#he was the lowest of the low and y’all STILL want him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inklore · 2 years

Text

torn together.

premise: you both knew that once you crossed that line, stepped back into the past, let old feelings and wounds reopen, that it would be even harder to let it go again.

pairing: marc spector x (f)reader

word count: 11.4k

warnings: minors dni please, f and m receiving oral, unprotected sex, angst, reader was a mercenary like marc, they are past lovers/fwbs, arguments, love bombs, mentions of past injuries (stabbing, scars), small talks of self hatred, marc being a bit soft at the end, no spoilers but cairo is mentioned as well as reader knowing about the suit.

etc: the plot in the beginning goes by a bit faster so it’s more angst and smut than anything. y’all are going to be shocked to see that i didn’t just blaze through the smut and i actually took it slow, insane i know lmao.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

When you open your apartment door he is the last person you expect to see on the other side. You hadn’t expected to see him ever again if you were being honest with yourself, but definitely not looking deflated and staring back at you from the other side of the threshold. Nor did you expect your body's reaction to seeing him; to have his gaze on yours, the brown irises darker than you remember, the hard set of his jaw, the low set of his brows. The last time you had seen those unmistakable rugged features they had been pressed into different parts of your skin.

They had made your stomach sink and your blood boil when the aftermath of it all rained down on you and you were left alone, stranded, the only remnants of the night spent together scrawled on a piece of paper to let you know he was gone; that you wouldn't see him again. There had been anger, sadness, regret, torture. But Marc Spector wasn’t a man you chased—or found when he didn't want to be.

And running after someone who so clearly did not wish to be around you was not someone worth wearing down your heels until they were bloody and aching for. Even if your heart longed to pick up the phone and try one of his old numbers, to trace his tracks and hunt him down and scream at him while tears streamed down your face. The sensible part of your brain knew that the two of you had played that game long enough.

Moving on wasn’t that hard for you to do. You had followed the instruction his sloppy handwriting had scrolled on the thin sheet of paper; ‘go’. One word. The final word he’d ever share with you, say to you. A bundle of cash sat next to it. And so you did, you left without looking back. Left a life you thought the two of you were rebuilding, but were really just dismantling until one wrong move was made, or word was spoken. With anger and heartbreak pumping through your veins you got on a plane and said goodbye to whatever had happened between the two of you. Started a new life in a new country, and tried not to think about the past.

And now that the past was looking back at you, you expected to feel that same anger directed at him. Something boiling in your blood to the point of bursting, tears, screams; not your stomach sinking to the point of your knuckles aching from how tight you're gripping the door handle. Or the way your chest feels like it's going to concave in on itself.

But you knew if he was here it was not to dredge up the past, what had happened between the two of you-more than once; the feelings shadowed over by illegal activities and nights in hotel beds that still left you hot and aching to think about. Marc Spector did not do grand gestures of feeling so this was far from that. Which could only mean one other thing.

“You must truly be desperate if you’ve hunted me down.” You swallow down the intrusive feelings wading throughout you, masking it with a smirk on your face and leaning against the doorframe, your arms crossed against your chest. “What you could possibly need from little ol’ me?”

Your teasing gets you the lowest of chuckles and barley a smile—on some—but good enough on Marc. “Maybe I wanted to visit an old friend.”

A laugh bursts from you, “Marc Spector ever the sentimental type, turned over a new leaf have you?”

“I could have.” He lets a real smile show.

“Mm.” You nod, “then please don’t hold it against me if I don’t believe a word you say.”

“Would never dream of it.”

Your smiles stay longer than anyone who knew the two of you would expect, a silence falling amongst you as if the reality of him actually being here, in front of you again, is just now settling into the air and making your physical reaction to it all the worse.

“Why are you really here, Marc?”

He waits a second—a minute—before answering you, before tearing his eyes from yours. He pulls out his phone, his fingers moving across the screen as he looks for something, holding the device in your face once he has, “I need you to help me find this.”

You take the phone from him, ignoring the way a warmth hits you when your fingers brush against each other. Your eyes taking in the picture of the ancient relic on the screen, “Can I ask-”

“No.”

“Of course,” you give him a pressed smile, handing the phone back without taking another glance. “Really turning over that leaf, huh?”

Your tone is anything but teasing, it’s more aggravation and that same nipping irritation that you are now remembering came with this man; along with the immense secrecy, the half truths, the hidden agendas and the real reason on matters always skated over by him or labeled as ‘it was best you didn’t know’. But unfortunately for you—and Marc—the less you knew was not the better, it only made the feelings you harbored for this man harder, more achingly tragic, and your resolve to help him blindly run thin.

“I can’t-”

“Can't or you wont?”

“Both.”

You nod, laugh under your breath as you step from the door frame grabbing the handle of your door ready to shut him out. “I've also turned over a new leaf. Unlucky for you that means I don't do favors for people anymore, especially when they won't tell me exactly what laws I’m going to be breaking for them, and why.” Your door creaks as you start to close it, “better go find one of your other…” your mind goes blank, what were you to Marc? A friend? A work partner? An acquaintance he rarely shared information with but would share mixed breaths and kisses with?

“Please,” his hand comes up to grip the door, halting your actions. His tone holding a hint of pleading softness to it. And you’d be damned if it didn’t still make your resolve want to split in two for him. “I came to you because I know I can trust you.”

There’s warmth in your chest from his words, and it has you opening your door wider, has you taking in the plea in his eyes that completely consumes your nerves into something dangerous, something too familiar for your liking. Saying no would be so simple. Slamming the door and continuing to move on with your life, let the three years that have gone by without seeing him stay that way. But saying yes makes your entire being light up, makes your breath become shallow, your heart clench.

There was once a time in your life where you thought Marc actually needed you, and not just as the sidekick who helped him steal relics and get illegal dirt on people. You thought that every night spent pressed to each other in bed had meant something to him, that the two of you were on the same wavelength of it possibly being more than it was, love? Maybe. Or maybe something more realistic than that: devotion, trust, understanding.

And then he left and you don’t think you’ve ever woken up so cold and alone in your whole life. So desolate inside. It had taken him three years to tell you that he trusted you, and that was after he had left you stranded in Cairo. After he had ripped your heart from your chest—unknowingly or not.

You were not dimwitted enough to think that there was any new leaf he had turned over or that this was anything more than him trusting you enough to give him a location, a name, a time, and then he would be out of the door, and your life, for another three years. Or until he needed something else from you.

Information. That's all he needed from you. That's the only reason he was here. Information and trust, that shouldn’t be enough. Not for the pain you had felt, and continue to feel every time you think about him. You should shut the door in his face and tell him to stick his foreign find, and trust, up his ass.

But instead you’re opening the door for him to come in.

“Thank you.”

“I’m only doing this for my own natural curiosity for the illegal, not you.” You shoot him a look, “don’t be so full of yourself.” You don’t miss the small smirk on his face as you make your way into the kitchen, grabbing your laptop from your desk in the den on the way through.

The two of you sit side by side at your small island—that doubles as your table in the small space—Marc giving you all of the information he knows, which is not much, as you grab sheets of paper from the stack of books piled on one of your counters; a fond twitch at the corner of Marc’s lips as he watches you jot down and compile all of the information given. A familiar prickling feeling presenting itself on your skin at the feel of his eyes on you as you do so, as you switch into work mode, a mode he knew all too well, has watched you through so many different lenses, places. So many times over, always looking at you in the same manner—it usually ended a little differently in the past tense than it was going to now.

If this had been the past tense you would have looked up at him through your lashes, giving him the most impish of smiles. He would make a show of running his fingers along the stubble on his jaw in debation, before reaching out and taking your face in his hands to bring your lips to his; fucking on scattered papers and laptops was not something out of the norm for the two of you. And once the two of you had finished you would go right back to work as if it never happened; except for the sting of pain in your neck that jolted you when Marc would place his palm on the back of it, his thumb skating across a bite mark, a hickey, as he moved you out of the way to reach for something. A teasing grin on his face.

This little reunion was not going to end the same.

You would help him, give him what he needed, and send him on his way.

You would completely disregard the way fingers are brushed between the two of you as you go through books, papers, and moving your laptop around the island. As well as the burning heat that seems to just form naturally when the two of you are this close together, the time and distance doing little to mask the tension that's due to more than just frustration.

You offer Marc a drink and pour small glasses of malt liquor between the two of you, calming your nerves and swallowing down any arise of any other emotion that could cloud your mind from the task at hand.

“And you’re sure you can’t tell me why you need it?” You turn halfway towards him making your knees bump against his as you do so, “it would probably make this a little bit easier, point us in the right direction, feed my peaked curiosity.”

Marc chuckles low under his breath, “the only thing it would do is make this more difficult.”

“Hmm,”

“What?”

“The Marc I knew loved difficult, maybe you have changed.” You pick, turn yourself back towards your laptop, missing the way his face falls after you do. Your fingers type away at the keys, “so, you have three leads, I debunked two. All that leaves is this one.” You stare at the screen, squinting.

“Are you still in contact with that hacker–what was his name?”

You sigh, “yes, but we both know he comes at a price and why spend money when we could just use my skills?”

“Because he’s the better hacker.”

There's a scowl on your brows when you turn to him, “says who?”

“Me.” He deadpans, “I don’t think I need to mention what happened the last time you tried to be the expert hacker you think you are.”

“What happened–the last time, I–” you stop when you see the raise of his eyebrow, the look of cocky correctness written all over his face.

“Exactly.” He pulls the laptop closer to him, “we don’t have time for you to prove something right now.” Your scowl deepens but you don’t say anything, ignore that he is right—telling Marc he is right, verbally, felt more of a loss than it really was for more than one reason.

So you let him take the reins of the laptop, watch his fingers type in the secret codes you had taught him, the codes the two of you had used together more times than you could count. Your eyes running along the small scars and rough edges imprinted on his skin from his life as a mercenary—or rather his continued life as one. The memories of him coming back to you late at night with bloody knuckles or cut skin flashes in your mind, makes your breath stutter for half a second. The black watch he always wore still on his wrist, a small tan line around it.

It feels like nothing has changed. Marc still acts the same, dresses the same, looks the same, smells the same. You have barely changed yourself, had barely put in the effort to change from who you once were. Moving countries away seemed good enough for you.

If you don’t think too hard, if you let yourself slip back into that mindset that was just you and him before everything went to shit; ignoring the heart ache, it’s as if the two of you are back in Cairo, the same as before.

Except the sinking feeling of how things ended, how that last night the two of you were together went, burns any semblance of pretending for you.

It doesn't take long for Marc to make contact with the hacker, wire him the payment for helping, and get the missing piece of information that helps turn the tides in what direction the two of you needed to be looking in for the stolen—and soon to be re-stolen—relic. All the while you jot everything down, pull books off of your many shelves, drink from your glass, and try not to let your gaze drift over to Marc; which seems easier said than actually done.

“Are you still in the business?”

“The business of what exactly?” Your finger is hovered over a highlighted passage in Arabic when you look up at him. He still has the laptop in front of him, a map in hand.

“This business.”

“No,” you shake your head, look back down at the book, “old wounds aren’t meant to be reopened, isn't that what you used to say? I moved on.” You press your lips together in a tight grin, “plus last I knew I was on a few peoples shit list, ya know the I’ll kill you if I ever see you again kind of list.”

Which is another reason why Marc had all but made the decision for you to leave Cairo. To leave him, even after he had already left you.

He doesn't say anything but when you look up at him again his constant scowl has grown deeper, completely taking over his face. Giving him that etch of intimidation and anger that would make most people walk on the other side of the road if they saw him coming. But to you it gave you just the opposite. Knowing Marc for as long as you did and growing to understand his lack of sharing any details of himself—the ones that counted the most to one's heart, that is—you had learned to pick up on hints of emotions, features, mannerisms that meant more than he could say or express.

And while yes, the scowl never seemed to completely ever leave his face, and in most cases it meant he was mad at the world; for some, when he went completely silent and had nothing to say even when he was vexed, it meant he was in deep thought about something. Something someone would normally want to share, to talk about to get off of their chest and clear their mind.

Marc stored all the bad in his head into a little box that was chained ten times over so no one could see it, hear it, learn about it. As if it were better that way for everyone involved. When all it did was make him even more angry, and the people around him ache.

“I thought maybe you would have quit this whole thing. Maybe settle down, find yourself a wife, move to suburbia.” You tease, smiling over at him.

He scoffs, “you know me, always wanted the picket fence and the minivan.”

“You seem like the type to coach little league for sure.”

“Yeah, me and kids, I don’t think that's a good mix.”

“Hmm, I don't know.” You shrug, “maybe if you smiled a little more. Dropped the whole hot brooding man thing. Though it would get the soccer moms going I’m sure.”

“Right, they’d love someone like me.”

He drops the insult to himself as if it were as easy as dishing out a compliment—something else he wasn't too good at. Marc doesn’t seem bothered by it, doesn’t stop him from continuing to shift his eyes from the laptop and the map, as if he never said it at all. And it’s a feeling you knew all too well, a moment you knew all too well because it’s happened before, been spoken by him before. Dropped during arguments or jokes, but to you was not a joke at all.

Marc’s self depreciation rarely came out, and when it did it ate at you until you had to say something—which only made things worse. Where you wanted to discuss more on the matter you were met with frustrated anger and “it doesn't matter”.

But it mattered to you, in more ways than it probably should have.

“You’re not a bad man, Marc.” Your voice is low when you say it, your nose back down in your book. Part of you hoping he didn't hear you, or that maybe that new leaf he proclaims to have turned over has made his conversing on deep things—real things—better.

But it’s wishful thinking and you know better than to wish on Marc Spector.

“We wouldn’t be here if..”

You wait for him to finish, wait for the cruel words to come out but nothing does. There's only silence and the huff of a frustrated breath. He’s scowling at the map when you look over to him, his knuckles gripping the flimsy paper harder than one should—unless you want to rip it to shreds.

“If what?”

His eyes shut for half a second, head shaking, “it doesn't matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“It shouldn't.”

“Well it does. It matters, you-” you swallow, feel your heart rate pick up, “you matter to me.” The proclamation comes out of nowhere and it hits you like a ton of bricks. Your mouth turns dry after you’ve said it.

The chuckle he lets out as his face turns mean, mocking, as he looks up at you, makes heat come into your cheeks. “Let’s not do this right now. Can we just,” he sighs, closing his eyes again, “can we just focus on finding this and leave our shit in the past.”

“Our shit?” You can’t help but laugh at that. “And what shit would that be exactly? You leaving me in Cairo? You having not spoken to me in three years and decided out of nowhere that you need my help, because you quote-on-quote trust me, but won’t let me in enough to actually know the why, is that the shit you’re talking about? Or is there some other shit I don’t know about?”

“I’m not doing this with you.” His scowl paints a shadow across his eyes, his fingers running through his hair frustratingly.

“Shocker.”

“Can we just get this done, please?”

“So you can leave for another three years and pound on my door at eleven at night needing my help again? Gladly.” You close your book angrily, throw it on top of the stack on the counter, “hopefully in the next three that leaf actually turns over.”

A silence falls over the two of you as you continue the task at hand, just as Marc wanted. The tension is still there and nipping at the back of your neck as your fingers flip through pages, as you step into Marc’s space to copy coordinates into an app, and circle the locations on the map. The cycle of retaining information, gathering, stepping into each other's space, his cologne wafting over you one too many times making you forget a line you just read.

Until finally you jump up from your seat, “I think I got it!” You shove the book in front of Marc’s face, point out the passage you just read. His fingers moving along the keys of the laptop, eyes flicking to the map, yours going over the information the two of you scribbled down together to see if your calculations add up—to see if you’re right.

You see a smile spread on Marc’s lips, genuine and familiar, as he points to the screen, “there it is.”

You push yourself back into his space, your shoulder flush to his warm chest as you stare at the screen. Your own smile spreading, “fuck,” you laugh softly. “No wonder you won’t tell me the why. I hope you still have the suit.”

“I do.”

“Good,” you shake your head, “I better get half if you cash that baby in, I did find it after all.” It’s a joke and by the small vibration against your shoulder you know he’s taken it as such.

You stare at the screen, your eyes scanning over the relic that’s shown clearer, bigger, now that it’s on the laptop, than on his phone. The coordinates of its home: Cairo, making your stomach sink. The nipping suspicion of why he won’t tell you anything more on the why, the matter—unfortunately clear to you now. It wasn’t safe for you to go back there.

God knows it definitely was not safe for him either.

“Thank you.”

You turn and the realization of just how close the two of you are finally seems to click, slotting into that part of your brain that has your smile fading, your brain going a little hazy. “Of course,” you smile tightly, “guess we still make a good team.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, a hint of a grin on his lips, but it’s swallowed down and then he’s moving. Standing from the chair and grabbing his phone, copying the information into the device and slipping it into his pocket.

And you know it’s time to say goodbye again, that this night spent in the past has finally come to an end—and you know you should be glad, should be more than happy to hurry him towards the door. But the ache in your chest has you rooted to your spot against the island, an excuse to get him to stay a little longer trying to form in your brain.

You know better though. That was never how it was supposed to go, because this is not the past. This is reality. Not some old fantasy you used to live in.

“So,” you cross your arms, “guess I’ll see you in three years, same time?”

His lips twitch up, “hopefully not.”

You swallow down the way his answer stings. Sends you plummeting. You should be happy to never see him again. You forgot him before and you can do it again.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

You turn to pick up the mess on your island, scattered papers collected into your hands—the urge to act on the nerves that are currently coursing through you violently, making your hands tremble. You expect to hear his heavy footsteps against the wood floor, the door slamming behind him. To feel the cold chill of being alone again. Away from him and his heat. For good. Hopefully.

“Be careful, Marc.” It slips out without a second thought, spoken gently, sincerely.

“Don’t worry about me.”

The papers in your hand are in as neat of a pile as you can manage right now, your back pressing to the edge of the island, looking over at him as he just stands there. His fingers twitch at his sides as he does, almost like he doesn’t know what to do.

“That’s going to be hard to do when you’re going to the one place where you shouldn’t.”

“There’s a lot of places I shouldn’t go, it’s never stopped me before.”

“Maybe this time it should.” You shrug, “maybe this job you don’t have to do.”

His head shakes, “I didn’t come here for this.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that more than clear. This wasn’t a friendly visit. We’ve covered.” You laugh, “just as clear as you not really coming here because you trust me, you just needed to use my resources.” Your head shakes, “I’m fine with that, but don’t sugar coat what this is. I would have thought you would have grown out of that.”

“I do trust you.”

“Not enough to tell me why you need to go back to Cairo, it’s fucking foolish after what happened last time we were there.”

Marc swallows, presses his lips together, “we are not going back there. I am and I can handle it.”

“Like last time?”

You know it’s a low blow, a punch to the gut. But your blood is boiling and you’re tired of pretending like this isn’t just as it was before, the heat and anger in his eyes when he looks at you. The ache you feel all over, but mostly in your heart for him, and the shadow that covers over his eyes when something real is spoken between the two of you and the visible itch Marc has to shut it all down and run. Or turn the fight into silence and never speak of it again.

“Last time was,” there’s a frustrated noise let out, fingers in his hair, the shake of his head, “it was a mistake.”

“Which part? The part where you left me there alone-”

“You know what part!” His voice booms through your apartment, “and don’t act like I didn’t leave you for a reason.”

“You left me stranded in Cairo because you were a coward.”

The pounding of your heart has picked up, the thrum heard in your ears. Your brows matching his scowl. This conversation being three years in the making and you weren’t going to let him shy down how fucked it all was by him thinking he has a good enough reason to just leave you like that. To break you like that.

“I was not a coward.” He steps towards you until his shoes are toe to toe with your bare feet, his breath hitting your cheeks like a slap as his words are spit out, “I left to keep you safe.”

“I wasn’t in danger!” Your head shakes, “I was fine. You left because it got too real for you, us.”

His scowl deepens, disbelief written over his face, “you think I left because of us?”

“Why else would you spend the night with me and then leave. After-“ you swallow shakily, “after I said it.” Your arms are back to being crossed against your chest, you want to look away from him, want to tear your eyes from his burning gaze as you say the next words. The heat in your body collected in your cheeks, “After I said I loved you.”

His features soften just a bit, there’s something in his eyes that makes your breath shutter.

“It didn’t mean anything to begin with,” you lie. “It was one of those things people say in the moment, ya know sex endorphins and all that. You didn’t need to leave.” You want to add the ‘leave me’ part to the statement, but with the way you feel the burning begin at the back of your eyes from the thought alone, you know it’s best you don’t. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You’ve done enough crying for Marc. You refused to waste one more tears on him.

He looks down, runs his fingers along his jaw, flexes his hands. “I didn’t,” he takes in a breath, “I didn’t leave because of that.” His voice is low, traces of the venom that was once there now gone. “You almost died, because of me.” When his eyes meet back to yours there’s pain there and it makes the anger drain from your body completely.

“That wasn’t your fault, Marc.”

“Yes it was. I knew the risk of the mission and I still let you go.”

“You didn’t let me go I-”

“You shouldn’t have gone! It wasn’t as safe as the other times, I didn’t calculate enough, I wasn’t fast enough and you got hurt.”

“You weren’t the one holding the knife to me were you? No. We both knew how risky it was, but that’s what we did. I didn’t care–wouldn’t care about the risk. I wasn’t going to leave your side.” Your fingers itch to reach out and grab him, to press your palm to his cheek, lace your fingers with his, just to touch him.

“You should have. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I should have known better.”

“You knowing better would be knowing there would have been nothing you could have said to stop me from going with you. I’m not some weak girl.”

“I’m not saying you are!” He huffs, “you’re one of the toughest people I know. Hard headed and strong to the point of giving anyone a headache.” His fists are balled at his sides, “and to watch that knife cut through you, to see that strength diminished while I couldn’t,” his head drops, “while I couldn’t get to you.”

“Marc,” you reach out for him but he moves away. Your chest aching.

“I shouldn’t have let you go with me. And I was not going to make that mistake again.” There’s a small sheen in his eyes but he blinks it away. “I am sorry though, for leaving you like that. I shouldn’t have done it like that. You’re right.”

You don’t remember the words ‘sorry’ and ‘you’re right’ paired in any sentence Marc has ever spoken to you before. The effect of the words doing too much to you right now, you don’t remember when the last breath you had taken was, can’t remember if you’ve blinked in seconds, minutes.

The memory of that night, everything that happened; a blade going through your abdomen, Marc’s scream of your name seeming so far away. Your body falling slack in the sand, the haze of what followed until your eyes opened again and you were in the hotel room the two of you were held up in. Marc hunched over in a chair beside the bed, his elbows on his knees, face in his palms.

The look in his eyes when you said his name has been etched behind your eyelids for years now. The way he cupped your face, the upturn of his lips in the joy of you being alright.

And then the sequence of kissing, gentle touches, thrusts, reassurances of you being okay, of Marc taking his time with you—not only because of the bandage on your stomach—the moment being the most intimate that had been shared between the two of you up until then. As if it were more than just fucking like it usually was. You couldn’t help but moan the words against his lips.

“I love you.”

He didn’t say them back and you never expected him to. You just felt like you needed to say them, to finally get them out. To let him know.

You fell asleep in his arms and woke up with him gone. The realization that you were probably never going to see him again setting in once you boarded the plane.

And here he was, the same man he was back then. Only now he was telling you how he felt, not running away from you. Not leaving you wondering and stranded in heartache.

Even if his words were hurting just the same.

Marc thought you were strong, tough. You wish he could believe your words as much as you believed his. That’s what truly hurt.

“I didn’t even want to come here tonight. I thought about it for days, walked past your building too nervous to even step foot inside.” He laughs, “it sounds pathetic. But, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let something happen to you again.” His face is solemn, “that’s why I can’t tell you why, give you more. I’ve probably already given you too much. I’d rather have you pissed off at me than dead.”

His words continue to wound and heal you all in the same go. Make you continue to ache and long for him.

Part of you regrets every word you spoke earlier out of anger towards him. Every ill thought you had at why you thought he had left you. You knew the truth now and it only made the heartache more unbearable.

You step closer to him, close that distance he put between the two of you. Your hand reaching out to take one of his, your fingers finding the long lost home they’ve missed too much between his. Your eyes downcast as you look at them, “Marc, you have to know it wasn’t your fault what happened to me. We both knew the danger, I never would have let you stop me, anything could have happened. One shit guy got past us, went unnoticed, and something bad happened. But something worse could have too.” Your other hand hesitates before you place it on his bicep, his jacket having long been discarded somewhere in the room. “I’m sorry for assuming why you left that night, I just thought that…whatever it was between us became too real for you. I guess I know you too well, when it comes to you and your relationship with reality at least.” You laugh softly.

He’s not looking at you when your eyes move up to his face. They are on your twined fingers, his expression unreadable. And maybe that’s what makes you braver, makes you move even closer so your chest is pressed to his and there is no more room to be had between the two of you.

Your earlier declaration of this exact thing not happening, never going to happen, not even an afterthought in your mind.

You know Marc knows it too, can feel everything shifting; the moment the two of you are having turning into something else, something more familiar to the two of you. Your bodies having not forgotten the way this went, the building up and putting together of something shared between lovers.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Probably not.”

“I should go.”

“You should.”

And that’s all it takes. His eyes locking on to yours, that heat there, that intensity. His hands coming up to cup your cheeks and bring your lips to his in a rough kiss that sets you completely ablaze.

Marc backs you up until you are once again pressed to the edge of the island, his front pressed hard to yours, his kiss bruising. The warmth of his palms on your cheeks makes them itch from the way they burn against your flesh. Your lips feel at home against his, as if you two have been doing this for the last three years he’s been gone. No time passing. Just this. His lips on yours completely consuming your being.

When he finally pulls away from you, when you two can finally let out the breaths stuck in your chests. His eyes are darker, one hand skates down to rest at the side of your neck, the other at your hip.

“Tell me to go.” It’s a demand spoken between heavy breaths, “tell me to go and I’ll never come back.” His thumb runs a small pattern against your neck, his eyes shooting down to your lips for half a second, “you’ll be safe and I’ll be gone, as it should be.”

Your head shakes, eyes soft and filled with something that’s never left for him; rooted itself bone deep for him. Your arms had wrapped themselves around his neck when you started kissing, your fingers in his hair still. “Stay.” You say breathless, bring your lips so close to his again, “I’m safest with you here, with me.” He’s looking down at you, chest heaving, fingers trembling against you. “Stay with me, Marc.”

The push of his hand on your neck brings your lips back to his, seals the two of you together. A wordless agreement, yes.

There’s some maneuvering around furniture and then you're in your bedroom; shoes tossed aside, socks forgotten—and then the back of your knees are at the edge of your mattress. Your fingers tangle in the bottom of his dark shirt before you pull it up and he helps you lift it over his head. Taking the brief moment of your lips being parted to let your fingers press to his chest, your eyes taking in his naked torso. Your mind taking in every small scar on his tanned skin that you can remember—that you can see. The warmth of his flesh on yours reminding you of so many nights spent with it against you. Of how you have had your lips pressed to this skin, have seen this skin hurt, bleeding, and put back together.

God you’ve missed it so much.

And you can’t help yourself from pressing a kiss to his collarbone, the base of his throat, the top of one of his pecs. You want to go further but you feel his finger under your chin stopping you, looking up at him through your lashes; that desirous gaze still knocking you for a loop after all these years. He brings you back to him, back to his lips, as if he can’t stand to be parted from them for too long.

He follows your same actions in pulling your pajama shirt over your head and discarding it to the floor, the realization of you being completely bare underneath it coming to you too late. The cool air in the room nipping at your sensitive skin, your nipples hard and rubbing against his chest just enough to have small noises made against his lips.

Marc pulls away to look down at your chest, the fallen curls against his forehead rubbing softly against yours as he does so. Both of his rough palms move along your curves slowly, the scrap of the calluses on his fingers, on your soft skin making you shiver. There’s never been embarrassment between the two of you, you had never shied your body from him—but with so much time passed it almost feels like the first time again and you feel small nerves burn in your stomach.

Or maybe it’s from how intense his gaze feels on you, the itch to want to know what his eyes are showing; hunger? Lust? Something more devastatingly soft?

He presses his lips to your chest, your shivers turning into full blown trembles when you feel the wet heat of his lips on top of your breasts. His mouth paying dutiful attention to each one of them, his hands coming to a stop at the sides of them. His index fingers rubbing against your sensitive nipples, making your thighs press together, that desirous ache already having been built to the point of pounding between your legs.

Marc drops to his knees, making him the perfect eye level with your tits. When his lips wrap around one of your nipples, taking it into his mouth letting his tongue run across it slow and precise before sucking on it; your head falling back as you moan. Your nails digging into his shoulder when you feel the scrap of teeth.

He does the same to the other, spending what feels like forever devouring them. Leaving you even more breathless and wet. There’s a kiss pressed under the nipple he’s just popped from his mouth, and then his lips are trailing down your sternum. You anticipate for him to go further, your body amping itself up in excitement to feel him go lower and lower until he reaches that ache that needs soothing.

But when you don’t feel his lips continue their decent you open your eyes to look down at him, only to feel the swelling of your heart when you see why he’s stopped; the reminder you’ve had etched on your skin for the last three years, a scream in the form of a scar. A pang in your chest every time your eyes looked over it in the passing of a mirror, or your fingers pressed to it in the shower. It’s not an ugly irritating thing, really, it’s small and barely pops out of your skin. But the way Marc is looking at it, the notable grief in his eyes, makes yours burn.

“Hey,” you say softly, moving the curls from his forehead in a gentle soothing touch. “Marc, look at me.” He does and you don’t think his eyes have ever looked so big, his lips so wet and swollen.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you shake your head, press your palm to his cheek, let your thumb nail gently run along his jawline. “I usually forget it’s there,” you smile, “but it does make me look like a badass, does it not?”

And your heart jumps when the corners of his mouth turn up into a small smile, his gaze pulled from you as he presses a kiss to the scar. You know he’s not just going to let it go, know it’s going to still be on his mind. But he doesn’t say anything to indicate such, only mumbles “very badass” against it. Then his lips are continuing down your body.

When he reaches the top of your pajama shorts he pulls away, undoes the small strings tied together to keep them up. Pushes them down after the knot is freed, helps you step out of them and throws them in the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Marc’s hands skate up the tops of your thighs, coming to rest at your hips. He looks up at you through the darkness of his lashes as leans forward, bringing his mouth closer, closer, to your clothed core.

You hold his gaze until you feel his tongue run a stripe along your soaked underwear, it felt through the lace so tantalizingly good, a whimper slips from your parted mouth. The tip of his tongue dips between your lips as much as the fabric allows, the urge to rock your hips up into him ever present.

Marc’s fingers hook themselves at the fabric against your hip, pulling them down, helping your legs step from the garment like he did your shorts, a quick kiss felt at the side of your calf as he does so. And then his lips are pressing to your inner thighs, your legs shaking as the heat of his mouth grows closer to the heat of your core.

When his mouth finally reaches that part of you that aches for him in need, in desire. The moan that escapes you is loud and burns; his tongue lapping at the wetness on your folds, spreading them with the tip to seek out your clit and run along the nerve with slow motions. Your fingers tightening in his hair as the burning in your lower belly turns to incandescent lava.

And he hasn’t forgotten, his mouth remembering every inch of your cunt. The parts you like sucked, licked. How you like his tongue to flick, run, and swirl here or there, until you are a complete mess around him and there’s wetness dripping down your thighs; soothing the burn from the hints of stubble along his jaw.

Your breath hitches when you feel one of his fingers prod at your entrance, entering you slowly to the knuckle. Marc moves the digit in and out of you with the same speed and time he does with his tongue against your clit. Both movements making your legs feel weak and wobbly. That fire in your lower belly growing closer and closer to being extinguished into something blissful.

You feel a soft chuckle vibrate against you from Marc as he wraps his arm around your legs to keep you grounded. His mouth pulling away from your clit, finger pulling from you. A quick wet kiss pressed to your mound before he’s looking up at you and saying, “lay down” in an amused tone.

He doesn’t have to convince you more than that, your legs feeling heavy enough. You’re quick to listen and fall back on your mattress, scooting yourself up enough so no part of you is dangling off, and giving Marc enough room to lay between your legs; the backs of your thighs pressed to the tops of his shoulders as he grips your hips and pulls you to his mouth.

His mouth returning to your clit, the heat of his tongue joining the warmth of your sensitivity, that burning in your belly returning. This time when he slips his finger inside of you it’s followed up with a second one, your back arching, strings of moans panted out. His fingers are knuckle deep and curling themselves against your walls until they hit that spot inside of you that has your walls clenching and fluttering against them. The wetness of his fingers fucking into you and the suck of his lips around your clit has the room filled with filthy noises, the octave of your moans only adding to the symphony of pleasure.

Your fingers grip themselves in your comforter, that blaze in your belly growing the more Marc’s tongue moves against your clit, faster faster. His fingers picking up the same speed, your body buzzing as it’s strummed by his skillful mouth and fingers. That blissful orgasm haze making your mind foggy, your hips stuttering against Marc’s mouth as he brings you to that edge.

Finally pushing you over when his fingers press against that deep spot once more, paired with the suction of his tongue to your swollen clit; you’re coming, your head thrown back, body withering, your knees pressed to the side of his skull as your loud moan fills the room. As your walls flutter, clench, and release against his fingers, wetness oozing around them. As that euphoric high makes a cooling heat burn to the point of succumption; to the pleasure, to Marc.

Aftershocks rack through your body when Marc’s tongue laps at the new wetness gathered around your fluttering hole, coating your folds. His lips pressing wet kisses to each of your inner thighs, before he’s moving himself up from you, sitting back on his knees.

You can’t remember a time—since last seeing him—that you’ve come that hard. Your fingers and any toys you’ve used not holding a match to the orgasmic high this man just gave to you; intense, leaving you only sedated for seconds, minutes, until you needed more, to be filled by him.

“I forgot how good at that you were,” you’re still trying to catch your breath as you say it, your head turning to look at him.

A soft laugh complimenting his grin, there’s a small sheen of wetness on his chin—what he mixed with the back of his hand. “Yeah?” You nod smiling. Marc leans forward enough to wrap his hand around the back of your neck and pulls you up to him, both hands resting at the sides of your neck when he leans down again, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks, “and I forgot how good you tasted.” Both your smiles are wiped away with the pressing of his lips to yours, the taste of yourself on his tongue when it slips into your mouth, the filthiness of your own essence being passed to you making you moan.

The heat from his chest is on top of your breasts. There’s a low groan in the back of his throat when you run your palm along the bulge in his pants. All of it aiding to that ache building back up between your legs.

There’s still that dark desire in his eyes when he pulls away and looks down at you, “do you want to keep going?”

Both of you know that once you cross that threshold more than you already have, step completely back into that place—that past—that it’ll be even harder to let it go again. To move on from the wound being reopened, and you don’t know what tomorrow will bring. If he will really leave you again, if this is the goodbye you didn’t get last time or something more. You don’t want to think about it, all the hidden meanings and what ifs.

All you want is him. Marc in this moment. Marc inside of you.

So there’s only one clear and true answer you can give him; “yes,” you swallow shakily, “do you?” Your heart clenches as you wait for the answer, hoping it’s the same as yours.

“I don’t think I’d be able to stop even if I didn’t.” And his lips are on yours again, your stomach fluttering from his words and the way his clothed cock grinds against your core when he pushes your back down on the bed, his legs slotting between yours.

That fire in your belly back with a vengeance the more you feel the throbbing of his cock through the fabric of his jeans. Your nails lightly skating down his back when his lips move along the side of your neck, his mouth taking the skin there between his lips to suck and run his tongue along it. Repeating the pattern along the traces of your column; sinking his teeth into the flesh, making whimpers turn into moans and your chest push up into his.

Your hips are rolling against his, the low grunts he lets out falling against your skin, landing on the throbbing parts of your aching sex. And you know if you don’t feel him inside of you soon you might go insane. But the thought of this possibly being a goodbye—your last time with him before he disappears again—makes you want to go slow. To take him in more places than just your pussy.

Your hands move between the two of you as you fumble with his belt, try to undo the buckle blindly. Marc’s fingers coming down onto yours to stop you, “need help?” He teases as he smirks down at you, leaning back on his knees as does what your fingers couldn’t. All you can do is watch. Watch him pull the belt from the loops of his pants and let it fall to the floor, his fingers going for the buckle of his pants next. Undoing them enough for you to—act before thinking—reach your hand inside of the dark material and past his boxers to wrap your palm around his cock. The hot flesh, the memory of it being against your tongue, inside of you, making you bite your lower lip.

Making you lean up and stretch your neck just enough, hooking your finger around the chain on his neck, pulling on it lightly until he gets the hint and bends down to smash your lips together, a groan vibrating against your lips as your palm moves against him; the little space inside of his boxers not giving you much wiggle room, but enough to have his cock twitching and hips moving.

“It’s my turn to taste you,” you smirk against his lips, “lay down.”

And he doesn’t protest, only returns your smirk with one last kiss to your lips and then the two of you are switching positions, you helping him slip his last two layers completely off; the head of his cock slapping against his lower belly.

Your jaw aching as you take in the size and thickness of him, remembering—craving—to feel that stretch of your cheeks and pain in your jawbone from taking him so many times before. Marc fucking your mouth more times than you can count, or recall. The mess of drool and spit and cum that always coated your lips and chin afterwards was addicting.

When you wrap your palm back around his shaft, pumping your fist along it slowly, Marc lets out a deep noise as he leans up on his elbows watching you. The want to tease him crosses your mind, to have him completely withering beneath you even before you put him in your mouth. But you’re more impatient, wanting that remembrance of how good he tastes.

So instead of dragging out the anticipation you let the flat of your tongue run along the underside of his cock, to the tip where you swirl your tongue around the head, against the crown; before you wrap your lips around him and suck. The low hissing groan he lets out as his hips gently roll up of their own accord, making your cunt flutter, thighs press closer.

You take your time with moving your mouth down his length, setting a slow pace as you fall back in love with the heavy weight of him on your tongue. As you taste the precum at his tip. Your hand twisting and jerking off the parts your mouth hasn’t reached—that it can’t reach when you finally hit the back of your throat and gag around him.

Making a rhythm, a pattern, of it all. Going as far as you can until you’re gagging, your saliva completely coating his cock now, a slick noise filling the room as your hand and mouth work along him. Your fingers twisting along the bottom of his head as you suck his crown the way you know his likes; his hips continuing to roll and stutter up, and you can tell Marc is holding back, that he’s not fucking your mouth the way he’s used to. The way the both of you love.

No he’s savoring you like this, the feeling, the lock of your eyes when you look up through your lashes at him as you swallow him down. His knuckles whiting as he grips the comforter just as you had minutes ago, his mouth agape, a delirious pleasured haze glazing his dark eyes as he watches you.

“Fuck,” Marc groans, growing completely breathless, “now I’m remembering why most of our nights ended with me filling your throat.” He chuckles, breathy and low, “you’re so good.”

You moan against his cock and the vibration has his head tipping back, his hips pushing up too much that it has you gagging around him. Your jaw already growing tired from the stretch, and you love it. Your taste buds craving that salty taste of him on your tongue, forgetting all about the throbbing want between your legs.

Until Marc’s hand is gripping your jaw and pulling you from his cock, pulling you up to his lips, “you and this fucking mouth,” his fingers dig into the skin of your jaw making you whimper, “you’re going to make me come.” He kisses you roughly, “but I need to feel your pussy around me.” He groans against your lips.

He smoothly switches your positions, his hips slotted between your open legs again, hovering his chest over yours. A hand at the base of your neck as he looks down at you, “Couldn’t stop myself from thinking about you, constantly.” It’s barely audible, on a whisper and then his lips are pressing to the side of your face, your neck, your lips. Your stomach flipping, the urge to let that dam break of how much you missed him, missed this, on the tip of your tongue but not dared enough to slip out.

His hips move slowly, rolling up at just the right angle to have the head of his cock rubbing against your clit; the small pinpricks of burning pleasure from the contact making you push your hips up to meet his. That tantalizing pounding ache inside of you, at your entrance, begging him—needing for him to go a little lower, to bring his tip there, to slip inside of you, to fill you, remind you of how full he always made you feel.

“Marc, please,” you whine into his shoulder, nipping at his skin playfully and impatiently. Your pleadings making him smile against your neck, his lips leaving a trail to your lips.

“Missed it that bad, huh?” He teases, slips his tongue in your mouth kissing you deeply, swallowing down your whimpered yes, your head nodding against the pillow.

You fully expect him to drag it out even more, until you’re truly begging for him; always liking it when he left you like that. But you know he’s dying to be inside of you as you are to feel him, the throbbing and twitching of his cock on your clit being a good indication of it. And he doesn’t make either of you wait much longer, his hand moving between the two of you, wrapping around his shaft to reposition his head to your entrance.

The breath in your lungs seems to halt all together, getting trapped in your throat, your mouth falling open, as you feel him slowly push inside of you; the stretch burning even though you’re soaked, no memory or recollection of that past could have made you remember just how thick he is—you now realize. When he’s completely inside of you, your walls surrounding him tightly, feeling fuller than possible, you both let out a heavy breath. Marc bringing his forehead down to yours.

Did his cock always feel this good?

The two of you stay like that for a minute, your heavy breaths the only sound in the room. Marc’s palm runs along your cheek to your chin, where he grips it between his fingers, “okay?”

You nod, bring your fingers to the back of his head to run through his curls, “perfect,” you smile, leaning up to kiss his lips, and then he finally moves. His hips thrusting slow, and gentle, moans breathed and pressed into each other’s mouths.

Marc’s elbows are encased around you, his fallen hair tickling your forehead, the sides of your face, as he fucks into you languid, deep. You want to look up at him, to see those dark eyes looking down at you, but his cock feels too good, your brain too fogged with pleasure, lust; his heat, his weight, his girth, smell, touch, completely engulfing you.

The burning in your belly rising again. You can feel your walls tighten and flutter against his length, and you don’t know how you ever went without this. Without his deep heavy breaths, and grunts against you, above you. Fanning across your face and breathed into your mouth. How did you go without this for three years?

In the morning you’ll probably regret it all, letting him inside of you again; in more ways than this. You know when he’s gone, no matter what traces, scars, bruises, marks, he leaves on your body—leaves of him—won’t be enough. You need this. Need him.

You’re tired of pretending you don’t. Pretending like your heart hasn’t been in complete shambles for three years missing him. You never moved on, no matter how much convincing anger and bad mouthing of his name into the void did. And you know now, with his cock thrusting into you, with you on the verge of coming again, his name on your lips; that you’ll never be able to get over him.

Not in this universe or the next.

And when you move the hair from his face, when your eyes meet, you know he feels it too. Can see that glint of understanding in them that he always harbored for you when words couldn’t cut it—couldn’t be found or expressed.

When his thrusts pick up speed, the snap of his hips burning your inner thighs, the squelching of his cock fucking into your wetness, your skin moving against each other filling your ears like a beautiful sonnet. Marc’s fist comes to rest at the column of your neck, there’s no pressure, no indentation of his fingers in your skin—the weight of it is enough.

His stubble burns your cheek as his teeth nip at your lobe, his heavy breaths in your ear making you shiver, your legs tighten around his waist; bringing them up just a bit further to drive him deeper inside of you. Your moans growing in octave, in frequency, burning your throat each time you swallow against his palm.

Your nails dig into his back the harder his thrusts become, the deeper and rougher they are.

“Marc,” you moan into his shoulder breathless, fucked out.

“You say my name so pretty, like I’m some savior–like I’m all you need.” He grunts into your ear, “I’ve dreamt about you like this, you saying my name like that, coming on my cock. Can’t tell you how many times.”

Your hands move up his body to his neck to pull him to your lips, his eyes hooded, lost completely in the pleasure of you; his gaze and words, groans, his cock, all making your insides feel like lava, your chest concaving in, “I do need you.” You whimper against his lips, “I always have.”

Marc’s head shakes lightly, “I’m going to ruin you, again.”

“Ruin me then,” your thumbs are pressed into his chin, your nails nicking his bottom lip, “you have my permission, ruin me, Marc. I’m yours to do so.” You kiss him, hard, rough, “just don’t leave me this time.”

He grunts into your mouth, his fist gripping the pillow behind your head, “never.”

You know he doesn’t mean it, the both of you are drunk off of each other right now, on the brink of coming undone around the other; breathless, fucked out, brain clouded with pleasure. But that doesn’t stop the way the notion makes your stomach sink sink sink until you’re coming around his cock, your body withering and shaking against his, your walls gripping him like a vice. His name on your lips, moaned breathlessly; in unhinged bliss as your mind rides that beautiful wave for the second time tonight.

Marc’s hips snap into you roughly, fucking you through your high, his hips stuttering shortly after you’re coming down. His thrusts sloppy and breath picking up, deep grunts vibrating through his chest coming more and more against your lips until he’s groaning, his hand pulled from your throat as he pulls his cock from your walls, stroking along his shaft until he’s coming on your mound. Pressing his lips to yours in one last searing kiss. His body shaking against yours, the hot heat of his cum on your skin making you shiver.

He doesn’t move even after the two of you have come down. His chest stays pressed to yours as the both of you are still trying to catch your breath, foreheads pressed together, chests shaking, bodies slick with sweat.

Your body is buzzing from pleasure, your walls sore and still fluttering with aftershocks; even after Marc pulls himself from your chest to lay on his back beside you. You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling, your limbs feeling like jelly, your body feeling a sedation it hasn’t in far too long. You can feel his cum drying on your skin, but you could care less about taking care of it. You don’t want to move, to close your eyes again and have this all be a dream—an overactive imagination.

You can feel his body heat at your shoulder, feel his deep breaths. And when you feel the back of his hand move along the blanket until he finds your fingers, lacing them with his; that dam finally breaks. That burning behind your lids finally bringing itself to the forefront.

You swallow it down as fast as it’s coming, try to blink the burn away. Chastise yourself for being so emotional after sex, especially with Marc. The fear that he might run again—even if it wasn’t from your emotions before. It’s there and all you can think about. That declaration you made to him the last time you were like this, together, fucked out, blissful; calm.

And it’s in the back of your throat to say it again, to let slip out, to actually declare it when your mind is clearer and not consumed with pleasure dealt out by him. But you don’t. You swallow it down with all the other emotions that are begging to be released.

Instead you ask softly, “how did you know where to find me?”

He waits a second before answering, probably debating on if he should tell the truth. “After you left, I went looking for you,” he swallows, “I wanted to make sure you were okay, safe.”

“Why didn’t you–“

“I talked myself out of it,” he answers your question without even needing you to finish it. “The image of you laid out, bloody, hurting, because of me–what happened–I couldn’t..”

You nod in understanding. Don’t question him anymore or you know the tears will fall. Will make this beautiful moment into something real, too real for him.

“There wasn’t a day that didn’t go by when you weren’t on my mind. I went to sleep hearing you tell me you loved me, and I woke up every morning knowing I didn’t deserve that love.”

Your fingers instinctively squeeze his as he speaks. You know the dark of the room is helping him, aiding him in expressing, getting out what he never did before—what he never told you. You want to open your mouth and tell him, show him, how deserving of love he is. Want to scream it until he believes it. Understands it.

“It gutted me everyday. Especially knowing that I,” he stops, goes quiet for a minute, you can feel him scowling up at the ceiling without even having to look over at him. “I loved you too.”

And that’s when you finally let the tears fall, can’t fight them any longer. Your eyes falling shut, your head turning to the side, away from him, as they run down your cheeks. Your breath held in your lungs, your heart sinking down into your gut; a mournful ache building throughout your body.

You think you’re doing a good job of wiping the tears as they fall with the back of your hand, slowing your breathing when it finally comes, sniffing as softly as you can; but it’s a mute effort when you feel Marc shifting against the mattress, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Loving me?” You sniff, try to make a joke but the laughs never come.

“Well..”

“Marc.”

You feel his cheeks contort into a smile against your head, “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

“Don’t apologize if you’re just going to leave again.”

A silence falls over you, you wiping your tears, sniffing into his chest, the circles his hand is rubbing into your back helping you calm down, your ducts drying up.

When he pulls you back to look down at you, his thumb swiping a stray tear on your cheek, you want to feel embarrassed for crying but know it’s ridiculous; this man has seen you at your worst, ugly, bloodied, vomiting up liquor you thought you could handle. He’s seen you come undone and back together, he’s seen it all. He’s seen you.

“I’m not going to leave again. But I can’t promise I won’t want to if shit hits the fan, and you’re at risk of getting hurt again.” He looks into your eyes, “that’s all I can give you right now.”

And it’s all you could want from him in this moment. This not-promise that means more to you than a real one ever could.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector smut #marc spector x you #moon knight smut #marc spector x y/n #marc spector one shot #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #marc spector x f!reader #moon knight fic #marc spector x female reader #marc spector fic #marc spector fanfic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight one shot #moon knight x f!reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight x female reader #**

1K notes · View notes

touyasdoll · 3 years

Text

Horror Movies w/ The Boys - Part Two

Part One here

Request

Minors DNI

Pairings: Dabi x reader, Tamaki x reader, Kirishima x reader, Hawks x reader, Shouto x reader

Genre: smut & fluff

Warnings: impact play, biting, daddy kink, mommy kink

Dabi

You say the words ‘movie marathon’ and he’s sold. He doesn’t even need to know what kind of movies y’all are watching.

It could be a bunch of sappy chick flicks, he’d still be down, because he knows that ‘movie marathon’ roughly translates to ‘rearrange my guts for an evening’

And he will never pass up an opportunity to spend a night buried inside you

So he comes over, bottle of wine in hand, dick already half-hard when you open the door in your short, black nightgown

“Hey, doll,” he grins seductively, running his hand down your spine and over your ass, giving it a quick spank before he pulls you against him.

You swing the door shut, wrapping an arm around him as you take the bottle, “Hey, handsome,” you lean up on your toes to kiss his lips with a smile. “You ready for our movie night?”

“You know it,” he smirks as you bite your lip and lead him toward the bedroom.

When you insist on actually watching the first movie, he rolls his eyes, but he just strips down to his boxers and cracks open the bottle of wine before crawling into bed with you, opening up his arm for you to curl into him as he hands you a glass.

Nights like these have become a bit of a routine, one that you both look forward to, for various reasons.

The sex is always great, but so is the intimacy. He’d never say it out loud, but he gives himself away with the way his fingers dance along your arm. How his lips lazily press to your temple. The slow rhythm of his breathing as he completely relaxes under your touch.

After a couple of glasses of wine each, you’re both getting a little handsy & before you know it, your legs are spread wide, your hands tugging on his hair as his tongue piercing makes another lap around your clit.

“You taste sweeter than the wine tonight, doll,” he smirks against your inner thigh, plunging a finger between your folds as locks eyes with you, flicking his tongue rapidly against your clit as you cry out.

Tamaki

He’s never watched one all the way through, so he’s thoroughly not a horror movie guy

But for you? He’d do anything. So when you said you wanted to watch nothing but scary movies for the night, he just agreed. He couldn’t say no to you.

Lucky for him, the scary movie marathon was a ploy to get extra close to him.

You made sure to wear your skimpiest shorts and your lowest cut tank top, sans the bra and panties, of course.

You’re pretending to watch the movie, but you’re secretly watching him drool over how your breasts look pressed up against his chest.

He’s too distracted by your cleavage and the way that he can see your ass hanging out of your shorts to even know what’s going on in the film.

All you have to do is sit up and arch your back, pretending to stretch your neck as you readjust, a soft groan leaving your lips.

And he’s on you, his lips catching yours as he pulls you into his lap, his hands gripping your ass tight as he ruts his hips up into you.

You moan, steadying yourself on his shoulders as you roll your hips on top of his, “Tama,” you mewl, “touch me, please..”

He groans, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls your top down, letting your breasts spill out as he cups them in his hands.

“You think it was a good idea to tease me, bunny?” He pants, slapping at your breast while he takes the nipple of the other one into his mouth, his eyes feral as he lets out a low growl, “I’m so hard it hurts. Guess who’s pretty little pussy I’m gonna take that out on?”

Kirishima

He’s so freakin’ cute, always

So excited to spend a night in with you and he’s pulled out all the stops

He’s ordered your favorite food, made popcorn, turned the couch into a bundle of blankets and soft pillows for you both to cuddle up in.

He remembers you mentioning one movie in particular, so he brings that one up first and takes his seat beside you, asking you if you’re all settled in before he hits play.

The movie’s good and he gets into it, even getting a little freaked himself, but he’s gotta be the manly one tonight, so he’s tightening his arm around you whenever you gasp or make any sudden movements.

When the movies over, you suggest he throw on one that he knows you’ve seen a million times over and he looks at you confused.

“Why that one? Don’t you wanna watch something you haven’t seen?”

“Nah, I just want something on as background noise for a little while,” you smile, running your hand up his thigh.

“Background noise for wha—ahh,” his jaw drops open as you slip your hand beneath his shorts, stroking his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, shifting his hips forward, lifting them up enough to slip his shorts off. “C’mere,” he pats his thigh, curling his fingers at you. “And turn around, pretty girl.”

You chew your bottom lip as you stand, turning to face away from him as you slowly remove your t-shirt. His hands reach out to grab your ass, spanking you once as he mutters a quiet, “Damn,” beneath his breath.

You glance over your shoulder, hooking your thumbs into your panties and ever so slowly bending over as you remove them, giving him a perfect view of your tight, wet pussy.

“Shit,” he swallows, marveling at the sight as he groans impatiently, grasping your hips as he guides you into his lap, “So fucking wet and I haven’t even touched you yet,” he murmurs in your ear as his cock throbs against his lower abdomen, which you can feel as the base of it rests against your ass.

“Daddy,” you mewl, writhing in his lap desperately, “need you so bad.”

“I know, baby,” he coos, fisting his length to align it with your entrance as he guides your hips above his, letting you slowly impale yourself on his thick cock, a sinful moan spouting from your lips.

Hawks

You barely have the time to turn the movie on before his hands are on you, even though he promised to keep them to himself tonight.

He’s running them beneath your shirt, attaching his lips to any bare skin that he can see as he lays you down on the seat of the couch.

“Keigo, stop,” you giggle, playfully pushing against his chest, moaning as he sucks on the pulse in your neck.

“Mm, doesn’t sounds like you want me to stop, baby bird,” he’s all smiles against your skin, teeth grazing over your neck as he works his way lower, kissing along your collarbone. “We can watch the movie later, I promise.”

“You mean the way you promised that you wouldn’t do exactly this before the movie started,” you grin, carding your fingers through hair as you let your body relax.

“Okay, but I really promise this time,” he peels your shirt up over your head, continuing to pepper a trail of kisses between your breasts as he whispers seductively, “Please, mommy..”

“Don’t mommy me,” you sigh, your breath shallowing as your resistance wains, “It’s too late for you to be a good boy for me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he murmurs against your belly, looking up at you though his lashes as he settles himself between your thighs. “I can be so,” he kisses your hip, tucking his fingers beneath your shorts to pull them down slowly. “So,” he kisses your other hip, swiping his tongue over it. “Good for you, mommy..”

You moan, tugging on his hair, earning a soft groan from him, “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you smirk playfully.

“I doubt you’d put up with me otherwise,” he grins cheekily, getting up on his knees and leaning forward to kiss you as he removes your bottoms, panties and all.

“Shut up,” you breathe a soft giggle, “You know that I lo—oh, fuck,” you moan the last word against his mouth, arching your back as he slips two fingers into you.

“I love you too,” he smirks, kissing the corner of your mouth, “Mommy.”

Shouto

It’s a relaxing evening in for the two of you, the type that’s become common in your shared apartment.

Since you came to the realization that there’s a lot of classic movies that Shouto just hasn’t seen. Like a lot.

No wonder so many pop culture references just go right over his head.

So tonight’s agenda is horror.

And he’s handling it well. He doesn’t quite understand the choices that most of the protagonists make, which makes for fun conversation at the scream queen’s expense.

“Why would she go back into the house? Why wouldn’t she just run?” He asks, as if it’s obvious, because it is. To anyone who’s not in a horror film.

You’re laying on the edge of the bed, having moved to the bedroom as the night dragged on. His front to your back, both of you half-dressed to keep cool in the warm, summer evening.

A steamy scene appears on screen and you hear a quiet, “Oh” behind you before you feel the general heat of his left side grow warmer against your skin.

You subtly arch your back, pressing your ass against him as his hand finds purchase on your hip.

He exhales through his nose, his eyes closing as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of the shampoo lingering in your hair as he slips your panties down your thighs.

You reach back, tugging his boxers down enough to free his hardening member, stroking it languidly as he rocks his hips into your palm, kissing along the back of your neck, down to your shoulders.

You shift your hips back, lifting your leg enough to line his cock up with your entrance, moaning softly as he sinks into you with an earnest groan.

“Sho,” you sigh, reaching your arm back to push your fingers into his hair, angling his face towards yours as you look over your shoulder.

He closes the distance to kiss you slowly, savoring the taste of you on his tongue as he rolls his hips against yours.

5K notes · View notes

the-lighwood-who-lived · 2 years

Text

The North Star

SUMMARY: SUPERMODEL Y/N AND A CERTAIN 1D HEARTTHROB WITH GREEN EYES HAVE KEPT THEIR RELATIONSHIP DOWN-LOW. THE THING IS, THEY DON'T WANT TO ANYMORE. A SIMPLE PROMISE TO BE BOUND FOR LIFE MAKES THE COUPLE ANNOUCE THEIR LOVE TO THE WORLD. ~ set during fashion week new york when harry performed for victoria's secret special ~

Lights and chatter beamed at New York fashion week. The audience filled with people who stick out their pinkie while having tea or tuck in the legs when they sit down. The light went low as a spotlight focused on the far end on the ramp. As the low beat of music started, an incredibly beautiful girl walked out, dressed like an angel. Victoria’s Secret Angel.

Paired with her beautiful outfit was knee high boots, with 7inch pointy heels. She struts down the ramp in all confidence. How does she do that? Anyone else would have fallen on their face by now. She walked all the way to the front, striking a pose as the beat dropped. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is Y/N Y/L/N- the opening angel for fashion week New York.

She smiled discreetly as a familiar beat started playing. A tall lean guy, quite young and very good looking- walked onto stage. He was wearing Gucci, a perfectly toned suit. He wasn’t a model- No, he was the performing special this evening. Y/N turned around as the beat grew higher, giving the cute guy a nod and a wink. He returned the same adding his own signature smirk. Little did the audience, or anyone else for that matter know how familiar that smirk was to her, how familiar those lips were to her. That’s when the beat dropped and he started-

‘Its New York baby always jacked up!’-

Well now you know, it was him, it was One Direction heartthrob- Harry Edward Styles. He rocked the whole show, the angels looked like his back-up in fact. Harry Styles owned Fashion Week.

-------------------------

Y/N stood tall, having removed all her makeup and going ahead with simple winged eye-liner . She changed into a simple dress, although quite short, set to meet with her friends in about 20 minutes for the after-party. Giving her company, and also getting ready, stood another tall figure. She was leaner than Y/N with amazing eyes. Her hair let down across her face down to her waist. They had about 5 more minutes until Y/N’s so-called date drove them to the venue.

And-oh well- speak of the devil, here he is. Strong arms wrapped themselves around Y/N catching her slightly off guard, but she new who it was, she had seen the tattoos peeking out of his sleeves. ‘Hey Haz’ she said leaning back into him. ‘Hey honey’ he greeted her kissing her cheek before picking her up and twirling. He set her carefully back down and Y/N looks at her friend whose jaw was wide open. ‘Gigi, darling, pick your jaw up from the floor’ Y/N says laughing at Gigi’s expression.

‘Since when was this going on?’ Gigi asks her best friend incredulously. ‘5 years. Exactly today.’ Y/N replies smiling fondly. Gigi shifted her stance and Y/N did not understand what was happening. ‘Haz, this is Gigi, my best friend. Gigi, this is Haz…. Y’all know each other, right?’ she says. Both Gigi and Harry smile and shake hands.

Y/N closed Gigi’s still open mouth and laughed. ‘Shall we?’ Y/N asked, looping her hand through Harry’s. They walk down to Harry’s car, though someone was already in it. Y/N looked carefully at the figure until it snapped. ‘Zayn!’ she yelled and ran to hug him. It had been so long since she saw this figure who was once so very close to her- well, all 5 of them were, One Direction that is. As Gigi and Zayn got in the back and Harry and Y/N in the front, she took some time to overlook the years past.

Y/N met Harry at the This Is Us premiere, all the way back in 2013.That was the start, and possibly the lowest point at her career. Harry wanted her at her lowest, he deserves her at her best. She was the ‘mystery girl’ as the public called it. It was astonishing how brilliantly they held their privacy- but today, no more. Harry’s idea initially, he said he wanted the world to see how he loved her.

Their friendship from then grew into love, which they had admitted to each other shortly after. She grew over the lads too- Louis and herself were rather exceptionally close. Day led onto day- she was there with them through it all, even though no one could see.

She was there through Where we are tour, fan projects, Zayn leaving, OTRA and even little Freddie Tomlinson. Oh how she loved Freddie. And they were there through it all as well. There were there when Harry along with a model much more famous than her was the media’s new buzz- as for the first time , she cried over love , as a fake couple was blown up for popularity- they were there when she scored her first gig, they were there when the media kept taking digs at her…they always picked up pieces to her broken heart.

‘Love?’ she finally heard Harry say, realizing they reached and she zoned out. She smiled at him as he got down and opened her door. She lent close to him, tired to the bone. He, of course, instantly realized. Unclasping their hands, he looped his arm around her waist, letting her lean in. Funny how some people become your everything… the reason you feel alive.

They walked into the party-for the first time- as a couple. A bunch of smiles shone across the room, having speculated this. Y/N’s eyes caught three in particular. She looked at Harry with a jerk, wide smile across her face. He laughed fondly at her expression and pushed her towards them. She didn’t waste a second – she ran into a group hug with them. ‘What are y’all doing here?’ she asks smiling so wide. ‘Can’t we come to see our very successful angel? Besides, it is a sick party’ Louis said smirking, nodding at Liam and Niall. ‘Well I only came for the food’ said Niall nonchalantly, earning an elbow to the rib from Y/N.

‘Liam came here for me, didn’t you Liam?’ Y/N asked, knowing Liam of all people would pick her side. ‘Oh yea, being the amazing friend I am, I came just for you’ He said and Y/N happily slung her arm around his shoulder while Niall and Louis snorted at his response.

And they danced through the night, the dinner party being non-alcoholic, they all still had their senses. It was the final song on the dance floor. The music abruptly stopped though, Y/N looked up from her conversation with Gigi to see Harry’s silhouette holding a mic in the dark shadow of the spotlight. ‘What’s happening?’ Y/N asked Gigi who just smirked. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ Y/N asks rather amused. Gigi jus nodded as she nudged Y/N to look back at Harry.

Music very familiar to her started playing, one she hadn't heard for a while, a huge wave of nostalgia- Harry started singing-

My hands Your hands Tied up Like two ships Drifting Weightless Waves try to break it I'd do anything to save it Why is it so hard to say it? My heart Your heart Sit tight like book ends Pages Between us Written with no end So many words we're not saying Don't wanna wait 'til it's gone You make me strong I'm sorry if I say, "I need you" But I don't care I'm not scared of love 'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong That you make me strong?

Harry had pulled Y/N into slow dancing halfway through. And as he sang the chorus one last time-

‘You make me strong…’

He got down on one knee. A beautiful blue velvet box with a gorgeous rose gold ring extended in his hand. The audience to the entire party seemed to be in on this. Only Y/N gasped, her eyes shining with tears. ‘Darling, my Y/N, your smile is the reason for mine. As long at I have your heart to love, mine will beat. Every night I dream, I dream of you- its always you’ Harry paused as Y/N chuckled at the Marvel reference.

‘I love you till all the stars of the night sky die. Y/N Y/L/N, would you do me the honor of making me your husband, Marry Me love…. Will you marry me?’ He asked, vulnerability evident in his voice.

Y/N was shaking, she took a deep breathe before she spoke, ‘ Till the end of the line Styles, I promise. Yes.’ She said.

The room broke into laughter and joy. Harry slipped the ring onto her finger and stood up kissing her without missing a beat. A kiss like never before, a kiss the felt like a million stars exploding.

The night was far from over, just like their story. They both stood there, wrapped in each other, shining the brightest among all the stars.

The North Star.

#one direction #one direction imagines #1d #1d imagines #1d x reader #harry styles #louis tomlinson #niall horan #liam payne #zayn malik #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #dunkirk harry x reader

179 notes · View notes

clearlydiamondz · 3 years

Text

Drug Lords

Erik!Stevens x Black!Reader

- - - - - - - - - -

Drug lord Erik Stevens have some dealings with his weapon supplier. He makes it known that no one is going to mess with her..

Warning: Smut, cursing, killing,

- - - - - - - - - -

(Y/N) woke up at around 2:00 in the morning, her sleep was totally off. She went to bed around 10 but for some odd reason she couldn’t get to sleep. It was messing up her entire sleep schedule. She looked at her phone and saw that she had a text message from the one and only Erik Stevens. He sent a text over a little hour ago. She opened it.

Erik- you up?

She rolled her eyes. It’s been a couple of weeks since she last talked to him. She cussed him out when one of his little hoes had the nerves to hit her phone up after getting her number, saying how she was going to beat her ass when he find out who she was.

Little did she know who she really was...

She knew why he was texting her. It was a Friday night, he was most likely drunk and wanting to have sex. She’s not going to lie, she wanted some dick. And Erik sure as hell knew how to deliver it. She decided to text him back.

maybe, why ?

She grabbed her phone, slipping on one of her over sized T-Shirts and walked downstairs.

At the age of 24, (Y/N) ran her own ring. She moved and sold weaponry and technology to other lords, Erik being one of them. She made a lot of money, and made quite the reputation for herself. Erik respected that.

Erik- I’m pullin up,

She didn’t text him back. She gave him a keycard to her penthouse months ago whenever he wanted to come here and lay low.

She walked into her office, walking to her safe and grabbing her pink weed jar, wraps and her lighter. She walked back to the kitchen rolling a blunt. She heard the elevator coming up, before looking and seeing him step out. He had on a dark grey Nike sweat suit, a pair of white Nike Air Forces, and a black beanie.

“Why are you up?” he asked her placing his keys and wallet on the counter. She shrugged.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you decided to roll a blunt?” he asked leaning on the counter as she nodded.

“Yup, maybe this could help.” she smelled the liquor on him.

“How you get her so fast?” she asked him as he shrugged his shoulders.

“I was on my way when you texted me back.” he said.

‘What if I had someone over here?” she asked him tilting his head to the side as he rolled his eyes, smacking his teeth.

“(Y/N) stop fucking playing with me.” he told her as she scoffed.

“Whatever, I would offer you a drink but you seem a little tipsy.” she chuckled, bringing the blunt to her lips before lighting it. She took a breath letting the smoke fill before letting it out. Erik grabbed the blunt from her taking a puff of it, a longer one than she.

“Damn this is good...” he coughed a bit before she tilted her head.

“So um, why are you here?” she asked him tilting her head to the side. “It’s not very usual that Erik tries to see the girl who cussed him out.” she said drinking from her water bottle.

“Well for one, I wanted to come by and see you. I’ve been texting your phone and you have been ignoring me.” he said as she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah... because I’m mad at you. I don’t need another one of your little bitches texting me.” she said in a matter of fact tone.

“Bruh I said, I don’t know how that bitch got into my phone, dead ass.” he said as she shook her head. “I’m being forreal. We did things a couple of months ago, I’m guessing she thought it was something more. She was over at JJ’s house while we were playing poker and I left my phone in kitchen. I’m guessing she saw the messages.. you know actually I think she saw the video of you playing in ya pussy and thought-” she hit him in the arm as he laughing.

“I’m playin... but I still got that video.” he said. For some odd reason, him still having that video made her feel a little thump down there, but she couldn’t let him know that.

Erik did miss her.. like a lot. Nevermind the sex, he just loved being in her presence. In being without her for the past few weeks without her had a huge tole on him.

“Yeah because your a nasty ass nigga. That’s why.” she said taking the blunt from him, making her way back upstairs him following her. “You’re lucky I didn’t come by and shoot that bitch in her face.”

“Trust me.. you would’ve done been doing us both a favor.” he said. “Also, I want to make a deal with you. Word on the street you got some new weaponry, parts from Stark Industries.” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe? Now that Tony is dead, government been trying to move his weapons. Straight disrespectful.” she said walking into her room. He took off his shoes and sweat shirt showing the white tank top, and his scars. “A couple of people interrupted the move, stole some equipment. Sold it on the black market, I got my hands on some of the equipment. It was a hefty penny though. Making sure it couldn’t be tracked, tweaking it and shit. Costed me over 5 million for everything.” she said sitting on her bed taking a puff from the blunt. She was definitely starting to feel the high.

“How much you selling it for?”

“Well, I was able to make different things with it. So, depending on what it is. The lowest price I got so far is 250k.” she said handing him the blunt. He sat down in the recliner she had in her room.

“Damn,,”

“Yeah, I’ve already got people trying to do pre-orders but you know that’s not really my thing.” she said.

“So, will I be able to get my hands on a few.” he asked her as she laughed.

“Oh, your too funny. Just like everyone else, you need to come in contact with my team. Then I’ll see if you can get some of those products.” she responded. He kissed his teeth.

“Sorry, just because you’re the only client that I’ve had sex with doesn’t mean you can just get to me to get access or discounts.” she said. “If I thought with my Punani instead of my head with y’all niggas, I’d be broker than broke. No offense.”

“Yeah, you got a point.” she put the blunt on the night stand before standing up. She walked towards him, throwing her legs over him, sitting down in his lap before he leaned back placing his hands on her ass rubbing it.

“I’m guessing you missed me too.”

“Yeah, I guess I missed your big headed ass.” she sighed, as he gave her ass a slap. She jumped a bit before biting his lip. He forgot that she liked that.

She felt his dick pressing on her. “What you want from me, huh?” he asked her as they smirked each other. His plump lips was pouted and his eyes hang low, probably feeling a little high from the blunt. All she saw was a beautiful ass man, with a face she could use as a seat.

“I wanna ride your face.”

He raised an eyebrow at her as she smiled innocently at him. His mouth started to water at the thought of her pussy in his mouth. It was crazy how sweet she tasted, especially when she came. Tasted like honey and brown sugar.

He placed his hands under ass before standing up and walking to her bed. He placed her down before looking at her. He leaned down grabbing her by the con before leaning in for a kiss. The kiss was sweet and passionate. He really wanted to show her how much he missed her.

As they kissed, his hand trailed up the shirt coming into contact with her clothed wetness. He pulled them off with both hands still kissing her. His fingers found her clot rubbing it. His fingers were cold, she shivered at the coldness and the sensitivity. She moaned into the kiss as he pulled away.

“I’m barely touching you and your already breaking.” he chuckled. He sat down beside her before taking his shoes of then pulling her into his lap and laying back. “Come set that pussy on my tongue.” without a second thought, she lifted her shirt, letting it sit over her ass as she placed herself on his tongue. Without hesitation, Erik had his tongue deep inside of her.

He could physically feel her squeezing himself around his dick making him moan, “Fuck daddy... eat my pussy just like that.” she whimpered out. He gripped her ass cheeks, squeezing one as she moaned.

She grinded her hips, riding his tongue as she threw her head back. He was trying to talk to her, but he had his mouth full.

He reached down, grabbing his dick palming it through his sweats. It was getting painful, and the restrictions of his sweatpants was not helping. She looked back and saw him touching his self before an idea popped into her head.

“Hold up.” she lifted herself off before turning around. She hovered over his face, pulling the band from his sweatpants down. She pulled down the red and black Gucci boxers down freeing him as he winced. She looked at his dick before licking her lips. He was beautiful. Long and thick, pre cum dripping down the sides running down the veins. Within a split second, her lips wrapped around the tip, as her tongue swirled around it collecting all of his pre cum. She moaned at the taste, he always tasted like fruit.

“Fuck.. don’t tease me. Put all of daddy in ya mouth.” he grunted. She followed his instructions before wrapping her hands around the base of his dick. She moved her hands slowly stroking as she sucked him.

“C’mon on daddy, keep eating my pussy..” she encouraged him as he moaned.

“Freaky ass.. I got you.” His lips wrapped her clit, sucking on it as she moaned around his dick. The feeling of giving and receiving pleasure at the same time wasn’t new to her, but her first time doing it, she knew that this wasn’t the last time doing it.

He was big, but she was determined to fit him all her in mouth. And she did just that. His dick was deep in her throat, she hummed in pleasure, the vibrations sent to him as he let out a deep moan. “Fuck baby girl...” he moaned as she smiled. She leaned up, stroking him while rubbing along his hard dick, her spit dripping down to his balls.

He slowly thrusted into her hand as she smirked at his desperation. Finally, she had him like putty in her hands. She lifted up off of him before kissing him. She straddled his hips, his dick slightly rubbing against her pussy, the both of them moaning. She stood up, breaking away from her as she smiled.

She pulled the T-Shirt from her body before he stood up, taking off his clothes. She got down on her knees before looking up at him, batting her eyelashes at him. “You want daddy to fuck your throat. Huh?” he asked cupping her cheeks as she nodded. “No, say it.”

“I want daddy to fuck my throat.. pretty please.” she begged licking the tip as he threw his head bad.

“There you go, beg me. Open your fucking mouth.” he said. Her mouth was open and he inserted her mouth, before thrusting in and out of he mouth. She loved gagging on his dick, and she knew that he loved that sound.

He was talking, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was just focused on the attack on her throat. She snuck her hands down the front, inserting a finger in her wetness before moaning, her eyes rolling back as she fingered herself.

“Yeah, play with that wet ass pussy. I can hear that shit all the way from up here.” she looked up at him, holding his dick in her throat. He pulled out.

“There is no way I’m cumming like that.” he said before grabbing her by her face and lifting her up. He smashed his lips into her, the two of them kissing in sync. “Fuck me...” she whispered. In a swift movement, Erik pushed her on the bed, as she opened up her legs.

The wetness was smeared all on her inner thighs, the center glowing with her wetness as she smirked at him. “Fuck..” he grunted getting in between her legs. He kissed her, distracting her from her. He inserted her as she gasped.

“Shit daddy..” she moaned. Damn she was hella tight. “Fuck your too big.” she whispered throwing her head back. Erik kissed along her neck, to her chin, then placed a kissed on her lips.

“Quit all that, take this dick like a big girl. Ain’t ya first time, so take it.” he said slowly stroking her. Already, she was creaming on his dick.

“Mmm, daddy. Fuck me just like that.” she whimpered out as he smiled at her.

“Yeah.. that’s right. Take this dick in that tight ass pussy. Making a mess all over my dick.. disrespectful.” he grunted out. She bit down on her lip, opening her eyes meeting his. She clenched her self tighter just to get a reaction out of him. His eyes fluttered closed, as he clenched his jaw. She smirked. .

“Daddy don’t slow down, that shit feels too good.” she teased him. It pissed him off how fast she was about to cum.. way too fast. And she was teasing him about it.

“Come up here ride my shit, since you wanna be all bold and shit. Hurry that ass up.” They flipped over as Erik was on his back. She sat down on his dick moaning as it hit her walls.

“Shit.. just use my shit bitch. That’s it.” he grunted as she moaned. She was so close and he was too. Maybe it was just because of the way that they were fucking each other, or maybe it was because it’s been a minute since the last time they fucked, but the two of them were both on edge.

She leaned back opening her legs as she showing him going in and out of her. “Feels so good.” she whispered to herself.

“Yeah show me all that. Just nasty..” he grunted fucking up into her. He was cumming. There was no point in stopping or trying to hold back considering he was close. And by the look and feel of the things, she was close to.

“Daddy... I’ma gonna-” She was interrupted by him cumming deep inside her walls. He moaned out, digging his hands in her ass as she moaned out loud. She continued fucking him, chasing her own orgasm.

“Fuck.. fuck.” he grunted out as she continued riding him. That’s when she squirted all over his stomach. She fell forward, her head resting in her neck as they stayed like that for a minute.

“We need to go again.. that shit was-”

“Hold up.. I need to catch my breath. You know I got asthma.” she said as he laughed.

“You need ya inhaler or something?”

“Nah, lemme just catch my breath.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

(Y/N) walked into the warehouse, looking at her woman pointing their gun at the poor man. The captain of the group, Venom, had her knife to his neck.

Let’s just say, her team was ruthless. They were a team made of women, who handled her.. business. They were called the Mona Lisa’s. Mainly because they showed no remorse or emotion. But because the actual Mona Lisa was beautiful and mysterious, they gained that nickname. The tricked men into get information, they were amazing actresses actually. They could make somebody feel wanted and loved... and we all know how dangerous that could be.

“Who are you?”

“I ain’t telling you shit, bitch.” he snapped at her as she rolled her eyes.

“We gonna skip that part where you try to be all tough. There is nothing stopping Venom here from slashing your throat and trust me. That would most definitely be the high light of her day.” she warned him. “Actually, the highlight of her day would be torturing you until you speak.” she said matter of factly.

“Weak ass bitches, you don’t scare no body.” (Y/N) looked at Venom and smirked at him.

“You take your time with him. Call me when he says something.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

(Y/N) ran a face scan through the system, to find out that he use to work for Erik. Name was Claw. Nasty and just plain annoying. After stealing money from Erik and killing one of his close friends, he was never seen again. Erik and a lot of other lords

“So what is this surprise you got for me?” he asked him walking past her in her quarters where they did their interrogations. The entire time he was looking at her ass. They walked to the door as she turned around,

“Look for yourself.” He walked in the room, looking in the glass window seeing him tied to a chair, as Venom continued cutting his fingers off his one hand, piece by piece.

“Is that-”

“In the flesh. I caught him trying to sneak into my warehouse where I’m holding some of my weapons.” she said as he looked at her.

“I hope it’s not the-”

“It’s not the Stark ones. Those are in Alaska. But I’m worried. Out of all my years of moving and supplying, I’ve never had someone successfully break into my warehouse. And I know the Mona Lisa’s aren’t slacking because they are highly trained. I sent over a hundred of them to Alaska to protect the gear.” she said biting her acrylic thumb in nervousness. “This idiot was dumb coming in here alone, but I know niggas. Niggas that are smarter, and I just have this deep feeling that someone is planning something to get at me.” she looked at Erik. He’s known her for years, she’s never really shown nervousness or being scared. He saw that she was genuinely scared. Some might say she was over thinking, but in her line of work you could never over think.

“Aye calm down, I promise you I won’t let anyone get to you, ight. Even if it takes my last breath.” he reassured her. “Starting with this motherfucker. I’m killing his ass.” he said about to walk to the door to entre the room but she stopped him.

“Wait, lemme talk to him. I got a plan.” she walked into the room before walking over to her.

“Alright, so I know who you are.” she said as he cursed.

“You knew who I was this entire time and you’ve been letting this crazy bitch do this shit!” he yelled at her as (Y/N) laughed.

“Man, calm down. I ain’t even that serious. Plus, it’s been a minute since Venom have had a little bit of fun. She deserves it.” (Y/N) smiled at Venom as Venom smirked at her.

“Anyways, I know that you’re working with Erik. Or use to work with him. I sent a couple of my girls over there to do.. a lil bit of damage. Kill some of his goons, injure a couple more, but I’m keeping Erik alive.” he said as Claw shook his head.

“Your dumb if you did that.”

“Well, you and I both know the success rate my girls have so...” she trailed off.

“No, your dumb if you think that I still work for that bum ass nigga, or I’m trying to get in good terms with him. Fuck his bitch ass..” he said. She chuckled.

“Well it make sense.. I mean, you were his close friend. Right hand man. Makes since you’d try to steal my shit. I did tell my girls to make sure that Erik know your alive.” she said as his face turned to complete fear. She tilted her head to the side pouting.

“Tell me why you tried stealing my shit.”

“I-I was doing it to have so I could sell it.” he said as she rolled her eyes. That’s all she wanted to hear but she still wanted to fuck with him.

“Bull shit. Tell the truth. Either way you’re going to die whether it’s by me or by him. Why?”

“I’m telling you. I only wanted to sell it. Everyone know your work is worth billions and I-I needed some quick cash. J-Just don’t tell him I’m alive.”

“Damn,,, for him to be a bum ass nigga, you a lil scared ain’t you,” she said tilting her head to the side. “Anyways he knows so..” she shrugged.

“N-No he doesn’t. He would’ve been here by-” she looked towards the window than looked back at him. He got the hint. The door opened and Erik walked in, the vein in forehead popping out as his jaw clenched.

“So I’ma a bum ass nigga now?” he asked him, (Y/N) rolled her eyes. She knew his Ego was hurt. Erik looked at Venom, before smiling at her.

“Thanks Sweetheart. Love what you did but I got it from here.” he winked at her as she smiled blushing.

“No problem Erik.” she walked out as (Y/N) chuckled.

Venom was dangerous, well that’s how she got her nickname. But deep down, she was a girl that blushed even at the smallest compliments. She was a sweetie, but if it came down to it, she didn’t hesitate to drop a body. And she did enjoy tourtuing somebody for her enjoyment.

“Look Erik-”

“Don’t say my name. First of all, I’ma kill you for what you did to me. But- I’ma make sure that shit is slow. Especially coming up in here fucking with her. And about that one, I’ma make sure yo ass wish you were dead.”

“Well you have your fun, let me know when everything is done so I can have someone come clean up ya mess.” she placed a kiss on his cheek before walking out.

She knew that Erik was gonna handle business for her, maybe he’ll get a lil something for it.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Here’s a lil fact about me, I’m obsessed with Erik and reader being lords or mob bosses or whatever you wanna call it.

Taglist:

@sociallyawkward18 @raysunshine78

@justgetitoverwith0

#erik kilmonger x reader #eriksteven #erik stevens smut #erik kilmonger #erik killmonger smut #killmonger smut

451 notes · View notes

darkmulti · 3 years

Note

Oh okay 😯 hhm could you do a Y!Prince Jungkook where reader is his (forced) concubine and he has nipple sucking kink so he is always sucking on her nipples and he even does it in public to show everyone that she's his propriety?(kinda noncon)

-> sorry for any mistakes

⚠️: NON CON

If you’re not wealthy, the royal family won’t even glance at you

They only talk to high class people who have money

You’re homeless with no family or friends

You get little to no sleep because you have to watch out for creeps

You don’t have money to buy food

You’re at your lowest

It was evening time and the food stalls were closing

You hadn’t ate anything the entire day so you had to steal food

The man behind the stand was counting his earnings so you quickly took some bread but he had unexpectedly turned around and caught you

You bolted from there

Running as fast as you could but someone grabbed your wrist and pulled you back

Your eyes widen when you see who it is

“Y-your royal highness.” You drop down to your knees and lower your head

“Give me the bread.”

You quickly handed it to him, only for him to throw it on the ground and stomp on it

He then slapped you across the face

“You low life make me sick. Get up.”

Tears were present in your eyes but you made sure to keep them in

You got up and he took your hand

He dragged you to the front of the palace

“Your royal highness, I’m not allowed to go in there.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled

The guards stood in front of you and the prince

“Shall I take her away, your royal highness?”

“No, open the gate. I need to punish this thief.” He said, emphasizing the letter ‘I’

That night was the worst night of your life

To think the prince was capable of such cruel actions

He look your purity and used you all night long

You were crying

He ripped your only clothes apart and forced everything

The hickeys

The kisses

The sex

He held your down by your neck and forced you to say that you love him

All while getting pounded by his cock repeatedly

You were already so hungry and tired

But Jungkook never slowed down

You could only sob and regret stealing that piece of bread

He attached his lips to your nipple

He kept saying that you were his

You weren’t used to such violence

The following days, his wife was very bitter towards you

Who wouldn’t be, though? Her husband that she loved dearly was sleeping with you every night

She could hear everything in the next room however this was normal in the royal family

Oh, how you wished to tell her that you’re forced by him

Jungkook’s mother was disgusted by you as well

It seemed like Jungkook’s wife told his mother and they both find you disgraceful

His mother demanded him to kick you out of the palace but he refused

Jungkook was oddly possessive over you

He even said that he’ll leave the royal family behind if she kicks you out

Since Jungkook’s going to be the next king, his mother didn’t risk it

As time passed, Jungkook became more possessive

He would leave the door open every time you guys had sex so everyone could see that you belong to him

He wanted everyone to hear you scream because of his cock

Jungkook would cover you in love bites

He even said, in front of his parents and wife that he wanted you to be the mother of his kids

His wife broke out into tears right there

His mother went to comfort her while his father laughed

Every month the royal family would throw a ball

Usually, Jungkook locks you up in the basement during the ball

After it’s over he comes and collects you but this month, he had your dress picked out, ready to wear

The ball was going great until Jungkook pinned you against the wall as everyone watched

You weren’t his wife so everyone was confused and shocked

He started making out with you

Making more love bites on your neck

He pulled the top half of your gown, revealing your breast to everyone

He sucked on both of them while everyone watched

He was so shameless about it

After sucking for a few minutes, he pulled a chair out and sat down before pulling you onto his lap

“Grind on me, baby.”

“Your royal highness. What are you doing? Please stop this!”

“People need to know you belong to me. This is the only way, princess.”

“P-princess?”

Jungkook continued sucking on your nipples

He was hard as a rock and couldn’t sit still any longer

He got up and pulled you to the nearest bedroom so he could fuck his baby into you

I guess y’all made history that night💀

#non con #jungkook smut #mail: 📭

492 notes · View notes

karasimpno · 3 years

Note

I feel like this qualifies as fluff, but I kind of wanna call it 'salt': HCs for Oikawa, Lev, Akaashi, Bokuto, Kags and Kuroo, with an S/O who's only like 5'3" - 5'4" and every time they put something on a shelf she can't reach, she takes something of theirs and puts it on a low shelf so they can't find it.

It's almost 3am here and I can't stop thinking about this

HI MY LOVE I HOPE YOU’RE FOLLOWING ME SO YOU CAN SEE THIS I’M SO SORRY IT’S BEEN SO LONG PLEASE FORGIVE ME

Tall Bois w/ a Short n Salty S/O

Oikawa

He absolutely places stuff out of your reach to tease you

He’ll intentionally do it when you’re watching and make direct eye contact with you so you know he’s teasing you

You’ll specifically go out of your way to get like a chair or a ladder to help you reach it instead of asking him for help and giving him the satisfaction

Not only do you hide stuff he needs on lower shelves, you actually put it behind other things so even if he was on the lower level he’d still have to look for it

You thought it’d be cute to hide his olympic medal on a lower shelf one time - not even the bottom one. Bad idea. He literally cried when he couldn’t find it. Poor bby

Lev

It started out accidental, but even after you’ve asked him to stop doing it, silly boy just forgets

I feel like? Lev loves a tickle fight. Don’t ask me why

But when you start putting his shit on the lowest shelf or asking him to pull a DVD out from the bottom shelf, he will (very poorly) tear the place apart trying to find it

(doesn’t even think to look on lower shelves. why would he have put them that low?)

And when he’s just about had it, staring dumbfounded at the shelves with his back to you, you sneak up behind him

“Have you looked...here” you ask, lunging at him, and he folds in half when you start tickling him, forcing him to bring his eye level down until

“...oh”

Akaashi (DON’T FORGET HE’S 6′0 FOLKS. DO NOT FORGET)

It’s nearly impossible to get a rise out of him - poor guy doesn’t even realize he’s putting things out of your reach

So it’s probably the same for you honestly, like you’ll just start leaving the remote on the bottom shelf or his favorite cast iron skillet at the bottom of the cabinet instead of hanging it on the hooks above the stove

But he just brings it up to you coolly and casually and you sort it all out! Communication king!! Bby just wants to use that cast iron skillet to make you a nice dinner ugh

Bokuto

Another forgetful boy. If he can reach it, anyone should be able to, right? Wrong.

He also just....doesn’t put anything where it should go, regardless of whether its in your reach or not

So honestly it just becomes a kind of game between the two of you of who can find the most creative place to put things

like you give each other ratings or awed comments “omg this is a new place for this one! nice!”

so pure

Kageyama

Honestly I feel like he started putting things on top shelves in an attempt to ~better organize~ things but he

is dumb

and not only is there no clear organization, he also just like?

happens to put the things you use the most on the highest shelf???

and you get sick of always having to ask him

so it’s honestly just pure passive aggression when you start putting shit on bottom shelves (rip his volleyball pump)

Y’all drive each other insane tbh but it’s all worth it for the cuddles

Kuroo

Longlegs McFly does this shit on PURPOSE

He loves it when you have to ask him for help

At first you didn’t notice it, but then you started noticing the glint in his eye and how saccharine his voice would get asking whether you needed help

So of course you weren’t gonna tolerate THAT shit

so, kinda like Oikawa, you’ll not only put things out of your way, but sometimes hide them

and he WHINES about it

he notices like instantly and is always like “baaaAAAAAAABE”

so you turn around and give him a taste of his own medicine and are like “omg honey do you need help???”

always turns into hugs and playful wrestling

#oikawa tooru #akaashi keiji #Bokuto Koutarou #kageyama tobio #kuroo tetsurou #haiba lev #elle answers #elle's anons #oikawa x reader #akaashi x reader #bokuto x reader #kageyama x reader #kuroo x reader #elle writes

297 notes · View notes

rhabakoli · 4 years

Text

Reunion

this has been in my WIP folder for like, 84 years...

Also, that stupid chicken wing song was stuck in my head during half of the writing process. I wanted to die.

This is the reunion kinda scene from the very beginning of chapter 24 of Beutiful and Damned by @dreamwritesimagines It’s smut, so like, stay safe and sane y’all.

Enjoy.

The moment the door opened was the very same moment Geralt found himself a princess. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around is neck, her lips found his; she barrelled into him, her trust in his abilities to catch her absolute.

He huffed in surprise and pushed the door closed to press her up against it. “I missed you so much.” Her voice was low, almost demure, but her hands definitely weren’t. She clawed at his shoulders, brushed them over his chest, tangled her fingers in his hair to pull him in. Geralt would be lying if he said her sudden boldness and forwardness wasn’t welcome, but it was certainly surprising and slightly confusing. “Princess, are you alright?”

“Not until I’ve had one or two orgasms, Geralt.” She looked at him, face as innocent as possible. “Will you deny me?” She was actively trying to kill him then, alright. He groaned, his lips finding hers once again. “As if I ever could, princess.” He pressed closer, his torso flush against her, his hands smoothing down her sides, then gripping her ass. She was wrapped in a thin camisole, and nothing more, and it absolutely killed him. She was so precious, so sweet, so adorably sexy – He groaned, shoved the fabric out of his way to get his hands on her skin. “Fuck, princess.” She sighed against his lips, smile on her pretty face. “I really, really missed you, Geralt.” He bumped his nose against hers, his voice rough: “I missed you too, princess.” She arched her back, squeezed her thighs around his middle and giggled. “Are you going to take care of me now?” How she looked so innocent saying such meaningful things while she was most definitely able to bring him to the brink of an orgasm with just a couple moans and sighs… Unbelievable. “If you let me.” And in the breathiest, most seductive voice, she answered: “Please.” Geralt felt his restrain crumble. As usual, around her. He cupped the back of her head and his eyes almost rolled back into his head as her scent reached his nose. Something animalistic awoke inside his chest, and he had to fulfil her wish, lest he’d die right there on the spot. She could feel his chest expand as he took a breath, and then she could almost pinpoint the moment his control slipped. The effect was instant. His kiss was searing, hot, desperate, almost as desperate as she felt. It made her hips roll, made her thighs quiver with the force she used to press herself against Geralt’s rigid body. Her cunt clenched in anticipation, her mind filled with nothing but his name, “Please” and “More”. He devoured her, bit her lip and pulled, the tiniest, lowest rumble making itself heard. She wasn’t even sure he was aware of the noises he made. “Geralt, please, give me something, please.” “As you wish, princess.” He shifted his hold on her, his fingers trailing down her bum, before he found her slit. “Oh, princess.” She moaned at the soft-gravely sound of his voice. He sounded about at wrecked and needy as she felt. “You’re drenched already, fuck.” He gathered some of her wetness on his fingers and brought them to his mouth, licking them, tasting her. She watched him, head thrown back against the door, eyes half closed and mouth hanging open, her breaths coming in pants. Seeing his reaction to her taste, how his nostrils flared, how he licked his lips and rolled his eyes back, the appreciative groan – she whimpered, her hand curling in the fabric of his shirt. His eyes were aflame, the gold piercing through her; there was a carnal hunger inside them. Geralt didn’t hesitate any longer then; he ripped open his belt, unbuttoned his breeches one handed, and was inside her in seconds. The first thrust was almost painful, made her feel like he was pushing all the air out of her lungs – it had been a while and Geralt was a beast – but she loved it. One hand curled around the back of his neck, her nails probably leaving marks for everyone to see, the other fisted in her own hair, as she tried to keep in control of her voice, lest the guards patrolling the halls would hear. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, princess.” Geralt bent forward, curled into himself, rested his forehead against her chest, his hands wrapped around her hips now, holding her still. “Geralt, love, please.” He just nodded before he curled an arm around her to press her close, hooked his fingers into her nightshift to pull it down and lay her bare. Her nipples were stiff, sensitive; just his breath on them made her clench around him. He sighed her name, then latched onto one and simultaneously started to pull out. They were quick to find a rhythm, almost as if they’d never parted. He’d been so stupid. So incredibly thick-headed, to give this up because he was afraid to lose her, to hurt her. In pulling away he’d already managed to do just that, but he could feel their wounds mending now that they found their way to each other and poured their love into every touch, every word, every breath upon the others skin. It didn’t take long for her to come, clenching hard around him, as if she never wanted to let go again. Her back arched, her naked breast rubbed against his clothed chest, the friction giving another layer of pleasure to her orgasm. He held her, slowly fucked her through it, tiny motions, almost non-existent. He kissed her neck, her jaw, bit her earlobe and then started talking. She was sure she would start crying if he continued to assault her like that. His voice was so soft and low, it felt like she was wrapped in velvet and silk at the same time. “You are so beautiful, my princess. You’re beautiful and smart, and incredibly strong. I am so proud of you. You are everything to me. The best thing that ever happened to me. You make me feel loved and at home. Let me stay with you forever. I love you, princess.” Tears sprung to her eyes; her orgasm seemingly never-ending with the continued influx of sensations. She cried his name, shivers wracking her body, her nails cutting his skin where she held onto his arms. He hummed, pressed his face to her neck and took deep breaths. The scent of her arousal, her own fragrance, her soap; it all drove him crazy and at the same time calmed his senses, calmed his heart. It smelled like home, like happiness, like his future. Geralt waited until she relaxed, then he pushed away from the door and walked over to her bed. She whined at the movement but sighed when he went back to covering her neck and shoulders in kisses and bites. When her back touched the crisp sheets, she let go of her man and stretched, her eyes never leaving his. He was so imposing, gigantic. He was safe. He was home. Geralt knelt between her legs, ran his hands up and down her thighs and just admired her. There was a blissed smile on her face, a healthy flush spread down to her breasts, her nipples tight and calling out to him. Her neck was mottled with red spots already, her shoulders starting to look alike. “Geralt.” She watched him from beneath heavy lids and reached for him, wriggled her fingers at him. When he leaned forward until she could cup his cheek, her smile grew wider. “Geralt.” Her thumb brushed along his cheekbone and he thought he was going to melt. And then he thought he’d died and ascended to heaven, because she licked her lips, raised her head just the tiniest bit and whispered: “Fuck me like you mean it, Geralt.” He was so dumbfounded by her words, he didn’t move or react for a couple seconds. Her giggles snapped him out of it, and he smirked. “As you wish, princess. “ He scooted back, kissed her knees and then proceeded to flip her over fast enough to make her get whiplash. She bounced a little bit on the bed, and then his body was pressed along her back, hard lines against soft skin, his lips next to her ear, his dick pressing against her ass in the most teasing, heady way possible. Geralt rubbed himself against her, her soft skin a delight. “Do you know how hard it was to old back all the time?” He gathered her hair in one hand, his other hand buried in the sheets, muscles straining. Carefully, he pulled. “Do you know how often I wanted to simply throw you over my shoulder and take you away? Or bend you over some sideboard in the hallways and fuck you senseless, until you scream my name loud enough to make everyone know you’re mine?” She was panting, her heart racing. He liked her like this, all pliant and putty in his hands. “Do you know how much I missed your juices on my dick? How you feel when you get especially excited? How you start to drip, just from my words?” He let go of her hair and sat up, got comfortable between her legs. He teased her clit, rubbed his entire length through her folds and chuckled at her needy moans. “You like that, don’t you. I missed how you sound when you’re desperate, princess.” He let the head of his cock slip into her, barely enough to breach her, but certainly enough to have her press back. “You look so good like this, princess. I love to see you all pliant and fucked out. I know I’m the only one to get to see you like this, I know you’re mine as much as I am yours.” He caged her in once more, his arms to her sides. She sighed at the feeling of him shielding her like that, and at the way he teased her opening like that. There were three words filling her entire conscience at this point: Safe, Home, Mine. “I will show you how I am the only one to ever make you feel this good, princess. No other man can stretch you like this, ever.” He finally, finally, pressed in; one harsh thrust followed another. He didn’t start slow, no. He fucked her like he meant it, like she’d asked of him. And she LOVED it. Her hands were fisted in the sheets, holding on for dear life. She felt as if her brain leaked out of her ears; she was lost in desire and lust and pleasure. She’d forgotten how it felt to be desired, loved, cherished. “Geralt, fuck, please.” He shifted, his hips not losing rhythm, when he ducked to bring his lips against her ear: “What do you need, princess?” “More.” He grunted, moved his legs, and pulled her up. Her mouth fell open in a silent curse as she suddenly found herself in Geralts lap, her legs spread, held open by his. One hand came up to cup her breast, the other held her hip as he fucked up into her wet heat. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her neck stretched and presented beautifully. Oh, how great she’d look marked up, so everyone would know she’s taken, satisfied; that he was the one to bed her, to taste her all over. Geralt could feel the possessive growl in his chest built, could feel himself losing control. “Geralt.” A soft hand on his cheek snapped him out of it, brought his attention back to her face. “It’s okay. Let go.” “But-“ “You won’t hurt me.” She rolled her hips, clenched around him. “Please.” “Fuck.” He complied, wrapped both his hands around her waist and started fucking into her without restraint. She felt so good, so ready for him, so wet. He really thought he was going crazy. “Princess, oh fuck.” His voice in her ear made her break out in goosebumps, and she was fairly sure they’d be heard outside. Did she care? Not at all. Let them hear. Let them know, how was she supposed to care when he was inside her, loving her like he did? So intense, so honest, so real. “Geralt, please.” He laughed, barely registered how unhinged it sounded with all the pleasure and want clouding his mind. All he wanted was to make her feel good, make her scream his name, fill her mind and body and never let go. The fast slapping of skin on skin mixed with the panting breath of them both, with the moans and cries of pleasure, the curses, the pleads. It was a cacophony of love and desire, of lust. It was lewd. Her wetness was gathering between them. She was glistening with it and he wanted to eat her up. She whined, his name on her lips like a prayer. “Please.” Her fingers were clawing up his arm, looking for purchase when he reacted with a snarl and a smack to her thigh. “Cum for me, princess, I know you want to.” He helped her along by finding her clit, playing with it, rubbing and occasionally pinching. She bucked in his arms, her voice that of a songbird. It was intoxicating and he never wanted it to end. But it had to. He wanted her to hit her high, to come around him, for him. “Princess”, he groaned into her ear. Shivers ran down her back, lightning and ice and molten gold. When she clenched, a curse escaped him; he wasn’t far behind at all. Just a couple more thrusts as he held her up, and he unloaded inside her, her moans filling his ears as he filled her with his seed. He stilled, curled is arms around her form; he’d never let her go. His princess caressed his arm, let her fingers roam up and down and play with his arm hair. “Hmmm, that was very nice.” She grinned at his nonverbal grunt, snuggled into his warmth. He was still inside her, and they were making a mess on her bed, but neither cared. She was basking in their comfortable bubble, until Geralt shifted and kissed behind her ear, just to say: “I’ll make you come on my tongue later, princess.”

#the witcher #Beautiful and Damned #bnd #a dreamwritesimagines production #Geralt x reader #Geralt x princess #The witcher smut #smut

200 notes · View notes