Latest Posts by buckys-lover - Page 5

The way that I wanna dom the shit out of Steven Grant…

you are the only one

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions, wears a dress/long hair/jewelry/make-up)

rating: e+

word count: 8,791

one-sentence synopsis: you and adrian have to pretend to be in a relationship for a mission, but you're already in a secret relationship, and this would be a lot fucking easier if adrian didn't look this good in a suit.

author's note: this was just indulgent!! just very self-indulgent!! also i started rewatching peacemaker and i'm unhinged!! i want us to wear fancy clothes and go bonkers on each other!! and he's not even real!! that is all!! sorry i wasn't very active tonight i was determined to finish this and upload it!!!!! and again, for pre-emptive clarity: features reader with gender-neutral pronouns, and gender-neutral sex descriptions, but the reader is wearing a dress, long hair, jewelry, and make-up because that's what i'd want to be wearing and i'm nb and really this is so so soooo self-indulgent so!!

read on ao3!

It’s not often that you actually get to go out on a mission that could be considered fancy, but, tonight, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

The basic rundown of the mission isn’t all that difficult. It’s Emilia’s responsibility to get close to your target, a wealthy older Swiss fellow who apparently needs to be very covertly killed. She’s meant to get close enough to do the job— it was recommended they poison him but, knowing Emilia, she’ll probably end up luring him away to just shoot him in the face or something simpler— while Chris serves as her backup.

They work well enough, especially with Emilia with her hair done and makeup in place and a shockingly stunning gold dress on. She doesn’t like to dress up; you rarely ever see her in clothes that aren’t also tactical and/or practical. The effect, as a result, is a little overwhelming, because she is beautiful and she so rarely shows that off. Chris is meant to be playing the role of her bodyguard, but he keeps just— staring at her. Which, you figure, is fair enough, because she does look incredible, and it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for his character to be infatuated with hers, so nobody says anything.

It’s an open secret that they’re already essentially together, anyways. Not like with you and Adrian, whose relationship is still a secret secret, kept hidden under wraps. You worry often about what would happen if any of the higher-ups found out that you had started a relationship with somebody you weren’t even supposed to be working with in the first place.

They barely let Adrian join the team at all in the first place. You’re not about to go and fuck it all up for him just because you’re in stupid love with him.

Besides, he agrees with you that you should keep your relationship secret. Though, of course, he’s more worried about what he refers to as one of his “many, many, many evil nemeses” getting their hands on you.

“Babe, I’m a superhero,” he had said to you, like he was Superman or Captain America and not the masked instigator of half of Evergreen’s fights. To you, though, he’s a greater superhero than the rest combined, so you’d just nodded, unable to stop smiling. “There are so many people who would want to use you to get to me. Like, so many. I can’t let that happen.”

You both had your reasons, and, right now, those reasons were too important for the two of you to reveal your relationship. To you, it was enough that you were with each other at all. Eventually, you’ll have to do something— You’ve already told each other, “I love you,” eventually this is going to have to go somewhere.

Today, though, is luckily not that day.

However, a big part of you wishes it was, because you think you’re about to actually go insane otherwise.

Because John and Leota had opted to stay behind in your team’s new van and provide behind-the-scenes support, the tech and tactics John’s so good at and Leota wants to be better at, you and Adrian had been the ones assigned to monitor Emilia and Chris while you were all inside the lavish hotel ballroom together. The cover Emilia’s assigned to you is a married couple that’s visiting the city. You’ve been invited to this party— which isn’t really a party like parties you go to, but seems like more of a gala like you’d seen in movies— because a friend of a friend of “yours” is here. It’s all made up, but you’re used to going undercover. You can sell this.

It is the responsibility of you and Adrian to keep an eye on Emilia and Chris all night. Don’t let anyone get too close; keep track of any suspicious figures; make sure nobody gets hurt. Pretty basic. You could do a mission this easy in your sleep; you don’t even think you’re going to have to shoot anybody tonight. By the end of the night, you’re all supposed to go to the hotel rooms you’ve been assigned, sleep there, and regroup in the morning. When you’d asked why you all had to stay, Emilia said it was less suspicious than if someone checked later and saw you were the only guests who had neglected to stay afterwards.

So, really, it’s not that bad. You just have to have your friends’ backs, eat some nice food, and sleep in a fancy hotel room. Really, it’d be nice if all missions were like this.

The major problem here has nothing to do with the target, or the gala, or the mission itself. It has to do with your assignment, with Adrian’s assignment, with your roles together; it has to do with what you’ve been told to do, and what you’ve been dressed in—

—Which, you can’t be too mad about. Your clothes fit you perfectly, shimmering and ornate and just— fancy, much fancier than anything you’ve ever owned before, or even worn before. Even the fabric feels rich, so silkily textured beneath your fingertips. The material had practically slipped out of your fingers when you first lifted it out of the box Emilia had given to you. It was thin, nearly sheer; the material’s so dark blue that it nearly shimmers to black in some places, small drops of brightness beaded throughout. It drapes off your shoulders, hugs your frame tightly down your body. At your waist, the tight bodice of the dress flows into a looser skirt; a slit comes up the side of your right leg to stop shockingly high. The overall effect of the dress, when you put it on, is like stars in the night sky, or moonlight on water— light winking in and out of existence as you move, twisting in the mirror to examine it from all sides.

You’d protested the dress on instinct, telling her that you had no protection while wearing a dress like this, but she informed you that wearing a dress like this was your protection.

“You’re supposed to blend in,” she’d said, and then stepped in to adjust the front, checking the fit. “This is your armor. Now, turn around so I can button it and make sure it fits.”

It had fit you well enough, but Emilia had pinned it in a few places anyways, determined that it fit exactly right. It’s part of your costume, she told you; people as wealthy as you’re pretending to be would be wearing something bespoke, that fit them perfectly, so you have to, too.

The same had happened with Adrian, even if you hadn’t actually gotten to see his clothes yet. He’d been too embarrassed to show you then, even though you reminded him you’d see him in it eventually.

It’s not until you’re actually showing up at the coordinates Emilia gave you that you’ll get to see Adrian fully dressed.

You get there before he does, tragically, showing up in a parking lot you’ve all used as a pre-mission meeting spot before. It’s easy to find Chris, Emilia, Leota, and John already there. With your arrival, you’re all just waiting for Adrian.

When you get out of your car, already ready to go, John playfully whistles at you. You laugh, unable to stop yourself from actually blushing— partially because you’re not all that used to compliments on your appearance, and partially because you’re embarrassed, you never look like this in front of them. It feels strangely revealing, to be dressed so well in front of people who frequently see you at your worst; it’s like you feel like they’ll know it’s all fake, or something.

Chris and Emilia are dressed up, too, though, and they look incredible, and that doesn’t feel fake to you, so— maybe there is something real to their compliments of you. Emilia’s golden dress falls down her body like shimmering water, clinging tightly to each small dip and curve of her body. She has her hair straightened, sleek and shining and elegant; her makeup’s done even more beautifully and dramatic than normal, her eyes, just— stunning. She looks incredible. You’re not surprised seeing that Chris is having a hard time not looking at her. Even you’re having a hard time not looking at her.

For his part, Chris looks handsome, too. Emilia must have dressed him, because he actually looks muted, for once. She’s put him in all black, and he looks the perfect picture of an imposing bodyguard— even if he can’t stop looking at his supposed employer. You feel like you’re practically invisible next to them, even if you spent way longer than you would normally doing your hair and everything to make sure you looked as perfect as you could tonight.

For the mission. Obviously. Not for Adrian.

“You’re going to be taking this,” Emilia tells you, motioning you over to one of the two cars beside your team’s mission van. They’re impossibly nice, sleek and clean and new, a car you’ve never even seen before, let alone driven in. “Chase should probably drive.”

“What, don’t trust me?” you ask, examining the gleaming black exterior.

“No,” she says. “Because that’s not your role. He’s the head of the household, you’re—”

“The demure partner, I know,” you finish for her. “I read your whole bio you made up. You should be a playwright or something, it was pretty good.”

Emilia actually laughs, then says, “Glad you liked it,” and you can’t help smiling. It puts you at ease that she’s in a good mood. She’s relaxed, and you’re relaxing, and—

—And Adrian’s car is pulling up along the other side of the mission van. Your heart is instantly in your throat, the same way it usually ends up whenever you see him while there’s other people around. You always want so badly to go right to him, but you almost never can.

Tonight, the feeling is amplified, multiplied infinitely because of the way he looks. You have never seen him like this, never. Adrian’s usual wardrobe consists of one of only a few different options. He’s either in one of his favorite sweater-jeans combos; his Vigilante armor; shirts and shorts that are legally color atrocities; his work uniforms; or nothing at all, which seems to be his personal favorite when you’re alone at one of your places together.

You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen him in actual formalwear. And this is more than just him wearing nice clothes because he’s trying to take you out to dinner somewhere he has to wear a tie. This is—

This is Adrian rounding his car in a suit. His clothes fit him so perfectly, and they’re so— so fucking nice, beautiful and dark. You can’t look away from him, from the broad spread of his shoulders in the well-fitting suit jacket, over his strong chest beneath the white dress shirt underneath, down his legs that feel impossibly fucking long in these pants, the way they’rethey’re fitted to his legs, tucked up around his body. His satiny-looking shirt is buttoned up to the top, a black bow tie in place at the center of his throat. He’s even combed his hair back, though the way his hair is curling can’t really be held back, already loosening in a couple places.

When you actually manage to focus on his face, he’s adjusting his glasses, a flush melting over his cheeks, spreading red up his ears. You linger over the dimples at the smiling corners of his mouth, the freckle by his eye, the tiny scars along his jaw. He’s cleaned the lenses of his glasses, you notice, and his eyes seem so bright through them.

His eyes don’t meet yours when you look at them, though. They’re below your eye level. They’re looking— right at you, burning over your body everywhere, moving from your throat down over your chest, your waist, your hips, your thighs, down and back up. You can’t stop yourself from blushing, too.

“Jesus, Adrian, put your eyes back in, you’re being a creep,” Chris says, and you snap back into yourself. You’re embarrassed, heart belatedly pounding. You hope nobody thinks too deeply about the way you were just fucking— eye-fucking each other in this parking lot.

“Sorry,” Adrian says. “I really— I wasn’t trying to be a creep, you just look stupid nice. Like, you should dress like that all the time, you look—” He huffs a little nervous laugh, says, “Ah, fuck, I’m being a little bit of a creep. I don’t mean to be. Uhh— This is— What if— Okay, so, this is me being normal and trying to be not creepy: you look really, really nice.”

You can’t help the smile that comes up at that. In the back of your mind, you wonder what Adrian would be saying if there weren’t people here and he could say anything he wanted. You wonder what he’d do, if he could do anything you wanted.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his again, and you make yourself be as normal as you can be, too, when you want to run and just— jump at him.

“You look really nice, too,” you tell him. “And you’re not being creepy, don’t worry. Not everyone has to be so distracted by Emilia that they can’t compliment anyone else.” You have to force yourself to smile at your own joke, to tear your eyes away from Adrian to look at Emilia instead. “Not that I blame him, obviously. You did a great job with all of us, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Emilia replies. “Literally ever.” She tosses the keys to the sleek car you’re standing beside to Adrian. “The location’s already keyed into your car’s GPS. Remember, watch us until eleven, make sure you see my signal, and then go up to your room like you’re sick and going to bed early. There should be pajamas and toiletries— like, toothbrushes and all that shit— provided for you by the hotel, and I’ll have clothes for you to change into in the morning.” She hands you a hotel key in the form of a card, says, “Sorry, you’ll have to share a room tonight to keep up the act, but it’s got a huge bed so just— build a pillow wall so he doesn’t hump you while you’re sleeping.”

“Got it,” you reply, smiling up at Adrian as he draws closer, trying to make it clear to him— without making it obvious to everyone else— that that’s not necessarily unwelcome.

His eyes catch yours, blown mostly black; his movements are stiffer than normal, and you can’t help reaching out to catch him by the shoulders. He stiffens impossibly further, back straightening, shoulders spread. You slip the hotel key card and your phone into the inside pocket of his jacket to hold for you before fixing his lapel for him. Your fingertips reach for his collar next, straightening it out for him. Just to keep touching him, you continue moving to pick at the sleeves of his jacket, loosening them up a bit, giving him a little more movement.

When you reach up to fix the very top edge of his collar, you can feel his pulse rabbiting in his throat, impossibly fast. His skin is warm under your touch, and you exhale with a hint of a shake to your breath. When you glance up at him through your eyelashes, he’s already looking at you. This close up, it’s hard not to drag your palms flat down his chest and yank his hips into yours and just— beg him to do— something, anything, but you make yourself just smile, even as the backs of your knees sweat.

“There you go,” you tell him, taking your hands off him. He exhales, but doesn’t step away, leaving it to you to do it.

You separate, making to head for the passenger side door, but Emilia says, “Wait, hold on,” and you turn back, brow furrowed. She’s fishing through the tiny bag she’s carrying before she holds something out. Adrian reaches out automatically, and she drops whatever it is into his palms. “There’s your wedding rings.”

“Congrats,” Leota laughs. Your pulse jumps, even though it’s fake, even though there’s no way Leota actually knows anything. “Should I have gotten you something?”

“Haha,” Adrian says, out loud. You glance up at him, bewildered. “Yeah, because— it’s fake, so— There’s no real— Anything. That’s super funny, actually.”

There’s a beat of silence before you try to salvage his brief mental lapse, saying quickly, “So, are you going to give me mine, or are we already divorced?”

Adrian’s eyes snap to yours. His fingers briefly curl around the matching rings in his palm before he steps closer to you again, reaching for your right hand. He pauses, reconsiders, then reaches for your left.

“That was my left,” he comments, humor and anxiety lacing his tone. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. He takes your hand in his, slips the ring onto your left ring finger.

For a moment, the two of you just stare at it.

Then, you say, “Okay, let me,” and take his to do the same for him. You slide it on, then turn his hand over, running the pad of your thumb over the band. “This is really nice.”

“And here,” Emilia says, fishing through her bag. She motions to you, says, “Come here.”

You step closer, and she gives you another ring. This one is less of a band, and you realize it’s meant to be an engagement ring.

“Almost forgot,” Emilia says, and you want to just— lay down and breathe, for a second, but you have to make yourself be normal.

You slip it on, avoiding looking at Adrian again as you do so, while Emilia busies herself fixing a heavy jeweled necklace around your throat. You shift it where it sits, readjusting the weight against your chest; Emilia moves to your ears next, slipping earrings in that probably cost more than your own fucking car. You should definitely be getting paid more than you are.

“There,” Emilia finally says. She sweeps your hair up and back. “Alright, perfect. You actually do look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you reply, “though I could do without the surprise,” and she laughs again.

“We ready to go?” John asks, hauling open the back door of the van so Leota can climb in.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Emilia says. She pushes her keys into Chris’ hand, says, “You’re driving me,” before she turns to you and— you think— fucking— winks at you.

You’re not sure you saw it, before you have to move and get into the car. You’re pretty sure you didn’t, actually, but— it would be funny if you did.

You climb into the passenger’s side of the sleek vehicle, slipping down into the low seat, the material of it soft and warm beneath you. When you’re sitting inside, you tug the door shut and turn only to find Adrian already beside you.

“When we get there,” Adrian says, “You should let me get out and get the door for you. It’s— It’s probably what Jack would do.”

Your characters for the night are Jack and Morgan Curtis, a newly-married couple; you are just supposed to be a trophy partner, whereas Adrian’s character is meant to be some wealthy media investor. His bio also said he was very shy, and prefers to spend time alone with only his partner— which you assume is Emilia’s way of trying to avoid letting Adrian talk too much and allowing something to slip by accident.

“Okay,” you agree. Adrian draws his driver’s side door closed behind him, then exhales.

Looking down at the wheel, he says, “I’m not gonna crash this. Right?”

“Right,” you agree. He takes another breath before actually moving to start the car. When the engine snarls, pushing a light little vibration through the car, you can’t help leaning back a bit, getting comfortable in your seat.

Adrian glances over at you, then forcibly looks away, eyes snapping violently forward.

“P— Do you think they can hear me?” Adrian asks abruptly, voice dropping down.

You glance backwards, then towards him again, shaking your head.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now,” Adrian tells you in a rush, his head still down. He’s staring hard at the car’s little screen; you can see his pulse throbbing in his throat, his face pinking again. “Oh, my God, I’m so fucking hard right now, I’m going to go insane, I don’t know how the fuck I’m gonna do this without cumming in my pants.” You huff a tiny laugh, heat throbbing between your own legs. “No, I mean it, I’m serious, I’m so fucking— See, here, feel— No, wait, don’t—”

“Adrian, goddamnit,” you laugh, a little breathless. “We still have three hours until eleven o’clock. Fuck, we still have to get there.”

“Good fucking luck with that,” Adrian replies. “Can I even drive like this? Wait, hold on—” He reaches down, readjusts his dick in his suit pants. You look down, then back up quickly. He wasn’t lying; he’s very hard, and it’s impossibly obvious, when he’s grabbing it in his own hand. “Okay, f— fuck, there.”

You close your eyes for a moment, then look out the window, just trying to breathe. You hear Adrian take another deep breath himself before he’s buckling himself in and moving to start driving.

“Buckle up,” Adrian tells you. “It’s the law.”

You smile to yourself again as you do as he says. “Would you kill me if I didn’t?”

He considers your question for a moment before replying, “No. But that’s not an invitation to break the law, just because I have a soft spot for you, alright? Because people are gonna figure me out if that happens.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you reply, still smiling. He nods, eyes fixed ahead on the road.

The air in the car is— impossibly warm, and thick, and charged. At least, to you, it is— and you think it is to Adrian, too, because his muscles are all still stiff as he drives. He’s keeping all of his focus on the road, which, for Adrian, means his mind is definitely somewhere else, because he can’t really ever do just one thing at a time.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore, and you tell him, “I think you look— insanely good tonight. And it makes me feel kind of crazy that nobody knows about us because part of me wants to just— kiss you so fucking hard—” You bite your words back, say, “I’m sorry, that’s not helping—”

“No,” Adrian replies, a little strangled. You don’t know if that’s a, ‘No, it’s not helping,’ or a, ‘No, please, keep going,’ so you risk leaning over the center console between you a bit. There are low blue lights in the car, casting his handsome face in sharp shadows, defined by the angles of his jaw, his cheekbones, his nose, his brow. He glances at you, eyelashes casting a shadow down his cheek.

You can’t really resist him, especially not now that you’re alone. You chance another shift, leaning up to gently press your lips to his lower cheek, close to the line of his jaw.

Adrian’s grip tightens on the steering wheel until his knuckles are white, and he says, “We have a mission, we have a mission, we have a mission,” over and over on a loop, like he’s trying to remind himself of that fact.

You pull away from him, making yourself let him go. You practically have to push yourself against the passenger’s side door in the car, near the comparatively-cold glass of the window, just to cool yourself down. When you turn back to Adrian, you see him glancing down at the GPS screen, then starting to make a turn. He flicks on his fucking directional, then executes a madman’s turn, winging around the corner.

You reach over, letting your fingertips rest just inside his elbow. The fabric is silky-soft beneath your touch, and you glide upwards until your fingers are gliding over his on the wheel.

Adrian takes that one hand off the wheel so he can turn it over in yours. After a beat, he glances down, then draws the back of your hand up to his mouth. He presses his lips to the fine bones in the back of it. After a beat, the kiss pushes a little firmer. The throb of heat between your legs is pretty much impossible to ignore.

Adrian separates you, then, letting your fingers thread with his as he draws your hand away from his mouth. Tangled up, your hands rest between the two of you. You stroke your thumb over the strong back of his hand.

“I wish I could give you road head,” you comment, and Adrian accidentally flicks on the turn signal again. Face pink, he turns it back off, eyes fixed ahead.

“We’re going to be there in two minutes,” Adrian tells you.

“I think I could still get it done,” you reply,

Adrian makes a strangled noise. “Please, I think I’ll die, and we’ll crash, and then you’ll die, but—” You let your fingers drift up the soft skin inside his wrist for a moment. “—But, you know, I’m actually a pretty good driver, and you’re pretty good at sucking dick, so maybe we c—”

“You have reached your destination,” the tiny, robotic voice of the GPS says, and Adrian bangs his fist on the wheel.

“Motherfucker,” he curses. “You fucking— cockblock GPS, you’re a bag of fucking dicks—”

A valet waves Adrian up, and he instantly changes his entire demeanor, beaming at the guy. He rolls his window down, says, “What’s up?”

The valet hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to say something. He chances it, though, and says, “You have to— step out of the vehicle, sir.”

Adrian blinks up at him, then says, “Oh, d— Yeah, right. Yes, of course.” And then actually parks the thing to get out. He practically sprints around the car to get to your side before you can get your hand on the handle, jerking it open for you.

He holds out his hand to you, and you take it. You are, actually, grateful for his help standing; you wobble for a second, climbing out of the low car, but he steadies you, keeping his hand in yours, reaching to balance you by the shoulder. When he offers you his arm instinctively, you take it, looping your own through his.

“I wish I had more guns,” Adrian whispers to you as he helps you up the hotel stairs. The entire place seems old as shit, like it’s from a hundred years ago, all huge cream columns and beautiful statues and rich, lush carpeting. There are incredibly strange and intriguing paintings on the walls that you examine as Adrian scopes out the other guests. He’s doing what he always does, you know that: automatically looking for every way he could kill everyone in your immediate vicinity.

“I have a knife strapped to my thigh,” you tell him, voice low. He glances down at you in a snap, then looks up again, eyes scanning the lavish hotel lobby.

After a beat, he says, “Oh, shit. We’re supposed to be married.”

You’re about to ask what he means by that phrasing, exactly, but then he’s ducking down to press a kiss to your cheek. It doesn’t have any finesse, just a quick, smushing press, his glasses digging into your temple before he withdraws.

That’s when you get what he means. The two of you can be as close as you want tonight. Everything you usually suppress— every kiss you want to give him, every touch, everything— can come up and out tonight, spilling right out of you. You’re allowed to do any of it, all of it. The others will just see it as you being good at your job, if you do.

You turn to look up at him, reaching to touch the side of his face. He looks briefly startled, for a moment, before his eyebrows lift and he’s smiling. You guide him down into a soft kiss— your first like this— and your heart leaps up into your throat. You’re glad that it would be too obvious for you to have an earpiece; only Chris has one tonight. If Leota or John needs to tell you anything, Chris will have to pass you the message. That means you can’t hear them— and they can’t hear you.

You shift into him slightly. When you twist up, you can see the light of the chandelier above your heads reflecting over his face, in his bright eyes. You hadn’t even noticed it before; you’ve been too distracted by Adrian.

It says a lot, you think, that this is one of the nicest places you’ve ever been invited to go to, let alone been, and you’re too focused on Adrian to notice any of the finer details. Instead, you’re just captivated by him as you lean up into him, reaching up to thread your hand through his soft curls, feeling the light product he’s combed through it under your fingers.

“That’s true,” you reply, heart racing. You lean in closer, adding, “Husband,” and his cheeks flush pink. You drag your touch along his face, your thumb pressing into the freckle beside his eye.

All his breath punches out of his lungs, and he says, “Oh, my God, I think you found a new kink for me. I kind of want to be married to you so fucking hard— Oh, shit, should we get each other pregnant?”

“Adrian,” you whisper softly.

Adrian makes a soft whining noise, then hisses to you quickly, “No, my name is Jack, remember?”

You kiss the line of his jaw before releasing him. He doesn’t let you go far, reaching down to snag you around the waist. He’s a little too jerky to be subtle, but that’s okay, if he’s supposed to be shy and newly married. You think he’s giving off the honeymoon phase vibe pretty well.

“Well, Jack,” you reply. “You have three hours to keep it together before we can go up to our room. Do you think you can handle it?”

Adrian shakes his head automatically. “But I’ll try,” he tells you, impossibly earnest.

You huff another laugh, not sure of your own abilities, either. You push up into him one last time, drawing him into a proper kiss. He smiles, briefly, before you deepen the kiss, parting your lips so he gets the hint.

His hands reach up, threading into the intricate weave of your hair as he draws in closer to you, licking into your mouth for a moment. You feel the fleeting press of his hard cock against your thigh before he’s withdrawing again, chest heaving, practically yanked backwards.

Actually yanked backwards, you realize, as Chris and Emilia pass you by, and Chris subtly grabs Adrian by the back of the jacket and jerks him away from you.

“Keep it subtle, dude, you’re gonna freak ‘em out,” Chris hisses to him on the way past. You don’t think you’re supposed to hear that; judging by the way Adrian’s eyes dart to yours, you think you definitely weren’t supposed to. You wonder how long Chris has been trying to set the two of you up, not knowing you’re already together.

“Okay,” Adrian breathes. He shakes himself out as Chris and Emilia leave, passing you by to continue onward into the ballroom. Exhaling, tilting his head so his neck cracks to one side, then the other, Adrian attempts to refocus on the mission. He starts guiding you to follow after Chris and Emilia into the ballroom, saying, “Alright. Let’s do this. We can do this, I can do this. I’m a professional. I am not going to cum in my pants—” as you laugh at him, hoping desperately he’s right— about the both of you, honestly.

— — — — —

There’s only about half an hour left to go, and you very deeply, sincerely, genuinely don’t think you and Adrian are going to make it.

The entire night, the two of you have only been getting— closer, and closer, and closer to the edge. It’s by the grace of some fucking god you don’t even believe in that the two of you make it through the dinner part of the evening without anything illegal happening in public. His hand does push your skirt up to trace along the bare inside of your thigh more than a few times, but you keep enough strength of will to keep pushing him away.

You’re weakening more every moment, though. As the night wears on, the two of you really start losing your handle on yourselves. You can’t keep your hands off each other. The fact that you’re not only allowed to be doing this with each other, but encouraged to, is making the both of you a little bit unhinged.

You’d had drinks next before music had started and you’d been encouraged to dance. The night was coming to a close, and Emilia was drawing nearer to your target. You and Adrian are both half-keeping an eye on her and Chris, half-focused on each other.

Adrian had held his hand out to you, and said, keeping his voice low, “I don’t really know how to dance, but I’m willing to try,” and you just couldn’t resist that.

You’d taken his hand, and Adrian had drawn you close, and then it didn’t matter if he didn’t know how to dance. Just being close was enough, and the music had gotten slow, and you just— how the fuck could you say no to something like this? You’re usually not allowed to touch him in front of your friends, and now you’re basically being told to dry-hump him in a ballroom, for your job. It feels like a dream come fucking true.

Adrian lifts his eyes, watching Emilia as she finally gets close enough to the mission target to strike up a conversation with him. Adrian spins you, just slightly, so you can both watch subtly, sideways.

You both see as Emilia drops something in his drink without anybody looking, Chris’ bulk covering the only camera with eyes on her from the angle they scouted previously. You’re experts, you’re good at this.

Emilia turns to you then and inclines her head, then signals to you with a glancing motion along her hip. You nod your head in return, returning your attention upwards to Adrian.

“All set,” you inform him, voice low.

“Mission accomplished,” Adrian says, throat tight.

“Well,” you reply. “First mission accomplished.”

Adrian’s eyes are dark, his face flushing as you slip a little closer to him. One of his hands drifts down, slipping just beneath the slit cutting up your dress, gliding up your thigh to find your hip beneath the material.

The juxtaposition of the Adrian you usually know and this Adrian is just— incredible. You love everything about him, and seeing him dressed up like this is so— so— so. He’s such a fun guy, and goofy, and he’s an excellent murderer, but so rarely do you see him dressed up. It’s impossible how handsome he is; you feel a little wild, knowing that anyone else can see him right now. You want him all to yourself.

With the way he’s looking at you, so hungry as to seem fucking starving, you think he might just be feeling the same way about you. The edge of that thought has your skin prickling in the darkness of the ballroom, beat pounding through you. Your skin is prickling with heat.

“Sorry I’m not so good at dancing,” Adrian says. “I’m good at, like, other kinds of dancing, though. If you ever wanted to go out. I could definitely take you. Or I could learn— Aah,” he bites off near your ear when you slip your arms up behind his head., winding to tangle your wrists at the nape of his neck. “Oh, fuck—”

“I think you’re pretty good at it,” you murmur upwards to him. You take his hips in your hands, helping him move along to the rhythm with you.

You can feel Adrian’s heart galloping where he’s pressed against you. Yours is paced to match, thundering in your chest, up into your throat. Every shift of his body against yours with the music has your blood pulsing madly through your body, surging down to your core, beating between your legs. You can barely breathe when he drops his head down, cheek dragging along yours. You don’t care if it does anything to your makeup; it’s about to very severely not matter anyways.

“Oh, shit, I’m going to lose it,” Adrian murmurs near your ear. “Please, please, please, are we done? I promise we can go dancing some other time, but, fuck, I’ve spent, like, three hours just getting harder and harder and I think I’m going to fucking die—”

“Okay, yeah,” you breathe. “We can be done, I can— I can— What am I doing?”

“Playing sick,” Adrian says, dropping into your throat. “Pretend you’re about to shit yourself or something so we can get out of here.”

You huff a laugh, then draw away from him. You drag your hands down, over your own stomach, then lean into him. If anyone were watching, they’d see you weakening, leaning into him. They probably don’t know why your face is flushed all red and your knees are nonexistent, so you use it to your advantage.

“Oh, no,” Adrian says loudly, in the affected little voice he’s adopted for this character. “You don’t look good, darling,” and the endearment rolls off his tongue so well that a bolt of lightning crackles down your spine. “I think you should lay down, you look awful.”

He drops down and scoops you up into his arms. Apparently, it doesn’t matter to him that people don’t just— do that, scoop their spouses up off of the floor in ballrooms when they’re wearing fucking gowns, and there’s something about that that’s even more endearing than you thought possible. And— fucking hotter than you ever thought possible.

“Let me take you to our room,” Adrian begs you. It’s not so much an instruction as it is a plea. Hopefully, nobody’s actually paying enough attention to notice the exact cadence of his tone. “Make you all— all better.”

You have to fight back a laugh. Instead, you turn your face into his chest. If he’s going to carry you, you’re going to play up needing to be carried, weak in his arms. You know you’re not supposed to want to feel weak— and you’re not, and you don’t, but— but there’s something really comforting about letting him take care of you, and something erotic about how badly he wants to do it, and you’re just— overwhelmed by how much you love him.

You’re also overwhelmed by how badly you want him to fuck you, but you’re so close now, you just have to— focus on getting there.

Adrian carries you to the elevators, pressing the up button with his elbow. He’s watching the numbers ticking above the doors, for a moment, before he glances down at you. When his eyes meet yours, you can see intent blazing there, hard, dark determination.

He exhales shakily, and looks up again. Staring straight ahead, he says, “I want to totally just— obliterate you. You make me feel crazy. Like I was born to climb inside you.”

You clutch at his suit jacket with your fingers. He gathers the skirt of your dress up so he doesn’t trip on it as he carries you into the elevator, your hands slipping the top buttons of his shirt free. You glide your palm along his heated skin beneath, seeking his chest, and he exhales in a punch.

“Please, we’re so close,” Adrian says. “Don’t make me cum in my pants here, I really think I’m gonna make it—”

As the elevator doors are dinging shut, you draw Adrian into a searing kiss. Away from eyes that are supposed to think you’re sick, you let Adrian dive into your mouth. He licks behind your teeth, pushing over to the wall of the elevator so he can use the railing there to balance your body. He kisses you so hard his teeth drag along the seam of your lips when he draws back; he makes a sharp little sound, strong muscles moving in his broad arms beneath you as he tries to keep his grip while losing his control.

The elevator dings again, the doors starting to open. Adrian nearly staggers before he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, and then he’s hauling you down the hallway.

“Get the key card,” he tells you, and you reach inside his jacket to pull it out, as told. “What’s the—”

“1018,” you read the room number off the card. He’s reading the signs on the wall, then taking off. After a beat, he turns, realizing he’s supposed to be going in the opposite direction. He’s moving faster than you think you’ve ever seen him move, and you reach up, dragging his head down a bit so you can suck a kiss into the column of his throat.

Adrian groans, guttural and primal, as he finds the door and nearly slams into it. You reach to push the card into the slot in the door, and then Adrian’s kicking it in, the two of you fumbling with and at each other desperately, spilling through the doorway into the room.

You barely have time to notice anything about the room. Later, you’ll get to spend the rest of the night alternatively fucking each other in the suite’s enormous bathtub, and in the shower, and over the balcony edge, and on the long sofa in the little sitting area, but right now, Adrian doesn’t even stop to look at any of that. He heads right for the huge bed in the center of the suite’s bedroom, not hesitating, single-minded in his quest.

You have to agree with his methods, because you’re pretty much out of your mind yourself, by now. The bed is enormous, taking up most of the space in the bedroom, lavish, heavy curtains hung around the entire thing. He kicks open the curtain at the foot of the bed in dragging jerks before he’s throwing you down on the mattress.

The covers are so impossibly soft beneath you, just like the sheer, silken material of your dress, and the satiny glide of Adrian’s suit over your bare, hot skin. He shoves you up until your head is on plush pillows, dragging himself down between your legs.

“Fuck,” he groans, already pushing your dress up. He gathers the sheer material in his strong hands, trying his best not to rip it as he noses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He finds the knife holster you told him about; smiling, he murmurs, “Gotcha, you little fucker,” before biting the clasp apart with his teeth.

The holster comes off, and he lifts it in his hand. Sitting up, he evaluates you, then removes the knife from the sheath.

He drops down over you, bringing the knife up to the hollow beneath your throat so he can drag the blade down. You keep it as sharp as you can, and so it easily parts the material of your dress, splitting it apart, exposing you like he’s unwrapping you, all your skin on display underneath. Your heart throbs beneath the glint of your blade in his hands. You’d opted to wear nothing underneath to avoid lines in your form-fitting clothes, and Adrian moans when he realizes, dropping down to bury his face in your belly.

“Holy fuck, oh, fuck,” Adrian curses into your skin. He drags down between your legs, his hand coming up to push your thigh slightly further apart. His eyes coast over your center, starving. “Please, can I—”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and he drops down over you, hungry, desperate to get his mouth on you. His tongue is— fucking insane, because all that talking he does is not for nothing. He knows how to use his mouth, his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He’s devouring you like he’s dying without you, like this is the only thing he actually wanted in his mouth tonight.

Adrian’s hand glides up over the fabric of your dress, dragging up roughly to your chest so he can thumb your nipple. You cry out, back arching; tilting your head down so you can see Adrian, you almost sob.

He’s still fully dressed in that fancy fucking suit, but he’s humping the mattress beneath him like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. The unconscious movement just keeps— happening, his hips moving as his mouth works on you, lower lip dragging, and then his hand is dragging in closer, and you reach down to thread your hand through his thick hair. You can’t stop watching his dark head moving between your legs, and you can’t help it— You need to kiss him, now.

Watching him enjoy putting his mouth on you like this so much that he can’t fucking control himself, grinding down for friction because of how he feels giving you pleasure, you think you’re about to fucking pass out. You tug on his hair, and he lifts his eyes to you. Seeing the green shine of them meet you sends a jolt through you, and you say, “Pl— Adrian, please,” practically begging.

Adrian seems to get what you’re saying without you even saying it. He draws away from you so he can climb up between your legs, dropping down to brace himself on the bed beside you. He threads his fingers up through your hair, guiding you into a hard kiss; you can taste yourself in his mouth.

He makes a soft noise, then a harder one, reaching to push your dress further away so he can touch you anywhere, everywhere. His touch is practically tearing you apart; he is rending your dress in strips, destroyed where it lays in a pile along the edges of the bed. You hope Emilia won’t care, but you can’t bring yourself to care, right now. All you want is him.

Adrian guides himself to where he’s just had his mouth on you, where he’s just eaten you apart, sloppy and loose and wet. He almost seems to forget that he’s fully dressed himself.

“Fuck,” he curses, pushing back up onto his knees. He tears his jacket backwards off his arms, throwing it blindly backwards. His dress shirt joins it, bow tie practically ripped apart, buttons being torn off to fly and land in all random places across the hotel room. He practically breaks his pants opening them, but then, then he’s drawing his cock into his hand, melting with the relief of it. He groans, spine relaxing, wrapping his hand around it. “Oh, fuck, I’ve wanted this so fucking bad, oh, shit— I’m not gonna last—”

“I don’t need you to, just— Get in me,” you beg him, feeling so impossibly empty.

He doesn’t waste any more time. The mission was a success, and nothing else matters but the two of you, and you’ve been on the edge all night, and he’s finally, finally bringing his cock to your entrance and pushing in.

You swear, you fall apart around him. All your muscles start falling apart, and Adrian gathers you up in his arms, drawing you nearer. He fucks into you in a smooth slide.

Your name falls out of his mouth, and he falls over you, hand slamming down onto the soft sheets beside your head. His eyes find yours, and then he’s kissing you, finding a slamming rhythm with his thrusts into you. You grind up into him, grasping for him, grappling to get more friction. Mumbling his name into his mouth, you thread your fingers up through his hair, breath coming fast, faster. Heat and lust is gathering in your spine, pooling like lava, spreading like fire, and it’s all-consuming. It’s been building for so long that just feeling it is overwhelming.

When you look up at him above you again— at the strong lines of his face, at the dark sweep of his eyelashes above his light, bright eyes, at the shine of his this glasses still on his face so he can see you when he looks up at you, at the pink flush spreading across his handsome, sharp cheeks, over the freckle beside his eye, until you chase it up into his dark, sweat-slick hair— you’re falling apart. This is Adrian, the person you love more than anyone, and you just can’t fucking deal. He’s all you can think about, all you can feel, right now.

His hand comes up, dragging up your side, and you can feel the press of his wedding ring where it pulls along your skin. You’d forgotten about them, and it doesn’t matter if they’re fake; seeing it on your hand, feeling it on his, has you almost about to cum, just so close to the edge—

“Fuck, I love you,” Adrian says, like he knows. He drags you in for another kiss, says, “Oh, my God, you’re like— the hottest person ever, oh, God, I want to— I want to lock us in a room together until we die there, I just— I want— I want you forever, holy shit—”

The nonsense ramblings of his brain spill out of his mouth as he gets closer and closer to losing it. He’s falling apart, unable to keep his rhythm as his kisses along your throat grow sloppy, his grinds into your slick heat dragging and pulsing. He takes all of you, slams into you as fast as he can. He even pulls your leg up, hitches it so he can fuck deeper into you, and you drag him into another kiss.

It’s then that you tell him, “You have me forever,” and he cries out, kissing you with a loose jaw, unable to coordinate himself. He’s making out with you like he can’t breathe without you, his cock impossibly hard and thick inside you, taking you to pieces. “I’m yours, c’mon, Adrian, fuck—”

He yanks you back in for a half-biting kiss, your name falling off his lips in half-syllables down your throat as he cums inside you. He breaks off into gasping for breath, just trying to keep his mouth on you as he fucks you through his orgasm, unable to stop moving. It’s enough to drag your orgasm out of you, too; an explosion that sparks inside you, rocketing to blow a haze through your limbs and your mind until all there is is him.

As you come back into yourself, all you want is him, so you open your eyes to find him. He’s still keeping himself half-upright above you—

You realize it’s so he can look at you, his bright eyes fixed on you. He’s smiling, and you can’t help smiling back, automatic when you see him so happy.

“What is it?” you ask him.

“I kinda love you,” he tells you. It’s something you’ve said quite a few times to each other, now, but it still makes your stomach twist, your aftershocks rattling pleasantly through you. “I kinda wanna really marry you or something. Maybe we should— Maybe we should think about doing, like— relationship paperwork or something. Right? Like, something dumb like that, maybe? That says I’m yours and you’re— You’re mine, maybe—”

“Is that what you want?” you reply lazily, catching him. His red face goes even redder, caught, and you drag him in for a smiling kiss. He shifts slightly inside you; you both make soft sounds in response, broken off into each other. When you gather yourself, you ask, “You want me to say I’m yours? That I’m only yours, that—”

“Please,” he begs you, “give me, like— five minutes, babe, okay? I’ll get so hard, but right now— Oh, fuck, you have to stop looking so hot, you’re gonna make my dick explode—”

“Jesus fuck,” you laugh, and tug him into another kiss. He whines, dragging his hands along your sides, gripping you as tight as he can.

“Okay, two minutes, then,” he amends. Your next laugh disappears down his throat, and he’s already dragging you off the bed, intent on the bathtub he knows he saw on the way in here.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@deputyrook @bb-skyrunner @himboelover @pieriinova @gcldtom @violetrainbow412-blog @amysuemc @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @qjuiq-odakyu @xothatnerdykid @awkwardfangirl2014 @thevalkyrior @mattsmanpain

FERAL. INSANE. LOSING MY MIND. THIS WAS EVERYTHING ‼️

under my hands

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, afab sex descriptions (vaginal/breasts))

rating: e+

word count: 4,334

one-sentence synopsis: from the moment you let a little secret slip in the bar, you're driving adrian out of his mind.

author's note: i got a bunch of very feral requests that made me so unhinged i combined them into one and then went completely bonkers so ENJOY!!!!!!!

read on ao3!

“I do, too,” Chris argues at the top of his voice, slamming his glass down on the bar tabletop. “What, you don’t fucking believe me?”

“No,” John replies. “I genuinely, honestly don’t.” He seems almost delighted that Chris’ face is going red with anger, even as he’s getting agitated himself. “You seem to forget that I, like, watched you in the hospital. I studied you. For a while. It was my job to know you. I know you don’t have any.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Chris says. He shoves away from the table, pushing up to his feet with such force that every glass and pitcher on the table rattles, making everyone shout and reach out with steadying hands.

“What are you doing?” Emilia asks, suspicion heavy on every word she speaks.

“I’m showing you my fucking tattoo,” Chris says, and starts unbuckling his belt.

“Whoa!” John shouts, as Leota calls, “Hell no, Chris!” across the table.

“What?” Chris demands. “You don’t fucking believe me, then I’ll show you—”

“You can’t pull your goddamn pants down in here right now,” Emilia hisses at him, like he somehow needs to be told that.

“Wait, dude, hold up,” Adrian says. “I think I have a pic on my phone.”

“Why?” you ask, and Adrian, already scrolling through his phone gallery, glances over at you.

“Because I took a picture,” he replies, returning his attention to his phone.

“You know,” Emilia adds, “I actually have a tattoo.”

“What?” John scoffs. “You do not.”

“You do?” Chris asks. If Emilia was trying to distract him, it’s working, because he’s reaching back between his legs to haul his chair in again, retaking his seat, leaning halfway across the table towards her. “Where?”

“Somewhere I am not going to show you right now,” Emilia replies.

There’s a beat.

“But maybe later?” Chris asks, and Emilia gives him a look that could have killed him if she had been slightly better trained.

“I have a tattoo,” you add.

Adrian’s head snaps up. “What?”

You thought that might get his attention back on you. His eyes burn through yours before they start skimming over your face, then downwards, coasting over your collarbones. He goes further before snapping back up to meet your eyes again.

“Where?” he demands, before insisting, “No, you don’t,” then asking, “Where?” again.

“Jesus, put your eyes back in your fucking head,” John admonishes him.

“You didn’t see it?” you ask him. It’s only a small tattoo, a tiny design you let your friend do on your hip. You’re not surprised he didn’t notice it, since you’ve only been together a handful of times and your hip is usually either covered by something— his mouth, or his hand, or his leg, or his own hip— in those times.

“No,” Adrian exclaims. “Where is—”

“God, please, not here,” Leota insists.

“Tell me,” Adrian insists immediately. “Tell me. You have to tell me. Where is it? I’ll—”

“We should probably start heading out soon,” John suggests, keeping the coolest head as designated driver and still managing to look halfway certain Adrian’s about to get them kicked out. He jumps to collect cash from everyone for their shared tab.

The entire time, Adrian’s eyes and heated gaze are fixed on you. Only briefly will they flit away before returning back. You’re finding yourself glad John’s the designated driver, because you’re sure Adrian would crash the car— or make you crash the car— if one of you were the ones driving back to the motel.

It’s only when you’re all actually back out at the cars you rented for this mission that you realize you can only ride in one together if there’s only one designated driver.

“Fuck,” John says, staring at the car. He sighs, then steps around the car to examine it from another angle. He sighs again. “Okay, well. Anyone willing to walk?”

“No,” Emilia immediately stops anyone from volunteering. “We can fit. We’ll just— We’ll share.”

“Sorry, we’ll share?” Chris asks.

Adrian turns to you. You can see the intention in his eyes in the moment before he speaks, leaping on the suggestion with, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll just— Harcourt, you sit with Chris, and— (Y/N) can sit with me.”

“Gross,” John comments. “No way.”

“I can sit with Chris instead, I guess,” you say. Adrian’s eyes snap to yours, blazing with a sudden snap of surprised anger.

“No,” Emilia responds first, too quickly, before Adrian even can. “I’m okay sitting with Chris, that’s fine.”

“If you’re sure,” you say, smiling at Adrian. His eyes are fixed on yours before they skate down again, still seeking. If only he knew what else is under here.

“Only if you promise not to do anything fucked up,” Leota warns all four of you. “I mean it, sickos.”

“Cross my heart,” you reply.

“Isn’t this illegal?” John asks Adrian, who waves him off.

“That’s not applicable here,” he tells him, already climbing into the car.

There’s barely enough room for you all, even with your stacking arrangement. In order to fit everyone in the tiny vehicle, John and Leota take the front seat— little more than a bench in front of the steering wheel— while Chris and Adrian are side-by-side in the back. They’re so broad that the spread of their shoulders practically stretches window to window. Chris, especially, is so huge that Emilia probably has the most space to sit just for sitting on him.

You don’t have a lot of attention to pay to Chris and Emilia, though. They’re focused on themselves— and John on the road, and Leota on her phone— so you can dedicate yourself to being as covertly gross as you want to be.

From the moment you climbed into Adrian’s lap, he was completely full-body tense. One of his hands holds your hip, keeping you in place, unknowingly stroking his thumb in tiny sweeps just over the small marks of your tattoo. His other hand is held over your thigh, fingertips stretched to the inside.

Underneath you, in the little rattling rental car, you can feel the initially half-hard line of his cock. He’s pressing up into your entrance through your clothes and his. Every time the car shifts even a little bit, the two of you even slightly jostled, you can feel him getting harder and harder. The thick line of it only gets more solid beneath you, his grip tightening with each passing second.

You can feel yourself getting more and more soaked in response. You clench our thighs together in his lap, desperate for any kind of friction you can get, but it’s not enough.

When John hits a pothole, Adrian accidentally shoves up into you, a quick there-and-gone grind that has you biting back a soft noise in the back of your throat. Adrian’s hands tighten so hard you can feel the indents of the bruises they leave.

You twist slightly, your eyes flying up to meet Adrian’s. He looks up at you from the other side of his glasses, a burning green fire that surges into your mouth and down your spine without a word being spoken.

Beside you, Chris makes a slightly-too-loud grunt of a noise, and Leota calls from the front seat, “That better not be what I think it was.”

“We’re here, anyway,” John says. You’re wedged against Adrian’s front still, arms tucked together, the hard, hot line of his cock striking just against your center, sending a jolt through you as the car comes to a stop. The heat of the car feels impossibly heated. You almost wish the ride wasn’t so short.

When you climb off of Adrian’s lap, all you can feel is how wet you are, how on edge you’ve become. Your underwear is soaked, and you haven’t even shown it to Adrian yet.

“Alright, here’s the room assignments,” Emilia says, fishing a bag of motel keys and a little notebook out of her bag. “John and Leota, me and Chris, Adrian and (Y/N).”

“Just because we’re not fucking one of y’all,” Leota grumbles. “We should get our own rooms for putting up with this.”

“Seconded,” John agrees. “I don’t mind, though.”

“I don’t mind,” Leota says. “I’m just saying. Why should we have to share just because they’re using it as an excuse t—”

“Goodnight,” Adrian declares, taking the key for your motel room with him from Emilia’s hands. Your bag and his have already been removed from the car’s trunk and slung over his shoulder.

“Goodnight,” you echo. You offer them a wave before jogging after him. It’s obvious— to you, and probably to anyone who can see him— that he’s rock hard right now. You follow him without hesitating, practically sprinting up alongside him to catch up with his long strides.

“You need to get in this room right now,” Adrian tells you, as soon as you’re within earshot. “I am going to lay you out, and I am going to find that fucking tattoo, and I am going to fuck you into the mattress,” he informs you, fumbling with the key in the motel room door. “And then I am going to—”

“I actually had a thought first,” you suggest.

Adrian all but breaks the door to the motel room in. He flings his bag aside, sets yours on top of it before he’s whirling on you to pick you up and haul you over his shoulder. Kicking the door shut behind himself, he locks it twice, the knob and the deadbolt.

“Put me down,” you insist, so he takes you to the foot of the only bed in the room and throws you down on it. You laugh as he tears his jacket backwards off his arms, already starting to climb up over you. “No, wait—”

“I waited long enough, I think,” Adrian argues. He takes you by the hips and drags you down to meet him, ducking down to press his smile to the hinge of your jaw. “Don’t you think I’ve been so good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Don’t you think that’s why you should get a reward?”

Adrian lifts his head immediately, eager, excited. “What? Did you actually get me something or are you just teasing me? Like, obviously you’re a present in and of yourself, but—”

“Get up,” you tell him, and Adrian scrambles backward, up and off the bed.

You stand, hooking your fingers in the collar of his shirt so you can spin him, swapping your places. With your hand flat against the center of his strong chest, you push him to sit down at the end of the bed.

“Here or in the chair?” you ask him.

His excitement impossibly seems to double, triple, as he reaches up to skim his hands up your thighs. You push him away, stepping back and out of his reach.

“Decide,” you tell him, and start unbuttoning your shirt at the highest button, up by your throat. “Bed or chair?”

Adrian turns to look at the armchair by the curtains covering the windows at the front of the motel room. He’s clearly torn, but the novelty of the chair seems to win out for him, because he points towards it and answers, “Can we—”

“Yup,” you tell him, and he’s already scrambling. He nearly vaults over the length of the bed to get to the armchair, dragging it out and setting himself in it. When he turns back to you, he’s all eager anticipation and aroused confusion, waiting for your next move, trusting that you have a plan for him.

You do very much have a plan for him. You slip the next button loose on your shirt, threading them down one at a time. You have an undershirt under this top layer, so you’re not too concerned about revealing skin, not just yet.

“Are you going to show me your tattoo?” he blurts out, hands gripping the meat of his thighs as he watches you, struggling not to just reach out and touch. “Please, please, please, show me? I’ll do anything, anything you say, I’ll— I’ll fuck you,” he tells you, pleading, “I’ll fucking— I’ll make you feel so good, you won’t fucking believe it, just— Just show me, just— I have to know, I have to—”

“Shh,” you quiet him, reaching out to set your fingertips over his lips. He’s silenced, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “I’ll show you if you don’t touch until I say. Okay?”

“Yes,” he agrees. There’s no moment of hesitation. His nails dig into his jeans, tight in his hold of his own thighs. His knuckles are going white, he wants to hold you so badly.

You smile as you reach the last button on your shirt and slip it back off your arms and onto the ground. Adrian’s eyes are already coasting down your body, searching every newly exposed bit of skin for a mark, though there isn’t much yet to see. You reach next to untuck your undershirt, taking the edge of the fabric in your hands so you can ease it up and over your head in one long, sinuous roll. Your muscles all work together to reveal you from the waist up.

“Oh— Motherfuck,” Adrian curses automatically. “N— No, you fucking did— not, where did you get that?”

“I just came across it,” you tell him, reaching for the button on your jeans, pushing them apart.

“Can I?” Adrian asks, grinning, and you laugh.

“Maybe.” You ease the zipper down, then spread the fabric so he can get a glimpse at your underwear before you lean to push your pants down in a curl that has Adrian leaning forward, hands sliding forward to hold tighter the joints of his knees. “When I saw it, I just thought, you know— That looks so familiar.”

You kick your boots off, then remove your jeans, letting them join the rest of your clothes. When you lift yourself back up, shoulders back and spine straightening, you can feel the heat working over your expanses of exposed skin just the way Adrian’s eyes are.

“And then I thought,” you tell him, stepping closer. “‘You know who would enjoy this?’ You lean in a bit to whisper, grinning, “‘Adrian.’”

“You were right,” he insists.

“I figured,” you reply.

His grip slides up his thighs and back down again. His cock is impossibly obvious in his jeans, a hard, thick line you can see from here. He’s studying the lingerie set you’ve been wearing under your clothes all day in preparation for this moment. The set is mostly black, sheer enough that nothing beneath is concealed, but both the top and the bottom of it each have a thick teal v stripe cutting in with a thinner silver stripe matching just above, following the sharp lines in wrapping curves around your body. It’s a near identical match for his Vigilante armor, practically painted onto your skin.

The v cuts across your chest on both sides, streaking across your nipples. They’re visible through the sheer material still, and the budded peaks of them grow obvious as you become more flushed under Adrian’s unrelenting stare. The v on the panties cut down in stripes across your hips, laced in a scoop down your waist. It looks like the v is pointing downwards, as if Adrian needs more direction than he already has.

“Fuuuck,” Adrian draws out in a long curse before he whines. “Please, I— Fuck, you look so hot, motherfucker, nobody’s going to ever fucking believe me—”

You laugh, and Adrian’s words cut off, flying up to your mouth, then your eyes again. He tracks your every movement as you draw closer, taking a step nearer, then another, then another. You pause before him, considering, just barely in touching distance but not yet touching.

It looks like he’s actually sweating. You lean in nearer, letting your hands come to grip the arms of the armchair, holding you up without touching his body. Adrian’s nearly shaking, trying to keep himself still. It’s an impossible feat for him on a good day. You haven’t told him yet, but he’s already held out longer than you expected him to, which means he does get his handsome reward.

He is my handsome reward, you think to yourself, a thought so absurd and sappy you resolve to tell him— but later, when he can appreciate it properly.

“Do you like it?” you ask him.

“Do I— Sorry, do I fucking like it?” Adrian demands. “I want to— Can I—” He groans, insists, “I have to fuck you, please, plese, please—”

“Hold on,” you half-laugh. It’s impossible to be fully humored when you’re clenching around nothing, wanting friction on your clit, wanting him to fill your cunt, aching for him. You take the last step closer to him, reaching to brace yourself with a hand on his strong shoulder.

His face is burning red as you climb up onto his lap again. You have a much better angle this way than you did in the car, settling your knees on either side of his thighs, wedged into the armchair with him.

You let your other hand come up to thread through the hair at the back of his head, guiding him into tilting backwards to look up at you. He looks like he’s about to fall apart, his hands trembling where he’s gripping the arms of the chair, now. His heart is racing so quickly that his pulse is visible rabbiting in his throat, an obvious pound-pound-pound you can see throb.

You drag your hand down to cup his jaw, tilting him up into a soft kiss. You just barely press your lips to his as you lower down onto his lap again. He’s so hard now that, even through his jeans, you can get friction on him through your panties.

The fabric is soaked, and drags against Adrian’s denim over his cock to make him cry out your name, teeth biting into your lower lip.

“I’m trying to do something here,” you tell him against his mouth, half-mumbled before you draw back again. “I watched YouTube tutorials on lap dances, let me do this.”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I’m going to make it that long,” Adrian tells you in what sounds like mostly a genuine apology. “Please, can I touch you?”

“Soon,” you promise. You lift up off of his lap, missing the touch as soon as it’s gone, but you’re dropping down again only a moment later. You grind down on his cock in rolls, gripping his thick hair in one hand, his strong shoulder under the other.

“Oh, my God,” bursts out of Adrian’s mouth. “Oh, my God, oh my God, oh my— Oh, my fucking God—”

He comes forward, seeking the closest piece of skin he can reach. The flat of his tongue drags up the curve of one breast, moving to mouth at your nipple through the sheer fabric of the black-silver-teal bra. His teeth scrape up over the hard bud of it, and a shock shoots through you.

“I’m sorry,” Adrian apologizes in a rush, his words hot and wet against your skin through your lingerie. “I’m sorry, I forgot you said not to touch, I had to touch, I’m so fucking sorry—”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, smiling. You reach between your bodies to push open the button on his jeans to open them yourself. “You can touch now.”

His hands fly upwards, grasping your waist and tugging you inwards in a sharp jerk. Your breath whooses, tightening your hold in his hair. “Where the—”

His mouth glides up your throat, his hand following, He’s cupping your breast in his hand, thumb brushing over your nipple. Your back arches, and you grind down over him, desperately seeking friction.

“Where the fuck is your tattoo?” Adrian demands, pulling back enough to start searching over your skin again, trying to find the mark.

You don’t answer with words, but you do guide his hand to your hip, and he gets the hint easily. Before you know it, he’s grabbing you up by the hips, hoisting you to throw you down on the bed all over again. He yanks off his clothes so hastily his shirt half-rips, but he doesn’t even seem to notice, dropping them in scattered piles across the floor.

It must be such a relief for him to get his cock out; you watch him finally slip the last of his clothes off to leave him bare, taking himself in hand, and he moans out loud in the next second.

“Oh, fuck,” Adrian bites out. He jumps back up onto the bed over you, shoving you up the mattress, diving into your throat to suck a rough mark there beneath the cut of your jaw. He rolls his hips into yours, then glides down, searching. He’s kept his glasses on, focused as he examines every inch of your skin.

He follows his eyes with his lips, tongue following, teeth biting, mouth sucking. He’s practically fucking your leg by the time he reaches your hip, tugging the fabric down, and cursing, “There you are, motherfucker—”

You huff a breathless laugh as Adrian bites your inked skin, laving his tongue over the mark to soothe you when your back arches, a cry ripping up out of your chest. He rises up on his knees, eyes stroking up over you as he frantically strips his own cock at the sight of you.

“Holy fucking shit, I want to— I want to take fucking— I want to take, like, fucking boudoir photos of you and frame them and put them up all over my fucking house but if anyone else ever saw them I’d have to fucking kill them so maybe I shouldn’t—” Adrian’s babbling, and he only stops when he drops down to take your nipple in his mouth again over the fabric. He makes a half-whine, half-moan that shoots straight down to your cunt.

Adrian’s free hand wriggles down between your thighs to tear the fabric of your lingerie aside. He doesn’t bother taking off the panties, just getting them out of the way so he can drag his fingers up through your slit. There’s wetness everywhere, slicking his path; he dives deeper, finding your entrance, pushing in just a bit.

He takes your wetness to his cock, uses it to ease his glide. Within seconds, he’s dragging his mouth up to the hinge of your jaw, biting in as he pushes into you in a hot slide, his hips meeting yours.

“I think I’m going out of my fucking mind for you,” Adrian mumbles into your skin. “Oh, shit, I think I’m losing it, I fucking— I think I love you—”

“Adrian—” you say, your heart jolting as your cunt tightens, feeling his cock pulsing inside you. You’re impossibly filled, pushing up to roll into the friction of him, grinding up frantically to get the last shocks you need to push you over the edge.

Adrian drags you in closer, fucking you up in his lap before he shoves you back down onto the bed. He’s already losing his rhythm, the teasing you drew out for so long— from the night at the bar, to the short ride here in his lap, to everything you’ve done since you got into the motel room— finally coming to a head. He can’t stop saying your name, begging you, face flushed, glasses knocked askew as he drags you into another kiss.

He’s gasping, then, and his lunatic pumps into you and the crazed way he’s grinding against you has you knocking over the edge. You collapse into a melted pile in the bed, his arms the only thing holding you together as his cock splits you apart.

You tell him, “I love— I love you, too,” because it’s all you can feel, your chest and heart and cunt full of the emotions. You’re coursing with it, and he slides his hand up to guide you into a biting new kiss.

“Fuck,” he says, from his throat into yours, more a vibration than a word or even a sound. In the next instant, he’s over his own edge, holding you tightly in place on his cock as he fucks you through his orgasm. You’re overstimulated in the best way, completely dissolved, chest heaving, aftershocks rattling through your mind and body like white lightning that takes you over in rattling waves.

You reach out for him, bringing his throat to your mouth. A gust of a sigh breezes out of your chest when you brush your lips over his throat, then drag your tongue up the strong cut of muscle to his jaw, working lazily and sloppily at his skin.

He huffs a shaky laugh, murmurs, “I can be ready to cum again in, like, ten minutes at the most if you keep that up.”

“That’s not incentive for me to stop,” you mumble, working aimlessly against his skin.

He turns to face you, letting his face drag along yours until he can pull you into a long, open-mouthed, loose-jawed kiss, licking behind your teeth. You let out a shaky moan, and he smiles into the kiss before separating you. He pecks the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose.

“Maybe I don’t want you to stop,” he tells you. His eyes skim down again, a blaze of heat down your body before his calloused fingers trail up to grip your hip again. “You are— Oh, fuck— I love you—”

You smile, drawing him into a long kiss that has him grinding up into you again already starting to fill thick and hard again before he’s even pulled out of you.

Against his lips, you ask him, “Do you mean it?”

“Do you?” he replies quickly, and you nod, grinning. He flushes up to his ears, says, “Hell yeah,” and dives in, threading his fingers through your hair to drag you in again.

-

requests used:

"Hiii hope you're great. DRINK WATER💕💕 anywayy I was hoping you can write a one shot of the gang in a bar after a mission and they started talking about tattoos and reader has a hidden tattoo. Adrian wants to find it so badly. He begs and talks so dirty he'd do anything to see it 😭🥴 thank youu" (anonymous)

"Adrian chase/vigilante x reader (has a vagina) >explicit Ok but what if you all have to take a smaller vehicle and he offers to have you sit on his lap because it's either him or someone else and he cant let you sit on anyone else's lap and you end up sharing a room (optional: oblivious mutual pining + oblivious cuddling + awkward mornings) and some like rough Adrian. Please 0nly do what you feel comfortable with" (@delirious0pandemonium)

"Help! I’ve fallen into an Adrian Chase shaped hole and I can’t get up (nor do I want to). Just wanted to say I have been LOVING your fics and present to you an idea - showing up to Adriana place with a coat on, then opening it up to reveal a lingerie set in his colours/matching his armor (like black bra with the teal v stripes) and him going feral. That’s it, that’s the ask." (anonymous)

"i would take pictures of you like this so bad but if they got leaked and you were exposed without your consent i would rip out my own eyes out in retaliation" (@nobodys-baby-now)

"Could I have an Adrian x reader, where he comes home and the reader surprises him with a lap dance? I would love to see how you write his reaction. :)" (anonymous)

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @bb-skyrunner @qjuiq-odakyu

SUB!ADRIAN THATS ALL I GOTTA SAY JUST SUB!ADRIAN😩‼️

Be Good For Me - Adrian Chase x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Im so sorry for whatever the hell this is i don't know what came over me no i am not ok do not ask i've just been thinking about him all day so uh . yeah. this has been in the drafts for a while but i just decided to finish it today so </3

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT JUST PURE UNAPOLOGETIC FILFTH HONESTLY, use of restrains/being tied up, thigh-riding, orgasm denial, hand-jobs, vaginal sex, dirty talk, sub!adrian :)

Word Count: 2.2k

••••••••••••••••••

Adrian's cock was rock hard, probably harder than it had ever been before. His wrists were tied to the bedposts (the restraints not too tight, but tight enough to ensure that he couldn't just slip himself out of them), his legs spread wide for you as he awaited your return. Shaking, sweat glistening on his skin, his face contorting in a pained pleasure as he bucked his hips into the empty space.

If he listened closely enough, he could hear you singing along to a catchy pop song in the kitchen. He imagined that you were dancing around, a smirk on your lips as you thought about your boyfriend, alone and tied up in your room, his cock vieny and angry and desperate for you to relieve him.

That thought alone was enough to illicit a whine from his throat.

Adrian knew what he signed up for when he agreed to let you restrain him. Truthfully, it was something he had fantasised about. Sure, he liked to be in control sometimes, but there was nothing more he loved than to submit.

He just never expected you to be this ruthless.

You had been pushing him to edge for the best part of an hour, only to pull away completely at the last second and leave him writhing and desperate for more.

This time, you had been gone for almost ten minutes, and it was killing him. He was so desperately horny, and he was getting pretty fucking pissed off about it as the minutes ticked by agonisingly slow.

"Fuck!" He spat out, glancing down at his cock. The tip was swollen and leaking with precum.

Only a moment later, he heard your footsteps coming down the hallway. You pushed the bedroom door open, leaning against the side frame, a mug in your hands. You wore only a button-up shirt you had stole from his drawer. "Did you say something?" You asked casually.

"I..." All words were lost on him. "No." He answered finally

"That's funny, because I thought you did." You raised your eyebrows at him, your features breaking out into a grin when you saw his eyes flick between the your face and the mug in your hands. "Oh, it's coffee." You replied, lifting the mug. "I would have made some for you but you... y'know, kinda have your hands tied." Oops. You couldn't resist. The look he gave you was deadly, but what the fuck could he do about it? His hands were literally tied.

You raised the mug up to your lips, taking a sip of your coffee, smirking when you heard a groan come from his throat, his eyes now firmly trained on the shirt which had ridden up your thighs.

You gave him a sweet smile, "Oh, just look at you, baby. You look so sweet like this. I wish you could see yourself." You mumbled, making your way over to the bed, placing your mug down on the nightstand.

You stood over him, reaching down to push his hair away from his forehead, smirking when he glanced up at you, his eyes filled with hope.

So, he tried his luck. "Please. Please touch me. P-please... I can't... I need you to touch me. I've been so good for you." His tone was frantic, a pitch higher as he desperately tried to plead his case.

He truly did look so cute like this, that much you couldn't deny. He was a beautiful boy anyway, but there was just something about seeing him all tied up, pupils dilated and lips agape as he begged you that made him all the more pretty.

You chewed on your bottom lip, your gaze glancing down to his cock, swollen and hard and waiting for you to bring him to his release. Surely it wouldn't hurt to touch him, just for a minute.

"Well... you are being so good for me. So patient..." You whispered, climbing on the bed, moving to straddle his waist, sitting yourself just above his cock. "Tell me what you want from me." You demanded, your hands running up his toned chest.

"I just want you to touch me. Just touch me. I just need to feel you. Fuck! Please!" He begged in that whiny voice.

"You want me to touch you?" You spat into your hand and reached around slowly. "You want me to touch you... here?" You asked sweetly, your fingers now wrapped around the base of his cock, his hips bucking up into your touch instinctively.

"Yes! Fuck-... Yes, please." He corrected himself quickly, knowing he wouldn't get anything from you if he wasn't polite about it.

"Such a good boy." You mumbled, your thumb rubbing circles on his chest as your other hand remained stationary on his cock. You could see he was desperate to move, desperate for any kind of friction. So, you relented. "Okay. I'll touch you. But you have to promise to be good. Don't cum until I say you can, do you understand?"

Adrian let out a low hum, but it wasn't enough. You needed an answer. "Adrian... do you understand?" You repeated, a warning in your voice.

"Yes." He panted out, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Good."

You began fisting his cock, slow and steady, watching his every movement as you pump your hand up and down. You keep track of his reactions. The way his eyes screw shut, the way his brows furrow together when you run your thumb across the head of his cock. The way his jaw clenches and his breathing starts to sound more like panting right before he cums.

He looked fucking beautiful like this, completely at your mercy. It took everything in you to not just allow him to cum there and then, just so you could watch every single twitch of his lips and every expression that flashed on his features as he came.

But you weren't about to allow yourself to break so easily.

You pulled your hand away at the last moment.

"Fff- Oh, fuck. No. No. Please. Come back. Please." His hips met the air, wrists tugging against the restraints as he searched for that last bit of friction to push him over the edge. He moaned and whined, his legs shaking, writhing underneath you, a plea for you to give him anything more.

"You were about to cum." You stated simply.

"N-No... I wasn't!" He protested weakly, still panting under you.

"Don't lie to me. You were about to cum. I told you that you weren't allowed to do that until I said so, didn't I?"

"Y-yes! You said that!" He spat. Oh, he was seething. He had gotten so close, so close to just letting go and cumming in your hand. He didn't care about the consequences anymore. Whatever you dished out afterwards, he was prepared to take.

"Watch your fucking tone." You scolded.

You moved to stand up then, but a strangled whine from his throat caught your attention. You looked down at him, eyebrows raised, daring him to speak. And he did. "Fuck... No... Please don't go. P-please don't leave me here again. Fuck. You're so beautiful. You're so pretty. I want you to stay here. I wanna look at you. I wanna see you cum. Please... Just- Fffuck--.... use me. Just don't leave. Not again."

"You want me to use you to make myself cum?" You let a slight smile grace your lips as he nodded quickly, mumbling, "Fuck. You're lucky you're so cute..." as you inched down his body (not missing how his eyes flickered down to the wet patch you had left on his lower stomach) eventually settling on his thick thigh. Your legs were situation on either side, and your hot, sopping cunt was pressed against his skin.

You began to grind your hips, pressing your cunt down against his thigh. One hand slipped up to your shirt, popping the buttons open slowly until your chest was exposed to him.

Adrian just watched you quietly with hooded eyes and parted lips, almost in awe of you as you rode his thigh. He watched the way your breasts bounced as you rolled your hips against, the way you let quiet moans slip through your lips whenever your clit brushed against his skin.

You leaned forward, angling yourself in a way that meant your clit was pressed firmly against his skin. He was being so good for you, so patient and pretty and perfect, watching you fuck yourself on his thigh. You couldn't help but breathe out a laugh when he let out a yelp as your fingers curled around his cock unexpectedly, stroking languidly, keeping in time with your own movements.

The pressure on your clit was delicious, and you could feel your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. His quiet moans and whimpers, his hips bucking up to meet your fist, only spurred you on, urged you to grind your hips down faster against him, watching him watch you come undone on his thigh, his eyes flickering from your face, your chest and your cunt.

When you came, you came hard. You threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut, letting out an almost pornographic moan as waves of pleasure ripped through your body. Adrian groaned underneath you, your hand now loosely gripping his cock while you rode out the rest of your orgasm.

Adrian wanted to touch you. He wanted to touch you so bad. It was taking everything in him to not force himself out of the restraints, hold you through your orgasm then fuck you dizzy.

"Oh, fuck..." You panted out, your head tilted back, looking at him through your eyelashes. "That was so fucking good..."

I wouldn't know, he wanted to say, but he kept it to himself. He was sure he had softened you, broke you down. He was sure you would be kind to him now. And he was right.

"Do you wanna cum?" You breathed out, shifting back up until your cunt hovered just above his cock.

"God, yes." Adrian moaned out.

"Do you think you deserve to cum?" You inquired. Hell, you were becoming impatient now. You wanted him inside of you.

"I-I don't know... Do you think I deserve to cum?"

"Yeah. I think you've been good for me. So good." You ran your finger across his lip before leaning down, kissing him softly.

Then, you sank down on to his cock. Slowly, slowly, slowly. You sighed in relief at the feeling of your walls stretching out to accommodate him. You loved to tease him, to keep him on the edge, but there was nothing you loved more than feeling him inside of you.

Adrian, on the other hand, was about to lose his fucking mind.

He knew he wouldn't last long, not with your tight cunt squeezing his cock just right. He had been waiting for this all night. Waiting for you to slide yourself on to his cock and fuck him until he came.

"Oh fuck... Fff-... I love this cunt. I love being inside of you. You're so beautiful. So perfect. Treat me so well." He babbled as you sat still on his cock, "So good to me. My perfect princess. Looking after me so well. F-fuck... Please... Let me cum. Wanna cum inside this sweet pussy."

A few rolls of your hips and he was cumming inside of you. He remained quiet at first, and you watched his face twist, his neck straining, eyes squeezed shut until he let out a guttural moan from the back of his throat. It wasn't long until he was bucking his hips into you, cursing and pulling at the restraints, moaning your name along with 'i love you's' and 'thankyou's' as he shot rope after rope of his hot cum inside of you.

You pressed your lips against his as he rode out his orgasm, mumbling that he was your good boy and you loved him and that he had been so, so good for you.

Reaching up, you tugged the restraints loose, allowing his hands to roam freely once again. He wrapped his arms around your body, clutching you tight against him, whimpering against your shoulder while you peppered kisses on his cheeks, forehead and nose.

"You good?" You whispered, sitting up once his whimpered moans had died down and his breathing had settled. He was still inside of you, still rock hard, though you weren't surprised since you had had him on the edge for almost an hour.

Adrian glanced up at you then, a dazed and lazy (yet still shit-eating) grin on his lips. "Fuck yeah. Never been better. Ready to go again, actually."

You raised your eyebrows, but not in shock or disbelief. More because you expected that response from Adrian. "You wanna go again?"

"Fuck yeah, I do."

"You're insatiable." You mumbled, leaning down to press your lips against his, his hand coming up to cup your face. You had planned on running him a hot bath, making him a cup of coffee and cuddling up to him with a shitty Netflix horror movie, but Adrian's plans differed wildly from your own.

"Hey, can I fuck you this time?" He asked excitedly, sitting himself up against the bed frame.

"....Fine."

••••••••••••

tags because im a big dummy and i forgot (if you've already seen this then ignore </3)

@juniebugg @bvcksmurdock @neptuneswritingwork @cressida-clearwood @withahappyrefrain @all-the-captains @lindenvale @tinalbion @ladamari68 @flower-slut00 @milfodyssey @madmax2191 @andromacher @myguiltypleasures21 @osnapitzandi @flutterskies @emmaflag17 @trash--blog @jlclvsjpm @papitas-con-sal @thedamchii @abbynx @lunaticsandidiots @skateb0red @fenderenderender @possessedxparrot @transias @aprilfire18 @the-a-word-2214 @winterrfalconn

YES YES YES THANK YOU!

honestly so happy that you delivered on my breeding kink ask because this was just perfection!! but also very glad you didn’t crash!! I mean I would’ve probs had the same reaction tho bc I mean breeding is my #1😌

and idc what anyone else says, for sure, without a doubt in my mind, Adrian has a breeding kink

omg he’d want to constantly have you filled and full of him cum or child and the thought makes me go absolutely feral, like insane, foaming at the mouth, screaming and creaming 😩‼️

and trying every single day??? my man is determined, and I’m so glad he is, wouldn’t want it any other way

also dad Adrian??? yes yes yes 100 times yes, he’d be such a good dad, like the best, his kids would be his whole world 😭

anyways thank you for writing this🥰

idk if you talked ab this before but thoughts on Adrian having a breeding kink👀

and another

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, has a vagina/womb)

rating: e+

word count: 1,813

one-sentence synopsis: ever since you decided to try for another baby, adrian has been determined to make it happen, without pause.

author's note: i'm sorry but i got this message while i was driving and i gasped out loud and almost crashed my fucking car holy fucking shit. i also sent screenshots of this message to a couple of my friends, one of whom said, "of course adrian has a breeding kink. any character you touch automatically gets a breeding kink by osmosis." and then i was like so of course adrian has a breeding kink and let's talk about it. and i started writing a headcanon thread but then i basically started writing fic and now i just wrote a fic. i'm so sorry. i love breeding kink i love pregnancy tropes i'm sick in the head i'm not sorry!!!! (i am sorry for my long-ass author's note though)

read on ao3!

Adrian’s on you the second you’re in the door.

This isn’t a surprise, nor is it unwelcome. You laugh, telling him, “Adrian, I just got home from work, I’m all sweaty—”

“And?” Adrian asks, breath ghosting over your skin as his lips just barely lift from your throat to speak. “What, you want to shower so I can get you sweaty all over again? Waste of water.” With his teeth hovering over your pulse point, he tells you, “Conserve.”

You huff another laugh, breathless this time. Adrian kicks the door shut behind you, twisting to shove you up against it. His hands are already tearing your coat apart, pushing the buttons through their holes with a haste that nearly rips the threads holding them together. He’s already introducing teeth to your throat, his large hands hot where they glide up under your shirt.

This has been your homecoming every day for— weeks now, actually. As soon as the two of you decided to try for another baby, he was determined to try every. Single. Day. Usually, multiple times a day. Sometimes even multiple times a time. He’s told you over and over that he’s intent on giving you as many babies as you want, as many babies as he wants— which is apparently infinite, and you’re drunk enough on him and the way he makes you feel that you’re willing to give him that in return.

Adrian reaches down, scooping you up with his hands tight around your thighs. You hitch up onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. You cup his jaw in your hands, pulling his face up to bring him into a bruising kiss.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Adrian breathes, drawing you up and away from the door.

He uses his sheer strength to carry you up the stairs, to your bedroom down the hall, where he nudges the door shut gently and throws you down on the bed. The frame creaks; Adrian reaches up to steady the headboard with one hand gripping the curved top of it.

“Shh,” he shushes the bed before ducking down to kiss you. He uses his grip on the frame to brace himself, dropping to take your lower lip between his teeth for a moment before separating again. He pushes up and off of you, stripping his shirt off over his head in a rush. You honestly don’t know why he bothers wearing as much clothes as he does when this happens every day.

Adrian is desperate to get his hands on you like it’s the first time he’s ever done it, like he’s never going to get to do it again. He gets you bare under him, his hot skin sliding hot over yours, enjoying the rub of his coarse body hair over the friction burns you’ve already gotten from him in the same spots for the same reasons over the last few weeks.

Last few weeks, months, years. He loves to do this to you, with you. His cock is already hard, gliding slick over your thigh, and he reaches between you to find your entrance already wet.

His fingertips dip inside you, his eyes flickering up to meet yours above the rim of his glasses, through the thick fringe of his eyelashes. He grins, says, “You want me to fuck you so bad already, don’t you? Look at you.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, writhing slightly, twisting on your back to push your hips, hoping for more friction from him.

“I want to fuck you so bad, too,” Adrian says, looking down to his fingers slipping inside you. He fucked you before you went to work, and you relax easily around him now. He draws you up, burying his face in your belly, mouthing at your flesh with hot breath and biting teeth and slickness. His fingers fuck into your cunt, and breath punches up out of your lungs, rasping. “Oh, fuck, look at you. I want to— want to fill you up, want to give you my baby, want—”

“Yes,” you breathe, head dipping back into the pillows. He’s twisting his wrist, getting his thumb on your clit so you inhale sharply, hands flying up to grasp desperately at him. You twist your fingers in his hair, your other hand reaching without success towards his elbow, wanting him to push harder, deeper.

“You’re soaked,” Adrian comments with admiration, staring down between your slick thighs. “Fuck. Can I fuck you? Please, can I fuck—”

“Yes,” you tell him, “I want— Go ahead, you can—”

Adrian’s already slipping his fingers out of you, and you’re crying out, wanting to draw him back in. He doesn’t waste time, slotting himself between your legs. He lines his cock up with your hole, pushes into your tight heat like he never wants to be anywhere else.

His head falls forward, burrowing into your chest. You kiss the top of his head, your hands going to his back, gripping his shoulders. Adrian gathers you into his arms, wrapping around to your back, pulling you in close, dragging his mouth up to spread the flat of his tongue over your nipple before he introduces his teeth.

“I wish you were pregnant all the time,” Adrian tells you. “You should never not be pregnant. It’s, like, what you’re made for.” He pushes deeper into you until your hips are flush with his, until he’s pressing so deeply into you that your core is throbbing. He lifts his head, bright eyes meeting yours, sweat smudging his glasses. “God, you don’t know what you fucking look like. You don’t know how you make me feel, knowing that I’m the one doing this to you, that you and I love each other so fucking much—” He lifts his head, bites into another kiss with you. Muffled, his lips to yours, he continues, “—that I just can’t stop fucking— breeding you, that I can’t stop filling you, seeing you like—”

His hand threads up, climbing your side to tangle in your hair, and you fold into him, collapsing like a house of cards. He takes his as his cue to start fucking you in earnest.

He lifts your leg to adjust your angle together, and this new slant gives you friction against it, lets you grind against him until there are sparks rocketing through your core. You grapple for him, and he fits himself into your hands, biting a bruise into the soft underside of your jaw.

You can feel the chaos in the way he moves, his madness, his hunger for you. It’s obvious in everything about him: what he says to you, what he does to you. He never wants you to stop carrying his children; you never want to stop carrying his children. It really is like you were made for each other.

“Oh, fuck,” Adrian bites off into your throat. “Can I— Can—”

“Yes,” you tell him, and he’s losing his rhythm, fucking you with abandon. His hips snap into yours, ferocious in his claiming of you, his determination to take root in you. You can’t help the prick of tears in the backs of your eyes, the burn in your nose, the smile that touches the edges of your lips. This is, you think, one of the best feelings you can feel. There’s very little you’ve found to top it, anyway.

Adrian mumbles your name into your skin, curses and praises and rambled nothings as he drags you over the edge and pulsing into your orgasm. You gasp out, shaking, trembling like you’re collapsing, a dying star inside you. You drag him in closer, unable to release him.

“Please,” you beg him, “please, please, please—”

He gathers your head in his hands and pulls you in for a long kiss, spreading you open, licking behind your teeth. The searing heat of him consumes you as he cums, floods you, fills you.

You’re gasping for breath, clinging to him, as he says, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” kissing along your hairline, smearing sweat along your skin.

Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe. Adrian’s hand glides down your chest, between your nipples, to settle over your belly. His thumb strokes over your navel, his face dropping to kiss your flushed skin.

“Hey,” you breathe to him. He lifts his head, glasses askew, hair rumpled, waiting for you to speak. “Guess what?”

“Uhh— Is this a rhetorical guess what or a real guess what?” Adrian asks. “You really want me to guess? Because my brain, it’s not working at top—”

“Adrian,” you cut him off. He refocuses on you just as you tell him, “I’m already pregnant.”

For a second, he just blinks. Then, he laughs, surging up to kiss you again, one hand sliding up to grip at your hair. He’s still rooted inside you, and the rough movement jostles you. You bite off a noise into his mouth; he draws back, pressing a soft kiss to the bite he’s left on your lower lip before separating.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands. He kisses your cheek, your nose, your lips again, before he says, “Oh, fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes—” He laughs, then delightedly cheers, “Fuck yes!”

“Adrian, be quiet,” you tell him, unable to stop laughing yourself at his obvious joy, at your own corresponding glee. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t get so much as a hi, how are you before you were taking your dick out at the door—”

“I did not hear you complaining at the door,” Adrian says, smiling.

You’re about to respond when there’s a hard bang-bang-bang-bang against your bedroom door, a tiny palm flat against the wood.

“Are you home, Daddy?” your daughter demands from the other side of the door. You don’t know why she asks when she just heard his voice, but it makes you laugh, dropping your head back.

“If the two of you wake up the baby, I’m going to be pissed,” you promise Adrian. He ducks to kiss your cheek again before slipping out of you.

“I got her,” he assures you. “You stay here, you take care of our baby until I can come back and celebrate right—”

You have to shove him off when he ducks down to kiss at your throat again, your daughter slamming on the door, demanding his attention all over again. Sure enough, you can hear the baby start crying in the nursery across the hall.

You grab the pillow from up off the bed beside you, bringing it up over your head and burying your face in it. Adrian ducks to kiss your hip.

“Okay, I promise, I’ll deal with them,” he says. You smile as he drags his face up over your belly. There’s nothing different yet, but he still presses a kiss there, says, “Love you,” and jumps up off the bed.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans

FERAL. FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. GOING INSANE.

These Moments w Adrian has me in a literal headlock it’s so good. if ur ever open to posting a part 2 where reader n Adrian actually get to kiss id scream, cry and die probably and be eternally in your debt. bUT only if you’d like of course! I’m loving this blog <3

jawbreaker

these moments, pt. 2

[read pt. 1 here]

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions)

rating: e+ (canon-typical violence and gore, explicit sexual content)

word count: 4,365

one-sentence synopsis: the next day doesn't quite go according to plan, but that doesn't mean that you and adrian don't end up getting what you want from it.

author's note: okay i fucked up making this a drabble. i hope everyone forgives me for only posting this today because it's like 4k+ of adrian slaughtering aliens and then fucking you into a desk like a maniac so i think it's worth it. anyways i hope everyone else likes this too!!!! enjoy!!!!!!

read on ao3!

“Duck!” Vigilante shouts, and you drop to the ground automatically, hands over the back of your head.

Only a second later, there’s a short, sharp whistle flying over your head. An explosion rocks the ground in front of you, and you don’t waste any time leaping back up to your feet, hauling yourself back into a sprint.

Vigilante catches up at your side, keeping a fast pace with you as you run. He turns around, trusting you to navigate a path through the trees as he takes aim at one of your pursuers and fires. You hear a choked-off scream behind you and a thud as a body falls, and you don’t break pace, taking Adrian’s arm to jerk him out of the way of tripping backwards over a root.

A gunshot rings out, and a bullet whizzes past the both of you. Adrian laughs, whirling to flip off whoever made the shot with one hand, taking aim with the other.

"You missed, motherfucker!" he calls out gleefully. He fires twice, then leaps and pushes himself into a twisting side flip so he lands facing forwards, sprinting along at your side again.

Adrian whoops, holding his hand up for a high-five, and you smack your gloved palm to his.

"Fuck yeah!" he shouts. He transfers his gun to his left hand, reaches out with his right so the two of you can thread your fingers together between you. You keep navigating forward, your vision tinted dark by the visor in your helmet.

You’d had every intention of cornering Adrian alone when you woke up this morning and making good on your promise to finish what he’d started last night, but you hadn’t had a very gentle wake-up call. Instead of waking up to swap shifts, you’d both awoken to Chris hurtling into the camp, shouting that they’d been seen and everybody needed to move now. You and Adrian had grabbed what you could, yanking on clothes and masks and holstering weapons before sprinting off into the woods with everybody else.

Now, you feel— admittedly relatively well-rested, since the sun’s up and you actually got a bit of decent sleep. Your adrenaline’s pumping, and you’re not entirely sure what’s going on, but you know you’re almost to the van, and nobody’s hurt, so you’re counting this as a win so far.

At your side, Adrian tilts his head just slightly. You look towards him for a fleeting second, and he’s releasing your hand.

“Keep going,” he says, “I’m following. I’ll be watching you.”

You do as he says. He keeps you in his peripheral vision, starting to jog backward again so he can keep his eyes on the trees behind you. There’s a bang, and he’s pinpointing the noise in the same moment you feel the whizz of vibrating air as a bullet flies over your shoulder, just barely missing your throat.

You yelp, and Adrian snarls, calling, “Who the fuck shot that?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, taking aim and firing his own weapon once, twice, th— unloading his gun, actually, and then holstering it and pulling out another one.

“Hey!” Adrian sprints up beside you, demanding to know, “Did that fucking hit you? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay,” you promise him. He slows slightly, just enough that he can balance reaching out to touch your masked face with his gloved hand. You may have several layers of tough fabric between you, but you swear his touch still burns there. You can feel the heat of his eyes through the visors, as strong as his touch; you can see and feel him without seeing and feeling him.

“Okay, good,” Adrian says. He draws away so he can pull a knife into the hand your face was just in. “Keep it that way.”

“Over here!” Chris calls, and you change direction, hauling Adrian by the elbow to pivot him along with you. You come skidding into the clearing just as John brings the van screeching up.

“Get in!” John calls from inside. Emilia hauls the door open, turning to help Leota up into the back of the van. She grabs your hand next, yanking you up. Adrian comes rocketing in beside you, jumping off the ground to send himself crashing through the van without her help.

From outside, something rocks the van, and you turn to see people— who are definitely no longer strictly people, but morphing into huge reptilian beasts you’ve never seen outside of a movie theater before today— converging on Chris, the last of you into the van.

Nobody else has noticed yet, and you act on instinct, running and jumping back out onto the ground. Behind you, Emilia shouts your name.

“What the fuck?” you hear Adrian say. You ignore his voice, running to meet Chris with your gun drawn just as one of the mutating creatures pins him to the ground. You cock your gun, take aim, and fire, splattering blood and gore across your face and Chris’.

Behind you, there are pounding footsteps. You’re sure you know exactly which one of them was stupid enough to leave the van; you don’t need to look back to know it’s Adrian.

You offer Chris a hand to help him to his feet just as another creature comes launching down out of the trees. You draw your gun, but then, you hear a vicious snarl behind you— or, two vicious snarls: a man and a machine, and you almost would laugh, if you weren’t halfway through trying to save your own life, and the rest of the team’s. You drop to the ground, grabbing Chris and yanking him down with you, already knowing where this is going.

Adrian comes flying over the both of you a second after you fall flat to the ground, his chainsaw growling louder than the shrieks of the reptilian creatures. The machine howls as Adrian pushes it through the alien’s body, splitting the creature in half with a gory spray.

Even over the machine, you hear Adrian laugh, saying, “That’s what you get, motherfucker!” He turns around, finding you climbing to your feet. He holds the chainsaw up, blood soaked into both him and it, dripping off to the ground. “I fucking did it! Did you fucking see that? Oh, fuck, that was so fucking cool—”

You point above his head as another creature starts coming. You see the person the creature used to be before it starts mutating, and it looks like that lookalike Adrian had been suspicious of yesterday, the one who looked like Adam Driver and Jason Schwartzman had a baby, which is— kind of poetic, in its own way.

Adrian turns immediately when you point, trusting you, as always, to guide him. He shreds the creature with the buzzing saw as it tries to come down on him, splitting it from the skull down. Laughing, he leaps past it to tear through the trees, seeking out the creatures with a vicious delight.

“Jesus Christ,” Chris says.

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling inside your mask. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

There’s an incredulous silence from Chris for a moment before he says, “You two belong together,” and it sounds like an accusation or a joke, but you can’t help but feel like it’s a compliment. Your grin widens.

“You should tell him that,” you say. “It’d mean a lot coming from you. Good references, you know.” You offer him your hand again, and he takes it. There was a time not so long ago he would’ve brushed you off and stood on his own; you can’t help but take this as growth, both for him as a person and for your friendship.

Chris claps you on the back when you start heading for the van, the both of you sprinting again, the urgency of the situation not lost on you. You’re sure that’s all the thanks you’ll get for saving him, which is okay with you; growth comes in pieces.

Emilia and Chris are just offering you hands up into the van when Adrian comes sprinting back into the clearing. His chainsaw is gone, and he’s running at top speed, shouting, “Go, go, go! Go! It’s Godzilla, go—”

Behind him, sure as fucking shit, the creatures have started joining together to form one huge fucked-up sort of reptile creature. One of the creatures that hasn’t yet become part of the mass leaps at Adrian, and you scream, but he’s already twisting against it. He jumps up, swinging himself around onto the thing’s back with an arm around its throat. He snaps its neck, tucks and rolls over its body as it falls.

The next creature that grabs him sees a knife slid up into the soft underside of its jaw before Adrian’s lopping its head off, and the next— and last— that snatches at his ankles with its teeth gets the last of his violent rage.

Adrian twists around, hauling himself up so he’s wrapped around the creature from the front, knocking it flat on its back. He pulls back, then starts beating the shit out of the lizard monster, raining blows on it until it's an unrecognizable mass of blood and flesh, dead on the ground. When it’s stopped moving— long after it’s stopped moving— Adrian picks himself up off the ground and chases after the van, leaping into it just as John revs the engine and starts driving back through the trees.

Chris and Emilia are shouting back and forth at each other, arguing about what they should do about this thing, but you just watch Adrian as he gets to his feet in the back of the van. He reaches up to tug his mask off of his face, sucking in a deep breath when he does.

Adrian turns to evaluate his options among the weapons set in the mount along the inside wall of the van. He spends only a moment there before plucking one of the compact rocket launchers from the selection. He only pauses to slip his glasses on before he situates himself in the center of the van. Humming to himself, he gets to one knee on the floor, unfolds the machine in quick snaps, loads it, and peeks into the sight.

He’s still humming to himself as he aims and fires directly into the huge monster’s mouth. You watch him as he grins, eyes fixed on the beast; it’s only then that you turn to see it, too, as it suddenly bursts into an explosion of scales and flaming chunks of lizard insides and a shower of blood that patters on the top of the roof like rain.

In the aftermath, Adrian laughs, exclaiming, “Oh, shit, I think this is the coolest day of my fucking life! Did you see that shit? Holy shit!”

He runs a hand back through his hair, leaving blood streaked through it. Eyes wild, he whirls, seeking you out where you’re holding yourself upright by the driver’s seat.

Adrian stumbles over to you, the van jostling under him as he tries to walk. The van doors slam shut behind him, Chris reaching to haul them closed, and the inside of the van is at least quieter now, even if your blood is still rushing in your ringing ears.

You look up, heart pounding, as Adrian reaches up and tears your mask off, too. You inhale deeply, getting your lungs full of fresh air, seeing Adrian unfiltered.

“Hey,” Adrian says, then drops down, gathering you close to him. He cups your jaw in his gloved hands before realizing he still has his gloves on, curses, “Fuck, hold on, let me just—” and yanks them off, getting his bare hands on your bare skin, heedless of the blood he’s smearing, leftover from his gloves.

He’s a fucking maniac. You just watched him tear through all those people— and monsters— and that fucking giant— thing, whatever that was— with glee. This is the coolest day of his life, he’s just told you. Mowing down people with a chainsaw, blowing up an alien mutant, massacring hordes like he’s a dark fucking Superman or something.

You couldn’t be more in love with him. You couldn’t be more turned on by him. He’s making you feel insane. You think you might be unhinged, but at least, in that case, you both are, together.

“Hey,” you reply, heat gathering low in your belly, an electric charge that sparks up your spine to explode in your chest.

You tilt your head up, lifting your chin, and even Adrian gets the hint on that one. Heedless of the rattling van, holding himself up with one hand braced against the roof above him, Adrian reaches up with his other hand to cup your jaw in his hand. His thumb sweeps along your cheek, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he smiles. He smiles, like he didn’t just kill all those things, like he didn’t just take all those lives, and you can’t help smiling back.

Adrian drops his head so he can brush his nose against yours, just for a moment. It’s like all the anticipation from yesterday is coiling inside you again. The intensity of not only that, but of the amount of the time you’d even been waiting before— It’s been so long that you’ve wanted Adrian, and he’s been just out of reach, drawing closer and closer but never near enough for you to just— grab.

Finally, he’s here, right within your reach, and you reach up to thread your arms around his neck, trusting him to keep the both of you upright even as the van bumps out onto the road. You don’t care about your audience, or the gore, or any of it. You just care that you finally have him, that he’s holding you like you’re something so precious after you just watched these hands annihilate entire lives.

You part your lips without thinking, eyes flickering from his eyes down to his mouth, waiting for him to draw you together. He exhales shakily, then finally, finally, finally drops down to kiss you.

It’s everything, everything you ever wanted from him, everything you’ve ever needed from him. He tilts his head just slightly, loosens his jaw so he can part your lips further and lick into your mouth immediately. Only a moment later, he withdraws, and kisses you bruisingly hard. A flare of heat rockets down through you, and you kiss back as hard as you can, letting him consume you. He bites at your lower lip, he glides along your tongue, he presses closer and harder into you, the two of you gasping for breath but unwilling to part.

After so long not doing this, you never want to stop doing this. The only reason you do stop is Chris saying, “Okay, Jesus, just— Stop fucking humping each other, this is disgusting.”

“You’re covered in guts,” Leota agrees.

“They’re licking each other,” Chris argues, like that’s the bigger issue.

You draw away, not quite paying enough attention to them to laugh. You do smile, though, eyes flicking up to meet Adrian’s again. His pupils are blown dark, leaving only a ring of bright green around their edges as he looks you over.

“Where are we?” Adrian asks.

“We’re, like, two minutes from headquarters,” John tells him.

“Pull over,” Adrian says. Another flare of heat explodes in you as he keeps his eyes fixed on you. He drops his head down, close to the shell of your ear, promises, “I can’t wait to fucking just— Touch you, I want— I want to fuck you— I’ll fuck you against a tree if I have to—”

“He said two minutes,” you reply breathlessly, even as the image of Adrian forcibly stopping a van so he can fuck you against a tree because he can’t wait two minutes after waiting literal months knocks your heart into an even faster breakneck pace than it’d been in before.

“Fuck,” Adrian groans out. He slams his fist against the roof of the car, then glares at John through the rearview mirror. Pointing at him through the reflection, he says, “Two minutes.”

“Jesus Christ, okay, I’m driving,” John snaps back at him.

“That was so fucking cool,” you tell Adrian. He looks back down at you, all delight again, written across the flushed strokes of his face.

“Wasn’t that just—” Adrian is briefly speechless, trying to figure out what he wants to say, and ends up making a noise instead, a wordless, excited shriek of a noise before he’s diving back in to kiss you again. Against your lips, he starts speaking again, says, “I’m feeling so fucking good, like, my blood’s fucking pumping, I really blew that thing up— Hey, what the fuck was that?” Adrian asks, twisting away to ask Emilia. “Do you know what the fuck I just killed?”

“Nothing good,” she answers, and Adrian fist-pumps in the air before twisting back for another biting kiss.

John screeches into the parking lot at your little innocuous office-building headquarters, where you and the 11th Street Kids are used to hiding in plain sight. When Chris kicks open the back of the van, Adrian throws you over his shoulder. You inhale in a sharp gasp, startled. His arm wraps around your legs, his hand holding your hip as he hops out to the parking lot.

Adrian shoves open the front door of the office, striding past the conference table to take you into the mostly-empty back office. He kicks the door shut behind him with a hard slam, sending it rattling in its frame. He brings you right to the desk, using his free arm to sweep everything on it onto the ground so he can throw you down on top of it, flat on your back.

In the next second, Adrian’s wrestling out of his uniform, tearing the clasps on his chest armor apart to send them peeling to the ground. He kicks it all aside, climbing up and over you onto the solid wood desk, stripped down to his boxers, skin slick with sweat. He glides up over you, finding the zipper on your own tight uniform, drawing it down in a sharp tug that bares your skin in a heated rush.

“Did you like that?” Adrian asks, pushing your uniform back off your shoulders. He tears your clothes down off of you, your hot skin meeting the cool desk in a flash that leaves prickles all over your flesh. “Wasn’t that awesome? What’d you—” His mouth finds your throat, teeth and wet heat that draw back a split second later. “What’d you think?”

“I think you’re amazing,” you tell him breathlessly. He shoves you further up the desk, sets himself between your legs, spreading your thighs apart. He licks over you, the flat of his tongue just— tasting you, for a moment— and your head knocks back into the desk, your back arching up. “Oh, fuck— I think you’re so amazing, you’re incredible, Adrian, I’m—”

Your voice breaks off with a sharp cry, and your hand flies up to cover your own mouth and muffle the noise. Adrian reaches up blindly, tugging sharply at your elbow to free you.

“Let me hear you,” he orders you. His hands come to your thighs again, spreading you apart, drawing your leg up over his shoulder to hook there.

When you push up onto one elbow to look down at him, you can see him already looking at you— looking down at you, spreading your legs further apart so he can reach between you and spread you apart. His face is flushed, cheeks red, up to the tips of his ears; he tugs his glasses off and tosses them aside before he drops back in again. He tilts your hips for you so he can dip in again, getting a better angle to lick inside of you. His other hand comes up to work you at your core, threading up above his head to get his fingers on your properly.

Your hips buck up of their own accord, and Adrian shoves you back down. His nose brushes along the inside of your thigh, and you make a strangled noise that rips up out of your chest, falling back again. You slam your bare palm down flat on the desk.

“Fuck, Adrian,” you curse as he keeps his mouth busy on you, jaw working, eating you like he’s trying to devour you. You can feel rocketing heat gathering stronger and stronger, coiling tighter and tighter at your core. You’re near tears, practically crying from the edge, from the near-overstimulation, wanting so badly to have him forever, to never have this end, to have this end now.

You’re throbbing, and you reach down, grasping blindly at him, fisting a hand in his hair. Adrian lets you guide him up, just slightly, before he twists to bite at the inside of your thigh. You cry out, face twisting sideways into the desk, leaving a smear of sweat and tears.

Adrian turns to lick into you one last time, tongue deep inside, keeping you spread wet and open, before he draws back to stand again. It’s only for a breath of a second before he kicks out of his boxers and slides up your body again, the hard, hot line of his cock gliding wet up your thigh, pressing hard into your belly when he drops down to kiss you.

“Oh, fuck, you’re the fucking— best person I know,” Adrian tells you, and you huff a laugh, smiling as you throw your arm over your face. “No, hey, c’mon, hey—” He reaches up, lifts your arm, tugging it up so he can see your face again. He cups your jaw, kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your lips. “Oh, fuck, thank you. Thank you for letting me do this, I want—” He bites your lower lip again, his kiss bruisingly hard. “I want you so fucking bad, can I—”

“Yeah,” you tell him, “Please, just—”

He seals his mouth with yours again, dripping sweat, smearing streaks of dried pink blood across your slick skin. He guides the head of his cock to your loose hole, wet where he’s worked you open until you fell apart around his tongue.

You grip the strong cut of his jaw now as he licks into your mouth like he’d like inside you before, and you grind up into him, desperate for friction where you want it most.

When Adrian pushes in, he groans your name, biting it off into your mouth before he drops to bury his face in your throat. His jaw keeps working, mouth open against your skin as he thrusts into you in a deep, hard push, his hips driving to meet yours.

He doesn’t hesitate, lifting up so he can take your hips in his hands and start fucking you in earnest. He bows over you, pushing you as far back as he can get you to go, lifting your leg to hitch up again so he can change and deepen his angle in you. You swear he can feel him fucking up into your throat, devouring your body with his, hungry for every inch of you. You can hardly believe that twelve hours ago, you’d never kissed him before; you think you’ll never be able to stop kissing him again.

Adrian keeps repeating your name, saying, “Fuck, oh fuck, you feel so good, you feel so tight, you’re so hot, you’re so—” He bites into the meat of your shoulder, clings to you, doesn’t let you go. You dig your nails into him, clinging to him, and he impossibly speeds up. The desk drawers rattle under the force of him fucking you into the desktop, and you fall apart under him. “Oh, fuck, I can’t— I can’t—”

He drags you up for another biting, hot kiss, keeping his eyes open like a freak. You do the same thing, keeping that eye contact as you rocket closer and closer to your edge. Your blood is boiling, has been for fucking hours, and you’re finally, finally there, shooting over the edge.

“Adrian, fuck—” punches up out of your throat. You’re overwhelmed with the heat that overflows through you, your mind whiting out.

Adrian’s teeth find your throat again when his hips fuck deep into you and still, his shoulders shaking, your name muffled by your own flesh as it pours out of his mouth into your skin. After a few moments, he shifts, thrusting again to fuck you through the rattlign aftershocks, riding each wave of his orgasm through your body.

When he finally stops, he drops to press into you like a heavy human blanket, burying his face in the space behind your ear, kissing along to your jaw. Every kiss is wet, sloppy, open-mouthed, dragging into the next.

“Sorry,” Adrian apologizes. “I made a mess.”

You laugh breathlessly, reaching up to thread your hands through the sweat-slick hair at the back of his head. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind a little bit of a mess.”

Adrian lifts his head to look you over, then grins. “You look like you got got.” His fingertips trail over your throat, down your shoulder. His touch dips into the bruises and bites he’s left behind all over you. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Hey, if you don’t mind waiting, like, ten minutes, I think I could probably fuck you again—”

“Adrian,” you tell him, “We are a fucking mess, this is— not the time, we should—”

Adrian drops to drag his tongue flat over one of the deeper bite marks in your shoulder, sending a spark rattling down your spine, spreading like a haze through your insides. You exhale sharply, grabbing at his hip.

“What’s up?” Adrian asks, smug, delighted with himself.

“Just— Shut up and get back up here,” you say, and Adrian drags up to kiss you again, slick and lazy, still smiling.

"You don't tell me what to do," he says. He's unable to stop grinning. "I tell you what to do," but he still draws up closer and kisses you again.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella

the way I wanna dom adrian chase SO bad😩

two am automatic;

pairing. frank castle x female! reader warnings. swearing. alcohol, loud music, annoying neighbours. choking, female receiving fingering and penetration. ummm, talkative frank? i kno right. he says some nasty shit   an. yeah i kno. i kno okay? i kno, i kno i kno i kno. i finally wrote a fic about my fave boy. pls reblog and comment, yall kno the drill<33

synopsis. your neighbour is an asshole and plays her music at 2am. at first, frank is civil, then when she does it again, he’s not so civil anymore.

Keep reading

You know the "break the bed during sex" trope? How do you think Adrian would be if that happened to him and his partner?

break the bed

(afab gn!reader) (nsfw 18+)

a/n: this is absolute filth. thank you for the prompt ily anon <3 (also i havent been assed to proofread anything rn sorrryyyyy)

In hindsight, it was absolutely mind boggling that the calamity and you and Adrian were making hadn’t prompted a nosy neighbour or passer-by to call the cops.

“Oh fuck yes- Oh fuck yes- OH FUCK YES!” you cried as Adrian fucked you into the bed relentlessly, the lewd sounds of skin slapping punctuating each and every thrust.

“Fuck-Fuck-SHITYOUFEELSOFUCKINGGOOD” Adrian whimpered, his cock slamming into you at a merciless pace as his white-knuckled hand gripped the headboard.

With each thrust, you wailed.

With each thrust, he growled.

And with each thrust, the bed frame began to wobble and screech.

The two of you were too far gone to notice the bed’s dwindling stability, even less so when Adrian hit a particularly erogenous spot hidden deep inside you, prompting you to rake your nails down his back and draw fresh blood with another shrill “FUCK YES ADRIAN DON’T STOP!”

Adrian bit down on your shoulder hard, his curly hair mopping the sweat of your face as he buried his face in your neck to leave harsh, wet, open mouthed kisses, biting and tonguing and moaning against your skin.

“M’gonna fuck you till you can’t walk anymore. M’gonna fill you with my cum and fuck it into you till you can’t even fucking think anymore.” Adrian growled, his possessiveness quickly drawing your orgasm near.

Your hands finished wreaking havoc on the porcelain skin of Adrian’s back, one of them grabbing him by the ass to hoist your hips up even closer to his, rolling them as best as you could under his brain melting pace to push yourself over the edge.

“Adri- ADRIAN! Fuck- I’m gonna-“

Your other hand made the mistake of pressing itself against the headboard to leverage yourself as Adrian was, pulling his body towards it with every thrust so that every last inch of his cock would be inside you. You could feel your legs start to quiver involuntarily as your cunt clenched around him, signalling the start of your undoing, and the very notion of you cumming underneath him brought Adrian to his own orgasm.

The second your hand pushed back on the frame, the entire structure came crumbling to the ground, the mattress falling lopsidedly atop the pile of wooden planks and metal beams.

Adrian was too swept up in the moment, too enraptured by how you made him feel, hence why he continued to fuck the both of you right over the edge, wailing and groaning through the rumbling in your ears and the stars in your eyes and the dust of the disaster settling around you.

“So fucking good-“ Adrian snivelled into the crook of your neck, never ceasing his thrusts as he began to leak out of you and onto the mattress, “-Pussy feels so fucking good cumming around me- Fuck!”

In due time, the two of you settled into a bewildered silence, puffing and panting as Adrain lay on top of you with his semi-hard cock still nestled inside you.

It was like Adrian hadn’t even noticed what’d happened as he wrapped his arms around you, holding your sweaty bodies tightly together as he enjoyed the slick sensation of skin-on-skin and pressed small, sweet, kisses along your jaw.

Your lack of reciprocation soon caught Adrians attention, and he lifted his head up just enough to look at you with those big, innocent green eyes with not a thought behind them and a creased brow.

“What’s wrong babe, you okay?” Adrian asked, eyes scanning your face for missed signs of injury or upset.

“Adrian, we-“ you chortled, so shocked but so impressed that he’d missed the event entirely, “-We just broke the fucking bed.”

“What?” Adrian gasped, curls bouncing as his head frantically whipped around in every direction to take in his surroundings.

And just as you had explained, the mattress was teetering on top of what was essentially a deconstructed ikea flat pack. To put it mildly, Adrian was very pleased with his discovery.

“FUCK YEAH DUDE, LET’S DO IT AGAIN!”

✦　₊　˚　♡ .　₊ ✦ .˚　♡ .　₊ ✦ . ₊　˚　♡ .　₊ ✦ .　˚　♡ .　₊ ✦

vigilante taglist: @redpool @lothiriel9 @darththrog @kingdindjarin @trash--blog @bbwithaknife @nottobegaybutmen @torchbearerkyle @666abby6666 @allukanezuko @fanofverymanythings @hypnoash @chelseaxteens @ellabellabus07 @vlkyriesgf @panickinanakin1 @caramelkatsukis-bitch @leaf-dont-leav

☾ † “You’re pretty, but not too pretty to get facefucked.” Frank + werewolf au

𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒽 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝓀 | ᠻ.ᥴ.

fandom marvel

featuring alpha!werewolf!frank castle x bratty!omega!reader (f)

rating NSFW / MINORS DNI

content warning A/B/O dynamics, dubcon, facefucking, knotting, Frank’s an asshole, slight hatefucking, suggested age gap (reader is 18+)

summary your alpha’s got an interesting way to keep the pack in line.

word count 1.6k / mini musing

attention part of my fright nights event! not proofread; do not copy/repost/translate. please reblog ❤️

you can hear him from outside, the baritone reverberating as he tears into the betas and you find yourself fidgeting. he’s hollering so loud that his voice sounds like thunder, and you can envision the bulging vein on the side of his throat and the look in his dangerous gaze, the fire and fury that must be there.

you don’t move a muscle when he stomps inside, the heavy door slamming against the wall as he does so— your eyes cast down to avoid his glaring, though you can feel it burning through you.

the betas were all retreating with their tails tucked between their legs after their reaming, and you were next in line to be torn apart.

maybe you deserved it.

“Y’aint got anything to say?” Frank challenges as he steps close to you, chest puffed and heaving. his breathing is already ragged, like chewing out the betas had riled him into a feral state. “That’s a fuckin’ first.”

inhale. exhale. you tried to keep your heart from pounding and your breathing steady, but he was so close that you were taking in his warmth. hold your ground. “Do you want me to repeat myself?” you reply, acid dripping from your tongue as your eyes flicker up to meet his. any time the pack had a rally, it seemed that you always had a problem with at least one thing Frank had to say, a vision he has for the pack or a new stipulation he was implementing. everyone else did, too, but you were the only one brave or stupid enough to call him out.

“Nah, i don’t wantcha to repeat yourself—“ grinding his teeth, Frank reaches out and grabs your face with one hand, the pads of his fingers hollowing your cheeks as they press into them, and you wince, brows knitting together, “I want you to show me some Goddamn respect,” he hisses, leaning in close, “Learn your place, Omega.”

your eyes narrow, your pride getting the better of you, and against every ounce of common sense in your body, your lips part to speak again. “You have enough of the pack kissing your ass, I’m not going to be one of them.”

for several seconds following the quip, Frank only glares. his jaw is tight and working, fingers squeezing your face to the point of aching, before he releases you, shoving your head back as he does so. the force is so great that you stagger a couple of steps back to keep yourself upright. “I’m gettin’ real sick of that mouth of yours, someone’s gotta teach you to keep it shut.” as he speaks, he paces the room, both hands finding his belt. the leather shrieks as he yanks it free from the loops. “I got just the thing for you, puppy, now get on your fucking knees.”

you’re too busy massaging your sore jaw that you’re almost certain you mishear him. your countenance twists into one of distaste and you take a step back, “What? What are you going to do?”

“Teach you a very important lesson,” he insists as he steps closer, cracking the belt like a whip against the floor by his feet, “from now on, when you open that mouth, I’m gonna stuff it full of cock. Maybe it’ll teach you to think twice about saying anything at all.”

“You can’t—“

Frank’s brow quirks, “Oh yeah? Why not?” he scoffs, wrapping one end of the leather around his powerful hand. “Think you’re too good for it? I gotta tell you, little girl, you’re pretty, but not too pretty to get facefucked. On your knees. Don’t make me ask you again.”

this time, you knew better than to test him. it might’ve been the first time since he took over that you didn’t push your luck, but his eyes were wild and furious; you were never the type to pick your battles, but you found yourself avoiding this one as you drop to your knees— reluctantly obedient.

“Good. Open wide, pup.”

you do as instructed, albeit whilst also glaring up at him. your tongue hangs over the cusp of your bottom lip as an invitation. you find yourself salivating as you watch him undo his fly and do away with the pesky garments all together, the faded denim bunching up around his ankles, spilling over worn combat boots. his member, when pulled from a fabric prison, is already twitching and hardening in his palm, which he greases with spit and pumps himself to full attention. you soak through your panties in anticipation, shifting on your knees. he’s damn thick, with throbbing veins etching over his mighty inches, and a broad, red tip.

“Not so tough now, are ya?” he taunts, slapping the underside of his tool against your waiting tongue a couple of times with a tight-lipped grin. your breath on him, the stimulation from your nubbed tongue was enough to coax a hungry growl from deep within his throat. “What’s the matter, huh? Got one look at this fat cock and now you know I’m the one in charge? Or maybe you’re just all kinds ‘a content now, because this is exactly what you wanted in the first place.”

there’s a glimmer in your hues, a sparkle of loathing, of anger at his words. your pride getting the best of you, maybe, but he catches it, anyways. hooking the belt around the back of your head, he grips either side and urges his manhood beyond the threshold of your cavern with a powerful thrust of his hips. “Stare daggers all ya want for as long as you have any fuckin’ dignity, pup, because your alpha’s about to fuck it out of ya.”

you wouldn’t admit it, but there was an inkling of excitement within you, anticipating that the alpha would make good on his word.

his pace is not an easy one to adjust to, quick and sharp bucking that drives his the better half of his cock deep into your mouth, threatening to prod the back of your throat, already. regardless of the way you gargle, he doesn’t ease up. the belt working in tandem with his rhythm, forcing you to take as much as he wants, not as much as you think you can take.

“Tell you what,” he grunts, brows furrowed with his chin jabbing into his heaving chest so he can watch you gag on his girth, the imprint of his size bulging from your cheek when he shifts the angle— every time you whine, his lips threaten a proud curve, “I like you a whole lot more when your mouth is too full of dick to say a word, those pretty lips ‘a yours stretched around my fucking cock, you make a damn good little sheath, dontcha?”

if you could form anything coherent, you would’ve unleashed a verbal barrage Frank couldn’t even begin to expect— but your hatred for your alpha wanes in comparison to the arousal you feel when getting him off, the obscene and delicious flavor of his musk on your tongue, the way his thickness has your tiers pulled taut around it, oozing drool from the corners of your mouth to glaze your chin and drip a cocktail of spit and precum on to your top. so you furrow your brows, fiery gaze the best you could muster, and nod anyways. nod because you know that it’s true, you were being abused by the beast above you, and you were eating it up.

“Good pup.” he moans, knuckles white against the belt as he pulls you down further. far enough to feel the bulbous knot pop behind your teeth, essentially locking his cock in place in your cavern. maximum capacity, that’s what you’re thinking— his tip is nudging the back of your throat, his girth keeps your mouth extended until your jaw aches. and the pulsating knot ensures he won’t be pulling out until he cums. “You know what good pups get? Big, fuckin’ loads down their throats.” as if to punctuate his statement, Frank braces his feet against the floor, and jackhammer himself into you, his heavy balls slapping your chin and dragging strings of gooey spit like spider webs back from it. his knot hits the back of your teeth over and over, keeping him from pulling out in his furious rutting. you choke on him as he spears your throat with the engorged head until one final and cruel thrust buries him to the hilt into your mouth. a flood of warmth pours into your gorge. at first, you gag, pushing his seed to spill on to your tongue and leak along the distended seam of your sore couplet.

“Ah, fuck.” he exhales, cock twitching as it expels the final wave of ejaculate, that last, pent up, shaking climax before the pesky knot has all but disappeared into his sex, allowing him to pull himself free.

you sputter when finally granted the emptiness your aching maw craved, his cum staining your top and leaving flyaway hairs sticking to your shiny chin. “S—satisfied, now?” it was meant to sound sarcastic, but instead came out meek and hopeful. instantly, you cursed yourself.

Frank smirks, wrenching the belt from your head and fastening his pants around his waist, tucking himself back inside. “You want me to tell you that you’re good at getting that mug fucked?” he scoffs, amused, and squats in front of you, eye level with you for the first time tonight. you swallow hard, tasting his cum in your saliva. dark eyes flicker, admiring your soiled countenance, before he cocks his head, “Next time, it’ll be your sweet, little cunt that I fuck into submission, pup.”

the concept of someone you’re into masturbating to the thought of you really is just one of the absolute hottest things ever

AHHHH GOING FERAL BABE THIS IS IMMACULATE

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was the winner for the pick of fic, im so sorry it's out later than promised- i just wanted to make sure it wasn't rushed <3 i hope you guys enjoy it!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bodyguard!frank castle x reader

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤/𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝! 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭/𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, language, unprotected sex, size kink, oral (m & f), taunting, fingering, praise kink, light cockwarming?, sorry for any missed typos

Traveling with your parents while they're on business was better in theory. It was a lot of waiting around in hotel rooms or conference halls- and it was more boring than you could even imagine. The cities you were in weren't even worth city seeing.

Tonight, while they're out at a charity gala, they left you with your "bodyguard"- or adult babysitter, as you called him. Your parents thought it was best to have extra protection with you, as you're in foreign cities, and they "didn't want anything happening to their only child." Codeword for: we don't trust that you can protect yourself.

Frank traveled with you guys the whole time but never really said anything to you- only small talk and giving you the rundown of the day ahead. He was a grump- and gorgeous.

He stayed with you all day and all night, staying in your hotel room till your parents came back- then he headed to his room. Frank didn't mind you, but you talked a lot more than he liked (you did it mainly to annoy him- see how far you could push him).

The majority of the time, you could convince him to let you sneak off or push him enough to where he clenched his jaw and glared at you. Tonight, on the other hand, was especially hard.

He wasn't budging; he caught on to your little game three cities ago- and if there was anyone as stubborn as you, it was him.

Frank had to keep himself together around you; if he didn't, he would have fallen for you completely. You were nothing like him- and that's what he liked about you. You were like a shot of espresso, always ready for the next thing and challenging him in ways that caught him off guard.

He wanted to be with you, and every day it got harder to push the feelings away.

"Do you ever speak?" You're on the bed with your arms crossed, blankly staring at the tv.

Frank sat in the chair, watching the tv and occasionally watching the door. Nothing has ever happened since he's been with you- not even the slightest threat, but he never let his guard down.

He didn't respond. You sighed,

"What's with the silent treatment?" Sitting up and leaning against the headboard, Frank didn't flinch, eyes still focused on the tv.

"Did my parents tell you not to speak to me or something?" He shrugged, not answering your question.

With each question, his irritation grew- tonight, he was not in the mood for your game.

He inhaled in irritation,

"Do you ever stop talking?" You rolled your eyes.

Huffing, you got up from the bed walking into the bathroom to change. The later it got, the less interested you were in waiting to say goodnight to your parents. You changed out of your sweats and hoodie into spandex and a fitted tank top in the bathroom. Not bothering to put on a bra, you decided to up the anty.

You always wondered what he was like in bed. He was so rough, you wondered if it translated to bed.

Frank does a double-take as you walk out. His eyes instantly fell to your chest- your shirt clung to your breasts, the outline of your nipples peaked through the thin fabric of the shirt. It was the first time Frank had seen this much of your skin- most nights, you opted out for the hoodie or waited till he went to his room to change.

"See something you like?" You tease, not bothering to look at him while putting your phone on the charger and putting away your reading materials in the drawer.

He doesn't say anything but watches as your tidy up your area. Bending over in front of him, picking up your shoes, or grabbing your bags- every move you made, you could feel his eyes burning through you.

Frank tried to look away, but he was mesmerized by your body- and the bounce of your breasts as you bent over. He shifted in his seat, quickly adjusting his jeans, clearing the lump in his throat.

Chuckling, you sat at the edge of the bed- looking at him.

"So, you don't talk, but you stare at my chest?" You ask, watching him avoid eye contact with you.

He clenches his jaw, taking a deep breath- heat rose to his cheeks. Confidence soars through you each time he shifts in his seat, knowing he was finally gonna let you win this round.

"Am I making the big bad punisher blush?" You taunt him further.

"You're a pain in my ass, you know that?" The rasp in his voice sent a shiver up your spine, pebbling your nipples.

"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" Laughing, you stand up to walk back to your bed.

Frank laughs, sitting up in the chair. He wasn't going to let you win- especially not that easy.

"Nothing you'd be able to handle." Stopping straight in your tracks, you turn around. He smirks, looking up at your stunned face. Not the response you were expecting from him.

"You're too easy." Frank laughs, taking a swig from the water bottle next to him.

Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, you could feel your blood beginning to boil.

"Easy? I handle anything. You're probably just bluffing anyway." Standing your ground, your eyes follow Frank's as he stands up.

His body toward over yours- and you immediately feel small and instantly regret your words. Frank didn't say anything, just stared your down. Knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you.

Arousal pooled in your panties as the gap between you got smaller. Your breath falls inconsistent, and your heartbeat begins to rise.

"Is that right? You can handle anything?" His voice falls below a whisper.

He wasn't touching you, but your skin burned, and you felt a faint heartbeat in your core- already aching for him.

Standing your ground, even though your legs felt weak, you shook your head.

"Alright, since you can handle anything, why don't I fuck that smart-ass mouth of yours?" Your eyes widened, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

Frank smirks, thinking he's calling your bluff- but you agree.

"Okay." His cock throbbed against the fabric of his briefs.

The image of his cock in your mouth alone was enough for cum to leak from his tip. You kneeled in front of him- the size of his bulge made butterflies flood your stomach. Soon you'd be eating your own words. You unzip his jeans and pull them down.

Frank pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the chair behind him. Looking up, you notice the toned abdomen, and your chest becomes heavy. You tugged his briefs down and bit your tongue when his cock sprung free. The ache between your legs grew, and the arousal dampened your thighs.

Sitting back on your legs, you were hesitant to touch him- he was big- bigger than you think you could handle. Frank watched your eyes widen, and your hand shook as you reached out. He hisses as your cold fingers wrap around his length. You begin to stroke his cock, slowly- locking eyes with him.

Frank liked the sight before him- you on your knees, nipples poking through your shirt, innocently looking up at him like you didn't have your hand on his cock. Running your tongue along from the base to his tip- closing your lips around his head.

Frank hisses as you begin to take more of him in your mouth. Sinking your nails into his thighs, you use him for stability. Letting saliva coat your mouth, you take a deep breath and attempt to take him all. Gagging against his cock, you pull off of him- gasping for breath.

"What happened to 'I-can-handle-anything'?" Frank coos, watching tears well in the corners of your eyes.

Determined to prove him wrong, you slip him back inside your mouth- gagging and tears falling from your eyes; Frank guides your movements. The ache between your legs gets so loud, you swear Frank could hear it.

You relax your jaw and bob your head while he continues to slowly thrust into your mouth. With each thrust, his cock touches the back of your throat. The gags are mixed with moans. Frank's cock twitches in your mouth. Pulling you by the hair, your lungs fill with a full breath as Frank pulls you off his cock.

He was impressed with your determination and loved how small you looked in front of him.

"Good girl..." The praise made your pussy flutter.

Adjusting your hips, you tried to relieve yourself, but nothing helped. You returned to Frank- he was close, pre cum dripped down the side of his length. Licking up the pre cum, you collect the saliva on your tongue and let it drip onto his tip. Not breaking eye contact, Frank was stunned at the act.

You twist and stroke his length using one hand as your other hand begins to massage his balls. Your tongue swirls around his tip. Pleasure rushed down, and Frank's hips buck; within seconds, he's gripping your hair and shoots ropes of cum in your mouth. A string of curses falls from his lips.

You smile devilishly up at him. Frank guides you back to your feet, not hesitating to press his lips against yours. In your mind, you had the advantage back- but Frank had you where he wanted you.

His fingers slipped inside your shorts, you whimper into his mouth. His middle finger circles around your clit, warming your core. Frank's free hand slid up your shirt, holding you steady. Your legs felt numb, and your focus slowly began to slip.

"So wet... Is this all from me fuckin that pretty little mouth?" He whispers against your ear.

Your forehead pressed to his shoulder, your mind felt foggy the more he toyed with your clit. Frank hiked up your shirt over your breasts.

"Fuck," He grunts.

He backs your body back toward the bed, fingers still between your folds. Once the back of your knees hit the bed, he removed his fingers from your cunt. Frank's calloused palms slide up the sides of your body, removing your shirt.

You snap back to reality as soon as your back hits the mattress. His mouth is on your jaw and traveling down your neck. Your fingers run through his hair and your back arches; he makes his way down the valley of your breasts.

His tongue glides down your navel and to the band of your panties. Within seconds your panties are being pulled down your legs and tossed somewhere in the room. The tv still played whatever it was that you two were watching- and you were thanking God you had your own hotel room this time around.

"Christ," He almost whines, spreading open your thighs, finally seeing your cunt.

It's dripping with arousal. He hooks his arms under your legs and begins to kiss the inside of your thighs. Gently blowing on your sensitive skin. You squirm and whine the closer he gets to your clit, and denies the pleasure.

He teases your clit, kissing around your thighs and teasing your hole with his finger.

Frank's lips finally closed around your clit. Sucking on the sensitive nerve, his tongue swirls around it. Shamelessly, you whimper and moan. His palms are caressing the top of your thighs, soothing your squirms. He takes his time, licking up every last drop of your juices- moaning into your cunt.

Your body went into overdrive. The pleasure began to build in the pit of your stomach. You balled the comforter in your hands, tugging on it as your back arched and hips dug into the mattress.

Frank looks up as his middle finger circles around your clit, before he slips two fingers inside you. He starts off slow, watching your body roll into his fingers impatiently. As soon as the pleasure begins to overwhelm you, Frank pulls away.

A frustrated whine leaves your lips, losing your orgasm.

"You wanna cum? You're gonna have to work for it." Frank uses your thighs and pulls your body towards him.

"What?" You hiss, irritated at the lost pleasure.

"You're gonna have to ride my cock, princess." The thought alone made your stomach flutter.

"Unless... you don't think you can handle it." The challenge was enough motivation for you to sit up and huff.

Frank chuckles lay down on the bed. You straddle his hips, taking a deep breath- wondering if you'd rather be right or be able to walk tomorrow.

Frank stares at your body on top of him. The way your breast hung in front of him, the way our thighs sat perfectly on the sides of his, and the way he wanted to wrap his hand around your neck and fuck the attitude out of you.

"I can do it..." Suddenly the confidence you had minutes ago disappeared.

You took a deep breath and lined his cock with your entrance. Frank grunted as you sunk down onto him. You could only take an inch or two before you pulled off. His cock stretched your walls more than ever before- you whimpered and lined him up again. Tears soon well in your eyes the more you try to take.

"You can do, princess. I believe in you," Frank taunts, rubbing over your thighs.

Ignoring his remarks, you went down further, moaning and falling forward. You caught yourself putting your hands on his chest, using him as stability. Taking another breath, you sunk down again. Frank's palms rest on your hips, helping you along.

"Fuck!" You moan, digging your nails into his chest.

"Am I too big for your little cunt? It's okay to admit when you're wrong, princess."

You're unable to form sentences, too overwhelmed with pleasure.

His cock fills your cunt, stretching your walls out completely. Staying still for a moment to adjust to his size- before Frank starts to thrust upward. Yelping in pleasure, Frank picks up his pace. Your body goes numb.

Frank had to find a steady pace, or he'd cum too early. Your walls pulsated around his cock, pushing closer and closer to his orgasm- but he needed you to say it, say that you were wrong. He wasn't going to let you finish until you admitted it.

"Look at you, fucked out already?" Frank teases.

Frank wrapped his arm around your back, adjusting your body, so he was upright. The adjustment pushed him deeper inside you, and your arms wrapped around his neck- muffling your incoherent sounds into his neck.

The deeper he went, the tighter the knot in your stomach became. One last adjustment, and you're on your back with your neck at the edge of the bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist, meeting his strokes halfway.

"You're gonna cum, aren't you? I can feel it, princess." His lips press against your jaw while other is cupping the other side and teasingly falling to your neck.

All you could do was nod your head and whimper; you couldn't think anymore- he won, and you didn't care anymore about winning. All you wanted was to cum.

"If you wanna cum, tell me I'm right." Another deep, slow stroke, taunting you.

"Tell me I'm right; tell me how good I'm making that needy cunt feel." Gathering enough words in your head, you mumble.

"You're right..." Frank moves his mouth away from your jaw and looks you in the eye.

"And?" Your eyes are locked on his, and it's getting harder to hold back your orgasm.

"... you feel so good inside me," That's all you could muster before he picked up his pace once more.

"Yeah?" He holds the eye contact.

"Show me. Cum for me." With permission, your mouth falls open, your hips squirm and dig into the mattress, and your nails sink into his back.

Your walls contract around him, and he hisses in pleasure.

Frank follows soon behind you, filling your cunt up with his cum. He watches your face relax, and your chest falls back into a steady rhythm. Frank holds himself inside you for a moment to catch his own breath. Once your body calms down from the high, you lean forward and press your lips against his.

While your lips are on his, he lays on his side, pulling you into him- still inside you, you place your leg over his.

"Stay here tonight..." You whisper, tracing up and down his bicep.

Not realizing what he has gotten himself into, he nods- kissing your forehead.

I wanna suck Bucky Barnes’ dick SO bad. 🥲

𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this scenario would not leave my mind- also shockingly this is over 1.5k!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: frank castle x reader

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤/𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝! 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭/𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, language, cleaning wounds, unprotected sex, fingering, passionate sex, light breeding kink, light oral (f), unedited sorry for any missed typos!

"What the hell happened to you!" The blood-stained and bruised man stands in your doorway.

You quickly pull him inside, shutting and locking the door behind you. Frank limps towards the bar stools in the kitchen. The first aid kit is still laid out on the counter from last night's patch-up.

A faint groan sneaks past his lips as Frank sits down, finally being able to take a full breath.

"Nothing for you to worry about; you just need a few band-aids." Frank moves his hand away from his waist, revealing the gash dripping with blood.

Quickly you gather your dish towels and all the paper towels you can. They were not ideal, but the hospital wasn't an option since you had to be discreet. You remove your sweatshirt, not wanting to dirty it or the sleeves to get in the way.

Laying the full-sized towels on the floor underneath to catch the dripping blood, you hand him the dish towels. Frank begins to hold the cloth against the gash. You prep the area by washing your hands and grabbing the gloves from your kit.

"Wanna tell me why you busted the stitches from yesterday?" You mutter, applying alcohol to the wound.

Frank curses underneath his breath before shrugging his shoulders.

"Maybe I wanted to see you again," You laugh sarcastically.

"That so?" Playing along, you clean around the wound with a large cotton swab.

"Yeah." Frank smiles as you look up at him before shaking your head.

There are times where you regret offering help to the limping man you saw walking home a few months ago. It landed you in risky situations, but you're thankful you did- or else you wouldn't have met him.

Dressing his wounds and cleaning off the blood is practice for when you're put on the trauma unit at the hospital- and you have a lot of practice.

"This isn't going to heal very pretty; it's gonna scare pretty bad." Concentrating, you mumble.

"It'll match the other ones." Frank winces as you begin to restitch the gash.

Frank watches at how intently you're working on the wound. He didn't mean to bust the stitches, but it wasn't his priority in the fight. He appreciates how patient you are with him, how much you care for him. It isn't very often he finds someone he can let his guard down with- or as much as he could let them.

"This one is done. Please try to let it heal before you get stabbed again?" Standing up, you reach for the washcloth and dunk it in the bowl of water.

Ringing out the access water, you press it to his forehead and cheek. Somehow you slipped between his legs. His hands fell to your waist like they were meant to be there. You don't say anything; you like how well they fit.

You could feel his eyes burning through you, watching your every move. Dragging it down to his lips and chin, you clean off the blood. Frank wants to lean forward but stops himself.

Looking down, your eyes catch each other. His mouth is fully cleaned, your eyes drop to his lips.

Frank pleaded with you in his head that you'd lean in-, but you didn't.

"I think it's better to clean the rest off in the bathroom." You clear your throat, pulling away from his body.

Frank swallows hard and nods.

Once in the bathroom, you start the shower. Frank walks in after you, stripped down to his briefs. His top half is caked in blood and dirt. Whatever he had come from, it wasn't good- and you didn't plan on asking about it.

Frank steps in with his briefs still on, knowing you'd need to help address the wounds on his back.

The room was silent, but you could cut the tension with a knife. The water hits his skin, and he winces once more. Soon the blood and dirt begin to disappear from his skin. The minor scratches and bruises start to show through. Nothing major, so you assume the blood he was wearing was someone else's.

Stepping inside the tub, you examine his back. When he turns around, your eyes meet once more. This time they don't leave/

The two of you give in to the tension, and the silent pleads.

His hands cup the sides of your face, and your fingers wrap around his wrists. Your lips meet each other, and you're pulled under the water.

You sneak your arms under his and around his neck, his arms loop under your legs- hoisting you up and pressing you against the shower wall. You're careful your legs don't hit the stitches.

Frank's palms slide up your shirt, lifting and removing it. Your bralette is soaked through, and you can see the outline of your pebbled nipples. Frank's lips drag from your jawline down your neck and onto your chest.

"Frank-" He pulls his lips off of you the moment his name leaves your lips.

"Are you sure about this?" You ask softly.

He nods. He had never been so sure about anything.

"I promise." He replies.

Nodding back, his lips found yours again.

Your front is resting just above his crotch, but you can feel his hard-on underneath you. An unexpected moan falls from Frank's lips once you start to grind against him. Frank holds you up from your thighs, carrying you out of the shower (not daring to break from your mouth to shut the water off).

Completely soaked, Frank drops you onto the bed. While he's taking off his briefs, you do other same and remove your shorts and underwear. He stares at you for a moment, taking in the sight of your bare lower half. The gaze breaks as he hears your bra drop off the side of the bed. His eyes travel to your breasts, groaning as he watches them move as you sit up.

Frank lays you back down as he lays on his side. His lips are attached to your neck as his rough palms travel down your body. They're taking mapping every inch of you, feeling everything they could. You whine as his thumb grazes the top of your cunt. The ache became louder, and you swear he could feel it.

"Please, Frank- I need you," The words came out more desperate than you wished them, but it was true.

The arousal had pooled and coated your folds and stuck to the inside of your thighs. The plea encouraged him to spread your thighs apart, your leg hooking over top of his. He moaned into your mouth as his fingers dipped inside your sopping folds.

"I haven't even done anything yet," He chuckles, and you gasp.

Two fingers enter inside you, and you jerk your hips upward. Frank's other arm is underneath your head, and his fingers are interlocked with yours. This type of intimacy is one that you haven't experienced before, being so close and connected everywhere you could. Frank's fingers are slow but steady, his thumb grazing your clit.

You roll your hips into his fingers, wanting more.

"Keep going, sweetheart." He mumbled against your lips.

There wasn't a point in trying to conceal your sounds, so you let the small soft whimpers and the tiny whines escape you. Frank became addicted to them, pushing you closer and closer, wanting you to get louder and louder.

Each curl of his fingers hit your g spot, teasing your orgasm. The pleasure grew more intense, and fog covered your brain.

Clenching around his fingers, Frank increased his speed. His thumb toying with your sensitive nerve.

"Frank, I- please, can I cum?" Sinking into submission, you ask through a whimper.

Frank chuckles and grants you permission.

Your hips buck and jerk against his hand as you cum around his fingers. Frank's in your ear, whispering all sorts of praises as your climb down from your high.

Holding his fingers still before he brings them to his lips- tasting your arousal. He hums at the taste, knowing he had to get it from the source.

Releasing your hand, he shuffles down so that he's eye to eye with your greedy cunt.

"M'senstive, please- Fuck!" Frank cleans up all the arousal, craving more of you.

He hovers over your body, that's still recovering, and places your legs on each side of him. He drags the tip of his cock up and down your folds, spending extra time on your clit.

"Fuck, baby-" Frank moans as he pushes himself inside you.

Your eyes flutter shut, your hips dig into the mattress, and your back arches. He fills your cunt, and your body warms. Frank leans down, kissing you once more, not breaking as he begins to thrust.

Each stroke is deep and slow, making sure you feel every inch of him.

Once you're more adjusted, he goes faster- rougher than the moments before. His lips are still against yours; every so often, they drag to your jaw. Frank cups the side of your face; his eyes meet yours before kissing you again.

He was kissing you like it was the first time he had ever done it, passionately and with so much desire.

Your nails claw at his back, but he winces as you create new wounds.

"S'close- fuck!" You mumble against his lips; you know he's close too- his cock twitches inside you.

"Cum for me, sweetheart- please," He whines into your mouth.

You pulsate around him, cumming hard. Frank curses under his breath; you feel his cum spill inside you. You grind slowly against him, wanting every last bit of his cum.

Frank thrusts one last time before slowly pulling out of you. The both of you are panting next to each other, barely able to form words.

You turn to your side, facing him. Frank does the same, but this time he pushes the fallen pieces of hair out of your face- studying your expression.

"I think you might have a few more cuts on your back," You mumble, feeling the heat spread to your cheeks.

"Eh, It'll match the rest of 'em." He smirks.

Frank encouraging Matt to fuck the life out of you like “come on, red, I know you can do better than that. At least make the girl cum.” “Is that all you got? Can’t even fuck a girl right?” Until Matt just loses it and pounds the fuck out of you “there it is! There’s the devil.”

GOD frank taunting matt would be 🤌🏼 and you’re just so overstimulated you’re dizzy and whimpering

join the sleepover!

call me when you want

summary || when you call a sex hotline with a need to be dominated you don’t expect to meet (or hear) someone as wonderful as James. but your life becomes a complicated mess as you already love your coworker, Bucky Barnes. however, you are unaware that they are actually the same person.

warnings || BDSM, Dom! Bucky Barnes, dom/sub dynamics, phone sex, dirty talk, identity porn, sex toys, and a lot more (if you didn’t get the gist, this is filthy). SMUT. ANGST. FLUFF. (the holy trinity). MINORS DNI.

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

➪ completed

— one

— two

— three

— four

— five

IM FERAL, FOAMING AT THE MOUTH, ABSOLUTELY LOSING IT OVER THIS

𝙙𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙘𝙮 || orc!bucky x princess!reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || you want to make peace with the orc army threatening to conquer your kingdom, but you only have one thing to offer their leader.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 5.6k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || SMUT (18+ only, just like my entire blog!!), monsterfucking/exophilia, size kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), penetrative sex, painful sex (kinda but not THAT bad), housewife kink, degradation (not super hard, but it's there), the slightest touch of misogyny kink?, cum swallowing/cumplay, facial, creampie, breeding kink, discussions of war and death

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 || you know that song 'the boys are back in town'? yeah that but it's 'the whores are back in town'

"I thought perhaps we could end this war."

Standing alone in the orc chieftain’s hut, wearing a dress that gave away instantly that you were a princess, demanding a treaty. No one ever accused you of being particularly weak of mind or spirit… but even for you, this was a risky move. You just hoped that the hulking orc sitting across the tent from you– with his massive stature, surprisingly-bright blue eyes, and dark brown braids of hair falling around his tusked face– couldn’t see the fear running through your veins.

He didn’t seem to; he only scoffed incredulously. "Of course, I'd like that as well. Slaughtering your people leaves my armies exhausted," he smirked.

You hadn’t been expecting the warmest welcome from the leader of your enemies– Bucky, as they called him, a strange name to a human but pretty standard for an orc– yet even so, that seemed like a pretty low blow. You should’ve felt like you had the upper-hand wearing your finest silks while he only had on a loincloth tied with leather cord and some sparse jewelry, and yet somehow you were the one who felt exposed as his gaze penetrated you.

"Why should I consider diplomacy to end a war that I'm winning?" Bucky pressed.

"Because I have something of great value to offer," you explained. "I believe this war can be ended with a diplomatic marriage."

"Marriage?" he repeated with a raised eyebrow. "Between who?"

"Well, I…" you began nervously, looking at the furs thrown down beneath your feet; your gaze shot up after a moment when you heard him let out a deep laugh, one that made his belly shake and his braids swing as he tossed his head back.

"Oh," he realized aloud, "you don't mean… you and I, do you?"

You swallowed thickly. "I just thought perhaps—"

"You thought I'd be tempted by your weak little body, your royal lineage, your riches?" he spat. "Those things are of no matter to orcs. Our women are strong, brave, and independent. You… you're so… puny. Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, wielding power not because of your intelligence or fortitude or strategy but simply because you happen to be the daughter of the king. It's pathetic."

He kept laughing as you tightened your fists. "You think I'm not brave? I came here, didn't I? I offered myself to save my kingdom," you reminded him. "I moved across enemy lines, without my father's approval—"

"Stop," he demanded, and you choked on your next word as you fell into sudden silence. "The king hasn't sent you?"

"No," you confirmed. "He's… ill. He is too weak to manage the armies alone. His military advisor wants blood, he will not hear a word of peace. So, I ordered the guard to bring me here… I will not watch my people suffer any longer, if I can stop it."

He seemed to take that much more seriously than anything else you said.

"Please," you continued, "do not let the violent nature of my father's royal general poison you to humans. We are not such a brutal people, usually…"

"Do you mean to imply that we orcs are?" Bucky pressed.

"N-no!" you stammered. "I'll admit some humans believe that, but I came here in good faith, believing you wouldn't kill me even if you could."

"You've thrown yourself into the hands of the enemy, on a whim, against your father's wishes and without his knowledge…" Bucky reiterated. "Brave, perhaps. Or just foolish."

You chewed your lip as you stared down at the ground.

"You clearly know so little about our people," he continued. "Because if you knew anything you'd know that a tribal orc war chieftain marrying a human isn't very favorable for us. My children should be fierce and fearsome… being half-human might bring shame on them."

"Well, that's not fair," you frowned. "I didn't know orcs were so prejudiced."

"As if humans aren't?" he scoffed. "A half-orc might be looked down upon in orc society, but they would be killed in human society."

That, sadly, was true, and you couldn't deny it.

“But…” he began, and you let hope fill you again as you wondered if your plan for peace could really work, “you seem to have your head on straight, mostly. I mean, for a human…”

“I try my best,” you offered humbly.

“You don’t really know what you’re asking for, with this marriage you’ve suggested,” he continued. "Orcs mate for life," he reminded you. "You wouldn't be leaving me when the allyship is through, to find another husband from another kingdom next— some puny human boy your mother likes."

You nodded.

"And we don't take commitment lightly. You would be pledged to me for all your life, and me to you— not even death permits an orc to marry again or even lay with another."

"I understand," you nodded again.

He frowned. "You've heard all this and you still think a diplomatic union is reasonable?"

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek for a second. "Well… yes. My offer still stands."

He let out a bemused huff of air from his nose. "You're tenacious, I'll give you that," he smirked. "It's a shame I'm not attracted to humans or I'd be tempted to mate you."

Your heart ached when he began to deny you that way… but you ached somewhere else as well. "You've… never laid with any creature but an orc?" you wondered aloud.

He nodded in agreement, his large tongue darting out to wet his lips. "No— elves are too stuck-up and even if I could get past the looks of a dwarfish woman, with how short she is it would probably kill her to try."

He must've caught the way you bit your lip, your eyes darting to the loincloth over his lap for a moment, because his eyes sparkled as he smirked at you.

"You've only had human partners, I assume?" he pressed. You nodded. "Good… I don't think you could handle anything else."

"N-no," you stammered, "wait…"

"What should I wait for?" he asked with a raised brow.

"For… for me to think of something else to say, to try to convince you," you answered bluntly. He smiled around his long tusks.

"You are determined to end this war," he realized.

You nodded nervously.

"But you haven't even shown me what you're offering," he purred. "Take that silly dress off."

For someone who had been throwing yourself at him a second ago, you suddenly hesitated.

"What, you're not getting shy now, are you?" he snorted. "Undress."

Shivering at the forcefulness of his demand, you reached up and started to unlace your dress, awkwardly shimmying out of it and standing before him in your undergarments.

"Gods, you humans are so conservative," he sneered. "You cover your bodies with so many layers— we orcs really only need the one," he chuckled as he tugged his loincloth for emphasis. “Take off more, show me your body.”

Finally, you untied your chemise, and dropped it to expose your chest to the warm breeze blowing gently through the tent– it must’ve been that that made your nipples peak and harden, not the way his eyes were grazing over your form.

You let it fall the rest of the way, bare before him with the light fabric pooled at your feet. His lip twitched into the subtlest snarl as you stood in front of him. You reached up to begin to take off the golden tiara in a halo around your head, but he interrupted before you could even lift it away. "No, you can leave that on," he smirked.

For a moment you almost smirked to yourself, realizing he might not have been entirely honest before when he said human royal lineage meant nothing to him.

“Turn around,” he ordered, and you slowly turned in a circle, looking back at him as he shamelessly ogled your ass.

When you were facing each other again, he carried a glimmer in his eye that made your knees a little weak.

“I’ll admit, your body is… interesting,” he offered. “Human women have a certain charm to them– some orcs prefer humans as mates, I’ve never really understood why… especially the woman, there’s no way a human man can pleasure them the way we can.”

A shiver dashed up your spine. Your gaze watched his massive hands rub over his legs– you could only imagine how an orc like him would pleasure a partner, human or orc.

“So, this offer of marriage,” he recalled, “doesn’t bring me much strategic benefit.”

“W-we have resources,” you blurted out, “we control the coasts: we have ocean fish, pearls, whale’s oil–”

“Stop,” he frowned, “I already said I have no use for your riches. Pearls? You think that’s what I want, pearls?”

You awkwardly shrunk back into yourself as you realized your folly.

“No, I’m not interested in what your kingdom can offer me as an ally,” he asserted. “I’d rather learn about what you can offer me. As my wife.”

Just the phrase ‘my wife’ from his lips, speaking of you, made your heart stop for a moment. Before you’d hatched this plan you’d never even imagined being an orc’s wife– except maybe when you heard the sort of stories children were told to keep them to behave. Practice your table manners or you’ll have to marry an orc instead of a prince! Now, it sounded like a twisted sort of fairytale… not especially romantic, but so shockingly tempting and shamefully erotic.

"Why don't you come here and show me what a good wife you could be for me?" Bucky purred. "I've heard human women like to do strange things to their men. Pleasure them with their mouths, for example."

"Do orcs not do that?" you mumbled awkwardly.

"No, we like to keep things practical," he smirked. "But I wouldn't mind seeing how a human girl would pleasure her mate…"

You walked forward in just a few steps– he was taller than you even sitting down, and he smirked as he looked down at your doe-eyed expression. After taking a shaky breath you dropped carefully to your knees, reaching to the loincloth hanging at his waist. You tried not to react too strongly when you pulled it aside, but it's hard to hide your shock when you see an orc's cock.

Thick, impossibly thick, with a fat head and veins along the sides— it was laying on his thigh, still soft, yet you couldn't even fit your hand all the way around it when you tried to pick it up.

Gods, it was heavy too… you actually had to put some effort in to lift it. It felt more like a trunk than a cock; Bucky chuckled lowly at your obvious nervousness. "Don't be shy, human, this is what you came here for, isn't it?"

"Not exactly," you mumbled to yourself, leaning down to experimentally lick the very tip of it. It just tasted like skin, maybe a bit saltier than usual, but nothing too worrisome. Going back down again, you began to lick all over the head.

"Mmm," he groaned, deep in his chest. "You won't even be able to fit it in your mouth, will you?" You shook your head. "Try anyway," he encouraged.

You opened your mouth as wide as it could go, and just barely managed to get your lips around it. You let your tongue swirl over the skin inside your mouth, moving to take more… but even with all your might, you couldn't even get your lips past the ridge of his bulbous head— not when he'd become almost completely hard in your hand now.

So, you pulled back to lick a long, thick stripe from the very base up to the slit at the end. "O-oh," he groaned, "that's nice… maybe human women are worth the trouble after all."

You gave him more licks– some long and slow, others fast and short to keep him guessing– focusing on trying to taste every inch of him. He seemed to like it best when you gently pulled his foreskin back and licked the edge of where his head met his shaft.

After a while doing that, you dipped down even lower to lave his massive balls with your tongue, making him groan even louder as his hand reached down to squeeze your shoulder— the whole thing fit in just half of the palm of his massive hand. "Damn, princess, are you really so insatiable? You want to taste an orc's fat balls?" he grunted.

With your mouth wide open there was no way to stop your moan from slipping out when you heard those lewd words.

"I bet you're not used to being talked to that way. Princes and consorts, they probably just go on about how pretty you are, read poetry about how they've longed for you," he mocked. "You like this better, though, don't you? You like being reminded that you're just a dirty whore on your knees in my tent, begging me to marry you… well shit, this is the best proposal I ever saw," he smirked.

You suckled on the tip of his head again, blinking up at him and admiring the dark look in his eyes as he watched you. He seemed pleased by you looking up at him, even groaning through his teeth a bit.

"Mm, you'd make a good little wife, wouldn't you?" he smirked. "You love using your mouth so much, I'd let you lick my cock every day."

Let you, like it was a privilege. Why did that turn you on so much?

“Stroke it, princess– stroke my cock,” he groaned, bucking up his hips just a bit as you had to use both hands to try to jerk him off. It seemed like he had more fun watching you struggle to manage the size of him than he got from whatever sensations your actions gave him– that said, he certainly didn’t mind either. In fact, he started to pant out his breaths as you found a pattern of stroking the thick shaft of his cock while your mouth opened wide to lick over his tip. “Feels different than anything I’ve ever experienced before,” he continued, words thin with his breathing getting quicker. “Your sweet little tongue… your warm, wet mouth…” he enumerated, groaning louder. “Fuck, your lips look real pretty stretched out because of me. I bet your jaw is aching from trying to fit me, but it’s not your fault, your body just wasn’t made to take massive orc cock.”

And yes, your jaw was incredibly sore, but it was irrelevant compared to the ache between your legs. Watching him slowly fall into ecstasy because of your work made the most unique sense of pride warm your skin, and something about using your own small frame (at least, compared to his) to pleasure a body so much larger and stronger than your own was… exhilarating.

"Mm, I'm gonna come," he warned with a low growl. “S’that what you want, slutty princess? To make me come?”

You nodded and hummed as you took his head (or, most of it) into your mouth, slobbering all over it eagerly. His hips started to rock in his chair, not much but plenty to stuff your mouth– so full even your moans were stifled.

“Just don’t stop, little one, f-fuck–” he demanded, and suddenly as he let out a roar of a moan, thick ropes of come sprayed right into your throat; just a few shots filled your mouth so much that it started to pour out of the corners of your mouth, and when you gagged, more ran down your chin. When you leaned back slightly, it began to spurt out onto your face instead, in your hair and over your cheeks, just barely missing your eyes.

The last pump of his come ran in a long drip down his shaft; he sighed and sunk back into his chair, holding your neck with one hand (not too tight, just enough to keep you still) and gripping the base of his cock with the other. Without even being asked you sat up slightly and licked up the last drop of come, after you’d swallowed what was already in your mouth, and he let out an exhausted (yet impressed) laugh.

“Such a naughty little slut of a human I’ve got,” he praised. You whimpered needily when he leaned down and began to lick his own come off your face with his long, yet smooth, tongue– only to hold your mouth open and spit it all in there for you. “So fucking eager,” he grunted as he saw that glassy look in your eyes, realizing how cockdrunk you were and how much you loved having a belly full of orc come. It really was so much that you thought you wouldn’t need another meal today.

“Bucky…” you mumbled weakly reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.

"Do human women like having their pussy licked?" he wondered aloud.

"Uh, generally…" you stammered out your awkward reply. He instantly picked you up to toss you onto his strategy table, brushing maps and compasses out of the way as he spread your legs open. Laying on the table and the look in his eye both made you feel like a feast he was about to devour. Even having already been coated in his spend, you felt sickly aroused by his massive hands holding your legs open, those blue eyes staring right down at your pussy as he licked his lips.

"I don't even know where to start with a delicious little cunt like this," he grinned. "I bet there are so many places that make you squeal and squirm… but the lucky thing is, I can just lick all of them."

And he did: with one flat lap of his tongue he easily coated your entire pussy, making you shake and moan as he slowly pulled his tongue up and did it again.

"Mm," he purred happily, "you taste sweet. Orcish women wouldn't tolerate being so vulnerable like this, or wasting their time doing anything but breeding. But I guess the rumors about human girls are true… you love to do all sorts of strange things– desperate little minxes. And I bet lots of you want big, mean orcs to fuck you even when you know it’s going to wreck your tiny cunts, eh?”

“F-fuck,” you stammered as he gave another long lick to your folds, this time making your body shake when he brushed right over your clit. “I-I don’t know, I just know that it feels so good when you– oh gods– when you taste me like this…”

“Yeah? What about if I fuck you with my tongue?” he smirked, diving back in to suck on your swelling bud while he pushed his tongue right inside your hole.

“Oh!” you yelped, feeling your channel stretch to fit the appendage– it vibrated inside you, just a bit, when he let out a pleased moan, and it made it feel even better.

His tongue was shockingly thick and long, and his tusks brushed against your inner thighs: this was nothing like being pleasured this way by a human man. Even his tongue thrusting into you felt like being really fucked; you whimpered and arched your back, grabbing your hands onto his braids just to have something to hold onto.

"Fuck, you're naughty," he smirked. "An Orcish woman would never grab a man's braids— they're sacred."

"O-oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend—" you began your rushed attempt to apologize.

"No, I like it," he assured. "Reminds me that you're just a dumb little human girl who has no idea what she's getting herself into."

Oh, you really shouldn’t have liked being called dumb. When anyone else questioned your intelligence you were inspired to nearly go to blows over it. But now, it just made your cunt get wet, betraying your real desire.

“I should make you come like this but I’m just too impatient,” he admitted with a grin, sitting back in his chair with legs spread wide in a show of casual confidence. "Come on over here and take my cock inside you," he instructed. "It didn't fit in your mouth but I bet it'll fit in your cunt."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'll make it fit."

Oh.

You got up on weak legs from his table; you approached him and delicately placed yourself on his lap, straddling his legs. You watched your hands reach up to his shoulders, then run down over his chest which rose and fell with slow breaths, then over his round belly– and the muscles you felt beneath his thick shape. He chuckled when you bit your lip.

“Takes a truly wanton little human woman like you to appreciate a body like mine,” he announced proudly. “I’m not skinny and lean like those little boys you play with in the castle. This is a man’s body.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“You like my belly, princess?” he prompted with a tilted smirk.

“Y-yeah,” you breathed.

“You wanna ride my cock? I’m still hard as fucking steel for you, little one.”

“Please, Bucky,” you whined, and his massive hands grabbed your hips to guide your entrance right over the head of his cock. You swallowed thickly when you felt for yourself how massive he was compared to your little hole.

“You’re so tiny, I might rip you in half,” he warned with a smile.

“I don’t care, just– just take me,” you whispered, mouth falling into a gasp as he pulled you down and shoved his head inside. “Oh,” you choked, neck going limp and head going back, “f-fuck, Bucky…”

“My little princess,” he chuckled deeply. “My sweet, tight little princess…”

As he pulled you down to take more, your hands clutched at his thick biceps, just beneath the golden arm band he wore there. You winced and whined through your teeth, trying to focus on anything but the pain.

“C’mon,” he grunted sharply, “just a little bit– more–!”

He yanked you down again and you cried out. "Ohhh— I can't, I can't!" you shrieked. "You're too big!"

"No, princess, you can take it," he promised with a tense moan through his teeth, pulling you down further as you struggled uselessly against his grip. "You're gonna take my whole dick, no running away now— not when you came here shamelessly begging me to mate you. You're gonna take all this fuckin' dick and you're gonna scream so loud that the whole camp knows you're nothing but an orc's whore."

With one more ruthless thrust he filled you, and you let out a sound you could hardly believe was your own: a broken, pathetic cry of agony. Your whole body quivered, soothed slightly by his fingers tracing down your back.

After a moment, the pain began to fade and the fullness started to comfort you; you sighed slowly and he smiled at you. “See? Knew you could take it. You’ve got all of me inside you now.”

He leaned back in the chair and let go of your hips.

"Go on, lift that ass up," he instructed with a smack to your cheek for emphasis. You found just enough strength on your shaking legs to begin to ride him, still struggling to work through the pain, and making him let out a long, low chuff of a growl. "That's it," he smiled. "That's my little human whore."

You started to pick up the pace a bit when he said that, whimpering more as the sting of the stretch mixed perfectly with the building pleasure of being filled to the brim (and then some).

"Damn, you're too desperate," he groaned. "Look at you bouncing on my lap— what a pretty thing you are…"

His thick fingers trailed over your cheek, down to your chest where he pinched your nipples until you whined loudly. He smirked and grabbed your waist next, dipping his fingers into the curves of your body.

"Such a tiny, delicate little thing. But you're tougher than you look— here you are taking an orc cock like a champ. You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Not with someone so… big," you moaned.

"Gods, who knew the innocent princess was really such a dirty bitch," he purred, making you whine again just from the degradingly wonderful effect his words had on you.

The thick, spongy head of his cock speared right into your spot– something about being opened up so wide seemed to make everything more sensitive, that must’ve been why your thighs were already shaking from more than just the effort it took to lift yourself on top of him.

“I love when you bite your lip like that,” he admitted; you hadn’t even realized you were doing it, and your hands weakly clutched tighter at his muscular chest. “That pretty little head of yours is empty, isn’t it? And all you can think about is how good I’m fucking you right now. All you can do is wonder why you didn’t start letting orcs fuck your tight body sooner.”

The constant assault of his words in combination with the unignorable feeling inside you made it all so perfectly overwhelming, and you moaned shakily as you started to bounce faster.

“Shit, you’re having way too much fun riding my cock, princess,” he chuckled with another hard spank to your ass that made you whimper pitifully. “You’re supposed to act all innocent and hesitant, like you can’t imagine being claimed so intimately by a filthy, savage beast.”

“Y-you’re not a beast,” you managed to stammer out.

“Yeah? What am I?” he smirked.

“You’re my… my enemy,” you replied, “in war.”

“And I bet that turns you on even more than the fact that I’m not human,” he wagered.

You didn’t really need to tell him he was right, because the fact that you were obviously close to coming was answer enough. “Oh, Bucky, I–”

“I know, little one,” he cooed, “I know, I can feel you about to come– I can feel it in this tiny little cunt. You’re about to come all over my dick.”

“Yes!” you agreed with a deep moan.

He grabbed your hips tightly, to help you ride and to just stabilize himself. “Come for me, human whore,” he demanded in a grunt. “Show me how much you love my cock. Say it.”

“I love your cock,” you panted, “I love your huge orc cock, I– oh gods–”

It was so strong, so sudden, you were afraid to let it take you. “Just let go,” he groaned under his breath, “I’ve got you.”

And that was it. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" you screamed, shaking as a powerful orgasm ripped through your body.

"Gods, that's good," he grunted, fucking up into your body as it went limp on top of him. "I can feel your tiny little pussy coming around me. Oh, princess, are you crying?"

In fact, you were; tears were streaming down your cheeks involuntarily, pleasure so powerful that you just couldn't fight it back.

He grabbed you and began to lift you up and down, bouncing you in his lap, using your body like a toy. "Shit, you ever come that hard before, baby?" he smirked. "Oh, you haven't… you've never felt anything like this before, huh? Never had a strong lover to really take care of you? And you're never gonna want pathetic human cocks again… now you need to be an orc's mate to be satisfied."

He lifted your legs up and nearly bent you in half, forcing you to ride him in this new position that gave him a full view of your pussy being stretched impossibly wide by him. The way he manhandled and manipulated your body however he wanted made your eyes roll back in your head— that, and the way his thick cock stroked your overly-sensitive walls.

“I’m gonna marry you, little princess,” he moaned. “I’m gonna make you my mate, and I’m gonna keep this tiny human cunt of yours stretched out– I’m gonna make it mine so I can use it whenever I want.”

“Oh, gods,” you choked.

“You’re not gonna have time to get tight again, ‘cause I’m gonna fill you with my come every fuckin’ day– hear that, baby? I’m gonna ruin this weak, pathetic body. ‘Cause it’s mine now.”

“Y-yes, yours,” you repeated.

"If you're gonna be my wife then I might as well knock you up now, right?" he grunted. "What's stopping me? I know you won't stop me, you're drooling at the chance to be filled with orc come."

"Come in me, Bucky," you pleaded, proving his point, "f-fuck I wanna be… pregnant…"

"Oh, you want little half-orcs in your tummy?" he laughed. "It might break your tiny body to carry my seed. A fragile human womb is no match for an orcling, especially mine… my whole family is big like me."

"I can take it, I can have your babies, p-please just come inside me," you whined.

"Don't worry, little one, it wouldn't be a proper engagement if I didn't," he grinned, moving your hips faster on top of his lap. "Gods, I don't care if anyone thinks I shouldn't breed a human— I'm the chieftain, after all, I can fuck whoever I want." He started to fuck you faster, rougher, as he continued: "I can marry whoever I want. I can have half-orc babies with whoever I fucking want."

"Hhnng," you choked helplessly, "B-Bucky…"

"Our children might be a little smaller or weaker than if they were full-blooded orcs, but they're gonna be the prettiest creatures anyone ever saw— your cute little human face, your delicate features making them look so soft and sweet… whole tribe's gonna wanna marry our babies, princess," he smiled proudly. "Not just the tribe," he corrected himself, "every orc that ever sees them will be begging us to put bridal braids in their hair."

"Oh, fuck," you groaned as you tossed your head back, overwhelmed by his words. You'd never craved something in such a primal way before, and now you couldn't remember any desire but to be pregnant with Bucky's precious half-orcs.

"Do you feel dirty, princess, being bred by an orc?" he asked roughly, thrusts into you becoming even more erratic. You hoped that meant he was close because your body couldn't take much more.

"No," you shook your head, "no, Bucky, it feels s-so good… breed me, Bucky, Chieftain, wanna be full of your come—"

"Fuck," he hissed through his teeth, "it's coming, girl, I hope you're ready."

"Yes, yes, fuck yes—!" you slurred, eyes shooting wide open when he gave you one massively deep thrust— right into something so deep in you it made your whole body convulse.

Warm, sticky come flooded into your channel… it would've been enough to overflow out of you right away, except that his thick cock kept you plugged up so tight that there was nothing for it to do but make your belly swell.

"Mm, fuck, my little princess," he groaned proudly, voice deeper than ever. "So full of her chieftain's seed she can't even fit it all…"

You thought it might never end— the pulsing of his cock, the swelling of your tummy, the filling of your womb…

You collapsed forward onto his body, eyes fluttering shut as you panted with your cheek pressed against his skin and the sheen of sweat that covered it.

He wrapped his arms around you and in one embrace had enveloped your entire body with his. Eventually his cock began to soften and he carefully lifted you off of it, shushing your whimpers from how it made your cunt sting with soreness. When he finally pulled out all the way you felt an empty numbness, yet soothing relief, and relaxed further into his all-encompassing grip.

"You wanna be my little human wife, princess?" he asked gently. You nodded against his chest, hearing his satisfied hum echo inside it as his thick fingers brushed over your hair so gently. "Mm, you're gonna look pretty with my tribe's braids in your hair, and wearing the beads and robes of the chieftain's wife," he sighed, "not that you're gonna be wearing much of anything for the first few weeks. If an orc can't have his mate bearing children in the first year of marriage, his masculinity might be called into question."

But you couldn't imagine anyone questioning Bucky, with his huge muscles and overbearing frame.

"Of course, it could've already happened now," he remembered with a grin, lifting one of your legs to watch your gaping hole leak out his thick come. "Hmm, you look real pretty with that cunt beat up just right."

"Bucky…" you whimpered pitifully.

"Yeah, princess?"

"M'tired…"

"Oh, I'm sure, being an orc's human whore must take a lot out of you," he winked. He picked you up with ease, standing up and carrying you draped in his arms. "I'll take you to my bed, hm? Would you like that?"

You nodded weakly and he continued. What you hadn't realized, though, was that his bed wasn't in this tent, and he was carrying your limp, naked, come-coated form through the camp for the entire war party to see.

At this point, you were too exhausted to protest or even to care. They probably all heard you screaming his name anyways.

Some of them clapped and cheered as they saw Bucky carrying his quarry through the camp; some of them murmured their disappointments that the chieftain would dirty himself with a human plaything.

Finally he brought you through another tent's opening, this one lit dimly inside by only a few candles and adorned with finer rugs than you'd seen since you left the palace, and laid you down in a soft, massive bed of furs.

"Get some rest, little one," he instructed. "You will need to recover as much as you can before the wedding tomorrow."

Something we need to talk about more is the fact that's its practically canon that Matt has a choking kink????In season 2 him and Electra are having sex and he grabs her throat???I feel like this should constantly be discussed because oh my god!!!

I’M NO ANGEL

[ This piece was inspired by the specific episode I named this after. As always, I found myself deep in my feelings over Castiel and his troubling time as a human. Of course, it developed into something more. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. It’s been a while… ]

Synopsis | Castiel has only begun to learn the trials and tribulations of a human life. Thankfully, he’s managed some help along the way. When he ends up injured and alone, there’s only one place he knows to go.

Tags | Angst, Self Doubt, Supernatural, Human!Reader/Angel, Nurse!Reader, First Time, Innocence, Romance, Fluff, Female!Reader, Castiel being soft, Reader comforting Castiel

Warnings | Talk of injuries, Feelings of Loneliness, Past Trauma, Blood, Torture, Castiel being sad, Self doubt, Angst, Loss of Virginity, Sexual Content

Word Count | 5.2k

Rating | R, minors do not read

Exhaustion had crept its way into your bones. Eyes burning with the desperation of sleep, reaching a point of deprivation you hadn’t known existed. Perhaps you’d pushed yourself too hard. Work made for a distraction and the last few months had been… interesting to say the least. You craved normalcy, anything to rid yourself of the crippling paranoia. To your dismay, time at the hospital seemed to only multiply your stress. Not to mention the endless stream of phone calls. A voice message, always in a familiar voice, left on the answering machine at home. You had two guesses — Dean or Sam Winchester. That in itself seemed to be the only highlight of every long, agonizingly slow day. To know you had someone thinking of you.

You rummaged through your locker, packing up your belongings into a small duffel bag. Strands of your pulled back hair now framed your face. The zipper was the only means to break the silence. Left alone, as you’d taken up the night shift through most of the week. Your feet ached and that pain had radiated up your sore calves. A nice bath would do you good and the very thought gave you more incentive to quicken the pace.

Taking your keys into your grasp, you slung the strap over your shoulder and made your way out of the locker room. You passed the station, bidding goodnight to the other nurses. Your smile fading quickly once hidden behind the closed doors of the elevator. You leaned against the wall, your head dipping backwards. Easily, you allowed your eyes to fall closed.

Your scream echoed through the abandoned warehouse, a cry of agony which had left your throat hoarse. Another hour of this hell and you’d surely have no voice left to beg with. Alastair wouldn’t have that though. He wanted to hear every last shriek, moan, and wail that left your cracked lips. You were bare, stripped naked and if that wasn’t mortifying enough—being strapped down and displayed to him made you wish to perish from the earth alone.

“Please! Oh, god! Please!” You cried. He twisted the knife brutally, digging into your flesh. You’d already passed out a handful of times, only for him to awaken you once more and begin the process again.

“You’re a tricky one to find, Y/N.” He sang, all the while continuing his work. Your sobs went unnoticed by the demon. The utter joy on his face made you nauseous. You squeezed your eyes shut, another loud cry echoed against the walls. You jerked against your restraints and prayed to anyone, anything, to make the horrendous torture end. To your surprise, Alastair did stop, but only briefly. You laid your head back against the cold table. Your heart pounding in your ears, head swimming, and your throat desperate for water. He touched your head and began to coo at you, to which you turned your head away in disgust. He leaned further down, his hot breath touching your ear. You shuddered, flinching away with what strength you had.

“You belong with us…” He hissed his words, like the serpent he was, sent straight from hell.

Ironically enough, you harshly bit down. Jerking your head to look at him. Gathering the blood in your mouth, you spat at him. “Go to hell.”

This commenced his wicked abuse, carving you and using you for all it was worth. The room was spinning again. All you could do was plead and beg, hoping to either be saved or succumb to your injuries.

Death had never tasted so sweet.

By the time Sam and Dean discovered you, Alastair disappeared. Leaving you in a mess of your own blood. Your consciousness was wavering, as your head lolled to the side. You barely even noticed the hands that were making quick work to undo the straps, which held your body down.

“She needs medical attention. Immediately.” Castiel’s voice sounded, full of urgency and authority.

“Cas?” You called out in disbelief. Was it really over? Your head turned to discover his ocean eyes peering down at you with visible concern. He gave a grave expression, perusal.

His strong, lithe hands delicately lifted you from the metal table. Dean aided him, while doing his best to remain respectful. It wouldn’t have mattered, as you were too far gone into shock to care whether or not everything was on display. Cas had shed out of his trenchcoat almost immediately. You felt the coat drape around your shoulders, as he pulled it tightly around you. Thus giving you more decency. With that, he lifted you into his arms. Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, your hands limp in your lap.

“You’re safe now.” He mumbled. His tone rumbling in his chest, vibrating against your burning face. This only confirmed his presence not to be that of a dream, but reality.

The elevator seemed to move deliberately slow, at the expense of your aching feet. When the doors slid open again, you pushed off the wall and exited. The fluorescent bulbs above you ceased to burden your vision, as you found yourself swallowed into the night of the city. Your chaos of the day being left behind, as you trudged your way across the pavement of the parking lot. With a few clicks on the unlock button, you located your car by the flashing head and rear lights. Your bag was the first thing to go, left behind in the backseat.

“Y/N…” A familiar voice addressed you. Gravely yet monotone.

If it hadn’t been your support on the open door of your vehicle, you believed you might have fallen back. Your hand clutched at your chest, your keys rattling in your grasp.

“Jesus Christ!” You exclaimed.

Castiel’s blue eyes were piercing. He possessed such sadness and disorientation, or perhaps that was guilt. Either way, he looked like a wounded animal. A kicked dog, wandering the streets. His usual attire was in disarray. His trenchcoat was missing, his tie gone and his white shirt mangled and torn. The fabric stained with blood and his face was evident of a scuffle, with a cut to his cheek bone and one above his left brow. Once you had taken in his wrecked state, you moved around your open door and moved toward him.

“Cas…” You breathed, as you began to truly examine him. Checking for any serious injuries right away. “What happened?” You asked, concern clear in your tone and forming in the expression on your face.

You tilted your head up at the Angel. Castiel shook his head, before looking off at nothing in particular.

“I’m not sure where I’d even begin.” He admitted with weariness. “Dean...” Cas parted his lips, but the words wouldn’t come. Or at least they seemed too painful to reveal.

“What about Dean?” You questioned, your brow knitted together. You were desperate for any sort of answer now. To know what the hell was going on.

“Can we… Discuss this somewhere more, appropriate?” He asked.

You were reluctant not to grill him, but you were far too tired yourself to even begin to think about arguing. A simple nod was all you managed, before motioning for him to get into the car. Cas rounded the front of the Toyota, as you proceeded to slip behind the wheel.

The drive was silent, as Cas seemed to be pondering something, clearly weighing heavy over him. This seemed unusual for him, not to mention his battered state. At least unusual in a way that this always meant something was wrong. You’d been around the Angel long enough to know when he was troubled. You wondered if Dean and Sam had seen him first. Had they turned him away? What was going on?

Every now and then Castiel’s blue oceans would slowly drift over in your direction. He’d study your profile until it caused you to look over, only to find him facing forward once more. You sighed softly and broke the silence.

“How badly are you injured?” You asked, deciding this would be a good place to start. Or, at least, his condition should be a priority.

You owed him.

“Nothing I haven't handled before.” He mumbled, sure of himself, his voice rumbling in his chest, but his doubt lingered beneath the surface. The way he looked out the window only confirmed his words weren’t so truthful. Cas appeared like a child again, watching the scenery drift by in a haze as you drove on. Your will to carry the conversation had subsided and you let the two of you commence in silence. Though it wasn’t awkward, your worry continued to grow all the way to the sight of your house.

Upon pulling into the driveway, Cas was the first to move out of your car. Your eyes followed his figure and they widened when he nearly collapsed. His hands gripped the top of the door and he grunted lowly. You hurried from your seat, delayed by your seatbelt, and ran around the sedan to reach him.

“Cas!” His name fell from your lips in a panicked tone. You reached for him and to your surprise, he didn’t argue to handle himself. In fact, Cas seemed to welcome your touch and your comfort.

“Are you alright?” You asked, with the same amount of urgency. He nodded. “Just…” He panted. “Just help me get inside.” He mumbled.

You nodded and pulled his arm around your shoulders. Cas did his best to support most of his weight, not wishing to hurt you. The last thing he wanted was to ask for your help, but he had nowhere else to go. No one he could rely on at this point. You were the only one he had left.

With little trial and error, you managed to settle Cas on the sofa. He sunk down against the soft cushions and proceeded to lay his head back, his eyes closing.

“I’ll be right back.” You murmured, after having stared at him for longer than you should have.

Sure he was a mess, but he still managed to stir something inside of you with that vessel of his.

While he rested, you went back to your car and retrieved what you needed. You took time to yourself in the kitchen and prepared tea, as well as medical supplies to treat him. You chewed your lip, while letting the tea bag steep in the boiling liquid. None of it had made any sense. Castiel was an Angel after all. Maybe he had become weak and his wounds were taking longer than normal to heal?

A timer buzzed on your phone, causing you to jump and return to reality from your thoughts. You pulled the bag from the mug and dropped it into the trash. Grabbing your kit and the tea, you headed back for the living room and found him the same as he’d been.

He heard movement and lifted his head, his eyes opening to land on your face as you sat yourself beside him.

“Let me look?” You asked, gently, as you persuaded with a kind smile. Cas nodded and shifted, a wince of pain flashing over his expression. He began to unbutton his shirt, what was left of it anyway, and revealed the gash at his abdomen. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before, but it needed to be treated and stitched.

“Oh, Cas…” You breathed with a disappointed tone. “What happened to you?” Your brows knitted together, as your gaze lifted with anticipation. Ready for answers.

You opened your supplies and dug around for a moment, until finding what you needed first.

“I suppose I’m being punished.” Castiel began, as you got to work on cleaning him up. You glanced up. “For what?” You quizzed, continuing to watch him as he looked shameful with his head turned that way.

“Well, with all things considered, I’m useless without my Grace.” He went on. “My mistake for trusting the wrong people.” He muttered, as if scolding himself. “All I wanted to do… Was to help you, and Sam… and Dean.” Finally, he looked at you.

Castiel looked as if he was to cry and you stalled in your movements, your eyes locked for what felt like eternity.

“Now… I can’t do anything. And Dean doesn’t care if I live or die.”

“Don’t say that. Of course he does.” You argued.

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me…” He defended his accusation.

You swallowed thickly.

“You know how he is.” You reminded. “Everything is… so strange right now. What happened, anyway?" You tried to get some sort of an explanation, again.

Your eyes were back on his stomach, tending to his wound.

“Why did you leave?” He suddenly asked then, shifting the subject to you. That made your posture change. Guilt seemed to chew it’s way through your stomach, as his blue eyes bore into you. As if he was searching for an answer he would like to hear.

“After what happened with Alistair…” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain yourself. To defend yourself? Not that you needed to, but it almost felt like you had abandoned Cas when he needed you most.

Despite his bond with Dean, you seemed to be the only one to understand him. You’d shared so many quiet moments and unspoken words, you now had a bond of your own.

“I needed some time.” You admitted. “It became too much and I needed some normalcy. I thought I was going to go crazy, especially with Sam and Dean fighting like they always do, but it started to feel different.” You explained further for him, but it felt nice to release it. To tell the truth and to someone who you knew was actually listening. Not to mention the way Cas looked at you. As if every word was like a precious gift to him.

“We needed you. I needed you.” Those three words were enough to make your heart sink.

You kept focus on the stitching and that familiar silence began to blanket the two of you. You were thankful for it, because you weren't exactly up for an intervention.

After dressing his wound, you handed over the steaming tea to him, which should have cooled to drinking temperature by now. He didn’t question, as he took what you gave him. Along with something for the pain.

“Now you know my pain.” You joked, with a little chuckle.

“I can assure you, my experience as a human has humbled me.” He acknowledged with a usual, Castiel-pondering-expression.

You smiled, as you began to wipe your hands.

“But I’ve also never felt more alone.” He added, before setting the mug back down. He looked so sad then. His puppy face returning and seizing your heart with despair.

“Castiel, you’re not alone.” You reminded him, as you reached out and touched his hand. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to your small hand in comparison to his own. He turned his over, allowing you to slip your palm against his rough one. His fingers closed around your hand and he squeezed gently.

He looked at you, with a fondness and a tender hesitation. “I feel like you’re the only one who knows me.”

Your lips parted, not sure what to say. Instead, you smiled and forced down the tears that pricked. He shifted then and you took some time to process that he was, in fact, moving closer. Inch by inch. Your heart began to pick up its pace. Your cheeks warm with expectation.

Without realizing, you had gripped his hand more tightly. Cas didn’t seem to mind, or perhaps he didn’t even notice. His breath fanned over your lips, waiting for some sign that you approved. That this was okay. It was innocent, but it made your heart melt nonetheless.

So naturally it unfolded. His lips practically molding to your own, your head slightly tilting to fit yours to his. A moment you dreamed of, coming to life and setting you alight from the inside out. His head tilted, refusing to break away as Cas discovered the softness of your lips, his first kiss, and the way you tasted. It was almost… heavenly. Yes, it was indeed divine in its own right. How could he believe you’d be anything less?

The slowness of his actions was agonizing, leaving you craving more and somehow, you needed it this way. For someone to love you with the utmost care and patience.

When Cas broke away, he was speechless. As were you. Never once had your hands released each other.

“Was… was that okay?” He stumbled, nervousness overtaking him.

All you could do was nod. You rose from your position, taking his hand with you and encouraging him to stand. Castiel did just that and followed you willingly. Something inside of you screamed to pull back while you had the chance. To save yourself from the possible heartbreak this would cause, but none of that mattered. Not now.

You guided him up the staircase and down the hall. Your bedroom door was open.

Turning back to face him, you dropped his hand and began to undress. You tossed your work scrubs aside, a pile beside your feet, and were left in a simple matching black set. They weren’t lacy, rather bland but Cas didn’t appear to care with the way his eyes grew a bit wider.

You stepped forward and pushed his torn dress shirt off his shoulders, as the fabric fell behind him. He kept his gaze on you, lips slightly agape. Your fingertips slowly traced over his collarbones and down his chest. Your hands sliding over his biceps. A shaky breath released from you, as you admired him. Human or Angel, Castiel would always make you feel this way.

“Do you want this?” You asked him, already sure of yourself, but knowing he might not wish to go this far. Not yet or maybe never.

“I do.” He answered, clearly and without any pause.

You were surprised, stilling your movements for just a second, but resumed undressing him. Your fingers worked open his belt and Cas seemed to grow impatient without your lips. His fingers lifted your chin, as he crashed his lips back over yours. This elicited a moan from you, your mouth opening and allowing his tongue to explore you. His fingers tangled into your hair.

Left in his underwear, you pulled him over to the bed, but he was quicker than you. Gently, with what strength he had left, he laid you back. The warmth of his chest pressed to yours. Effortlessly, your lips found his again. You hummed and tangled your fingers into his dark, tangled hair. Something that only he seemed to pull off.

His lips were as soft and supple as you imagined, maybe even more if that was possible.

“I’m not sure how to do this…” He mumbled, his head having fallen beside yours. His breath blew hot against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You held him close, as if he’d disappear.

His naivety made you chuckle. His purity was endearing, of course. You didn’t mind that he was clueless. The night was yours to waste.

“It’s okay. I’ll show you.” You whispered, lifting his face in your soft, lithe hands. He leaned into your touch. A gentle smile tugging the corners of his lips.

“Can I take these off?” He asked you. Such a gentleman. In fact, you couldn’t remember the last time a man had been so thoughtful to what you might want. You nodded and moved to help him, but he was insistent on doing so himself. He struggled for a moment, his fingers working their best to unhook your godforsaken garment.

This caused you to giggle softly. His mouth twitched in response. You lifted your hips eagerly when he reached your panties, as he slid them down your legs. He seemed to enjoy this the most, as he discarded your underwear and returned to feel up your lithe legs.

He gently guided them open and lowered his head between your thighs. You sat up, your hands pushing his shoulders. He looked confused now.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” You answered quickly, almost cutting him off.

“You just— You don’t have to.” You muttered, your nerves getting the best of you.

“But I want to.” Castiel responded. “If you’ll let me. I want all of you.” He nearly begged. You couldn’t argue with him now, not when he looked at you that way and spoke to you with such urgency to please. It made you tingle in all the right places.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” You asked, swallowing thickly when his lips pressed softly to your inner thighs.

“No, but I won’t stop until I get it right.” He smirked.

This amazed you, as half the men you’d met couldn’t be bothered to get you off. Their needs mattered first. Castiel, an Angel and an A class virgin was determined to make you scream.

He promptly shut your brain off with a slow lick between your folds. Tasting you, more out of curiosity first. Cas never took his eyes off of you, licking certain ways to see how your face would change. Then he found your clit and that was enough to get him riled up. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen, besides your natural face of course. And the way you sang his name like a prayer. Oh, he’d answer it every time just to hear you say it like that.

“Ohh, Castiel…” You were breathless, panting in new octaves he’d never heard. Your whines like sweet music as his tongue circled that perfect spot. He paid special attention to it, sucking your clit a little harder than before. Your back arched at that, your thighs closing around his head but he didn’t seem to mind. Your fingers found his raven hair again, pulling tightly and forcing him closer to your dripping sex.

His arm wrapped around your thigh, his thumb rubbing your clit and this time his tongue pushed inside of you.

“Fuck… fuck.. Just like that!” You yelled. “Oh, you’re doing so good.” You praised him and that bubbled something in him. He didn’t know how good it felt to be commended, especially from you. For too long he’d been the bad guy. Unable to do anything right. His chest swelled with pride, as he ate you with such desire and passion, it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“I’m gonna… Oh, God Castiel!” Was the only thing you managed, as a blinding orgasm crashed over you. Your legs shook, toes curling at his back, and hands pulling at the sheets.

“I’m not entirely sure what God has to do with this.”

You weren’t sure if he was mocking you or being entirely serious. And with him, either could be possible. The answer to your question didn’t matter. Gaining your composure, you pulled Castiel to you. Happy to taste what you left on his lips, the arousal he created and the climax he pulled from you.

“And where does an Angel of the Lord learn that?” You asked, brow raised and a laugh threatening.

“The pizza man, of course.” He said with a sheepish smile.

Your head tossed back with a laugh and Castiel took the opportunity to attack your throat. His lips desperate to cover every inch of you, latching onto anything he could easily access. You sighed with pleasure, your hands pushing down his briefs and he kicked them away. Never would he have thought to engage in such sinful acts, but being human had given him depth to a new sense of needs and desires. One of them being you.

He laid on top of you again, but you rolled and he did most of the work when he realized what you wanted. He sat up, chasing your lips as you came to sit in his lap. His velvety cock brushed your thigh and you gasped softly at his hardness. It didn’t prepare you for when you actually looked down to discover his length.

“Are you ready?” You asked him, holding the back of his head with steady hands.

You shared loving glances. Full of sincerity and a deep crave none of you could explain by words. Castiel kissed you for confirmation. Strong and unyielding. It was all you needed.

You lifted your hips, supporting yourself on his shoulders. Taking the base of his cock, larger than you anticipated, you slowly began to take him. Despite the slick of your first orgasm, his tip alone was stretching you. You moaned and Castiel was already making sweet noises to you. It made your cheeks burn, to know you were the reason. The one taking his innocence. That alone was incredibly hot to you.

“Please, more.” He begged, his hands laying flat to your back. Drawing you into him.

“I know, I know. Just give me a moment.” You sighed weakly and kissed him gently, slowly taking more of him.

“Am I hurting you?” He suddenly asked, worry all over his face.

“I’m okay. It’s okay. It will go away.” You assured him quickly.

Cas didn’t seem to believe you, but when you finally seated yourself, he was too lost to care. Your walls squeezed him and created a sensation he never knew existed.

Your fingers found home in his locks again, his face nestled between your breasts. For a moment you stayed like this, his cock filling you to the hilt. The pain was still present, but you couldn’t take staying like this any longer.

More. You needed more.

Slowly, your hips rocked forward and it almost felt out of your control.

“Ohh, I never knew…” Castiel whispered to you. His voice raspy and low. Just another reason to make you throb.

You smiled, as your hips lifted and lowered again. It was sedate but intimate. The way he held you was nothing short of romantic and the way his cock hit all the right places—you were in pure bliss.

You whined with each new roll of your hips and Cas did his best to help, being beneath you. His lips kissed over your chest and collar bone, as he worked back up your neck. He took special care to the sensitive areas he’d picked up on. You mewled, as he took the time to hold you. To become one with you.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He admitted, his voice weak and following a grunt.

“I know.” You whispered, a moan falling from your lips. “Me too.” Your eyes closed and he promised himself to remember you like this forever. Wrapped in his arms and enraptured by what he could give. Only him.

His emotions overtook him, compelled by his will to continuously please you. Once more, he turned and your eyes shot open as you found yourself underneath him. This new angle allowed him to control the pace and fill you in a completely new way. Your legs moved, instinctively, to wrap around him and draw him deeper into you.

He found your hands, tangling your fingers together, and pushing them down into the mattress above your head.

Your jaw fell slack as he began a steady pace of thrusting. So deliberate and calculated, claiming you entirely. Castiel was making love to you. Being thorough in the way his cock dragged against your walls. As if he was trying to touch every last inch. So you would remember what it felt like later.

“I’d give it all up.” He groaned. “To be with you.”

Between his fucking and those sweet words, it was enough to feel the sting of tears. Happy as you were, you felt so overwhelmed as your second orgasm began to blossom. His words could have been meaningless. Sex had a way of making people confess such beautiful lies, but you wanted to believe him. And you did.

“Cas… Cas! Please, don’t ever stop.” You cried.

“Never.” He growled.

He captured your lips and you cried with such joy, you didn’t even recognize yourself. How had an Angel turned you into such… mush?

You didn’t care, that’s not what mattered. Castiel had been the only thing to come into your life and make it something worth living. All the darkness that had once swallowed you, Cas was the guiding light. Even if it was doomed to fail, you helplessly held onto anything that was left.

Cas wanted this to last an eternity. He could spend forever wrapped up in these sheets. Buried in you so deliciously and making you come over and over again. A new addiction he was beginning to discover. Your fingers dug into his hand, and he ignored the sharp pang of your nails. He drove deeper and deeper, his tip hitting that perfect, spongy spot inside of you. As much as he wanted to last, Castiel felt that was impossible.

“Castiel, yes! Oh, please!” You cried out and he had no choice but to give you what you needed. Feeling it come on so strong, now that you’d come around him. Your walls fluttering and pulsing so perfectly. Roughly, he jerked his hips.

“I think I’m going—“ Cas stammered, a little unsure with this strange new feeling. “Yes, baby. Come for me.” You encouraged. How could he deny you when you said it like that? A moan was lost on your ears, as you kissed him hungrily, and he filled you. And it was then he felt he just might melt. You smiled against his lips, until he nearly collapsed on top of you.

Your eyes fell shut, listening to Castiel’s soft pants. Basking in the afterglow of your second orgasm, you smiled widely. He lifted his head just in time to catch you this way. Licking his lips briefly.

“So… beautiful…” He murmured, barely above a whisper.

More minutes had passed, which turned into an hour. Castiel now residing beside you, as you found yourself curled up at his side and your head on his chest. You listened to his slow and steady heartbeat. Such a simplicity and yet, you enjoyed the domesticity of it all. As if you could picture yourself living this life with him. Your white picket fence and no interference from any outside, or supernatural forces. Your past wouldn’t exist. Free to be yourself with him.

Something about your 'eternal damnation' made you want to fall in love with him more. To defy everything that it was, in your nature, not to be with him. Rather amusing, you thought to yourself... the demon-blood drinker and the Angel. Neither of you had forgotten the hell that was your life merely a few months ago. Nor how you had been the cause for most of the suffering. If it hadn't been for your shame of making poor choices, breaking promises, and ruining trust - you would've had the courage to pick up the phone and call Dean, or answer when he did for that matter.

“I hope I haven’t overstayed my welcome.” Cas spoke. His distinctive voice brought you from your trance of self loathing.

You shifted with a sigh and chuckled. “You can stay as long as you need to.” You responded honestly. “Besides, we wouldn’t have made it this far had you overstayed your welcome.” You teased him.

“And… I did okay?” He asked suddenly, his expression shifting to that of anxiety and uncertainty.

“Yes. It was perfect.” You put his worries to rest, before planting a soft kiss to his chest. Your lips traveled, trailing more traces of affection until you reached his lips.

“Good.” He sighed with relief, grinning wide.

“So… Now that you’re human. What are you going to do?” You asked. Wondering if he had some sort of plan to reverse his fate or if he intended to play out this ride.

“I’m not sure, but…” He reached for you and pulled you closer. “All I care about right now is you.” He confessed, rolling over. You moved with him, like pieces of a puzzle, and wrapped an arm around his neck. Your lips pressed firmly together.

Surely fate had other plans, but today was yours to have.

Matt Murdock seems like the type to run his thumb along your bottom lip before pushing it into your mouth and that’s the tea

IM SUCH A FUCKING WHORE

oh my jesus christ i just got the vision of jotun!loki holding you by your waist and using you like a fleshlight while he just moans wildly and you cry. he’s using you like he’d use his fist when he’s all needyyyyy. 🥵🥵🥵🥵

i think you should know that i was writing this and an ad for a christian podcast came on my tv, so the universe knows that i need some divine intervention after this one fkkfkdjd

𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅 ‘𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓁𝒾𝓉 | ꠹!ꪶ. ꪶ.

fandom marvel

featuring jotün!loki x human!reader (f)

rating NSFW / MINORS DNI

content warning SIZE KINK, monster fucking, breeding kink, belly distension, dacryphilia

summary he’s never had a toy as much fun as you

word count 600 / drabble

attention not proofread. please reblog 💗 do not copy/repost/translate

his hands grip you like a constrictor’s strangle, fingers holding the power to fracture ribs if he were to squeeze too hard.

and you dangle— you dangle from his fist like a limp doll, arms and legs swinging wildly; you catch blurred visions of his massive feet planted on the ground beneath you, but you’re locked in suspension about six feet above them.

the only sounds louder than the squelching coming from your abused sex as he impales you with an overwhelming amount of cock is that of your sobbing, and his primal grunting above you.

“Mm,” the hum is guttural and devilish, “my sweet, diminutive plaything, master is so very sorry that he can’t be gentle with your warm, tight body, but inferior beings must learn their places before they are rewarded.” his words are slurred by a symphony of perverse moans, hardly holding you steady so he can desecrate you from the inside out. instead, he swings you back as powerful hips ram forward, driving inch after seemingly never-ending inch of girth into your body. it stretches around him, tension creating a protuberance in your midsection that presses against his fingers. “Yours is — ah, stretching around your new master’s cock, or trying to, at least—“ the giant’s composure is a fragile one, easily lost when your walls convulse around him in a frenzy. his moans reverberate against each wall of the room, all around you, reminding you that there was no escape from this ravenous beast. “I do love a nice, warm, human cunt but yours—“ he pauses, voice breaking, and throws his head back to expel a husky, lewd howl of pleasure, “—yours is by far the softest, little pussy I’ve ever conquered.” a hoarse chuckle follows his statement and the head of him, bulbous and throbbing, presses hard against your entry to your womb.

you squeal, eyes wide; the sensation of being more full in this moment than you ever had before wrenching the pathetic and shrill sound out of what air was left in your lungs. squirming in his grasp, the struggle only emphasizes your fullness, and makes your captor giddy with sadistic delight. “It’s too much!” you cry out. your arms haven’t the strength to fight him anymore, or to try and push yourself out of his clenching fist, they won’t even move an inch.

“Ah! Let me guess,” he gasps, breathy and excited, “By the sound of it— I’ve reached your cervix, yes? Tell me, little one, have you ever been so stuffed? So plugged with cock? I would wager you haven’t, yet your soft cunt spasms so welcoming and encouraging me to continue, I’ll bet you’re fertile and ready to breed right now and you didn’t even know it.” then, tilting your body upright, you slouch back against the coolness of his sweat-slicked abdomen, hands falling loosely and your sides and legs dead. perching you atop his shaft, you’re bouncing before you know it, filling you nearly to bursting with each descent, and you can do nothing but sag and take all that the monster was determined to give you.

tears streak your cheeks; the sheer velocity of his ravaging bringing you to your breaking point. “Now, now, there’s no need for tears, plaything.” Loki croons, but contradicts his statement by forcing a psyche-shattering amount of cock into you. “Be a good, little cocksheath for me,” he croaks, colossal chest heaving. his breathing is ragged like a beast when he ruts, base and merciless, “and perhaps I’ll give you the honor of bearing my Jotün royalty from your warm, Midgardian womb.”

THIS WAS EVERYTHING

𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝑜𝓊𝓉 | ꪑ.ꪑ.

fandom marvel

featuring matt murdock x reader (f)

rating NSFW / MINORS DNI / DARK FIC

content warning CNC (consensual nonconsent), roleplaying, dark!elements, matt losing control, unprotected sex, threats, breath play, semi public play, impact play, brief blackout, creampie kink, oral sex (f), use of a safe word, aftercare

summary the best way to keep his conscience in check is to let him stray every now and then. no one seemed to understand that but you.

word count 5k (yikes, sorry) / one shot

attention not proofread. do not read if you don’t like dark!fics (duh) because i’m not responsible for your media consumption and this fic contains consensual non consensual sex acts & abusive behavior! do not copy/repost/translate. reblog / give feedback. divider by @firefly-graphics !

“Look,” you exhale slowly, twisting the golden band on your ring finger as you consider the easiest way to let him down, “no offense but I—“

“You’re waiting on someone?” he asks, brows arching above the rounded edge of his dark glasses. “Husband, maybe, judging by the way you keep fidgeting with that ring. I’m guessing it’s a wedding band.”

you sigh, and nod, but answer quietly. “I’m married, but,” you glance around the bar, scanning each face, before your gaze falls on him again. the man on the stool beside you, his arm resting on the bar top, thick digits rimming the lip of his beer bottle. “My husband— he doesn’t exactly know that I’m here. It doesn’t matter, really, just looking to be left alone tonight.”

his smile remains, as if it’s been painted on his lips. he tilts his head to one side, as if he’s intrigued, or perplexed, by this new information. “He doesn’t know where you are?” a breathy chuckle escapes his grinning countenance, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous? A girl like you?”

your eyes narrow, and you hiss, somewhat defiantly. “A girl like me? A girl like me can take care of herself, keep that in mind.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” he answers smoothly, the arrogance that has you gritting your teeth as his smile contorts into a flippant expression as he shrugs, “Didn’t mean anything by it, you just seem sweet. Your voice is soft and kind,” there’s a subtle twitch in the left corner of his mouth that you take note of, before he adds, “but I suppose that you’ve gotten good at lying to men, haven’t you?”

staring at him incredulous, you scoff, “Just what the fuck do you know about me, anyways? I—“

“I know you’re in some sleazy bar late at night, and that your husband doesn’t know where you are.” he leans close, as if whispering a terrible secret, his palm finding your bare thigh and rubbing firm circles, “I know you’re wearing a dress too short to be wanting to be left alone, and cheap perfume that you don’t mind wasting, drenching yourself in to… cover up the scent of the man you plan on cheating on your husband with. Should I keep going?”

“No.” you snap, fed up with the glaringly obvious truths spilling from his lips, “no. You should get up and walk away. Right now.”

this is the moment his aura shifts, the air between the two of you seems to thicken with tension and you can see his jaw working as he grinds his teeth. it’s almost intimidating, but you try not to seem too disturbed by it, clearing your throat, you turn back towards your nearly-empty glass, kicking your leg in hopes to shake his hand free of your thigh.

“It’s not going to fucking happen.”

the weirdest part about him was that he stayed. sure, he put some distance between the two of you, but merely moved to one of the tables in the corner. and that’s where he sat, drinking, waiting. you could swear that the man didn’t plan on leaving until you did, so you tested your theory.

you stayed until last call.

and the man did, too. he hadn’t talked to anyone else after you, just sat at the table and ordered beer after beer.

just as the bartender swaggered over to you, flipping a rag over his shoulder, you felt a body breeze past you from behind— it was his cologne. you turned on the stool to see him leaving the bar, silently, and taking careful steps, guided by a nearly rhythmic tapping of the white cane in front of him. you felt a wave of relief upon watching him leave— not that he seemed necessarily dangerous (just a massive prick), but you couldn’t explain the jitters you felt when his hand rested on your thigh. pensive, you run your fingertips over the affected area.

“All right, lady.” the bartender huffs, “You ain’t gotta go home, but ya can’t stay here.”

snapping back to the present, you nod, gathering your things and pulling yourself to your feet. “Oh! Right, sorry.” nibbling on your bottom lip, you settle your tab and exit the bar with a couple of late-night stragglers.

you hadn’t been expected the rain. a steady shower that had started sometime after you’d went inside, and now you’re standing in the middle of it, soaking from head to toe, and wishing you brought an umbrella.

you fish in your clutch for your phone to order an Uber, but think better of it. a cab, instead. there was one approaching from over the hill and you take a step forward, extending your arm to wave it over.

that’s when he grabs you.

one palm clamps over your mouth hard, whilst the other plants itself firmly on your midsection, hoisting you off the sidewalk and away from the street. your first instinct is to scream, a muffled sound drowned out by the rain. your next was to fight. you thrash wildly against your attacker, kicking until one of your heels flies off and lands in a mud puddle he drags you by, your arms flailing in attempts to reach his face. when they do, you feel thick, soaked fabric over his eyes, and no matter how you try to sink your nails in, you can’t seem to get a grip. the man drags you into the alleyway by the bar’s employee exit with you protesting violently the whole way. finally, he grunts when you grasp his cheek, and jerks it away, before flinging you on to your back on the metal door of the dumpster.

wheezing loud through his tightly sealed fingers, you arch your back, eyes fluttering as you feel every bit of wind knocked from your lungs. his hand is tight over your mouth but he leans close to your face. even in the rain, you recognize the scent of his cologne. the man from the bar, but he’s certainly dressed different. clad in all black, he appears as a wicked shadow of the suit-wearing asshole he was before. your eyes squint, blinking rapidly as raindrops blur your vision ever so slightly, but you’re glaring up at him, screaming obscenities through his palm and kicking your legs.

“You’re going stop screaming,” he mutters, lips hovering dangerously close to your cheek, “so I can take my hand off your mouth, or I’m going to have to make you be quiet. Understand?”

fuck him. fuck him!

you only howl louder against his hand, both hands latching on to his wrist. your nails bite at the thickness of his gloves, but you can’t tell if they actually go through.

his free hand comes down in a tight, strong fist and strikes the metal inches from your skull, a bang as loud as a gunshot making your ears ring. a strangled whimper dies in his palm, dizzy from the noise and grateful that you had narrowly avoided being hit hard enough to produce that kind of sound.

“I said you’re going to stop screaming.” he repeats. his fist must’ve been throbbing, but he didn’t let any discomfort reach the stoicism of his countenance, or what you could see of it— “Now, scream again, and maybe my aim gets a little better. Understand?” the grip over your mouth has his clothed digits digging into the flesh of your cheeks, and he uses the leverage to nod your head for you. “I’m going to take it off, now, and you’re going to behave.”

he does, and you follow his rules, for now. huffing, you attempt to suck in as much, burning oxygen as you can, sputtering raindrops.

“Smart girl.” he seems pleased, or at least approves of your cooperation, and he snatches the purse from your shoulders, tearing it open.

panting, you prop one elbow into the rusted metal you’re lain upon to try and push yourself up. “So what, you want.. money? Take it, Jesus. Could’ve just snatched my purse from the street.”

“I don’t want your money.”

and, you watch him punctuate that statement by emptying the contents of your purse on to the concrete, sparkling like night stars. a small handgun, compact mirror, cellphone, wallet.

“Then what the fuck do you want?”

his hand latches on to one of your ankles, yanking you to the very edge of the dumpster so abruptly that you lose your balance and fall back against it with a soft grunt. “I want to give you what you want.” he murmurs, gripping both of your knees to pry them open. no matter how hard you try to close them, he’s much too strong to compete with, and he forces them wide enough for him to step between with ease. “What you were looking for the moment you stepped foot into that bar dressed the way you did.”

you dig your knees into his ribs from either side with a furious snarl. “No!” you exclaim, pushing yourself up again to throw both of your arms in his direction. he lays a palm flat against your sternum and overpowers you with ease, holding you down with your spine flush against the dumpster. he was so goddamn strong, you remember thinking, that fighting against him was practically useless. “I don’t want this,” you hiss, and he uses his teeth to pull the glove off of his free hand and discard it beside your writhing frame, “I don’t want this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you can keep repeating that mantra,” he murmurs, his now bare hand delving between your open thighs to find the warmth that lives there. fist curling around the thin fabric of your panties, with one jerk, he’s torn them from your body with a horrible sound echoing around you. he grunts low, like a beast, when he finds it; the rough pads of his digits worm their way underneath your delicate nether lips, and for the first time, you see a grin etch his lips upward, flashing pearly white teeth, “but your pussy’s wet, you know. Drenched, actually.” wrist craning, his thumb presses hard on your button like he knows exactly where to find it and you suppress a needy moan, hips rocking to try and escape his filthy caress. “Been that way since I told you that it was dangerous being out here alone. I could smell your juicy cunt in the bar, you know that? Even from across the damn room, I could feel the warmth radiating from it, fucking needy, little pussy. Tell me I’m mistaken.”

even with the chill of the raindrops on your face, the apples of your cheeks burn with humiliation. had you truly been turned on at the prospect of danger, or was this masked man full of shit? you couldn’t remember properly, like everything before his hand between your hips was a distant memory. his first, two digits tease your clenching hole before he pushes them in and hooks them there, like an anchor inside of your body. the moan escapes you now, tearing through your tightly pursed lips like a bat out of hell. “You’re mistaken…” you murmur, but the excited fluttering of your walls against his fingers gives you away.

“And you’re a bad liar.”

his fingers dive deeper, curling every few centimeters or so, and you grit your teeth, your own hand covering your mouth to prevent any more moaning. still, it was hard to deny how good it felt, the skillful prodding of his digits. “Goddamn, that’s a tight, little hole.” his breathing had become somewhat ragged, like he’d been running a marathon, but only after he got to feel you. it was you that was making him this way, pant and grunt and dig his fingers into the fabric of your dress where he still held you down. “Just begging to get stuffed full of dick, isn’t that right?”

you shudder, body aching at every syllable as it hangs in the air around you. your legs tremble against his taut frame, looking up at him with a bleary gaze. allowing your hand away from your mouth, you push against the wrist that plants his palm firmly on your chest, “Don’t—“

but the sound of the zipper whirring makes your head spin. puts you on edge. you squirm until you’re partially crumpled on the lid of the dumpster, neck craned as far as it will without pain to see him retrieving himself from the fabric prison of his inky trousers. even in the blur of the rain, the dim lighting of the barren alley, you see it. thick and heavily veined, already rock hard and throbbing. ready to fuck you into an oblivion like you’ve never experienced before. the thought makes your stomach turn, for all the wrong reasons.

temporarily stunned, you don’t even realize that his hand has slipped from your chest and, instead, cradles the back of your neck, urging you forward.

“I gotta feel that tight cunt wrap around my cock right fucking now,” his words are an exhale, a spectral version of a statement that has goosebumps raising over your arms and legs, “be a good girl and take it.”

the force at which he enters you is astounding. if you weren’t so wet, it might have even hurt. you suck in a whimper that was threatening to fill the air between the two of you as he bottoms out, swelling your canal to max capacity with a single thrust.

“That’s it,” he moans, jaw clenched tight, he hauls you closer to his body, slumped in a forced sitting position with your legs swinging helplessly at his hips, “that’s good.” his grip on the back of your neck seems to tighten, pushing you closer to him as if he couldn’t get deep enough to satiate his lust for the destruction of your cunt.

you mewl, lewdly so, and slam the sides of your fists against the broad expanse of his solid chest. the fabric that clings to it makes a slick thudding, like the sound you may hear if you jumped on a wet trampoline. “You can’t!” you protest, choking back sounds of pleasure that so desperately wish to assure him that he most certainly can, “You can’t do this! Stop! Stop—“

the familiar sensation of his thick palm clamping over your lower mandible returns to shut you up, only this time, his thumb and forefinger pinch your nostrils closed at the same time. “I said I needed your cunt, never said anything about your mouth—“ he grunts, his rutting finding a violent pace as he jackhammers himself into you. you dig your nails deep into the sleeve that covers his forearm, wriggling helplessly as the masked devil takes you. “I’ll take it, too, when I’m done wrecking this sweet, little fuckhole, but hush up until then.” your eyelids flutter, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen reaching them. he doesn’t seem to care, though you get the feeling he’s aware, and he shifts, positioning you like a rag doll, with one of your legs thrown over his bicep so he can force it back towards your chest when he leans forward, opening you up for a more thorough plowing.

the angle gives his throbbing length access to new depth, and the swollen head of his cock batters your insides with reckless abandon. “Yeah,” he spits, husky and starving in your ear, “Yeah. Dick’s way deep in that pussy, isn’t it?” he can feel the vibration of your sobs of protest melding into helpless moans of ecstasy. “I know you like it, sweet girl, I can tell by the way you’re gripping me right now— holy hell, what is it? Hubby doesn’t fuck you hard enough? That why you’re here, throwing yourself into the water like a piece of fuckmeat, and waiting to see what shark is gonna come up and take the bait?” you gurgle in response, lids heavy but you force them to stay open, sinking your teeth into the glove. it wouldn’t be enough, you realized, it probably didn’t even hurt. but you were in a whirlwind of sensation, your belly churning as your walls milk his girth. he grunts, gasping for a proper breath as he keeps yours nonexistent, his lips smearing saliva and raindrops over your cheek before he snarls, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ the expletives sound especially sinful when uttered in that coarse whisper, broken into base syllables, edged by the pleasure of hurting you. by smothering you.

smothering. the word rings true as your lungs ache and yearn for oxygen, you start to jerk and squirm, hoping to -at least- break a gap between his fingers to suck air through, but he holds you tight and close to his heaving chest, your forehead smashed against it. “You wanna breathe, sweet girl?” he teases wickedly, plumbing your depths with a ferocity that had to be unique to him. “Because I’ll let you, all you gotta do is cum for me, first. You’re close already, I know it—“ he groans, his jaw tight, “I can hear your heartbeat, fast like a scared little bunny, and feel how tight your little pussy is getting around me, you’re gonna cum so fucking hard, huh? Even harder because you can’t breathe.”

he’s right. heavens, is he right! your climax washes over you like a tidal wave, pulls you to the depths of ecstasy like an undertow. you thrash like you’re drowning, screaming muffled through his hand until your throat is raw and sore, and you see white specks, like stars dancing about him. darkness burns the edges, vision like vingette as you quiver, locked in place. “That’s it, good girl,” he huffs, forcing you to ride through your orgasm, “give me a nice, big one. Just… like… that…”

dizzy is no longer a strong enough word to express how you feel. you’re beyond dizzy, you’re weightless. you’re floating through space, directionless, helpless, and utterly broken. your grip loosens on his wrist, only slightly, and he reacts in turn, releasing your mouth and nose to strike your cheek in rapid slaps, bringing you back into the consciousness you’d been slipping out of. “Come back, sweet girl, come on. Not, ah, not done with you, not yet.”

the breath you take almost feels like the first one. it’s new and it burns all the way down, you sputter and spew rain drops, choking on sweet oxygen when you come to, eyes wide and trying to adjust. you flail in his grip, temporarily disoriented and scared, until he hooks that one leg over his shoulder and grips the back of your neck with both hands, fingers interlacing against your nape, forcing your chin towards your flouncing breasts.

“I want you to watch,” he pants, ragged and needy, in your ear, “watch me fuck your little cunt and tell me what you see.”

you’ve no choice with the way he’s pressing your chin into your chest. you moan but it’s a strangled, frustrated sound. “I—“ you pause, pursing your lips to try and kill a whine of pleasure; it doesn’t work, “I—I see your cock going in and out of me!” sucking in another breath, your eyes are glued to the vividly obscene display where your bodies connected, “And, fuck, you’re going deep-p— my— I came all over it!”

he’s buried his face in your neck, sucking on the tender skin and teasing your pulse point with his teeth to muffle his own, needy moans. “Yeah?” he asks, “Is your clit nice and swollen? Aching?”

you bite down on your lower lip, “Y—yeah…!”

he inhales deep, teeth grazing your collar bone, rutting more erratically. “Play with it.”

you shudder at even the thought of touching the screaming bundle of nerves. “I can’t— I’m too sensitive!” you protest, shaking your head.

“Not gonna tell you again,” he huffs, “rub your greedy pussy for me.” his jaw tightens, and you can feel his member palpitating deep inside you. “Shit, I need to feel you cum again.”

you try to look at his face, adjust your body so you can see the muscles in his jaw pulled tight, or at least so you could see something other than your body swallowing his cock like you were starved for it. one, trembling hand approaches your sex with caution, fingers prodding experimentally at your clitoris. the slightest poke sends electricity through your veins, and you let out a pathetic, little squeak.

“Keep going.”

you swallow hard around a lump in your throat but obey, rubbing your nub harder and quicker. you groan, half in pleasure and half from how sensitive you were— how it almost hurt to touch yourself now.

“Ah, fuck,” he moans in your ear, heavy breath sending chills down your spine, “you’re getting tight again. Heart beat kicking up. I bet you feel that churning in your belly, don’t you? Don’t stop, sweet girl, make yourself cum on my cock one more time.”

you hated that he was right; loathed that the constant decimation of your sex and the new stimulation has brought on a second orgasm. you convulse, eyes rolling back when you cum for the second time in a matter of minutes, this one hitting you much harder than the first. expletives spill from your swollen lips and tangle within labored breathing; your hips jut forward to meet the violence of his rutting, to accept the battering he deals you with a masochistic lust.

“I’m close. Real close.” you could already tell by the way his moans had turned into hisses of breath, and how he throbs inside of you, but hearing him say it only extended your orgasm for another few seconds. “I’m gonna cum— gonna fill you up, sweet girl.”

you didn’t even have time to protest.

warmth engulfs your interior, spreading through your belly like a wildfire, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his moans muffled and vibrating the flesh of your throat.

several seconds pass.

you can feel his seed oozing from the join of your bodies, sticking to your thighs and smearing over his pants, and he stays there, getting his breathing under control, while he deposits what seems like years of pent up sexual frustration into your guts. after what seems like a lifetime of aftershocks shared between the both of you, he retreats, using one hand to pull himself free while the other holds your nape, flinging you off of the dumpster and on to the concrete below. you land on your feet, but your knees are like jelly, and you melt to the wet ground shortly after, panting, wheezing. looking up at him, looming over you, you can see that his cock is twitching madly, but his grip on it is tight, thumb massaging the protruding vein. was he… was he stroking himself back to life?

aware that going another round with this man meant your willpower would be completely shattered, you roll yourself on to your knees and look around, heart beating fast and hard against your ribs. you catch sight of your phone, a few feet away, and scramble towards it, extending your hand for it. you were so close that the tips of your fingers brushed across the screen and it lit up, the words FACE ID NOT RECOGNIZED USE PASSCODE flashing.

then, you feel his hands in your hair. delving deep against the roots, he yanks hard, and your back arches, knees digging into the gravel. “Ah!” it’s partially a cry of frustration, and partially a startled gasp.

“You thought we were done?” he asks, chest heaving as he drops to his own knees behind you. the grip on your scalp keeps your head forward, tilted back, and he wedges his knees between yours, forcing them wide open again. you moan, helpless and weak, when you feel the rain mixing with his cum on your thighs, more oozing out of you. “We’re not done.”

“Please!” you whine; you know how pathetic and tiny you must sound to him, but you can’t help yourself. “I can’t cum again! I just can’t!”

“Sure you can, sweet girl,” he scoffs, every word laced with acid, “I’m gonna make it easy for you.” he leans in close to your sex, inhaling the concoction of scents. yours and his, before licking a thick stripe between your nether lips. you squeal, trying to crawl forward to escape the tingling in your toes and the throbbing of your clit, but his grip is too strong. “I’m gonna fuck you with my tongue until you beg me to stop.”

your thighs quaking, you mewl and babble and beg him to let you rest, to stop this torture of never ending orgasms, but he’s too deep between your thighs to listen. his tongue dives into your abused hole, slurping on his own taste as well as your desire. he nibbles on your folds, one hand planted firm on your ass cheek with his fingers dug in deep. you reach for the phone again, and groan when you see that it’s just out of the way, the very tips of your digits can only just ghost over the home button. the visage of salvation just beyond your fingertips, leaving you at the mercy of the man in black taunts you.

his couplet encases your clit in warm, tongue swirling around it, and you can feel the stubble on his jaw rubbing you raw. your whole body is shaking so violently that you’re forced to brace yourself with both palms on the concrete. “I can’t,” you moan, desperate, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” those two words are repeated over and over as he devours your core, another orgasm fast approaching. you were at your limit. you were done.

“Silver,” you whisper, breathless, and you feel him stop and pull away from you. “Silver, Matty, silver.”

your name falls from his lips. not sweet girl. your name. he releases your hair, but his palm falls to caress your face as he crawls up to kneel at your side. you rest your fiery cheek against the bare palm and look up at him— his mouth is sparkling with your arousal coating that and his jaw, but his lips are pulled downwards in a concerned frown. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine. Just really sensitive, now.” you assure him, grabbing on to his arm with both hands to haul yourself into a sitting position, “I just—“ you tilt your head, shaking digits pushing the black mask from over his eyes. those gentle eyes. then, you cradle his face in both hands and guide his lips to yours in a soft peck. “Take me home, yeah?”

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you hum, softly, running your fingers through Matt’s freshly washed, damp tendrils as he rests his head in your lap. the two of you had been curled up on the couch in that spot since after your shower together, where you took turns washing one another carefully. it was somewhat of a routine, and one that assured him that he had done no real damage to you during the session.

he turns his head, resting the back of it against your thigh. you pause, before brushing along his scalp near the top of his ear instead. he looks up towards the ceiling, hand reaching for your face. your free hand gently guides it to your cheek, and you nuzzle into the caress. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“All of it. The game, the safewords… why?” he doesn’t seem disappointed or angry, but merely confused. “No one’s ever really done anything like this with me… For me.”

you tilt your head, thoughtfully twirling a damp lock of his hair around your forefinger. “You told me before, that you had the devil inside of you.” he nods, still not getting it. “Well,” you start, watching his countenance carefully, “The devil’s like a dog trapped inside. And if you never let a dog out of the house, they rip up furniture, eat things they’re not supposed to. They destroy things because they’re bored, understimulated.”

“So, what you’re saying is that all of this is you metaphorically taking the devil inside me for a walk?” his brow quirks, and he chortles lowly in amusement.

you scoff, shaking your head. “Not exactly, and thanks a lot, you just screwed up my metaphor.” your fingertips glide over his scalp and towards his forehead, drawing soft, loving circles about his temple, “Every now and then, the devil needs to be let out, needs to breathe and run. If we keep him stimulated in a safe environment, there isn’t any need for him to destroy, is there?”

Matt cocks his head to the side, “But who says it’s all that safe? I could hurt you one of these nights.” his voice lowers as he says it, as if simply uttering the words brought a sadness over him.

you arch your eyebrows, “You would never hurt me, Matthew Murdock.” sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you turn your head to press your lips to his fingers, kissing the golden band on one of them in particular, “I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t trust you.”

“And if I don’t trust myself?”

“Then, trust me.” you murmur against it, “Trust me.”

he seems pensive for a moment, and is quiet as he thinks. “All right, I trust you, baby.” he smiles, letting go of your cheek to instead pat his lips with the pad of his forefinger twice. it was his way of telling you to kiss them. you do as instructed, leaning over to press your couplet to his, and you smile into the embrace. “Mm… even though you go to sleazy bars in town late at night without telling me.”

a giggle bubbles, uncontrollably, out to break the kiss and you nip at his lower lip with a playfully thoughtful hum, “Well, I guess that means you just need to fuck me more, Mr. Murdock.”

“Oh?” he chuckles, too, and sits up, turning to angle your chin up towards him with his forefinger curled beneath it. the pad of his thumb runs over your lower lip, and he grins wide. “I think I can do that, Mrs. Murdock.”

THE LAST LINE ABSOLUTELY WRECKED OMG HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

Love Bites (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, vampire!Avengers, Peter x reader, bloodplay, violence, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, jealous!Steve, modern setting they just wealthy af

➥  divider by @firefly-graphics

! By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut !

summary: In a coven, the master’s word is law, and humans are nothing more than pets to symbolize wealth and prestige. They tell you that being the master’s pet is a great honor, but the poorly constructed façade is broken when you forsake honor for love.

Keep reading

"that's my girl" bro say it again and i'll suck the soul out of ur dick

I think monsterfucking is about vulnerability. When you think about it

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

**this is your last friendly reminder that this is an 18+ blog**

i understand i post some fluff stuff, but i do not want y'all following me if you're under 18 (on your 18th birthday on midnight, i will gladly except your follow)!

* i do not give a single flying fuck how 'mature' you are, this is my blog. my rules. i get to decide who follows me and who interacts with me (to the best of my ability).

*i will not give ANY exceptions.

* blank blogs will be blocked * minors will be blocked * if i have a suspicion you're a minor, you will be blocked * if i check reblogs on fics & i see you are a minor, you will be blocked

- by following me, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18. by sending me an ask (anon or not), you are agreeing you are over the age of 18.

- i can not control/police every single interaction on my blog, so this is the official warning.

🌵 Spencer having a breeding kink

this is making me feral

🌵smut headcacons: send me a character and a steamy scenario/situation and I’ll write how they would react/what they would do (short headcanons)

NSFW under the cut

Check out my 400 follower celebration

Spencer having a breeding kink

i can just imagine it

it starts with a night of babysitting

a friendly gesture for jj bc she wanted a night out with will

the majority of the night is just sweet

just two giggly boys and their godparents having a night together

and then spencer walks in to see lil baby michael perked on your hip

and his brain, for once, absolutely stills at the sight

then its just flooded with images of you

you, pregnant with his kid

you, round and MATERNAL

and they just go straight to his dick

so when the kids finally go to bed, and jj and will are just 20 minutes away

it takes everything in his body to not take you right then and there

doesn't stop him from keeping his hands on you

intentional touches against your legs, fingers grazing your thighs

you give him a knowing, but confused look bc you can only imagine where this is going

and when he asks "do you ever think about having kids"

you know then

you make a joke about him being a *horn dog* bc we all know he is

and tell him he has to wait until you get home

and WHEN YOU GET HOME

good lord

that man has you bent over the nearest surface immediately

you barely have time to think between his words and his actions

"fuck baby don't you want me to just fill you up"

"can't wait until you full of me, my kid"

"gonna let me cum inside aren't you baby, I can feel how deep i am"

... no words...

his hands are all over you as he's pumping into you, to your breasts, down across your belly

and he WILL give you fun facts about how they'll grow and swell

and when he does

oh when he does cum inside

he'll stay right there to make sure it doesnt go to waste, and whatever does?

he'll just use his fingers and push it in, right next to his cock

Come Away With Me

Come Away With Me

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Kink: Anasteemaphilia - a sexual preference for partners of a vastly different height than oneself. It can present as a preference for partners who are significantly shorter or partners who are significantly taller.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, murder, blood, gore, kidnapping, noncon (like for real dark shit), dirty talk, light praise

Relationships: Troll!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2162

A/N: Troll - a dwarf or giant in Scandinavian folklore inhabiting caves or hills. We have gone with LARGE for this one pals... an uh he makes it fit. You can thank my 2am stomach ache for this one.

This work has Adult Content. By clicking “Keep Reading” you have agreed that you are over the age of 18 and are willing to view such content. My work is not to be copied or translated onto any other platform. I have discontinued my taglist - follow @slothspaghettilibrary to be notified of when I post new fics.

You crossed the bridge every day. A song quietly falling from your lips as you pushed your small cart to the market and then home again in the evening. It was tiring work; the load was heavy, and the coin never truly enough, but you didn’t quit. It was too safe a job for someone like you to give up on. The stories you’d heard about women working outside the market always sent a shiver down your spine. You were safer out in the open than you would in a pub or a dark bookstore.

You would also miss your friend.

He’s shy, doesn’t really say much of anything, but he’s sweet. Well, you assume it’s a he, and that he is real and not just some coyotes in the woods or local kids being mean. You leave small amounts of fruits and vegetables and flowers for him, nothing special. The bridge between the village and your cottage is old and magic, or so your grandmother told you. It just became a habit when you took over the cart to leave an offering of sorts on the bridge.

Each evening you'd leave what you could afford and each morning it would be gone. Sometimes certain vegetables were left behind, carrots in particular. Your friend seemed to really enjoy when you left plums. Though the tree was still young, it bore small amounts of fruit this season. When you left one behind, a little bruised and misshapen, the next morning you found an old hat where you always left your offering.

The cap was battered and worn, a small emblem on it had been ripped off and there was a hole in it, but the plum pit that sat on top told you it was the bridge, or the spirit of the bridge thanking you for your offering. You didn't want to question it, didn't think about it, because suddenly the long days and early mornings were just a little better. You wore the old hat from that day on.

But the villagers they didn't like that. When you explained to the fishmonger how you came across it, one morning after he'd asked, he sneered and turned up his nose. The cobbler did the same, as did the entire market thereafter. Rumors spread that you were some heretic, not to be spoken to or to have dealings with. On the busiest day of the week, you sold barely anything. And that pattern continued, your cart just as heavy as it had been at the start of the day.

Your offering grew smaller, unable to afford to give any more. But still you weren’t making ends meet. So you did something you promised your grandmother you wouldn’t do. You got a job at the pub as a barmaid. Guilt swirled in your belly that first evening when you had nothing to offer the bridge. The handful of coins you had earned were carefully stashed in the lining of your coat since it was so late at night. There were no lovely plums or flowers to be offered. You stood in the middle of it, trying to decide what to do. Did you leave a coin and risk it being stolen, or do you leave nothing and hope that misfortune doesn’t befall you further?

“Oi, bridge bitch,” someone shouted in the darkness, their voice slurring into the cool night air. “Y-ou wanna give me an off-erring?”

You clutched your coat tighter around your chest, frozen in fear as the burly man stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. You pressed yourself into the stone railing as he approached you, a breath trapped in your chest. He plucked your hat off your head and tossed it over the side. You felt the tears burn your eyes, your voice lost on your tongue.

“You wanna offer me-me that-”

The sentence was never finished. A giant, scarred hand grabbed his head, crushing his skull with a simple squeeze. Blood and visceral spewed from between the meaty fingers, spraying across your front. Every part of you shook, a heavy breath nearly blowing you over as the hand released the lifeless body. The hand shook off the bits carelessly, flinging chunks across the bridge and making bile ride in your throat.

A rush of cool air behind you and suddenly you were standing face to face with… with a…

"T-tr-troll," you squeaked, head tilted all the way back to look at his scarred features. "I-I-I-I-"

You were caught in a loop, unable to scream in terror, unable to run, just a stuttering mess standing before one of the most feared creatures in the world. You dropped your gaze when his piercing blue eyes became too much. In his clean hand, your cap was pinched between two fingers.

"Here, plum," he set the hat back on your head. "Hafta make sure everyone knows you're Bucky's."

"Bucky?" Your lips trembled as the large fingers caressed your face, tracing your cheek and sliding down to your throat. His big thumb pulled at your bottom lip.

"Yeah, me, this is my bridge and you are my precious… tiny… plum."

Fat tears slipped down your cheek. Your body trembled under the immense weight of his stare, blue eyes being swallowed up by his pupils. The heat radiating from his tarnish body caused sweat to form under your thick coat. Every part of him was built to stomp and crush and kill.

What had you done?

"No, no, no little plum, no tears. I've been dreaming about this night." He tried to smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth, but all you could think of was how they'd feel ripping your flesh from the bones. A sob rattled your chest. "I rescued you, l-like a knight, and I'm gonna take you away from all of this. I used all your gifts, I planted a garden for-for us and-and-”

He yanked you into his chest, crushing your cheek into the worn and sweaty material of his shirt. Hands, terrifyingly large and strong, roamed over your body, felt your body tremble under him, but they didn’t stop. Bucky lifted you into the air until your face nearly touched his, more hiccuped cries pouring from your mouth.

“P-puh-please,” you sobbed. "I just wanna go home."

"Shh, it's okay, plum, we'll go home," he whispered, rubbing his nose against yours, like he was trying to soothe you.

You didn't fight as the troll carried you away, leaping over the bridge and causing you to shriek in terror. Whatever life you had before was dead, either because of your own doings leading up to this point or from the monster now taking control. If you survived, made it back to the village somehow, you would no doubt be blamed for murder. Your luck had truly soured. The gods had turned their backs on you. You’d never see your grandmother again.

Bucky’s barbarous steps shook the trees and made the ground quake as he crouched under the bridge.

“Watch this,” he murmured, shrugging his shoulder to force your head up.

Your weak sniffle echoed around the arch. You stared at the dry stone wall, rubbing the heel of your hand into your eyes to try and stop the tears. A nervous smile spread across his barrelled towards the wall. Before the choked sound could pass your lips, the wall shimmered into nothing, revealing a lush valley that practically glowed in the moonlight. Your heart leapt into your throat.

At the center of the valley was a stone hut, a blazing fire crackled and crickets chirped. Bucky walked down the short hill talking the whole way about plans he had for you, for him, for both of you. He kicked open the door, and you were struck by how massive everything was. It was all troll size, of course, from the pans that hung over the fireplace to the washbasin to the bed that was tucked into the far corner of the room. Dried flowers and sprigs of herbs you had left as offerings hung on one fall, as did a ribbon you’d lost on a windy day a few weeks ago. Though it was stained with something now, the satin ruined.

He was still holding you.

“I-I-I had a lots a plans, was going to add more to the house, this wasn’t h-how I wanted it to look when you got here, but I couldn’t not save you. Nobody hurts my plum.” He squeezed you, forcing the air from your lungs when his fingered curled so tightly together they almost touched.

“Bucky,” you said, gasping for air and clawing at his hands.

He looked down at you. Your pleading gaze meeting the same strange one from the bridge. His eyes dilated as they flicked from his hold around your waist to your face. A tight knot formed in your chest as the hunger you saw in his gaze. The harder you tried to breathe, the more your vision blurred.

“Lotta plans, little plum, but they-they don’t really matter anymore.”

Just when you thought you might explode or pass out, his grip released. You collapsed onto the bed and ragged, quaking breaths tearing your throat apart. The sheet smelled surprisingly fresh, like roses and violets you’d grow at home. A hand wrapped around your leg, pulled you to the edge harshly. Bucky snapped and tore at your clothes, tossing the shreds to the far side of the room until you were left naked and shivering below him. You begged him to stop, but he refused to listen.

"Every part of you is so… tiny." He breathed, hands dragging up your legs, your hips, all the way to your face. "I could crush you, rip you right in half."

He brought his weight down to your pelvis when you tried to squirm away, heavy cock pressed against your tummy

"No," you sobbed, fresh tears burning your eyes. "Please, I haven't-"

"Plum," he groaned, biting off the end of your confession. His lips crashed down on yours, devoured and consumed your cries. "Knew you were going to be the one, knew you'd be so sweet and ripe for me."

With your body still pinned beneath him, he removed his clothes. More scars were revealed, old jagged marks that had long since healed but looked so angry, showed what damage he could do and take. You refused to look lower than his chest, terrified of what you'd find. The trembling returned to your body as you tried to hold back your tears. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip and you squeezed your eyes shut.

It felt bigger, hotter, harder outside of his trousers. He rubbed his cock against your stomach, whimpering at the friction against your soft skin. Precum flowed from his cock, soaking your skin in his slimy essence.

"S-s-so beautiful, little plum. Just like I dreamed about. So perfect. Fuck, g-gon-na fill you up so good. Promise I'll be as gentle."

His hands easily wrapped around your thighs, spreading them to the point of pain until he could fit his hips between them.

A scream, filled with anguish and defeat, tore through your throat when he prodded at your dry cunt. He stopped almost instantly, not removing what little of himself he'd shoved into you, but not going any further. You couldn't see his face, couldn't tell if he was enjoying your pain or taking greater pleasure in it. His monstrous thumb traced patterns against the inside of your thighs, moving higher and higher until he was stroking your clit.

"Stay still plum, this will m-make it better, easier. Just let me take care of you."

He forced pleasure on to you. Bucky pressed kisses against your tear-stained cheeks, licked and sucked at the skin around your neck and shoulder. Shocks and shivers rained down your spine, the tension building in the base of your neck made your muscles shake. His thumbs kept toying with your body, swirling and rubbing and pinching. Your hands twisted the sheets beside you, heat rolled through your body. His cock eased deeper into you, your traitorous body sucking him the slicker your pussy got.

"That's it, plum, doing so good. Kn-knew you could take it, fit my cock in your b-b-bitty body. Just need to c-cum and I'll be able to slide right in."

You shook your head, even as your body seemed to agree with his words. The tension inside you wound tighter and tighter, forcing your back off the bed until it snapped. Your vision swam as your pussy fluttered around the tip of his cock. Bucky bit down hard into your shoulder, his hips trying to pulse forward to fully enjoy your wet heat.

"I can't," you whimpered as he pushed in deeper. "I can't, I can't. Please, Bucky, no more."

"Plum, don't fight, promi-ise it'll fit. Promise, I'm gonna make it fit. Cause you're my little, tiny precious plum."

what is your target demographic

SLUTS

realistically, venom could make his dick however long and thick you want it to be. love that for us.