced the madam, a middle-aged lady with too much makeup, too much confidence and too little decency. At least if you asked him.
"I assure you, we will take care of the incident that happened with your subordinate," madam Celest promised with a flutter of her fake eyelashes.
"Hmm" grumbled Silco "That would be better for you, otherwise I'll leave the brothel in other, more capable hands".
"That won't be necessary" said the madam hastily.
He leaned back in his chair to glance through the ajar door and caught a glimpse of you standing behind the counter, apparently going through some paper. When he turned back to the madam, there was a shallow smile on his features.
"There is something, something you could use to pay off your debt to me".
The madam listened up, "Oh yeah?"
"Yes. The girl outside at the front desk. I want her."
The madam blinked and tilted her head to the side, "She's not my property, she just works here. Besides that, she's inexperienced, she's not one of my girls, she just works at the counter"
Silco sighed wearily, "I don't care. I want her. Make sure she comes to the club and works for me, then we are even"
"I'll talk to her, but I can't promise anything."
Silco's eyes narrowed as he said "You better make an effort".
After two days in the brothel, you already had another job. The madam had told you what Silco wanted from you and suggested to accept the offer. One never rejected his offers, that never ended well. But even if one accepted it, not necessarily something good came out of it.
You had spent the last few days bringing him food and drinks, his cigars or mail that was left for him at the club. Otherwise you sat in your room in the same building where your bed was and the few belongings you owned. Silco paid well, but you could hardly leave the building because he had you watched all the time. In the free time you had for yourself, at least one of his goons followed you everywhere you went. They were probably there to make sure you didn't run away.
Carrying a tray of fresh fruit, an outrageously expensive luxury in Zaun, you walked into his office just as one of his goons left the room and locked the door behind you. Uncertainly, you glanced at the sprawling desk and the large, noble chair behind it in which Silco sat. He had a cigar in the corner of his mouth. The smoke rose and the entire room smelled of it, of the cigar and his aftershave. A strangely intoxicating mix.
Your heart beat faster, as it always did when you entered his office, or when he entered a room you were in.
Suddenly he looked up, he smiled when he saw you. Trying with all your might to suppress the trembling in your hands, you approached the table and placed the tray on it.
"Thank you, little flower"
That's what he often called you, little flower.
When you were about to leave again, Silco put out his cigar in the big heavy ashtray on his desk and he stopped you from leaving.
"Wait. Come here," he said, beckoning you to him with two fingers.
You approached the table again, but that wasn't enough for him, he waved you even closer. When you got closer but still not close enough, he impatiently grabbed one of your hands and pulled you towards him. He was still sitting in his chair and looking up at you. The sea green of his normal eye shimmered in the setting sun that shone through the large window behind him.
"Don't be shy," he said teasingly, as you flinched because his knee touched your leg.
“What can I do for you?“, you asked nervously.
"Hmm, you could let me do something for you, because there's something I'd be hungry for."
Your heart leapt into your throat at his words.
"Wh-what?"
Instead of an answer, the long, slender fingers of his large hand stroked along your leg, ever upward, under the hem of your skirt, and upward still. You shivered as his fingers ghosted over the delicate fabric of your panties, just above your sex.
"You're really glowing between your legs, this will probably be a warm meal for me," he quipped with a smirk.
„S-Sir?“, you stuttert feeling heat rising in your face and ears.
Again instead of an answer, he acted. His fingertips feel the edge of your panties and slipped under the fine fabric. Gently his long fingers slid through your folds and at the same moment you felt yourself getting wet, fluids pooling out of you.
You did not dare to say anything or withdraw. Partly out of fear, but also because his touch felt delightful, even if you didn't want to admit it.
When he withdrew his fingers you had to suppress a disappointed sigh. But when you saw him guide his fingers covered with your slick to his lips and lick them, a small whimper escaped you.
"Hmm, my little flower is a honey pot," he murmured delightedly.
Your gaze wandered almost automatically to his crotch and you saw the bulge in his pants, it was practically impossible to miss and gave an idea that he was far better equipped than you had assumed.
With a jerk he suddenly pulled you onto his lap, facing him, your legs left and right over his. One of his hands went to your back, went down to your bottom and gripped into the tender flesh. You inhaled sharply and suppressed a small, startled cry.
His free hand went to your neck and urged your head down towards his. He sniffed your neck and sighed devotedly.
"You smell fantastic Y / N, little flower, so gorgeous," he said in a hoarse voice.
The hand on your bottom pressed you even closer, closer to his body, you could feel his hard erection through the fabric of his pants and your panties on your femininity.
He let out a low, heated growl as you tried to move on his lap.
"Where are you going?" He asked, amused.
"I ... nowhere"
Silco began to kiss your neck and a low whimper came over your lips. His hot breath wandered up your throat to your ear where he whispered: "You don't want to get away from me, do you?"
"N-No"
That was neither a lie nor the truth. He attracted you magnetically and at the same time you were afraid of him, of what people said about him.
"Good, because I still have a lot to do with you, my beautiful," he cooed with a smile.
He arched his hips slightly, pressing his lap into yours and nibbling on your delicate earlobe at the same time.
“Hmmm”, you heard him hum with satisfaction, “Your smell, the warmth of your body, the sweet little honey pot between your legs, you are perfect, little flower. A perfect bloom grown in all the junk around us. And I found you, now you are mine. "
You swallowed and said softly: "Please don't hurt me"
Silco stopped moving, his hand on your neck, pressing your head so he could look you in the face.
"What did you just say?" He asked.
Your eyes darted back and forth wildly, looking for an escape.
"Look at me, stop looking so nervously from one corner to the other," he demanded gently but firmly.
You followed his request very nervously.
"Tell me, Y / N, has any of what I've done so far been painful?"
"N-No," you answered him in a very low voice.
Still calm and gentle, he asked, “No? Then why do you assume that I intend to hurt you? "
“People say things about you. They say ... that you are dangerous and angry and that you hurt people "
Silco nodded thoughtfully, then smiled and said: “Yes, I have a certain reputation. But you are not people. You are my little flower "
You nodded slowly whereupon he smiled in satisfaction.
"Good girl"
He turned the chair and you towards the table, grabbed your hips with both hands and lifted you onto the table. He was much stronger than he looked.
His fingers were nimble, slipping under your skirt and pulling down your panties, brushing them over your ankles and off your body. He didn't toss them carelessly to the side as you had expected, but laid them on the table beside you. Finally, he pushed up the fabric of your skirt, reached for your trembling thighs and spread them.
The corners of his mouth twitched upward as he saw you spread out before him like a buffet. He leaned forward in his chair, his face hovering so close over your pussy that you could feel his hot breath on your moist folds. A soft whimper came from your mouth.
He took a deep breath and chuckled, "Incredibly intoxicating, I'm going to lick your little honey pot dry until you forget your own name, little flower."
Your pussy twitched at his words, heat flowed to your center and the tickle of his breath made your bud swell with desire.
The fingers of his right hand ran gently, almost delicately through your folds, one fingertip caressing your entrance, collecting your juices and sliding upward to your pulsing pearl. As he drew small circles on your clit, you were dripping wet and a high pitched moan came from your throat. It never felt this good when you touched yourself, this was something completely different, much more intense.
Silco gently asked you to lean back with your back on his table and you complied expectantly.
His finger continued to massage your sensitive bud as his tongue ran over your folds. Surprised by the sensation, your thighs twitched. His tongue swirled hot, strong and deft through your folds, to your entrance and dipped inside you.
You couldn't help it, the words coming hoarsely from your mouth, "Oh God!"
He chuckled into your folds, the vibration almost sending you over the edge.
Your toes curled, your thighs trembled with tension, your whole abdomen seemed filled with liquid heat. He licked you out, with intense movements of his tongue, humming over and over again with excitement and satisfaction, chasing sweet vibration into your sex.
In a groan it came from your lips, "Please! S-Silco I'm gonna...."
He hummed deep and hungry this time.
"Yes" he mumbled into your folds "Come for me, let go, I'll catch you".
The knot loosened, tingling hot waves vibrated through your pussy and you tightened around his tongue.
Silco moaned and worked you even further, working through your high, gently stroking your hips with his free hand.
Eventually he let go of you so he wouldn't overstimulate you, though he couldn't resist the naughty little kiss on your still swollen pearl. He wiped his mouth and grinned at you as you propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him.
Still nervous and breathing heavily from your climax, you smiled shyly at him.
"So, did that hurt?" he asked teasingly, getting up from his chair.
You shook your head and said almost in a whisper, "No. That was nice."
He undid the belt of his pants and at the sight of him unwrapping his length, nervousness crept up in you again. Heavy and girthy, his veiny cock stood out from his body, the blunt tip slightly swollen. He saw the look on your face and tilted his head slightly to the side.
"What's wrong? A little above average I know, but I promise you I'm gentle".
Your mouth opened and you shyly told him softly, "I've never done this before."
"What?" he asked with a puzzled blink "Really never?"
You nodded, shying away from his scrutinizing gaze.
"Now I understand why you're so nervous all the time, you had no idea what to expect did you? Poor thing, must have been scared, but there's no need to be, I'm not going to hurt you, I'm going to make you feel good", he cooed.
He gently pulled you off the table onto your wobbly legs and held you as you almost buckled.
Silco led you to another door in his office and opened it. Behind it was a bedroom with a huge bed with black silk sheets. The rest of the room automatically blanked out of your mind because you knew this bed was the target and your thoughts swirled solely around it.
He began to undress you until you finally stood naked in front of him, his gaze wandering up and down your body.
" Delicious! On the bed with you, little flower".
You complied with his request and climbed onto the bed, turning to face him and watching as he undressed as well. The torso first, out of the fancy coat of the fine vest and the red dress shirt.
Yes he was slim, but under his pale skin hard muscles stood out, a body stronger than it appeared at first sight. A few fine hairs on his chest, already graying, gathered in a line leading down into his pants, accentuated by the appetizing V line of his hips.
At the sight, your mouth watered. Torn between sexual desire and a touch of fear, you watched as he slipped off his shoes, socks, pants and underwear. Again your eyes fell on his privates, so proud, veiny and heavy. Your heart beat wildly in your chest, towards him, and at the same time your nerves fluttered with nervousness.
He smiled at you, in his own haunting way that got under your skin and made you shiver.
Silco climbed up onto the bed, over you, gently but firmly spreading your legs with his, lying down on top of you and pressing his hard shaft against your wet folds. His arms supported most of his weight as he gently began to roll his hips, rubbing his length over your sex and creating glorious friction on your pearl.
With an excited sigh, you wrapped your legs around his body almost automatically and began to move with him. You realized that was far from all, he wasn't even inside you yet and you longed to feel him inside you as much as you were afraid of it. But so far he had been gentle and considerate, so you were nowhere near as scared as you had expected.
There you were, lying naked in Silco's bed beneath him, expecting him to deflower you at any moment. Something you never would have thought would happen just a few days ago. At least not with Silco.
His face came closer and when his lips gently touched yours, your eyes closed with a soft sigh. He was warm and softer than you had expected, this mouth that often gave such harsh words speech, such grim commands- was warm and gentle. His tongue slid over your lower lip, asking for entrance and you granted it only too gladly. As his tongue slid into your mouth and playfully explored yours, you could taste yourself in his mouth, a strange, exciting sensation.
As he increased the pressure of his hips in your lap, you moaned into the kiss and his lips twisted into a smile.
Silco slowly detached himself from your lips and spoke softly in a voice like hot dark chocolate, "Are you sure this is what you want?"
Nervously you licked your lips. Yes you wanted it, you wanted to feel more of him, wanted to belong to him, every fiber of your body craved it even if a part of you still trembled gently at the thought. You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him.
"Tell me with your words, little flower," he demanded, cooing.
"I want this, I want you, Silco."
His smile sent shivers through your expectant body.
"Very well, then you shall have what you desire".
He pulled his hips back a bit to line up at your entrance. The tip of his cock hit the folds at your entrance, parting them slowly and gently. You gasped as he slowly entered you, at first with just the tip. As expected, he not only looked massive but felt so as well. Slowly he pushed further, you felt the stretch as he slowly filled you, then a slight resistance and a small sharp pain that made you wince against your will.
You held your breath, nervous and unsure.
Silco stopped, bent down to you without advancing any further, kissed your shoulder and whispered: "Keep breathing, little flower, you don't have to be afraid, this little pain was all the discomfort you will feel, I promise".
You breathed a sigh of relief, but stuttering, irregular. His lips moved to your neck, placing open mouthed kisses on your heated skin, trying to soothe you.
Silco placed a kiss under your ear and whispered, "My beautiful little flower, relax, breathe in and out, breathe with me."
His gentle encouragement helped you regain your composure, his warm lips on your skin, began to rekindle the tingling in your core. As Silco felt you gradually relax under him, he pushed deeper into you.
Your fingers clawed into his shoulders as you felt him filling you, filling your cleft to the hilt, stretching you. The small bush of curly, partly graying hair at the base of his shaft tickled your pearl.
A curse escaped your lips and he chuckled.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly.
"Yeah... it's just so... so much"
With a smile he cocked an eybrow at you, asking, "Too much? Do you want me to stop?"
"No!" you said hastily, wrapping your legs tighter around him and rolling your hips.
"Do you want more?" he asked, his voice a promising whisper.
„Yes! P-please, more...need more“
Silco began to move, pulling his hips back, slowly, and then forward again, into you. The feeling was indescribable. He kept moving, paying close attention to your every reaction. He changed the angle, shifted his weight, until he could see in your face that he was hitting just the right spot in your wet, hot cleft.
"Oh my love, you're so tight and hot and wet, just for me," he uttered hoarsely, and you saw his good eye darken with desire.
But he held back, taking you with gentle thrusts, giving you time.
It wasn't long, however, before your fingers dug into his buttocks, urging him to give you more, harder and faster. He emitted a surprised sound, but immediately complied with your wordless request.
Wet sounds filled the room, mixed with the sound of naked skin meeting naked skin. A sensual and sinful sound.
Heat flowed into your pussy, your body quivering with each of his thrusts. His lips and teeth caressed your neck, greedy yet gentle, leaving marks on your skin as he took you greedier and greedier, his breath becoming heavier and faster.
Sweat covered both your skin.
"S-Silco," it came harshly from your lips, "more, please, f-faster..."
With a growl that came deep from his chest, he granted your wish, taking you faster, harder. Whimpers and high pitched moans came rushing out of your mouth, your fingers clawing over his back, his shoulders in helpless horniness as his cock buried deep inside you, moved inside you. His tip kept hitting that one spot that made you see stars and sent hot waves through your body.
One particularly intense thrust made you yelp, "hnngnaaah!.... close, I'm c-close!"
"Good girl, cum for me, cum on my cock!" he forced out through clenched teeth.
The sound that came from your mouth as the knot burst was almost a scream. Your walls tightened around his length, your thighs quivering tensely as a tingling, hot wave followed by many smaller waves like an echo, coursed through your abdomen, radiating heat with a tickle into all your limbs.
Silco growled again as he felt your cleft tighten, your climax racing over you. His thrusts became erratic.
"Where... where do you want me...?"
"Inside me!" you hastily interrupted him, feeling that he could barely hold it in.
Almost at the same moment he let go, his cock pulsing inside you, his seed flowing hotly into your cleft, and for a moment you felt even fuller than before.
With an extended sigh, his thrusts became slower and slower until he finally stopped, breathing heavily. He licked his lips and looked into your sweaty face.
"That was..." your lips twisted into a wide smile as you saw the look of anticipation on his face "Indescribably beautiful."
With a satisfied smile he said in a raspy voice "I don't think I can ever get enough of you. I can't wait to show you more".
He kissed you gently as his shaft slowly softened inside you.
Holding you to his lips, he whispered questioningly, "Would you like to spend the night here, little flower?"
A tender yet joyful, "Yes," was your answer.
Again he showed that smile, that one that he seemed to show only for you, that filled your heart with warmth and your belly with butterflies.
Warnings: Manhandling, Pretty rough sex, knives, BAMF reader, Fluffy at the End Though :)
I'm not sure what happened but I started this as a short project and then it turned into 5.8k words. I couldn't tell you what went wrong and this will happen again.
This fic was inspired by this amazing and sexy artwork by @wildragon
Link to artwork!
He’s found you.
You know it the second he prowls past the door of the frigid room you huddle inside, smoke trailing down the hallway from the tip of his cigar, the smell of it wrapping you in a taunting familiarity. He’s prolonging it, the search, pulling your nerves taut until you vibrate with a dreadful anticipation.
You wait.
He never misses. Never has. Never latches his bloodhound nose onto a scent and loses his way. He knows you’re in here, tucked back into the shadows.
But your senses are keen, too, and the cigar stench hasn’t faded quite so quickly as you would have wanted.
So, this was it, you think to yourself. The finale.
You know he’s out there, lying in wait. And he knows you know.
You rise, wincing when your knees crack from the prolonged position. No sound from outside, even to your finely tuned ears. Not so much as a breath, no fabric rustling from a position adjustment. Light-footed, you creep your way forward, walking your fingers across the hilt of the knife in your belt, trailing them over the jagged embedded gemstones, worn from his touch and yours.
It was about time you give it back.
Your aim is precise, a sharp whistle puncturing the air from the sheer speed of the weapon as it crosses the doors threshold and embeds into the wall in the hallway, hilt wavering only slightly from impact.
You step to the side and let out a startled breath.
The dreadful fluorescent lighting in the hallway is terribly bright, but the reflection in the knife’s gleam is radiant.
Two eyes stare back at you through the blade, one orange, one a shocking familiar teal widening with something akin to surprise at the sight of his knife before settling into a predatory, furious state.
He’s blocking the entrance in an instant and you trot several steps back, stomach dropping as you prepare yourself for what’s to come.
He stands with his head bowed, slightly hunched, looking all the more like a starved lion, barely restrained from pouncing on his waiting supper.
Your gaze rips away from his scorching eyes and lands on his arms- burgundy striped sleeves rolled up his wiry forearms, one hand propped against the stone wall, the other hanging loose by his side, a shocking amount of blood dripping down from his elbow, down the knobs of his fingers and to the floor.
The cigar hanging loosely from his lips twitches as he gives you something adjacent to a sneer, although there’s little humor in it when paired with the fury outlining every other feature of his face.
“Silco.”
His face doesn’t change, but the hand on the wall clenches into a tight fist, dragging forward, a track of glistening red succeeding the movement.
He takes a step forward and you rear back, knowing how terrified you appear.
Another twitch of his lips, this one taunting, something wild kindling in his eyes as he takes you in, eyes flitting across your worried brows, your heaving chest as you try to quell your pounding heart.
Silco slowly presses into the room, wordless.
“Do- do you remember this place?” you stutter, stumbling your feet over the ratty gym mats littering the floor.
A low growl rumbles in his chest as he expertly rolls his cigar over to one side of his mouth.
“You’ll find there’s little I don’t remember.”
His voice is grittier than before, cold and snakelike, and you’re reminded of the time that has elapsed since you’d last spoken.
Your gulp is loud in the stone room, echoing off the walls, providing soundtrack to your dance.
How long have you been playing this game now, half a year? Foiling plans, pulling strings from behind the scenes, going so far as to murder his people. You’d wanted him suffering, you’d wanted him angry, matching him move for move, and now it had culminated in this single moment, where you stand, toes curling over the edge of a dangerous precipice.
“Yes, I remember,” he hums. “What a fitting place you chose to die.”
“I don’t intend to die here.”
He lunges and you burst forward in a mad dash for the exit, but the world predictably spins, and stars splash across the borders of your vision as you’re thrust forward into the wall, one arm twisted behind your back painfully. Your other hand clings uselessly to his thigh, digging into the fabric there as you pant.
Smoke stings the inside of your nostrils and your cheek presses against the chilled stone as you stare wide-eyed at his hand crushing the cigar into the wall right before your nose. Your gaze dips as it falls abandoned to the ground and you gasp when the knife sinks into the wall instead with a sharp thud.
“I had my suspicions it was you from the very start. All your meddling. Making things difficult.” He hisses, pressing you painfully into the wall for emphasis. “Oh, you were always so good at being difficult, weren’t you? Forcing me to bloody my hands just to find you. I do hope you think you’re clever.”
“Please,” you whimper, as pathetic as you can muster. “Don’t hurt me.”
Silco’s tone is ragged, seething as he shoves his nose against your temple, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks each clipped word harshly into it.
“Cut. The. Act.”
You crane your neck but are unable to catch his eye. It’s near impossible to quit the incessant quake that has your muscles rattling against his, but the translation changes drastically as you allow your features to fall into the barely restrained fury just beneath the surface.
“Get off me.”
You attempt to slam your foot down on his insole, but there’s little space for it.
“There she is. Our little actress. Tell me, how’s Vander?” he purrs, a bitter self-satisfaction suffusing his tone. “Do you have him all wrapped around your finger now that I’m gone?”
Something bubbles up inside as you hurriedly turn to press your forehead against the wall, your chest heaving with ill-timed emotion.
Your hand is torn away from the fabric of his pants as he releases the arm behind your back, spins you around, and pins you against the wall again, his bony fingers latching onto your wrists now, blood smearing across the palms of your hands that now frame the space on either side of your head.
And he finds the remnants of laughter on your lips.
“You think I’m working with Vander? I knew you’d changed, Silco. But I didn’t think you’d be stupider.”
You not only hear but feel the rumble in his chest this time.
The vise that tightens painfully around your wrists speaks multitudes as you squirm.
“Careful now, darling,” his face tilts forward tauntingly, lips twitching into a cruel sneer, eyes brimming with lethal promise. “I am a changed man, after all.”
You study him with a daggered glare. Those painful scars you’ve seen only from afar until now. Janna, he used to be so expressive, in his own peculiar way- now so carefully withholding, impassive. But it didn’t take much searching to discern that dark edge clouding his features, steeping into that teal eye.
And that’s the color you remember, hovering above you, taunting, pinning you time and time again to these very gym mats during combat practice, you screeching and clawing like a mad cat beneath him.
All those times he’d bested you, humiliated you in front of the other Children of Zaun. But you’d keep coming back each day, a glutton for punishment, wanting to win so badly, recklessly throwing the first punch, spurred on by that smirk of his, sometimes even taking to the shadows, lying in wait for him to prowl past.
You’d never been one to make friends easily. Still weren’t. You weren’t an easy pill to swallow, but nor was he, and maybe that was what had him allowing your reckless assaults, what had him searching you out after a while, intent on putting you in your place. And oh, how he loved putting people in their place.
But you never stayed put. It wasn’t in your nature.
And that fact alone had pushed the two of you into something you couldn’t quite call a friendship- the tumultuous, spiteful waters too full of a strange tension to be defined as such.
Then he’d disappeared.
“I thought you were dead. For months,” you spit accusingly.
His eyes search yours for a drawn-out moment.
“Perhaps I did die.” He hungrily laps up your outrage as he trails one bloody hand down to your neck, encircling it lightly. “Perhaps you’ve done yourself a great disservice, drawing me into the open like this.”
“Easy really. You never did like a loose end.”
Your derisive laugh is cut off by a single warning squeeze to your throat and you close your eyes against the swell of heat that accompanies it.
You hedge your bets on Silco not killing you, not yet at least.
He is a changed man, yes, but the foundation he’s built upon is still the same. He is the same Silco who hungers for answers like a man perpetually starved- whose immovable, unrelenting nature calls to your own hurricane-like one.
There is still something there of the man you’d become so infatuated with.
At least you hope.
“And what were you hoping to achieve- running about, interfering, engaging in such senseless violence?” he croons.
You open your eyes, steadying yourself in order to dish out an outrageous eyeroll.
“They betrayed you anyhow, the ones I killed,” you say, sounding a little too proud of yourself, and not really answering his question at all. “Dropped you like a hot skillet as soon as money talk started. They would have offed you eventually. With the proper motivation.”
“Mm, out there doing me favors, then,” he mutters, looking unperturbed, thumb brushing lightly across your pulse, as if he isn’t surprised in the least that he has traitors among him. “Such a conniving thing.”
Your lips form a tight line, eyes falling shut again in frustration. He doesn’t get it.
“Look at me,” he commands, voice fatally soft, and you steadfastly disobey, scrunching your nose to emphasize just how little you were willing to relinquish. But your eyes pop wide open on instinct as soon as the hand wrapping a wet necklace around your throat squeezes and holds.
The slight upturn of Silco’s lips is minute, but primitive, nonetheless.
As much as common sense would have you clawing at your desperately contracting windpipe, you fist your free hand tightly in his shirt instead, trying to maintain a challenging glare even as your jaw drops open with unsuccessful breaths.
Even as something ancient and unbidden coils hotly in your abdomen.
“Be that as it may, you’ve pushed me far past the boundaries of my extensive patience.”
He releases abruptly and you reel forward as you greedily heave in oxygen, coughing and sputtering, the crown of your head pressing into his sternum as he allows you to catch your breath.
And as the shooting stars recede from your periphery, you tilt your head up and sneer.
“Good.”
You despise the dark amusement on his face.
“Should’ve just let them kill you,” you spit, reddening face inches from his, wanting, no needing a reaction.
And Silco’s face is unreadable.
“So, that’s why you’re here then? To kill me?” Two hands prop themselves beside your ears as he leans in. “Oh, you’re so close, keep trying.”
“I’m not here to kill you.”
You make as if to close the distance, nose stopping inches from his, a savage smile playing about your lips.
“But I will get what I came here for.”
A single exhale betrays him and the stone next to your head scrapes as his nails subtly dig in. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his gaze flits to your mouth.
“And what would that be?”
“I want a fucking rematch.”
You use the hand fisted in his shirt to propel the other into the unsuspecting softness of his chest.
With a startled grunt, he stumbles backward a half step, eyes narrowing as in one move, you yank the dagger from the wall and narrowly duck to avoid his outstretched arm, crossing to the other side of the room.
After a long, nerve-wracking beat, Silco turns to you, an almost dizzying energy radiating off him as he levels you with a look that contains the same unrestrained fire he prowled in with.
“With my own dagger? Oh, I really didn’t think you had it in you.”
His hawklike gaze catches the cold shudder that walks down your spine before his eyes catch yours again, something dangerously excited igniting there.
All those times he’d bested you, pinned you right here on these mats, his half-hard length pressing into the space between your legs, eyes wild as you utilized anger to shrink from your desire- to run away.
He’s frustrated. And furious, so furious. But you’re sure, absolutely sure now, that he’s taking just as twisted of a delight in this as you are. It has you setting your jaw, twirling the blade tauntingly across your palm.
Your eyes fall to his bloodied hands, staining a dark crimson as they dry.
“To be fair, I did try to give it back.”
“Oh, there’s nothing fair about you.”
His own blade materializes seemingly out of thin air, hilt tossed about in his palm, black and orange in color.
How fitting.
He waits for you to lunge, and you do with a centering growl, keeping low, arm swinging in a sideways arc just as his does, forcing you to switch up, instead sliding into his booted feet as if sweeping in for a home run. He stumbles and you barely manage to regain your balance before darting out of the way of his blade.
“Still overeager, I see,” Silco pants, eyes tracking your form, circling you like a vulture, voice pitching strangely.
“Still a beanpole, I see,” you retort, flying at him again, as if determined to prove his point.
And you begin a vicious dance, meeting in the middle again and again. You leap out of the way of his attacks, clever and dexterous, using practiced history to anticipate his movements.
“I do, by the way” you say, managing to catch him off guard with a brutal kick to the stomach, “Think I’m clever.”
Silco hisses, but latches onto your ankle, yanking you forward.
“Do you?” he grits.
You spin mid-air, yelping as your full body weight smacks the mat, and you succeed in donkey kicking him away.
“I do,” you sputter, leaping back to your feet. “I mean Janna, how long have you been letting me run circles around you?”
Something dark and merciless casts a shadow over both orange and teal, his pupils dilating as his tongue presses into his teeth in calculation. His gaze trails unhurriedly down your body, as if capturing this moment of hubris, memorizing it.
And he exhales a soft grunt, focus narrowing back on the widening of your eyes as he cocks his head and this time, he’s the first to lunge.
You defend, spring back time and time again, blocking each of his relentless jabs, desperation pushing you to swing at him hard but he surprises you, a fist enclosing your wrist to jar you, pull you off kilter.
You twirl, side-step to correct, switch the knife to your other hand just in time to have it end up trapped between his arm and your side as he yanks you into his chest, arm encircling your mid-back.
Your bewildered gaze takes a moment to adjust to your new position- his knife poised delicately against your throat, face hovering directly over yours.
“Long enough,” he answers in a tattered voice, and your eyes flutter as his breath tickles the sweat-dampened hairs on your forehead.
The two of you are flushed, panting, and with the way he fastens you against him, your lower abdomen flush against an unmistakable hardness, his knife driving your upper body backward, you have to arch uncomfortably into him just to maintain eye contact.
In his gaze there is a hunger that shocks, overwhelms you in its intensity.
“Do you work for anyone?” he asks.
You try to make your weapon anything but useless at your side, wrenching your wrist, grazing the side of his thigh.
“I can still make it hurt,” you snarl, eyes pinning his with a cold glare as you try and muster something up out of that ever-flowing well of anger in your chest.
You use your free hand to attempt to grate your nails across any visible skin, because however self-assured he looks, the fight isn’t over.
Silco’s response is to lower his center hold to wrap around your waist, forcing you to grip tightly to the fabric of his shoulder just to keep from falling back.
His searing look demands an answer.
“Here and there-”
The knife digs in lightly.
“No,” you choke. “I don’t have a job.”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t kn-“
The knife drives you further back and you let out a tight, teeth-gritting squawk of frustration, the discomfort of craning your neck enough that you finally drop your head back, relaxing into his firm grip, the two of you standing in an awkward, uncomfortable mimicry of a ballroom dip.
“Because I’m- I was too busy trying to figure out what the fuck happened to you.” The words are cast from your mouth and into the open air like tiny, poisonous arrows. “I knew you wouldn’t have just up and left like they said. I searched everywhere- ate, slept, and breathed you, only to find out you were still alive…”
Pause.
“And you decided to make my life harder for it?”
Your cackling laugh sounds deranged from your position.
“Among other things. You deserved every-”
You choke on a gasp as Silco rolls his hips methodically slow, the ridge of his cock catching your clit and drawing his impressive length upward, wrenching an embarrassing, high-pitched moan from your throat as your fingers dig into his shirt.
This isn’t how it-
The knife in your hand clatters to the floor as he rolls against you again, rendering you speechless.
“Maddening. You are maddening.” His tone is so low, so ragged, it must be born from the deepest, most primal part of him. “You know, I used to spend hours concocting ways to get you to shut up.”
He abandons his own knife, sheathing it at his side, splaying his hands to drag up your spine, until one long-fingered hand clasps around the back of your neck.
You stare dazedly as he lifts you, blinking half-lidded as you drink them in, those carefully impassive features that you think you can see right through. You press your face gently into his neck, teasing along the hinge of his jaw, and you hate how well you fit, the way his knife-bladed nose buries perfectly into your hair, the gentleness contrasting his next clipped words.
“Shoving my cock down your throat to silence your incessant screeching. Fucking you back into those shadows where you thought you hid so well. Suffo-“
Silco’s words stutter into the crown of your head as you lick a long, salty stripe across his pulse point and his hand draws up to fist in your hair, pulling back so he can look at you.
“Suffocating you until those pretty eyes rolled back.”
Your hands fall to his hips to run down his sides, up again to pull him flush against you. His free hand follows suit, kneading into your ass as he hunches over you just slightly in order to track his middle and index down, applying a perfect, dragging pressure once, twice over the crotch of your pants before trailing back up to cup your soft flesh.
“Always such an angry thing,” he says almost reverently as you try and fail to stifle a whine, “Now look at you. So soft.”
Silco, one hand still kneading into your hair, steps back to make room for the other as it travels down your front.
It’s not practiced fear nor rage that you tremble from this time, it’s raw desire that has you shaking like a leaf as he slides his palm between your pants and underwear.
It’s been so long, you realize, since you’ve been touched, even held, that at the first swipe of his fingers across your clit, you cry out, wobbling, eyes screwing shut at the explosive sensation.
“I think,” he croons down at you, and his voice is so deceptively soft as he works you, “What you needed all along was for someone to just touch you.”
You can’t lose sight, won’t lose sight.
Even as he leans down to your ear.
“For me to touch you, hm?”
He drags tight circles around your aching bud and your knuckles crack as your hand unfists his shirt, smoothing down the rough material of his vest.
You nearly sob as the pressure builds sharply, and it’s almost humiliating how fast he’s able to bring you to that precipice.
“Pl-ease,” you pant, tilting your head up, moaning through your teeth. “I’m g-onna-”
His mouth is so close to yours, breath uneven, labored as he quickens his pace, his wild eyes mapping the pleasure as it tracks across your face.
“You can cum, darling.”
Your eyes flutter closed, and everything gets tighter, and tighter.
“I w-“ Seconds away, you’re seconds away from that cliff. “I w-“
The hand in your hair finds its way to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.
“I win.“
And just as you cross the point of no return, you clumsily press the pointed end of his dagger into his upper back just enough that he’s able to identify it before tossing it to the side to clatter to the floor.
He could have killed you. But he didn’t. You could have killed him. But you didn’t.
The shock, the black that blows out the teal of his eye at the realization is enough to push you over the edge and you’re sinking your nails into his arm, clawing red, angry trails across his skin in desperation as your back bows and your knees buckle.
The punishing grip in your hair only heightens the domino effect and to Silco’s credit, he doesn’t stop working you, lowering you slowly to the ground as you writhe against him, a long, high-pitched whine freeing itself from your throat.
Light explodes behind your eyelids and you fall forward, curling in on yourself as your pussy clenches around nothing.
You blink stars out of your eyes as you peer down.
Silco is on his knees and you straddle his lap, his hard length nestled between the apex of your thighs. Through the dull ringing in your ears, you hear his sputtering.
And you hardly realize that your forehead presses against his until you’re jarred aggressively, two hands sliding up your sides to rid you of your shirt, your bra, tossing them furiously to the side.
He’s spitting acid.
“I should have killed you. The moment I discovered it was you.”
He grabs the back of your head, pulls you into a violent kiss, and a tidal wave of sensation has the world crashing back in and before you know it, your hands are eagerly twisted into the textured strands of his hair, hips grinding into his.
A familiar rumble of anger rocks through his chest and he yanks your hair back, runs one hand down your collarbone to cup one breast roughly.
“Desperate for more, already?” You squeal when he twists your nipple hard. “Do you really think after that little display you deserve anything I have to offer?”
“I think I deserve something.”
One of your hands falls to the strain in his pants and you run your palm along it, deriving a sick satisfaction from the way his abdomen tightens, his teeth grind.
He tilts forward, mouth enveloping one of your pebbling nipples and your gasp ratchets into a vulgar moan as his tongue flutters around the stiff peak, the sensation arcing its way directly between your legs, the heat too much. Too fast.
The hand not fondling him caresses the back of his head, unsure whether to pull him in or push him away as his teeth graze the sensitive skin and he sucks, pulling out of you a keening cry.
He moves to the other breast, lavishing it with similar attentions like a man starved, nipping sharply when you grow selfish, when your hand stops working at him.
You need him. You need more.
“Please.”
“Hm?”
“Please,” you snip impatiently, “You want me to beg, right? Isn’t that your thing?”
Silco releases your hair and you spring forward, nipping lightly at his bottom lip, working on his pants.
“I’m quite aware of your neediness already.”
“Asshole.”
He snatches your jaw in an iron grip and you maintain his fiery gaze with a determined glare as you thumb the complex buttons of his pants. Something oddly soft irons out the crease between his brow before you’ve take him into your palm much faster than anticipated, and he releases a shattered growl.
The speed at which he strikes you down is astonishing and you blink twice, confused, at your sudden view of the ceiling. Silco looms in your lower periphery, his adept hands making quick work of your pants, yanking them off, tossing them to the side. Your eye draws to the twitching length lying solid, inviting against his inner thigh and he meets your hungry gaze with one of his own.
You sit up, intent to pounce.
“Lay back down,” he commands harshly, and you ignore, sitting back on your haunches.
“No.”
Silco lurches forward as you spider back but he’s faster, and you let out an indignant screech as he snatches your ankles, yanking you toward him, your skin making an outrageous noise as it squeaks across the leather mat.
“If you want to make things difficult,” he growls, length grazing your thigh as he immobilizes your squirming form, folding your knees outward, spreading you lewdly to observe the glistening wetness between your legs. “I’m more than happy to oblige.”
“I’m more than happy to oblige,” you mock in a comically low voice and he smacks your thigh hard. You wriggle to try and aim a pathetic kick at his chest and with barely curbed aggravation he drags himself between your legs, propping himself over you.
Silco slides himself across your slick folds, catching at your entrance. Your body betrays you as you release a strangled moan. His arms quake just slightly, head dropping with a shuddered breath at the feel of your soaking heat, strands of his hair falling out of his careful style to tickle your neck.
He bounces back quicker than you do, grasping himself, dragging the swollen head of his cock torturously up and down your slit, studying you callously as you writhe beneath, punishment for your cheekiness.
“Fucker,” you spit and his lips twitch almost fondly. He drops his head to your sweat damp neck.
“I’ve been nice thus far,” he croons into the juncture of your jaw. “Can’t you try? To be nice?”
“I swear to Janna, put me on top if you can’t do this right. I’ve waited years for this, and it’s going to be done my way.”
“Unfortunately, that’s no longer in the cards after you held a knife to my back.”
“Served you right!” you yell.
He murmurs a quiet “Careful,” into your ear before he removes himself from your neck, sitting back on his haunches, positioning himself.
“I think you just want something to be upset about.”
“I do-oh“
Your lips freeze in an ‘oh’ as his hips begin a slow inch forward and you’re both made speechless. He pauses, and you don’t know whether it’s for you or him, his teal eye shutting tightly as if to anchor himself.
Silco is solid and so achingly hard inside you, and he stretches you painfully. But it’s exquisite. And he’s too slow, trying to savor it, you think, the moment. But he’s not answering your whining pleas and you’re squirming to grab his attention. Impatient.
Your legs wrap around his thighs, and you cross your ankles. You smile devilishly with the satisfaction of watching his eye shoot back open in realization before you thrust him the rest of the way inside.
His mouth falls open as a jagged, echoing groan is punched out of him, his fingers digging excruciatingly hard into the muscles of your inner thigh as his hips are pressed flush with yours.
You cry out at the sudden fullness, clawing uselessly at the mat. Oh, it’s excruciating. Wonderfully so. And you want him- no, need him to do something besides clutch into your skin, tower over you as if deciding which part of you to stab into first. And in a bid for a reaction out of the man, you clench around him, hard.
He hisses through his teeth.
“M-move.”
“Oh,” Silco breathes, his voice full of deadly promise, chest heaving with unbridled fury, only fueled by the wild lust eclipsing both eyes. “You make me mad.”
Fingers dig further into your thigh as he violently spreads your legs apart, crawling forward until his face is right above your panting one, shoulders pressing you into a curled position, knees spread impossibly wide.
Breathing is suddenly no longer a course of action as, without warning, his palm clamps down on your throat and squeezes, rendering you completely prone beneath him as you have no choice but to take it as he fucks into you mercilessly.
Deep, quick-fire thrusts nail hidden spots inside you that have mini fireworks exploding behind your eyelids.
Your chest burns and your body doesn’t know what sensation to focus on, what reality to latch onto, mind going completely and blissfully haywire as neurons seem to fire haphazardly. You grasp onto his arm like a lifeline, pleasure recycling over and over again as you convulse beneath him.
“You make me furious.”
There’s a rumbling, a purr, emitting from low in his chest, vibrating into your own, like a growling predator just emerged from its den. It feeds you, challenges you.
You fight to maintain the angry eye contact as you’re jostled, and he lets up, allowing you a few choked breaths before grasping your throat again.
He wrenches your head to the side, and his breath is a hot pant against your ear as he seethes, each syllable accompanied by the sound of his hips meetings yours in an obscene slap.
“Incorrigible. Never learned to behave. So rude. So impatient.”
The beginnings of another orgasm tingle across your sweat soaked skin as a rubber band stretches across your lower belly. Your hands latch onto his where they clasp around your throat, tightening his hold there.
Silco groans at the gesture, and suddenly he’s everywhere, heated words whispering into your neck, your cheekbones, your temple.
“You love it, don’t you? Me shutting you up like this. Should’ve done this ages ago. Given you the attention you so desperately begged for. With all your silly little tantrums.”
You don’t hear the rest.
It’s less of a crackling explosion, this one, more of a gentle, rolling thunderstorm as that band snaps. Except you’re completely fixed, held down entirely by Silco- can’t arch your back, can’t stretch your legs, you can’t even cry out- just have to lie there and take what he’s given you, a wild pressure renting out every hollow in your trembling body until he offers you an outlet by releasing your throat, a throaty wail resonating obscenely across the stone walls.
You suck in air, cough it back out, can hardly get a grip on yourself as pleasure ripples back and forth like you’re being steamrolled by it.
And you hardly know where you are, eyes squeezed shut, tiny whimpers accompanying every exhale, your thighs quivering uncontrollably, Silco still inside you, still impossibly hard, although not moving. You can sense he’s propped above you, can feel his eyes as they dart across your trembling features, watching as you work through the terribly powerful bliss.
And then all is still.
You crack open your eyes, fix them on the ceiling, blinking languidly, studying and counting the criss-crossing wooden slats like you’d just awoken from a deep slumber.
A calloused hand slides its way under the back of your neck, another wraps your mid-back and you allow yourself to be pulled up and into Silco lap, your arms wrapping the back of his neck automatically, nose burying itself in his neck.
It’s a complete contradiction, the way he rocks up into you now, slowly, like you’re something to be savored. And you ram your forehead into his shoulder, biting into the fabric of his vest as you try not to jolt with each wet slide of him inside your sensitive walls.
You keep your eyes closed for a moment just to listen to his soft grunts as he wrecks you again with gentle but thorough thrusts, each movement pushing a small, unrestrained whine from your lips as he fills you perfectly.
Silco puffs a laugh and you realize dazedly you’ve been muttering out loud.
“Perfect,” you rasp again, unashamed.
He tugs you backward and you surrender your position on his shoulder with a whine that he swallows, pressing his lips to yours and forging ahead with his expert tongue when you gasp at the newness of it, the tenderness.
He reaches a hand down between your bodies and you shake your head, lips breaking from his.
“I ca-I can’t. Too sensitive.”
“Shhh,” he croons gently before his thumb finds your aching bud.
You jump at the electric arc of sensation, yelp as his other hand grabs a hold of your hip, holding you steady as he increases his pace, beginning to chase his own release.
He’s already close, he has to be.
Silco swallows every tattered moan, every soft squeal that he pulls out of you with the expert roll of his thumb.
Your body writhes, contorts as he fucks up into you.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you murmur, almost panicking against his mouth and you can feel the smirking stretch of his lips.
And it slams into you again, a third orgasm rising so sharply you feel like you’ve just flown off the edge of a cliff with no ground in sight. You let out a long, anguished whine into his mouth and you’re clawing at him as one set of fingers continue to work you through it, the others threading your hair to better inhale your cries.
Your arms can hardly summon the energy to hold yourself upright, and you just slump onto his shoulder, spasming around him, drenching his cock as you cry out his name in a torn voice that draws his own release forth, pulsing in tandem as his hips stutter, spilling his load into you with a ragged groan.
Your fingers find his hair, shakily brushing through the soft strands, and you try to quell the aching emotion in your chest that has tears springing to your eyes, has you pressing yourself further into his shoulder to hide.
“I missed you,” you say. It’s all you can say, really.
A hand draws hesitantly down your spine, kneading each vertebrae, as if to ensure you were still there. Real.
“You’re not the only one,” he murmurs, and there's a long pause before he turns, dropping his chin gently to the top of your head, “Whose been waiting.”
<3 <3 <3
Hi, I hope you enjoyed! Sorry I was a day late with this one. It's 3am and my only hope at this point is that this story makes a modicum of sense. Thank you for reading, I love you all!
Here's the AO3 Link if you'd rather read on there!
baratheonpilled
jacobvanloon
gummygunk
kianamaiart
