#so much smut

[jordyn14]

The jig is up | Joe Burrow

Summary: After coming home to Joe after a long week of being away from him, the thought of him ever cheating is heartbreaking and it leads to a big fight that gets somewhat physical. Luckily, there’s one thing that can always make Joe feel better.

Pairing: Joe burrow x fem first person

Words: 6522

Notes: I hope this is nasty enough for you all 🫣🫣 I hope you enjoy 😉 <3

Taglist: @wickedfun9

I walked inside Joe and I’s house in Cincinnati that we bought after a year of being together and immediately dropped my bags on the ground with a big sigh and waited for Joe to come greet me. For the past week I've been in California for a business meeting that I turned into a little vacation so I was so excited to come home to Joe. Although we've face timed so we could see each other, we both were extremely busy; I was busy with work stuff and having fun with some friends in California, and he was busy here with games and practices since he was in the middle of the season, and it was an important one because he’s back after his season ending injury.

Ever since we met each other at one of his nfl games four years ago and had a one night stand that turned into two, then three, then those one night stands turned into romantic dates, we've been together. It only took a year of realizing that we were in love to move in with each other. Some people said we rushed things and would never last. Everyone always said that since he was in the NFL, he was apparently a terrible guy who would eventually break my heart and move onto the next girl. We really proved them wrong. After waiting a few seconds for Joe to greet me with that amazing smile and shower me in kisses while telling me how happy he was that I was home, I decided to head upstairs. It was only 8pm, so he definitely wasn't asleep, but maybe he was showering or watching some game film and didn't even realize I was home.

Before I went to our room, I decided to go to his little office next to our room to see if he was still watching some game film for the upcoming game, but as soon as I passed the room, I heard some heavy breathing from inside. Raising my eyebrow, I walked closer to the closed door and pressed my ear against it to try and listen to what was happening. "Oh fuck. Right there….fuck.” I heard Joe moan from inside of the room. My heart dropped in my chest as I took a step away from the door. My mouth hung open and I felt tears prick my eyes. "You mother fucking cheater." I whispered to myself, my hands beginning to shake. I felt so betrayed and hurt. My boyfriend of four years, who I thought would be the man I grew old with, was in our bedroom fucking some random girl and cheating on me. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe he really was a terrible guy. How could he do that to me after giving me a fucking promise ring two weeks ago. Hey, maybe I even knew the slut in there with him.

I didn't even know what to do. I was frozen in place as I continued to hear heavy breathing and the occasional moan or groan from Joe. Deciding to spare myself, I began to back away from the door so I didn't hear his noises which I loved to hear when I had sex with him. "Fuck you Joe!" I yelled before walking down the steps. I wanted him to know I had found him cheating on me before I left him to live all alone in this huge fucking house that he probably had girls over every time I was gone. I wanted dread and regret to fill his body when he realized I had caught him and that we were done for good. I was a good girlfriend…I was loyal. I never did anything wrong to make him want to do this to me. Yes, we had our fights and sometimes yelled, but I never thought he would do this. I never gave him a reason to. As I began to storm downstairs, I heard the door open quickly. "What the fuck do you mean? Whats going on?” He asked and followed after me quickly. I could hear his heavy and rushed footsteps as he tried to keep up. I turned my head a little bit to see his glossed over and tired eyes he always gets after his orgasm. I loved seeing those eyes after a long night of him fucking me which always ended in never ending cuddles. The thought that I would never be able to have that or see that again made me so incredibly sad. What did I seriously do to deserve this? I should’ve listened to my parents and friends when they told me he was a no good player and to leave before I got my heart broken.

Once I got to the bottom of the steps, I couldn’t take it anymore. I quickly turned around while biting on the inside of my cheek, surely drawing blood, balled my hand into a fist, and punched Joe right in the nose without a second thought. Anger drove me instead of reason and I didn’t even realize what I had done until my knuckles began to throb. Not expecting to be punched by his girlfriend so suddenly, he stumbled back a few steps and brought his hand to his nose which started to bleed a little bit. His eyes widened and he looked at me like I was the crazy one in this situation. “What the actual fuck!" He yelled while putting his whole body into the scream, confused by what was going on. "I know what you did you piece of shit! Where is she? Is she going to come down and introduce herself?" I yelled at him and pushed him in the chest, but this time, he didn't move a single inch, even when I pushed him a second time to try and make a point. I could feel his muscular chest before my hands fell down to my sides, giving up with using force since he was much stronger than me. "Don't hit me, what the hell? I'm so fucking confused right now!" He yelled and put his hands on the top of his head, running his fingers through his long brown hair in distress.

I laughed while looking him up and down. How could he seriously stand here in front of me and lie right to my face. I caught him and all he could do was deny it and play stupid. Typical. I should've known that it was too good to be true, even after four fucking years. I guess he lied when he said he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. It's truly my fault. Although he would never act like it, deep down he was an entitled piece of shit, of course he would cheat and then lie about it to try and save his own ass. What the fuck was I thinking. Joe’s face turned red from yelling and that vein on his forehead that always stuck out during fights or sex made an appearance. Any other time I would find it extremely attractive, but right now, all I wanted to do was punch him again and again until all of the welts, cuts, and blood hid his perfect little face that had everyone falling head over heals. “You are such a fucking lier, Joseph! I leave for a week and boom, it's like we were never together." I said.

Joe began to breathe heavily as he looked down at me with those bright blue eyes and before I knew it, he yelled, "fuck!" I stepped back a little bit as he turned away from me, trying to compose himself a little bit so he didn't completely lose his shit. Every time we fought, he tried so hard not to lose his cool. He always raised his voice, cussed me out, walked away in frustration before coming back full force with his voice. When he made me cry he tried to make up for it then go to his office to release some anger or go to the basement where the bunching bag was. It was because of his horrible communication skills and not being able to express himself properly. I was the only person who could help with those flaws, but now he wouldn’t have me anymore. Part of me felt bad for dragging this on, but I was so incredibly pissed off at him.

"I know you were upstairs fucking some girl! The jig is up, I found out! Tomorrow morning, I'm out of here." I said. Joe just looked down at me like I was missing something, but he was still seeing red and extremely angry at me for hitting him and yelling at him. Then I saw a small smile of disbelief spread across his face and he chuckled slightly, realizing why I was so mad at him. "Oh of course, lie some more!" I said and was about to walk away but and I stopped in my tracks, ready to go off on him for finding this funny. Before I could go off on him some more, that same smile fell from his face quickly and he took a step towards me. “I was fucking jerking off!" He yelled at me. Sucking in a breath, I looked him up and down before pushing past him and running upstairs. "My nose fucking hurts by the way, you gonna apologize!" He called up after me while following me up the stairs. While I ran, he instead walked up the stairs, finding no need to chase after me. I ran into the room, expecting to see some naked girl on the bed, but there was nothing. Only a bottle of lotion and one of my bikini magazines.

My heart once again dropped in my chest, but not for the same reasons as last time. Instead of being heartbroken that I supposedly caught my boyfriend cheating, I felt so incredibly rude, selfish, and I was so angry at myself. I just accused my boyfriend of cheating on me and I actually punched him. I fucking punched him. I've never laid my hands on another person before, let alone punch anyone. After looking at the bottle of lotion for a few seconds, I turned around to see Joe staring straight at me as I stood there. I felt so incredible stupid and embarrassed. "Holy shit. I am so, so sorry." I said quickly as he breathed heavily. I could tell he was so close to losing his shit and going absolutely crazy, especially after I punched him, but he kept his cool. All he did was stand there, jaw and fists clenched while glaring down at me. Before he talked, he tried to take deep breaths to calm himself down, but he was still too worked up. “I would never cheat on you. Ever. We've been together for four fucking years and if you think that I would ever fuck some random girl just because I miss you, you obviously haven't been paying attention to how much I fucking am in love with you!" He yelled, looking me up and down angrily.

I looked him up and down as well as he wiped off the remaining blood from his nose. He looked down at the red blood on his fingers which he smeared around slightly and then just like every fight to release some steam and not yell anymore, he turned around and stormed off angrily to his office where he could be alone and release his anger. Sometimes he would go to the basement where the punching bag was, but he instead headed to his office this time. Joe disappeared down the hallway before I heard his office door slam shut. I could hear him throw something on the ground and I was about to go see if he was okay, but just sat on the bed instead. I sat in my thoughts for a few seconds, knowing he didn’t want to see my face tonight or even for a week. I felt like a terrible girlfriend. I can't believe that I actually punched him and got him all worked up over nothing. I've never accused him or even thought about the possibility of him cheating because I knew he would never, ever, cheat on me. So why would I accuse him? I know I heard him moaning in the room, but I should've known better. I should've known. I felt like such a psychopath. Joe would never even think about getting physical with me or laying a hand on me, so the fact that I got physical with him made me so incredibly disappointed in myself.

I looked down on the bed and picked up my magazine, but immediately dropped it when his load that he shot onto a picture of me in a revealing bikini dripped onto my thigh. "Fucking hell." I said, wiping it off my thigh quickly. But, as I looked down at the magazine and started to imagine him jerking off to a picture of me and imagine the sounds he would make, I started to realize just how horny I was. I was so busy with work and I was so tired at night that I didn't even get to finger myself or use my vibrator. It was the same vibrator Joe bought me when I started complaining about how much he was gone. As I imagined Joe jerking himself off and moaning my name, a throb started to build between my legs. I let out a sigh and crossed my legs quickly, trying to find any form of relief.

After a few minutes, I got up and slowly started to walk to his office where he was probably trying to take his mind off of the fight with some game film or by throwing a ball at the wall repeatedly, which always drives me crazy. As I got to the door, I knocked on it twice before I heard Joe say, "I'm really not in the mood to get yelled at again." I rolled my eyes at his annoying ass and then twisted the door handle, but it was locked. "Joe I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Please let me in." I said with a defeated sigh, resting my forehead on the door. I could hear him typing some things on his computer and the squeaking of his broken chair that should've been replaced four years ago. "Are you going to punch me again?" He asked me. I couldn't help but let out a small laugh at his sassy tone. "Probably not, but maybe." I joked with him, but stopped laughing when I realized that he wasn’t laughing at all.

I could hear him get up from the chair, so I listened as his footsteps got closer. There was a small click of him turning the lock, and then I could hear him sit back in his chair. Slowly, I opened up the door and swung it open to see him facing me in his chair. His arms were crossed over his thick chest and he was slouched down in the chair. The throb started to build as I looked him up and down, admiring him as he sat there, manspread. I then looked down at his hands. Oh those hands. My eyes danced over every single vein that shot up his arm. He truly was like a work of art that deserved to be displayed in a museum.

My mind was so focused on the man sitting in front of me that I barely heard him clear his throat, but it pulled me from my thoughts. "How can I make it up to you?" I asked him. "You can't, not right now at least. I'm busy and frankly, not in the best mood. I wonder why that could be." He looked up at me with that cocky smirk on his face. I tilted my head and then walked closer to him. "I have an idea, it won't require you to ruin a perfectly good magazine though, is that okay?" I asked him. Joe just looked me up and down, and, even though I could see the tent that started to grow in his pants, he still wanted me to understand how angry he was at me. "I'm not in the mood." He said. "Let me make it up to you." I told him and was about to fall onto my knees in front of him when he stood up, towering over me. "I said, I'm not in the mood."

I looked up at him and made eye contact with him and put a hand on his chest. Occasionally, he loved it when I took charge, so I decided to go with it and make him let me make it up to him. "Sit down, Joe." I demanded, pushing him back slightly. As he sat back down in the chair, the smirk got even bigger and he looked up at me with those amazing blue eyes. Continuing what I wanted to do before he stood up, I dropped down to my knees in front of him and put both of my hands on his thighs. I tried to spread them open, but they wouldn't budge. Making eye contact with him again, I glared at him and then leaned back on my heels. After a few seconds, he sighed and spread his legs open for me.

With a smile, I reached forwards and pulled his cock out of his pants. I couldn't help but gulp at the sight of it right in front of me. Although it was extremely hard, the size and weight of it weighed it down and I could see the dots of pre-cum on his slightly red tip. Getting closer, I opened my mouth slightly and swirled my tongue around the tip of it while giving the base of his cock a few lazy pumps with my hand, knowing he was far too big to fit the whole thing inside of my mouth. "Fuck, don't tease." He groaned out at the feeling of me licking circles around the tip. I watched as he started to tense up and grip onto the arms of the chair. Deciding to listen to him, I slowly took him in my mouth and went all the way down until his tip hit the back of my throat, and started to bob my head in and down quickly, slurping and sucking him into oblivion.

Looking up, I could see his eyes roll into the back of his head, and when I licked up the long vein that started at the base and went to the tip, he let out a groan. Knowing he loved it when I did it, I started to rub the sweet spot on his cock, gaining another groan to fall from his parted lips before I took him in my mouth once more and started to bob my head up and down quickly. Although I was going at a pace that seemed efficient, Joe reached forwards and gathered up all of my hair into a makeshift ponytail and started to force my head down farther on his cock while exasperating my movements. I let out a moan and made eye contact with him, struggling to take it all. "Be a good girl and take it for me, you can do it. Keep breathing." He said, encouraging me to keep going.

As I continued to make eye contact with him, I opened my mouth farther as he pushed my head down onto his dick, his tip hitting the back of my throat with force each time, making me gag occasionally. Tears and mascara ran down my cheeks, but joe reached down to wipe them away. After a few more seconds, Joe started to thrust back up every time my head went down, meeting me with force each time until his hips started to buckle. "Just like that pretty girl." He groaned out as I felt him twitch inside of my mouth before I could feel his warm liquid being shot into my mouth. I pulled away from his mouth and was about to lean over to spit out his cum when he grabbed my chin gently and turned my head to look back at him. "No, no, no...swallow." He said. While making eye contact with him, I allowed the salty and warm liquid to flow down my throat.

Immediately after I swallowed, he stood up and then held out his hands to help me up. Reaching up, I placed my hands in his and he lifted me off of the ground with ease before he turned me around and put both of his hands on my hips, digging his fingers into my skin impatiently. "Pull your pants down and bend over the table." He ordered quickly. In a rush, I pulled my pants and undies down as fast as I could and bent over his table. He then pushed his computer and everything to the side. My thighs were coated with my own arousal and all I could think about was his dick inside of me. "Please." I sighed out while I began to squirm.

All of a sudden, I could feel his thick fingers slide through my slick folds, trying to see how wet and needy I was for him. "You're so fucking wet for me." He groaned as he continued to curl his fingers so they were going inside of me a tiny bit, teasing me just like I did with him. "I need you." I wined, fidgeting in front of him while I leaned on the table. Without warning, one of his hands found my hip and gripped tightly while forcing himself into me. "Oh fuck!" I moaned out loudly as he filled me up and stretched me out so incredibly much. He didn't even give me any time to acclimate to his size and started to thrust into me with force. Soon, both of his hands found my hips so he could drive my hips back towards him to meet his thrusts, gaining loud moans to fall from my lips every single time. Joe leaned his full weight onto me as his hips met my ass each time, wanting me to take every single inch of him. "You're so fucking tight." He groaned from above me as I clenched around his dick.

Every time he snapped his hips against mine, he hit my g-spot, making me weak at the knees. "F-fuck." I moaned out and moved my hips forwards instinctively as a mixture of pain and pleasure washed over me. "You can take it. Stay still." He groaned while he wrapped an arm under my waist, pulling my hips back and holding me still as he continued to rut into me. With every hard thrust, he let out groans freely, knowing the effect it has on me. Hearing him be vocal during sex always drove me absolutely insane. Joe grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, wanting me to look him in the eye as he fucked me. He loved looking at my fucked out face. The way I winced and moaned every time he hit my g-spot, making me nauseous sometimes.

As soon as we made eye contact and I saw how he was biting on his lower lip in concentration, I felt a knot form in my stomach. "Faster." I moaned out breathlessly, knowing I was close. Joe dropped my hair so he could fuck me faster and then he leaned down and rested his head on my shoulder and started to slam into me. "Oh fuck!" I cried out. With each thrust, a loud cry escaped my lips. I was unable to control myself as he fucked me into oblivion. Pure ecstasy coursed through my veins and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as I was pushed against the desk. There was pain, but it was good pain. Pain that drove me mad. "I-I'm so close." I moaned out. Knowing I loved when he did it and because it makes my orgasm even better, he reached down with one hand and started to rub slow and gentle circles into my clit. "Cum for me baby." He groaned into my ear while thrusting into me.

It only took one more thrust for me to release the knot in my stomach. I let out a loud moan as my whole body began to shake. "Oh Joey." I moaned. Before I could even fully come down from my high, Joe turned me around so I was facing him. Before continuing, he looked deeply into my eyes, looking for approval, and when I nodded, he picked me up forcefully and before we even got to the couch in his office, he forced his cock into my soaking wet walls while he carried me. "Oh my gosh!" I moaned out as I hid my face in his neck, continuously moaning inaudible things. While we walked, his hands that were gripping my hips tightly lifted me up and down on his cock and he said, "look at me, you know I love to look at you pretty girl." He said.

Once he got to the couch and I forced myself to look up at him, he sat down on the couch and pushed my hips down on him, making me sink down on his hard cock. I let out a loud moan since he wasn’t letting me go at all and just looked up at me while I struggled to sit with his dick all the way in me with no movement. “Are you sorry for punching me and screaming at me?” Joe asked me. I lifted off of him slightly and, Looking into his eyes, I opened my mouth to talk but all that came out was a moan as Joe forced my hips back down onto him. “I’m sorry, Joe. I’m really, really sorry.” I said, feeling terrible for what I did, but my face flushed red from finding this so incredibly hot. The way he held my hips onto him so incredibly tightly and forced me to take it while getting another apology out of me.

With a nod, Joe released my hips and rested them on the top of the couch, taking turns between looking me in the eyes, and looking down to where we were connected. "Ride me like a good girl then.” He smirked. Taking a deep breath, I started to rock my hips forwards and backwards, starting slow and steadily getting faster. I bit my lip hard and put both of my hands on his chest as I started to bounce on his dick. Every time I went up, I braced myself to fall onto his dick because every single time he hit my cervix. I let out continuous moans of pleasure while he watched me ride him. "Mmm, you feel so good." I moaned loudly, throwing my head back as I went into sensation overload; Feeling him fill me up and stretch me out while rocking my hips.

As my legs started to feel weak, I instead put both of my hands on his thighs behind me so I could continue bouncing up and down. Joe, knowing I couldn't go on for much longer, took matters into his own hands and started to meet my hips. "Joey!" I cried out at the feeling of his dick ramming into my g-spot. Joe let out continuous groans while watching my fucked out face and thrusting up into me. Every time I went low on him, he thrusted his hips up towards me, filling me up and stretching me out each time. Within a few seconds, I felt the same knot come back. All I had to do was look into Joe’s eyes and he knew I was close, so once again he dropped his hand to where we were connected and started to rub slow and gentle circles into my clit with his thumb. The added stimulation drove me over the edge and in a matter of seconds, I was crumbling onto his lap as my orgasm crashed over me.

My whole body shook once again and I screamed in pure ecstasy, seeing stars everywhere I looked. While I road out my high, Joe held my hips down on him so he was all the way in me, and I loved it at first, but it became too painful. Opening my eyes, I put both of my hands on his abdomen and tried to lift myself off of him, slightly over stimulated. "Take a little break, baby. You're doing amazing. You're doing so good." He encouraged me, giving me a small smile as I breathed heavily, starting to feel weak. I focused on my breathing when I lifted myself off of his dick and rested on his abdomen, needing a little bit before I could go another round. My chest rose and fell quickly and before I knew it, he had his hand dropped down to my heat and was rubbing slow circles into my clit and running his fingers through my folds, trying to make me more wet and worked up so it didn't hurt. I always envied people who could go more rounds because I knew Joe could go all night without a break. I wanted to give that to him, but I wasn't able to.

As he rubbed circles into my clit, I closed my eyes and began to let out continuous sighs. It was just the right amount of pressure too, because soon enough, I could feel how wet I was, and Joe could tell too since I was sitting on his abdomen. "I need you." I groaned out, still able to go another round. Joe, still extremely horny and hard, immediately grabbed me by the hips and set me down on the couch on my back and crawled on top of me. The chain he was wearing dangled in my face, tuning me on even more. "Are you ready?" He asked, checking with me first since he knew I didn't have the stamina he did, although I could tell he wanted nothing more than to fuck me. It was so hard to take my eyes off of him and his hair that dangled onto his forehead while his chain swung above my head, but I forced myself to nod and make eye contact with him.

After I nodded my head, he picked up my legs and threw them around him and I immediately braced myself, knowing he was going to fuck me hard. Just like I thought, he quickly thrusted into me, once again giving me no time to acclimate to his size as he picked up speed. "Don't stop." I moaned out as he continued to rut into me. I felt so full and stretched out as he fucked me. Part of me hoped he would cum soon, though, since I knew pain would replace the pleasure soon. “Take it for me, you can do it." He groaned into my ear before he thrusted into me harder than before, making me arch my back. I then put my hands on his back and started to dig my finger nails into his back, surely leaving scratch marks and blood in their wake. I sealed my eyes shut and furrowed my brows as the pleasure started to slowly get replaced with pain. After a week of not having sex, my body wasn't used to this.

"Holy fuck!" I cried out, digging my finger nails into his back more. I wasn't worried about leaving scratch marks all over him or drawing blood. Joe loved when I marked him up, maybe even more than when he marked me up. While he loved seeing hickies on my body, he was obsessed with looking into the mirror in the morning and seeing all kinds of scratches and welts on his back that I left.

Although I did love this feeling, It was getting harder to take, and Joe could tell. "Take it a little longer." He groaned into my ear while slamming into me, hitting my cervix with the tip of his cock with each snap of his hips. My eyes rolled into the back of my head while he fucked me and my body moved around like crazy, being manipulated by Joe as he moved my body up farther and farther on the couch as he fucked me so extremely hard and fast.

When I started moving too much, he grabbed my hips to stop himself from moving me too much and rutted into me just like before, except this time I didn't move up and he went even deeper inside of me. There were so many times where it felt like he couldn't get any deeper, but then he would find a way to go deeper and hit a new spot. "Joe." I moaned out in a serious way, the pain was slowly becoming too much and I needed some relief. When he looked into my eyes while breathing heavily and saw my expression, he quickly dropped his hand down to where we were connected and started to rub circles into my clit again. I let out a loud moan at the feeling, some of the pleasure returning, but it wasn't enough.

Tears streamed down my face as he fucked me harder than he ever has. This was a lot. It hurt a lot. But I loved it. I couldn't wait until he would cum, but I still loved it. I loved the way he made me feel. I loved how he fucked me until my whole body shook. I loved how he fucked me so hard that I couldn't walk the next morning. When I felt a knot in my stomach, I arched my back and lifted my hips up to meet his thrusts. I screamed in pure ecstasy and tried my best to hold my orgasm back a little bit. I knew I couldn't go another round, but I tried to prolonged this as much as I could. I forced my eyes open and made eye contact with Joe who slammed into me every time. I went back and forth between looking him in the eyes and watching his chain swing back and forth in front of my eyes. We held eye contact even when he leaned down and kissed me. We both breathed so incredibly heavily into the wet and sloppy kiss, but it was so hard to kiss him back. Angling my hips a different way, he thrusted into me and hit a spot he missed all along, immediately making my orgasm wash over me. "Oh Joey!" I moaned loudly. Our lips were together, but we didn't kiss each other. It was too hard to kiss him in this moment.

My whole body shook like crazy underneath of him, but I didn't feel him ease up at all as he fucked me through my high. "I-it's too much." I moaned out loudly. Joe quickly looked into my eyes and leaned back as he continued to thrust into me. I would say it was too much for different reasons. The main reasons were because I needed him to rub my clit or change positions, or in this case, stop. Once he read my expression and knew I couldn't go any longer and was tapping out, he gave me a few more thrusts, allowing himself to cum while still thrusting into me since It felt too good to stop right away. To make it easier on me, he dropped his hand down to my clit and continued to rub my sensitive bundle of nerves extremely slowly and eventually, I felt another knot in my stomach.

Within a few seconds, his thrusts slowed and got sloppy and before I knew it, I released the knot in my stomach and I felt a twitch inside of me. My whole body once again shook like crazy and I sealed my eyes shut, this orgasm was more powerful than the others. My whole body coursed with pure ecstasy as he pulled out of me, both of our liquids dripping down my legs and onto the couch that would definitely need to be cleaned. The both of us breathed so extremely heavily as we came down from our highs and I was exhausted, although I could tell that Joe could continue on for hours. "Are you okay? You did so good." Joe said, knowing he could be too rough sometimes. "I'm exhausted...but that felt amazing." I said breathlessly as he fell by my side on the couch and put an arm under my head so I could rest my head on it.

We just gazed into each other's eyes for a few seconds, needing to catch our breaths before we could talk. "Was that a good enough apology?" I asked him after a few minutes, still feeling bad for accusing him of cheating and punching him. “I can't believe you fucking punched me," he chuckled while holding his nose that was bruised from me, and there was still a little bit of dried blood, "but yes, that was a very good apology." He said. I could tell that his eyes were getting heavy. “I can't believe I fucking punched you too. I really am sorry. For that, and for accusing you of cheating." I said. All Joe did was nod and smile before leaning in to kiss me gently. When our lips separated, he wrapped his other arm around me and held me closely to him. "I hope you know I would never cheat on you. I love you more than life itself and I would be lost without you." He said.

"I know you wouldn't. I should've just walked into the room and 'confronted your cheating ass,' like I wanted to so I could've seen that you were only jerking off instead of punching you over nothing." I said, using air quotes. "I love you either way, and by the way, after the initial shock of you punching me wore off, it was actually extremely hot. I got a fucking boner just thinking about you punching me earlier." He chuckled. My eyes widened a little bit, shocked by what he confessed. "I love you too," I laughed with him, "so does that mean I can punch you more often when you make me mad or annoy me?" I joked with him, pushing his muscular shoulder a little bit. Joe looked like he was contemplating whether or not I was allowed before he looked me dead in the eyes and said in a serious tone, "absolute not." I rolled my eyes with a laugh and snuggled up to him, burying my head into his neck. "I love you so incredible much." He whispered to me. I yawned and then whispered back, "I love you more." From above me, I could feel him shake his head. "That's impossible."

#joe burrow #joeburrow #cincinnati bengals #nfl #joe burrow bengals #joey b #joe shiesty #bengals #joey burrow #joe burr #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow x reader #joe x reader #joe burrow fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #nfl fan fiction #my fic #fanfic #nfl imagine #imagine #smut #so much smut #nfl football

[tpwkwriter]

Hii can u do one w soft dom harry and y/n having a slow vanilla sex on a rainy night shshsjb 👉👈

Such an adorable idea omds!!🩷

Warnings: ofc smut/ detailed smut, ABSOLUTE FILTH, mentions of sexual themes, cuss words + super domestic.

————rainy day pillowprincess—————————

Being back home was amazing, family, friends, familiarity it was amazing, however the UK really does have the most biopolar weather and rain constantly wasn’t rare.

Being away was good n all but that meant the couple couldn’t have intimacy as much as they wished, after today Harry and y/n were both free for 2 weeks and Harry especially couldn’t wait.

Y/n knew what she was in for H had been dropping hints all this morning before he left and frankly it excited her.

With rain heavily pattering at the window almost like silver bullets, y/n wanted to make this extra cosy and close.

She dashed into there shared room lowered the light dark enough to emphasise the moonlight and stars shinning down on there shared bed, she even lit some of her favourite candles which heavily set the mood.

Only having minutes left, she quickly slipped into her favourite mini silk night dress which she knew H would appreciate.

“Y/n? Love?”

That familiar voice knocked her from her aroused thoughts, witch a quick mirror check and ruffle of her hair she’s ready.

“M’upstairs Baby” she hummed, sitting on the corner of there queen sized bed.

It wasn’t long before y/n was welcomed to the sight of her boyfriend.

his hair being wet from the rain really did something to y/n it reminded her of how he looked after a shower that they often shared, the thought of it had her legs clenching together.

“Fuck Baby” he gushed, letting his jacket slip off his arms and toeing of his shoes.

“Hey baby” y/n said aimlessly gazing at the gorgeous man in-front of her taking him all in.

Without another word Harry leans across the the bed and doesn’t hesitate to leave a lingering kiss across her glossy lips, it wasn’t king until the kiss progressed into something further.

It didn’t take much before Harry’s hands started wandering across her neck and chest.

“Fuck” y/n lightly moaned.

“Let me love you darling” he said against her lips “let me make you happy baby”

“Mmhmm” y/n hummed not trusting her shaky voice at this moment, despite there 4 year anniversary coming up he still made her breathless.

Shivering at the feel of Harry’s cold rings on her sensitive nipples over the thin silk caused y/n to leave a line of breathy moans, music to his ears Harry thought.

“Fucking hell baby, jumping the guns hmm?” Harry quietly spoke, whilst biting down on his bottom lip and his hands continue to slid her nightdress further up her body, realising she had no panties on.

“Mmhmm”

“Gonna make you feel soo good angel, so good” he continues.

Once the nightdress is completely discarded Harry decided a he can’t wait any longer.

“M’kay baby, m’gonna touch you now okay? Remember your colours?” He said referring to the colour system they created, green being absolutely fine keep going, orange being slow down/try something else and red being stop, it worked for them.

“Mmhmm, touch me” she said fluttering her eyelashes.

He presses his lips messily to hers and make sure to gently move her back onto the soft mattress and gently being on top of her, keeping his lips on hers he slides his hands down her perfect body and gently begins to place his digits into her wet pussy.

“Shit” she moans against him.

“Someones been waiting for this hm?”

“Uh uh” she moans clenching her eyes.

“I want- ah shit” she moans again.

“What baby, what d’ya want” he whispers against her lips

“Mmm”

“Gotta use y’words angel”

“Y’tongue, please harry shit” she asks

“S’that right” he smirks, knowing he has her in such a mess already has his ego bursting at the seems.

Removing his fingers from her, her arousal still prominent around his fingers had Harry some way.

“Wanna Taste y’self for me Baby, gonna clean m’fingers off”

“Mmmhmmm” she whined, opening her mouth already to the request.

“My good girl, such a good girl” he says placing his pointer finger and middle finger into her mouth to which she instantly does what she’s told.

“My best girl”

Once satisfied he decided to now give the girl what she requested.

Making sure to give some attentions to her breasts, he makes his way down to her throbbing pussy.

“Fuck harry” she whined, his hot breath on her wet sex was already pleasurable.

“Darling your dripping”

“Harry please”

“This pussy was just made for me, wasn’t it darling”

“Uh huh”

“Please harry” she added

“I will darling, patience baby girl patience”

Without any warning he plunges his tongue into her wet hole, causing her to squirm and moan under his touch.

His hands go under her legs and hold her abdomen in attempt to keep her in his touch.

He continues to lick a stripe up and down her pussy, her clear arousal coating his tongue.

“Fuck” she squealed.

“M’gonna cum already!” She added voice high and slightly shaky

Harry drew circles with his tongue her throbbing clit, loving her reactions and the feel of her hand lightly pulling at his curls edges him even more.

“Fuck, harry please im gonna cum” she moaned, the feel of his mouth around her clit was enough to trigger these feelings in her tummy.

“Cum on m’tongue love” he hummed against her pussy, she almost did there and then with the vibrating feeling of his voice.

Harry worked on her clit with his tongue while freeing his left hand to finger her hole.

Y/n was a shaky, whiny mess, and Harry couldn’t wait to finish her off later.

“Harry” she cried.

“Fuck, fuck im gonna fuck harry I’m cu-“ and with that Harry felt the hot liquid coat his tongue, fuck she was delicious.

“Such a good girl” he breathed, slowly pulling himself up towards the flustered girl.

“I wanna” she began.

“Wanna Take care of you”

“You do?” He asked pressing a kiss to her lips again.

“Mmmhmm, wanna make my Harry happy”’

“Your Harry’s very happy darling” he said quickly pulling up from h the kiss and unbuckling his belt, and y/n was quick to remove his shirt.

“So handsome” y/n uttered.

“Love-“

“Mm fuck, so hard” she continued pressing a palm to his now very exposed erection.

“Only for you darling, you do this to me” he breathed out.

“I wanna taste your cock” she said, flipping him over and kneeling on the floor and resting her hands on his clad thighs.

“Yeah, Yeah Darling, wanna taste m’cock hmm?” He hums lifting his hips and removing the last garment he had on.

Y/n was in awe, his cock practically hit his tummy when he removed his boxers, the sight of the pre cum leaking from the tip absolutely made her drool.

Not wanting to waste more time she swirled her tongue around the tip of his dick.

“Christ” he breathed out, relaxing in her mouth.

Wanting to drag this out longer she swirled her tongue around his thick cock enjoying the taste and weight of it on her tongue.

A sudden speed, began, the sight of her bobbing her pretty head up and down on his cock did it for Harry.

“Baby girl fucking fuck!” He hissed.

“Baby-“

“I love your cock harry” she said removing his cock from her mouth a ‘pop’ sound following.

Pressing kisses along his cock and hands trailing around the base, with this he wasn’t gonna last long.

“Baby, Baby” he quickly blurted.

“M’really not gonna last, I need to fuck you and now” he breathed.

Y/n’s eyes lit up at the idea, again she was throbbing.

Not being able to wait any longer, harry gently guides y/n back to the bed.

“Head down, arse up, just how you like it princess”

Y/n was fast to do what he said, her sex still dripping and glossy, this was going to be worth it.

Harry took a second to take in what was happening, a cosy room, the rain hitting there bedroom window making them feel safe and warm from the outside coldness and his beautiful girl in-front of him what a lucky guy.

“What’s your colour lovie?” He said placing both hands on her hips.

“Green, so so green” she sighed happily against her pillow.

“Okay”

Harry props himself against the girl and aligns his hard on, to her pussy.

“Ready beautiful?” He hummed.

“Mmhmm baby”

Once it slides in, both of them enter cloud 9, this what they’ve craved and waited for, and it was worth it.

It wasn’t long and Harry’s thrusts became more frequent and swift.

“Oh shit” y/n moaned, eyes shut and mouth agape and clutching further into her pillow.

“God baby”

“Love you, so much it hurts” he moans keeping his pace.

It wasn’t long until both of them would reach breaking point.

“Cum with me baby girl” he moans, voice shakier and lower then usual.

“Fuck your so tight around me” he breathes

“Baby cum, cum harry cum” y/n whined, thank god for the pillow otherwise the neighbours would’ve been complaining.

And just like that they were moaning shaking messes.

“Shit, fuck, shit” harry groans falling into his girls back.

“I love you” he huffs.

Reluctantly he slowly pulls out, and grabs his girl.

“C’mere pretty thing” he said laying down on his side of the bed and letting her fall ontop of him, we reached down gently and pulled up the duvet to allow it to warm them for a sec.

“I love you Harry, ah shit” she said flailing ontop of him kissing his cheek.

“I love you so much angel girl fuck”

A few moments of comfortable silence were shared, listening to the raindrops hit the glass pane and staring at the silver bright moon which shone through there window.

“We should clean up, I’ll ran y’bath baby” Harry suggested.

“Mmm, just let me hold you for 5 more minutes.

——————————————————————————

I really did not know where to stop😭 hope this isn’t too much defo the smuttist thing I’ve write hope it’s not cringy 😵‍💫

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #Harry styles smut #Harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #smut #heavy smut #Harry styles heavy smut #harry styles x fem!reader #my fic writing #smutty #so much smut

[lixiesbrowniess]

↴❉˖⋆Lixie‘s Library˖°📖✩°｡⋆

▷ Here you can find my faves. ALL THE CREDIT TO THE WRITERS| ◁

ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ subdivided in:↴

Title: if they have one.

Genre: fluff, angst or smut

Writer: I'll tag the QUEEN/KING who wrote it

Character/s: with whom the reader is gonna be

Fluff: ☁️

Angst: 🍃

Smuts: 🐚

★¸.•☆•.¸★ AO'NUNG ★⡀.•☆•.★

Forbidden fruit ˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @fairyhub - oneshot

Breathing lessons ˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @azaleaniath - oneshot

Behind the facade ˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @tiredmamaissy - series part two coming soon...

Love and Guests ˖°🐚☁️°｡⋆ @writing-makes-me-human - series 6 parts [still updating]

Stress Reliever ˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @fairyhub - imagine

Disappointed ˖ °🍃☁️°｡⋆ @neteyamslovrr - oneshot

Princess treatment˖ °🐚°｡⋆@pandorxxx - oneshot

First time for everything˖ °🐚°｡⋆@tsireqas - oneshot

Stress Reliever ˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @gloryy-vs - oneshot

Nsfw alphabet˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @sullyglcw - alphabet

My dearly detested ˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @justasimps-blog - oneshot

↶

★¸.•☆•.¸★ TONOWARI ★⡀.•☆•.★

Sex Pollen ˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @whereireid - series part 4 coming soon

Tonowari breeding kink˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @angelltheninth - imagine

Karma's a bitch˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @persefolli - oneshot

↶

★¸.•☆•.¸★ NETEYAM ★⡀.•☆•.★

Charming Killer ˖°🐚☁️🍃°｡⋆ @writing-makes-me-human - series 6 parts [still updating]

↶

★¸.•☆•.¸★ MULTIPLE ★⡀.•☆•.★

Safe with us ˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @pandorxx - series 2 parts

↳ How it's done [Safe with us part 2]

In the ways that matter ˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @pandorxx - series 2 parts

↳The mess we've made [In the ways that matter part 2]

Reaction to you calling them daddy˖ °🐚°｡⋆ @sullyglcw - headcanon

Updating everytime I find a new one...

navigation|masterlist|taglist ↴(read below)

If you wanna be tagged in my future works click taglist and comment

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar twow #aonung #neteyam sully #tsireya #avatar rotxo #lo'ak sully #tonowari #jake sully #avatar x reader #aonung x reader #tonowari x reader #loak x reader #avatar smut #aonung smut #rotxo x reader #neteyam x reader #jake sully x reader #so much smut #avatar fluff #avatar angst #neytiri #ronal avatar #tuk sully #kiri sully #tuktirey #dominated slave #you didn't see anything #lixiesbrowniess

[mqverick]

your woman || ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ

mature themes, 18+

very detailed smut, dni if you’re a minor

“just use me up and then you walk away

boy, you can’t play me that way”

─── ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ───

Every time Charlie Babbitt opened his mouth, it seemed like a never-ending awards ceremony was on, a lazy smirk living permanently on the corners of his lips. It was as if the idea of someone questioning him was both amusing and absurd. Charlie’s ego was so immense, it practically had its own gravitational pull. It was the sun in his universe, with everything and everyone else relegated to mere planetary status.

If the work didn’t pay well, you wouldn’t had bared a single second next to him, leaving to finally rest at your home with his excessively loud yelling still ringing in your ears, the annoyed sighs, the rude commands. To sum things up, Charlie Babbitt was the kind of man to drive you insane even if you were walking on sunshine.

It surprised you when he first announced that he’d preferred little old you over Lee to come along with him on a business trip in Palm Springs.

The response that rolled on the tip of your tongue at first was a big fat no. Why on earth would you want to spend an entire weekend with that nerve wrecking boss of yours when you could just enjoy the rewarding silence and comfort of your own home? But then again, when Charlie had his mind set on something, he stuck with it until the end.

In other words, whether you liked it or not, you were going on a little ‘getaway’ with him. Turned out, though, that his plans got disrupted by the sudden death of his father, forcing him to take a turn and drag you along to Cincinnati, where the funeral was taking place. You found out later on in the car that Charlie wasn’t the biggest fan of his father due to the lack of emotion he showed throughout the ride. You didn’t care to ask, simply letting out an annoyed groan every now and then to piss him off even further.

For four hours, you were participating in a scoff contest with him, winner would be the one with the longest, most pained sigh. Things got even worse — if possible — after Charlie spoke to the family lawyer about his inheritance, which was as disappointing as getting to work for him all day long. Couple of rose bushes and a stupid car.

“For fuck’s sake, Charlie, can you quit complaining about everything?” you yelled at him after deciding that you’d had about enough.

“Quit complaining?” he repeated, looking at you as if you were a lunatic. “Tell you one story. Just one. You know that convertible out front? My father loved that car more than he loved his family. It’d always been off limits to me. Tenth grade, I’m sixteen and for once I bring home a report card and it’s almost all straight A’s.”

You glanced at him, impressed with the statement, whistling out a low ‘ooh’. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Babbitt,” you commented and he had to break the eye contact for a minute, flushed with embarrassment and a light blush.

“Don’t look so damn surprised, Jesus. So, I go to my dad. Can I take the guys out in the Buick? A victory drive, you know. Says no, but I sneak it out anyway, take the keys. We’re on the Lakeshore Drive; four kids — and we get pulled over. He’d called in a report of a stolen car, not his son took the car out without permission. Just… stolen.”

“I’m getting bored of your sob story.”

“Shut up, will you?” he gritted through his teeth, sighing when you faked a yawn to demonstrate how deeply nonchalant you felt about his story.

“Get to an end, it’s been years.”

“Cook County Jail. Other guys’ dads bail ‘em out in an hour. He left me there two days. Drunks were throwing up everywhere, psychos eyeing me up… That was the only time in my life I was gut scared. Shit-your-pants fucking terrified. Left home, never came back and here I am.”

By the end of his memory, Charlie was trying to choke back a couple of tears that burned through his blurry eyes. His back was turned to you, he hated getting weak, felt as though the Trojan walls he’d built to keep up his mental strength had been bombed, collapsing into crumbles.

You said nothing — couldn’t bring yourself to. You weren’t used to being around that Charlie, had no idea how to react. Under normal conditions and had you not despised his guts, you would’ve hugged him so tightly that the air would get knocked out of his lungs, but it felt wrong, inappropriate for the moment. You settled for a tight-lipped smile instead, standing up and grabbing the second pillow from the bed, tucking it under your arm along with a blanket.

“Looks like you need the bed more than I do.”

Not even a goodnight. He didn’t bother to say another word to you either, so you called it a night, hugging the uncomfortable pillow closer to your head as you shivered under the blanket, wishing that you could’ve gotten the bed instead of the couch. Charlie deserved it that night, though. It was probably the least you could do for him, seeing as your way with words wasn’t exactly a delight. Sleep wasn’t on your side either.

Spent a couple of moments tossing around in agony, until you eventually decided to get up, blanket wrapped loosely around your shoulders as you rummaged through the library in the living room, encountering a photo album. You looked around in the room, making sure that Charlie was still in his room and placed the heavy album on your lap, carefully turning the pages.

Charlie at four years old. Then a bit older, standing alone in the picture, scrawny chest, baggy trunks. You had to stifle a chuckle, the pictures of younger him amusing you.

───

You both woke up early the next day, wind blowing through your hair as Charlie drove to the beneficiary down at the Lynwood Home. Just some stuff I have to wrap up for my dad’s estate, was the only explanation he gave you as he turned down the narrow road, clearing the crest of a hill now, a huge white building coming into view. A country estate, you reckoned.

Charlie continued toward it, approaching a man painting at an ease near the side of the road, shielding whatever he was working from the view by having his back turned to you.

“Excuse me, that place up there is the Lynwood Home, isn’t it?” But the man didn’t acknowledge Charlie in any way and you had to hold back a chortle. Nevertheless, he continued his way into the building, asking you to wait for him outside (wouldn’t take long, he said) as he sorted out the beneficiary issue that seemed to taunt him.

Not being in a mood for arguing, you did as you were told, patiently sitting in your seat as you shuffled through the radio station, trying to find a catchy song to listen to. You gasped in surprise when the sudden presence of a man sat next to you at startled you out of your boredom.

“Hello, can I help you?”

No response.

His hands were firmly grasped around the steering wheel as he started intently at it. Didn’t move at first, just stayed still for a couple of seconds before he began murmuring something that you couldn’t really make out. You tried to get him out of the car, but he flinched as if your touch was scorching against him in every intention of pushing him away. At some point, you gave up and hoped the man would leave when Charlie would come back, otherwise he was bound to hearing it from him very loudly.

Which indeed happened when he finally returned, rudely asking the poor guy to get going. Raymond, as you found later he was called, had other plans though. Apparently — and it came as much as a shock to you as it came to Charlie — he was his brother. Son of Sanford Babbitt.

Raymond Babbitt, who was kidnapped in some sort of way by Charlie, claiming that Dr. Bruner had suggested that he took his brother on a little trip. You knew that was just his usual bullshit talk, though, but tried to keep it down your throat, focusing more on helping Ray relax. He was mouthing stuff that made no sense, spelling out Vern and memorizing TV dialogues — he looked and sounded stressed and it made you want to hit Charlie’s breaks so abruptly that he’d crash his stupidly air floated head into the front shield of the car without the slightest hint of a warning.

Fucking California.

You found yourself in a crappy motel he’d rented in California for the night. Raymond was upset, so out of his comfort zone and familiar routine and places, sitting alone in his room as Charlie wandered back and forth all over the rooms while making calls back to Lee, informing him that he needed to put a pause in the business for a bit.

How insane was he exactly again?

“You’re a horrible fucking person, you know that?” you muttered lowly into his ear as you mustered a warm smile to his brother, opting to make whatever the hell of an experience that was at least enjoyable for him.

“You have no place in this.”

“No? Last time I checked you’ve been dragging me back and forth your stupid trips like I’m some sort of forgotten luggage.”

“That’s it — lights out, Ray Ray,” Charlie exclaimed in a forced enthusiastic voice as he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you outside, closing the door to Raymond’s room.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Get a fucking taxi and leave! I’m not going to give you explanation on what I do in my personal life,” he whispered-yelled at you, stalking across to his own room as you followed him, pissed.

“He’s your brother! You’ve kidnapped the poor guy, have been nothing but a dick to him and all that for what? Go apologize to him, tell him that first thing tomorrow morning you’re taking him back to the beneficiary,” you ordered him in the same tone he used at you.

Charlie shielded his eyes, running his palms down across his cheeks as he let out a long, dramatic sigh, burning holes through your head with his malicious glaring. “The fuck that’s happening! He’s a freaking pain in the ass, obviously I’m not going to tuck him in and kiss his forehead goodnight — I’m not his mother.”

“You’re his kid brother, Charlie. For crying out loud, he needs you, the least you can do for him is show some respect. It’s not his fault he doesn’t understand the world the same way you and I do,” your voice softened just a tad, trying to keep the noise down for Raymond not to hear. “He’s your big brother, could be someone to look up to—”

Charlie glared down at the floor, fighting of his temper. He shook his head — could be even be hearing to your nonsense? “What’s going on in my life is none of your fucking business and you get no chance to go around giving advice.”

“Fine, be the shitty piece of burning crap you are then, I couldn’t care less. But you owe me explanation on why you brought him here. What are we even doing in California?”

Charlie collapsed on the foot of his bed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to keep him. I’m pissed off at him…”

“What is that even supposed to mean? Pissed off at Raymond? What has he done to you?”

“No, at my dad. I need to get what’s mine, okay? He left Ray a shit ton of money and… You heard what Lenz said, okay? He doesn’t even understand the concept of money — my dad preferred to leave him three million dollars, up until every last dime, he fucking despised me.”

You blinked slowly, trying to absorb all of this.

“You’re telling me you’re treating Ray like he’s some sort of your property for money? Where the fuck do you get off, Charlie — you’re disgusting!”

You stalked past him in the bedroom, storming off as you slammed your hands on each side of your head in disbelief. You heard him get up from the bed, catching up with you as he snatched your arm and turned your body towards his own.

“You don’t know how it feels to be in my shoes right now, okay? Look, I need you… I need you here, this is all very confusing for me and—”

“For you?! What about Ray? Is anyone’s life even worth anything to you? No, wait, everything has to be about you only! What do you even need me for, huh? Babysitting, pussy, more money? I’m fucking leaving, I don’t want to be involved in your little freakshow,” you were screaming now, unable to hold yourself back as your finger stabbed toward the wall to punctuate your points.

“What’s my crime here?” Charlie continued, as if he was clueless to the entire situation. You wished you could just start punching sense into his head.

“Your crime is that you use people. You’re using Ray, you’re using me, you use everyone you son of a bitch. I hope your money goes into your fucking grave when you—” out of the blue, his mouth was covering yours with force, hands clutching into your shoulders as he tried to keep you steady against him, eyes squeezed shut.

You recoiled, unable to gauge any reaction out of your body, but let him continue bringing more heat into the moment, eventually getting you to start moving your lips against his, matching the urgency he initiated. When Charlie pulled away, your brain was still foggy, struggling to catch your breath, which seemed to be an issue for him too.

“You wouldn’t shut up,” he explained in a raspy voice. It’d just hit him what he’d done; kissing you, kissing the person that he swore he hated. It was true, though, he’d only done it to get you to stop talking, your angry statements about his screwed up plans causing him to lose control.

Your eyebrow raised upwards in slight confusion and effort of comprehending that Charlie’s lips had been on yours just a moment ago and you’d never felt so good, so complete before in your life. You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pinned him against the wall behind him, hearing him let out a chocked gasp, which for some reason sent a tingling sensation through your lower body. The second kiss was firmer, more passionate, because this time, you both knew exactly what was happening, it was consensual and Charlie’s crotch was pressing so beautifully against your thighs that you felt as if you were high. His hands were going through your hair, messing it up completely as he explored the rest of your face too, fingers gently cupping your cheeks for a brief second, before they dipped into the curves of your waist.

You arched against his touch, biting down on your lip as his mouth now moved below, leaving a trail of rushed wet kisses through your jawline. You felt him smirk against your neck as he softly dragged his teeth against your soft spot, licking and sucking, applying just the right amount of pressure to hear your muffled noises of pleasure.

“Ray—Raymond is in the next room,” you breathed, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your lips parted in a silent moan when you felt his index finger graze your underboob through the material of your thin blouse.

“He doesn’t understand this, he’ll probably think we’re fighting,” Charlie replied to you as he surfaced from the side of your collarbone to pepper small, quick pecks on your lips.

“We are fighting.”

“Good, shut up and fight me more then.”

You melted against him as he guided you backwards into the bedroom, dipping your chin over the slope of his shoulder as he held your weight, stumbling as your back accidentally hit against the corner of the door, making you wince. You didn’t care, though, pushing the door shut as Charlie pressed you against it with a loud thud. You lazily wrapped your legs around his lower waist, but his grip on your ass was strong enough to support you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, absentmindedly tugging at it and eliciting a somewhat loud moan from him that made your entire system shudder, embarrassed at how wet you were growing just by making out. “Fuck, Charlie — bed now.”

He obliged, laying you on the bed as he pulled his already half unbuttoned shirt off, fighting back a cocky smile when he noticed you impatiently unclasp your bra under your blouse. He towered over you, falling gently on top your shoulder as he held onto your hips, placing soft kisses on your flesh. He had full consciousness of the effect he was having on you, finding it incredibly hot.

“God, you’re so…” he trailed off, hoping you hadn’t heard him. Truth was, Charlie had always been captivated by your beauty, convinced himself that there wasn’t another person in the planet that was half as gorgeous as you were.

He placed a tender kiss on your lips and helped you take your blouse off, giving you a moment to breathe before getting lost into the V-line between your breasts. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped from your mouth when the tip of his tongue made contact with your cold skin, his hums and groans vibrating through it.

The man who you’d been at odds with was tracing his digits dangerously close to the hem of your underwear and it all felt like the glimpse of embarrassment from having wet fever dream that pleased you more than any other human touch.

“I still think you’re the worst person I’ve met, by the way,” you muttered through tiny sighs, eyes closed as your fingers twisted around the bed sheets, hips suddenly jerking as you finally felt his hand hover over your scorching core through your trousers. “Stop fucking teasing me.”

“I think it’s rich that you’re giving me orders when I can just completely stop touching you and go to sleep while you’re whining like a mess,” Charlie replied, distancing himself from you in demonstration, walking right across the other side of the room to pick up his discarded shirt.

You were going to skin the bastard alive.

“Fuck you, Charlie, you’re a fucking brute, you know that?” you yelled in frustration, getting up from the bed and sprinting over to him, turning him around and crashing your lips against his, nails now digging painfully into the curves of his ripped back. Stealing each other’s air, you fell back into the bed again, pulling his trousers down and almost cumming when you caught a glimpse of his cock twitching against the fabric of his gray boxers, sort of visible due to the front patch that had gotten all wet and sticky from his precum.

You pulled at his hair, breaking the kiss to smile a little when you noticed that he was equally lost in the moment, biting on his bottom lip lustfully, looking at you through half-lidded eyes and beautiful blown pupils. You could feel the thud of your combined heartbeats, while fumbling to take off more clothing pieces, needing to feel every inch of his skin pressed up against yours, giving you goosebumps. You’d never felt that way.

“Fuck, that hurts,” he winced as your nails dug so deep into his back’s muscles that they ended up leaving wound marks, fresh and sort of pinkish.

“Touch me or it’ll get worse,” you threatened, knowing that as he’d said earlier, you weren’t really in a place to be colourful with him. His tongue scraped the roof of your mouth as he ran a finger down your center, testing the waters over your underwear and smirking when he felt the heat of your soaked panties radiate against his digit. You were so ready for him and he hadn’t even began doing anything to you — his erection growing painful at the observation.

“You’re so hot for me, I haven’t even touched you yet, gosh,” he whispered through a strangled moan, mind hazy as he tossed your panties aside and finally slipped a finger inside of you. Your hips jerked in surprise, rocking against his hand, craving the friction, the urge to fill you up more.

You moaned embarrassingly loud when the tip moved in a hither motion, almost losing your shit. He didn’t take too long to add another finger, which only made it better for you as you took a quick glance at him through your lashes, butterflies gushing inside your stomach at the sight of him, all worked up, lips parted as small groans came out of them, eyes closed as he fought off the need to wrap a hand around his dick as well, get off to touching you.

“Charlie,” you cried out his name, hips rolling forward as his touch made contact with your bundle of nerves. His long fingers were hitting all the right spots inside of you and the combination of the still very burning anger for him and the little wet noises along with his grunts had sent you over the edge a lot faster than you’d expected.

The moment Charlie felt your walls clench around his fingers, he pulled them off, wiping them off on the fabric of his boxers as he muffled your frustrated whimper with a kiss, permitting his hand to touch himself over his boxers as you ground against his thigh, pulling him down on top of you. Off, you mouthed, looking at his underwear. The bastard was driving you insane, so you yanked them off when you noticed he had no intention to giving in to your requests, sliding them down his ankles. Your jaw almost dropped at the gates of hell when you saw him, needing a moment to take it all in. He was so pretty, so achingly ready to go inside you, the image alone was enough to make you cum, your previous upcoming orgasm still hanging around the air.

“What did I tell you earlier? We’re doing this my way or we’re not doing anything at all.”

“Fuck, please, just fuck me, Charlie, I can’t wait any longer,” you found yourself pleading, forgetting that just ten minutes ago you’d been on the verge of cracking his skull open.

His eyes scanned your naked body for a second and you scoffed, tilting your head in confusion.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he admitted lowly, face growing hot as if he wasn’t just about to raw your bones. He crawled closer to you, giving you a kiss before parting your thighs, muscles clenching as his tip teasingly grazed your entrance. He wanted to make you feel so good, have you remembering that moment all the nights you’d be alone at your house, be the man you’d compare all the other men to in bed.

Except Charlie didn’t want you to have any other men after that night. Hoped he’d be good enough to make you want more of him, perhaps stay the nights over, ask to sleep next to him after, if he was lucky and satisfying enough.

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked you before he could change everything between the two of you, already knowing what your reply would be.

“Yes, god, yes, be fucking done with it already,” you dragged out, dramatically impatient. Your head was thrown back the moment he slid fully into you, staying still for a bit in order for you to adjust. Both of you inhaled a sharp breath, eyes shutting closed as he lost his balance a little, the dizzying feel of finally getting to be embraced by the warmth of your walls causing his heart to beat faster than a sledgehammer against his chest.

“You feel so good,” he hoarsed, forehead connecting with yours as he absentmindedly leaned down to kiss your nose. When he moved, slowly thrusting forward, you swore you wouldn’t be able to last enough. His breath was hot against the cell of your ear, allowing you to hear every groan, every noise he made and it turned you on so much that it practically ached.

“Faster,” you ordered, rolling your hips as he began having a steady pace, sloppy, wet sounds echoing in the room as Charlie fucked you rougher and rougher, skin slapping. The bed was squeaking now, your one hand grasping for dear life onto the sheets as the other wrapped tightly around his waist, fingers dipped into the curve of his lower abdomen. You focused on his face again, your heartbeat racing as you noticed his front teeth poking out of his parted lips, finding it both adorable and incredibly sexy.

He’d stopped moaning, not wanting you to know how desperately he needed you, his hands firmly placed on your hips as he tortured himself silently. “You like that? Like how we’re fighting?”

“Shut up,” you cried out. The angle he was hitting inside of you was killing you, you wanted him deeper, impossibly much, needed him to split you in half. “You’re the fucking worst.”

Electricity jolted through your veins as he picked up pace, practically slamming into you now, the moans he’d tried to hold back in his throat coming out in a struggle. “‘M not going to last long,” he warned you, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, hands cupping your cheeks with force.

“Cum inside of me.”

You really had no idea what you were doing to him, had you? Who — Charlie Babbitt — feeling his cock twist against your walls just by hearing you say you wanted him to cum in you. You had him in a chokehold, it was kind of ridiculous.

“Fuck, I—” he never got to finish what he was going to say in the first place, because you were trembling under his touch, overwhelmed by the speed and the fact that your worst fucking enemy was fucking you like you’d never been fucked before and it was all enough to send you over the edge for the second time that night, except now Charlie didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. You propped your chin upwards and caught his mouth in yours as you came, feeling him follow shortly after you, cum shooting inside of you in warm spurts as he fucked you through your orgasms, groaning loudly, body jerking.

Once both of you had reached your highs, he collapsed on top of your body, head buried into your shoulder as the two of you tried to catch your breaths, legs tensing. It eventually dawned on you that you just had sex with Charlie Babbitt.

“That was the hottest fucking sex I’ve ever had,” you confessed as he rolled off of you, laying next to your side as he chest rose in and out.

“Yeah,” he breathed, unable of saying much.

“I hate you.”

“You’ve got a really nice way of showing it.”

You kneed his thigh and he winced, still very fragile from the intensity of his orgasm. His hair was all sticky and sweaty, clung into his forehead, face flushed and red. You could orgasm all over again just by looking at him. “I believe we’ve traumatised your brother for life.”

“Worth it.”

“You’re taking him back tomorrow.”

“No, I’ve already told you—” you cut him off by kissing him, the tip of your tongue lingering against his bottom lip as you pulled him deeper into your mouth, hand tangling into his hair.

“You’re not the only one who gets to shut up others by kissing them. And if you ever want this to happen again, you’re going to do things my way from now on.”

And Charlie was just fine with that.

FIN.

tags: again, i wrote this for @honeymvnt so i hope you’ll enjoy reading this ml !! 🎀🫵🏼

#rain man #charlie babbitt #charlie babbitt x reader #rain man x reader #tom cruise #tom cruise x reader #smut #enemies to lovers #pete mitchell #tom cruise imagine #this is mostly for me #maverick fanfic #maverick fluff #pete maverick mitchell #so much smut #oneshot #tom cruise oneshot #charlie babbitt oneshot

[punk-in-docs]

Prince Paul spreading his wife over a dining table so he can eat her relentlessly 🤤🤤🤤

🥀The Matter of a Good Taste 🥀

AN: relentlessly you say? *Cracks knuckles*

I’ve written so much Prince Paul pussy eating I’m starting to think it’s my kink that I always seem to get this man on his knees to give some amazingly fantastic head when irl he probably never even ate a pussy once but you know what? Fuck it. Also this came out far sweeter than I had intended? Idk how. TW: none really apart from some serious pent up need oral.

Nights at the palace slip in all soft. Slippery and holding the gentle density of clouds.

It’s a rather stark change to the brutality of court in the day. All the velvet draped daggers and sugar faked smiles. The grins that then vanish in passing.

Snide acidic comments designed to poke like sharp gleaming needles. Designed to find the space between the ribs. Whispers wriggle like hissing snakes at your bodiced silk back.

Mornings are a parting wrench. You don your costume to please them all. Tie the stays tight. Lip rouge the colour of split blood. Heartthrob red.

You far prefer the nights. Time that narrows down - tapers, whittled - right the way down to you and Paul. When the candles burn their tongues of gold and spin the room to shadow and gems. Sparkling like the Crown Jewels.

You sit down to dine together and pour way too much wine. A heavy dinner. Always heavy. The same pallid creamy white soup. Roast meat - bloody and smothered sticky with dark wine sauce. Potatoes and onions with thyme and sage. A meal that sits heavy and clunking in your belly.

You chat about your days. You tell him about the tea party for the girls orphanage, and the earned shreds of gossip whispered out the side of Milena’s mouth. He tells you about the military coup, the uprisings. The jagged feeling towards the crown.

When the staff fade away with their chattering’s and cease heavy footfalls on the parquet. That’s your favourite. When peace descends. Thick like a smothering eiderdown.

The exquisite squeeze when your maid undoes your stays. When you can finally breathe out. The hot steam of a bath clearing your sinuses. Clean spice of tuberose soap and being wrapped in a cool cloaking chemise for bed. The smooth cotton sheets crisp and cold that you slide into, as you wait on Paul to join you.

You’d never tell him your habit. That each night as you lay in your bed, you listen out for his footfalls. You smile when you hear them coming closer outside the doors.

And you wait an awful long wait, tonight.

He doesn’t appear to be coming.

The carriage clock on the huge golden mantel strikes twelve. The chimes mock you with their tinny echoing cry. He should be in here, arms stuck wrapped around your back. Lips in your neck. Maybe a rough tumbling fuck if the day has been hellish.

Another half hour. And before the next can come, you throw the covers off and go in search of your absent husband.

Padding barefoot over the numerous antique rugs. Through the gilded doors. You find him in the dining room. Firelight shines wetly off the polished surface of the table. Ripping and curling orange. He’s staring. Transfixed by it.

He’s sat there in his shirt, undone waistcoat, and breeches. Ruffled neck wide open. Whisky eyes cast and doused in flame. Dormant like one of the outer crust of the stuffed animals displayed on these walls. The brushed hyde of glassy eyed stags or the great still plumage of some exotic bird eternally perched.

You lean against the huge door. Hips pressed to the golden handle. Stay to your silence. Watching him for a moment.

When day was done it was a release for you. An undressing. Unwind. For Paul it seemed less so.

Sometimes the tranquility that undid you, paved the way for a whole crush of thoughts in his head. Sisyphus and his boulder up that hill. The press of a frown pinching brows.

Heavy was the head that cannot yet seize the crown.

No one else gets this view of him. You made your mind up to adore it. He was all cherubim beauty. So striking. You thought the very same thing the first time you laid eyes on him. Definitely not a weak chin.

The pillow set of pink lips made to mouth at. Made to bite. The melty eyes that swing between venom and boyish levelled at you. The lush line of his jaw and the way his hair is set with a natural curl. The flick of doe lashes that really should be flecked with dew, they’re so girlish-pretty.

“Something vexes you?” You ask. Crossing your arms and gently intruding into the room. Hair loose down your back tickling your waist.

He looks over at you like he’s startled. Eyes all big and flame captured. Lips part softly. Like he’s a bunny been caught out by the hawk.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He asks. His tone ripe with accusation. Throat bobs where he swallows.

You lay your vicious tongue to rest tonight. There’s no need for your dagger sharp words.

“You don’t escape my notice that easily.” You level shrewdly.

Not like how you escape hers.

The woman who is surely preying on his head right now. The glorious Empress, whose long casting shadow governs and hovers his every tiny step.

He doesn’t really respond. In the way he does when he can’t lay his thoughts to bed. Where his head is too heavy and buzzing full to lay on the pillow beside yours. Too itinerant.

You walk to his side. Hesitate before touching him. In case he snaps and insists he needs his space.

He tips his eyes across your body. Sees you whole where you’re stood.

The fire brushed strokes of fuzzy apricot across your chemise. He can see the shape of your naked body barely concealed underneath. Soap skimmed skin. Pillow crease caught in your cheek. Warm dewy from rest.

“Rough day.” He finally answers.

You nod. Just nod.

“Shall I keep to my rooms tonight, Tsarevich?” You enquire. Face a cold bed. Space gaping. Unfilled on the pillow opposite.

You say it without teasing. Without jest. You don’t purr flirt at him. You ask genuinely.

“Don’t.” He answers weakly. Throat bobs again.

You tip your head to the side.

Decide finally to slide towards him and run your fingers through his hair. Hip against the table. Stroking fingers through his pretty curls. The fire shot yellow gold some of the tresses. Chestnut too.

You want to tell him to lay it to rest. Whatever it is. Be done with it now. That the beast plaguing him will seem less daunting - will have its sharp teeth blunted by the dawn after a full night of rest.

He leans to you. Hands come for your hips and tugs you in.

Rests his head against your belly. Rubs his forehead into you there. Mashes his face to your soft body. Rolls to you the way the tide rushes to meet the shore. Breathes perfume and soap. You.

You in pure gunpowder shot form. Dynamite strong. Closes his eyes. Hugs you like he’s been lost at sea for months. Drugged on nearness.

Intoxicated on the fact you’re impossible and bolshy. Hardest, sharpest woman he’s ever met; yet you’re being so easy for him now. No challenge laid before him.

“Anything I can do?” You ask. Feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms where you slide down his shoulders. Kneading skin. Nails withdrawn tonight.

The air shifts on those words. Tumbles away like ash on the breeze.

He pulls back and gazes up at you. Flick of long lashes. Something stirs in his eyes. He looks up at you before suddenly he’s rising to his feet with the scrape of the chair slicing into the silence.

He cups the back of your neck and kisses you firmly. Cotton sleeves drape to your body as he pressed his whole self to you. His lips becomes insistent. Kiss warps into hunger.

He’s ripping away to nip your neck and lick kisses at your shoulders. Back pressed firmly up against the hard edge of the table. His body keeps you there. He’s pawing at your chemise. Melting his mouth to yours again as fumbled hands slip your skirts up.

He’s giving you kisses that make your heart slip to warm treacle. Pouring down your ribs and melting. Stunning your lips drunk that this is how he wants to soothe a bad day. With the endless press and utterly blotting sensation of you.

His cheeks are furiously pink. Eyes black savage pits. Lips all sore. He keeps his hold on your mouth and makes your breath come short.

He plucks you up off the floor and spreads you on the table like you’re the next dinner course. Whips your chemise up to your knees. Lays you back.

You gasp. “Paul. Here?”

He can offer no answer.

His eyes burn shiny with the newly unveiled skin of your thighs right down to your toes. The arch of your legs. Plump thigh. Shapely calves. Delicious pussy all bare. Lips plump and cast in firelight. Ready for him.

He throws one of your chunky thighs over his back, and takes to one knee to eat you out.

Bliss bites right through you - clean through - spiking your blushes to top pitch. Making you shiver. Thighs seek to curl around his head and your hand shoots up to rake your nails through his silky hair. 

You groan with the puffy glide of his fat tongue over your pussy. Lathing and searching. Swiping for your taste and diving for more. You taste like every tart sweet fruit - sugared and full with juice. Ripe to burst.

He doesn’t rush a single thing about this; takes his time to prod his tongue into you. Spread you open with tongue alone. Opens the bowl of your hips wide, wider, with his hands digging to the meat on your thighs. Fingers leaving dips in flesh.

Licks and laps at the new fresh slick he coaxed free. He’s chasing your pleasure. Not his. He’s going on search of it; a determined conquest. Touching you like you’re the holiest thing he’s ever known. Ever tasted.

You’re all sighs and easy moans as he digs his face into your mons. Inhaling the smell of your soap that clings to your curls. Eyes flutter closed with the pleasure of it.

“I love when you melt for me.” He says. Breath bursts in warm puffs over your pussy when he speaks. When you uncurl from being impossible and stubborn.

You catch sight of his lips. Glossy. He’s wearing a wet orange smear in the low amber light of the fire.

“I don’t melt for anyone. My angel.” You sigh. Hips leaping to his face as he suckles your clit like a nursing babe. Whining high as you slip your fingers through his scalp.

“Just you.” You gasp. Bliss draped upon every word.

His spit squelches into you. He spits and drools to make you wetter. He likes it. Spitting frothy globs into you, and scooping it out with his tongue when the taste has changed entirely to you. Swirling it around because he loves to have you dripping.

Juices are flowing out of you and dribbling slowly to leave a slippery stain on this shiny table. When he next eats a meal here, in this very chair. He’ll smile remembering this moment.

He twists his head to lap at a new angle. Eyes focused on yours. And it hurts to tear away. You watch him and it makes him want to cum in his breeches right then and there.

It’s hypnotic to have him work you over with his mouth. You adore it when there’s hate-fucking and anger involved; you simply shatter to incomprehensible pieces when there’s slow romantic passion, mixed into the bargain.

He eats you like he’s trying to study you with his tongue. Like he can root out some answers in your taste. That heady flavour of flesh and sex and woman - somehow tangy somehow sweet. Elixir of life;

He swirls tiny sloppy circles around the swelling bead of your clit. Fingertips coming into play - the man was a studying military strategist. That came into use in times like these; rubbing your folds - up down up down - before pushing those slick fingertips in. Sinking deep enough to earn a rise out of you.

He eases back, takes his tongue away to watch as he used just his fingers instead. Watching your face. Watching the glide and pump of curling them to you until he finds a rhythm that drags that silken and soaked giving spot a teasing tickle inside you.

When your hips start to jump and you start squirming. He knows he’s found what he’s after.

That divine spread inside you that rose with every knuckle deep thrust of his fingers. Every vicious swipe with his tongue that cracks flickers of lightning across your nerves. Makes you throb with it. God he’s good.

Suction coming relentless and heavy from his mouth, scorching patterns in harsh zig-zags across your swollen lips. Fingers encouraging that all encompassing pang of pleasure that will wipe out your brain to blank when you cum.

He’s digging his face right in and eating determinedly - relentlessly, to get after that leg shaking portion of your climax that’s steadily growing.

Terrifying trapping fingers travelling up your cunt walls as they flutter fast on his fingers. You’re laying back on the dining room table, near sobbing with the need to cum.

He’s just drinking in every sensation soaked second as he gulps you down. Half to ease away his tensions; half because making you cum has become an occupation that’s scored its devotion on his heart. When he dies he hopes they crack open his chest and find it sat there in bleeding tattooed letters. It feels like it should be.

Wordlessly, he brutally shoved you to the knife edge of your orgasm that has you literally bursting. The shudder of your hips betrays it first. How he doesn’t alter his pace; he keeps steady as he coaxed you through: the way you taught him.

Don’t speed up just because I’m close. Keep steady with whatever it is you’re doing.

You’d taught him that on your honeymoon hazy watercolour memories all misty to recall. With your clit captured in his mouth and your fingers fisted in his hair.

He’s a good student. He makes you gush into and all over his mouth. Spurting across the table top and he hums with the bliss of your release and doesn’t stop just because you do.

He drives and drags and slurps up every tender drop. Nurses you into the aftershocks with his tongue. Gentle gathered little noises as he swallows and gains his breath again. Tries to take control of his heart and the buzzing in his ears.

You’re slowly fading from shouts to whines. Fingers grappled into his on your now clammy thighs. Where you’d thrashed and wailed. Your hands held firm to him like anchors.

“My god, you give good head, my love.” You sigh. Back arching and your eyes still flicked closed.

“I was instructed by the best.” He insists. Before dropping an open mouthed kiss right on your cunt.

“Same time tomorrow?“ You ask with an impetuous smile. The clock strikes two.

He gazes back at from between your legs. Smile finally having returned. Eyes all slippery warm with passion.

“Minx.”

“Yes, but entirely yours.”

“Bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

~

JQ taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver

#Prince Paul #prince paul x you #prince paul x reader #prince paul x oc #prince paul fanfiction #prince paul smut #joseph quinn #prince paul catherine the great #catherine the great 2019 #prince paul imagine #prince paul fanfic #and prince paul #smutty #so much smut #so much hatefucking

[abiiors]

Red Lips

Day 7 of Matty's Birthday Bash! This is just smut. Pure, unfiltered smut. Series Masterlist.

MINORS DNI!

Sunday: Birthday Smut

‘Eyes on the road, birthday boy,’ you speak in a hushed voice. 

Matty’s hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly, the veins on his arms taut with tension. His knuckles are almost white, nails digging into the leather. You slowly move your fingers, tracing and dancing over the veins, all the way till you reach his hands. He’s like putty in your hands. He doesn’t resist it when you take a hold of his fingers and bring them to your mouth. 

‘Fuck!’ he breathes, head almost tipping back again, ‘baby, please.’

You swirl your tongue around his thumb, looking at him through doe eyes as you continue to run a hand up and down his thigh. ‘Please what?’

Your mouth is hot on his neck, biting and sucking along his pulse point. The remnants of his cologne, spicy and warm, go straight to your head and send shivers down your spine. Despite the AC in the car, you feel your body go hot and flushed. It's all him, all by being in his proximity.

‘Please, I want you,' he whines again, 'suck me off.’ 

You fully turn to look at him, eyes dancing with delight and mischief. ‘So crude, Matthew,’ you put his thumb in your mouth again, sucking it and letting it go with an exaggerated pop, ‘but since it is your birthday…’

You run a finger over the seams on his trousers slowly, savouring the way his breath hitches the closer you get. You palm him through the fabric where he’s already nice and hard and ready for you. So this has been on his mind all throughout dinner. Your promise of later from this morning echoes in your head. Of course, he has been thinking about this all day. 

You make quick work of his belt and zipper, instructing him to keep his eyes on the road throughout. To keep a steady pace. 

‘One more th-thing,’ he grunts as you pull him out of his pants.

‘What?’ you ask, tie up your hair up and out of the way. For a moment, his face goes blank as the only thing he concentrates on is that one simple action. 

‘I want you to touch yourself,’ he groans, coming back to his senses. The commanding tone of his voice surprises you a bit, turns you on further. 

‘Yes, sir,’ you hum, playing along, and get in the position

You manoeuvre yourself out of your panties, it’s easier this way, and throw them onto the dashboard. Right where he can see them as he fights to keep his eyes open. Then your hand moves between your thighs, only teasing for now and lick a broad strip from his base to his tip 

The engine roars as his control of the car briefly slips. For a moment, the rational part of your brain screams at you for doing something so dangerous but then his hips thrust up, effectively pushing himself in your mouth and all thoughts fly out the window. 

Salty precum coats your tongue as you get on your knees in the passenger seat. Your hand creeps between your legs, finding your swollen clit. You moan at the first touch, mouth going further down on him. This was his plan, you realise, to have you moaning and gasping with his cock in your mouth. 

‘That’s it, baby,’ he pants, barely manages to stay seated, ‘doing so good for me.’ 

You’ve barely even started, still just licking and sucking at his tip. But for him, you’re about to put on the performance of a lifetime. The tight little skirt you’re wearing does nothing to cover your ass. Not that anybody could see inside through the dark tinted windows. But just the thought, that someone might drive by and see your fingers teasing your soaked cunt while your head bobs up and down on his cock is filthy enough. 

You let your throat relax, prepare your body to take in all of him. Even with his hand holding up your hair and guiding your head, it’s up to you to set the pace. 

‘Fuck, just like that,’ he gasps once you reach all the way to his base. You hum around him, dipping a finger in yourself just barely, and slowly drag your mouth back up all while letting your teeth graze just the slightest bit. His hips stutter, already desperate for another thrust but you quickly press a hand on his thigh, taking your own sweet time with him. 

The clock on the dashboard flashes with the time, 11:43 pm. A new song comes up on the radio, slow and sultry this time and he pushes his foot on the accelerator. The combination is exhilarating and euphoric. You let your tongue rest flat against him, dragging it up and down each time you move. The melody mixes with the sounds of his moans, sounds of your fingers dipping in and out of your wet cunt. You let your cheeks go hollow, sucking him off hungrily. The curses that come out of his mouth would make a sailor blush. 

‘Such a good girl,’ he pants heavily, ‘taking me so well, baby.’ 

He knows the praise drives you wild and he makes sure to use it as much as he can. Your thighs tremble from holding yourself in the kneeling position. The leather of the seat digs into your knees but all of it is worth it to hear all the vulgar sounds he makes. ‘I’m going to fuck you senseless when we get home.’

The sweet ache between your legs compounds at the promise as you whine around his cock. You want to beg him to stop the car and pound into you right here. 

His hand on your hair tightens, another sign that he’s getting there as you continue licking up and down his dick, sucking at the tip before hollowing out your cheeks. Up and down. Up and down. Your lips go slack from his size but the stretch is delicious as his tip hits the back of your throat in a punishing pace. 

You run small circles on yourself, edging, bringing yourself closer and closer to getting off but you won’t allow yourself that one final push. You would only allow yourself to cum on his hands or in his mouth. Much better, around his cock. 

‘Fuck, I’m so close,’ he moans, ‘so close. Keep going, baby.’

You have no idea when the car slows as you feel yourself drooling on him. It’s a struggle to take your hand away from yourself and the loss of friction almost makes you yell in frustration. Except now you can rake your nails down his thighs as his legs begin to tremble. He’s pulsating inside your mouth now, almost ready to beg for a release. You wrap your hand around his balls, squeezing tightly and let your tongue graze on his sensitive slit. His hips jerk, his tip hits the back of your throat again, almost too far this time and you let out the most obnoxious moan you ever have. 

The sound vibrates straight to his sweet spot and moments later you feel the tell-tale warmth in your mouth followed by the slightly bitter, salty taste. 

Matty chants your name over and over again as he holds your head in place, cock still buried deep in your mouth as his legs spasm and his hands slip from the steering wheel. There’s a moment of panic when you see him go slack but then you realise that he’s pulled over on the side of the road. 

You lose track of time as you focus on licking him clean, swallowing down every single drop. His hand moves away from your hair, caressing your sweaty back despite the air conditioning. It’s to let you know that you can straighten up now. 

Matty’s head is tipped back, eyes half-lidded and mouth swollen from all the times he’s bitten his lip. His hair which was nicely slicked back at the beginning of the night is now a mess, his tie is completely undone and his white shirt sticks to his chest. In short, he is the hottest he has ever looked. When he finally opens his eyes and looks at you, you know he’s thinking the exact same thing. 

Your hair is all over the place, knotted from the way he was fisting it. Your face is messy, mascara running down slightly, mouth wet from a mixture of drool and his cum and smudges of your red lipstick. You smirk at him and wipe it with the back of your mouth. 

‘You’re evil,’ he grins and blushes uncharacteristically. 

You shrug and look at yourself in the rearview mirror. Just as dishevelled as you thought. ‘You like it.’

‘I love it,’ he breathes. The clock flashes again; 11:58 pm. Still his birthday.

You hum in agreement as you take out a pack of tissues from your purse. ‘Now about that promise of fucking me senseless…’

#smut #so much smut #minors do not interact #no minors please #matty healy imagine #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #fem reader #f #matthew healy x reader #matty healy #matthew healy #matty the 1975 #ross macdonald #adam hann #george daniel #the 1975 fic #matty healy smut #smut writing #the 1975 smut #birthday smut

[caffiend-queen]

MY MUSE IS BACK!

Here’s the result: Perilous- A Dark College Mafia Romance. Thank you to all of my Tumblr besties and beloveds who not only tolerated my uselessness this year, but have actually supported it with my books! I hope you like it. 💕

#tumblr besties and beloveds #Perilous A Dark Colege Mafia Romance #gothic romance #18+ #so much smut #big hot Scottish bastard #The Ares Academy Series

[witch-and-her-witcher]

I can't resist writing my fav brotp any chance I get ...

(a feyre & lucien snippet from the eluzriel fic i'm writing for @polyacotarweek!)

~*~

“Alright, you didn’t summon me to put your son in his place and likely not for my wound dressing either.” Lucien glances up to her face beneath the curtain of his hair that has fallen over his shoulder while he bends to finish tying the wrap. “What can I do for you, Feyre?”

“I thought seeing me half naked would be a fun memory to reminisce over?” 

He presses a little harder than necessary on the wound. Feyre hisses.

“Okay, alright, not enough time has passed to joke about that. In truth, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Lucien whistles low while stepping back to appreciate his handy work. The bleed has stopped seeping through the white cloth.

“A favor? This should be interesting.”

Feyre lifts her top from the desk she’s had it resting on. She pulls it over her shoulders and begins buttoning it, pointedly not making eye contact with Lucien. A very interesting favor then, if it is enough to make the High Lady feel guilt.

“I need you to go to Rask and retrieve a special package… Your mate.”

#giggling and kicking my feet #i cannot WAIT to start posting this fic you guys #so many shenanigans #so much smut #the word count has already gotten out of hand and i feel almost no remorse #acotar #acotar fanfic #my writing

[credince--writes]

Silent Library Treatment

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader

For @mauveserpent

Smut. And the silent library treatment.

Simon Riley was a pleaser.

He may not seem like it, at least not to his colleagues stuck staring at the hardened exterior- the visage of death in that hard plastic shell.

But to you?

Oh,

for you.

You'd mused with him at one point or another when he'd said he's only a pleaser for you- telling him to prove it until your hips bucked up against his face, cumming on his tongue as a reward. Sure, he'd like to be in charge, sometimes, more often than not. But was he ever not in charge?

Him,

Simon,

Luitenant,

Ghost.

Your hand stretched out, grasping onto his hair and tugging it closer to your cunt as he licked small circles around your clit- this horrible teasing game of giving you exactly what you wanted but not in the right place.

Him familiar with your body, spending hours learning it as if he were navigating his own-

but you knew he refused to meet himself in the mirror, which made his attentiveness to yours that much more.

But as the days, weeks, and months would stretch on. Alone- sure, with his comrades, his brothers.

But not with you.

And he was too familiar with the experience of slowly having the memories fade of what you felt like, the long and lonely nights blurring together.

Sometimes he needed a reminder,

a refresher.

He wasn't a Luitenant in your bed,

at least right now.

He'd be demoted the second he walked out that door for his deployment, he needed to earn it back.

The flurry of movements, his hands grabbing around your ribs, under your arms, grasping on and pulling you into him as his lips met yours in a desperate kiss. Pushing your head back in some form of submission for him to feel the soft expanse of your throat bared to him.

Not afraid,

no.

He was safe here.

The kiss devolved- or maybe evolved, into a brash meeting of teeth and tongue. Until you'd both finally tugged off the majority of your clothes and pushed you back up against your bedroom door, throwing it open.

"Missed you." He grunted, lifting you by your hips and tossing you onto the bed. The air leaving your lungs as your back came into contact with the mattress, as soon as your body bounced, forward, suddenly meeting Simon's chest as he caged you in. His teeth bared like a hungry animal as he dipped down to bite, suck, and lick the side up your neck. Up to your ear just that way that made your spine curl forward, tits push forward and press against his now bare chest. "Wanna hear you- all the sounds you make."

You let out a whine- a desperate, pathetic little noise as your hands lifted up to his head, brushing against the back of his neck. Fingers curling into his hair and tugging- testing- playful.

His head lifted, enough for you to see his face and the flushed red skin on his cheeks and pale skin. Dancing down from his neck to even his chest as he always got when excited- the pale skin not leaving much room for imagination as did (or didn't) the tight tent formed in his boxers.

"I missed you too, love." You finally responded, hand cupping his cheek allowing him to lean some of his weight into it.

In a blink, his hand had grasped your wrist, pulling your body in a direction until suddenly your hands were pinned above your head with one of his large hands, the other lifting your hips up as he slid into a prone position in front of you.

"Gonna lick it, baby?" You asked, trying to get him to verbalize- not tunnel down the fine line of control he'd tiptoe on each time he got home from an especially long deployment. Where you could still see the heavy, deep-rooted tension in his are shoulders as the flexed with his movement into prone.

He made a sound of agreement, even if it hadn't come out in words. Hand gripping around the pair of panties and tugging them down, tossing them to the side- forgotten, as if he didn't want them.

You'd caught him enough times pocketing a pair to know he tossed it in a location for him to retrieve later when he thought you wouldn't notice.

His grip on your thigh nearly startled you, the harsh grip of the pads of his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. His mouth opened and cupped the entirety of your cunt before he let off with a 'pop', turning his head and biting your thigh.

You let out a surprised noise, arms pulling up against his grip to no avail.

He'd eat up your noises just like he'd lap up the juices you'd drip down your thighs. Hearing them was praise- and fuck, did he love praise. Knowing he was doing good, pleasing him, pleasing you most of all.

He lapped a long, flat stripe up your pussy before biting you again. Bicep pressed against your leg as his hand snaked over, bringing over of his fingers up to your entrance and pushing in.

But he curled- sideways.

Not up.

Your eyes narrowed up at the ceiling, not making a sound as he continued to lick around your pussy, sucking up as much as he could but completely neglecting your clit.

He paused- not hearing the soft moans that would leave your lips, just like they would in his dreams.

His grip softened on your wrist, allowing your hand to grab his, moving your body forward to plant your lips against his. Pulling your leg across his lap and pushing a hand to his chest to guide his back against the bed before breaking the seal of the kiss, wiping the spit from the corner of your mouth.

His eyes were dilated, his chest raising and you could feel the pounding of his heart against your hands resting against his chest.

"What's wrong love? Have you been gone so long you don't remember how to eat my pussy anymore?" You crooned, grasping both of his hands, shuffling up his chest with your thighs until your knees rested next to his ears. Leaning his body forward and planting his hands on the pillow above his head.

He let out a sound- some broken form of a groan. Looking up at how your tits leaned forward with your body, the grounding feeling of your weight pressed against his wrists. Your thighs on his chest, the weight pressing on his lungs as his heart pounded and his brain screamed for more.

"I'm sorry, I'll do better." He exhaled out, and the sound of his voice is soft. Pliant, so much different than the rough grip on your thigh, the teeth that sunk into your flesh.

Joining him on the tightrope of control.

"Will you? Will you show me you can do better, be good for me and make me feel good, Si?"

He groaned, nodding his head.

It was a fun game.

Make me feel good, while I tell you what to do.

You let your hand unclasp from his, sitting up fully. "No hands, sweetheart."

Lifting your hips, hovering over his face before lowering yourself. His neck craning forward to meet your cunt halfway, tongue flicking up to smear against the wetness he craved with every fiber of his being. Resting your weight down onto his face, your hand curling down into his hair giving you a firm anchor point, while your other hand reached behind you, planting it against his chest to give you better balance.

"Getting greedy again baby?" You chastised softly. "Thought my moans were all you wanted to hear, not me telling you that you're a bad boy."

Quickly, his tongue flicked upward and pressed hard against your clit, a movement of overcompensation.

You made a soft noise- hand gripping tighter on his hair in a warning.

"No baby... Soft. Be gentle." You exhaled.

His tongue flicked back and approached again, softly lapping up your clit, causing a moan to escape your lips as he continued. Body leaning forward into his mouth. Feeling his nose press up against your public bone as you leaned forward.

"Nhaa... Yea, just like that sweetheart..." You moaned out, "Little laps, sweetheart. Small circles too." You coached.

If you'd been looking in the other direction, you'd of seen the way Simon's cock twitched upward at the praise, hands restlessly twitching as he continued to lick up on your clit.

"Ki-..." You were broken off from your sentence with a breathy exhale, "Kitten, Simon, little Kitten licks." You whined, leaning back as the pressure of his tongue started to grow.

His hands finally beat his internal battle of being good, and keep you from pulling your cunt from his mouth as you ebbed closer to the snap of the knot building in your stomach. Sliding his hands onto your thighs, holding onto the curvature of your ass, and pulling you softly back into his tongue.

"Please." You whined out, rocking your hips forward into his mouth feeling that delicious rhythm forming. His chin rose as he held his tongue out flat, flickering upwards as you began to ride his face.

Keeping up that perfect pace, the feeling of his calloused hands smoothing circles around the curve of your ass as you rocked forward, hand gripping tighter onto his hair as you got closer, so close to the edge.

He knew when you were close. He always did. The subtle change of your breathing, how you'd start exhaling from your nose, and those breathy moans you'd try to swallow down. The sudden stutter of your hips alerted him to the snap- your orgasm flooding over you with the tight grip on his hair. Trying, desperately, and failing to pull your cunt from his lips as his arms tensed, holding you in place against his face as he lapped at your hole.

You exhaled, panting, trying to pull off of his face by pushing back only to be met with two strong hands firmly holding you against him.

"P-... Ah, please, Simon." You exhaled the sound of your voice too sweet for him to deny. His tongue stilling, eyes staring up and meeting your gaze as if he was a kid caught with his hand (tongue) in the cookie jar. As if he were debating on continuing, holding you down, and staring all over again.

Like a rabid dog, staring down a steak debating internally on if to eat.

You pushed on your knees, lifting up and sitting back down against his chest, hand sliding back and pressing against the still, very much there erection. The glistening dark spot in his grey boxers from where the precome bled through his boxers from his weeping cock.

His hips bucked into your hand. You rolled, onto your stomach, knees next to his head as you dove down onto his cock. Slipping your hand under the waistband and wrapping your hand around the heavy girth. Thumb spreads the trickling beads of his precome around the head of his cock, giving a few teasing pumps.

You felt his hands trail up your thighs, and a finger pressing up against your pussy.

"No..." You spoke, condescendingly and his body stiffened.

You sat up, basically pushing your ass and pussy onto his face once again, the brush up against his nose noted. Completely removing yourself from him, you sat up on your knees, looking down at him and his confused expression.

"Haven't learned your lesson yet sweetheart, remember?" You explained, even if in a mocking tone. Hand sliding down the expanse of your tummy dipping down into your sensitive core.

Your index finger extends, before pushing into your pussy with an obscenely wet sound.

"Remember?" You asked, intentionally teasing your finger in and out of your hole just to make that much more noise. "You needed a reminder on how to stuff those big fingers in my pussy."

Simon stared, torn between reaffirming dominance and watching the show.

In reality, there was never any question as to what he'd choose.

He groaned, hand dipping down into his waistband and taking hold of his cock. "Then show me, princess."

You widened your stance slightly, watching as he moved to get a better view of your dainty finger dipping down into your cunt with a squelch.

Opting to leave your clit out of the equation, your previous orgasm still hazed into your gaze.

"You gotta curl up, baby." You start. "Wish you'd just remember Si, feels so much better when it's your hands."

He groaned, head leaning back slightly as he'd posted himself up against the bedframe, hand pumping his cock as he watched your fingers.

"I have'ta use two just to feel like one of yours." You whine, curling your fingers up, barely reaching the spongey texture you knew would send you to the stars. "I can't even reach it, baby... Only you can."

His body leaned forward, subconsciously trying to get closer to your body, nearly shaking as you blatantly teased him.

"Let me see your free hand, Si." You whispered, and he was practically throwing himself down to extend his arm to you.

Taking his hand softly, and open it to have two of his fingers curl up and into your pussy. Moaning at the stretch, your head leaned against his shoulder as he continued to furiously pump his cock.

"'m gonna ride your hand, show you what to do." You agreed with yourself, greedily bucking up against his hand as you felt his fingers tense in you.

You moaned, wanton- breathy, like fucking heaven to his ears. "Curl them, just like that, fuck me with your fingers and maybe I'll make a mess." The last of your words came out in a high-pitched whine, hand lifting and pressing two fingers up against Simon's lips, to which he accepted into his mouth and sucked. Swirling his tongue and coating them in his spit.

Your hand dropped, starting to rub your clit again as your rod his hand, the combo of the situation, the sounds, the feeling of his breath on your back as he slouched over you.

"Doing so good, making me feel so good." You exhaled, feeling his fingers snap forward as soon as his brain registered the words. His breath getting particularly ragged.

"Wanna feel me cum on your fingers, Si? Feel just how good you've made me feel?"

"God." He groaned, "Yes, please. Fuck-" He choked on his words.

Your hips stuttered- breath hitching as you felt the familiar flood of heat gush down your thighs and into his hand as his fingers pulled forth on that special spot those long, thick fingers of his could reach.

Simon grunted, and the feeling of his cum splattering against your thigh was lost as you bit down on his shoulder for grounding as you came.

The sound of your heavy breathing mixed with his as you leaned into each other, until the feeling of the sweat on your skin grew cold.

"Welcome home, honey." You sighed out, nestling your head into his neck.

"Need new sheets." He comments.

"Don't care." You responded, curling in on him.

"Shower too."

"Quiet, Simon."

"Came so pretty." He comments.

"'n You splooged on my leg."

"Came hard." He agrees. "Quite the show you put on, love."

"Thinkin' you act like a virgin to get me to do that."

"Never." He laughs, the warm feeling vibrating through his chest and warming your heart.

#Simon Riley x Reader #Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader #so much smut #lmao #Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Smut

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩˚₊‧♡ Blackmail Material ♡‧₊˚✩

masterlist [COMPLETE] | main masterlist

18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | complete | word count: 30,591.

a classic tale of "that fuckin raccoon found your sex toy." post-endgame friends-to-lovers smut with feelings.

i am not writing off the possibility of an epilogue someday (a "one year later" scenario won't fully let go of my brain) but for now i feel like this story has been told and we can leave these two to enjoy their smutty little lives together. back to main masterlist

Collects 3 of 3 Parts. ♡‧₊˚✩

♡‧₊˚✩ Part One: Blackmail Material [8/7] you've been hiding one - or maybe two - things from your best friend on the Bowie. unfortunately for you, now he knows. smut with feelings + fluff. sex toys, voyeurism/exhibitionism, impact play.

♡‧₊˚✩ Part Two: Self-Sufficience [8/28] rocket deals with the emotional aftermath of your night together, engages in some kinda-sad masturbation, and learns that deep down, his most-secret kink is having sex with someone who loves him. fuck. smut with feelings + fluff. angst, sexual fantasy, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), spanking.

♡‧₊˚✩ Part Three: Bioluminescent [10/23] rocket finally decides what he wants. you're glowingly happy to oblige. smut with lotsa feelings + fluff, dirty talk, begging, light dom/sub elements, little bit of oral, references to impact play.

if you’d like to be added to my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask!

#blackmail material #rfh fanfic #rocket raccoon x reader #so much smut #and angst #with a happy ending #rocket raccoon fanfiction #rocket raccoon fanfic #rocket raccoon smut #gotg rocket #gotg fanfiction #rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #rocket raccoon x oc #rocket raccoon x you #rocket x you #rocket x reader #guardians of the galaxy fanfiction #rfh masterlist

[bunnis-monsters]

Y’all I’ve got some stuff COOKING in my drafts you are not ready.

#werecat stuff… incubus husband… Naga.. #so much smut

[jordyn14]

I’m just going to warn you, this is a smut fest. This is a piece from one of my oc books I’m writing right now and I just wanted to share because I know we all love smut.

Every time Joe would pull out a little, it was met by a fast thrust back into me. Loud moans escaped my mouth as joe penetrated inside of me hard. Bending my knees, I moaned loudly before wrapping my knees around his waist. "Faster." I said quickly. Joe began to go faster as the bed creaked. This time he pulled out fast and thrusted back into me even faster. Then I felt him hit my G-spot and I moaned loudly. Every time he thrusted back into me the bed creaked and I swear it was close to breaking. “You feel so fucking good." Joe said between thrusts. Joe changed his rhythm and wasn't hitting the same spot as before that sent waves through my body. Lifting my butt up more so joe could go faster and smoother, he hit that spot again. "R-right there, joe." I moaned out, practically screaming in pleasure after. This fueled joe as he started going faster.

Now, all you could hear in the room was my moans, clapping, the bed creaking, and occasionally a few of joes groans and grunts as he thrust hard into me. Right when I thought Joe was going as fast as he could, he started to go faster, hitting the same spot even harder before. Every time he hit the spot harder than before, the pleasure was accompanied by a little pain. Arching my back more than ever, I felt a knot in my stomach, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Scratching joes back hard, I knew for a fact that I was accidentally drawing blood. "I-I'm gonna-" I said, but I was cut off by joe thrusting hard into me. As soon as he reached his high, I did. My body began to slowly shake, mostly my legs, and my head curved to the side.

Joe looked at me, and he knew this was my best orgasm ever. My whole body was filled with pleasure, and I just wanted to feel it again and again, good thing joe lasts long. As soon as I came down from my high I opened my eyes and looked at joe. He was breathing heavier than usual and so was I. All I could think about was the pleasure joe just made me feel. Joe looked down at me as he put one hand on my waist. Me and joe looked into each others eyes as we breathed heavily. "We're gonna need more lube." I said out of breath. Joe slowly got off of me, his dïck still hard. Looking down at it, I was always surprised at how it fit inside of me. Joe went to go grab the lube as I laid on the bed, trying to cool off. Looking over at joe, he was now walking over, but this time with the bottle in his hand to put closer to the bed. "Can I have some?" I asked, wanting to put some on me. I scooted over to the middle of the bed again as he walked closer to me.

Joe flipped open the lid and squeezed some out on my fingers. Spreading them around my two fingers, I began to touch myself. Looking up at joe, he was looking at me touching myself and got Somewhat jealous that I could pleasure myself too. Rubbing the lube inside my folds, I went up to my sore and sensitive clit and started rubbing a circle in it as a moan escaped my mouth. Joe tossed the bottle the side and grabbed my wrist, climbing on top of me to stop me from touching myself. Smiling, I kissed joes lips. Joe opened his mouth and plunged his longing tongue into my mouth. Moaning into the kiss, I put my hands on his waist, Trying to flip us over. Joe noticed what I was trying to do so he grabbed onto me and flipped us over so I was on top and his boner was hitting my back. Going down low, I began to kiss his lips. Pulling away, joe reached for my lips with his, but I started kissing his neck instead. "Jordyn." He sighed my name, wanting me to ride him. "Patience." I teased. Sitting up, I went over his dïck, but instead of going down on him, I started kissing his Adam's apple.

Soon, I started Trailing kisses down his stomach. When I got to his V line, I began to kiss and suck hard, getting a few sighs and groans out of Joe. Moving around his V line, I left around 3 hickeys before trailing back up. After, I stopped at his pecks and started to suck around his nipple, leaving hickeys there too. After I gave him a few hickeys, I moved down to the sides of his torso, kissing him there too. Seeing him flex his abs, it let me know I was turning him on. Finally, I went over top of his dïck and started touching my breasts, knowing Joe loved to leave hickeys on and under them. "Fuck, jordyn. If you don't hurry-" joe said, stopping at the end. I kind of wanted to know what he would do, but I definitely was not ready for that. Putting one of my hands on joes abs, I grabbed his boner with the other one so I could go down on it easier.

Going down, I went far enough down that his tip entered me. Sighing, I went down farther, moaning. Joe sighed and grabbed onto my waist, not liking that I was going slow, but knew that I needed a little bit before going faster. Sitting all the way down, he was all the way in me, and I moaned loudly. "Oh fuck." I moaned, leaning forwards, not meaning to go all the way down that fast. Going up, I started to create a rhythm on his dïck. I went up, down, front, back, and even side to side when he was all the way in which was his favorite. Moans escaped my mouth as I rode him faster and faster as the pain turned to pleasure. Going from a different angle, I hit that spot that caused moans to overflow and spew out from everywhere. When I finally hit it, I went up and down only in that spot. Picking up the pace, my legs started to hurt, and I knew I couldn't do this for much longer.

"J-joe." I moaned. As soon as I started to hit that spot, I slowed down. Joe knew that always around this time, I slowed down. Joe lifted me up and now he was completely out of me. Then, joe moved his hips up and down, going in and out of me. I began Moving down a little bit so it was easier for joe to go in and out of me. "Don't stop." I moaned as joe started to go faster. Finally, he hit that spot again. Moaning loudly and a lot, I felt a knot forming in my stomach. As soon as I started to feel a knot, I put my head back and closed my eyes, moaning a lot. All of a sudden, Joe was really picking up speed and it started to hurt more than anything. Joe could see in my face and my changing moans that it started to hurt. Joe slowed down and took one hand and began to message my clit slowly to relieve some pain. Within a matter of seconds, the pain turned to pleasure again. Moaning out of pleasure, the knot in my stomach returned and I threw my head back more. Moaning one last time, the knot in my stomach released. As soon as I released, Joe pulled out and held my hips.

My body began to shake again as I collapsed on joes body, Moaning one last time as I rode my high. Laying on joes body, I knew joe didn't finish yet and he was doing it on purpose. When joe could tell I was ready again, he flipped me around so I was on all fours. No way we were doing this, we've never done this position before, but I was all in. "Are you okay with this?" Joe asked. "Just use lube." I said, getting kind of nervous now. Joe grabbed the lube and began to put it on his still hard dïck. I must be really horny because usually I'm dead by the first round, and right now, I can only think of one thing, joe. Joe threw the lube to the side and started to ease his way into me.

Joes hands went on my waist as he started to go in and out. Moaning hard, I gritted my teeth and gripped onto the sheets hard. Joe started to thrust in me harder until my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Letting out a really loud moan when he hit my spot, I backed up onto him, wanting him to keep hitting that spot. With joes hands on my waist, he would pull out a little, and thrust back into me while forcing me backwards so we could go even faster. The clapping sounds were almost as loud as our groans as I moaned from the pleasure. This was the fastest we've ever gone before, and it showed by our moans and grunts. My back started to fold as I was exhausted now but Joe kept going, wanting to ride out his high. Because of this, Joe slowed down a tiny bit, wanting me to reach my high. My last high always took a little longer than the rest to come, and joe knew that.

Then, my arms began to give out, and my head was now in the sheets. Joe reached down and grabbed my hands, putting them behind my back, wanting me to stay like that. Moaning loudly, I turned my head to the side, "Mh-Mh-mh-mh." I moaned every time he would thrust back into me. Tears were steaming down my face by now, and my bottom lip was almost bleeding from how hard I was biting it. Joe held my hands tightly and picked up the pace, causing the pleasure to be better than ever. Loud moans escaped my mouth, and joe grunted with each hard thrust into me. Then, I felt a knot in my stomach so I backed up onto him, making him go farther and hit my spot more than ever. "Oh joe!" I moaned loudly, feeling my high rush over me. I felt a knot in my stomach, and soon, I released, but joe didn't yet. I started to shake, and now it hurt because Joe was thrusting in and out, trying to reach his high too. I let out a few painful moans, but wanted joe to finish too. Joe knew I finished, so he let go of my Hands, releasing some of the pain. "Just...a little Longer." Joe grunted, thrusting in and out of me, wanting more, the pleasure for him too much to stop right now.

The friction picked up, and I wasn't really wet anymore. I looked back at joe as he put his fingers in his mouth. Joe then brought them to my core and used his spit to make me wetter so the pain wasn't as bad. Soon, joe got sloppy, and out of rhythm, so I could tell he was close. Finally, joe twitched inside of me but stayed inside of me as he rode out his high. Then he finally pulled out of me. I let out one last moan as joe, now bonerless, collapsed next to me, breathing heavily. "That was-" joe started to say, but I cut him off. "Amazing." I said, finishing his sentence.

#joe burrow #joeburrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fic #nfl #nfl fan fiction #so much smut #joe burrow smut

[lilyofthevolume]

#ao3 fanfic #bridgerton #fanfic #polin #bridgerton season 3 #carriagescene #smut #so much smut

[piscesboar25]

Shout out to @seizethegrey for this beautiful piece of work that has inspired me to just want to draw these two. So much drama, so much glorious smut.😉

#critical role #fan art #essek thelyss #lucien tavelle #caleb widogast #fanfic #so much drama #so much smut #glorious really

[mqverick]

buick roadmaster | ₊˚⊹ᰔ

mature themes, +18

rough smut included, consider yourselves warned

“Because I’m going deeper and deeper

Harder and harder”

─── ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ───

“I don’t want to be demanding here, but… could you say maybe ten — twelve words to me before we get to the hotel?” you asked Charlie, half frustrated, half smiling at him, trying not to look too pissed off. It had almost been an hour ever since he’d begun driving, not even bothering to turn the radio on. Just dead silence.

Charlie glanced over at you, then returned his attention to the street, driving quietly with opaque eyes. You sighed, hand coming up to your forehead as you rubbed the skin between your eyebrows in despair, not knowing what to do.

“…Consider it foreplay,” you tried again, this time more playfully, hoping to get him in the feels.

Instead of saying anything, though, he just smirked discreetly, secretly loving being busted by you. “Glad we decided to spend the weekend together, gives you two whole days to bitch at me,” he eventually replied. As a response, you scooted over and knelt his thigh, crossing your arms as you looked forward with narrowed eyes. “What, you’re not talking to me now?”

God, the nerve of that man.

“If you’re so damn worried that you can’t look like you’re not holding back a giant shit, call your dumb service. I took Friday off because I wanted to spend three nice days with my loving boyfriend, who apparently is the biggest, pompous jerk I’ve ever met.”

Charlie chuckled sarcastically, still not giving the slightest care of looking at you, his gaze firmly locked on the road ahead of you. “So that’s what’s on my mind, huh? The service?”

“I sure hope it’s not another woman,” you replied with the same snarky tone, your head now leaned against the widow as you also refused to look at him. You could feel the radiation of his proud, teasing smirk burning you, nevertheless.

“Maybe it’s three other women.”

Oh, he just loved keeping the tension going, didn’t he? Hadn’t you had enough patience and experience of his almost childish behavior after dating (and baring) him for a whole year, you would’ve grabbed the steering wheel from him and crash the car right into the nearest tree. Sometimes, you wondered how you put up with him, with how full of himself he was.

You saw his motor running and huffed. How convenient, you thought, urging him to pick up.

“Maybe they’re calling you right now.” With flared nostrils, you punched up the speed dial on the car phone, hearing the electronic beeps as Charlie continued ignoring you. His nerves were at the surface, fingers gripping unintentionally hard onto the steering wheel as he pushed his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose, scratching the spot there for just a second.

“Babbitt,” he called.

“Two calls from a Mr. Bateman. You want the number?” the voice operator spoke and you the way Charlie closed his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you as you slowly turned your body around so that you could see him better, getting worried.

Quietly into silence, “No.”

“Oh, okay. Then there’s, uh — oh shit. There’s this, um, Mr. Mooney, says he’s your father’s lawyer in Chicago… your father died, sir.”

Charlie clicked off the line, interrupting the call. Driving with one hand, the other one sat on his lap, looking for something to fiddle with, doing eighty. He was shaken, that you could tell, even though he was putting up the biggest effort not to let it show. All the previous anger you felt about him was long gone, taken over by compassion.

“Oh, Charlie. Are you all right?” you asked, your fingertips reaching for the side of his face, but he shook them away, strangely cold and distant. You just stared at him, unable to read him as he pulled off the road, trying to turn. No reply to your question, struggling to keep up the façade.

“Sorry about the weekend, hon,” he mumbled lowly, turning the car around. Was he serious? Did he really think all you cared about was Palm Springs? You opted to maintain your calm.

“The weekend? Charlie…?”

You found it weird, how little emotion he showed. Charlie always tempted to do things like that, completely leave you out of his thoughts, pretend that nothing had ever bothered you. It annoyed you, sure, but mostly, it caused you sadness. You wanted to be there for him, let him know that he could count on you whenever he was feeling bad, if only you knew what was going on in that mind of his. He was really good at hiding his reactions and feelings from everyone as well.

“Didn’t mean to ruin our trip, I’ll make it up to you, though, I promise,” he announced weakly. “Look, we… uh, we hated each other. Mom died when I was two and it’s been me and him ever since.”

You reached for his face again, this time more gently. Charlie accepted your touch, leaning into it for comfort as he closed his eyes just for a short moment. That was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him — that he’d ever let you seen him.

“Did he not treat you well?” you asked, stroking his hair carefully, smoothing it back.

“Beat me up. Emotionally, I mean. Nothing I did was ever good enough… I dealt with it, eventually. Learnt to ignore and let go. Hated him.”

To you, it explained a lot about why Charlie had been behaving like that. It was how he’d grown up, having to shield himself from the others. It hurt you that you couldn’t seem to be helpful for him, hurt you when he abruptly pulled away from your touch away, swallowing back his feelings.

“We’ve been dating for a year. When were you planning to tell me all this? Let me be there for you, Charlie, I’m sick and tired of always having to guess what’s on your head.” But he was back to being silent and acting as if he couldn’t hear you.

Putting up his guard again, not allowing himself to show you how he really felt. You hated him.

“I’m talking to you,” you said in a demanding tone. “Stop fucking playing a game with me. I’m your fucking girlfriend, I should know how to comfort you for Christ’s sake, but you pull away all the damn time! It’s always one step forward and a whole airplane flight back with us. Quit pushing me away every time I try to understand you, it’s exhausting.”

“Not one of these again,” Charlie whispered under his breath as he sighed too loudly for your liking.

“What? Doesn’t it concern you that you had to say ‘again’ in that sentence? You exclude me from everything that’s going on in your life, maybe you’d like to do something about it, just for a change?” you begged sarcastically.

“Fine, you want to talk? Let’s talk. How was your day, honey?” Charlie questioned with indifference, not bothering at the slightest to hide how much he felt like he itched to piss you off.

“I don’t want to talk, I want to—”

“No, you wanted to talk, let’s talk. C’mon, tell me, how have you been doing? Had a nice day? How was it, tell me everything about it, come on.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you mouthed, unbuckling yourself free from your seat. “Stop the car, I want to leave.” But once again, he pretended like he hadn’t heard anything from what you’d said.

“Not going anywhere,” you were simply given.

“No, you know what? One whole year and you haven’t once told me how you feel about me. It’s as though we’ve been stuck on the third date stage, going out for dinner and then fucking. That’s all we do. I’m not asking you to explain everything to me, just let me know that you feel comfortable confiding in me, trusting me. What if I wanted to meet your parents one day? When would you have told me that your mother had died and that you and your father didn’t speak? Relationships are about care for each other.”

“I care about you, you know that.”

You looked over at him with unsure eyes. You’d doubted Charlie’s faith in you before and maybe that was the problem with your relationship. You loved him, loved him dearly — had been in love with him ever since you began dating him. You knew he was capable of showing you a caring side, which was rare, but still very existing.

You believed you loved him enough for the two of you. None, however, had ever expressed that to each other. Spent days, weeks, months, patiently waited for him to make the move, do something romantic or even just spit it out awkwardly while watching a movie or cuddling in bed. But no, Charlie’s head was more stubborn than a donkey and if there was one thing he was good at, it was constantly shielding himself and drawing you away. As if he hated being in a relationship.

“Do I?”

And it killed him. Killed him how incapable he was of reassuring you that for him, it was pretty much over since the day he met you. How he’d bottled up all the things he wanted to say to you, how important you were to him, his only family.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered lowly enough for you to unintentionally miss it.

“If you’re not ready for a relationship, Charlie, I won’t force you to be in one. And for fuck’s sake stop the fucking car already!” But he wasn’t stopping, wasn’t anywhere near stopping; instead only sprinted faster into the empty road. The wind was blowing through his hair, throwing it on top of his forehead as he pushed it aside, annoyed.

You hair was probably a mess too, for all you cared. You were furious with him, with how little he’d let you know him, how you’d almost never been a part of his life. If only you knew.

“You don’t get to go, I need you,” he yelled, voice loud enough for the first time during the car ride for you to actually hear. He was mad too and you didn’t even know why — no, but honestly — he had no right. No right to even have the smallest, tiniest bit of irritation into his body, when he was the only one responsible for all of this.

“You don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you gritted through your teeth, glaring holes into his head. “Now stop the fucking car or I’ll hit the brakes and we’ll both fly the fuck forward into the glass.”

“All right, stop you want?” Charlie asked, abruptly taking a turn that almost sent you out of the window, holding onto your stomach and the seatbelt that you’d unfastened earlier. “Then stop you’ll fucking get.” He was being insane with it, driving ridiculously fast, you were certain he was planning to end your lives once and for all.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you screamed, regretting the moment you’d decided it would be sane and safe to not be wearing a seatbelt while on a car with a man who barely knew how to contain his anger tantrums.

“You wanted to stop, so we’re stopping the car. I’m stopping the fucking car!” he yelled back, slapping the steering wheel so loudly and with so much force that he accidentally winced in pain.

You were holding on for dear life, clutching onto the fabric of the seats and holding your breath down your throat, when he finally stopped with a turn that you were sure was a death sentence.

You didn’t even know where you were, where he’d driven. Your brain was permanently off after that reckless driving of him, making it clearer for you that you needed to leave him or at least threaten him about ending the relationship, giving him a break. There was no way he’d ever be clear enough to think straight, though, especially after your argument, especially after his dad’s death.

Man, he was really getting one slap after another.

“You’re not capable of handling a relationship, then you don’t fucking get to be in one! Go fuck yourself, Charlie!” you shouted at him as your hand went to clasp around the door’s handle, furious at him, but before you could even realize what was happening, Charlie had yanked you back by your shirt, sending you flying into his lap.

You yelped and tried to free yourself from his grasp, but he was holding you so tightly on him that you couldn’t move besides wiggle your legs. He looked both troubled and pissed, unsurprisingly hard to read. His eyes were cold and sharp, sparking as they glowered at you.

He wanted to say something. You could tell by the way his lips subconsciously moved as if he had the words right on the tip of his tongue, but were being choked up by him. He was weak with words, always had been. He thought of them as an action that you couldn’t take back, something like a pearl in your head that you’d be able to roll around as you reminisce. He hated words.

The second time you tried to pull away from him, he kissed you. Attached his lips forcefully into yours, causing you to gasp and completely stop moving. It took you a little to comprehend the situation, but once the warm feeling of his mouth moving against yours kicked in, you reciprocated the kiss with the same urge and compulsion.

“I need you,” he murmured into your ear as he rubbed his nose against the soft flesh of your cheek, wrapping his hands around you so tightly that he wouldn’t have to worry about you trying to make an escape again. With each hand firmly positioned on the sides of his neck, you pulled him down on top of you, laying uncomfortably on top of the seats. You didn’t even care if your back was hurt by hitting the transmission stick a little too hard, or how he’d accidentally pulled a few hairs from a strand that was covering your face.

You lifted your leg up as he crashed his lips into yours again, extending over the top of the console and wrapping it around his waist, arousal already pooling in your underwear. Charlie had his way of kissing you; knew exactly how long it took you to get weak for him, to shut your mind off and beg him for more. He loved using it against you.

Loved how it turned you on the same amount it did for him. His left hand travelled in your hair, pulling it from the ends. His right was around your waist, just under the rim of your shirt, gripping your hip. His tongue peaked out of his mouth, exploring yours before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your lips, detaching abruptly and creating a thin string of saliva between the two of you. His breath was hard to catch and so was yours, both still incredibly mad at one another. He stared at you blankly for a second, his hard-on growing against his pants as he looked over at your swollen, wet lips.

“You fucking dick,” you snarled under your breath as you angled your knee outward until it was tight on the dashboard. You urgently unbuttoned your jeans, then pulled him back toward you, kissing him passionately as your left hand searched for his, leading it downwards and eventually pressing it firmly onto your mound. Charlie groaned into your mouth, cock twitching painfully against the hard material of his trousers. He let his fingers feel down your body, stroking your clothed leg as his palm curved over your butt and down the back of your thigh. His touch was your cause of death.

“Scoot a little,” he instructed you, struggling to pull down your jeans, accidentally hitting the top of his head against the roof of the car. You tried to suppress the automatic laughter, simply choking out a chuckle, which Charlie hushed away the very moment he ground his covered erection on your pulsing core, soaked through your panties.

Your moan came out ridiculously loud, shadowing the pleased hum that fell from his lips due to the feel of your warmth and wetness, almost convincing himself that he was just a second away from losing it when he hadn’t even gotten to touch you yet. You took the chance to knee him in the crotch, livid at the fact that he was smirking at how ready you were for him, feeling all proud of himself, knowing that he was the only one to ever offer you that feeling — that kind of pleasure.

Charlie looked at you with lustful, blown pupils. You were pretty sure you were as much of a mess as he was, hair combed, clothes half off, red neck and ears, swollen lips and glassy eyes. You grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, the only thing covering your chest know being a black lacy bra. You swore you felt an orgasm creep up inside of you as the pad of his thumb made contact with your clit through the underwear, biting so hard down on your lip in order to not scream his name from the top of your lungs, hips subconsciously thrusting against his hand. You were embarrassed, on one side, but on the other, you couldn’t care less.

After all that was done, you were out.

Out of the car and out of his life, you’d decided.

“Fucking touch me already,” you demanded, but he responded negatively to your tone, pinning you down on the seat so tightly that it caused you to let out a tiny wince. With one hand, Charlie held your wrists down and over your head, while the other finally shoved your underwear out of the way. For a contemplative minute, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be mad at you.

How much he loved having you like this.

But he wasn’t going to say anything just yet. Maybe another time, in another case, where he wouldn’t utter it out during sex talk, where he was stronger than that, put his pride last instead of first. He didn’t want to break up with you, ever. To him, you were the one. It was hard to express, complex to explain — bless his heavy heart strings that only allowed him to pick all the wrong talks, places and times.

“Y’feel so good,” he murmured into your ear as he entered a finger into you, carefully enough not to hurt you with the rings he had on. “You fucking kill me whenever I see you. You’re too much, I can’t handle you, I just can’t.” The word came out of his mouth like honey and you had to dig your nails into his back, over his shirt, to stop yourself from cumming undone right then and there.

His finger curled inside your walls, following all the small bends and curves of the part of your body that needed him the most, sluggishly applying pressure and picking up place.

Your juices are dripping down your thighs, thing that helped him to easily add another finger in you. The mixture of his low groans, your choked moans and the slapping sounds of his hand rawing you was probably the biggest turn-on you’d ever experienced. All that in the middle of an empty street, in public view. All one had to do was peak over the windows of his car.

“Keep doing that, I’m so fucking close,” you purred into Charlie’s lips as you kissed him, giving permission to your hands to travel around the waistband of his trousers and undo the zipper.

“Yeah?”

“I want to fuck you.”

“Maybe another night,” Charlie replied with sureness as he suddenly dragged his fingers out of you and rubbing them against the skin of his bottom lip. You both wanted to punch the life out of him and not say anything at all, just enjoy the view of him licking your precum off his hand.

The image was so insanely sexy that you could orgasm just by looking at him and nothing else.

Charlie finally threw his black shirt off somewhere into the backseats, his trousers coming up next as he stood on top of you with just his boxers, which were pretty much a whole other level of mess; leaking with his own precum. He’d never looked so pretty before, so blown away.

It was visible to anyone with a single brain cell that he wanted to fuck you in a way of letting you know that you had no place to leave him, that he needed you more than anyone and more than ever. You opted not to comment on it, instead, leaving him be. Charlie loved angry sex, anyway.

Seemed that you were right after all — the twelve words he’d spoken had been the best foreplay.

“Charlie, I need you,” you pleaded beautifully, so desperately that he discarded his gray boxers immediately, taking his throbbing cock into his hand as he grazed the tip over your entrance, torturing you just a little. You cried out, wanting more, tired of his games. His heart pounded, close to beating right out of his rib cage.

Fuck it, he decided, as both of his hands grabbed your left hand and placed your open palm on his chest, right over his heart, and let it linger there. For the first time that night, you could finally understand what was going on behind his eyes. You smiled as he let go of your hands, running his fingers through your hair and gently guiding your face closer to his, eventually leaning himself in to rest his forehead on yours.

When he thrusted for the first time, you were already chasing after your high (and you were pretty sure the same thing could be applied to him as well.) The grunt he breathed was insane, sending you to heaven and back as you moaned along, realising that you didn’t want to repress yourself any longer. If he were to get cocky and insufferable, then so be it. You’d been used to it.

Your fingers flew into his hair, pulling at it and encouraging him to go deeper and harder. Charlie happily obliged, getting the message instantly as he whispered your name through every groan, beads of tension gripping one body on top of the other. Both his mind and vision were blurry as his thrusts frantically took off to a steady pace, fucking you so deeply, so roughly that he was sure it was hurting you. Why weren’t you stopping him? Why weren’t you telling him to slow down?

“Harder,” you hoarsed, and it nearly rocked his world. Charlie was quick to accomplish your request, filling you up with his dick so nicely as he fucked you through the pleasant moist of your combined bodily juices. He couldn’t comprehend how you weren’t scared of him damaging your body; instead taking lazy glances at you just to figure out that you were loving it, embracing him just right as you clenched so tightly against his dick, squeezing him gut-wrenchingly hard.

“Fuck — ‘m not going to last any longer,” he confessed while pressing his eyes shut, pursing his lips and trying not to fall apart on you yet.

“Just a little bit, Charlie,” you croaked, digging wounds into the muscles of his back with your nails, letting the roughness of his grinds and thrusts vibrate through your entire system, get you pathetically weak under his weight.

“‘M going to cum.” And with that, he gripped onto the sides of your outer thighs as he held still while still deep inside you, releasing hot jets of cum into you as you clamped down on his cock, following with your own earth shattering orgasm. You felt so full, so vulnerable and so fulfilled, all at the same time and it was overpowering. With an exhausted, loud groan, Charlie collapsed on top of you, squishing you as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, placing small pecks down on the curve of your shoulder as he tried to catch both his breath and untamable heartbeat.

“Charlie, I…”

“I just want to hear that it’s not over,” he interrupted you, still a bit breathless as you gave him a puzzled look. “I mean… I’m scared it’s over. Everything you said was right about me. I can’t offer you much, I’m terrible with relationships and I’m very fucking terrified of trusting someone. I’m not really good at showing my feelings.”

“There are many things you’re not good at.”

“I know. I know and I’m scared of getting my heart broken, because I genuinely believe I won’t be able to last one second without you. I’m in love with you,” Charlie finally confessed, trembling as he looked you dead in the eyes, hoping to catch the tiniest hint of response from them.

Your jaw hung slightly agape at his words, never in a million years expecting to hear him drop those words out of his mouth. You were on the verge of tearing up, grabbing him by the sides of his face as you pulled him down to kiss him sweetly on the lips, lingering there longer than needed. Charlie sighed in relief, chuckling with pure joy as he heard the following sentence reassuringly fall from your lips; “I love you too.”

FIN.

again, this is for my favourite person on earth @honeymvnt i hope you’ll like this ml 🫶🏼🎀

#charlie babbitt oneshot #charlie babbitt x reader #rain man x reader #rain man #tom cruise oneshot #tom cruise #so much smut #kinda depressing #there’s fluff too #pete maverick mitchell #maverick fanfic #maverick fluff #maverick x reader #maverick x you #pete mitchell #tom cruise x reader #tom cruise imagine #it’s midnight

[punk-in-docs]

🥀 Traps With Baited Jaws 🥀 Prince Paul x Reader || 14.8k words || Part III

Summary: There’s a snake in the palace garden. Blood spattered on Catherine’s shrubs. Reader learns that Ruling all of Russia comes at a gutting price- (TW so much subby!Paul smut, violence, mentions of gore/death)

Suka - Term mostly used for women, meaning ‘Bitch’

Mudak - Term used for men, it mostly means asshole, pig, basically a derogatory term for a man.

General Abramov was practically pacing long groves, in the parquet floors outside your quarters.

The doors were closed. No signs of life stirred behind them. None. Stone cold dead. Quiet as the grave.

It was a quarter past ten. The Tsarevich was due half an hour ago, to join Minister Panin in negotiations with the Turkish Ambassador. Who famously was of a grizzly temper, and didn’t like to be kept waiting.

Subsequently, the man now had a face like bottled up thunder. Sat across the table tapping his fingers on the wood. His aides were getting twitchy and pissy. Scurrying to his side to whisper more snide discontent in his ears in their mother tongue.

They offered wine and cakes. They offered vodka. They almost offered some agreeable plump-thighed courtesans. But it wouldn’t sway the bastards. Sharp brown eyes scratched glares like arrow tips across the table.

Abramov volunteered to leave the huge echoing room. Snappish. Tensions swimming down tight like a noose on the Russians. He politely said he’d hurry the Prince along. The ambassador gave him a chilly stare. Gaze packed in frost.

You do that.

Find out what’s so important to that insolent Boy Prince, to keep us waiting.

The General bowed jovially in parting. Waddled his portly way the hallways to Paul’s chambers. Sword clattering at his rounded side. He scooted along. Sweat beading under his wigged brow. Matching his red cheeks.

He’d knocked loud enough to wake the hounds of hell. And then he decided enough was enough. He jiggled the handle and it twisted.

He let himself into the private lounge. The rooms where the Prince would dine. A lounge where they’d light the fires. Masculine port reds soak heavily on the walls. Golds and creams layered daintily on the furniture, like whipped cream dolloped on a dark cake.

It goes beyond the General’s notice to spot a wriggled pair of stockings thrown over the back of the settee. Cushions squashed from the previous crush of bodies. A suspicious wet patch sullying the silk. One pair of mauve ladies heels cast across the floor.

Evidence of a salacious night the evening past.

Catherine’s silky miniature greyhounds are in here. The maid let them in. The mutts were thieving the food that hasn’t been yet cleared by the servants. Leftover essences of last nights dinner.

Blue cheese and French bread. A bowl of ripe grapes, apples and oranges. Two used glasses of wine. One knocked over, broken. Crimson blooms into the persian rug. Bleeding expensive Portuguese wine. No one will care.

The dogs are thieving bread crusts, fruit, and leftover bones. Munching on the plushy pink centres of cut open figs and gnawing ham bones. They yip and sprint away licking their spoilt greasy chops when Abramov came storming in.

The pocket doors to the bedchamber are half closed. Pushed up but not shut. The General is walking too angrily and too quickly to stop and devour the noises coming from behind those doors.

The room filled with wet sounds sneaking from the spaces where your bodies vigorously net.

“Your Majesty.” He begins as he determinedly cuts through Paul’s quarters.

When he rounds the open doors and sees what’s happening on the bed, mortification roundhouse punches him in the stomach. His glaring pink cheeks get pinker - eyes blow wide like spode saucers.

You and Paul, not at all covered the twisted cotton sheets laying limp to the mattress.

He’s laying back. And you’re riding him. Winding your hips to slam down on his cock.

Head thrown ceiling bound. Hair wild and kinked down your back. Cheeks red. Body rendered in shimmering sweat. His hands clutch the cradle of your hips. Fingertips digging dips into the meat of your skin.

He’s in the same state. Sweat licked skin. Eyes so dark they’re black tar stuck on the sight of you. Brown curls damp at the brow. Cheeks all rushed red. It spreads down his neck too.

You love when it does that. You drag your nails over the blush. Leave white lines raked through.

General Abramov is a witness to the way you grind your hips, all to make your husband buck and writhe below you.

Paul’s eyes widen just a little at being caught. Too wrapped up in the bliss of your cunt to fully care.

He almost goes to grab the damp sheets. Or move. Or rectify, or-just, something. Yell and tell him to get out, when he can manage to find his churlish tongue.

Because, fuck, your hips were just that good. He’s drunk on you.

You shove a hand flat to his sternum and make him stay down - your breasts jolt as you ride your husbands cock. You don’t care if the General sees you. Even more than he’s already undeservedly glimpsed.

The man flounders on the spot for a moment. Caught in the ragged chafing space between embarrassment and mortification.

You twist, panting and look the General right in the eyes where he stands gawping. Long coils of hair sticky and clinging on your forehead.

Narrow your bladed eyes and cut his skin with a look that’s all displeasure and amusement. Prickly as a pretty rose bush. To be adored, admired, but make no foolish mistake, your thorns will prick out blood.

It’s true what they say about you. You are all slicing knives, coated in bitchiness.

You look displeased. Yet you smile. It’s all manner of brazen. Lips way too red and wet from sucking on your husbands cock before the position you find yourselves in now. You’ve no shame.

“I’m not done with him yet.” You insist.

Ultimate authority in your tone. Purring sultry breathy words like the sex kitten you are.

“Now, fuck off Abramov. You may have him. When I’ve finished.”

Unspoken threat follows sharply after your carefully plucked but nettling words; Kindly fuck the hell off so I can cum.

He stumbles through an apology to your majesties and bolts from the room like his heels are lit on fire. Like hell hounds are snapping at his coat tails too.

You hardly hear the receding footsteps. General Abramov’s bright red face glowing as he chuffed in displeasure and made a hasty retreat. Good. Tubby old letch.

Paul chastised you.

Overlapping his cross chide is the slam of the door that rattled the air. “That mouth.” He growled in fondness.

“The mouth that you had wrapped around you not too long ago. You were saying very different things about it then.” You point out.

You shift your hips and resume your pattern. You had been edging him for nearly an hour now. He’s all blushy and ready to blow. Just a little longer.

He sits up, chest mashed to yours, and shuffled your hips further on him. Hands scooping under your ass and bringing you close as was possible.

And then he doesn’t care at all, cause he’s smothering his mouth over your breasts and your perfectly hard nipples, and they bounce to his lips where you continue to ride him to a full gallop.

Those hips of yours should be outlawed. Fucking divine.

He’s licking your nipples and letting them fall into his open, searching mouth. Moving his head to time with your thrusts on and off his cock. Plucking with lips and tongue.

You get sweet. Soft on him maybe

Decide to lean back and let his hot mouth and seeking lips wander the sweat trails on your skin.

So dirty. This prince of yours had some of the filthiest desires you’d ever known. Debauched. Debased. He’s always ready to lap you clean after a hard fucking. Beg on his knees. Let’s you choke on his cock for hours, if that’s what you so desired. Prostates himself on the altar of your dignity.

You purr moans right now as he licks at your nipples.

Your interruption was paid no heed. He’d deal with it later. Much later. After you’d finished having your wicked delightful way with him.

Your nails are scratching up the nape of his neck. Tugging the brown locks in a mean fist. You bring his head up to watch his reaction when you clench down on him.

“Seeings as you find my behaviour so objectionable. Perhaps I should stop?” You judge.

Thrusting your hips forwards in a silky sway that gets his mouth going slack. Buried between your shoulder and your neck as he hiccuped a sob.

“Would you rather I cease, my prince?” You ask.

Twist of the knife. Salt rubbed in a gaping wound. You ask so sweetly. Yet still you roll your hips.

There’s a little glaze of fiery hatred in his eyes. But he knows if he doesn’t behave he won’t get a single thing.

“Please. Don’t stop. Please. Never stop.” He begs. His voice crawls into that soft broken territory between pleading and desperation. Hands palming your dewy hips as he nudged his nose against your shoulder.

He’s weary and sweaty and rubbing himself all over you like a cat in heat. Sweat licked skin. Desperate pretty boy with his lashes draping a long flick of burnt umber onto his cheeks, as he bites his lips and begs begs begs.

You’d kept up this soft teasing for hours. Especially last night.

At dinner was when you started. Afterwards during the Opera was when you kept it going.

Sat next to him in the red and gold encrusted box and drove him wild.

You started by caressing your fingertips just up his thighs. Over his tight white breeches. Palming his cock over them. Making him close his eyes and whine like a kicked puppy.

You’re a cruel cruel mistress with it. Every time he hummed, or moved, or adjusted, shyly asking for more, with a shove of his hips forwards to your hand, you pulled away.

Diamond bracelets rattling on your wrists. The way you looked so smug. Had his teeth grinding to dust.

Desire spurned with so much love and hatred it could swallow the blazing sun whole. Loathe at first sight and all that-

You watched the stage religiously as the Aria from the Soprano tripped into a stunning high C. Pitching higher and higher as Paul’s hips squirmed to your touch. And then-the horrible awful wretched burn of-

Nothing.

Leaving him to fester in the ache of a punishment. Hand pulled away again.

He had to swallow and bite his knuckles. You could see tears shimmering in his eyes. You wondered if he’d summon that bratty tongue and give you orders soon.

Listening to him breathe unevenly, all choppy, staring at the chalky opera scenery and fucking Greek marble plinths and columns on the foggily lit stage, with his cock pressed hard and painful up against the falls of his breeches.

You fan yourself and know he’s watching your hair swirl in the breeze. Your diamonds blazing in the dull light, linked around your neck.

The way they shift up and down with your every breath. Clasping your collarbones and fuck now he’s envious of a bunch of stones for being able to kiss your skin and he cannot?- torture.

He looks to your amused face for answers. Puppy doe eyes - slipped with tears-melting all genteel at you.

You give him that look. That knowing wifely look of ‘you will not cum until my say so.’

And how he knew it.

Trying to get you to budge would be like trying to move this entire palace over three feet, merely by pushing at the brick walls with your bare hands.

You scrape your nails up his thigh to dig in. A sting. Just a little pain. He could take it.

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Sweet rouge on his cheeks absolutely nothing compared to the real merlot blush underneath.

His jaw was tight, knowing that if he utters so much as one peep of a word, those fingers and that blissful touch of yours would flit away. Back to your own lap.

Poor baby boy prince.

He leaned over and hissed into your ear. Clutching your hand where it laid over his cock.

This opera is going on for far too fucking long.

It’s a German opera my love. It may well last for a week.

He curses in his mother tongue.

When it does finally blunder to a finish? Oh he’s ripping you out that seat and out the box door before the final note even reaches top pitch. Before the velvet curtains slam together.

He practically ran you to his rooms he moved so quickly, so recklessly. Sweaty palm clutched hard and painful on yours. He’s tugging you along and you do let him. Spilling love-drunk into the night

The pair of your shoes clipping harsh on the parquet floors. It snaps to the high moulded ceilings. Along with the smoke that flickers from the flickering candelabras. You laugh when he shoves you into the alcove by by his doors. He kisses you like he wants to win you over.

Again. You let him. You let him devour your mouth like a sloppy teen with a fat clumsy tongue whose never even kissed a girl before.

You grab his cravat. Fist the tied cotton in your nails. Tumbling backwards on horny limbs through the doors to your chambers. Entwined.

Lips joined and roving over hungry plump mouths, passion bruised, burned alive as you bumbled your way, tangled legs, knocking knees, and into his bedchamber.

Your arm hooked around his neck. His took fists of your skirts and hauled you closer. Like a spoilt child clutching at his favourite toy.

“Please, please” He began. Your poor husband was treading softly on eggshells, the slightest kiss or the tease of your body against him giving him a hard-on he couldn’t get rid of. He aches. It hurts- he wants to sob already.

You decide to grant a little clemency in the middle of your fun.

You pull him in and push him onto the settee in your rooms. Shove him back til his legs give way. Making him crash down.

He drank this behaviour in, fucking flourished on this kind of attention.

He’s sprawled out. Cheeks red. You hook your fingers into, and then throw that stupid pompous ceremonial wig on his head across the room. You yank his trouser falls down one handed.

You saw the resulting grin that followed. The dark eyes clutched with lewd lust. He wanted to admonish you for stripping him of his courtly dress. But then you won’t give him what he needs.

Being married to you has been a lesson in biting his tongue. He both loathes and loved it in equal measure. No one can treat him like this but you-

Before he can even try asking and begging again, you’re wrapping your skilful lips and talented flicking tongue around his thick cock. Swirling around the head. Sucking deep. Swallowing him down.

Choking on his girth as his hands twitch to just bury themselves deep in your perfectly arranged, silky-sweep of hair. All coils and pearl pins. Refinement. Elegance.

And yet here you are with his cock buried in your mouth til your gagging. Like some common Parisian whore with smeared rouge.

You let him just clamber to the peak and then, you’re leaving him dry, pulling back with a hum, and a satisfied pop where he slicks out your mouth. Drool stringing down your tongue to his length. Hard cock shiny with your spit.

Watch him drop his head on the puffed up and plump settee cushions with a damn near pitiful, aroused whine. Hips shifting.

“Be good." You warned. You rose up and bit his lower lip in an aggressive kiss. Voice like harsh thunder. He sits up and drinks as much of a kiss out the cup of your mouth as he dared.

You back up to a stand. Pushing up with your hands from the furniture. Paul just looked up at you from his thrown position on the settee, all sprawled crashed limbs and hope worn naked on his face.

Pulling off what of your dress you could manage on your own. Making him watch your crude undressing. Brocade silk cast to the floor.

You lock eyes with him as you strip your clothes. Shoes kicked off. Leaving you in your stays, chemise and stockings. Anything else required more elaborate undressing. And time you simply didn’t have right now.

Every scrappy second was devoted to this man before you. Stood up, peering down on the lovely sight of him

“Are you going to behave for me, my Tsarevich?” You asked him, cupping his chin between a thumb and forefinger.

He’s quick to nod. Head bobbing like a wild lunatic obeying your commands.

“Going to follow my every command?” You check. You slip your hand off his chin.

Again. A nod.

“Knees. Now.” You bark out at him.

“Yes. yes.” He couldn’t twist his clumsy tongue around the words fast enough. He struggles off the settee and his knees crashed to ground - hard. Cock bobbing where he moved.

You take his place. Laying back. Spreading your knees wide. Pulling up your chemise until your slick pussy was exposed.

He swallowed. His pupils blew wide at the sight, enchanted. Tongue wetting his lips. Fingers itching to move.

“Lick-“

He dove into you.

Licked and sucked, nibbled, flicking skilfully against your clit and running the point of his tongue right up and down your slit. 

So enthusiastic, so greedy.

You reached over and soothingly grabbed a handful of his brown hair with a sigh, rocking your hips against his mouth.

He groaned into your folds and took it.

Lolling his head forwards as you ground your clit against his nose and slicked up his chin and all over his cheeks with arousal. 

“Finally putting that bossy mouth to good use, Hmm?” You moaned. Bucking into his searching mouth.

That voice that barked at his army. And often at you. Or scathed at his mother. And here he is being such a good boy with it. Like he was trying to eat you from the inside out.

He slurped at you as best he could. Hazily content to let you use his lips. Chocolate-drop eyes glassy, gazing with sheer dumbed bliss and awe up at you.

Contentment churned with gratitude, that you’re finally letting him get his mouth on this holy grail of your lush pussy. Feeding it to him.

“You getting all thoughtless my sweet?” You cooed, heat pooling in your gut at the sight of his face squished between your doughy thighs.

“Love eating me that much do you?” You murmur.

He hummed his answer into you.

“Mmmhmm.” Long and low, like hot drawling treacle, nodding, fingers bunching your skirts as you rocked against him.

The only thought behind those doe eyes, is that he desperately needs to make you cum.

Drunk on pussy. He’s making those moans. Your favourite kind. Eyes flicked back in his skull. Lost in your taste, and the sensory thrill of puffy wet lips gliding against his tongue.

Sweet submissive little noises endlessly trip out his mouth.

You can feel that low-gathering heat bunching up in your gut. He’s tonguing you into an orgasm so quickly. Sensation like fire sneaking up from your ankles up your thighs. Almost like an agony. Bliss stacking up in your bones ready to tip over.

“Mmm. Paul.” You groan all breathily. Your hand clutched hard in his hair. The other over your head and scratching nails into the settee silk.

A warning. A good kind of warning. One that meant he was pleasing you. He thrummed with bliss, neglected cock throbbing, and he’s licking harder.

Fuck, you were close. So very, very damn close. He got you there quick.

You sway your hips up and down to push against his sloppy lips. “Gonna cum. Right on your tongue. Would you like that, my darling?” You ask. Voice all high.

He nods. Furiously nods. It makes lewd wet sounds squelch out from between your thighs.

You start to pant with the way your orgasm rips through you like a devastation. It starts to uncoil and then it’s unleashed.

A natural storm that swelled and tugged and transformed. Legs shaking around his head. Knocking into his ears. Throwing your head back and crying out one long wail. Wetness of your climax seeped out of you and onto the silk of the settee seat. Smothered his chin and mouth.

“Paul. Oh, Fuuuck. Fuckkk.” You tug on the back of his hair and it must be mashing his face so deep into you, nose into your clit so that he could barely breathe-

He didn’t look the slightest bit bothered about gulping down air. Not when he was busy gulping down you.

You spilled into his mouth and he eagerly lapped you up. He finally took a breath as he rested his cheek against your thigh. Dozy grin on his dopey lips as you came back from your high.

Seeing this man shiny cheeked with your arousal. All blushy and slumped against your thigh, ye gods, it was almost as good as the incendiary sex the two of you have.

The future heir of all Russia. Slumped into you, brainless from eating you out. Will wonders never cease.

“Get me out these fucking stays Paul. And I will make you cum and cum until my legs give out.” Is your next order.

Laying back and purring at him from your resplendent sex-frazzled position.

He very obediently stands up and acquiesces instantly. Tearing your stays laces open. Stockings off and thrown over the settee back. Mouth hungrily sloppy slanted on yours.

Bed. Now. Wife.

He ripped your stays. An unfortunate casualty in the end. You couldn’t even care.

This is where it wound you both up. The morning after. You’re riding his cock and making him late to meet with the Turks.

You smirk when you think what they will ask Abramov on his return, and what his answer will be.

“Now. Be a good Prince. Lay back so I can fuck you properly.”

“This isn’t properly?” He asks with disbelief.

You reel him in and kiss him before you pull back and carelessly shove him down. The way he liked. Hand to sternum. And you shove-

He sprawled back on the mattress with a pretty grin that split his face in two. Hands sliding up your knees.

“Want me to fuck you or not?” You ask.

“God please. Please. I will throw myself on your mercy.” He begs.

“Go ahead. I don’t have much to contend with.” You warn him sharply.

Watching how he moans and drops his head back. Gasping and grasping at the sex mussed sheets. You start to swivel your hips. Figures of eight relentlessly. Cruelly.

“You’re so-“ The words evade him. He can’t decide if he wants to curse your blood or sing your praises.

“Careful. Or I won’t be generous. I’ll pull off. Leave you here to fist yourself in your own hand. Spill over your chest like an adolescent.” You sneer.

“You wouldn’t.” His lip trembles with some real horrific fear that you might leave him aching.

His fingertips seek for your legs. Clamping you onto him. Never leave. Ever.

He can’t even let you sleep in separate beds. Not even when you vex each other and snipe like fishwives over something inconsequential at court. Something you don’t see eye to eye on.

Even then, he goes off to his chamber to take a drink and calm down. Yet, come an hour later, and he’s climbing under your sheets with you. Pasting himself to your back with his face in your neck because-

His pillows smell like roses. Of course. They’re soft as anything in heaven. But what they don’t have, is the smell of your peachy perfume lingering on them. He needs that merely to drift off to sleep.

On nights like those, you tend to hate-fuck the aggression away. Take it out on each other. Bear scratches and bruises and tired half moon eyes the next morning. It’s worth it all to share that secretive dirty smile over a crowded room.

You both can’t forget that this crazy twisted path which ended up leading to love, did start in seething hatred and explosive enemy territory. You vexed him, he shoved you back. You kicked, he clawed, you scratched.

You loathed each other bitterly before you ever considered it could actually be passion, prevailing, blazing between you. Some nights you’re reminded of that fact and in the morning neither of you can walk properly. There’s bliss in it you could never give up. Not for all of Russia.

You run your fingers down his chest. Dig your nails in just a little. Press your fingertips over his taut nipples to get a whiny reaction. You smile when it comes.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You slide back down on him so he can feel how wet you’re getting.

“Your cock feels too good, my Prince.” You slam on him again and let him feel how you crush your walls in a tight squeeze on him. Choking his thick fat cock. Pleasure and pain in equal portions.

He’s laying back. All lip bites, blushy cheeks and stumbly moans. Unable to tear his shining eyes off you.

You give him so little all night, and took and took, and then you heap everything back upon him. Like now; riding him so fast you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist it for long.

You were slamming yourself to his hips and grinding right up against his soaked thatch of curls at the base of his cock. It had him close to tears. Your clit is almost numb with how much sensation you’re grinding out of him.

The wet slapping-slick sounds of your cunt sheathed tight around him echo obscenely in this bed. Crude as hell and so loud. It’s making him shiver to hear it.

You’re so wet he can feel you slurping against his body. Mess dribbled down to the inside of his own thighs.

“My love. Oh my- love my-your cunt is incredible. I can’t do it. I can’t hold off. I- hmmm.“ He blabbered. Pitchy. He can’t even round off his jagged little words. Throat corded and tense and veins wriggle and push up under his skin with the strained effort.

His body is jolting from how hard you’re riding him. You can feel him coiling tighter and tighter under you. His belly tenses. He’s thrusting his hips up to meet you. It batters that spot rooted far inside that makes your whole belly flutter.

You moan with pleasure and he’s eating it all up.

You adore the way the bed is slamming hard, knocking into the wall from the roll and knock of your hips.

“Better break this damn bed frame putting a baby in me.” You order. Dig your nails into his ribs again.

“Going to fill me up, Tsarevich? Hmm? Leave me dripping?” You enquire. Sultrily cooing the words at him. Liquid sex skated on your voice.

That did it.

His nails bite into your legs and he starts to chuff breaths like he simply can’t believe you. Can’t wrap his mind around your indecipherable form. Eyes wide and dazed. You catch them for barely a second before they flip back in his head.

You wreck him. You drive him to ruin. And he offers himself up to you for more. Push him right to the brink of abyss and snatch him back. You’d always snatch him back. He was yours to do so with.

You feel his cock pulse hard inside you. Spurting and blooming that delicious push of warmth low in your belly.

He whines when you won’t stop winding your hips in big wide circles to get every pulse of pleasure out of him. Capture every drop.

He cries for mercy. Throat bared as his head is all the way back to the sweaty mattress.

You eventually decide to give it. But not before succumbing to your pleasure. Throwing your head back and riding hard hard hard. Moaning for anyone to hear and you didn’t care who did.

Then you’re drenching-gushing in his lap when you cum. Gummy walls rippling down on him in a fluttering series of squeezes that make his brain wipe blank.

His hands are sweaty clamps on your waist as he watches in awe. Cup of his sweet pink mouth gaping. Oversensitivity brushing against his cock but, lord, this view of you he gets to have is entirely worth it.

You float down from your high. Sticky skin pasted to his where you flop into his chest. Thighs shivering with the strain. Feeling the warmth of his soft cock inside you. Messy where your bodies meet.

You indulged him in a kiss as he rakes his hands through the sweat dampened hair at the nape of your neck.

“So good for me. Always so good.” You pant against his lips. Biting his lower lip with a tigers proud smile. Heart clashing terrifying beats against the trap of your ribs. Same as his.

He’s quiet. Just gazes at you. Equally terrified and utterly beguiled by the fierceness of this hold you have over him. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. Every day in this court he treads a knifes edge that something will take you away. Something he can’t stop. Something he’s powerless against.

Then what will become of him-

Bliss is now furring up his tongue and stilling his head. All you can hear is the aggressive ram of your hearts as you lay atop him.

Dipping your fingers into his collarbone. Dragging them in patterns that smear his sweat over his torso. Down his slight pudge of a belly. The soft scratch of his happy trail. Up over every bump of his ribs.

You roll on your side and hiss when you shift up and off his cock. Almost sore from the rough ride you gave but you don’t divulge that. That would be admitting weakness and there’s no soft spots you can expose, not in the rough hyde of your ‘supposed’ scaly dragon skin.

Slick-creamy spend of him spills down your thighs. A ring of it left at the base of his cock. Shining wetly on the thatch of his dark pubes.

You smile with sight of it as you roll on your side and cuddle up close to him. Leg thrown over his hip. Hand a reliable weight resting on his sternum.

Wedding ring shining a bright snatching gold and glimmer of diamonds. Sweat wriggled down your chest and over your nipples and he’s hungry to stick them in his mouth again.

He skates his hands up your leg. Looking at you with a weepy and dazed expression.

You watch him a second. Before shuffling naked to sit up. You reach over and press your thumb into the space between his brows. As if you can rub the creasing frown away.

“Why the face my love?” You ask.

Because of course you eternally have your fingers hovering on the pulses of his every mood and want. The vital string of him deep inside you loved to toy with? You know it better than anyone ever has. It’s infuriating. Yet somehow incredible.

You can feel when something isn’t right. It’s eerie but you just can. Can judge what’s up with one flick of your eyes across his expression.

To you, he’s like those long daunting books you devour in the library. You trawl your diamond tip eyes over every secret line of him, and can easily read when something isn’t right.

Hysteria slams into his chest. Mangles his still throbbing heart that doesn’t, that can’t, calm down. He drapes his hand over yours on his ribs. Turns to meet your eyes.

He loves you. Proper honest to god, biblical, soul-deforming, aching perfect love.

And that frightens the hell out of him.

And he’s not just stumbling to this realisation because you’ve pushed him around into submission, and ridden his cock like an absolute champion. Well, not entirely-

You tilt your head and await his response. So many things unsaid sink into the plush bed of his tongue;

He’s so thankful his conniving draconic mother brought you here. Summoned you from Rostov to entertain him and get him off her back.

He’s so happy for every sneer you give him. Every shared look that sent shivers, cast over a ballroom swimming in good golden candlelight and the other half falling into spots of shadow.

He’s so soothed when he comes back from another argument, locking antlers with his mother, and you’re there in his quarters.

In your exotic plum silk dressing gown, hair down, soft, no angles present, pouring him wine and pulling him in for a plump kiss to chase the sour-sharp words off his tongue.

He doesn’t know how to speak kindly or softly. He’s been raised in the opposite of all those things. In every manner. By the same token, so have you. You’re perfectly matched in that regard. Tongues like sandpaper. Bred with barbs left on your dark souls.

Is there a hole where our hearts are do you reckon.

Yes my love. Black and terrible deep ones.

And it couldn’t be more right.

He leans over and softly lets his lips spill onto yours, and kisses you. Because these feelings just burst out of him, and he needs somewhere to direct them. He cups your face and won’t stop drinking in your lips like he needs them merely to survive.

You smile when he lingers so long kissing you like he’s still aroused. Lips wet and tasting faintly of you. Pushing and taking. When you pull back, your lips are spit wet.

“Aren’t you now terribly late to go and meet this ambassador?” You enquire in a soft voice still laced in giddiness from his kiss. Fingers still splayed on his sweaty skin.

He shakes his head at you with a trace of a flirty smile. “Good thing I don’t entirely care for the Turks.”

“You’re welcome, my liege.” You grin. Looking like a honey eyed vision. Like that sly fox in old fables.

It suits you. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

~

A tea party. Another bloody insipid tea party.

All you seem to do is take tea, or lunch, put on dresses, or a strand of pearls or a diamond clasp. Plan yet another tea party, and lay in wait to hear the latest snippets of gossip. It does grow into tedium, you’ll admit.

But then, that’s what the ladies of the court love to do.

They do remarkably little else.

Aside from fucking, reproducing, and bitching. But, silver lining. With these parties, atleast there’s cake.

Paul remarks that those silly affluent ladies don’t have the brains to do anything else. They do as they’ve always done; as they were taught and raised by their own ridiculous mothers.

Prance daintily around with their fluffy little lapdogs, their silk dresses and their powdered wigs, they wag their tongues like it’s a sport. And their usefulness really does end there.

You sit in Catherine’s spacious rooms. The ones she entertains in. The walls are slaked in deep rich paints. Mossy greens and flower vines twining in opulent golds with jewel coloured petals. Dazzling Prussian blue velvet swallows the light on the furnishings. Dark like her wicked taste in all things.

You’ve got one of her little Italian greyhounds cushioned in your lap. Malvolio. The naughty tempered grey one. He sits there chuffing as you scratch behind his ears.

You watch the Empress cackling with mirth as she points out the window beside Lady Orlova, showing off the pair of peacocks in her gardens that drift through, pecking at the lawn. Feathers skirting fluffy behind their steps like a brides train.

They were a gift from the Emperor of the Mughal Empire. All the way from the Agra Fort.

You’re sat on the rococo settee with Milena. She wore a dress the colour of vivid lemongrass, with a gold and emerald necklace ringing her throat. You saw to her having a good maid - at last. And access to as many jewels and silks as you did. She smelled like rich vanilla soap and damask roses.

You wore your mulberry purple silk dress. Rubies set in squares and icy silver cling to your neck, and drape from your lobes. A single teardrop of a pearl dangles off the necklace. To sit at your clavicle.

Both dressed in your court finery. Heeled feet propped on the low table being very unladylike as you dipped into Earl Grey tea - her into the wine - and scoffed down tiny, pretentious pink cakes. Slathered in too much sugar and fondant icing.

“I cannot believe it is expected of us to do this twice a week.” She griped.

“Here, here.” You mope in agreement.

“That’s cause not a single one of them, save for our glorious Empress, has ever read or touched a fucking book.” Milena explained as she shoved a much too big cake into her mouth.

“Probably wouldn’t know how to open one without instruction.” You jape.

It made her smile around her mouthful. She vulgarly sucked her fingers clean.

“You know, I heard that in Europe, There is a popular movement. It is being called the enlightenment. People meet in coffee houses and read journals and pamphlets. An exchange of ideas and liberation.”

At that precise moment your attention is called across the room to where the Ladies flock like hens to one noble who was proudly showing off how the new snuff box she’d been gifted, had been painted with a miniature of her spaniel. And isn’t that stunningly clever. Have you ever seen anything so ingenious? I declare not.

The Patriarch Archbishop, stood and clapped his hands in wondered awe at the spectacle. How wonderfully Marvellous.

“And then the there’s us-“ You comment drily as you watch the exchange with barely veiled horror.

“Stuck in the dark ages.” Milena agrees.

“Be careful lest we be burned at the stake for that kind of talk.”

Lady Petrova scurried past you, talking shrilly a mile a minute, about her new lilac lace parasol. How wonderful the fabric was. And how she simply must demonstrate it’s perfection right away.

She puffs up her parasol like she’s putting on a show and gets a dainty round of applause. Noises of awe from her companions.

“Fuck this. Have you a pistol?” You murmur in agony.

Milena snorts.

“If I’d have been lucky enough to be carrying right now. Half the idiots in this room would have some extra ventilation in their heads courtesy of me.”

“Start with the Patriarch.” You consider. Smiling all saccharine at the man. He was a horrible old letch. Pious to the most harsh degree.

He unnerved you with his constant toadying towards you and Catherine. When you’ve heard him snipe from corners when her back was turned how German turncoats and sexually liberated women like her, should be horsewhipped.

It makes you wonder at the manner of this frivolous court life. If everyone slaps on a smile that’s purely fake to glide through halls. Then, crept in the dark gaps of bright candlelight the smiles drop and true natures come sneaking free. This place felt like a writhing-seething snake pit on the best of days.

Milena tilts her head at you. “Patriarch is a solid choice.”

His nature was entirely contrived in front of Catherine and Paul. You and Milena received scathing comments from him in moments when no one could overhear. As far as he was concerned she was a sapphic hell-spawn who should rot in hell. He saw you as the royal bitch of a broodmare only fit for breeding. At least you were a true Russian though.

By gods grace that was the one thing he did like about you.

Both your moods plummet to the earths core when he decided to wander your way away from the courtesans and their lace umbrellas and fucking dog painted snuff boxes.

“Tsarevna. You do look well.” He rubs his slimy hands together. Horrible glint in dulled eyes the colour of grey marble stone like the cold walls of church he loves. His voice is chalk dry and grating. A sack full of broken metal that scraped against your ears.

“Patriarch.” You greet. Your smile is stiff.

“Still not with child I see? Are there problems upon the royal marital bed? As a holy leader of this country, I take great interest in the state of our leaders familial prospects.” He raised one thinning brow. Your jaw clamps.

Keep fucking walking. You think.

“Though I hear you’ve no problems with opening your legs for our dear royal Prince. Like a true Voronsky.” He insults with a beam traced on his lips.

Milena turns to you with a sneer. “Bet you wish I had that pistol now.” She starts darkly under her breath.

“Tell your little spies to keep their beaky noses out of my business or my bedchamber. I’m a terrific shot. I’d hate for anything to come to harm. They may get their pretty feathers bloody.” You peck out. Stroking your lapdog.

Milena chuckles. Popping another cake in her mouth. Cackling as she enjoyed it. Not taking any care to be ladylike.

“Lady Dimitrova.” He hissed with his teeth clenching. Milena’s hand curls into a fist.

She narrows her eyes. Smiles sickly. Daydreaming about putting a bullet right through his greasy balding head. It was her soothing lullaby most nights.

“Heavenly Father.” She cooed all flirting.

“Still delighting in your depraved inverted sins?”

“On a daily basis.” She sucks her fingers clean of icing with a too loud suck. Sucking the end of her middle finger, and plainly aiming it right at him.

“Still on your knees praying yourself black and blue? More fool you-“ She sniffs derisively. Running her tongue inside her lower lip. Entirely unbothered.

You can see him bristling to say something else. Jaw clenched. You cut him off.

“I would be very cautious of saying too much more, Patriarch. One day I will be mother to the next heir of Russia. I will have sway in this court and this country will belong to my children, and my husband before that.” You make plain.

He folds his hands behind his black cassock back. Cross swaying heavy and obscene weighty gold on his chest.

“Insult me or my Lady in Waiting any further in any manner, and I will happen to discover that you have vehemently voiced ill-will against the future King of Queen of Russia. Repeatedly. I think that may even border on treason.” You state easily.

A very real fear and loathing is woven into his eyes. Everyone knows what happened to Svenska when she dared threaten you at a soirée one night.

Paul’s devotion to you was laced in ferocity and any words levelled against his Tsarevna would answer harshly to the crime. Pay in blood and pain.

“And you. You pathetic little worm. Will be ground into the mud and left for the birds to rip to pieces. I’ll make sure of it.” You sip your tea. Diamond eyes sharp over the rim of the dainty rose pattern china. Set the cup back into the saucer.

“Such a vision of beauty.” He bows and takes his leave. Eyes throwing pools of acidic scathing at the pair of you.

He stalks away and into the folds of court to stir discontent with the Lords. Black cassock flapping around his feet as he takes his leave.

“I love when you do that.” She chuckles. “Put the dogs back in their place.”

Malvolio shakes his head in your lap. As if he knew he was being discussed. Settles his paws on your knees.

“Soundly whipping them into shape.” You smirk. You pucker a kiss at the Patriarch as he daggers a scratchy glare at you through the crowds.

“Besides. I far prefer being sat here with you. My scary Serbian bitch.”

She’s amused at that. “Mongrel remember. Not an ounce of pedigree blood in this unholy body. Unlike you, you pampered bitch.” She sneers.

You laugh together and she shoves a cake at you. “Come on. You’ll need energy to be a broodmare ready for the stud to hump later on.”

“You’re such a cunt.” You speak through a laugh at her. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way as my Lady in Waiting.” You pat her leg with your hand.

“Stop flirting or I’ll do something to you that will make the Patriatch blush in anger.” She threatens.

“I don’t think it would be wise for us to cross the boundaries between friends to lovers.” You decide with teasing.

She tilts her head. Scans you up and down. “You haven’t seen what I can do with my tongue.” She curls it out at you in a scooping motion.

“Must I have you hosed down? Mongrel?” You ask. Eating the cake she gave you.

You pluck the cherry off the top and bite it- plump sweet red clamped between your teeth. She looks salacious.

“Always ready to do my depraved things to anyone- Oh. For fucks sake.” Milena began. Turning away from you and hissing.

You tittered laughter. She cursed under her breath as Svenska came trotting into the room with her train of even more vapid ladies in tow. Even the stupid tottering click of her heels was somehow annoying.

All ridiculous brushed wigs, and low cut dresses. Svenska with her cleavage bulging out of her dark fern silk dress. A little yippy snuffling dog on a lead. With a flat face, lolling tongue, and bulging eyes. Ugly fat beast of a thing.

“I’m astounded she managed to find the door without help.” Milena bit out.

Her and Svenska famously did not get along. They grated like powder versus lit fuse.

Svenska was all highly-inbred noble stock and entirely no brain.

As the saying goes, if it was raining brains, that woman wouldn’t even get wet.

Milena was the polar opposite. Too many brains for her own good, and plenty more besides. She had no noble silver spoon childhood. Her father was a penniless Baron and her mother was a scullery maid. Quite the scandal to blossom from out under.

She rose, through hard plucky grit and bootstrap enthusiasm, and took her years to rise to become a Lady of Catherine’s court. She earned her place here and married only for gain, and you respected her greatly for it.

Svenska had her cushy comforts slung at her, like everything else in her spoilt life.

You were the same. Most of your life had been handed to you on a plate. You’d been trained for this occupation of marriage. Look at where you’re sitting now because of it.

Lady Svenska and her harpies always seemed determined to needle your friend for the manner of her upbringing. Spiky with the fact she wasn’t raised in these noble circles, like them.

Milena had known strife and penury. Overall you think that makes her far more interesting. She wasn’t bred for court life from the very second of her conception.

Now, Svenska’s distaste, it appears, had spilled on over to you, by mere association.

Good.

The woman was a venomous snake, who had tried on many occasions to slip into Paul’s bed and earn title as his Mistress. Even after you were married.

She was always trying to dig her claws in. Angling herself for a dance. Draping her hand over his elbow if she can snatch him alone, at a ball or one of his mothers soirée’s. Always hovering herself on the edge of his notice.

Your scratchy eyes never missed a thing. You kept them on her. You had your sources around this palace. Keeping you informed.

She makes a beeline for you. Expression dipped in venom. She had to come and bid her greetings to you. You were of rank. It was expected.

“Svenska.” You awarded. You didn’t really wish to engage any more than was necessary.

“Harpies.” Milena greets to them with no hint of shame.

“You should really have that mongrel companion of yours muzzled, Tsarevna.” Svenska trilled all chirpy. Smiling. Hateful bite in her words.

You can feel the air crack with tension. Milena bristles with it. Snarl kept at bay in her throat.

“I tried. But she bit the handler quite viciously.” You explained. Still stroking Malvolio. Self assured smile on your lips. Stroke and smile like a fresh faced daisy.

Milena sipped her wine and thereafter bared her teeth in a grin.

“Man needed his wounds sewn shut.” She widened her eyes. Unflinching eye contact with Svenska.

“Best not get too close. She may be rabid. I haven’t yet had her checked.” You warned. Stroking the dogs silky ears like you hadn’t a care.

“Good day Svenska. Have some cake.” You stretch her a wide smile like heaven was too perfect for you. Angels feathers and clouds.

She bobs a curtsey and departs with a sickly smile that snaps off her face when she turns away at her rude dismissal.

She side eyes Milena who winds her up, making a growling noise and then barked and flashed her teeth.

Makes the woman scurry away all the faster in her dainty heels.

You smile together and clink your glasses. Tipping the rim of your saucer to her wine glass.

“Stuck up prig.” Your friend scoffs into her wine. Watching her back as she departed. Ridiculous pampered dog wadding after her.

“Maybe she wears her hair too tight. Could that be why she’s so unpleasant?” You ponder.

Milena snorts her brusque laughter. “Not like it’s strangling a brain. She doesn’t have one. Maybe it’s the wig? Too heavy perhaps?”

“Ladies.” Comes a harsh hyena bark from in front of you.

It’s very telling that Malvolio yips a whine and zips submissively off your lap at Catherine’s looming appearance.

“Empress.” You both nod at her with due politesse.

“Behaving yourselves I should hope?” She lowers her sharp sherry hawk eyes to burn into your faces. Eye contact always so shrewd.

Milena bites her tongue. Tries to hold back a face of amusement.

“Not even remotely.” Comes your answer.

Catherine gives a dry chuckle. “Would you give us a moment, Lady Dimitrova?”

“Of course, Empress.”

Catherine hefts her saffron orange skirts up. Milena vacates her seat for the Empress to take her place.

“I do so hate to be bossy. But I needed to see you.” She insisted.

Catherine loved being bossy. That was such a blatant mistruth. She craved it.

“You and I fully appreciate, compromise is not your strong suit. It’s not even in your repertoire.”

“Not yours apparently. If the spoiled Turkish ambassador meeting I’ve heard about, is anything to go by.”

She needles you with a look.

You allow yourself the small sneak of a smile.

“May I give you one small piece of advice, petal.” She says with a thinning smile.

“Of course, Empress.”

“All these air-headed idiots may vex you terribly. But it’s good to keep them in agreement. Nettling as they all are.”

“Was my displeasure so evident?” You ask.

Not entirely sorry that it was showing so much. Your face was stale and sour with it. Putting up with the frippery and frivolity.

She rolls those dark-sherry eyes over to you. Tucks her cold bony fingers into yours. Rubies and amber rings on her fingers. Her perfume slides off her skin and slinks across to you. Red pomegranates and lilies. Spicy and vibrant as she is. Harbinger of blood. And how ironic it is that she’s scented won’t the flower that reminds most of death.

She beckons the servant over with two crooked fingers and cradles a glass of wine. Scarlet red.

“It pains me to even say it, but a woman in power needs to occasionally rely on the absolute idiocy that envelopes her at every turn.”

She takes a moment and scans around the room as she sips her wine. Fuck the tea.

“You scare them.” She tells you as she looks across the crowds. Squeezing your hand like she’s proud.

“Because I would rather hunt, ride and shoot. Then sit here and sip tea. To be alongside Paul when he attends his meetings. Not shut out and expected to embroider. To possess a sharp mind and budding intellect. Not some empty headed noble who gets excited over an umbrella in fucking November.” You smile through clenched teeth.

You bite the words out so hard it stings your tongue. You consider that perhaps you opened up too much.

“Exactly my darling.” She answers.

“I should be less- terrifying?” You ask. Really you don’t know any other way to be.

“Heavens, no.” She winks.

“Goddamn right they should be scared of you. You’re the Tsarevna. You live in the shade of my terrible image. That thought should strike fear unto anyone.” She sneers. The jewellery on her wrist rattles where she squeezes your hand harder like a great wrapping boa.

“To be in power in Russia. You must be more than a woman. More than your meagre bones. More, even, than a man. You must be like a God.”

You smirk. “Like a god? Busy elsewhere?”

It makes her laugh. It’s a bright musical sound that doesn’t happen often.

“It’s hard fucking work believe me. And a task few would envy. But you must tread a fine line. With Paul. With the nobles. Don’t be a wet blanket by any stretch. But there are times when you must proceed more softly than I know you’re probably used too.”

You nod. You do see sense in that. Doesn’t mean you agree with it.

“I would be by his side for whatever he wishes. I think he’s perpetually scared I will usurp his rule.“ You inform her.

“I did set a precedence for that.” She beams at you.

“A dangerous one. Sometimes the way he looks at me, like he’s worried I will one day follow in your footsteps. I think I scare him in that way when I’m too forthright.”

“Good. Keep the boy on his toes.” She urges with a sickly grin. “It’s not in my nature to take it easy on any man.”

She pats your knee and rose to her feet. A great waterfall of saffron silk rustling as she stood. The slash of her tulip red lips. She towers tall over you.

“Any word on my heir of yet?”

The warmth is sucked from the sun. Your belly shrivels. She’s good at that. Making you shrink down to about two inches tall.

She can wither anyone to crumpled cinders with those eyes and her words. She roots out any spec of shame and dissects it in front of you.

“No word yet. But you’ll be the first to hear if anything changes.” You insist with as much geniality as you can stroke on your tongue. You hold your jaw firm and set you eyes like the hard diamond tips they can be.

She leans down and kisses your brow.

She lingers with an afterthought on her lips. “By the way. I must warn you, keep your guards close-by. I will be adding three more to your usual watch. There’s been rebellions against us in Omsk. Last week two men tried to break into the palace gardens. Be watchful of your pretty back, my dear.” She urges. Nudges a finger under your chin.

And in a great sweep of silk she’s out the room. Guards on her heel. Flying away back to her cutthroat rule. You’re left sat there with a daunting hole burning it’s way into you gut. Price for being royalty already chalked on your head. Being chided slyly for the fact you weren’t with child yet.

You take a deep breath. It’s not deep enough - it feels too shallow. Milena thumps down back next to you on the settee. Shoehorns a glass of your favourite wine into your slack hand.

“I had a feeling this would be needed after the Dragons visit.”

“My guard watch has been doubled.” You told her. Lifting the glass for a sip.

The taste of it soured on your tongue. Too sharp and spiky. It was so sour, you could barely stand to swallow it down. Your stomach roiled at the taste. Throat left chalky.

Milena’s face fell at your news. “Is that dangerous?”

“Looks as if Catherine has been busy of late.” You suggest flatly. Stirring up her usual amount of rebellions and distaste.

And then you wince. “That wine tasted disgusting. What vintage was that?” You ask in vehemence. The cloy of it sat on your tongue making you feel ill.

She frowned at you. “The Portuguese one you love.”

You handed the glass back.

“Come on. Let’s go have a ride or shoot something. I grow weary of tedium.” You insist. Clutching your skirts and rising gruffly to a stand.

~

Paul was sat leisurely at his escritoire writing his letters. Leafing through sheets and sheets of bureaucracy inked on thick white cloth like paper.

Unawares as to the storm happening in other parts of the palace.

His eyes were store from trying to make out the squiggled hand. Head swimming from the amount of political jargon swirling around his head. Ink stains on his hands. Cramped fingers.

You’d left not half an hour ago. All bathed and powdered. Rouged up and sent off all pretty, smelling of peaches and cashmere wood soap, wrapped in your cream silk dress and a cloak for a walk around the frigid Autumnal gardens with your maid.

You looked so pretty in silks with diamonds shimmering in your ears. It seemed a strange parallel that not half an hour previous, he had you on all fours on his bed ramming his cock into you, until you sobbed.

It was almost unbelievable to equate the two images of you in his mind.

He gets you as the pretty regal Tsarvena in diamonds, in court being perfectly divine by his side. All elegance. Then in private, he gets you as the most debased woman. When you look at him as you’re laying there naked on the bed. Eyes glazed. Beckoning him over with two curled fingers for more-

You glided over to where he was sat writing. Back to the room. You sling yourself around him and kissed the back of his still sweaty neck. Told him you liked it when he was all rumpled and undone. No buttons polished. Shirt untucked. You ran your gloved hand down his chest.

You then squealed as he flipped around and tugged you across his lap on his desk chair. Hands up your waist as he kissed you deep.

Your maid knocked at the door. Too timid to come in. She’d been burned by that before.

He pulled back and rubbed his nose briefly into yours. Laying it alongside yours. Examining those scratchy-diamonds of your eyes he adores. Extending the touch for as long as he could.

Then he hauled you back upright on your feet. Told you to get out of his way and don’t be troublesome. Swatted your ass and watched you smile with it. Lip bite.

“I’m always troublesome.” You insist as you stand near. His kiss worn pressing on your lips.

“Enjoy your promenade. Tsarevna.”

It never dawned on him until later, how those could be the last words he said to you.

You kissed him once more. Softly. White lace gloved hands slipping off him. Flowers and sweet blossoms coating your palms. He watched you slip out the doors. Swathe of pretty silk slipping through his fingers.

Usually it was a walk you reserved for Milena, your lady in waiting. But she was currently in bed hungover and she was too stubborn and grizzly to be contended with this morning.

She’d sent you a note with two short words scrawled on it telling you her answer.

Scurrilous was a word that seemed entirely crafted for your Lady Dimitrova.

He turned to his papers and the morning sun slanted over his desk. Displaying the lateness of the hour. Burning over the walnut wood as he worked. The maid brought him tea. In his working daze, it grew cold.

Time crawled on until something far greater came to disturb.

He could hear her coming. He could hear his mother a mile away. Always.

The tell tale stab of her heels on the wooden floors looming closer. Closing in like a predator on hunt with blood in her nose. Stab-stab-stab. Slaps to listen to her footfalls. Summed her up perfectly.

What wasn’t usual was the drum beat of many many soldiers walking alongside her. He twisted his head to the doors.

She didn’t stand on ceremony. She threw open the doors when she got to them. They slammed the walls. Rattled the floors. Shook the doorcase. Rage filled the room and it’s entirely hers- powerful and terrifying like the way lightning takes up the sky.

The air she feeds into this once calm space feels damned.

He stood from his desk at such an ungodly, not to mention, noisy intrusion.

Catherine’s hawk eyes are scanning his rooms. They narrow to rusty blades at him. Some way relived.

“You’re safe.” She says it like it’s a minor convenience.

“Where is the Tsarevna?” She orders to know.

The guards flanking her file into the room and fill it up. Hands poised over their guns ready to aim and fire. Faces stoic.

Paul feels his gut plummet to his toes. “Walking in the gardens. She left half an hour ago.”

Catherine’s lips purse.

“You are not to leave these rooms. Do you hear me?” She seethes.

Before turning around, and walking her terrifying rage somewhere else. Flicking her sherry coloured eyes all poison-filled, in another direction.

Two of the guards flank the doors. The others trail after her like violent shadows.

“Mother!” He snaps after her. Demanding to know what was so twisted about all that. About why he suddenly felt sheer clammy panic. Shimmering it’s nasty way along under his skin like a vile serpent. It’s gripping onto his bones and he can’t shake it loose.

“What is happening? Explain.” He snapped. His voice clapped harsh off the walls. His throat strained around his shout. Eyes ablaze.

Catherine didn’t even try and temper him. She turned and caught his eyes. Doesn’t mince her words.

“She’s in danger.”

Ice fills his blood. His heart hurts where it beats. Trembling in fear. So much fear fills his face, he looks like a shiny eyed boy again. His lower lip trembles.

“No-“ He says. His voice is a quiet bleeding wound. Born on skipped choppy breath. Not you.

“Paul. Stay. Here.” She threatens. Voice falls as hard as knife blows. She leaves blood weeping behind.

She’s just pulled out his guts out and splayed them twisted at his feet. Stomped on his heart the way one would a weed.

Paul has never wanted to disobey her more.

~

Your Autumnal walks did fill you with such joy.

It was yours and Milena’s time to bitch or laugh away from the always poised ears of the stifling court. Where apparently every corner and nook and cranny had both eyes and ears.

You don’t see why you need a chaperone still. You were married. And your usual guards had swapped shift when you departed the house. The new men coming into duty were General Abramov finest - so he said.

You found them passed out in the company of a naked plump whore with a ratty wig. Empty bottles strewn around the pit of their room. Clearly they didn’t care overmuch about your safety when there was vodka and fucking to be had.

You rolled your eyes. You weren’t waiting on another set of grunting shaved monkeys to ready themselves.

So fuck it. You made the executive decision.

You and Darya strode out into the dark heart of the gardens, alone.

Your maid was much sweeter than your friend. More timid wet bunny than a rabid long-toothed mongrel. She pranced gingerly along beside you, tiptoeing like a nervous baby roe deer.

She didn’t talk much and mostly hung off your words for fear of displeasing you. You never snapped at her. You weren’t that heartless. She worked thoroughly hard. She was a diamond in the coal mine of ladies maids. She was good with hair too. Worth her precious weight in gold.

“Lovely day.” You comment. Hiking up your skirts to step over a squelching patch of mud.

“Indeed it is Tsarevna.” She copies your lead.

“You don’t need to call me by my title every time, Darya. It doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue.”

“Yes, Tsarevna.”

You roll your eyes. Really, she won’t be won over.

“I hope the chef makes apple cakes tomorrow. That, or something with yellow pears. They are my favourite fruit this time of year.”

“Mine too, Tsarevna.”

“With cinnamon and brown sugar?” You add. Determined to coax more out the girl.

“Yes. Tsarevna.”

You sag your shoulders down. She wins. Milena would have told you three salacious sex stories by now. And two shreds of reliable gossip.

You stroll along and you introspectively marvel at the slowly deadening trees. You didn’t actually mind the companionable silence.

Autumn here did remind you of home. In Rostov. Your father and his love of roasting nuts over the fire embers at night. Buttery chestnuts and smoky air lacing together.

The prick of frost on your cold cheeks. The loping mist that accompanies a frigid bitch of a blue dawn morning. The way you and your sisters used to collect apples in the orchard. Rusty rosy flesh. Gather them in your apron pockets. The way you had to warm your toes by the fire before bed some nights.

You were more at home bedecked in furs, and being in horse drawn sleighs over milky frozen lakes. White as a swan feather snow.

You liked this type of cold that was creeping in. You put that down to your entirely slavic blood. Sustained on frostiness.

You like it how it is now. An array of golden toffee leaves being tidied into corners by the gardeners. Scuttling papery things being blown everywhere. Tumbling and sticking across the wet grass. You idly wondered in the back of your head why the guards weren’t at their posts.

That thought didn’t sink into the proper full dawning place it should have.

You skimmed your eyes along the clipped hedges. The way the frost knifed at the copper beach groves was stunning. Spiderwebs it’s clawing ice across each and every one of the leaves. The air is ungovernably sharp with cold. Blue silk drape of a sky with a searing mustard sun.

Breath leaves your mouth as a silver wisp. Each drag inhale burns the walls of your throat. You watch birds dip and swoop in the sky above. Through the frost thinned branches.

You walk with your eyes turned skyward for a second. And when they come glancing back down to earth- your steps come grinding to a halt.

You fist Darya’s cloak. Getting her to come to a sharp halt. You tuck her behind you. Your hand a grating pain on her wrist where you held so tight.

There’s blood spattered on the frosty copper leaves.

You’re just coming to the clearing in the groves. There’s a fountain with a Greek statue decorating the space ahead. You know it well. Deep in the heart of this garden. The water in the mossy stone pit, is thick and glossy still with ice.

The guards lay dead, heaped beside the fountain. Slumped dark shapes of what used to be men. Throats laid open from ear to ear. Crimson ribbon cuts draped over their throats.

Darya splits the air with a scream, muffled through her hands clamped to her mouth, tears shaking from her terrified eyes. You catch on what tore that scream from out her mouth.

One of them isn’t dead yet. But the man who just ripped a knife across his throat from behind, unleashed a vivid spill of red. Like he was a boar on a hunt and not a royal guard.

Wide glassy eyes, choking splutters. That dreadful expression as his own blood fills his throat. Choking.

The men holding the knives are not of nobility. There’s two of them. They wore dirty coats and mud smeared faces. Shaggy stubbled beards, and hands and eyes that have never known finery or riches. They’re smiling as they kill.

Catherine was very well hated after all.

Darya’s screams draw too much attention. You try and silence her lest she ends up the same manner as the guard. But then her eyes flick back and she drops into your side. Dropped like a dead weight. Fainted. Perhaps that was a mercy.

Their eyes swim to you.

Without care you’re kneeling in the mud and checking she’s alright. Calling her name but she just lays there limp. You yank hair out her face. There’s mud on your hands. You don’t mean too, but it smeared across her cheeks.

Breath fell silver from your lips as you rasped her name. You refused to let panic crawl up your throat and thicken your voice.

Suddenly there’s a grubby hand fisted in the back of your neck. Cold steel - bloodied - resting at your throat. You will down your bile.

“Up. Suka.” Comes a sniggering voice from behind you. Laughter.

Charming.

You try to breathe as you rise to your feet. They pull you up fast. Shoving you backwards against the grove. Leaves and frost scratch the back of your neck.

“Pity that small one fainted. We could’ve had one each.” One says, tone pure filth. Rakes his eyes over your heaving tits. Not even fully addressing you.

They’re animals at best. Beasts that dared to crawl upright from the mud. Dirt ringed around their fingernails, blood spatters on their brown coats. Shirts yellowed with sweat. Hands red.

The way they’re both looking at you is like you’re a plate of bleeding lamb chops before a wolf.

One is lanky and still brushed with youth. Short shorn hair. He licks his lips as he looks at you. Eyes so deep they’re black.

The other one is shorter, older. Hair blonder and shaggy. Down to his shoulders. Eyes paler but no less spurned, entirely wrapped up in blood lust- pure hatred.

“I’m Russian you Mudak.” You spit out at them cursing at you thinking you won’t understand your native tongue.

The young one grabs your cloak in a fist. Clenched the fabric. Rips it off to see more you. Silk ribbons slither free and they cast your fine cloak into the mud. Get a better look at your dress and bodice.

“Look at that- fuckin beautiful.”

You blaze with a furious blush as he drags the knife tip under your diamonds pushing up so the gems grew tight around your neck. Choking a little. Choking you on your riches like the pampered bitch you are.

“The diamonds or the tits?”

“Both.” He guffawed back like a hyena.

You bristle. Caused the younger one to prick the slimy knife deeper into your throat. It burned. Grazed skin.

“Behave girlie.”

You can’t keep to silence. You can’t. Your pride is unleashing it’s jagged monsters. You’re snapping your fangs without thought.

“Fuck you.”

The knife pushes in more. You felt the scrape of it pushing at your rage slicked heartbeat.

“Keep your fucking tongue still unless you want it cut out.” The older one slithers a smile at you.

You spit at him. It lands right on his chest. Streaking down his coat.

“You’re going to regret that Suka.”

“Doubt it.” You snap.

Then he gets closer and his filthy hand grabs your chin. Hard. Squeezes your bones.

“Shame that. To leave a pretty girl without a tongue. It’s all you must be good for, Suka.”

You glare. Eyes threaded with steel. Your backbone rigid.

“If you’re going to keep calling me Suka, you better put start putting royal before it, scum.”

The young one fists his hand in the back of your hair and forces you to arch your neck. It burns. His foul breath washes over your face. His lips are chapped. His teeth are twisted black and yellow.

“Who might you be then?” He wonders aloud.

“Too smartly dressed for a maid.” The older one proposes.

“Maybe she’s a Whore. Opens her legs and keeps her cunt wide open for the nobles or the Prince.”

“What whore would have a maid?” The young one asks.

A beat of silence. You swallow

“The Tsarevich’s wife would.” The older one grins. It’s deadly.

Bile fills your neck like acid.

“We’ll go and find your pretty prince when we’re done here with you.” The young one taps your cheek with his fingertip.

“Slit his stupid throat. Leave you gutted open here. Two little presents for that Empress cunt.” The young one keeps his hand in your

Then he chuckles and it’s sick. Looking down your body. “Maybe you’re already carrying the Empresses’ heir huh? That princes babe in your belly.”

He makes a face that you could only describe as coldly flippant.

“Shame.”

You barely register anything else save for the way he swings his arm back and goes to bury the blade in his hand deep in your belly. The older one watches on.

You brace for the hot mean slice. Your hand vices for his wrist. But no pain comes. It didn’t penetrate your skin.

You flick your eyes down and see the blade hasn’t even pricked beyond the whalebone of your stays. Stuck on the thick close fabric of it. It only ripped the silk and left blood that wasn’t yours.

You act so fast you can’t believe it. Your hands are shaking. Time slows to honey.

You twist his wrist hard enough to potentially break it. He screams. Too slow.

You grab the knife and tore it onto his lanky throat. Ripped it across his neck and push him away. You hear his grunts of pain that churn into wet sloppy chokes.

You’re a sight. Red spattered across your cream silk and those fat diamonds. Droplets across your face and cheeks. Dripping off your hair darkly. It’s like there’s red rose petals on your dainty lace gloves.

You sneered at the expression on his face. Eyes glassy wide and blown with disbelief. Shock. Blood sheeting down his grubby clothes as his hands scrabbled for his neck.

The older one comes for you in rage. Which makes him clumsy. He pushes you into the mud and used all his weight to try and choke you with his bare hands. Where he felled you, the knife scattered out your hand.

Greasy blonde hair falling in front of his rage flushed face. Muddy clothes and the horrid weight of rutting man like a stocky boar above you. Spittle wet on his lips.

He’s cursing your name. You’re grunting and trying everything in your gritty scrappy power to overcome.

He gets his meaty hands around your neck. You scrabble your fingernails at his dirty coat. He slaps you to keep you subdued. Cheek stinging. Mind reeling into base animal instinct.

You twist and reach for it. The knife you dropped. Your fingertips barely reach the handle. A desperate stretch. An empty slip to the frosty muddy grass.

Your world starts trickling into punchy static swirled stars. Blood pounds white and black over your eyes. Pulsing with the craving for air.

Not for long.

Where he pushed you and climbed on top of you, your skirts were up around your knees. And with every painful pulse of your brain. You reach for the slither of a dagger you keep in your garter.

You get your slippy fingers around it. They drift off. Blood smeared over your thighs and your breath is starting to wane. Trickling out dry past your lips. Paul’s face flashes in your mind. Last thing you can think of. Those brown eyes and the corner of his pink smile caught in candlelight.

You could sob with the agony of it. You really could. Your lip trembles.

But then something else roundhouse whirls into your chest like a furious storm that can’t handle your bones. Rage. Love.

Tears squeeze out your eyes that feel ready to burst as you gape up at his furious face. Digging his nails and thumbs into the meat of your neck. The burn of blood rose furious in your throat.

You slam your knife down into the soft of his back. Three times. You stab and stab down down hard until pure terror seizes over his face. Until he’s weak enough that you can knee him off you and grab the back of his neck. Fist his dirty collar in your hands and grit your teeth.

“Rot in hell.” You curse at him before you slam the sticky steel knife into his throat too.

Gurgles and frothy pink blood. More red blooming down into your dress. Sour metal in your nose. Too many warm pennies. It’s gummy on your hands. Sticky.

You hate the smell of blood even on a hunt. It cloys on your furs and matted and made you feel sick. You never hated it more than now.

You kick him off you and scramble to your feet. The weight of him off you. You’re upright and legs trembling like they won’t hold you.

Skin too small. Your veins wriggle like flames. Your steps shivered. Body bowing pathetically. Every muscle sore and still pulled taut with adrenaline.

There isn’t enough air and all you can taste is blood. You spit it out your mouth but it doesn’t leave. Bile tries to force its way out but you just breathe. For now. Just try and locate the thin air.

You brace a crimson hand on your stomach. Stained lace. Mud and blood smeared on your dress. You cannot hear the sweet call of birds or the wind rattling it’s whisper through the trees. All you can focus on is the fierce drum of your heart. Lungs swelling in the trap of your ribs.

You stand and stare down the centre of the copper birch groves. Trees lining the way in your vision. Back to that terrible palace. You just stare because everything is still ringing in your ears.

Guards are furiously running in their swathes towards you. So many of them. Rifles aimed. General Abramov in the centre enfold of stocky columns of uniforms that were his men. Barking his orders that you cannot hear. It’s all swirling mute to you.

Paul is there. Surrounded by a cluster of soldiers. In his untucked white shirt, undone jacket. Hair a smushed mess. Pistol locked in his hand.

Your face is oddly stoic.

He stalks towards you- terrified eyes scanning the bodies slumped around you. Your maid. The guards. The blood. The knife still dripping in your hand.

You’re covered in it. He doesn’t know if he’s out his wits with fear, or wanting to get on his knees and pray his thanks to the heavens, til his lips hurt.

Wrap his hands around your hips and kiss your belly. Chide you and love you in the same breath cause you scared him to death.

You barely see him when he comes up to you. Calls your name. Cups your face. Doesn’t care for the mess all over you. He needs the snap of your diamond eyes meeting in his.

He drops his pistol cause his hands are around you. All over you. A scuff of material catches rough on his palm. Grazed jagged silk.

He looks down and sees the knife sized hole that had been stabbed into your stomach. His breath lays in his throat and it’s too thick to reach.

Even in your hard prickly angles, your glassy steel countenance, and they’ve cut through your brambles and laid their hands on you. Hurt you.

You finally say his name. “Paul.” It’s not even above a raspy whisper.

Tears shine in his eyes and you don’t know anything else than how to clutch him and hold onto his hand over your belly. You chuck down your bleeding dagger. Will the blood ever come away.

You wait until he reels you into his chest and cups the back of your neck to cry. Fear finally gets to you. Hands cold and scrabbling for his hair. His warmth. The smell of his shaving soap. Safety.

For now, it’s enough.

~

Night fell swift. Catherine was furious. Seething spitting nails at everyone who crossed her path. Livid at being disobeyed.

She chucked wine glasses. She threw priceless vases at the walls. Shrilled til her throat hurt. Shards of broken things less spiked than her displeasure. The countess could barely calm her down.

She cast her eyes over you as Paul walked you back from the gardens. Soldiers flanking you entirely and the General on your heels.

You stepped inside and she was ready to draw some blood of her own. And then she saw you. Red spattered face and dress. That metal scent living on your skin and you were dying to scrub it away. You wanted that harsh scratch from a hard wooden brush. Bristles on your skin until it barbed to pain.

You meet her eyes. You don’t back down.

She almost had the balls to look impressed. Intimidated even-

“Go get her cleaned up.” She orders gently to the maids.

The first time you’d ever heard anything gentle come out her mouth. Crossed with respect. She nods at you. You feel blessed in some ways.

And here you were. No longer trembling. In the piping hot bath in Paul’s quarters. Water slicked over your skin. The bath water still ran pink even now. Even after they sluiced it off you with cold jugfuls before you got in the tub.

Your throat is stinging. Eyes bloated and sore from salty tears. You weren’t angry. Or sad. It went much deeper than that. Roots clinging. You’re not entirely certain why you spilled tears. Maybe it was that one thing you swore you’d never show;

Fear.

It’s fully matte dark and the room is only licked by flames. The orange of the fire and the spin of the gold from the candle holders. You turn and turn a wedge of soap in your palm until your fingertips were pruned. Your hair sticks down your back. Wet silk that sticks into the water.

Blood still in your mouth no matter how much you swilled with tea or water. The wine still tasted bad. It will be a while before you can stomach swallowing claret.

The maid knocked on the door. A harsh rap that disturbed your silence. It seemed almost too much. Overwhelming. You flinched.

That wasn’t you.

You were at peace with the crack of the flames and logs shifting in the half. The swish of the water around your naked limbs. The smell of your tuberose and cashmere wood soap. That was all you wanted for now.

“A little longer, Tatiana.” You call out. Not unkindly. Dazed maybe. You didn’t have the energy spare to be a sniping viper tonight.

The door opens anyway. You don’t bother to cover yourself. The waterline only just hid your nipples.

When you look up. Paul is stood sideways in the door. “I took the liberty of dismissing your maid.” He tells you.

“Did she say how Darya was.” You ask.

“Awake but she was very shaken. The doctor attended her. Gave her a draft.”

“Poor kid.” You sympathise. Scrubbed the soap bar down your arm.

You feel Paul bristle at that. You just know. When you look over at him the sides of his mouth are taut. Pulled firm with anger.

Catherine does the same. When the lips purse, that’s when you know- run.

“My concern is elsewhere at present.” His voice is stiff. Tamped with stomping brat and anger.

“Do not think to lay the blame at my feet. I went for a fucking walk.” You hold firm. Eyes gazing into his. Too tired to be slinging vitriol back and forth.

But you won’t dare let him forget you have sharp snarling teeth. They may be tucked away. But just because a panther sheathes it’s claws doesn’t mean it’s lost use of them entirely.

“I don’t lay blame at you. I’m just trying to wrestle with the idea that I could have lost you today.” He snaps out louder than he intended. Voice reed thin.

Stood at the end of your bath in his big baggy shirt and breeches. Barefoot and stripped down to nearly nothing. Rubbing his forehead and trying not to let fear bleed into his voice. He failed.

He looks so young. So stricken with fear as you sat there. Watching candles flicker jerky flame across his satin cream cheeks and those wide brown eyes.

You say nothing. “You want to be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry. I’m livid.” He hissed out.

I’m terrified. Is what you hear.

“Those men meant harm. They killed four guards.” He tries to strike fear. You’ve had enough of it today.

“I’m sat right here proving their plans otherwise.” You insist.

“Because you got lucky.” He snips.

“Not really. I’m always armed.” You insist.

He softly uses your first name. He never does that.

“Try and take what I’m saying seriously.” He pleads.

You look at him for a silent beat. He’s lumping all this on you and you’re just trying to sit here and manage to breathe.

“They said they wanted to hurt you.” Another swish of water. Swill of soap over your palms. Chalky and white woody petals.

“They told me. They were going to gut me and leave me in the gardens like a stuck boar. They were going to come and slit your throat. Leave your mother our corpses to find. A present.”

His face falls into distress. He’s spurning with so much anger and sadness it’s starting to rule his expression. His eyes twirl with it.

“So before you sit there and rightfully rip pieces out of me, Paul. I ask you this: What choice did that leave me.” You say it so softly. But your meaning is backed by steel.

He soaks in your words. Drinks them in.

He can’t cross the room fast enough.

In four quick strides he’s on you. Uncaring for the soap suds still on your skin or how your hair is dripping. His face is in your neck. His arms wrapped around you and yanking you to the edge of the tub. You’re dripping spots onto his white cotton sleeves.

His fingers rake through your hair. Wet beading on his fingers. He tilts your face up and just traces his thumb over the stinging welt that animal left.

“I don’t want to be without you.” He whispered softly.

That’s what it comes down too. When everything else is stripped away.

“I’m a bitch with sharp teeth and lots of knives. My Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You pat his cheek. Slide into an easy plump-lipped kiss. He pushes his mouth onto yours. Strokes his fingers gently down your naked wet back. Those melty chocolate drop eyes by candlelight you will never get enough of gazing at. Or into.

“Your fierceness today astonished me. I’ve never known you do anything so physically Russian.” Ghost of his smile returns.

You take a breath. Something swims on the tip of your tongue.

“I believe It wasn’t just myself I was being very Russian in defending.” You admit.

His face is thrown into all realms of bewilderment. “My love?”

You tilt your head at him. Smile like you’re the gatekeeper of sacred secrets.

You take his hand and slide it under the bath water to your belly. Fully soaking his sleeve. You press his palm onto your warm flesh.

There you fool.

“You-“ He gasped.

Fell on his knees. Mouth gaping. Doe eyes wide. You stunned him like a deer caught out in the open on a hunt.

“Congratulations. Tsarevich.“ You smile. “And may the Lord fucking help us.”

~

My taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose

🥀- lmk if you want to be added or removed. drop a comment to join taglist. This is the most up to date tag list I will be using on all my JQ stories going forwards I don’t wanna miss anyone out ! 🥀

#Prince Paul #prince paul x reader #prince paul smut #prince paul fanfic #prince paul x you #prince paul imagine #smutty #so much smut #so much hatefucking #husband x wife #enemies who fuck #married enemies now #catherine the great 2019 #Joseph Quinn #punkwrites #gore #violence #blood #death #slaughter #assasination attempt #assassins #married smut #man and wife #tsarevich paul #Tsarevna