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perlelune · 4 months

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NDA | Coriolanus Snow

When you get hired as a nanny for President Snow and his wife's firstborn, you’re beyond thrilled and grateful. But quickly, the perfect facade melts, revealing the ugly truth of what actually goes on in the Snows' house.

Warnings: NON-CON, Capitol! Reader, Innocent Reader, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Power Imbalance

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your worried eyes track the frenzied glide of the woman’s quill over the notepad. You squint, hoping to discern some of the words she’s scrawling that way, but they are indiscernible…just like the stone-cold expression of the bespectacled woman on the other side of the desk.

She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.

As her sharp green gaze zeroes in on you, you clear your throat and shift in your seat.

She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.

“So what do you think sets you apart from the other applicants?”

You chew on your lip. When you arrived to offer your candidature this morning, you naively believed you’d be early. Instead, you were forced to join the tail end of the massive waiting line stretching far outside the Snows’ estate. It didn’t hit you before that moment, how prized the position is. Each of the women and girls you saw radiated excellent breeding and impeccable manners. Many probably attended the University and could double as a tutor if the need presents itself.

This isn’t your case. Your parents left you and your brother Laertes with nothing when they suddenly passed away in a rebel bombing. You couldn’t blame them. This wasn't the plan. Who plans on dying and leaving their two children to fend for themselves?

Still, you now have a list of bills the length of your arm coupled with a massive mortgage to pay every month. And as Laertes’ sole caretaker, you must ensure you can afford to send him to University once he completes his education in the Academy.

Circumstances denied you that chance. Despite being of university’s age, you couldn’t afford the cost of tuition and had to drop out as soon as you got accepted. You want better for your little brother.

So as soon as you heard the news that President Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew were in search of a nanny for their son Martius, you jumped on the opportunity to apply. You rose before the sun, rummaged through your mother’s closet to find her best dress, and hailed a car to come here.

It’s a long shot, of course. You’re not as polished and impressive as some of the other women. You’re also noticeably younger. But the wages promised alone compelled you to take a chance despite the odds being unfavorable.

Fiddling with your hands, you meet the woman’s impassive stare head-on.

“What sets me apart?” You mull over your answer. You could paint a false, august portrait of yourself, your skills and your accomplishments. Or try to at least.

But what would be the point of pretending to be someone you’re not only to be found out later on? So you elect to tread the path of honesty.

“Nothing,” you say. “But I’m a hard worker. A very hard worker. In fact, I already have three jobs, one at a bakery, another as a clerk in an antique shop and I assist Fabricia Whatnot at her boutique sometimes.” Panic quivers inside you as the woman quickly jots something down on her notepad. You swiftly specify, “...But I’ll quit all of them if I get the position, of course.” You lick your lips as knots tie your stomach. “I can learn everything there is to learn on the spot. I love children, and…” You trail off, gaze traveling to your lap as you muse if you should reveal more. Your fists clench as you add, “I have a little brother who’s a few years older than Martius, and I’m really hoping I get this opportunity so I can give him the life he deserves.”

An unnerving quiet occupies the air. The wait is agony, your nails digging painfully into your palms. The jagged drumming of your heart bleeds inside your ears as she studies you.

Eventually, she leans back in the velvet chair, her face betraying no thought or emotion.

“You’re dismissed,” she says.

Your heart plummets to your feet. You shakily rise, dispirited as you drag your heels towards the door. You steal a glance above your shoulder. The woman’s attention has already drifted away from you as she shouts for the next applicant.

You sourly exit the office. You try to swallow your dejection as you note how many women are still waiting in line, each of them likely more qualified and experienced. It’s obvious you tanked the interview. Shoulders slumping, you take resigned steps through the elegant, palatial hallways of the Snow’s mansion. You get lost in admiring the crystal and gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. There isn’t an inch of the house that doesn’t scream excessive, unattainable wealth.

You take your time soaking it in. Chances are you’ll never step foot in such a place in your lifetime ever again.

Distracted, you don’t notice the person in front of you before it’s too late. You bump straight into a hard, inflexible body.

The sudden collision threatens your balance.

Fingers coil around your wrists as you stagger back, preventing your impending collapse onto the marbled floor.

As your attention drifts skywards, your jaw drops at who fills your vision.

“P-President Snow, my deepest apologies, s-sir,” you stammer, flames licking your cheeks.

As if you didn’t make yourself look dimwitted enough before, you now carelessly crashed into the leader of all of Panem. Just when you thought the day couldn’t possibly get worse.

You take him in. It truly is him. Shock fills you.

Tall and dazzling in a crisp white shirt and crimson vest that hints at his lean physique beneath the clothes, his signature blond waves slicked away from his face, he looks every bit the important figure that he is.

The flickering TV screen you own at home doesn’t do him justice.

A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.

“It’s quite alright. I’m not made of sugar,” he jests.

“No…you’re not, your highness…majesty...I mean sir.”

Your blunder expands his smile. His cerulean gaze drags over your frame.

“Are you here for the nursemaid position?”

“I am, sir.” You unleash a deep exhale, his inquiry tossing salt on the fresh wound. The interviewer clearly wasn’t impressed by your less than stellar performance. Maybe you should have tried to mimic the way the girls with whom you attended the Academy behave more. They carry themselves with such confidence, wading through the world with the certainty of their destinies being secure, bereft of hardships unlike district dwellers.

You envy how carefree they get to be. Everyday you wake up worried you’ll come up short on a bill and you and Laertes will be forced to leave your family home. No matter how diligent you are at work, there never seems to be enough money to sustain the two of you. Even with three jobs, you’re barely eking out a decent living for you and your little brother. Many times, you’ve gone to bed hungry just so Laertes would not.

You don’t even realize tears have filled your eyes to the brim until a handkerchief is daintily pressed into your cheeks.

Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow.

“Thank you,” you exhale, stunned by his kind gesture.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

You search his eyes. Genuine interest lights up his pellucid blue orbs.

Without much thought, you confess, “I just don’t think I did very well with my interview.”

As he scrutinizes you in silence, cocking his head sideways, embarrassment rushes through you.

Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.

“God, I’m so sorry, spilling my problems to you as if you’re not an extremely busy man, sir.”

He shakes his head. “It’s quite alright. And do not count yourself defeated, sweetheart.” Your pulse stutters when he bends over you to whisper, “You may have left a stronger impression than you think.”

He nudges the pocket square between your hands. It’s still damp with your tears. You gape at it in awe. President Snow’s initials are elegantly etched in the left corner of the fabric.

“Here. Keep it. Though I’d much prefer it if you didn’t cry.” He pauses, studying you. “Girls as lovely as you never should.”

His words send your heart into a frenzy. For a while, you’re too stunned to move. You then shake yourself back to reality, noticing you’re now staring at the empty space where he used to stand. He’s gone. You look ahead. He’s already miles away from you, wrapped in conversation with who seems to be an assistant of his.

Your thumbs press against the soft fabric of the pocket square. Cheeks ablaze, you hold it to your nose. It smells like roses, the same delicate scent that wafted from him a few minutes ago. Your back prickles. You pivot and are astonished to find the envious glares of some of the applicants still waiting in line zeroed in on you. Self-conscious, you rush to continue your exit, fleeing away from the hateful stares.

As the outside gates come into sight, you can’t suppress an elated smile. It’s not everyday someone meets President Snow and receives such a gift from him. Shoving the handkerchief in your pocket, you vow to place it somewhere safe and always cherish it.

When you return home, your brother’s already sitting in the living room, his tiny brows scrunched in concentration and his nose buried in his books. Your stomach sinks. Everything you did today was for him. You can’t help but feel you missed out on a huge opportunity, one that’d have changed the course of his life forever. You glance around at the apartment. The walls are crumbling. The wooden floors are creaking. The pipes in the kitchen have been leaking for weeks, a measly bucket you must empty every morning the only thing preventing a flood. And at night, the pitter-patter of rodents’ paws resonates from the ceiling.

Every inch of your family home is in dire need of repairs.

Unfortunately, every penny you earn goes into rent and food, meaning the house falls apart a bit more everyday. Perhaps one day, you and Laertes will awake beneath the rubble of what’s left of your childhood home. Nightmares of that sometimes keep you up at night.

“How was the Academy today?” you chime, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Worry twists your chest. There isn’t much left. You’ll need to make do with cabbage and whatever other veggies are left. Perhaps you could toss in some leftover dried meat and make a stew.

“My teacher signed me up for advanced trigonometry,” your brother announces.

You close the cabinet and beam at him.

“Oh, that sounds hard. I’m proud of you.” It doesn’t exactly surprise you. Laertes’ always been exceptionally smart. Even his teachers noticed how gifted he is from an early age. Unlike you, he breezed through middle school and now the Academy.

It’s why it’s crucial you make sure he can go to the University. A mind like his shouldn’t be wasted.

You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.

“It’s fine.”

You rush to him. You wrap your arm around him playfully and hug him in his chair, pulling his cheek like when he was little. You know he hates when you do that but you can’t help teasing him a bit. It’s your duty as a big sister after all.

“Don’t downplay it. My little brother’s a genius.”

He wriggles his way out of the hug, rolling his eyes.

“Stop it.”

You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.

“I’ll make you something,” you say, smiling at your brother.

His brows knit. “Make something for yourself first.”

You nibble your bottom lip. You truly hoped he wouldn’t notice, how much smaller than his your portions are. But he’s growing; he needs it. Much more than you. Besides, how can he focus at the Academy and be the brilliant boy he is supposed to be with a growling stomach? You won’t allow it.

“Laertes…”

He shakes his head, his expression firm.

“No. You always do this. This time, we split whatever is left.”

Heaving out a resigned exhale, you nod. You whirl to resume preparing dinner.

You gather a boiling pot from the overhead cabinet and place it on the stove. With the ease of practice, you begin chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot. You add spices and water. The mouthwatering aroma quickly fills the kitchen. Pride swells in your chest. Your cooking skills have improved so much in the last year since your parents passed. You now manage to bring flavor to the blandest of meals.

Once the stew’s ready, you pour a portion in each bowl, putting just a little more in your brother’s and praying he will not notice.

You place the steaming bowls on the table and take a seat opposite him.

“No books at the dining table,” you admonish, mimicking the exact tone your mother used with your brother. Admitting defeat, Laertes sighs and sets his homework aside. The tiny victory tugs your lips skyward.

He tells you about his day at the Academy while the two of you eat. You’re delighted to hear he’s making a lot of friends and he’s at the top of his class for most science subjects. He’s struggling a bit more with his poetry and ethics classes, but you encourage him by reminding him he can just ask the teacher for extra assignments to keep his grade up.

“I interviewed for a new job today,” you reveal, stirring the spoon in your bowl while waiting for your brother to eat more of his food.

“How did it go?”

“Well, it pays really well so I’m hopeful.”

The hope dancing in his eyes makes your chest ache. You don’t have the heart to tell him you made a fool of yourself today. You may not be gifted like your brother, but you want him to know he can rely on you at least.

Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.

“That’s great. It’d be good if you didn’t have to work as much.”

Your smile falters. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

“Okay.”

His dour tone stirs your concern. You wish you were better at hiding things from him, making his childhood as normal as possible. But your brother’s twelve now, and that’s old enough to sense when things are wrong.

He rises from his seat. You frown as you note there’s still food left in his bowl.

“Finish your plate before going to your room.”

Annoyance pinches his features but he still picks up his bowl and hastily guzzles down the remainder of his stew.

“Happy now?” he says, wiping his mouth.

“Yes. Very,” you cheerfully respond.

He gathers his books and strides towards his room.

Your voice rises.

“Don’t stay up too late to study, okay? I love you.”

“I…love you too,” he mumbles.

You bask in the moment as you clean the table. Thankfully Laertes is still at an age where he says it back. One day he might not. So you must cherish every instant. Every conversation, every hug, every ‘I love you’. Because it could all vanish in a second. You learned that the hard way a year ago.

The day of the interview recedes to the back of your mind as you keep living your life. Work is harrowing, as usual, but you tend to your tasks as best as you can. Your arms ache as you knead the dough in the back of the bakery. You give yourself a second to wipe the sweat off your forehead. It’s been a hectic afternoon. There’s a massive pastry order for some Capitol heiress’ birthday due tomorrow. So you’ve been racing between the front desk and the kitchen in the back. A baker called in sick today, leaving you with twice the workload.

You know it won’t take much to crash into your bed and fall asleep tonight.

To make matters worse, the day hits its nadir when you get your pay that day. You peer inside the envelope for the umpteenth time. An anxious chuckle peals out of your lips.

“I’m sorry I don’t want to complain, but…this doesn’t match the hours I put in.”

The owner scratches the back of his neck, a contrite expression etched on his face.

“I’m sorry too. With the new taxes imposed by the Capitol, I had to cut your salary.”

Slack-jawed by the news, no word leaves your mouth as you stare at him. He sighs.

“If it’s a problem, we can find someone else-”

“No, no,” you interrupt, blinking in panic. “Please, I need this job.”

He acquiesces and you’re forced to thank him despite feeling cheated. You actually scaled back your hours for your other part-times since this one paid more. What a waste.

Dispirited, you return home. As you give the driver a bill for the fare, your insides wrench. Every bill counts. Perhaps you’ll need to walk back home from now on. The streets of the Capitol are notoriously dangerous but you can’t see any other way to save your dwindling wages. You already know you’ll need to request an extension for rent this month. How will you pay it, however?

You suppose you’ll have to figure it out. You always figure it out.

These are the somber thoughts swaying in your mind as you check the mailbox.

Bills. Bills. And more bills. Your already sour mood plummets even more. But a slim, silver envelope sticking out from the pile corrals your focus. Curiosity surges inside you. It looks fancy and there’s a wax seal with the Capitol’s symbol keeping it shut. You rush to open it, heart fluttering in strange anticipation.

You unfold the neatly folded letter inside. As you read the words, you gasp, dropping the letter. Still trembling from shock and excitement, you bend to pick it up.

You take a deep slow breath before reading it again.

This time, a squeal escapes from your lips.

You read it many more times to make sure your eyes aren’t just conjuring wild fantasies.

After a while, you realize they aren’t. It’s true.

Holding the letter to your chest, you toss yourself on your bed and kick your feet excitedly.

You then place your palm on your forehead. In disbelief, you beam at the ceiling.

Somehow…you’ve been hired to work for the Snows. You actually got the job.

Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.

You fidget before the iron gates, smoothing absent wrinkles on your skirt. It’s one of the best outfits you could find on short notice that wasn’t moth-eaten or visibly overworn. You pray it’s enough. You let your gaze wander. The Snows’ estate truly is majestic. The lush gardens. The beautiful architecture. You feel a little small as you admire the mansion.

Remembering yourself, you pivot to the man who drove you there. You fish inside your pocket for a bill and hand it to him. He stares at you blankly from the driver’s seat.

A weary sigh ripples behind you.

You turn, your eyes widening. It’s the woman who interviewed you that day. She wears the same stern expression.

“You don’t need to pay him,” she explains, dismissing the man with her hand. He nods and drives away. “He’s your assigned driver. He’ll pick you up each day and take you back home.”

“Oh.” You offer your hand. “Nice to meet you…again.”

She gives you a lengthy onceover, completely ignoring your gesture. Then she motions at you to follow her. You let your hand fall to your side. Heat blooms in your cheeks. Perhaps, you were too enthusiastic just then. Straightening your spine, you try your best to keep pace with her quick strides.

“I’m Pandora. I supervise most housekeeping duties for the president. I’ll show you around the estate. Then you’ll meet the young Master.”

She gives you a tour of the mansion. You’re even more amazed than last time though you try to suppress your awe and not stare excessively. She shows you the garden as well. The sea of snow-white roses makes your head spin. She specifies that the only part of the house that is off-limits is the west wing of the mansion, as these are the First Lady’s apartments and she must have rest and quiet.

She ends the visit by taking you to the nursery. A smile spontaneously finds its way onto your lips. A toddler plays with his toy train on the floor. With his blonde curls and bright blue eyes, he bears a striking resemblance to his father.

“That’s him? He’s so cute,” you whisper. Even the stern woman’s expression thaws a little as she looks at the child, softening ever-so-slightly. You send her a questioning glance. She gives you a nod of approval.

You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.

“Hi. You’re Martius, right?”

He lifts his head and beams at you. You’re immediately endeared. Again, his smile reminds you of President Snow. You suppose one could probably take over the world with a smile like that.

You turn to Pandora.

“Is his mother around? I should probably introduce myself.”

Her face pinches. “Mistress Livia has been unwell as of late. She is not to be disturbed today as she is quite tired.”

“Of course.” Your lips squeeze shut for a few seconds but curiosity gets the better of you. A question burns on your lips, one that nagged you ever since you got the job. It slips out before you can think it through. “Is this…Is this why the president and his wife require a nanny? The First Lady is sick?”

Pandora glowers at you. You flinch as she steps further inside the room, her searing tone like a whip.

“You are here to do your job, and nothing else. Mistress Livia’s health is no concern of yours. Do you hear me?”

You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.

“I-I understand. I’m sorry I asked.”

“This reminds me. You have to sign this,” she says, handing you a pen and clipboard. A thin stack of papers are attached to the clipboard. The front page spells ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement’ in bold letters at the very top. You scowl as you flip through the pages.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a contract, one signed by every one of the President’s employees.”

“I don’t understand most of what’s written here…”

A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.

“I’ll make it simple for you then. For the duration of your employment here, nothing you see or hear must ever leave this house. You are here to care for the young master, that is all. Nothing else should concern you. Is that clear enough?”

You swallow thickly. It doesn’t sound hard at all. Discretion is essential in every job, isn’t it? But the way Pandora makes it sound, you’d assume there are bodies buried beneath the Snows’ estate. You’d laugh if her death stare weren’t so disquieting.

You peruse the contract, perplexed by most of the legal mumbo jumbo filling the pages. None of it rings any bell. You understand the gist of it however. You must preserve the president and his wife’s privacy. While you don’t know the specifics of the first lady’s condition, her public appearances have been few and far between in the last few years.

She used to be the envy of every woman in the Capitol. Beautiful, young and married to the dashing President Snow.

She was a fairytale princess come to life.

Then their son Martius was born. And when they held him up from the balcony of their mansion for all of Panem to gaze upon, they truly seemed like the perfect family.

Until one day, Livia Cardew simply…vanished.

She was noticeably absent from all the events of the season, some she even hosted herself. Tongues wagged of course, rumors and wild theories spreading like wildfire.

But no one knew the truth of what had happened to her.

The matter seems delicate. You promise yourself not to bring it up again.

You click the pen and scribble your name at the bottom of the very last page.

“I’ve…never signed a contract like that before starting a job.”

Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.

“Well, you’ve never worked for President Snow.”

As promised, you quit your two other jobs to focus solely on Martius. You’re hesitant at first. Your departed parents taught you never to put all your eggs in one basket. And it’s exactly what you’d be doing by trusting the Snows. But when you receive your first paycheck, long before the end of the week, every qualm you had fades. It’s more money than you’ve ever had, more money than you expected. Rent isn’t an issue anymore. Neither is food.

Besides, gifts keep coming from the estate. Clothes mostly, for both you and Laertes, but also jewelry, perfume and other fancy things you don’t need. Overwhelmed by President Snow’s generosity, you try to send some of it back, but you don’t have the heart to return everything when you see your brother’s happy face when he opens his wardrobe one day.

You’ve caught the self-conscious glimpses he casts at his classmates sometimes, when not wearing the Academy uniform. Their clothes are always brand new and custom, perfectly tailored while his are stitched back together by your clumsy hands whenever they fray at the seams. You’re not a seamstress but you’ve always done your best. But you know your best doesn’t compare to the access and privilege those kids have.

Other than those blessings, your time with Martius has been a breeze. Only hazy memories of your brother as a toddler linger in your mind, but you don’t recall him ever being as sweet and calm as the little boy is.

It hardly feels like work, caring for the small child. You spend the day playing along with his games, reading stories to him and, as the day nears its end, the two of you feed the ducks in the massive pond behind the mansion. He even gives them names and gets upset when they fight with each other.

“Lily doesn’t like James anymore,” he whispers to you one day, a sullen pout scrunching his tiny features.

“And why is that?”

“I think she’s angry that he steals her food.”

You chuckle and ruffle his golden locks. The little boy always has a story for everything he sees. At all times, his world must make sense. So if he cannot find a reason to explain what fills his gaze, he’ll weave a tale that matches it. His stories are each more wild than the other and he sometimes utters words you’ve never heard a four year old use.

But you surmise it is expected from the son of the president. When he isn’t with you, the little boy is often with his private tutor. Even at his tender age, the importance of manners and eloquence is impressed upon him.

Martius tugs at your skirt when you make your way to the door. You look down. His blue eyes are pleading.

“You’re leaving again?”

You heave out a long exhale. The little boy wasn’t so clingy before but with your bond growing, he’s been expressing more sadness from watching you go at the end of every day.

You hunker down to his level.

“My little brother’s expecting me.”

His forehead puckers. “Stay…”

“I told you before, Martius. I have a brother. He’ll miss me if I’m not here.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, giving a begrudging nod. Tears already swim in his eyes though. Panic flows through you. You didn’t want to upset him. You pick him up and bounce with him in your arms to try to soothe him.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry, sweetie.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nearly squeezing you to death when he wraps his arms around your neck. His loud, tearful sobs swell in the room. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow like always, okay? So I need you to be brave for me.” His grip on you loosens as he sniffles. You put him down and the two of you pinky promise that you’ll return. Your heart twists at the sight of his tear-stained little face.

You give his hair one last affectionate pat before rushing outside. If you stay, he might throw another tantrum. No matter what, you can never get mad at Martius. He’s just a child. In the absence of his mother, he’s bound to grow attached to any woman filling a role adjacent to hers. You loathe that you’re taking those moments from the first lady. Though it pleases you to have a steady job and spend time with the sweet boy, it feels wrong that she isn’t there. She should get to see her baby grow up. She should hear his inane ramblings and eccentric stories.

As time wears on, you’re dying to meet her and tell her about Martius. Is she truly so sick that she can’t even see him for a mere few minutes? You’re itching to break the rules and visit the west wing of the mansion. Sometimes you hear blood-curdling screams and wailing coming from the dark halls but you never dared venture through them. You know that if you did, Pandora would crucify you.

Laertes’ well-being matters more than your curiosity.

Humming absently, you halt in your tracks in the middle of a hallway. Confusion has you blinking. A peculiar noise bounces faintly against the walls. Your gaze drifts sideways, where the noise seems to come from. You’re clocking out. Whatever’s going on in the house isn’t any of your business at this hour.

But what if someone needs help? What if it’s something bad? You’d feel awful if you learnt something happened the next day and you pretended to ignore it. So you gingerly approach the wall. Your fingers graze the tapestry covering it.

Your eyes widen when the wall moves, a tiny crack forming in it.

Your eyes bulge. It’s an ajar door, you realize. A secret door one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t aware it was there. Light spills from the slight opening.

Confining your breath, you bend over the crack in the wall to get a glimpse of what’s behind it.

The vision crowding your sight makes the blood in your veins freeze.

President Snow rutting into a maid with his pants down to his ankles. His usually neat blonde locks are tousled, a few damp curls kissing his forehead. His massive cock glistens with the girl’s essence, disappearing into the girl’s spread lips over and over again. Her body is bent over the railing of the bed and her maid outfit is bunched around her hips, exposing her ass, the flesh trembling with each of the president’s harsh, pointed thrust.

Each time he snaps his hips he draws a broken moan from her. One of his hands is around the back of her throat while the other’s on the small of her back. He grunts low in his throat as she clenches around him, thrusting into her even faster than before.

The obscene sound of their coupling rises, coalescing with the feral grunts spilling from the president’s mouth. In that moment, he’s not the poised gentleman you’re used to seeing, he is an animal in rut chasing his high.

A shocked exhale escapes your lips. Your hand flies to cover your mouth. President Snow’s head snaps up, his gaze landing straight on you.

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

You jump back from the door and push the secret door closed. You dart across the hallway, determined to find the exit as quickly as you can. You don’t glance back, your steps hasty and panicked.

Pandora was right. It’s best not not to hear or see anything, to become a tomb in which secrets are buried.

You can only hope he didn’t recognize you through the tiny crack in the door.

Though you’re shaken to your core, you continue your work as a nanny. You still need money. You may have set aside everything you made thus far, but it will only sustain you and your brother for a month or two. Besides, you’ve already handed in your resignation for your other jobs. The positions have likely been filled. You can’t exactly show up out of the blue and ask for your former job back.

No. So you convince yourself that it’s alright. You have a good thing going anyway. You’re making more than you hoped. The child is happy. You’re happy. All is well. Or it would be at least.

…If you could conjure the memory of President Snow railing into the maid far away from your mind.

You want to forget it, bury the moment so deep in the abyss of your thoughts, it can never be unearthed.

But it isn’t so easy. Because every time your mind wanders even a little, you see him again. Skin glistening with sweat and blue eyes alight with lust. The image is tattooed into your brain.

You wonder if the first lady knows. Perhaps it’s why she’s hiding away. The weight of her husband’s indiscretions may have grown too heavy to carry. It sours your heart. President Snow seemed so kind, good and noble. He was nice to you. You still have the breast pocket he gave you tucked away in a drawer. You loathe to think he’d do that to his wife. No woman deserves this.

You lift your head when your name is uttered. You get to your feet. Adrift in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Pandora was in the nursery.

“Yes?”

“The president wants to see you in his office.”

Dread wrenches your gut. It’s exactly what you feared. Does he know? Did he see you? Your pulse picks up. What other reason would there be? He never summoned you before.

“Really, why?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m assuming it’s to congratulate you.”

Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. “Congratulate me?”

Pandora heaves out a weary sigh. “Well, you’ve done much better than we thought,” she begrudgingly admits. “The young master smiles all the time.” She rolls her eyes. “Even if we must deal with his tantrums when you leave.”

A sliver of pride flutters through you with her admission. Pandora made her doubts about your capabilities plain and obvious from the beginning. It gladdens you that you may have changed her mind a little.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She turns to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s a small price to pay for his happiness.”

Your smile vanishes as she adds, “Now let me escort you to the president’s office. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you trail behind her. The entire trek to the president’s office, your stomach’s in knots. You keep wondering if it’s the day you’ll lose your job for being too nosy. You should have walked past the noise. You shouldn’t have peeked.

You inhale a lungful of nerve as Pandora opens the door to his office and frees room for you to enter. Your clammy hands wrench in your lap. He’s sitting behind his desk. You stagger further inside the room as he motions for you to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks the same as the first time you stumbled into him, disarmingly handsome in an impeccable shirt and pants that flatter his long legs.

A sharp contrast to the version of him that has plagued your thoughts lately.

His sky gaze follows you as you take a trembling seat.

“Are you settling in well?” he asks.

“Hm, yes,” you stammer, anxiously twining your fingers. “It’s pretty much the perfect job. I get to be around a cute child all day.”

“I hear my son is very fond of you.”

You bashfully dip your head. “He’s very easy to like. He’s such a good boy, sweet, kind, and curious. You and your wife are raising him well, sir.”

He hums in thought. “I can’t take much credit for that. I’ve tried my best to carve out time for Martius…but work’s kept me busy. As for Livia...” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well she isn’t quite herself these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He places one hand under his chin, scrutinizing you. You try not to twitch beneath his stare, your insides tight with dread.

“Hm, it’s strange,” he states after a minute that goes by like an eternity.

Your head rises. “What’s strange?”

“A girl like you.” His lips drag upward. “Sweet, nurturing, beautiful. Shouldn’t you be married already?”

Your lips part in astonishment. This isn’t the line of questioning you expected. “I-I’m not.”

“No fiancé?”

“No, sir.”

“A lover then?”

Warmth rushes to your face.

“No…”

He laughs, mirth dancing in his cobalt orbs.

“You must pardon me for being so forward but I simply find it astonishing. No suitors? It’s hard to believe since you’re so lovely, sweetheart.” He tilts his head. You shift in discomfort, his attention making you feel see-through. “I mean, a husband would have made your life easier than it’s been thus far, wouldn’t he, dove?”

A long exhale flows from your lips. “I’ve had offers, after I graduated from the Academy. There was even this boy, he was so kind to me.” The memory draws a small smile from you. “He proposed. I’m sure he’d make a great husband, but…”

“But…”

Your mouth dries.

“I know it’s probably naive and unrealistic but I want to marry for love, that great, life-changing love, like in those romance novels my mom used to love, not money or status.”

His eyes twinkle. “Or financial stability?”

Shame gathers in your chest. You know it sounds silly when uttered aloud.

“I know, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. It’s sweet that you still believe in love.” He appears lost in a faraway memory, his gaze hazing over with remembrance. “I used to believe in it too. I used to think, ‘Who needs wealth and success and power when love conquers all?’”

He chuckles but it’s bereft of amusement.

“Really? What happened then?”

His gaze locks with yours.

“I grew up.”

Confused, you frown.

“But aren’t you and the first lady in love?”

Another laugh bursts from his chest.

“God, you’re sweet.” His tone lowers to a dulcet whisper. “It’s like none of the world’s ugliness has gotten to you yet.” He reveals matter-of-factly, “My wife and I hate each other.” His smile widens at your flabbergasted expression. “Always did. It’s best that way, more…efficient. Of course, there was a time, when we had…passion.” He licks his lips, something you can’t pinpoint flickering in his gaze. “But not anymore. She’s far too gone for that.”

He rises from his chair. You stiffen as he circles the desk, making slow steps towards you.

“Which is why I must…satiate my needs wherever I can,” he mumbles, fingers lurking under your chin, forcing your eyes to fall upon him. “Do you understand my meaning, dove?”

“I…yes.”

Discomfort flares within you. Tension hangs in the air, so heavy it clogs your airways.

He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.

“Do you really? With that innocent look in your eyes, it’s hard to tell.” His thumb sweeps over your shuddering bottom lip. “Men have needs. And am I not a man, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes you are, sir.”

He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “You saw everything that day, didn’t you?” Your heart stops.

Flames lick your face as you bow your head. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.

“Liar,” he mumbles.

Your pulse quickens.

He leans back and nudges your chin upward.

“Since my wife fell sick, I’ve been very lonely. And sometimes…” He looms over you, crowding your space as you peer up at him, fingers squeezing the arms of the chair. “I need something soft and warm to forget that feeling.”

President Snow slowly falls to his knees in front of you. His fingers find your thigh, starting to creep under your skirt. A devilish glint sparkles in his cobalt gaze. He finds your center, pressing the sheer fabric into your folds. You gasp. He chuckles at your reaction. He starts teasing you through your panties, tracing your slit and dragging over your tender bud. Your breath hitches as the air around you grows hotter. You grow slick beneath his finger, your thighs shaking as tingles bloom on your flesh.

“Sir…” you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes.

He pushes further inside you, adding another finger, and you unleash an audible breath. You try to close your thighs. He places his other hand on your knee to keep you open for him.

The air in your lungs grows thinner as he rubs your core through your soaked panties. The friction is a delicious torture. Pleasure pools in your belly causing your face to burn with shame. You’re getting embarrassingly wet with President Snow’s attention.

“I just want a little taste,” he murmurs, his deep timbre bleeding lust. “Just one time and it’ll never happen again,” he promises fervently as his lips graze your ankle. You find some relief when his fingers disappear from your drenched center. But your respite is ephemeral. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs at your panties.

Panic widens your eyes. Cheeks ablaze, you pull at the material between your legs with both hands. But he’s stronger than you and effortlessly drags the fabric along your legs. A wicked smile plays on his lips as tears glisten in your eyes. It’s soon down to your ankles. You squeal when the president yanks the panties off your foot, tossing them aside. Cool air sneaks beneath your skirt, swirling over your bare folds.

Hands over your knees to keep you spread, his wolfish gaze sweeps over your glossy folds.

Your skin heats, embarrassment gathering in your chest. You’ve never been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anybody before.

“Please, President Snow, s-stop…”

“But you’re dripping, sweetheart,” he states smugly, sinking a finger inside your weeping core, as if to make a point. Your breath hitches. He takes his finger out sluggishly. You clench when he grazes one of your sensitive spots. “Just as sweet as I expected,” he hums, obscenely licking your essence off his long digit.

Without a warning, he buries his head between your thighs. A sharp exhale leaps from your mouth. His cool tongue traces a wet trail over your folds. President Snow traces maddening patterns over your swollen bud causing your eyes to roll back.

You card your fingers through his silken platinum locks, hoping to push his head away. But the delightful sensations grow too overwhelming. You unravel beneath his sinful ministrations, your limbs twitching as the thread of your thoughts comes loose.

Your grip on his hair weakens. Your belly tightens, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

You jolt as his tongue flickers over your tender heap of nerves.

“P-President…”

He purrs against your folds and the vibrations rock through your core. You squirm in the chair. Your thighs quake. Your vision dims, your mind blank as waves of pleasure swaddle you in their tide. Protests scatter on your tongue, replaced by wanton whimpers and moans.

Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.

Bliss engulfs you and your legs turn liquid. Shame swirls in your gut as your juices coat his tongue. He drinks your nectar, elation rumbling in his chest.

When he lifts his head, you hardly recognize him. The feral glow in his gaze chills your blood.

There is no time to collect yourself, realize what just occurred, as the blonde gathers your limp frame from the chair and places you on his desk. Documents and papers are flung to the ground as he grabs your thighs and presses his throbbing hard-on against your cunt.

He hastily unbuttons his pants, freeing his hard length. He fists his cock and guides it through your wet entrance. Your back arches, the sudden intrusion robbing you of air. He reaches the hilt of you in a few seconds, giving you no time to accommodate his thick girth. You collapse over the desk, weak whimpers leaving you as your walls are stretched to their limit. He drags out of you, his pupils flaring as they trace the motion of his length in and out of you. Coriolanus leans over you. He snaps his pelvis into your hips, each of his thrusts tearing tearful moans from your throat.

When you turn your head, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, he grabs your chin so you’re forced to meet his lustful stare. Bracing himself on the desk, he reaches between your bodies to pinch your swollen clit. He plucks at your soft bud until you shatter around him with a sob. His throat bobs, a look of sheer bliss flitting across his face when you clench around him.

“I’ve been dying to fuck you the minute I saw you,” he confesses, trailing soft pecks over your collarbone. A sinister chuckle peals from his lips. “The way you looked at me with those sweet, innocent eyes…it made me rock-hard.” He tilts your chin towards him, his thumb skimming over your parted lips.

Satisfaction glimmers in his eyes as they flick over your prone form.

“You should thank me. Those boys at the Academy wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you…” His cock twitches inside you. Sticky warmth spills from him, painting your walls and dripping past your hole. Drops of his seed leak onto the desk. A throaty sigh pours from President Snow’s throat as your cunt flutters around him.

His teeth nip the skin of your neck.

“...But I do.”

After what occurs in his office, you hope to avoid President Snow. Those hopes are swiftly dashed however. President Snow lied to you. It doesn’t happen once. In fact, you begin to lose count of the actual number.

Every time the president finds a little spare time, he summons you.

Sometimes you end up bent over the desk in his office as he pours the frustrations of the day into your warm hole. Sometimes he prefers you sprawled on your back in one of the multitude of luxurious beds in the mansion while he devours you as if you were his very last meal. And at times, he grows even more impatient and simply shoves you against a wall before ravaging you.

More than once, a maid or footman has walked in on the two of you, and you’ve had to swallow your shame and embarrassment.

As you’ve come to learn, the entire staff is aware of Coriolanus Snow’s insatiable appetite and none of them seems to care.

You feel sick, desperate, trapped in something twisted and awful you never signed up for.

But how does one say no to President Coriolanus Snow? The entire Capitol yields to his every whim. And you are the same. Here to bow and smile and lie back whenever he demands it.

You long to focus on your job, to care for Martius and nothing else. Whenever the boy looks up at you with those innocent blue eyes, eerily similar to his father’s, your stomach wrenches. You pray he never comes to learn what kind of man his father is. You wish he’d stay just as kind and sweet as he is now.

Those are the thoughts drifting through your mind as you watch Martius play with his toy trains. Your eyes wander towards the window. Outside, orange and purple hues are bleeding into the sky, the afternoon nearing its end. Your stomach coils. It’s during times like these that President Snow often seeks you out. You’ve tried to run away from him but it’s all a game to Coriolanus, and he always delights in chasing you through the hallways.

Your brows crumple as you note that Martius has stopped playing. He drops his toy and rushes to your side. Confounded by his behavior, you’re on the cusp of asking him what’s wrong…but your gaze follows what caught his attention on the other side of the room.

You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.

“Martius. Come here, my love,” says the blonde woman in a white robe and nightgown, her arms wide open.

Time stands still for a few seconds. It takes you a while to realize who stands before the door. She looks so different, more ghost than woman, her glassy blue eyes hollow and sunken. But her likeness is unmistakable. Even with her graying, limp tresses and ashen complexion, you recognize Livia Cardew. The president’s wife.

You bolt to your feet. Arms still open, Livia takes slow steps towards Martius.

“I’m your mom, sweetie. Don’t you remember me?”

The little boy’s fists clutch your skirt as he hides his face against your leg.

“You’re not my mom.”

A stricken look twists Livia’s features as she shrinks. As if her own son just drove a knife through her heart. Your chest twinges. While her abrupt appearance is a shock, you can’t imagine how she must feel. You place a hand on Martius’ back and try to nudge him forward.

“Martius. It’s the First Lady, your mother. Go on, hug her,” you urge softly.

He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he hides behind you even more.

You’re stunned. Has it truly been that long?

“Martius-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, Livia lunging at you, her eyes wild with fury.

“You! This is all your fault,” she hisses. She points at you and scoffs, “You’re his new whore, aren’t you?” Her mouth wobbles as she grips her head. “First you take my husband, now my son.”

Martius begins to sob. His loud cries overlap with his mother’s frantic yelling. You cover his eyes, tossing Livia an apologetic look.

“First Lady, I never meant-”

Before you can explain yourself, she grabs a nearby vase and smashes it. White roses scatter on the floor. Stomping all over the petals and broken glass, she collects one of the shards and races towards you. Terror numbs you. You freeze as Livia aims the shard at you, scarlet droplets dripping on her nightgown as she squeezes her fist around the glass.

Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.

You shiver, waiting still.

But it doesn’t come.

“Livia, darling, that’s enough. It’s time for you to sleep and take your medicine.”

The familiar sound of Coriolanus’ voice causes your eyes to snap open.

You watch him restrain a struggling Livia. She curses at him, fighting him with all her might. It’s a painful spectacle.

“No, don’t touch me!” Other staff members rush into the room. It takes several people to hold Livia down, colorful expletives pouring from her mouth as she punches and kicks whoever comes close. “You’re killing me! You bastard! Give me my son back! Martius! Martius!”

The child trembles against your skirt, his tear-filled gaze stuck to the floor.

Eventually someone manages to stick a needle into Livia’s neck. She instantly goes limp, arm still reaching for her son in her last conscious second.

“Take her away,” Coriolanus instructs.

The first lady’s flaccid form is dragged out of the room. Still shaken by what you just witnessed, you don’t move a muscle. President Snow approaches you, worry swimming in his blue orbs.

“Are you alright, dove?” He cups your cheeks, his brows crumpling as his gaze settles on your neck. “I’ll have Doctor Gaul look at you. She has an ointment for that.” He caresses your cheeks, smiling. You gape at him. How can he smile at a time like that? “It won’t even scar. I promise.”

You graze your neck. Your fingers come away bloody. Oh. Livia nicked you with the shard but you didn’t even feel it. Perhaps adrenaline numbed you to the pain.

“Dada,” Martius chimes, lifting his chubby arms.

Coriolanus’ face warms as he picks up his son. He tosses him in the air and catches him. Martius giggles through his tears.

“My sweet boy. That was very scary, wasn’t it?” he says, balancing his son on his hip. Martius nods and wipes his nose. Coriolanus flicks his cheek, beaming at him. “Don’t worry, son. The scary lady won’t bother you anymore in a few months.”

A wave of ice blows through your veins. You wonder why the president uttered those words with such certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Almost as if he knows exactly when the grim reaper will come knock on his wife’s door.

The next day, you hand over your resignation to Pandora. Her expression is skeptical as she gauges the manila folder you give her.

“This is for the president,” you announce.

She unleashes a deep exhale. “You should reconsider, sleep on it.”

You almost laugh. Sleep on it? You can hardly find rest, the picture of a disheveled Livia Cardew crying out for her son haunting your nights. Whatever befell upon the poor woman, you wouldn’t be surprised if her husband somehow had a hand in it. It broke your heart, seeing her like that, her own son unable to recognize her. You also despise the role Coriolanus forced you to play in erasing her memory.

All of it feels wrong.

And most of all, you don’t want President Snow to use you to satisfy his lewd desires anymore. He took all your firsts, all the moments that should have been beautiful, and made them a nightmare you have to relive every time he touches you.

You respected him; you admired him. Now you can’t be in his presence without dread whispering through you. What will he make you do this time? How will he make you small and powerless again?

“I can’t…I can’t do this anymore. He can hire someone else to care for him.”

Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.

“It’s really not that simple. The president has developed…a fondness for you.”

You bristle. “I have to go back home. Laertes is expecting me.”

“You won’t like what comes next, trust me.” Her gaze narrows. “No one leaves the president.”

Ignoring the shudder elicited by her daunting words, you pivot and make a beeline towards the exit. Pandora’s voice echoes down the hallways.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Depleted, you glumly make your way to the gates. You enter the car that takes you back home everyday. Your thoughts wander as the Snow’s house grows smaller through the car window. You were thrilled when you got this job. It felt like kismet after the year you and your brother had. A rainbow after the rain. A slice of hope.

How it all went to hell so quickly. You’re still reeling from it. You’ve no idea what you’ll do next. The only thing you know for certain is that you will not step foot into the Snows’ estate ever again.

The car suddenly halts. You bump your head into the passenger’s seat. Wincing, you grip the sides of your head. As you retrieve your senses, you look around. You stopped.

You toss a questioning look at the driver.

But before he can respond, the car door opens and you’re yanked outside. Two pairs of strong arms drag you away from the car.

You take in the blue uniforms of the men. Terror pulses through your blood.

Peacekeepers.

Noting the guns at their sides, you stop trying to resist. There’s no fighting against them, ever. They are the Capitol’s fist and carry the President’s will. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you likely never did. You slump in their grip, despair thrumming inside you.

They escort you to a black car with tinted windows. Your pulse soars. You’ve only ever seen one individual step out of this car.

The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.

Your fearful gaze rises to him.

He casually sits in front of you, his eyes narrowed.

“You disappoint me, dove.” He lets out a weary sigh. “After everything I’ve done for you…you try to leave me. I thought you were smarter than that.”

You twine your hands, sputtering, “I-I’m not the right person for this job, sir.”

He slides his fingers under your chin, tilting it upward.

“Oh but you’re perfect. My son loves you. You’re sweet, dutiful and most importantly…” He smirks. “You are mine. Mine to hold, spoil and fuck whenever I please for however long I please.”

The prospect fills you with dread. He wants you to be his toy again, submissive, available whenever he pleases.

“Sir…”

His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your brother could attend the University, free of charge? A bright young mind such as his, I believe he deserves it.” His blue eyes twinkle. “Instead of, let’s say…end up in a District, his name chosen as a tribute in the next Hunger Games.” Your heart sinks to your feet. “That’d be awful, wouldn’t it? So cruel…” he mumbles, stroking your trembling bottom lip.

“No, please,” you beseech, tears swelling in your eyes. Your brother’s all you have left in the world. Nothing can happen to him.

Coriolanus fondles your cheek, the tender gesture a sharp contrast to the wicked words rolling off his tongue.

“It’s all up to you, then, dove. As long as you behave, I’ll give you the world. But if you act like a little brat again…” A threat lurks in his soft tone, a glint of madness swaying in his cobalt orbs. “I really don’t know what I might do.”

Chills dance over your spine.

“I promise to never do it again,” you blurt out.

He pulls out a square from his breast pocket. It’s identical to the one he used the first time.

But a lifetime seems to have passed since that moment, the world now so different from what you imagined, and the man before you…even more so.

“Good girl,” he lauds while swiping away your tears.

He shoves the pocket square back in its place. Coriolanus then beams at you as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants.

“Now, I’ve had a long, exhausting day. So how about you get on your knees for me and make it better with that sweet mouth of yours, dove?”

#dark!coriolanus snow #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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chromimis · 10 days

Text

❝ HEAVEN IS BETWEEN YOUR THIGHS!❞

FEATURING : naoya z. , nanami k. , geto s. , gojo s.

ღ — SYNOPSIS : jjk men and how they go down on you.

ღ — TAGS : smut, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting, size kink, hair pulling, face sitting, dacryphilla, overstimulation, wall s*x, usage of s*x toy’s & bounds (geto’s), impact play, barely any dirty talk cause their face is in your puss, cursing, all lowercase intended !

ღ — A/N : tagging @nantoji & @thebimbopalace hope you enjoy!!

☆ NAOYA ZEN’IN

“ what’a fucking whore.” naoya croaks out a cruel laugh, his sharp brown eyes zeroing out on your needy hole sucking three of his long fingers in. you feel a cold shiver run up your spine from his humiliating words and fingers.

it’s not very often that naoya takes his time and actually goes down on you— he prefers skipping straight to the fingering part so he can fuck you dizzy. but when he truly takes his time; he’ll focus on making you spell out what you really wanted him to do.

“ n-naoya! i… my clit, please!” you whine; even to your own ears you sound quite pathetic. the devilish man above you decides that he’ll finally pay your clit attention… by giving the bud harsh spanks. “ naoya— st…stop!”

the painful sticky contact catches you off guard completely before it quickly bursts into waves of pleasure. taken aback, you jerk your body away from him. the confusing pleasure-pain complex has you feeling lightheaded.

he stills your jerking body with the same hand sending your clit harsh jolts on your thigh. “ stop, huh? your mouth and your pussy are saying two different things, so make up your mind, dummy.”

the way how he easily dumbs you down with a simple sentence impossibly turns you on even more. you hazily feel your walls clench around his fingers, inviting him and holding his fingers in. your eyes travel down to his face; a slim eyebrow of his is raised and his lips is twisted into his usual arrogant smirk.

immediately, you recognize what’s written all on his face. ‘ explain what you want or we’ll be here like this all day.’ ignorant. the bastard knows what you want, he’s just dragging it out for his own entertainment.

you gulp down all discomfiture, and open your mouth. “ i… i want you to l-lick my clit and finger me, naoya.” still not satisfied. he drums his fingers against the inside of your thigh with the illusion of patience. “ pretty please, n-naoya?”

“ good girl. s’all you had to say.” he starts thrusting his fingers again, even faster than before. his head dips down to your clit to give it a spit filled kiss before lapping it up into his mouth entirely.

you loudly moan, back arching off the bed as he began to write love letters on the expanse of your twitching clit. “ yes, yesss! please don’t stop, naoya!” you shriek out, legs twitching and swaying wildly, only stopping when he delivers a resounding slap on the inside of your trembling thigh.

“ stay fuckin’ still or i can stop altogether.” you hear— feel him whisper harshly against your clit. although, something tells you he doesn’t want to stop. your slick arousal running down the palm of his hand to his forearm is the betrayal of his words, when he works his rhythm up to see your pussy push out that delightful clear fluid.

the pads of his fingers are working a balanced rhythm against your g-spot, and his spit-covered lips are sucking and nibbling lewdly on your clit. a tight but slightly uncomfortable pressure builds in your lower stomach.

“ mmph— m’gonna s-squirt, naoya!” your warning seems to fall on keen ears as he begins curling and thrusting his fingers even more, he hardens the tip of his tongue so it can deliver electrifying licks to the erect bud. “ fuh-fuck! feels s’good!”

your nimble fingers finds home in his bleached locks of hair. he nibbled on your clit abruptly, and that was your end. your body thrashes wildly as clear fluids squirts from your body, his name husky on your lips.

naoya, in all one’s glory, watches the salacious scene in front of him. and once your done coming down from your high, he delivers a few more spanks against your entire cunt. face and chin utterly drenched in your fluids.

there’s a pregnant pause in the room as naoya leans up to his full height. distantly, you feel three fingers tap against your cheek. condescendingly. “ you look so dumb… i want you to squirt f’me again, so get up.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO

“ you ready up there, pretty lady?” nanami’s soothing voice calls out from underneath you. his big and warm hands slides up and down on the outside of your thighs in soothing motions; when you fail to give him a quick enough response, he squeezes your thighs firmly before giving a kiss on the inside of them. “ you’re thinking about it too much. i just want you to sit this pretty pussy on my face and make a mess on me, ok?”

his hot breath fans over your cunt while he softly pep talks you as one would do with a child, and your knees slightly wobble with excitement. “ o-okay, kento…” your soft voice stutters out. slowly, you finally sink your pussy on nanami’s warm and awaiting mouth— not missing the way how his pupils dilates with lust.

he holds you still on his face before he captures your wet lips in a drawn out kiss, giving it another and another, only flattening his tongue when your thigh twitches with silent anticipation. “ oh… oh fuck, kento.”

you coo softly, fingers threading themselves in his blond parted hair. your brows furrow along with your jaw dropping when he gives your clit a long suck, it feels as if he’s draining out every last drop of slickness that you push out with his tongue.

briefly, he departs from your wet cunt to spread your lips with his thumbs. “ oh god. you’re soaking for me, baby. and to think you were nervous…” he chuckles softly as he smushes your wet lips together. you whine, the feeling your orgasm slip further from you, and it’s absolute torture.

“ k-kento… please.” he gives you crooked smile for the last time before diving back into your pussy. you feel him bring a sweet kiss to your cunt, departing to admire the twitching bud, then slurping it back into his mouth.

the sensation builds back up once again, and you feel a wave of heat flush over your body completely. you fist his hair for balance before grinding desperately against his face to get that heavenly release you deserve. he groans into your cunt, swaying his tongue in skilled directions.

“ oh g-god, yes kentooo!” a trail of spit dribbles down the corner of your mouth, the grinding of your hips nothing short of animalistic. he gives your clit a few nibbles and your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, with your back arching and eyes rolling far in the back of your skull.

coming down, you pant heavily as if you ran a marathon, thighs burning with sweet heat. you expect nanami to give up and let go of your thighs, but when his tongue showed no sign of stopping his abuse, you forcefully lift your dripping pussy hovering over his face. “ hah, i… i think i’m done, k-kento.”

your words fall on deaf ears. nanami turns his head to the side to give your thigh a series of soft kisses, his hands travel north and south, up your spine and down to the swell of your ass. “ think you can give me another one, pretty lady?” he asks.

it’s rather a demand than a question as he forcefully brings you back down to smother his mouth in your sweet nectar, once again.

☆ GETO SUGURU

geto’s home is basically between your thighs. his hunger for your pussy and reactions is limitless.

“ ‘m putting it back on your clit. girl… i don’t care if it’s too much.” he supports his words by cruelly running the vibrating object on the inside of your thigh— downright grinning at your body spasming weakly in front of him. “ you feel her waving at me? telling me she wants more… yeah, you can take it.”

he ignores your gravelly protests; faintly following the path from your thigh to your clit with the vibrating toy. once he’s finally above his target, he presses the toy against your overly sensitive bud making your body jolt upward.

“ suguruuuu! aah— it huurts! s-stop,” your voice shrieks as hot tears burn your eyes. the bastard is so calculated and cruel, he made sure to bound you to the bed by hands and feet; mimicking a starfish position, so you couldn’t run away.

through all your trembling, suguru reaches down with his other hand, slowly slipping two calloused fingers in your sex and deviously curling them upwards. smiling to himself when he feels your walls trap down and squeeze him in. “ yer’ such’a mess for me. it’s so fuckin adorable.” he coos, the sound is mocking to your ears.

everything is too much. you swear you can feel suguru’s fingers and the vibrator in your throat from how well they’re tormenting your worn body. his fingers are curling and forcing, and the vibrator is a constant reminder that your clit is beyond it’s sensitive point. it’s all just too much. all you wish to do is push him away and get the rest your body screams for— oh wait…

“ suguru!” you dumbly pant out with mascara mixed tears runnning down the apple of your burning cheeks. expression twisted in the face of dragged out slut and his name a mantra on your tongue. suguru gradually builds his speed up while circling the pink vibrator on your erect bud. the lewdly sound of squelching and buzzing is equal like a birds call to his ears. “ ‘m gonna cuuummm!”

“ and here i thought you didn’t want this. tch, you know how i feel about liars, girl.” he tuts. it’s so irritating. but you can’t deny the floating feeling when he talks down at you in such a manner. “ cum for me baby. i know you can take it, heh, feels like your sucking the feeling out my fingers.” he leans down close to your ear and you can’t deny the shiver that rocks through your body.

“ r-ru… please stop. i can’t… i don’t know if i—” your voice cuts off as your legs shake for one last time tonight. the tight coil in your stomach finally snaps as suguru forces this mind shattering orgasm from your fatigued body.

your mouth opens in a silent cry, clear fluids gush from your body and coats his strong forearm, your body arches up, and you swear you can see stars decorate the ceiling above. there’s a pause in the man’s actions, drinking in your cries and whimpers before everything just stops.

suguru switches the vibrator off and throws it across an unknown place in the room. he drags his fingers out your overly drenched sex, beginning to trace them up your stomach— until he notices your body is still. too still.

“ baby, baby? fuck… i overdid it again.”

☆ GOJO SATORU

gojo loves eating you out, especially in different positions; missionary, doggystyle, six-nine, face sitting— he doesn’t care. all that matters is his face is being pressed entirely against your cunt and inhaling your enchanting scent.

your ass is currently sitting on his upper arms, legs extended and crossed tightly over his shoulders. his strong arms holds you up steady against the wall, while his face is entirely pressed and mapping out the spot in between your thighs with no breaks of air.

your practically using his arms as your own personal chair.

“ satoru, t-take a break. your jaw… is gonna lock up— haaa!” you try to plead with the tall man, but no. satoru— not caring about his health, flattens his tongue against your labia before moving up onto your clit, only to tweak at it.

all pleas die down on your tongue as your pushed back once again into that wave of euphoria. your hands fly to his head, your fingers burrow deep in the soft matter.

there must’ve been something in the air tonight, seeing how you’ve been pressed against this wall for two orgasms straight. the muscles in your thighs flex, drawing him closer. satoru hums against your sopping pussy, sending vibrations through your body that has your eyes fluttering and lips trembling.

it’s implausible how well gojo knows your body. every long drag, tongue flick, and outdrawn suck seems to hit you in the all right places possible. undoubtedly making your legs go from limp to tensing, and body aching for more.

but, the overstimulation is all too much. from the ridiculous position obviously highlighting his size kink, and how his tongue has given you mind shattering orgasms. honestly, you don’t know better than to push him away or pull him closer.

“ shit! oh fuuuuck, m’close, m’so close!” you curse out loud, the build up to your orgasm making you act ravenous. with your hands buried in his hair, you grind your pussy more on his mouth, and satoru chases the taste. “ satoru! y-yes, right there!”

you pant out while instinctively clamping your walls around his tongue shoving itself in. he’s more determined than ever, messily tongue fucking you while kneading your ass in his big hands. how he manages to hold you up by your ass only, it’s still a wonder.

the orgasm explodes out of you so suddenly. you close your eyes and throw your head back. your throat burns from the gasp you hold back before you replace it with a pornographic moan. thighs trapping and squeezing hard around gojo’s head while your body is full on trembling.

finally, he comes up from your pussy, chin drenched in your sweet orgasm and his saliva. “ messy girl.”

it’s a known fact that, gojo satoru is hotter when silent. face first in your pussy especially.

#𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐒 📝#naoya zenin x reader #naoya x reader #naoya smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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chrollohearttags · 9 months

Text

hershey kisses • armin artlert

armin gives his special girl an orgasm like she’s never had..

content warning + themes: nipple play, p!rn without plot, nipple orgasm, queer bestie armin bc I love him sm, black fem reader, creaming, reader is ovulating, clit rubbing, squirting, ear nibbling, armin being a soft dom (and so hot), back kissing/licking, use of pretty girl, sweetheart and mama

📝: I couldn’t stop thinking about armin + him being a pleasure dom and just caring for his bestie. Like I’m sitting here melting 🥹🥹

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Here, open your legs, baby..I promise, you’ll like it.”

“Are you sure, Armie? I don’t know about thisss..”

words emitted with a whiny laugh as you sat between the legs of your best friend. Back pressed to his chest and his leaning against your Victorian style headboard..painted in off white, cream coloring and lined with pastel pink pillows and stuffed animals. His tattoos and metal nipple piercings grazing your gorgeous skin. Honestly, he couldn’t believe that the two of you were actually here again…touching all over one another when all it did was lead to more trouble. Even so, you guys always ended up like this: hot, bothered and naked, making out and fucking after coming from a night out at the club or a long week of work. Over the past few months, since the inception of this little entanglement, you and Armin had learned a lot about each other. He had discovered that he leaned more towards being pansexual, rather than outright gay. He felt far more comfortable embracing fluidity in his sexuality and you?

“Relax, sweetheart. Have I ever led you wrong? I mean, you said it yourself that nobody makes you feel the way I can.” cooing to you with gentle kisses trailing along your neck..gentle hands grazing your bare shoulder blades as you had just left the shower..feeling refreshed and warm. Wrapped up in nothing more than a towel that he so delicately removed from your frame..he could sit there and admire you for hours without growing tired.

“You smell so good..and your skin, it’s so soft. You been using my stuff again?” Referring to the peach scented body cream he kept alongside his countless other skin care products he kept in his bathroom. But he didn’t mind. You wore it so much better than him anyways..including the shimmery butter that made your cocoa complexion glistening underneath the pale LED lighting. Besides, you could get away with anything when you smiled at him like that. “And if I was?..” retorting with a soft giggle before turning to kiss him. Your lips met a gentle peck, letting your tongues collide in a passionate barrage of kisses. As you made out, Armin slowly began to snake his arms around to your front. Those big, supple breasts cradled in his veiny hands; perfectly manicured and neat, decorated with silver rings. Suddenly, your breath would hitch in the back of your throat. Those sensitive nipples getting pinched by his fingertips and massages delicately.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to do this..”

what exactly that was? You weren’t sure yet but you’d know soon enough. The friction between your buds and his pads pressing together..rubbing slowly to create and drum up tingling sensations. In your toes, your entire body and especially that core. Dripping with only a few subtle touches so far and this was only the beginning. As your eyes began to flutter, Armin would instruct you to keep them open and strictly on them; twisting your head around whilst he played with your nipples. Tracing slow circles around the areolae before bringing those fingers back up to your quivering mouth to slick with saliva.

“There we go, pretty girl. Open up f’r me..” his higher pitched tone, one some would consider feminine rang out in your ear. He didn’t even have to look and yet he knew your body better than any man you’d ever let touch you prior. He could always sense when you were ovulating and in need of a good session. One that satisfied you mind, body and spirit. Anything to avoid some loser who didn’t deserve to be in your presence, less known getting some pussy get the best of you. Sure, he could fuck you senseless. Bend you over and make you chomp down on your plushies or a nearby pillow. Or even fold your legs up to the headboard and give you deep strokes while your vibrator went crazy but that wouldn’t do. He wanted you to experience a different type of pleasure. One that would have you addicted once you became used to the feeling. Between your trembling thighs lied that little sweet spot..quivering and spasming on nothing more than air. Cream leaking from that freshly shaved cunt as he continued to tease your most sensitive of pressure points. Nibbling on your ear, kissing on your neck and leaving soothing pecks all along your shoulder blade and back.

“Arminnnn…oh my..fuck—“

“Look at you…so cute like this. I swear, it makes me wanna keep playing with you all night.”

when he first told you that an orgasm by merely having your nipples played with was possible, you stared at him as if he were absolutely crazy. You didn’t think such a thing could ever happen and yet, here you were…about to climax and he hadn’t even so much as touched your clit yet! Gasping for air, (y/n) became undone right there in his firm grasp. Armin’s legs coiling you to keep you in place. “Shh..it’s okay, sweetheart. Just breathe with me, okay? I know it feels good and you wanna come so bad…but just hold on.” Those subtle kisses doing little to quell you but when he spoke to you so carefully and delicately, you had no choice but to listen. Faint traces of drool seeped from between your lips as he kept rubbing. Going counterclockwise, twisting in all sorts of directions before clamping down yet again. You’d try to wiggle around, even rut yourself against a nearby pillow to get off but alas, that was useless. He’d pop your leg and command you to stay still..

“No cheating…just let me get you there..” “okay, okay!..please, I just wanna come..”

and soon, your tireless groveling and pleas would pay off. Because alas, he’d let those lengthy fingers glide down your belly and to that fat little pussy, where he spread those lips apart and rubbed that little clit for just a moment. But it was abundantly clear you were far more stimulated than expected. With only a few seconds of gentle massaging, you were flooding the sheets, squirting all over his hands and the bed. So bashful of such a reaction but it was exactly what he wanted to see!

“Aww, good job, baby..you came so hard..” watching you writhe and cry out in pure bliss and ecstasy. There was no way that a little nipple rubbing garnered such a reaction but you’d never question his again! Allowing you to ride out your climatic high, Armin spun you around once more before kissing you. “That feel good, mama? Did you like that?” Questioning with that sweet yet nasally tone, cooing to you like a baby. And you nodded, still dazed with a fucked out expression. Bopping your nose, Armin placed a kiss to your forehead as you lie in his arms.

“I told you, you gotta trust me more often. I’ll do whatever it takes to please you.”

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hazelfoureyes · 1 month

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I just need you to know this story has had me in a chokehold and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it. This is gonna be a weird smutty slow burn, so still smut every post but full p in v sex will be a reward you have to work for?

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Redsmut�� Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedysmut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

「warnings/tags: HumanAlastor x FemaleReader, implied attempt to SA, fingering, plot with porn?, Multi part work, bad kind of choking, blood kink, blood licking, just in general blood, Non-Sex repulsed Ace Spectrum Alastor, stalking, murder obvs, finger sucking, smoking kinda kills if you squint, Public sex acts, garter belt, You have a stage name but no one important uses it, Greed, Lust, Human Alastor is a little different than Demon Alastor. 」

minors dni 💅🏽

Part 1 Pretty in Red

The marriage between burlesque and jazz wasn’t unexpected. Before the Great Depression took the nation into a stranglehold, both Jazz and Burlesque were immoral wastes of time only the most barbaric sought out.

And oh, did you love it. Everyone who was made to feel like nobody flocked to your theater and the surrounding neighborhood. Men, women, the people who didn’t agree with either. The biblically inclined, those closer to sodom, the sapphic dolls. Everyone was equal in the halls of jazz rooms and theatres where burlesquers were welcome.

Because of the inclusive nature of such places, you often saw familiar faces. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone from Thursday night to be seen Saturday at a different locale.

That presented certain opportunities and challenges. When you found a good mark, it was easy to be wherever he was and play it off as fate and common interests.

And when you gained a new stalker, someone wanting a personal show, it could be hard to tell until it was too late.

Maybe it was your greed, or just your love of attention, but you found yourself focused almost entirely on a particularly well dressed man one evening. You’d seen him around before. Clean cut, sharp suit, a welcoming smile always on display. He looked like he had money, the most attractive quality of any man you could meet.

So focused on his gleaming stare from the side booths you hadn’t noticed the man at the stage front tables. You barely noticed him the night before, or the night before that, either. Because Smiles, as you took to calling the handsome stranger in the back, had been here three nights now too.

You really put on a show. Shimmying your hips, ostrich feathers following suit with every move. Your brassiere was heavy with shining rhinestones, panties of silk and lace. Your set was almost done, all that was left was to remove your top and slink away behind the curtains to hollers and whistles. Back turned, you unhooked the painful bra and let it fall to the stage with a clunk. Foot in front of foot, you stalked the stage length. With your hand hidden from view you took the feathered fan from the stagehand behind the curtain. As the music crescendoed you turned, fan unfurling just in time to hide yourself.

Groans, mass begging from the audience. Your stage name a chant now, a prayer. “Autumn! Come on!”

As the band slowed, music dying to mark the end of your number, you scanned the crowd. Eyes blinking coyly, you mouthed, “More? Did you want more?”

People were jumping to their feet, not Smiles but that was fine, you were focused now on the adoration of the crowd. The music ended, a second of silence.

You winked, the drums hitting one last beat as you let the fan close.

Fanfare! Men whistling, women clapping. Someone shouted a marriage proposal. You took a bow, twirled on the balls of your feet and slipped gracefully behind the curtains.

Your hands wound to your spine, rubbing blood flow back into your skin as the staff removed your headdress. Someone slipped your robe over you and you nodded a thanks, aching feet carrying you to the dressing room. It was chaos, as usual. Women buzzing around, tits and ass here and there. You smiled. You happened to enjoy this part of the job. Soft bodies in shiny costumes, lovely smells and sweet voices. If you could get dressed quickly enough, you could still take a tour of the room and slide into Smiles’ booth.

“Enjoy the show?” You’d ask. He’d lean in, maybe blush, “Always when you’re here.” Or something like that. You’d cozy up to him, flag down a waiter for something strong and pricey, and get him properly drunk. He’d wake up outside, fine and dandy except his missing cash.

You’ll call him a drunkard if he confronts you, accuse him of getting himself robbed after you refused his advances. You’ll say it too loudly, and he’ll run off.

You danced a little in your seat, another game of cat and mouse about to commence. But first, a smoke.

Unbeknownst to you, the well dressed man hadn’t come to see you. He preferred your singing shows at the little dive bar two blocks over. No, he had come for the man at the front table. For weeks now, he had watched him harassing the ladies of the few joints in New Orleans that weren’t regularly hounded by police. Your smiley mark even heard stories of unsavory acts, many women leaving the dance scene entirely after.

He didn’t care for it. He didn’t care for him. So he took to his hunt, following the man to come to his own conclusions. The pattern of behavior was obvious, and though he hadn’t seen what ended the last obsession, it was clear one of the performers at this club was being stalked as the next victim.

He watched your dance with half lidded eyes, just as much as he watched the man give dirty looks to the other men cheering. Heard the, “Marry me!” shouted at you.

Yes, it was obvious to him now.

So when the target of his interest got up and pushed his way into a staff only door, well, the well dressed man was sure to follow.

The great thing about confidence and a nicely tailored suit is that no one questions you about why you are where you are. So while the brute he tailed had to shove past people to get wherever he was going, people smiled and made room for the gentleman who was not far behind.

He caught the street access door before it closed, allowing it to stay open just a sliver. Enough for one golden brown eye to watch the events unfold.

“Can I have a light?” The stranger asked you. You looked at him, then to the staff only entrance he just came out of.

“I don’t think I know you….,” you handed him the lighter but he instead leaned into you, cigarette hanging from his lips. “You… new?”

You sparked the flint with a practiced thumb, taking three tries to get it lit, and put your hand out. The man didn’t budge, eyebrows rising, “You really don’t recognize me?” He asked, motioning with his hand to come closer. Your eyes glanced down the alley, cars slowly moving past the street. When you looked back, the man took your wrist in his hand. He held you so tightly that the muscles in your palm locked and you dropped the lighter.

“What the fu-,” his hand came across your face, halting your sentence.

“I’m your best customer. Every show. I’m the one who brings flowers.”

Dozens of men bring flowers, especially on the weekend shows. You held your cheek, skin burning. Your hand pulled back, the corner of your lip bleeding from his rings. Scrambling, your mind was searching for the right words.

With a forced smiled, your shaky voice finally piped up, “Oh! Yeah! Oh geez. I am so sorry, doll. I’m just so tired, and the alley is so dark. Here, let’s go inside so I can get a better look at you.” You tried to take your wrist from him but he didn’t loosen up.

“Nah, you ain’t tricking me. You owe me.” He pulled you into him, large hand gripping your face with ease, “You can’t lead on men like this and think you don’t gotta answer for it.” He kissed you, forcing your face into his. “Bitch! Did you fucking bite me?” He threw you into the tin trash cans beside the wall, knocking the wind out of you.

No purse, no sharp object, not even a heeled shoe to defend yourself with. You cursed, so preoccupied with Smiles you forgot your wits.

You spit out the copper saliva, his blood and yours. “I’ll keep biting, too.”

Why scream? The sounds of the next act were bouncing off the brick walls. Upbeat jazz and applause echoing around you. No one would hear you. Men can break your body but you never had to give them your dignity. Never give them the satisfaction of a response.

No. No screaming. You instead spent your energy trying to get to your feet. He took hold of your neck now, throttling you. It wasn’t what you had expected, but as he lifted you off the ground and your little dressing room slippers fell off, you thought this was actually better.

“Well I think that’s quite enough.”

You felt warmth, then registered wetness. Your shin scraped on the asphalt as you were dropped without warning. Trying to open your eyes, you found you couldn’t see. Wiping and blinking away the foreign liquid, you watched your attacker fall to his knees.

Blood was shooting from between his fingers around his own neck, each pulse becoming weaker and weaker, evident through the stream.

When he finally fell over, drained, you were startled to see another man with you. The light reflected off his glasses as he adjusted them, the knife still in his right hand as he did so.

“My, my. What a mess he’s made.” The man smiled down at you, offering a hand. When you didn’t immediately react, he cocked his head to the left, “Is that anyway to treat your rescuer?”

Is that was this was? A rescue? You took his hand with both of yours, pulling yourself up.

Smiles? You blinked away the shock, time to shift into your next part. Damsel. You weren’t out the woods yet.

“You saved my life!” As you pressed yourself into his chest, you tucked your head beneath his chin. You tried to make yourself small. “I owe you! Please let’s go inside, drinks on me!” You looked up, batting your lashes.

“I don’t think that’s wise, dear.” His gaze panned down your dress, soaked through. He could see the thinking behind your eyes.

“No, right….,” You gripped his vest, “We gotta get outta here, fast. There’s a hotel just behind the threatre.” You started to pull his suit jacket off, slipping it over yourself. “No cops, the theatre will get raided. Just— take me somewhere safe?”

You watched him look you over, arm finally extending to let you hook yours with his.

As soon as the hotel door closed behind you, you slipped off his jacket and ran to the dressing table mirror.

Your face was painted red, navy dress now black and sticky. It was good you stayed from view of the reception staff. “I didn’t get my rescuer’s name,” you licked your thumb and rubbed at the blood around your cheeks.

“Alastor. It’s a pleasure.”

You laughed, “Is that what you call a pleasure?” Turning, you pulled the mostly still dry handkerchief from your pocket and dabbed the corner on your tongue. You brought it up to the frame of his glasses and wiped the blood from the metal. “I’d hate to see what you call a bad time.”

Your hand slowed, noticing the way he was looking at you. Typically men’s pupils were blown when they fell on you, but his were constricted. They flitted around your face. His hand took hold of yours, fingers separating the thumb from the handkerchief. He pulled the little square of yellow fabric free with his other hand, allowing him to hold your thumb now by itself.

His lips opened, tongue licking the blood stained finger before placing it directly into his mouth.

Your stared, horrified, as he sucked the digit clean.

His eyes fluttered close, finger popping out of his mouth with a debauched sound. You made no attempt to take back your hand. The realization you may have hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire set in.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” You tried to sound as in control as possible. Calm. Unwavered. Offered a timid smile.

He chuckled, “You could say that. May I?” His fingers lifted your chin. You didn’t know what he was asking. His soft smile looked downright loving. He smelled so good, notes of something earthy rising above the copper.

You nodded, because part of you wanted to see where it would go. And part of you thought you didn’t have a choice.

As his face came to yours, you instinctually closed your eyes expecting a kiss. But no, instead you felt his tongue wipe across the cut at the corner of your mouth. His breath blanketed your cheek. Then his hand left your chin, the warmth of his body gone entirely.

You opened your eyes to see him at the door, slipping back into his jacket, “I’ll pay for the night.” He tipped his head to you and exited the room back first, eyes locked with yours until the door closed.

You just stood there in the silence left behind. But as if on cue, the adrenaline waned and your knees buckled under you. You were moments from death, now somehow spared. But what had he— Alastor, been doing there? Did he follow you, too? The cat and mouse had been flipped, or perhaps now this was a fox and hound?

Gripping the dressing table, you pulled yourself up and into the view of the mirror again. Face streaked in dried blood save for the one clean spot where your lips met cheek.

You felt like a ghost the next day. It would be nice to tell someone about what happened but, “Hey a man tried to kill me and then another man killed him! Then he licked blood off my face and I let him. It was the most disturbingly erotic thing to happen to me in months!” would get you tossed into a wagon.

“Are you rude or just stupid?” The theatre manager pulled you aside by the arm when you came into rehearsal. “You can’t just disappear like that, people were waiting.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Was… my absence really the most exciting part of the evening? Not the John in the gutter?”

He huffed, “So that’s it? Got a beau?”

“Wait— nothing else happened last night? After I left?”

“This show doesn’t revolve around you. Plenty happened.”

“Excuse me,” you hurried into the back, “And sorry!”

You opened the street access door and looked into the alley. Trash cans neat and tidy, no dead man, nothing strange or telltale.

You ducked back inside. Had Smiles done this? Obviously, actually. No stranger just cleaned up the dead body. If the flatfeet had found him, the club would have been under scrutiny.

Good, you thought, and went about your work.

Rehearsal dragged on. Little details summoning you back to the night before.

“You okay?” Another performer asked, grabbing your hand and inspecting the blood around your cuticles.

“Oh it’s not mine!” You laughed, she laughed, you walked off before she could clarify.

When applying your makeup, you remembered his hands on your face. They were so soft. Definitely a man of means. A brief intrusive thought, the other hands on your face last night.

You pranced on stage, going through the motions of your routine. Even in the empty hall, your eyes wandered to the booth he’d been in. And as you took the stage in earnest later that night you searched the crowd for the glint of his glasses and found nothing shiny nor promising.

Back in the dressing room you took a moment to wonder what the actual fuck you we’re doing. He murdered a man in front of you, why were you hoping to see him again? He had half a mind to kill you next.

But would that really be so bad? Your life was routine, boring even. The only thing keeping your lungs expanding was the applause. Maybe the headlines of your death would cause such an uproar, dancer struck down in her prime, that you could bask in the loving glow all the way from hell.

One way to remain famous, you considered. A dramatic death.

Not that you were famous. You weren’t part of the national circuits. Just your local theatres, a common face and body to the sinners of Louisiana’s most infamous city. But, well, fame is relative. For the scene you were in, you were your own little star.

A shining light. Shimmering. The faint light reflecting off— Blood. For a second you could only remember looking through bloodied, heavy lashes.

“You’ve been so out of it. Trouble in paradise?” Ruth, the curviest of your coworkers and arguably the favorite of the crew, rested her chin on your head. Looking at each other in the mirror, you offered a soft smile.

“I’ll letcha know when I get there.”

She pinched your cheek, “Tommy said you had a new guy. I just figured-,”

“That isn’t,” you clenched your eyes shut, “no, no guy. I just got locked out last night in the alley. The sticky-,” sticky and viscous blood, “back door wouldn’t open up. I didn’t want to come in the front in my slippers so I just hoofed it home.”

She patted your head, “if you say so! Be careful out there though. Dangerous these days.”

An understatement.

You enjoyed the spotlight, but more than that you craved the attention doted on you after. You’d walk through the hall to the bar to adoring looks and free drinks. It bothered you that Tommy was telling the girls you had a man. You didn’t want to appear too closed off, or for word to spread to the customers.

Last thing you needed was men passing you by for more available options. Not that the pay wasn’t fine. Ends were being met, but grifting added an element of thrill. You really did love the chase. Finding someone and deciding he would be yours, he would fall under your spell and be at your feminine mercy. It made you feel powerful, almost mythical. And the money was nice. Sometimes you didn’t even need to steal, the men would just lavish you in gifts and you’d let it fizzle out naturally. Normally their wives would snatch them back or they’d just get tired of waiting for you to leave the stage and dance into their domestic dreams. A housewife? An adopted mother to a grown man during the day, a hungry nymph at night? For what, an allowance and a home you didn’t own? Pass. Where’s that handsome man with his knife? That was a much better steel to fall onto than what these men offered from their laps.

From your view at the bar you knew he wasn’t there. But with a nod you decided the chase was still on. You were going to get your victory. If anything, this would be easier. You had dirt on him. Blackmail would be simple enough. Bloody clothes and the perfect alibi; being a woman. No cop would think you took down that hulking man.

Ah, right. There was no body.

That would be an issue. He had to have taken it somewhere. Just find him and follow. Worst case scenario, you play the usual game and steal whatever cash was in his wallet.

Well, worst case you die.

You slept sitting up to keep your hair set, during the day your makeup barely was there but a red lip always the star. You had three nice dresses (well, you had had four) so you figured three nights to find him before moving on.

You slinked through the crowds of the hot and sweaty dance club Moxie. Swinging music kept bodies moving, and though you kept your eyes open you didn’t catch sight of this Alastor fellow. Which was fine! You enjoyed a few dances, swing always making you feel energized. Not a waste of a Friday night.

Saturday was easy, the lounge on fifth. Smooth jazz, plush chairs, rich men. Definitely a place you could imagine Smiles to frequent. The whisky was all top shelf, and many gentlemen offered you a lap to sit. Sure, no Alastor, but you didn’t go home empty handed.

You weren’t a particularly great singer, but if the room was small enough and the piano loud enough, you could please a crowd. Your friend had you on a semi-set schedule most Sundays at her little dive too many blocks from Main Street. Her darling played piano, you sat and sang to the couple dozen patrons stuffed into the one room bar. When you finished your set, you took your bows and looked for your friend. You needed to tell her you wouldn’t be staying.

Your polite nods and gracious thank yous were abruptly ended by a tap on your shoulder, “You dropped this, miss.” You did a mental check of your purse before turning around.

“Oh, a sight for sore eyes. Mr. Alastor.” Your face lit up, you could see it in his glasses.

“You’re too kind. Here, I apologize for the delay. I wanted to return them clean.” In his hand was your yellow handkerchief, folded neatly. You took it and found it uncharacteristically heavy.

When you unfurled it, your brass lighter fell into your waiting palm. Your thumb caressed the engraving.

Alastor watched your face as the lighter tumbled out. “I figured it was important, given the condition and detailing.”

You tested the weight in your hand, “Did you fill it?” You looked to him incredulously. He nodded.

It was a surprisingly kind act, and you needed a second to regain your composure. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Your quick wit failed for a moment, but rebounded fast. “Except with a drink. My treat. To my rescuer.”

He mulled the idea, your reaction to him was interesting. Alastor had thought if he approached you first you’d show a little more fear, or shock. But you looked downright chipper to see him there.

“Unfortunately I don’t have much time tonight. I had just wanted to return your items.”

Your smile dropped. How did he know you were here? Had he been carrying— no, he said he had them cleaned. Had he seen you here before, before the incident? A chuckle, smile brought back, “My luck is terrible. You always flee me. I hope you don’t see my company as deadweight.”

Alastor’s smile twitched, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses, “Not at all! I think you’d find I’m quite comfortable with-.”

“Lugging people around?” You said. That constricted pupil again, eyes wild. A chill ran down your spine. Alarms were going off. Wrong answer. You straightened your back, popping the items into your purse, “Next time.”

Alastor nodded, “Yes. Next time, then.”

You fucked it up. You knew you had, but suddenly his words felt like a thinly veiled threat.

You turned to leave and hadn’t seen his smile sour.

It hadn’t been a threat. He hadn’t anticipated you to notice the implication. Most people would have been so blinded by his charm they would fail to notice the glaring red flags. He was mildly impressed. You would be more trouble than he had expected.

Alastor knew he needed to do something about the clearly clever woman who was seemingly expecting him. He had followed you for several days, surprised to find you not spreading word about the murder. You hadn’t spoken to anyone, really. Even the man you left the lounge with, you just smiled and nodded nearly all evening while the man dominated the conversation. So, your sharp wit took him off guard. Who were you pretending to be? And why?

All of your cleverness fell apart when you tried to follow him. It was almost comical. He felt bad. This was going to be embarrassing for you.

He took several right turns and stepped into the park just outside of the bar. You thought perhaps he had gotten lost and considered turning around after you realized you’d lost sight of him. As you passed a large weeping willow, you were pulled under the curtains of hanging moss by your waist.

Back against the large tree, you could only pout.

“What are you after, stalking a man in the dead of night?” Alastor had you pinned, both hands on either side of your head. His body boxed you in, not that there was much more to see than moss and darkness.

You blinked several times. What a question. You answered honestly, “You.” He cocked a brow. Then you lied, “Your affection. Your time.”

Something akin to a giggle bubbled from his chest. “I don’t have much affection, but I have even less time.” Your eyes darted around, looking for your next move. “I-,” you grabbed him by the face and kissed him. When you broke the kiss he was staring wide eyed, glasses askew. He opened his mouth to speak and you kissed him again, longer, harder.

He seemed frozen under your mouth, lips taut. Your hands roamed his face, messing up his hair and glasses. Mind reeling. Play the nymph. Be the whore the men always said they hated. Be too strong, too forward, too much and he’ll run off like men do. You could try again another day.

Your hand reached for his lap, his hips instinctively jerking away. Perfect. Men these days can’t get it up for a woman who takes the lead.

Alastor was entirely unsure what the fuck was happening. You were wildly unpredictable. When you grabbed at his dick, he thought his eyes would cross from the shock. Is this what ‘affection’ meant to you? He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t understand you. Were you really just lustful? Even after what you’d seen him—

You bit at his bottom lip, pulling slightly. Big eyes looking back at him. Your breath was already running away from you, adrenaline seemingly synonymous with Alastor. Staring up at him, you waited. His move.

It was his turn to blink. He looked off to his left, eyes swinging back to you. With a shrug, he leaned his body back towards yours. His hand slid down the front of your dress; red silk. A deer in the headlights, you tensed. The rare third option; fight, flight, freeze. Soon his fingers were tracing the lace of your stockings, climbing up the garter straps.

His eyes were studying your face. You didn’t want to give the wrong answer again, but at this point you weren’t sure any answer was right. This was taking a sudden turn and your foot was off the brake. You closed your eyes, opting out of the scrutiny of his stare. His hand met your stomach and began to slip down again. He rested it between your thighs, longer fingers and palm cupping the entirety of your sex.

Alastor struggled to decipher your expression. It was almost like a pout, but more subtle. You hadn’t said stop or pushed him away yet. Was he right? You were just… horny? As his hand slid back up and pried their way into your panties, you trembled.

It had been so long since someone else’s hand was on you. Someone whose hands you genuinely enjoyed, who you wanted to be on you.

Is that right? You wanted him to touch you?

Maybe it was the stare, or the smile. Probably just the adrenaline.

His hand found its place again, middle finger bending to part your folds and feel your wetness. You whimpered, hand coming to cover your own mouth.

“Is this what you wanted?” He said it low, a husky tone he didn’t have before.

No. Maybe. You nodded yes.

“Will you be satisfied now? No more tailing me?”

No. Probably not. Another nod.

His finger pushed in, and with a kind of greed you didn't recognize your hips ground down into his palm. He slipped in and out of you with ease. You had no idea when or why you got so wet.

“I always end up dripping around you, Alastor,” you whispered through your fingers. His ring finger joined. Why couldn’t you shut up? Why did you have to bring up, well, the murder?

“A common problem for those I take an interest in.”

Oh no. You moaned softly into your hand. Sharp mind made dull by his fingers so you didn’t, couldn’t, process his double meaning.

Oh no. The sounds of footsteps, a pair of lovers sneaking into the park for privacy. You heard their giggles, the sounds of kisses interrupting their walking.

“Shhh”, he breathed into your ear as he worked a third finger into your heat. One knuckle, two knuckles. A whimper. His hand came to press down over your own on your mouth, a second barrier for your mewling. You groaned, the sound coming from your throat.

Whispers. The silhouette of the two interlopers was visible through the willow’s curtains. You watched from over his shoulder, pussy clenching around him. Three knuckles deep, bottoming out.

Fuck it. You moaned freely into your hand, wiggling down onto his hand. Hips rolling, you let your little sounds of praise flow.

The couple laughed, “That’s the spirit!” A man said, a woman hushing him and pulling him away.

Alastor grinned into your neck, immensely amused. He would have better luck predicting a dice roll than your next move.

You hadn’t realized how hollow you’d been until now, feeling so full. When alone, you focused on just cumming, fingers on your clit and mind on memories. You never bothered much with anything else.

Your hunger intensified. You wanted more. Both hands reached for his crotch again, finding nothing there for you. You could have cried. How were you a wet mess pressed against a tree and he was soft as a newspaper in a rainstorm?

Your pride stung. Men usually stood at attention around you. A half sob into the air earned you a chuckle from Alastor. “It’s no reflection of you, darling.” His nose nudged your ear lobe, “I need a little different stimulation than most.”

“Do you play for the other team?” You considered how you could momentarily switch.

A louder laugh, “I don’t have a team.” He leaned back now to look at you. His freehand came to press on your lower stomach, gently pushing your womb down. Your brows knit, why did that feel so good? Hands going to the tree behind you for stability.

“Sure feels like you know how to play. This is-,” his hand switched from thrusting slowly in and out to moving front and back. It sent vibrations up into you. Your eyes rolled close. Shut up. Stop talking. Focus. Close.

He kissed around your open mouth, “Well, it’d be unamerican to not dabble. When necessary, or when the conditions are right.”

Double speak over, “Just tell me what to do to get you to fuck me.”

Alastor’s head fell back as he laughed earnestly, most likely alerting anyone in the immediate area. “Ha! No, this is more fun.”

“Oh fuck you,” you brought a hand around to your throbbing clit to quicken your release.

“Maybe next time, dear.” He took a second, fingers in you sliding around your walls in search of something before finding his place and continuing. Your breath noticeably changed, instead of panting you were practically holding it in. You needed the pressure, you needed something to squeeze that spring of pleasure down so it could snap back. As your face went flush, he kissed at your temple, “You look so pretty in red.”

“Oh god-,” Your head fell onto his chest, your joint effort bringing you to orgasm.

“A little late on Sunday for prayers, don't you think?”

A tiny scream into his suit pocket, his hand not stopping until your thighs finished twitching around him. Even after his hand stopped moving you gripped him by the wrist and rolled onto his fingers a few more times. The pleasure ebbing but still spiking every time he moved against you.

Ah, greed. That was it. He understood a little better. This wasn’t lust, not alone. You were definitely a mix of the two. With a sigh, you released your hold and let him slide out of you. Already you felt lonelier. Already you wished to start over.

With his dry hand he smoothed out your dress. You weren’t ashamed but you suddenly felt too embarrassed to look him the eye. But you did, hearing him hum as he sucked his fingers clean.

Why were you only ever in his mouth in the strangest ways?

“You always taste so sweet, dear. Now!” You wanted to say something clever and salacious like, ‘there’s more where that came from’ but he didn’t afford you the opportunity. He offered you his hooked arm, “It’s dangerous in the park at night. Let’s get you to a cab and on your way home.”

“Is this a hobby of yours?” Your legs were wobbly but otherwise fine. “Illegal activities in public?”

“Funny, I was just wondering the same of you. Stalking is a crime, dear.”

You bit your lip. “Touché.”

He flagged down a taxi, “Tell him where to go.” You slid into the back seat and half-whispered to the driver. Alastor leaned into the passenger side front window and after paying the man, went to close your door, “You’ve been an entertaining sparring partner. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

With a thud of the door and a growl of the engine, you were driving away from him. You could see him in the rear window. He didn’t dare to move, he didn’t need you following another step of his.

Which was unfortunate for him, as you were already scheming how to find him again.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @angelicwillows

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

1K notes · View notes

shawnxstyles · 1 year

Text

please, call me peter

DATE: JANUARY 6, 2023

summary: you haven’t been able to come with anyone besides yourself, making you think something’s wrong with you. once you go to the gynecologist, dr. parker shows you that you’re just fine.

request: yes yes

words: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering], dub-con, small praise kink, dirty talking), and a cute ending.

note: shooting out requests like webs. sorry that was lame. if this makes you uncomfortable, do not read.

gynecologist!peter x female!reader

—

Your eyes scan the white room while you sit impatiently. Your heart lightly thuds in your chest and your fingers drum rapidly along your clothed thigh. The nurse had asked if you wanted to change into a hospital gown, which you politely denied. She gave you an indifferent expression before walking out, leaving you here.

You were at the gynecologist for one concerning reason; every time you had sex, you couldn’t come. Your previous relationship ended because you were unable to reach that euphoric high, which you believed was a ridiculous reason to leave someone. You weren’t as sad as you thought you’d be because you were too concerned with your own well-being to dwell on some bloke.

Before heading to the doctor, you had a quick hook-up, assuming that you and your ex just weren’t sexually compatible. But then you were proved wrong when you didn’t come. Again. You weren’t really the hook-up type, in fear of catching some unwanted disease or infection. Finally, you took matters into your own hands, literally, and masturbated with your fingers until you orgasmed all over your bed sheets.

See? It wasn’t impossible.

Then why couldn’t you come with other people? It had to be your fault. It had to be.

So, again, you were left here in the small hospital room sitting between empty stirrups with your ankles tightly crossed. The widening of the wooden door alerted you, your eyes shooting towards the man entering the room.

A guy? Your gynecologist was a guy?

You knew you were a decently healthy person because you were always on track with your appointments, even small check-ups. Because of your good wellness, you had never needed to go to the gyno. Until now, which seemed a bit nerve-racking all of a sudden.

The second the doctor turned around, you knew exactly why.

Warm, brown eyes peer at you with tenderness. Chestnut curls rest upon his head a little messily, but in the cutest way. He wore a professional lab coat over his casual clothing. His ribbed shirt and blue jeans seemed to match him perfectly. His cheeks appear a tinge pink when he smiles, welcoming and greeting you.

Oh shit.

“I’m Dr. Parker, and you are?” Dr. Parker asks as he plops onto his spinny chair. His eyes stare deeply into yours, causing your heart to race more than you’d like to admit. His voice was as attractive as his face, and you tried to convince yourself that he had to have at least one bad quality that you just haven’t seen yet, so you didn’t soak your panties.

“Y/N,” You blink to wash away the feeling of your nerves as your palms get clammy. “but you probably knew that already.”

“That is true, but I like for my patients to introduce themselves to me directly,” He states simply and you nod in response. Your sweaty hands interlocked over your thighs to ease yourself.

“So, what brings you in here today, Y/N?” Dr. Parker questions with a lick of his lips. He can’t help himself when his eyes drift nonchalantly, but quickly down your body. You were beautiful, which made it hard to concentrate on anything else, especially when you started talking. Your voice was silky, and he wanted to ask you more questions just so he could hear it more.

“I…” You were a bit embarrassed to share your reasoning. Was it common? Will he laugh at you? No, of course not, he’s a doctor! You battled with yourself in your head before spitting it out. “I can’t come during sex.”

Your jaw clenched as your hand practically hit your forehead in embarrassment. You couldn’t look at him because he was probably holding back a laugh. But you also couldn’t look at him because he was so handsome you might melt.

True be told, Peter already knew why you were here. He read the small report the nurse got before he entered. It was part of protocol and he wanted to hear you describe it yourself.

“That’s okay, darling. Nothing to be ashamed of,” He reassures gently as you remove your hand from your face. He smiles sincerely and you smile bashfully back. The nickname erupts butterflies in your stomach, and you can’t disregard the small wetness you feel trickle in your underwear.

When he asks, you go on to explain your situation in detail, even including the part about your ex-boyfriend dumping you. When Peter hears this, his jaw subtly clenches as irritation spreads through him.

Who breaks up with someone for that? He wanted to ask, but knew that was probably inappropriate. He does need to question you professionally though to ensure there’s nothing wrong. However, he thinks he already knows the answer.

“I’m going to ask you some questions that get pretty personal,” Parker faces his notes with you in the corner of his eye. You nod as your nervousness never fades and your heart beat remains quite fast.

Most of his questions were simple and straightforward, so you weren’t too ashamed to answer.

“Do you have any pain?”

“No.”

“Are you on birth control?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Two years,” You eyes strayed away from him, thumbs twiddling in your lap like an anxious child. He wonders how you got birth control without going to the gynecologist in the past, seeming as though you’ve had no history.

However, some questions made the heat rise to your cheeks. Your arousal worsened the more Dr. Parker spoke, his voice warm and soothing like honey.

“To clarify, you have orgasmed before, correct?” Peter was able to focus when his eyes were glued to his papers, but one glance at your adorable shyness and his cock was semi-hard in his boxers.

“Yes, I-I did it myself,” You hissed at yourself for stuttering. He made you so starstruck it was hard to form words. You didn’t meet many people like that in your life— now that you think of it, none at all. He surveys you for a moment you think was a little too long, and you tighten your ankles together at his burning gaze.

“Um,” He grunts, covering it up with a cough as his cheeks turn pink a tad more. Your lip subtly curls into a smile at his cuteness. Peter was nervous for the first time in a while, fingers shaking as he scribbled notes about you. He felt as silly as a child who had a crush on a classmate. “you seem very well.”

“So nothing’s wrong?” Your eyebrows crinkle in confusion, a lost expression cascading over your face when you feel like you’ve hit a dead end. You gaze at the floor, trying to understand.

“Not directly,” He says to reassure you. Your eyes meet his with a head tilt. Now, you were really confused.

“What do I do then?”

“Don’t have sex with idiots,” He grumbles, honestly hoping you didn’t hear it. But of course you did. Your heart rate quickens wildly in your chest at his blunt statement. “but to make sure, I’m going to check you, okay?”

Your eyes widen for a moment, not thinking you would have to be checked. Your thoughts immediately shoot to your soaked panties and how he’ll see your very visual arousal. Hopefully, he assumes it’s from nerves.

“Would you like to change into something more comfortable and accessible?” He asks, looking at your shirt with jean shorts. He checks most of his patients, so usually they would have been in a gown already. But at this hospital, the patient didn’t have to change, even though it was highly recommended. However, when they rarely denied the new wardrobe, the doctor had to undress the patient themselves. So far in Peter’s career, he’s only had to do that with incidents that were an emergency.

“No, thank you,” You answered with no explanation. Secretly, you hated the material of the gown and you swore it gave you rashes. Maybe you were allergic?

Dr. Parker nods once and turns to his little side table beside you. He slips on his blue gloves and tells you exactly what he’s going to do, so you’re not unprepared.

“And since you’re not in a gown, the protocol is that I must undress you myself,” Peter feels the burning red flame up his cheeks at his statement. Your eyes widen again at the image of the sensual action, but nod in understanding.

Who made that rule? You wanted to ask, but it seemed disrespectful. You honestly couldn’t tell if you loved or hated the person that invented that idea. Picturing Dr. Parker strip you only made a pool in your panties.

Peter’s gloved fingers unbutton and zip down your jean shorts with your permission. It was slow and steady, unlike your heart that was bouncing off the walls of your ribs. You know he could see your heavy breathing as your stomach rose up and down too quickly under the thin material of your shirt.

Your shorts were removed and then he was on to your underwear.

Peter’s cock pulsed in his jeans at the wet patch on your panties, his red blush never fading. He wanted to press the pad of his thumb against your throbbing clit. He would rub you over the flimsy fabric and then make you moan for him as he fucked you roughly with his fingers. He could assume that you were tight and tense because of your struggle to orgasm with another person, but the thought only made his cock twitch needily as he imagined you squeezing around him.

“Are you okay so far? And can I remove these?” He asks for consent and patiently waits. You nod, but he’s not having that. “Words, Y/N. I need you to say it.”

His demand caused you to clench around nothing as you stutter out a trembling yes, so he can proceed. Peter delicately removes your panties, sliding them down your supple legs and placing them with your shorts. You didn’t open your legs, but you knew he’d already seen the wetness leaking out of you.

“Okay, um,” His professionalism was fading from him. He wanted to devour you because you probably tasted amazing. The smell of your arousal filled his nostrils, making it hard to focus on anything. “Put your legs on these stirrups. I’ll help you.”

He guides your legs into the holders, strongly resisting the urge to gawk at your vulnerable area. Once you were settled, he looked down and nearly came right there. Arousal drowned your folds as your puffy clit poked out behind it all. He noticed the fluttering of your folds as the cold air hit your wetness. He wouldn’t need to use any lube on you for sure. Peter was losing his cool and was about to lose everything if he did not pull himself together.

“I’m about to start. Are you okay?” He could sense your nervousness from a mile away. He wanted to make sure you were okay, even if you’ve had sex multiple times before.

“Yes, doctor,” You reassure and his jaw subtly locks at his label leaving from your mouth. He avoids picturing his falling from your pretty lips, so he could focus on the task at hand. You didn’t notice, too caught up in your own thoughts of his fingers entering you. You wanted him to pound them into you mercilessly because you know he’d know all the right spots and special places to hit. You can imagine he’s soft and caring, and always gives immense pleasure to the woman.

You almost gasp aloud when you come to a realization; he probably has a girlfriend. Or a wife. A wife and kids. You don’t remember seeing a ring, but that doesn’t mean anything. Oh, God, you were daydreaming sexual thoughts about your gynecologist who would probably freak out if he could hear them.

“If it makes you more comfortable, my name is Peter. Sometimes that small detail helps the patients relax more,” He noticed your sudden panicked state and high tension in your legs, wanting to calm you down, so it doesn’t hurt. It was perfectly fine to be nervous, but it wasn’t fine for him to be this nervous. He’s a professional doctor, yet he’s thinking about ruining it all just to please you at this moment.

You feel the latex gloves graze your folds, making your heart jump up into your throat. Peter’s middle finger practically teases your entrance, and you hold back pathetic whimpers. Once he slips his middle finger inside, you release a shuddery moan. His finger stills, deep inside of you while he gives you a second to adjust.

“Relax for me,” You try not to clench around him, but you’re a lost cause when he begins to wiggle it around the tight space. Peter is struggling. His cock is about to burst at the seams while his middle finger sinks far inside you. Your clenching walls and hushed noises nearly make him moan. He sees you resisting the urge to moan and it’s killing him because he wants to hear you.

“You can moan,” Peter says, voice low and sultry. “It’s welcomed.” He curls his finger and slowly pushes in and out. You don’t hold back your moan this time as lust begins to fill your vision. It feels too good, even though you know it’s wrong. You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter at his skilled finger and his concentrated expression.

Peter is positive you’re enjoying this. He can’t resist you anymore when he has you spread open for him. Plus, he found nothing peculiar inside, you seemed healthy. He could stop now if he’d like, but the contraction of your pussy walls around his finger and the sweet whimpers you’re eliciting spur him to continue.

“How does this feel, Y/N?” Peter’s voice was gravelly and lustful; you were sure to catch on by now. His question was borderline professional, yet inappropriate. At this point, Peter couldn’t care less because your face said it all.

“Good, really good,” You admitted with fluttering eyes as your hands gripped the sides of your shirt. Your name out of his mouth made you melt into his touch as you instinctively grinded your hips into his hand.

“What about this?” His ring finger slides in effortlessly, and they both curl inside you. You gasp, eliciting another shaky moan. His digits were thick and just the right length to satisfy you without even needing his cock, even though you wanted it. “God, you’re so tight. Imagine what you’d feel like around my cock.” He grumbles.

You gasp at his sudden profound language, but the dirtiness only made you more aroused. Your brain imagined how his cock would look buried so deep inside of you that you’d feel him in your stomach. You imagine this pre-cum leaking from his tip as he pulls out of you just to slam back in. Your core tensed at the thought.

“I didn’t hear you, Y/N,” He grunts gravelly, slowing his movements. He slips his fingers out, removing the glove swiftly. You whine at the emptiness, answering him. He was so sweet, yet dirty, and you loved it.

“So good! It feels so good, please don’t stop,” You plead and he smirks in satisfaction as he continues. His thumb rolls over your puffy clit, making your hips press into his hand as he slips back in. Your thighs contracted as they begged to close, but the locked stirrups blocked you from doing so.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” His tone was smooth and clear, almost contradicting his sinful actions. His pace becomes brutal, ramming in and out of you with no mercy. The rough texture of his bare hand sends a shiver up your spine as your orgasm nears.

“You! You, Peter,” Your chest heaves as choked moans leave your lips. His digits rub your throbbing nerves as his fingers glide against your walls addictingly good. Your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of your trembling thighs. His lips raise in another smirk as his cheeks flush that familiar pink. “I’m close, Peter,” You whimper, causing him to hiss at the harsh pulsing of his shaft when his name falls delicately from your lips just how he imagined.

“I know, honey. Can feel you clenching around me,” He groans when you release another noise of pleasure. His eyes wander down to your aching cunt as his fingers become drenched in your juices. You’re squeezing him torturously, on the edge of your break.

“Are you gonna come? Gonna come for me?”

Without another moment, your orgasm ripples through your body with a blissful wail. Clenched muscles and screwed eyes don’t even express the full ecstasy you feel. White liquid saturates Peter’s bare fingers before he licks them clean. It wasn’t the most sanitary, but he didn’t give one fuck.

Your face screams fucked out; perspired skin, droopy eyes, and a weary smile. In his ideal situation, he would have devoured you until you couldn’t take it anymore. But that was for another time. If there ever was another time, which he hoped there would be.

Just maybe not in a hospital.

“Well, Y/N, it seems like you are very healthy,” Peter grins, taking the tissues to clean you thoroughly. You can feel the heat radiating from your cheeks at his joking comment.

“Thanks, doctor,” Your voice came out a bit squeaky while your heart continued to stammer in your chest.

“After that, I think you should call me Peter,” He chuckles, sliding away in his stool to discard the tissues. Heat burns your skin from his adorable laugh.

“Peter it is then,” He helps you down the stirrups and you begin to get dressed with a goofy smile curling on your face. Peter doesn’t fail to notice this as his thoughts begin to wander. He knows he just met you, but he wants to see where this goes. He is confident that you’re interested in him (at least enough for him to finger you), so maybe asking you out isn’t the crazy idea he’s ever had.

“Y/N?” Suddenly, he didn’t feel so confident.

“Yeah?” Your response was breathless.

“Would you, um,” Peter hesitated to find the words. He really was like a little kid talking to his crush for the first time. “like to go out sometime? Maybe?”

You admire his bashfulness. He anxiously rolls up his coat sleeves while his face displaces a rosy blush. His brown eyes twinkled with hope as he waited for a reply.

“I would like that, doctor,” You smile genuinely and sweetly, your joyful energy calming his pent-up nerves. “I mean Peter.” You giggle when he blushes.

“Okay, okay, this is great. Here’s my number,” Peter scribbles messily on a small sheet of note paper, handing it to you. It was adorable how nervous he was for being a well-respected doctor who waltzed in with a sweet kind of confidence. You were giddy as well, but you were way better at hiding it clearly. You snatch the sheet with your fingers, tucking it away in your palm.

“Do you do this with all your patients, Dr. Parker?” You tease with a quirked eyebrow and a pointed finger at his chest. Peter huffs out a chuckle while clicking his tongue.

“Only the most beautiful ones,” He gently lifts your finger, kissing it gently before striding out of the room. Peter doesn’t forget to leave an arrogant wink as the heavy, wooden door closes abruptly.

Maybe being a doctor does make him arrogant. Sometimes.

You stand frozen, starstruck. Your breathing was back to heaving again because he left you breathless. And speechless. You jokingly wondered for a minute if you would die from a heart attack, due to the rapid thumping of a stupid organ against your ribs. Curious, you open your palm and unfold the slip of paper he wrote hastingly. Glancing past the number, you notice the small words underneath.

Please, call me Peter.

—

yesss tell me what you think :)

#shawnxstyles #peter parker #tom holland #mcu peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfics #tom holland fanfic #tom holland smut #mcu peter parker smut #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader

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rainystarters · 3 months

Text

⭒˚｡🖁‧₊˚ 〖 down these mean streets . . . 〗 a collection of scene prompts inspired by n͟e͟o͟-n͟o͟i͟r͟, v͟i͟o͟l͟e͟n͟c͟e͟, c͟o͟n͟t͟r͟o͟l͟, e͟t͟c͟. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the receiving muse to be "the sender" instead. adjust details as necessary.

dead end. there's nowhere left to run; the sender has cornered you at last. anonymous. disguising your voice, you call the sender to threaten/warn them. loose ends. you thought you killed them! but there's the sender, walking your way. ashtray. your cigarette smokes as you extinguish it on the sender's skin. deck. you lick the sender's blood from your knuckles, still stinging from the punch. backstab. end of the road, pal—you reveal you're double-crossing the sender. blunt. hidden in the shadows, you press your gun to the sender's back.

heel. you stare at the sender from across the room and beckon them to you. fix. not looking like that—disapproving, you fix the sender's appearance. tilt. you take the sender's chin in your hand and make them meet your gaze. staccato. irritated, the sender drums their fingers against you beneath the table. listen. the sender disobeys and you swat their curious hand away. fasten. just something i picked up—you clasp a necklace/tie/etc. on the sender. quiet. you press a finger to the sender's lips and tell them to be patient.

vomit. you can't handle this; you vomit as the sender groans about leaving evidence. wink. don't worry—you wink as you assure the sender you have no morals to offend. up front. the sender's job is a doozy; you demand half the payment now or you walk. hush. talk is cheap but you sure aren't. you accept the hush money from the sender. crossfire. you realize the sender asking you to put out a hit is your next target. gulp. hard to argue with a bullet; you agree to the sender's demands. jugular. you hold your breath as the sender uses you to demonstrate how the murder weapon was used to strangle the victim.

patron. you know the sender is hired to keep you spending but you linger anyway. last call. the sender has one final cigarette in their pack; you take it without asking. loose lips. the sender pours you another glass as you finally confess. bills. it's on me—you pay for the sender's meal. cozy. there aren't enough seats open; you pull the sender onto your lap with a grin. coffee. you look like hell—you press a cup of coffee to the sender's hands. waiting. you duck into the bus stop to escape the rain, intruding on the sender.

gutter. the trail of blood ends and you find the sender broken on the ground. speak up. you press the knife in deeper as the sender swears they didn't betray you. plaster. it's not pretty but it'll do; you wince as the sender patches your wounds. empty. you laugh at the sender as you throw your gun aside, finally out of bullets. rat. the sender falls to their knees and agrees to tell you everything they know. smother. you clasp a hand over the sender's mouth to keep from being heard. cut our losses. the sender won't make it; you leave them to die.

voyeur. you know the sender's watching; you open the blinds so they can watch. slip of the tongue. the sender whispers another's name against your skin. sign here. the sender traces a finger over [your choice], asking you to leave a mark. desk. your most enticing assignment yet: the sender bent over your desk. handcuffs. the sender dangles the key, teasing, but you hope they take their time. window. you press the sender against the glass, watching the city watching them. harsh light. what's worse? the hangover or that you can't recall the sender's name.

#rp memes #rp prompts #action rp memes #rp starters #setting prompts

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apclyptc · 4 months

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TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN— chris ver.

foreword: please read the first part linked here! it kinda makes sense without but not really so i’d read part one first. the matt version is also linked on that post so if u wanna read that one, head there!

warnings: making out, grinding, handjob, fondling of the upper chest area wink wink nudge nudge, cum eating, slight jealousy from chris if you squint

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“i pick… chris.” you glanced at him to find him smirking, as if he knew his name would come out of your mouth.

it intimidated you slightly, knowing whatever was going to happen in these next ten minutes was going to change your entire friendship thus far.

“oh great, just what we needed. everyone get your earplugs ready.” nate teased, causing others to giggle.

everyone knew chris had no shame when it came to pda.

“okay so just go upstairs and pick a room, as long as it’s not mine. i don’t want you two messing up my bed.” nate half-joked, pointing upstairs.

“bet.” chris spoke, grabbing your hand and taking you up.

maybe he was just putting up a front to everyone else, to play along with the game.

but you knew him better than that, he never put up a front to anybody.

as soon as your hand pushed the handle of the door open, chris turned you around and immediately connected his lips to yours.

there was barely any time to react, once he had shut the door behind him, he was on you, pulling your hips into him, hands on the small of your back.

briefly, he pulled away to speak.

“i’ve wanted this for a while. but you knew that, didn’t you?”

you may have had a small feeling. it wasn’t always there, and it took you some time to figure it out, but the lingering stares–and touches that lasted a little longer than they should– gave it away.

“yes…” you replied hesitantly.

“all those times you were at the house, flirting with my brother, wearing those clothes. you know what you do to me, don’t you?” he brought his face closer to yours, noses practically touching.

“don’t you?” he repeated, hinting for you to answer.

“y-yes.” why were you so nervous? it was like you were unsure of your own responses, stuttering like a schoolgirl being reprimanded by a teacher.

“hey, you don’t need to be so shy. if you don’t want this, you let me know.” he stroked your cheek gently, but the hunger in his eyes was still ever present, looking down at your plump, wet lips.

you definitely wanted this, that much was true.

all you had to do was push through the drumming of your heart at the feeling of his warm hands on your body.

“i do want it… let me show you how much.” you kissed him with all the passion you could summon, licking into his mouth. chris pulled you up by your thighs, walking you to the bed at the other side of the room.

he sat you both down, not allowing you to break from the kiss you shared, growing sloppier by the second. you gyrated your hips into his lap when his hands moved down to grope your ass, guiding you over his clothed dick. you felt it beneath you, bigger than you anticipated, but it didn’t shock you.

“can you feel what you do to me now?” he broke away to catch his breath, a hand moving from your behind to snake up your shirt. he took a tit in his hand, squeezing the mound of flesh.

“is that an invitation?” you allowed your own hand to venture down into the small space between you, copying the pressure he had on your boob, and a sharp intake of breath left his mouth.

“your choice, baby. we only have ten minutes, you think you can finish what you’ve started?” his hips made a single thrust further into your palm.

“only one way to find out.” chris helped you shimmy his pants halfway down his legs, and you tucked his underwear underneath his balls.

watching his cock spring free from the confines of his boxers almost made your mouth water.

considering the fact there wasn’t a lot of time left, you didn’t want to waste any of it ogling at the perfection of his dick, the way it curved oh so slightly, the long thick vein protruding on its side. you didn’t have the time to think about how much you wanted to feel it in places so deep that you couldn’t walk straight for days.

from the moment you gripped the base of his impressive cock, adding pressure in the right places, making him pant with such a simple action, you knew this would not be the last time you were in such a position with chris.

you began slowly, stroking him lazily as you watched him intently. he looked at you with such desperation that it sent shivers down your spine.

when he brought his lips to your neck, sucking over the spot where his own brothers lips had been, that was when you picked up your pace.

chris moaned into your collarbone, biting lightly to attempt to muffle himself, with little success.

“shit, feels so good, y/n.” he mumbled into your skin. the satisfaction you received from his words only boosted your confidence. it was you who was making him squirm, you who was giving him pleasure. it was you who he’s wanted for so long.

god, if you’d had more time, you’d be on your knees for him, looking up at him while you took his whole dick in your mouth. the dampness of your panties made you well aware of how badly you wanted that.

“keep going, fuck, i’m already gonna cum.” he breathed out. chris couldn’t help but rut into your hand when your thumb grazed over his tip.

you were so lost in the moment you almost didn’t hear the knocking on the bedroom door. but you did, just barely.

you stopped what you were doing, hearing nate’s voice.

“times up, chris.” he teased, but he didn’t care.

“fuck off nate, five more minutes.” he replied, and then spoke to you, “don’t stop, baby. ignore him.”

and you continued, despite the wave of embarrassment that had seeped into your brain.

chris reconnected his lips to yours, his tongue practically fucking your mouth as he tried to prolong the moment between you. but try as he might, there was no way he could hold back any longer. he pulled away, his mouth hanging open as he came, his seed spurting out all over your hand.

you slowly milked him dry, stopping when he whined at the overstimulation.

“holy fuck, y/n.” he finally said.

“so i’m guessing that was good for you?” you giggled, taking your hand up to your mouth and licking off the cum dripping off your fingers.

“more than good. come over later? i wanna return the favour.” he smirked, willing himself not to get hard all over again at the sight of you tasting him, forcing himself not to scoop up his own cum and push a finger into your mouth.

“happy to. now what are we gonna say when we go back down there?” you asked, remembering that you were in fact, in nate’s house, where all of his friends were waiting for you downstairs.

“don’t bother, we could all hear you.” nate’s voice was heard from behind the door.

damn.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

a/n holy fucking shit this took so long for me to write like i just could not get into my writing groove AT ALL. i really hope this was worth the wait because christ on a bike this was such sloppy writing from me.

anyway, i have another chris idea imma write. but i hear you asking for more matt stories in my asks, so ill try put on my thinking cap for some matt stories. if you have any you want me to write, let me know!!

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo smut

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mattitties · 4 months

Text

welcome to paradise - matt sturniolo

drummer!matt is my new favorite matt.

smutty af 😘

I walk down the hallway towards my boyfriend Matt’s room, hearing the familiar sound of drumming. I can’t quite recognize the song today, but it does sound a bit reminiscent of “Welcome to Paradise” by Green Day. I open the door ever so slightly and poke my head in. His drum kit faces the wall, so he’s completely turned away from me, and he has his headset on as he pounds onto the kit.

He’s not one to enjoy having an audience when he drums, but he’s more used to me watching him now, so I close the door quietly, tiptoe to his bed, and sit down to watch the rest of the song.

Matt is obviously attractive, anyone with eyes can see that, but when he drums, he only gets hotter. The amount of passion and energy he puts into it, the way his hair gets all messy as he starts to sweat and his cheeks get flushed, the way his fingers hold the drumsticks; there’s nothing that turns me on more than watching him drum.

I’m lost in my own world thinking about him that my eyes glaze over, stuck on him. I don’t even realize when he finishes the song and turns around and sees me.

“Babeeee?” he calls out, finally catching my attention. “You get lost in your thoughts over there?”

I blush and nod. “Yeah, a little. Sorry.”

He comes over to the bed and lays on top of me, giving me small kisses on my cheeks and lips. “When did you get here?”

“Just a minute ago. Was that Welcome to Paradise?” I ask.

His face lights up. “Yeah!! Oh my God, I can’t believe you recognized it. I thought I was getting it all wrong.”

“Of course I did! You don’t give yourself enough credit, baby, you’re really fucking good.”

“Well I just learned that song this morning so…” he shrugs before kissing me deeper. “You like watching me play?”

“Mhm,” I say into his lips. “It’s sooooo hot. Gets me all worked up.”

“Yeah?” he asks teasingly. I’m about to slip my tongue into his mouth when he gets up.

“Ay! Come back!” I say.

“No, no, it’s fine, come here a sec.” He sits back on his drumming stool and motions me to come over, so I get up and stand next to him. He looks up at me, then at his lap, then me again. “Sit.”

“Like, facing you, or…?”

He grabs my hips and sets me down on his lap so I’m straddling him. “I’m gonna start to play a song, and every time you guess correctly you get a kiss. And maybe I take off my shirt or something,” he smirks.

“Okay, okay. I’m ready,” I tell him excitedly.

He starts drumming a song, and I know immediately what it is.

“Come Together, but that was too easy. Make them harder!” I say, smiling when he pulls me in for a kiss.

“Well I want to kiss you, so no, they’re gonna stay easy. Next!” He starts drumming again, and this one takes me a little longer.

“Ummmm…” I listen for a few more seconds. “Oh! Walk This Way!”

“Good job!” He kisses me again. This goes on for a few more songs, but each kiss gets longer and deeper, and we both get needier. By the 6th song I guess, I’m ready to jump his bones, so when he kisses me again, I wrap my arms around his neck and move my hips. I’m already sat directly on his crotch, so my movements aren’t missed by him.

He sets the drumsticks down without opening his eyes and grabs my ass with both hands, helping me grind more.

We’re breathing heavier into each other, subtly whining and groaning every so often. I’m getting wetter by the second, and he’s rock hard.

“Matt,” I whine. “I need you.”

“Yeah?” He asks. “You wanna ride me baby? Right here?”

“Uh huh,” I say, lifting up for a second so I can pull my skirt up and push my underwear to the side. As I’m doing this, he pulls his dick out of his sweatpants and briefs, jerking it a few times to spread his precum down. I’m about to sink back down, but instead I get on my knees on the floor in front of him.

I lick a stripe up his shaft as my thumb runs over his slit.

“Ohhhh, fuck baby,” he groans, collecting my hair into a loose ponytail.

I moan as I take him in my mouth, swirling my tongue and sucking just his tip at first, then getting lower and lower each time I come back. His stomach is heaving as he hits the back of my throat.

“Baby- fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

My eyes are watering as I look up at him, feeling his cock twitch in my mouth. I pull off of him and stand up, taking my underwear off completely. His dick is throbbing, leaking, and red, and he groans at the loss of contact.

“Poor baby,” I say. “Thought you were gonna cum in my mouth?”

I don’t give him any time to respond before I straddle him again and sink down, completely bottoming out on him as we gasp together.

“Ohhh, that’s it, baby girl,” he mumbles. “Mmmmm, so fucking tight for me.”

I nod and stay still for a moment, putting my head in his neck as I let myself adjust to his size.

“You okay baby?” he asks.

“Mhm.” I begin moving my hips rhythmically, and he runs his hands, calloused from the drumsticks, up my back, lifting my shirt off in the process.

His eyes light up the second he sees I’m not wearing a bra, and he immediately dips his head and starts sucking on my right nipple, rolling my left between his thumb and index finger.

“So perfect, angel,” he talks into my skin, his tongue lapping at my nipple.

I moan at the contact and run my fingers into his long hair, somewhat damp and curly from the sweat of him drumming, as I start to bounce on his lap.

He groans in pleasure. “Yeah baby. Ride my cock just like that.”

All I can do is moan and whine, the sounds of our thighs slapping filling the room as I come down harder and harder with each thrust. He’s holding my ass with one hand and my hip with the other, thrusting his hips up to meet mine.

He’s filling me up so deep that I can’t focus on anything else. He tries to kiss me, but I can’t even align my lips with his, so he opts for sucking and kissing my neck instead.

“Fuck,” I whine. “I’m gonna cum, oh god.”

“Yeah? So am I. Gonna fill you up and watch it drip out of you after, got it?”

I nod in response as I feel myself get closer and closer to my end. I’m moaning with every thrust, and before I can stop myself, I’m clenching around him, crying out in pleasure into his neck.

“Mmmmmm, fuck, gonna cum inside you angel,” he mutters.

He’s pounding up into me like a wild animal, squeezing my hips as I feel his dick twitch inside of me.

He slows down, wrapping his arms tightly around me. We sit there for a few moments, just breathing each other in.

“You really like me drumming, huh?” he says into my neck.

“Uh huh,” I reply. “It’s so fucking hot.”

He pulls his head back and kisses me, deep and hard. “I’ll drum for you every fuckin day if this is the kind of treatment I get from it.”

I laugh and slowly stand up, both of us hissing at the loss of contact. He stares at my pussy, still clenching and leaking our cum down my thighs, then touches me lightly to collect it all before sucking it off his fingers.

I lean down and give him a soft kiss, enveloping his tongue, then pull my underwear back on as he puts his dick back in his own underwear.

“Come sit back down, I’ll teach you how to play something.”

#Spotify #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut

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wroteclassicaly · 5 months

Text

Steve is trying to get you as close to cumming as he can, just by kissing your neck and pressing his tongue against yours. Hands all over you and caressing, touching, never stopping.

All of your clothes remained on, layers heavy to match mingled breathing patterns, denim rough against denim, your shirt riding up, nipples hard in your bra from his toned physique squished to the planes of your curves, sliding up and down you in a delicious rhythm. You tasted the cinnamon of his breath spray, the whiskey you’d shared from the bottle - a toast to another year of friendship. When his irises had matched the amber liquid, that’s when your stomach pooled with heat that wasn’t caused from any liquor, a line washed away by some snow storm, a building tension that you had been sure was one sided on your end.

~*~

There’s a slow sax record on the player in the corner, your apartment fireplace crackling, surrounded by the confines of old and chipped tile. Your eyes roll to the ceiling when his calloused thumb rubs that spot he’d marked on your jawline. Heart hammering beneath muscle and bone, threatening to explode running blood like lava, melting your bones into ash. You watch the shape of his back move over yours, reflected with dancing flames, alive on your ceiling. Steve is breathing heavily, kissing his way down your neck and back up your jaw, nudging you until you’re eye level.

Shards of caramel and moss surround midnight lakes of desire, his stubble shrouded lips red and swollen. Every mole and freckle shows just for you. With only one dim lamplight and the orange flames to ignite the room, his expression is glowing, reflected back to you in his eyes. He rolls his hips, the swell between his legs dragging across you in just the right way. There’s a shared nod as he licks his way back into your mouth, tongue damp and sticky, hot and strong.

He pushes, caresses, nose bumping into your eyelashes each time that he changes direction. And that feeling, it’s building in your stomach as he doesn’t stop caressing your face, stroking you as if you’re glass that will break any second - an undiscovered treasure that he’s claimed. It’s all too soft, so achingly devious that you feel it thrumming in your bones, vibrating. You feel Steve Harrington… everywhere.

You didn’t think it could be like this for you. Falling apart from someone’s touch, from their mouth alone? And the fact that it’s Steve’s? Your best-friend and former enemy’s? All he’s done is kiss you and touch your face and neck. Yeah, that’s all.

Steve doesn’t know what I look like when I cum.

He’s about to know what I look like when I cum.

… Rings alarm bells in your brain, that shut off when his voice is a low, raspy whisper, dripping honey. Thick and secretive.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. Just wanna give all of my nights to you.” He gives you, saliva stringing from his mouth to yours, momentary slick noises from your tongues and mouths ceasing. Breaths struggling to catch up.

Your gaze dances with his own, hand shakily lifting from its place on his back to rub across his ear and tuck your fingers through his hair. Feelings have unraveled inside of you. Steve looks like he’s enamored with the emotions of being truly chosen, held and safe within the space of your arms. Right here in this room, on this couch.

His fingers find that space behind your ear, drumming and gliding, and you whine, hips shifting.

“It’s okay, honey. I’m right here. I’ve got you. I feel it just as much as you. You wanna cum for me like this? I wanna cum for you too.”

// Eat me paragraph //

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pandoraslxna · 10 months

Note

Neteyam with a reader that has a fiance (arrange marriage) and she's his secret lover.

He was kissing her behind a tree in the middle of a big celebration where there's a lot of people near them while her fiance was looking for her. "No, not here." He just kept leaning forward to kiss her again "Yes here."

adult Neteyam x female omatikaya reader, minors dni 🔞

yawne - beloved

Surrounded by lush green foliage and vibrant flora, the sounds of drums and flutes filled the air, as the clan celebrated. In the center of the clearing was a big fire, with omatikaya dancing around it and singing cheerfully. Their movements are fluid and graceful, their bodies adorned with colorful, intricate patterns and decorations shining in the pale moonlight.

In the distance, you hear the sound of someone calling your name, looking for you. And even though you know exactly who it is, you can’t find it in yourself to care, as Neteyam shoved you against a nearby tree, barely hidden from the rest of the clan.

The man that was definitely not your promised mate, moved eagerly to catch your lips with his and you shivered as he pushed himself hard against you. Not even waiting for you to lean into the kiss too, he deepened it. You make a muffled sort of noise, but don’t pull away just yet, so he takes it as permission to continue. But as soon as he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip, hands squeezing your hips in desperation, you break the kiss, panting for air.

"Not- not here, Neteyam", you whisper with a flushed face. Neteyam was also breathing hard, chest raising and falling rapidly and pupils blown as he watched you with half lidded eyes.

"Yes, here", he chuckled and barely a heartbeat later, you were tasting each other's mouths, hands caressing and groping at each other's bodies, trying to find the closeness and touch you’ve both been craving for hours. Watching you dance around the fire had really rilled him up to the point where he was frantically grinding himself against you now, not caring that you were basically in public. All that shielded you away from the eyes of the other clan members, was a rather big tree who’s bark scratched the skin on your back as Neteyam was basically dry humping you now.

"I want you. Right now", he spoke lowly into your ear, placing open mouthed kisses along your jaw and throat that made you squirm. All the while, his hands dipped even lower, groping at your backside and squeezing the plump flesh of your ass.

"B-But the others. Neteyam, the people. We will get caught!" You try to reason him, yet you feel your own resolve crumble, the more he touches you like this. It gets worse when he hooks your leg up higher over his hip and you feel his hard cock, only confined by his thin loincloth, drag over your clothed cunt.

"Can’t you feel how hard you make me?", Neteyam groans into your ear. His tail curls around your ankle, everything on him pulling you even closer, pulling you harder against him. "Let me be yours, just for tonight. Just this once."

You eyes flutter close when he sucks on the skin just above your collar bone, kissing and licking a path to the center of your breasts where he then nuzzled his face in between them.

"You say that every time…", you respond breathily, not able to hide the coy smirk forming on your lips.

"Please. Please, I don’t care if you use me just for this", he all but whimpers while he keeps rutting against you, "You can be his again when the sun rises, but I need you to be mine now."

Listening to your shallow breathing and small moans as you squirmed underneath him, made his heart pound rapidly in his chest and it felt like he was slowly overheating from the tight pressure in his loincloth.

"Let me take you right here, please let me. I need you so bad and I know you want it too, you won’t—"

"Y/N, yawne? Are you here?", the voice that had been calling, searching for you in the distance was now significantly closer, cutting Neteyam off mid sentence. You suck in a sharp breath, eyes widening in shock, but he was quick to clasp a hand over your mouth, gesturing for you to hush.

Before your soon-to-be mate could walk any closer, Neteyam peaked around from behind the tree, his face calm and composed as he smiled at the man.

"Oh Neteyam, it’s just you. Have you seen Y/N by chance?"

"I saw her talking to Kiri but that was about, uhm, ten minutes ago? Said she was feeling nauseous or something, so I think she probably went home", he tells him with a shrug and if you weren’t so focused on breathing with a large palm pressed against the lower half of your face, you would’ve been impressed at his ability to lie so smoothly.

"Ahh, I see. Thank you!", the young omatikaya sighed in relief, "I was getting kinda worried because she left without a word and I couldn’t find her. It’s probably best I’ll give her some space then, so she can rest. Thanks again."

"Yeah, sounds good. No need to thank me, though", Neteyam smiled, watching carefully as the man took his leave again and only when he was far enough away, he turned his attention back to you and lowered his hand from your face. Your cheeks were even redder by now, face all flustered and eyes half lidded as you stared up at him with so much lust, he felt his cock throb with need.

"If anything, I have to thank you", Neteyam chuckled and in an instant, he caught your lips in a heated kiss again.

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roanniom · 1 year

Note

Asking virgin eddie if you can blow him

Is That a Serious Question?

Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, blow job

"I'm sorry, I might have destroyed my ear drums after years of absolutely shredding it on guitar - what did you say to me?"

You and Eddie are standing in the tiny kitchen of your even tinier apartment. You'd invited him back to your place for a night cap after several weeks of hanging out with him through the go between of your mutual friend Robin. You'd been pretty certain when he'd accepted the invitation - coming at the tail end of a pretty tame night out with the gang - that he understood what you'd been implying. So you push your glass aside and lean over your counter towards him, giving him your most sultry smile.

"I asked if I can blow you, handsome."

Eddie's eyes are wide as saucers and you're pretty sure if he grips his glass of whiskey any harder he will certainly shatter it. To avoid that bloody outcome you reach out and pry his fingers off the glass, moving it also to the side and using your grip on his hand to pull him around to your side of the counter.

"C'mon. I felt how hard you were when we were dancing earlier. You can't tell me you're not into me," you say with a playful smirk.

Your casual confidence floors him. Not that he's surprised you're confident. That's precisely what drew him to you in the first place. But the fact that you seem to be aiming that confidence in the direction of pursuing him? That is something he can't fathom.

"I...I'm not sure...I mean if you want, I don't know..."

You start laughing at his stuttering, not unkindly, reaching up to smooth your hand over his upper arm soothingly.

"I promise I don't bite," you tease, giving him a wink. When he doesn't relax the tension laying siege on his body, you chuckle, less certain. "When was the last time someone gave you a blow job? It can't have been that long."

"Try never, princess," Eddie says with a forced chuckle. You go rigid for a split second. Only a split second. And then you give him an easy smile.

"Eddie. Do you want me to put my mouth on your cock?"

Eddie short circuits. He looks at you with half dead eyes that register almost no emotion before his cheeks set aflame, blushing all the way down his neck and, you assume, across his entire chest.

"I...yes. Yes I want that."

Without further preamble, you drop to your knees. Entirely unceremoniously. Right there in your kitchen. Eddie lets out a gasp and reaches down to you, stopping short of touching you in an awkward attempt to keep space even as you begin to unbuckle his belt.

"What?! Right....here? The tile is like....hard and stuff!"

His concern for your comfort is touching and it swoops your stomach in a pleasant way that makes you want to make him cum immediately. You smile up at him.

"You're cute. You know that, Munson?"

Eddie blushes even harder. Completely unsure of what to do in this situation where you seem totally at ease in the face of his anxiety.

You pop open his button and unzip his jeans, giving his boxer-clad cock room to spring up, extending from his body impatiently and clearly ready to be tended to. Yanking his boxers down under his balls, you tsk at the sight of his leaking, angry red cock.

"You poor thing. How long have you been like this?" you ask, reaching and taking him in your hand. His eyelids flutter shut at the feeling of your palm moving up and down the length of his shaft, something he's only felt from himself before.

"I...oh fuck. I got hard the second you said hi at the bar today, princess."

The honesty makes your smile widen. He looks down at you with hooded eyes when he feels the wet expanse of your tongue press to his mushroom head. You lick up the pre-cum that's collected there and Eddie's knees almost buckle. His hands shoot to the counter, gripping at the edge like he's on the side of a cliff about to fall. It's your intention to push him all the way over.

"Fucking shit," Eddie grits through his teeth, looking down at you almost entirely wrecked already with your tongue swirling around the head of his cock and your fist loosely closed around the shaft.

"Feels good, handsome?" you ask, leaving his cock mashed against your bottom lip as you speak. Based on his words and reactions you've pretty much gathered by this point that he has little to no experience. But that's fine. More for you.

"Is that a serious fucking question?" Eddie asks you, sounding absolutely pained. You laugh and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and he practically convulses.

"So I guess the answer is yes," you tease. One of Eddie's hands drops to the top of your head. Only gripping gently, but the weight of it spurs you on. You take him fully into your mouth and bob once, twice, three times.

"Are you kidding me?!" Eddie moans out. You anchor your hands on his thighs and get to work sucking on his cock. His fingers tug harsher at your hair in response to the fresh experience of having his soul sucked out through his dick, but you don't mind. It only informs and motivates you. Dropping fully so that your nose nestles in the hair at the base of his member, you let his cock move into the tightened space of your throat. When you gag, Eddie practically shout.

"Oh my fucking - fuck!"

Only seconds later Eddie lets out a shuddering groan that is your only indication that he is going to cum, which he does almost immediately after. The salty spend shoots down your throat and you accept it willingly, swallowing till his balls finish seizing and he's practically gasping for air.

When you finally pull off him, like you're done sucking on a lollipop, your face is devious and thoroughly, thoroughly pleased.

"How was that for you, handsome?"

Eddie pulls you roughly up from the floor and into his arms.

"Again with the stupid questions," he says breathlessly before pulling you in for the most lascivious kiss of your life.

~*~

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Just adding space so Tumblr can delete this if it wants to instead of the actual writing lol

#anon #issa's writing night #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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hayisins · 6 months

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# — oral ! 🕊️ (part two)

how : childe, neuvillette, kaveh, itto, + dottore give head ! find part one here ! ♡

disclaimers : you give neuvillette head too ! oh also he has two dicks. bottom!itto drabbles teehee !! medical play with dotto !

afab!reader, no pronouns used ! mdni 18+ ONLY ‼️

# 001 — CHILDE !

being in a sexual dynamic with childe was quite the wild card. things were always changing and the sex was never consistent — except for one thing.

ajax is obsessed with oral, he needs to give it to you even when you have no plans to have sex. he starts by trying to sweeten you up, kissing your neck and gently squeezing at your thighs until before you know it, his tongue is gliding against you.

he loves when you sit on his face, bright baby blue eyes watching your body intently while you use his face as your own personal object. he whimpers — whines pathetically under you. his cock is so hard it’s painful and leaking. his heart continues to race for you. ♡

— “more . . please — fuckin’ give me more.”

#002 — NEUVILLETTE !

the ludex is calm and collected . . unless it comes to you. usually, neuvillette was someone who always followed the rules, he’s the face of justice after all. due to his nature it was no suprise he attracted someone like you.

someone who was a rule breaker, someone who marched to the beat of their own drum. which is how he ended up with you under his desk, tongue licking all over the tip of his primary cock, hands happily stroking the secondary. the grip on his desk was intense as he listened to the conflict one of his dear assistants provided him with.

the longest ten minutes of his life went by before neuvillette was panting, chest heaving slightly as he motioned for you to come out from your hiding place. before you could even stand up properly you were shoved onto the same desk he just gripped his nails into. biting and nipping at your thighs he left sloppy desperate kisses against your hole. ♡

— “such a bold brat . . aren’t you ? my my . . a lesson you shall learn today, little étoile.”

#003 — KAVEH !

since he’s an artist, everything that kaveh does is meant to be an artistic expression. sometimes he doesn’t even realize it.

sometimes, kaveh will have you on the expensive 500,000 mora couch he has. he watches you struggle to stay still under his touch. he watches the way you drip onto said sofa in need. silently he drops to his knees, ruby eyes staring intently at your heat.

his tongue paints a beautiful and erotic picture. the architect takes his time gently running his tongue through every single fold and nerve he can find. his chest practically heaves when you grab his locks, shoving him in even further. ♡

— “fuck . . your taste — you’re so . . ethereal, my muse.”

#004 — ITTO !

big strong arms always keep you close. the oni treats you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever possessed. he would walk to the edge of the world and back if you told him to.

which is why him being the usual submissive in the bedroom was one of your favourite things. itto waited for every single order like a puppy eager to please it’s owner. the muzzle around his face made your much large boyfriend grunt in annoyance.

ittos face shoved right up to your cunt causing you to hiss from the feeling of the cold metal of the muzzle. itto had a problem with biting and marking you from head to toe, so you had to compromise. however he also just looked incredibly sexy while he whimpered — tilting his head in every way possible to get his tongue flat against your holes. sometimes he was successful! ♡

— “pleasepleaseplease !! come onnn sugar ~ just a little taste yeah? fuck . .”

#005 — DOTTORE !

the doctor is quite the tease when he’s not completely engrossed in his work. he wouldn’t ever admit it but you are one of his weaknesses.

so when you come to visit dottore during one of the periods where he’s completely locked himself in his laboratory it’s only a matter of seconds before your being lifted and spread against the cold metal lab table. all of his previous experiments had been disregarded as non important as his hands explored you.

silently he used black gloved fingers to poke and prod at the most delicate parts of you. sexual reactions was truly something dottore was interested in. he dips down, parting his lips to prod his tongue against you. he’s by no means gentle, using his razor sharp teeth to gently bite down on the skin. his free hands is taking messy notes on a clipboard. a skill he’d learned to do from each and every one of these meetings. ♡

— “interesting reactions . . every day i get closer to figuring out all your secrets, little dove.”

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lokisgoodgirl · 11 months

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A Gentlemen's Agreement [Reader x Loki/Steve/Bucky]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: It's time for you to make up your mind. And the boys have just the plan to help you do that. (w/c 3.2k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smutty. Teasing. Sexual tension. Not a foursome. A/N: Loki is my king. I just needed to get this out thanks to @sidepartskinnyjeans

The click of Steve’s dress shoes echoed as he ushered you away from the busy ballroom of Stark’s county house. Your nerves were fizzing, but your face didn’t betray the flutter of excitement growing in your belly. In the darkness of the mahogany lined corridor, firelight licked from a solitary open doorway. A nod from the captain urged you silently inside. Walking into the room, your breath hitched. Whatever you had expected from his clandestine invitation in the crowd, this wasn’t it.

Steve circled around you, taking his place in the menacingly sensual line-up. There they stood in quiet stoicism, dressed in fitted finery – the trio of beneficiaries to your relentless flirtations. Their arms were folded, their legs wide in triangular determination. For the briefest of moments, you wondered how all of them had managed to excuse themselves from the party at once. But seeing the way they were taking up space, stretching the air with their achingly large egos, that question was quickly forgotten. Each was more breathtakingly handsome than the last. Rogers. Barnes. Laufeyson. “What is this?” you giggled nervously, snapping to each set of blue eyes in turn. They began to smirk in unison. You shivered despite the heat from the fire. “S’come to our attention you’ve been pulling the same tricks on all of us,” the winter soldier drawled, his accent thick with playful taunt. You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t know what you-” “Oh, I think you do, Agent,” Laufeyson hummed, tilting his head. Long fingers drummed on his bicep as he rocked on his heels. Roaring firelight was haloed behind the ebony mane that cascaded around the shoulders of a midnight-blue suit sitting snug to his body. You pressed your lips together, stifling a whimper. “Look fellas, she’s blushing," Steve teased. The three of them chuckled. “I don’t blush,” you snipped, folding your arms to match them. “And I’d appreciate if you could tell me why the three of you are lined up like...like…” The words you searched for ebbed as you readjusted your feet. It was all you could do not to go over on your ankle in these stupid heels. Heat was building between your thighs, the unmistakeable thump of arousal beating as your addled thoughts raced beneath their penetrating stares.

You knew exactly what Bucky meant. And now it seemed, so did they. You knew bending over to pick up that pen in front of all three of them yesterday was a bad idea. Although, no one in the world would blame you – working with three of the finest specimens of masculinity ever created. Had you gone out your way to tease and flirt with each one of them over the past several months? Possibly. But hey, it was good for morale. And besides, there wasn’t a hope in hell any of them would return your affections. Not serial-bed hopper Barnes, he didn’t fuck where he ate. Not tightly wound Rogers, you seriously doubted he’d approve of subordinate relations. And as for the ice king – you weren’t even sure he knew your name.

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. God, you wished it wasn’t so hot. Your eyes searched the floor, hearing Loki clear his throat. “As Barnes noted, you have been toying with each of us in a manner both indecent and egregious these past months.” He let the rhetorical judgement marinate in silence before continuing. “Do you deny it?” You raised your eyes to his, seeing the embers of mischief smouldering within. “No,” you said confidently, as all three men cast conspiratorial glances to one another. Rogers balanced his elbow on a tight fist, raising his fingers to his chin. He narrowed his eyes. “That dress though fellas," he growled with uncharacteristic lust. "Have you ever seen such a thing?” Barnes snorted. “Forget two birds with one stone, that outfit takes out three cocks with one hit.” His blue eyes were dark in the low light, heavy brows shadowing the contours as his chin dipped. “An assassin, even off the clock.” he grit. “And she knows how much I love that neck.” While he was speaking, you instinctively brushed a strand hanging from your up-do away from the boatline collar of the dress. He was right. You did know. You had known ever since the first of his ragged breaths, tangible desire pulsing in his veins and stretching his trousers as he massaged your shoulders. The first time you had asked, he had thought you were joking. But every time you felt the cool flatness of his metal limb against your spine, steadying you as his fingers found every pocket of tension in your upper body – both you and he knew it was no laughing matter. Had you exaggerated the moans of pleasure his touch released? No. There had been no need. It felt fucking phenomenal. Orgasmic, even. And you hadn’t held them back. Your neck had extended to the side as his fingertips pulsed into the most delicate areas, breathy pants filling the air that you hoped made him think of how you would sound as he fucked you into the headboard. “And she knows how much I love those legs,” Steve smouldered, curling a finger against his lips as his gaze ran from your hips to the floor and back again. The dress stopped midway up your thighs, perfectly tight before the sheer drop of your limbs to the heels. You had caught him staring open-mouthed as you pulled yourself dripping wet from the ocean on a mission in the Seychelles months ago. His face had flushed as you’d clocked him running up your femurs, a bite of his lip betraying the base need boiling beneath an all-business exterior.

On every mission, you now made a point of elevating your leg as you snapped on the holsters, lunging forward against the nearest bench. Wall. Anything to drive him mad. You wondered how often he thought of your legs wrapped around his hips while his tactical suit lay strewn around his ankles. Without fail, his teeth always found their way to his bottom lip; a clench of his ass and a forbidden husk of ‘goddam’ under his breath making you smirk as you turned away. “And I think not that I need to point out what aspect of the offending garment is for me,” Loki purred, releasing the cross of his arms to fall behind his back in a ceremonial clasp. “It’s green," Bucky stated, licking his lips. “Yes," Loki replied in baritone, cheekbones sharpening. “It is.”

Loki. Now that was a story. Yes, you had felt the linger of his keen eyes on your ass. But who hadn’t. And yes, his gravelled pleasantries that always dripped a little closer than necessary into your ear were tempting. But the god was a walking temptation. It was his nature. He was indiscernible, a mystery. Aside from briefings, the longest you had ever spent in his company had been when he would extend his hand wordlessly on nights just like this, leading you the dance-floor. All onlookers would see was the standard wrapping of his arms around your waist, and yours over his shoulders. They did not see the small circles grazed on the nape of his neck beneath his curls, the half-innocent moans released by his ear when he brought you in from a spin. They did not see the lingering play of your fingers on the delicate skin of his wrists, the bite of your lip as Loki’s hips pressed into your stomach. A solitary flame in a sea of cold indifference. You’d take any heat from him could you get. They didn’t see his brows twitch as he registered the green lingerie down the carefully calculated neckline of your dress. Just for him. Your breathing had becoming shallow. Were you actually about to have all three of them at once? Was that even physically possible? Two super-soldiers and a god? You didn’t know if you would survive – but something told you it might be worth it. Positions and logistics raced through your mind, making you dizzy. You shook your head.

“OK you got me, I fancy all of you. So what? It’s just a bit of fun,” you gasped, running sweaty palms casually down the front of your dress. “The fellas and I have an idea, if you’re agreeable of course,” Steve said slowly, following Loki in clasping his hands behind his back. You squinted, congratulating yourself for encouraging the captain’s foray into unbuttoning the top of his shirts. His pulse was racing, you could see it pumping beneath his jawline. Bucky still stood with his arms loosely crossed over a waistcoat, the cotton of his thick white shirt bulging against metal and flesh. A sliver of steel glinted in the firelight, sleeves folded up to the elbows. He nodded once, without a flicker of a smile. Fuck, they all looked so good. “A gentlemen’s agreement, if you will,” Loki uttered, a smile curling on his lips. He’d been waiting to deliver that line, you could tell. “You like us. We like you. But we don’t share," Bucky glowered matter-of-factly. You could feel the thin fabric of your panties sticking to your lips, tacky and unbearably wet from this erotic ambush. “You don’t?” you quipped. “What a shame.” “We don’t," Steve repeated. “At least not ye-” he cast a glance to Bucky, before clearing his throat. “We think it’s important you uh...focus your attentions. If that’s what you wanna do.” A sudden thrill raced through your blood. The idea that they had planned this, that they had spoken about you in hushed whispers behind closed doors made your pussy hum with forbidden pleasures.

You wandered to the antique sofa to the side, feeling the heated stares of each of the men follow you. “What’s this gentleman’s agreement, then?” you purred, crossing your legs. Steve swallowed as the tight emerald fabric rode up your thigh. The god of mischief laughed softly, a deep sound which seemed to shake the room like bass.

“Each of us will kiss you, and then you must decide,” he said matter-of-factly. “The unsuccessful will respect your choice of victor and no retaliation will be made.” “Decide?” “Which of us to get to know better," Steve explained, shrugging off his suit jacket. He threw it gently over his shoulder, making it land on the back of a chair behind him with magnetic finesse. Bucky rolled his eyes. “I think what the captain’s tryna say is that we all wanna get to know you, better. So it’s lady’s choice,” he winked. You raised an eyebrow towards Loki. You couldn’t imagine him ever agreeing to something like this. A solitary nod was his only response, eyelashes fluttering down in a moment of panty-wetting reverence. “I accept,” you said slowly, running your eyes across the line-up. Their competitive sincerity was catching. You wet your lips in anticipation, still in disbelief that this was actually happening. Perhaps your corpse was lying strewn on the dance-floor, paramedics hoisting you onto a trolley in a body-bag. Perhaps this was heaven. And maybe it was the low lighting, or maybe it was the dancing shadows licking their wide bodies stacked with endless muscle. But you could swear that each and every one of them was hard. “As discussed. Thirty seconds,” Loki murmured coolly to the men standing to attention on his right, flourishing a hand. Barnes stepped forward, smoothing long strands of chestnut hair behind his ears.

“Alright,” he growled confidently, swaggering the several steps and planting onto the sofa beside you. His thighs spread against the antique furniture, flexing beneath the tight suit trousers as he twisted his torso to face you. The scent of his cologne filled your nostrils, smoked wood and lingering sage like a wet autumn forest. His hand cupped your jawline, the steel arm resting on the back of the curved rest.

“Here goes nothin,” he whispered to himself, curled digits trailing longingly down the curve of your neck. They tugged at the neckline of your dress, slipping it over the curve. He leant forward, parted lips colliding with the crescent of your shoulder. Your eyelids fluttered closed, a staggered moan you didn’t realise was hiding released as he worked across your skin. His stubble tingled against the delicate surface, the flat of his nose slotting beneath your ear as his kisses became hungrier against your pulse point. Less delicate. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, darlin',” he rasped, before licking licentiously from the base of your throat to the angle of your jaw. In seconds, his mouth was pressed to yours; tongue eagerly flicking against your lips before you let him enter. Bucky’s moan was dynamite, fingers guiding your chin as he devoured you in targeted desire. He leant you backwards into the cushions while your arm instinctually slid between his shoulder-blades, pulling him closer. Barnes groaned as his hand slid covetously from your waist and up the curve of your breasts, before burrowing deep into your bun. He thrust gruffly against you on instinct, something thick and menacingly primal dragging against your thigh. The feeling of his fingers tugging at your scalp sent your heat into overdrive, clenching desperately around air. “Time,” Loki purred calmly. Stubble scratched a final time, your hand flying to rest on his metal arm as you breathlessly broke apart with a whimper. Barnes winked, the skin surrounding his mouth pink as he rose and re-joined the other two. You cast glances between them while your chest heaved.

“Do you need a moment?” Steve inquired politely, folding the sleeves of his shirt up further. You watched the veins in his muscled forearms tighten with the movement, the slight bend of his knees as he gave a deferential cough. As if he’s preparing for a fight, you thought as your head continued to spin from Bucky’s kiss. “No, I’m good,” you slurred, smiling as you straightened and patting the sofa beside you. “I prefer it standing, if that’s alright,” Steve said tentatively, brow twitching in mild alarm as he saw your eyes widen. But he didn’t retract it. Standing obediently, it suddenly occurred to you that a kiss on the hand would be very on brand for him, perhaps rethinking his part in this atypical charade. But Steve paced towards you, looking as determined as he did striding down the ramp of the quinjet. Your breath hitched as the captain’s hands cupped your face, walking you expertly back towards the walled bookcase. A shelf pressed against your spine while Rogers bore down, his gentle tongue nudging at your lips; and with a whimper, he breached. The warmth of the muscle caressing your own made your knees wobble. Hard, rippling abdominals pressed flush against your chest, pinning you softly beneath Keats and Wordsworth while his hands began to smooth over your shoulders, over your waist. You felt like the poets would approve. Steve moaned into your mouth as his palms slid possessively down your thighs, grunting as he whipped them forwards effortlessly around his waist. You yelped in surprise before his lips swallowed yours again, ankles crossing around taut hips. The heat from his skin warmed the scent of ginger wafting from the base of his collarbone, its spice firing in your nostrils. The kiss was hungry and desperate and wild. You could feel his solid cock rubbing against your stomach, tasting every inch of your passion as his fingertips dug into the soft flesh beneath your ass. He thrust softly with every wax and wane of his jaw, needy fingers running through his newly mussed golden hair. You pulled greedily before there was a soft clear of someone’s throat. It sounded like Loki. “Time,” Bucky barked, and reluctantly, Steve returned you to the ground. Still in a daze, and with palms spread against the bookcase, your eyes fell on the final figure. “Believe me…” Loki purred condescendingly, “you’ll wish to sit down for this.”

With shaking steps you teetered to the sofa, plonking down with a sharp intake of breath. Loki glided towards you, elegantly manoeuvring his long limbs aside your own. He brought a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back. “You are so beautiful.” he murmured, before pressing in to a firm, chaste kiss. One of your hands flew to his thigh, running your palm over the hard, forbidden mass concealed tight and thick beneath the cotton. You desperately keened into him, tongue searching against closed lips. Loki withdrew with a chuckle, sweeping the hair from one side of his head. “If you wish me to stop, tell me,” he whispered hot in your ear, a wave of amber and spices and decadence filling your senses before he slipped from the sofa to his knees. Your eyes widened as he gently spread your legs. “The rules did not specify where I could kiss you.” he explained softly, pre-empting the questioning thrill lighting your eyes. Disgruntled huffs from Bucky and Rogers barely registered as you felt a cool tingle of the god’s magic dissolve your favourite underwear.

Loki’s smouldering gaze latched to yours, lust-drunk and determined, before it fell to the glistening mess at his eye level. “Do you consent to my audition?” he hummed, tentatively pushing the sides of your dress to the tops of your thighs. Your stare flickered to Steve and Bucky, suspiciously observing Loki on his knees with pure jealousy. "Yes," you heard yourself murmur under your breath. Fresh arousal was seeping from your centre, spreading down your heated skin. You had never wanted anything more. "Louder, please," Loki smirked, the curve of his fingers fastened to your knees. “Yes, Loki...g-god-” you gasped, brow furrowing as you urged him on with a tilt.

Immediately, his tongue licked a wide, earth-shattering stripe up your slit from base to tip. Your head fell back with a rattling moan, one hand combing through his hair as the other gripped the armrest. Loki quickly moved your legs over his shoulders, sliding you further back. The god’s open mouth latched to your swollen clit, sucking and lapping lower with sinful precision. All you could see was his dark curls and proud brow, the sight of the god buried between your open thighs making reality blur. Every caress made your hips thrust further into his mouth, shaking breaths shuddering your body as he moaned against your wet heat. The noises he made were utter devastation, muffled pants and enthusiastic slurps sounding between your splayed legs as he ate you out like a starving man. Behind your eyelids, you could feel the covetous gazes of the two soldiers rolling over your body as Laufeyson’s fingertips dug into your calves like a hunter. “T-time,” Steve choked. “No!” you gasped, pawing at Loki’s cheek in despair. The god smiled, chin glistening while closing your trembling knees in a move that could only be described as gentlemanly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unfurling and retreating backwards to the line-up with his arms spread in a show of feigned innocence. You panted, gathering your thoughts as your gaze landed on each of them in turn. “Lady’s choice,” Bucky re-iterated gruffly, widening his legs. Beside him, the captain’s fingers rested wide on his hips, biting his lip while his eyes lingered on the fresh sheen of sweat clinging to your legs. Loki raised a finger absent-mindedly to the corner of his mouth, brushing the edge before sucking it clean to the second knuckle. His eyes smouldered, fixed on you, the flicker of firelight casting deep shadows in hollowed cheekbones. You took a deep breath, the only name it was ever going to be dancing on the tip of your tongue.

🤷‍♂️ For those who want a bit...more - A Gentlemen's Bond is the follow up to this.

Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @coldnique @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @psychospore @littlespaceyelf

#loki x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky x reader #loki x steve x bucky x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #marvel men #loki x female reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #loki fanfiction #marvel imagine #loki imagine #loki marvel #loki x reader smut #steve rogers smut #bucky smut

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bloompompom · 6 months

Text

Drive-In Distraction

Tonight's horror movie double-feature won't be the only thing that has you wanting to scream

✩ content: ~5.6k word count. eren jaeger x female reader. modern au, established relationship, porn without plot, fluff, teasing, oral sex (m!receiving), PIV sex, public sex, quiet sex, exhibitionism, slight overstimulation, come fucking, dirty talk, praise, spit, explicit sexual content, explicit language. reader discretion advised. 18+ only

“Eren!”

The scold left you in a harsh whisper, only after you realized where his hand was venturing. Once innocently on your thigh, giving you sweet intermittent squeezes, now traveling higher and higher.

This was not the place to start fooling around with each other.

Earlier that day, Eren tossed you the idea of going to the drive-in theater, said it was the perfect activity for the season since they were showing a late-night horror movie double-feature.

‘Those still exist?’ you asked him. He gave you some sarcastic answer—‘No, I just made it up for fun’—before the two of you were throwing all the pillows and blankets you could find into the trunk of his hatchback.

Eren had pushed the backseats down until they were flat, and you made a makeshift bed, laying out an old duvet first then layering on the rest. It ended up being comfy, at least enough to cuddle up and watch back-to-back movies together.

But you hadn’t even gotten halfway through the first one before Eren started getting antsy, which in hindsight, you probably should have seen coming.

“What? I’m not doing anything,” your boyfriend lilted, that familiar chime of amusement ringing through his voice. It was the tell-tale sign he was trying to fluster you, and he knew he was succeeding.

But he couldn’t help himself; you were too easy to play with.

Despite your warning glare, Eren’s fingers settled in the crease of your thigh. He traced over it, feeling the band of your underwear beneath your leggings.

“C’mon, I’m bored.”

“We’ve been here, like, thirty minutes. How could you possibly be bored already?”

He hummed, straightening out in his seat to snake an arm between your back and the pillows. He hooked his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re distracting me.”

This was his plan from the start, wasn’t it? You wanted to say it was unbelievable, but it was anything but. Either way, you didn’t stop the giggle that left you; a little one, and only because you thought his flagrant attempts at flattery were endearing.

“How?” you challenged, knowing damn well you haven’t done anything besides watch the movie and debate if you were up for the hike to the concession stand on the opposite side of the lot.

“Because you’re so cute—” Eren cajoled.

His breath warmed the side of your neck as he inched even closer. The tip of his nose fit into the dip beneath your ear as he nuzzled into you.

“—And pretty.”

His lips met your skin and a spark skipped down your spine. You shivered, unable to hold it back. Eren gave a wry chuckle as he smoothed over your thigh reassuringly. It was teasing but gentle, irritatingly soft. After another kiss, you finally allowed your eyes to flutter shut.

His lips—then his tongue—were hot as he left lazy kisses, as many as if he were dotting the night sky, taking as much time as he pleased despite being in the open trunk of his car. Not a single inch of you, from the lobe of your ear to your collarbone, went neglected.

You dug a palm into the billows of blankets to keep upright. You had tunnel vision to Eren and only Eren. The movie playing through the radio was white noise, buzzing beneath the drumming of your heart. Your tiny breaths sharpened as you tried to wrangle in the oxygen to bring your head back to Earth.

“Eren.” When you said his name this time, it wasn’t a hiss. It was flimsy on your exhale, nearly dying on your tongue. He shushed you with soft coos murmured into the crook of your neck.

As your head tipped to one side, Eren caught your jaw, holding you there as he licked and sucked and nipped. He was only kissing you, not even on your mouth, and already you felt helpless to him. He had wrapped you up in that sensual minute, or ten, or maybe an entire hour—you didn’t know. You were lost in the tangle of pillows and blankets, twisting the fabric between your fist as if it would ground you. The inky night had swaddled you, with only the old projector ahead illuminating your ever-trembling body.

Eren’s eager hand continued surveying you, exploring down the hollow of your collarbone to your chest, as if he hadn’t touched these parts of you countless times before. His hand followed the curve of your breast tentatively, waiting to see what reaction it’d elicit from you.

When he expected a swatted hand, he was only gifted a wordless sound, almost like a purr. His smirk seared into the thin skin of your neck as he teased your breast. He reveled in how your body reacted to him, sensitive to his touch even through your top; your nipple perking between his fingers and the patter of your heart against his palm. He craved nothing more than to strip you of it, free you of it so he could feel your softness with nothing in between. This would have to do for now.

He decided to push his luck anyway, his hand straying further, lower. Your sternum, your stomach…

Your shoulder scrunched to your ear in a flinch. “I don’t know, Eren. Maybe we should wait until we’re home.”

“I don’t wanna wait that long,” he breathed against you. He couldn’t wait that long, not now. Not with the way his cock was already straining against his sweatpants, aching to feel you, any way you’d let him.

Every word was laced with desire, burning hot against your ear. They pooled in the low part of your stomach and dripped down to your toes. With every raspy syllable, Eren’s voice faded as his need overtook him. Despite your nervous squirming—and your better judgment—your legs began to spread, making room for his hand to cup between your legs.

He only touched you through your leggings at first, but he could still feel your heat, the shake in your thighs when he pressed down, right on your clit. Already, you had sucked in your lip, muffling whatever sound wanted to escape. It was so cute, how easily you folded for him.

Once he stuck his hand beneath, bypassing your underwear entirely, you shuddered when his fingers met your bare skin. Not because they were cold; you expected cold. They were warm, his skin already ablaze with arousal as he brushed the tips of his fingers over you, through you, but never daring to dip further. It would be easy, if he wanted to, what with how wet you were after just a few strategic neck bites. But he wanted to tease you. Just a little.

Eren pinched your chin, angling you for another kiss. There was a certain stiffness about you, only in your lips; the rest of you couldn’t stay still. Between kisses and your little gasps, you whispered, “We’re going to get caught.”

“That’s what makes it fun.”

On sheer coincidence (or the universe’s knack for impeccable timing), a blood-curdling shriek blared through the radio and tore straight through the tension in the car. You lurched forward, sitting up as tall as if a teacher had smacked your desk while nodding off—or if someone had caught you with your boyfriend’s hand down your pants.

“Someone’s jumpy,” Eren poked. You dropped your hand from your chest, ready to shove him away, when he held your face again. He brought you back to him in an attempt to quell your rampant anxiety. “Seriously, no one’s gonna come this way. Don’t worry.”

Your eyes flitted from his face, to the screen, then back to him. Through squished cheeks, you asked, “Promise?”

“I promise.”

He punctuated it with a kiss on the tip of your nose, then one on your lips. He tilted into you with his hand curving around the back of your head. Immediately, you were his, opening your mouth and tempting his tongue to find yours.

His fingers effortlessly return to your clit. He began to rub circles, slow at first, feeling how soft you were, how your swollen, needy pussy gave beneath. You started to pant harder against him, your moving lips growing erratic. He tightened his circles, quickening them and playing your body as though it were an instrument he’d mastered, knowing which touches had you quivering and which had you whining—most importantly, which would make you come the quickest.

Your hips wiggled against his hand, angling and trying to get more out of him. You wanted him inside you, and you wanted it badly.

As you expected, you felt his breathy laugh against your mouth. “See? Not so scary now, is it?”

Even if you were to humor the question, you wouldn’t have had the chance to before he parted you and pushed a finger inside. A small sound left you, again when he began to drag his finger in and out of you, curling it just the right way. You had to stay quiet. Your throat tightened, desperate to keep your tiny whines from turning into bleats bursting from your chest. You were only capable of a whisper of, “More,” mumbly and wet against his mouth.

Eren maintained his composure, smartly asking, “Feels good, huh?”

He already knew the answer; he didn’t need to ask. He only did it for his own benefit, pining to hear it come from you. To take in the sounds of your croons and cries as you plead for him again and tuck them away for later.

He didn’t wait for your answer; he didn’t have the restraint for it. Eren inserted a second finger, always willing to please his girlfriend, giving her whatever she wanted, even when she was an incoherent mess—especially when she was an incoherent mess.

Once he did, he could practically taste the lust on your tongue, delving deeper and spilling into his mouth. The kiss, if one could call it that, turned shameless clumsy, his fingers pumping until he reached the pace that had you fluttering around his knuckles.

You were lost in a swirl of heady breaths, the air of the trunk growing thick and coiling around you with your lower half sweltering under the blankets. Still, you managed to lift them and reach a hand beneath, caressing over the top of Eren’s thigh. The muscle tensed as you went, grazing up his leg just as he had with you.

You palmed over the front of his sweats, again when you realized how hard he had been for you. His abdomen flexed and relaxed. There was a delicious relief in your touch, even if plenty of layers still separated you. Too many for Eren’s liking.

Riled up beyond belief, it only took a few chaste strokes before Eren was lifting his hips to meet you, instinctively working his cock against your hand in search of more pressure—more anything.

Of course, the heavy petting was fun, but think of how much more fun you could have. Not fooling and fumbling like teenagers who snuck into an R-rated movie, but upping the ante, seeing truly how far you could go without getting caught.

A little risk never scared him off before.

Eren pulled away to catch his breath, smiling at you all big with this wicked look on his face; the look of a winner. He had taken you by both wrists and dragged you along with him, following wherever he led you. In his hands, you were like putty or dough or clay—you were no more than something waiting to be warmed and molded in whichever way he desired, crafted to fit him and only him.

But you were more than willing. And luckily for you, Eren was just as malleable in your delicate hands. Neither of you could turn back now, even if you wanted to.

The flashing screen cast a cool light on the side of your face, catching the sheen of your bottom lip. What was left of your kiss was wiped away by Eren as he thumbed over it.

“You wanna do this?” he asked, still with that same sideways grin.

You nodded excitedly, emphasized it by tugging down his waistband. His hands only left you to help, one shuffling his sweatpants lower while the other expertly held the blanket over your laps.

The blanket was fleecy and thick, opaque enough to block out any lights. You could barely see a thing, but you do make out the way his cock slapped against his lower abs once you had his boxers down. You reached for him, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes flickered to the screen, then downward once more. Not a soul in sight—or at least, you weren’t in their sights.

You took him in your hand and even that, the feeling of your fingertips grazing him, made his breathing stutter. When you wrapped your fingers around him, slightly tightening your grip, you only had to pump a few slow times before you thought you could feel his heartbeat in his cock.

Eren lifted the blanket high enough to steal a peek at your hand on him. He watched the fluid movement of your wrist, up and down, quickening after you thumbed over his tip, slick with precome.

He couldn’t think of a time he’d been this turned on by a hand job, probably not since his first one. Each time his eyelids lidded, he’d have to force them back open to scan the surroundings, just in case. You were a bit preoccupied to care, his hand back where it belonged as he fucked you with his fingers. It made it hard for you to focus on much else, your jaw already falling ever so slack.

Even Eren had to admit the inherent risk had his heart thumping faster. But unlike you, it didn’t frighten him. It exhilarated him. He found himself already fighting back the urge to come from the thrill alone. All the while, you had this nervous tremble in your hand, as if you were this innocent little thing; he knew better than to believe that. Still, he found you extremely endearing, only making it harder for him to not pin you down and ruin you right there. Imagine how cute you would look if you were to really get caught.

Each time he stuffed his fingers inside you fully, your steady hand would stagger. Your effort was put towards jerking him off, but your concentration faltered so effortlessly; you were never one for multitasking. Especially when Eren’s huffs through his nose turned ragged each time you paid extra attention to the tip of his cock, palming and squeezing gently.

“God, I wanna taste you so badly right now,” Eren exhaled. His cock throbbed at the thought.

You tried to respond, but his fingers were unrelenting, thick and dragging against your walls in a way you could only describe as lewd. The pace, the sound—the fact that the crotch of your leggings was soaked through.

“Ah-hah.” You swallowed hard. “A-absolutely not. People will see.”

You didn’t know how it would even work in such a tight space—with plenty of head bumps and leg cramps, you supposed.

“Hm,” Eren muttered, seemingly unhappy with your answer. His fingers slipped from you, collected some of your wetness, then began flicking over your clit. It yanked another sound from you, absolutely pathetic and ripped from the very depths of your throat.

His fingers were drenched in your arousal, smooth and slick, trained on your undoing. He stopped short of it, slithering his hand from your leggings and bringing them to your mouth.

“Guess this will have to do,” he told you just before sucking them, savoring your sweetness on his tongue, “until we get home.”

Eren’s brazen ways never ceased to ruffle you. Your cheeks flared hot, even more once he wrapped his wetted fingers around his length, jerking himself off. Making a show of it, too. The slippery sound of him coating his cock with you, darkened eyes locked onto yours. Little groans fell from him, lips slightly parted like he was high off you.

Ripples of electricity pulsed through you, encouraged you, while your thighs could only clench at the sight. He didn’t even need to touch you for you to fall apart. But just because he couldn’t touch you the way he wanted—couldn’t taste you—didn’t mean you couldn’t.

You perched to your knees and dove under the blanket. Before he could even blink, you had his cock upright in your hand, lapping up the length of it.

“Shit,” he hissed, way louder than he should have.

You poked your head out, still playing with him in your hand. “This is why I didn’t want to do this.”

“I—sorry.” Eren’s voice was off-kilter, his hips twitching unwittingly with your lips mere centimeters from the tip of his cock. “I’ll shut up. Just—keep going. Please.”

You saw the needy look in his eye, and a smile crossed your face. You decided to steal from his bag of tricks, lightly pestering, “Gonna be quiet for me?”

You licked your lips before darting your tongue along his head. He groaned, first in annoyance, but it tapered into a fervorous sound, sultry to your ears. You gazed up at him with big eyes, lashes batting, and waited for him to say anything.

The sight of your pretty face, his cock against your pretty, pink tongue, had him muttering, “Fuck me.”

“Maybe later.” You winked and finally started to take him into your mouth. You heard the thud his head gave as it hit the back of the car seat.

With every bob of your head, you swallowed more of him down your throat. It made your mouth water, had saliva dripping down the length of him and over your fist as you worked the base of his cock.

You had your eyes shut and your attention fixed on Eren and nothing but Eren. Everything else might as well have faded to black. Your ears thrummed with the husky sound of his voice, whispering curses each time you wrapped your lips around him and hollowed your cheeks. You only felt his hand on you, fingertips tickling from between your shoulder blades to your tailbone. He palmed over your ass, groping the fat of it, and had you moaning around his cock. He must have felt it, the vibrating hum of your throat, because the blunt of his nails dug into your skin as if your leggings weren’t even there.

You only popped up when you heard laughter. It was distant, but still enough to make your stomach drop.

“No one can see us right?” you asked through scarce breaths. You turned to look out, crooked your head from side to side, searching for any lurking eyes, but you only saw the cars parked in front of you, entirely unchanged.

Eren leered down at you. Your eyes were wet; the corners of them caught what little light there was. Each time you blinked, a tear threatened to break your waterline as though it were a dam. There was spit on your chin, your lips were cock and kiss-swollen and slick, and dear God did he want to take a picture.

He gulped, only mumbling a dazy, “You’re good.”

You decided to trust him. Before he knew it, you had him back in your mouth, right where you had left off. You focused on breathing through your nose to hold back a gag as you took as much of his length as you could. You swallowed and sucked, and each time he nudged the back of your throat, it’d tighten around him and make his stomach clench. And when your nose finally brushed against his pelvis, you felt him shiver, his hand balling the fabric of your shirt in his hand.

This was when Eren would normally talk you through it. Sugar-coated praises sprinkled between all the dirty things he wanted you to do. Gag on it, choke on it, grunting while he fucked your mouth and babbling about you how beautiful you look while taking him, only him. Obscenities you shouldn’t love but did, each one always warming your chest with that fuzzy-duckling feeling, even though you were in the wolf’s clutches. You missed hearing him, but if you gagged now, it would be too loud, and Eren had already promised you he’d shut up.

Honestly, you were impressed he could bite his tongue even this long. This was the most you’d ever seen him hold back; he was more so the give-it-his-all type, lacking any sort of restraint. You wouldn't think he’d ever heard of the word ‘self-control’ before—which was exactly why you never did anything like this in the past. Never fucking when his previous roommate was home or when you’d visit his parents, even if he begged for it. You knew you’d never be able to look them in the eyes afterward.

You were sure he was only quiet now, besides small groans and tight breaths, because the consequence was that his cock would lose the wet heat of your mouth. No, he couldn’t let himself go right now, not entirely, and it probably felt like a cruel trick he played on himself.

But Eren didn’t need to say a single thing for you to know exactly what he was thinking. You could feel it in the way you held his eyes, like you were too captivating to look away. And whenever your hair fell and blocked his view—a view wouldn’t dare go a second without—he’d dotingly pet it away from your face.

And you certainly didn’t need to question it when he breathed, “God, I fucking love you,” with his head thrown back in ecstasy, your name like a shiver surging through him.

Then, the Eren you knew, and loved, returned.

“Fuck, I need you.”

He said it as though he was submitting, like his carnal impulses had finally bested him—as if they already hadn’t from the moment he got handsy with you, kissing your neck.

He pulled you off his cock, and you choked for air in surprise. His hands immediately went for your leggings, removing them, along with your underwear, in one quick tug.

You squealed—for a lot of reasons, actually. The crisp night air against your bare skin. The lack of consideration he had for your whereabouts. You snatched the blanket to shield yourself, your eyes darting every which way to see if anyone noticed.

Eren’s hands were heavy against the grooves of your skin, weighed down with hunger as he repositioned you to his liking. He had you straddling his lap in reverse, like he thought you wanted to watch the movie while he fucked you.

“That way you can keep watch,” You could hear the cheeky grin in his voice, “so you don’t have to be so nervous.”

You half-laughed because it wasn’t much better at all. It only made you feel dirtier for what you were about to do. That wasn’t about to stop you, though. You could feel his cock, hot and glazed in your spit, against your thigh, and you could only think about how much you wanted it inside you.

“What if the car starts to shake?” you asked.

His hands smoothed down your back until he pinched your ass. When you startled, he only chuckled, “Damn, how hard were you planning on going?”

Eren shoved a hand between your legs. He glided his fingers along your slit, relishing the little wiggle you gave in response. By the time the pads of his fingers met your clit, they were slick, rubbing and slipping against you.

“Eren, please. We don’t have time for this,” you said, but it was hardly a warning. Your voice warbled, the end of it getting pitchy with pleasure. You could pretend all you wanted, but you loved it, every drawn-out second of it.

He could imagine the look of anticipation on your face. You were probably gnawing on your bottom lip, your nose scrunching cutely every time he dared to dip inside you, but only because you were hoping it’d be his cock instead of his fingers.

You had the blanket clutched to you, your grip tightening as he continued to toy with you. Shame heatedly prickled down your neck—shame for how utterly shameless you felt about the situation.

Eren grabbed your ass with both hands, spreading you as he debated thrusting inside you then. He wanted nothing more than to give your cheek a resounding slap with an open palm. He opted for his cock instead, slapping the head of it against you a few times.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured, almost as if he didn’t know if he was talking to you or himself.

Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, so hard that you thought it wanted to break free. You were running on nothing but adrenaline, an intoxicating concoction of danger and being unbelievably turned on by said danger.

Eren always enjoyed the reaction he’d pull from you whenever he’d first slide his cock into you; it hadn’t changed since the first time you had sex. A sharp inhale through your nose, your mouth dropping into a tiny ‘O.’ Your eyes would squeeze close only to flutter back open, but he couldn’t see that part now. And if you could manage it, you’d grab onto him wherever you could. Tonight, you dug your nails into his left thigh. He hardly felt it, more transfixed on the way you tightened around the head of his cock.

He waited for your clench to relax before sinking you down onto him, lower. Choppy moans left the both of you right when your ass was smushed against his pelvis, when he was buried inside you fully. And again, only from Eren, when you started to move before he could.

You took him with long strokes, every inch of him dragging in and out of you with his tip nearly kissing your entrance before you’d repeat it, again and again. Your movements were far from smooth, your legs straining, and your breath still caught up in your throat. But once you realized nothing had changed—the movie was still playing, and not so much as a headlight flicked on—you began to bounce on your knees.

It wasn’t long before the sound of sex began to reverberate off the walls and fill the cramped trunk. The salacious smacking of skin on skin, all those little pants spilling from you, ones you couldn’t stifle no matter how tightly you sealed your lips. So long as everyone still had their radios on, there was no way they could hear you. That was what you told yourself, repeating it with every roll of your hips. Even if they could, you couldn’t find it within you to stop now.

Eren splayed a hand against your lower back, slipping it until it flattened against your stomach. He held you upright as you continued taking his cock; it looked less conspicuous that way, if that were even possible.

The new angle stole a gasp from you, your release already building, a rapturous bloom you could feel in every part of your body. Your toes threatening to curl, thighs shaking like you had just run a marathon. Your shirt clung to you, your sweat like a film across your skin. Inside, you were on the verge of bursting into flames, but on the outside, goosebumps scattered your skin, your sweat like ice in the autumn air. It was almost too much. Too much, but so good. The only thing you could do was keep going with your hand sealed over your mouth.

Of course it went to Eren’s head. He loved it, seeing you physically have to restrain yourself from crying out. But there would be time for that later, when you’d really need it while coming on his cock. Right now, he still wanted to hear you, see just how far he could bend you before you broke.

He kept his voice low while he demanded, “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

Your hand remained firmly over your mouth.

Eren wrapped his hand around your elbow and forced your arm to your side. You gave a short ‘ah,’ finally able to get a full breath.

He asked again, “It’s all mine, right?”

“Yours,” you whispered, quiet, but Eren could still make out the whine in it. “Yours. It’s all yours.”

If you could see it, you would have smacked that lopsided smirk right off his face. Thankfully for him, you couldn’t. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to look at you.

“I—shit,” he hissed, interrupted by another rock of your hips. He couldn’t bring himself to stop you, practically hypnotized by every jiggle of your ass, but after a couple of seconds passed, he continued, “Need to see you. C’mere.”

Eren lifted you off him, turning you as you swung your leg around to straddle him. You draped the blanket over your back, pinning one of its corners to your chest.

He guided you back down on his cock with hands on your hipbones, thumbing small circles against you.

When your eyes met, a smile warmed his face. “There’s my girl.”

He caressed your cheek with the back of his hand, with you nuzzling into him like a kitten.

Eren led this time, holding you there for him to fuck into. He was slow at first, taking you with languid thrusts, letting himself readjust to you before he started pounding into you with hips rising off the floor. From there, well, it quickly spiraled into frenzied fucking, a mad dash in which you were both racing towards your releases.

He shoved your shirt over your tits, placed the hem of it in your mouth not only to keep it out of his way but also to stop you from moaning any more than you already were. His large hands massaged over your breasts, cupping and bringing them to his mouth. He buried his face in your chest, kissing and licking over your sensitive skin, lipping over your nipples and flicking them with his tongue. And when his teeth gently grazed over them, you bit down on your shirt to suppress your whines.

Eren released your tits only to see you hopelessly grind against him. He began to thumb over your clit, trying to tip you over the edge. You were close, your head already thrown back with your pussy throbbing around him.

He admired you then. Your bouncing tits, the slight sheen across your stomach. He watched his cock disappear inside of you, in and out, in and out.

“What did I say before? So damn pretty.”

“Close,” you choked. “I’m close.”

Your head flung forward, chin tucked to your chest as your entire body tightened. Eren’s hand found the nape of your neck, bringing you close enough that your foreheads pressed together.

You were staring straight into each other’s eyes as his hand came between you to clamp down on your mouth. “You gonna come for me?”

You nodded frantically, and that was all it took for you to reach your peak. It bubbled in your core until euphoria engulfed you in its flames. It set your nerves on fire, every fiber of every one, sparking in your chest and scorching through your lower back.

Once your balmy breaths against his palm had steadied, your irises glossing over like you were lost in a rose-tinted haze, Eren knew he wouldn’t last much longer. With that in mind, he didn’t feel so bad for losing control of himself. He only needed a minute.

Eren pushed you onto your back, your head landing toward the end of the trunk. He yanked the blanket with him, over him, as he mounted you, plunging into you to the hilt in one snap of his hips. He watched your eyes widen in shock, but the moment he was fucking you again, you went dumb to everything else.

The car had to be rocking now. There was no way it wasn’t.

You didn’t have the time to worry about it before Eren’s hips became reckless—correction: more reckless than they were already.

“I’m gonna come—fuck,” he groaned, drawing out the curse at the end.

His head dropped into the nook of your shoulder as he thrust into you fully one last time, rutting against you as if your bodies weren’t already flush.

When you were sure he’d spent himself, the tilts of his pelvis growing shallower until they settled, you started to sit up on your elbows.

His voice was gravelly as he grunted, “I’m not done,” right against your ear as he kept you there, fucking his come into you.

Borderline overstimulated, Eren couldn’t stop himself. He wanted you to take everything he gave you, and it still wasn’t enough. When he should be softening inside you, he was still hard, thinking about all the ways he’d have you once you were back at home.

He collapsed on top of you, collected himself, then pushed himself up. You followed, tucking the blanket under your armpits even though your entire body was in a sticky swelter. You wiped your forehead as you watched Eren slip his sweatpants back on before tossing his blanket aside.

He looked from the giant screen and back to you. He no longer recognized the movie, so he assumed, “Look, we even have some of the second movie left.”

You gave him those ‘you can’t be serious’ eyes. “You’re joking, right?”

Of course he was. But he held his silence as long as he could before his smile cracked through. Then he reached to close the trunk.

“That desperate for round two?” he taunted.

Eren started to climb between seats, like he wasn’t too big for it, to reach the front. It was better than facing everyone in the immediate vicinity after what he’d done.

He plopped into the driver’s seat and looked back at you. “If you insist.”

thanks for reading ♡

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #divider by @/cafekitsune

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ki-yomii · 7 months

Text

careful | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.2k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dom!jk, sub!reader, dirty talk, mild dom/sub dynamics, orgasm control/edging, slight brat kink, slight brat tamer!jk, pet names, degradation kink, praise kink, mild dacryphilia, finger fucking, sub drop, pussy smacking, wet & messy ➥ summary | you should always be careful what you ask for ➥ notes | what's that - posting a fic that isn't any of my wips/requests? more likely than you think 🥲

i started writing today with the intent to work on my vampire jk fic cuz spooky season. instead, i found myself here... i'm sorry 💀

also i’ve seen enough run episodes to know you don’t want jk’s hands smacking you anywhere 😬

🩷 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🩷

“Look at me, baby.”

The low warning cuts through your muffled whines, Jungkook’s weight pinning you to the wall. Thick fingers grind deep inside your cunt, digging into your g-spot mercilessly.

Pressure builds behind your hips, borderline painful as you shift around in a vain attempt to dislodge him.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, “You know better.”

Whenever Jungkook speaks, his voice scrapes down your spine, low and whiskey rough. His chest is a long line of heat, plastered to your front from stem to stern.

The rapid gallop of his heartbeat echoes your own rabbit-fast rhythm, the scent of his cologne clogging your nose and clouding your thoughts.

He bites out your name, the palm shackling your hands above your head squeezing your wrist. Blunt nails dig into the delicate skin of your pulse point.

A silent prompt you know better than to ignore. And yet, the temptation to do so is almost too much.

Keen awareness roots low in your belly, dripping down between your thighs like candle wax. Your thighs tense with the strain of controlling the involuntary drop of your hips; the urge to rock down into his touch choking the breath from your lungs.

“I…”

The instinct to comply is almost Pavlovian. After all, you’re Jungkook’s good girl, aren’t you? Loved and fucked and trained to his liking.

(But how can you be good when he looks at you like that? It’s just not fair.)

Being good all the time is boring.

No. Your mouth snaps shut, and any response you have turns to ash on your tongue. The words catch on the backs of your teeth like candy. Not this time.

“Why are you being like this, huh?” Jungkook’s brows shoot towards his hairline, his dark head ducking to try and catch your eye. “I know I taught you better.”

How could you ever forget the rules when he’s fucked them into you so thoroughly? Took you apart piece by piece only to stitch you back together in his image - his precious little darling made to take his cock and swallow his cum.

“You really don’t wanna play this game with me right now. Trust me.”

Breath lodging somewhere in the middle of your throat, and tasting suspiciously of regret, you shake your head and dig your heels in. Resist the urge to crumble at his feet, beg for forgiveness with your mouth, your hands.

It’s already too late to back out - it’ll just be worse for you if you do.

Jungkook might hide his less… savory traits better than most, but you’ve experienced his greedy kisses firsthand, felt the tug of his teeth and tasted the salt of his skin. Heard his ragged moans honey sweet in your ear, felt the harsh grind of his body along yours.

When he smiles, it’s wicked, "Last chance. Show me those pretty eyes of yours, baby.”

Anticipation hooks behind your navel, stomach swooping as heat curls up in the valley of your hips. Blood rushes in your ears, starting as a slow thrum that crescendos into a rapid drum. Your heart tattoos itself into your ribs.

Licking your lips, your refusal shudders from you in a throaty rush, “No.”

A low hum fills the following silence, noncommittal. The mounting tension threatens to strangle you, sets your teeth on edge. Sparse hairs at the nape of your neck prickle.

And then, before you have time to consider taking it all back, plush lips ghost over the hollow below your ear. Whisps of dark hair whisper over your skin, soft and ticklish. Shivers race down your spine, spread through your fingers and toes.

“Alright, have it your way,” Jungkook smothers his words in the tender slope of your neck, “but remember: you asked for it. Don’t come crying to me afterward.”

Readjusting, Jungkook’s broad shoulders curve forward and the slackened hand on your wrists renews its grip. The cold tip of his nose traces along your jaw, inhaling the perfume of your silken skin.

An exhale shudders from him in a vulgar husk of breath. When you clench around his fingers still buried inside you, he laughs low and mocking.

“Damn, baby, your pussy’s just sucking me in. You really wanna cum that bad?” Kisses pepper up the side of your face, skirting the side of your mouth. “Heh, yeah, I know you do - such a dirty little slut.”

“Oh!” You sigh, sparks sizzling through your limbs, as Jungkook flexes his fingertips playfully against your swollen g-spot. Your hips tilt into the touch. “Hah…”

“That feel good, huh?”

A low keen escapes when he draws your earlobe into the moist heat of his mouth, his lips clamping down while the sharp points of his canines roll the tender fat. Little kisses of pain burn, brighten the arousal blooming deep within you.

“Yeah, of course it does,” Jungkook breathes, his voice low and husky in your ear as he strokes at your fluttering walls. “Just look at you.”

Unable to swallow the broken gasp of his name when he hits your favourite spot at the right angle, you tremble against his chest from where you’re pinned and squeeze your eyes shut, “J-Jung--!”

Holding up your own weight on weak knees is an endurance sport - one you’re losing as they bow and shake, threaten to give out. At the same time, your arms feel like lead, going numb from having them suspended over your head for so long.

Head light and floaty, your nails bite into the backs of his hands as a sharp spike of pleasure slices through you. “I’m--”

“Gonna cum soon?” Jungkook asks, the devilish grin tugging at the corners of his sculpted mouth more a baring of teeth. “Don’t lie to me.”

At your frantic nod, he tugs his fingers free from the tight clutch of your body with a sloppy squelch. Slick oozes from your cunt in a sticky rush that wets your inner thighs, your gut clenching hard with hollow satisfaction as he rips the ebbing flow of your orgasm away without warning.

“Shit!”

The noise you make at their loss is low and wounded, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. Your body locks up so hard your stomach aches, walls fluttering as a cramp knots up behind your hips.

Your swollen clit throbs with angry sparks of pain that make you whine and wince, orgasm thoroughly ruined.

“W-Why did you…” Voice cracking around a hiccupping sob, you pitch forward into his powerful chest. “Jungkook--”

“You know why.” His reply cuts you off, chilly and brusque, while he stares at you without remorse, “I gave you a chance to change your mind.”

“But I -”

“Stop.”

Sniffling, you peer at him from beneath damp lashes.

Breathless and feral, Jungkook stands before you a vengeful god, robed in shade and shadow. It’s criminally unfair how good he looks; jaw clenched, eyes twin black holes that threaten to pull you in.

Harsh, hooded, hungry as they trace over the tear tracks cutting lines down your cheeks, the quiver of your lips. In moments like this, he’s as beautiful as Belladonna and twice as deadly.

“I don’t know why you’re even trying to sweet talk your way out of this.”

If his glare alone wasn’t enough to curb your tongue, then the shuttered expression carved into the planes of his regal face would.

Displeasure sits heavy on his brow, tucked into the corners of his mouth like an ill-fitting mask. Then his hand is slipping between your shaking thighs once more, the backs of his knuckles dragging over your abused, messy folds.

Jungkook hums when you sigh, jolt at the touch, and says, “Now, shut up and be a good girl for me.”

It’s deliciously painful, like blowing on numb fingertips in winter. Your legs spread wider to accommodate him on instinct alone.

Head rolling back to rest against the wall, the cool stone heaven on your sweaty neck.

And then a strike, viper quick, lands on your exposed pussy. Your reprieve ripped away and smashed at your feet as the wet, sloppy sound of an open palm making contact with tender flesh almost drowns out your wounded cry.

“A-Ah!”

You flinch away from the touch, flickers of pain pulsing through your sensitive clit. Nerve endings burn with sensation. Tiny cavities pepper your field of vision, the world a blurry kaleidoscope of color through pooling tears.

It’s hard to think, harder to breathe through the lingering throb and mounting shock.

Jungkook didn’t hit you too hard (he knows your limits), though he may as well have with how hypersensitive your pussy is. And still, amid prickles of pain, fresh arousal gushes from you to soak the length of his palm.

Cooing, he says your name, his lips cradling the syllables like a precious secret as his hand rubs circles over your mound. “Are you finally going to listen to me?”

Air hisses through your teeth as his fingers dip into your entrance, and it’s all suddenly too much. You drop too far, too fast. Lost and left adrift. Small. Fragile.

Heart lurching in your chest, the bitter ache throbbing in time with your pulse. Reminding you of how empty you are.

Sobs drip from your lips like dew drops, unintelligible words frantic as they break through the great, heaving gasps, “J-Jungkook, I can’t… Please, ‘m sorr- I can’t.”

“Oh, baby. You look so pretty when you’re such a fucking mess.”

Your breath hitches.

It feels like your skin’s too small, stretched tight over your bones until you’re bursting at the seams. The slightest touch will make you shatter to pieces, scattered across the floor like shards of fine china.

Before you spiral too far beyond his reach, Jungkook guides you back, keeping his voice low and gentle in your ear while he shushes your warbling sniffles. Affection softens his smile, his eyes dark with perverse pride.

“Stop crying,” he chides tenderly, circling your clit with a ginger thumb. “You’re fine, promise. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Kisses wick away the last of your tears, sweep over the delicate skin of your undereye.

“You did this to yourself.” Jungkook searches your eyes for confirmation, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. “You know that, don’t you?”

You nod, albeit stiltedly.

There are always consequences when you try to give him a taste of his own medicine - some worse than others. This time, you took things a little too far.

Now your cunt’s going to suffer the consequences of your stubbornness, but maybe if you butter him up beforehand…

The bob of his Adam’s apple captures your attention, your eyes tracing over the slope of his jaw, the tick of muscle as he grits his teeth.

Gnawing on your lip, you weigh your options.

You both know you hoped this would happen when you started acting bratty. Jungkook knows your dirty thoughts and filthy fantasies, how soaked you get from the thought of being pinned down, helpless.

Forced to take everything he gives.

… It isn’t even a question worth asking.

“Didn’t catch that.” Jungkook’s lips twitch with amusement, his fingers biting into the soft fat of your hip. “Come on, you’ve gotta use your words.”

The despair gripping your throat in a vice loosens with his lighthearted tone. Wetting your lips, you take the first step towards sparring yourself a brutal punishment by apologizing.

“I know it’s my fault - and I,” you swallow the flood of saliva pooling under your tongue, “I’m sorry.”

"Mm, apology accepted." Jungkook hums, tracing the seam of your puffy pussy. “I’m so lucky I’ve got such a good fucking girl all to myself.”

Heat sinks into the apples of your cheeks, your thighs clamping closed around his wrist. There’s no denying the needy twitch of your hips at his words. A pleased rumble vibrates through his chest and into yours.

“Yeah, you like when I call you a good girl, baby?”

You whine, your eyes rolling back and your lashes fluttering.

Heat pulses through your belly in rhythmic waves, the residual pleasure from your interrupted orgasm kindling to light with little effort. You’d been so close, your body still desperate for relief. Thoughts slow and syrupy, cunt soaked and sloppy.

“Jungkook, please - lemme cum.” You try to rock down on his fingers only for his hand to restrain your hips. ”Fuck! Promise I’ll be good this time - jus’ need to…”

He tsks, saying, “Shh, you can cum all you want.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank-”

“If,” his smile is knife sharp, his eyes full of mischief, his words honey sweet, “you keep your eyes open and on me the whole time.”

Oh.

Oh no.

You’ll be dumb and drooling, starry-eyed and stupid once he stuffs you full. The burning stretch of his fat cock buried balls deep in your gummy walls while the spongy head slams into your g-spot without mercy, your cunt milking his shaft with every gushing orgasm fucked out of you. His name a holy prayer on your tongue.

There’s no fucking way.

Jungkook knows you barely remember to breathe once he’s on top of you, let alone maintain eye contact. Your inevitable failure will taste all the sweeter when it fizzles, pops, bursts under the bite of his teeth.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“Good luck, baby.”

Panic grips you by the throat, your eyes wide and pleading. “Jungkook-”

“You’re gonna need it.”

Well, shit.

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