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dynamic-power · 8 months

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Steddie Time Travel AU, Back to the Past part 3

Oh my god you are all amazing! Thanks for all the support, it seriously means the world to me!

Part 1

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Steve isn't sure how long it takes before his breathing returns to normal, but when it does, he realizes he's cuddled to Eddie's chest. The other man is humming softly, and Steve can feel the vibrations of it beneath his ear. He doesn't recognize the song, but doesn’t ask what it is.

Eddie must sense that Steve has calmed enough to talk, because he stops humming and his arm squeezes tighter around Steve's shoulders.

"With me again?" he asks.

"Mmm," Steve says. One of his hands is pressed to Eddie's sternum. Preparing himself for what he knows he is going to feel, he drags his fingers down. He eyes Eddie's ribs, searching until he finds the divot he had seen in Eddie's side. His palm glides over rough, scarred skin and settles on the spot.

“Not pretty, I know,” Eddie says softly. “But, I’m alive, so I guess it’s a win overall.”

“What the fuck is happening?” Steve finally asks again. Eddie takes a deep breath, and as Steve’s head rises and falls with the movement, he realizes where he is.

He’s lying in bed cuddled up to Eddie Munson, who is apparently not dead. He’s in a strange room, their room, and Eddie is older than he should be, and-

Steve wonders if he’s finally lost his mind, or if the Upside Down is fucking with him again. It’s entirely possible; while Vecna had been stopped, or so they thought, the Upside Down itself was still there. Still lying behind Hawkins, with even more cracks and leaks than ever before.

Steve pulls out of Eddie’s grip, moving so he can sit against the headboard. He isn’t wearing a shirt, either, and when he looks down at his own chest, he realizes he was different, too.

He has scars. They all match the wounds that were still healing across his torso. He touches the largest one, a long gash across his side where a bat claw had dug in and torn him open when he’d pulled the bat off of him.

“Yeah, you’re still you,” Eddie says, and then he’s turning and pulling himself from the bed. He reaches for a cane and stands. “I’ll tell you what I know, but that isn’t much.”

Steve takes a moment to watch Eddie. He’s got a bad limp in his left leg, and he can see that Eddie is missing a significant part of his thigh muscle, just below the hem of his boxers. The skin covering what’s left is just as scarred and gnarled as his chest. The rest of him, though, is solid and strong; narrow shoulders, defined arms, trim waist.

It’s his hair that Steve can’t stop looking at, though. Steve can’t believe how different he looks with his short curls.

But then Eddie says, “It’s 2008,” and all of Steve’s thoughts, his inspection of the man crossing the room in front of him, grinds to a complete halt.

“What?”

Eddie turns to glance at Steve over his shoulder. “Yeah. You said- or, well, Steve said that was okay for you to know.” He leans his cane against a chest of drawers and opens one of the top ones.

Steve’s thoughts pick back up again and his head starts to spin. 2008? “I knew? I mean, the other me. Is there an ‘other me’? Did we swap? Or is it just me? Am I stuck? I can’t be stuck, I need to go back, they need my help, Nancy was-”

And it’s not until the words are coming out of his mouth that he remembers what he’d been doing before he woke up here.

“Nancy and I, we snuck into the Upside Down again. Oh, fuck, we’d found a new gate and wanted to check-” Steve can feel himself beginning to panic again. He clenches his fists into the sheets below him and takes a few deep breaths.

Eddie is standing at the foot of the bed, holding out an envelope to him.

“You- he- fuck, I dunno. You left this. You said I’d know when you needed it, and I guess that makes sense now.”

The envelope is blank. Steve lifts a shaking hand and takes it from Eddie.

He opens it and pulls out a letter. Unfolding it, he begins to read.

Hey, Steve.

You aren’t going crazy, I promise. I don’t remember exactly what I read in this letter, but I’m going to do my best to tell you what I can. First, and this is the most important thing, trust Eddie.

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Part 4

Thank you so much for all of the love on this! Unfortunately I have already reached the max on tags, but I'm also posting it as a fic on ao3! The first chapter consists of these first 3 parts and you can read it here.

Tag list: @clumsiluni @l0st-strawberry @aol19 @newtstabber @mugloversonly @cryptid-cuties @notaqueenakhaleesi @estrellami-1 @idkuhhh @f-llthevoid @pauphs @tinyplanet95 @therealscarletpumpernickel @feral-possums-in-the-bog @emma-elsa-0000 @stevesbipanic @alycatavatar @insteviewetrust @blue-menace-mind @romanticdestruction @hbyrde36 @jinkiesbiiitchhh @jezabella8 @xxsky-shockxx @livinginthesea @aliea82 @somewhereatdawn @jayree-3-lol @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @nailbatanddungeon @messrs-weasley @thebiblesays @hallucinatedjosten @platinum-sunset @theluckyalien @weirdandabsurd42 @phirex22 @marklee-blackmore @@nerdyglassescheeseychick @bird-with-pencils @skjachukson @yourmom-isgay

@grtwdsmwhr @sirsnacksalot @literalangels @burningbasementmilkshake @novacorpsrecruit @krazyperson @fancyorangepeels @m-owo-n @colidamae @wheatisstillwheat @im-just-here-to-watch-the-chaos @kjobriscoe

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #time travel #stranger things #dyno writes #back to the past

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ageofevermore · 7 months

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BRIGHTER THEN CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

SUMMARY — you’ve been with kate for years, but on your first christmas in your new apartment, she decides to make you hers forever

The room smelt like pine and peppermint, you could thank the six foot tree in the corner, decorated with candy canes and assorted purple ornaments for that. As the morning sun bled into your quiet bedroom, painting the walls and everything else it touched golden, your heart fluttered in your belly at the simplicity of this moment you earned. After months of endless battles, there was finally peace to be enjoyed, and you would milk every second of it while it lasted.

Kate was flush against the bedsheets, satin pillow on the floor and heavy blankets tangled at her hips like she’d kicked them off in the middle of the night. She was always a quiet sleeper, but with her face pressed into the bed, soft snores escaped her parted lips. Her cheeks were flush, tinted pink, an accent to the all purple room she adored. Her deep brown hair that was almost the color of a raven sat twisted into a single braid in the middle of her head, frizzy at the roots as a result of restless rustling all night. Her plaid purple pajama top had ridden up in her sleep, exposing the softest parts of her hips and belly. You sat in the quiet for a while, admiring her even breaths and innocent face, wishing every morning could be this easy.

Just last week, you’d spent your nights alone while she fought alongside Clint somewhere in Brooklyn. When she did finally come home, she was sore and not nearly herself, not that you could blame her, but you were finally back in a routine, and your favorite holiday awaited you downstairs in full swing. If there was one thing Kate was known for within your small community of friends, it was her full-out commitment to decorating that could rival her high energy personality. Your bedroom was full of purple accents, from the blankets on the bed to the little trinkets she collects on the shelves, the apartment was a different theme in every room, not a single space left unfinished. You had assumed she’d go the generic Christmas route, not holding your expectations too high knowing how busy this time of year got for her, but you’d been severely wrong. So perfectly she found decor that matched every theme, and so proudly she’d put up a Christmas tree in every room that would surely have the place smelling like pine for months to come. It so perfectly fit who she was at her core, and the day it all came down would break your heart.

The ornaments on the tree reflected purple shadows against the wall, the candy canes were sweet and the pine was light, the sun warm against your skin that felt flush just watching her breathe. She looked so peaceful, you couldn’t even think about rousing her from that state, content with the silence around you and the heavy snow that fell outside of your window. It was a perfect snowglobe moment that you had waited days to have.

You lean back against the headboard, letting the cold flush wash over your warm body. Reaching a hand out tenderly, you caress the side of Kate’s face, pink cheeks warm to the touch but nothing out of the ordinary for her, always running hot when in the deepest depths of her slumber. You wondered what she dreamed about, but much to your dismay, she always woke without a single memory, only a smile on her cherry lips and wonder in her icy eyes. She wore your most favorite shade of blue so easily, everything about her was captivating, even in this moment. You didn’t mean to wake her, but the ticklish sensation that spread through her face was what brought her back down to earth, her eyes squinting before she stretched her entire body out like a clumsy puppy, smiling up at you with closed eyes.

“G’morning.” She rasped, snuggling deeper into the bedsheets, using her folded arms as a pillow once she realized that hers had fallen sometime during the night. You laughed quietly at her gravely morning voice and sleep slurred words, trailing your gentle fingers down the side of her neck and over her exposed shoulders. The tank top she slept in fit tightly to her muscular build, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t the hottest thing you’d seen in a while. She’d been frolicking around in your biggest sweater, hiding her perfect body from you, but it was all yours to oogle now, and you did so selfishly.

“Good Morning, baby.” Your hand slipped beneath her purple plaid tank top, nails scratching along her skin gently. She hummed in pleasure, wiggling closer to you until her head fell onto your soft thighs, her braided hair tickling the skin of your arm.

“Merry Christmas.” She smiled sleepily, finally peeling her blue eyes open to find yours in the sunlit room. You would never know how you got so lucky to have her, to call her yours and to spend every moment at her side knowing so many people wanted her for themselves, but you would thank your lucky stars until the end of time.

“Merry Christmas, Kates.” You chuckled lightly, letting your lips brush against the palm of her hand as it came up to rest on your cheek. “You slept well, if the pillow on the floor is any indication.” You giggled, belly jostling her head much to her displeasure. She grumbled mopily, digging her face further into your thighs like that was the answer to her problem.

“Always sleep well when you’re next to me.” She admitted in her delirium, unaware of how she melted your heart like a snowman in summer. Retracting her warm touch from your face in favor of rubbing out her tired eyes, she sat up straight once she felt the slightest bit of energy course through her body, finally starting to remember that today was the day she’d been counting down to since October. Her knees knocked yours, both sitting criss-crossed on the bed like kindergarten children, and with as much glee as you’d ever seen her wear, she reached for yours hands. “Merry Christmas!” She beamed brighter than a thousand ultra bright Christmas lights, perky and alert now as she really let this moment wash over her. It wasn’t the first Christmas you’d spent together as a couple, but it was the first year you’d woken up together tangled in bedsheets, in a place that you could call only your own. Clint’s little farmhouse had been home for a while, and while little kids made the holiday even sweeter, this was something new, something well deserved, and you were grateful for it everyday. Even if it lacked Lila jumping on your bed and Laura cooking waffles downstairs.

You giggled, leaning in close until your lips brushed together, fireworks exploding around the room when her lips reciprocated your movements. “Merry Christmas! Do you think Santa came?” You teased, cupping both of her cheeks in your hands and holding her close to your face, not ready to let her go just yet.

“I don't know. I think we have to check it out.” The presents had been slowly accumulating beneath the extravagant tree in the living room for weeks, both of you knew what awaited you once you descended down the stairs and made a sharp left, but that didn’t squander your joy as you raced out of bed and haphazardly shoved into each other just to say you got there first. Kate let you win, she always let you win, but it didn’t dampen your pride as you bounced around and kissed her face in a teasing celebration. “Santa came!”

“And his name is Katherine Bishop.” Your girlfriend jutted out her chest goofily, scratching at an imaginary white beard. You shook your head in fondness, taking a seat in front of the tree and the color coded presents beneath it. Ironically, both of you had chosen purple wrapping paper, though hers was a few shades darker and matched the pajamas she wore with its checkered print. You had gone a separate route then the traditional Christmas print, buying as many rolls of Hawkeye themed paper you could find once you realized it existed and sported a cartoon version of her face. Kate had laughed so loudly the first time she’d seen it, you’d do anything to hear that sound again, and you weren’t disappointed. When you handed her the first box, her face contorted with happiness, and contagious belly laughs escaped her.

You opened your presents at the same time, neither one of you having enough patience to sit around and watch the other. It didn’t take long for the living room to become a disaster of ribbons and crumpled paper, but that would be a cleanup project for later. Right now, you were just enjoying the small things.

“Last present!” Kate declared, reaching deep behind the tree and pulling out a small box you hadn’t noticed before. She had hidden it well, not that you would’ve gone around and snooped, but you could appreciate her commitment to surprises, even if she was horrible at them, always wanting to loop you in and dissect everything that had happened.

“Gimmie!” You reached for the little box, beaming from ear to ear when she placed it in your waiting hands and watched you intensely. You thought nothing of it, tearing into the paper like a madwoman. The velvet box you found beneath was no different then the boxes you’d acquired throughout your years together. Kate loved getting you nice things, and most often that was in the form of diamond bracelets or pearl necklaces. You appreciated them every time, but nothing had led you to believe that this box was different. When you flipped the lip, eager to see what awaited you, and whether it would be a gorgeous new charm for your collection or an elegant diamond bracelet, your mouth hung open in shock and tears breached your gentle eyes.

You never wanted an elaborate proposal. You had always told Kate that. You weren’t elaborate people, you didn’t need the big speech and the thousands of dollars spent on photographers and videographers to know that she meant it, but somehow this little moment was even more perfect than you could’ve anticipated. Looking up at her and away from the breathtaking engagement ring, you couldn’t help the single tear that fell down your face.

“Kate?” Your voice trembled, coming out a breathy whisper as you watched her watch you. Her eyes were the deepest shade of blue you had ever seen, a nervous grin on her face as she looked between you and the navy blue velvet box. “Are you-”

“Will you marry me?” She asked shyly, nothing but admiration in her icy eyes.

Not knowing what to say and not trusting your voice, you nodded through tears as you let her take the box and reach for your left hand. The ring fit like a glove, shimmering on your finger like that was exactly where it belonged. And it was. Blubbering like a fish out of water, you attacked the woman in a bone crushing hug, only pulling away to trap her lips in a deep kiss that couldn’t even begin to explain every emotion you were feeling.

“Merry Christmas, fiance.” She giggled against you, and you couldn’t help but laugh with her as you pulled your hand up to admire the diamonds.

“Merry Christmas, fiance.”

#kate bishop #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop fluff #kate bishop fic

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thismyburnertwn · 5 months

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"You take me so well"

Miguel O'hara X F!reader

Just a little drabble to have something to post.

cw: 18+ MDNI, p in v, dirty talk, Miguel is a little mean, praise, smut

My moans were loud and uncontrollable. "Your last man fuck you like this, bebé?" Miguel spoke into my ear, his large hand wrapped around my neck holding my head up. I gasped out a whimper, unable to form a coherent answer.

His strokes slowed immensely, "Dame palabras, mami." His voice dripped in arousal, coating me in its erotic sound.

(Give me words, mami)

"no.."

He tsked at my reply, "Speak up, princesa."

"No."

"No?" He asked sarcastically, wanting me to repeat myself.

"N-," A moan ripped through my lips before I could answer. A combination of long, deep strokes and his fingers strumming my clit made my back arch like a slut.

"mi buena niña, ¿eh?"

(my good girl, hmm?)

"Oh my fucking god."

"I know, bebé, I know. Taking me so good."

His hands found my ass, spreading my cheeks as he gripped them, using them for leverage. My head fell against the mattress as I struggled to stay conscious.

His thumb glided over my tight hole, making me clench around him. "You alright love?" He asked sweetly, "Want to take a break?"

I nodded, reaching behind me to push back on his stomach, forcing him to slow down. "Candy Cane?" He asked, offering my safeword to me, to which I declined.

He pulled out, sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard before pulling me into his lap. He hoisted me up by my thighs, sliding me down on him, a whimper leaving my lips. He held my hips tightly as he drove up into me with long, deep strokes.

My legs violently shook as my orgasm approached, "Come for me, baby." His thumb found my clit, strumming as he fucked me deeply.

I braced myself with my hands on his chest, my eyes rolling back with pleasure and my breathing erratic.

"Buena niña, dáselo a papá." That was enough to send me over the edge. A loud moan burst from my lips, filling the room as I creamed all over his cock.

(Good girl, give it to daddy.)

He continued to fuck me until I had to beg him to stop from overstimulation. I collapsed on his chest, eyes closed and slick with sweat. "Such a good girl." He mumbled into my hair as he caressed my back.

Not proofread at all

#miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #smut #atsv miguel #spiderman atsv #female reader #reqs open #drabble

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 6 months

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“(Don’t) Hurry Down The Chimney Tonight” - Dean x Reader

Rating Explicit

Dean x Reader

Tags: Christmas (Holiday) Smut, Red Ribbons, Candy Canes, Peppermint Sensations, Sleigh Bells, Sexy Santa References, Dean is Tied Up, Edging, Oral Sex, 69, Vaginal Sex, Reader is a Naughty Little Vixen, Dean deserves a proper (sexy) Christmas.

Word Count: 2700

Summary: Dean saved Reader from the supernatural on Christmas Eve years ago. Every Christmas since, she has always found a way to show her unending appreciation.

Notes: This smutty little fic is a holiday gift for @jessjad for the 2023 SPNFanFicPond Secret Santa Fic Exchange. I hope you enjoy the reader’s sexy times with Dean.

Big thanks to @sam-is-my-safeword and runawaydr3amer (AO3) for reading the first draft and helping with a great many awesome smut ideas. Additional thanks to runawaydr3amer, who also beta’d this fic and packaged it up nice and shiny.

Merry holidays!

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo, and this part will fill my "Edging" square.

Resources:

Collage created in Canva

Pic found on Google (Fanpop)

Song Reference: Santa Baby by Joan Javits and Philip Springer (listen/watch this version sung by Eartha Kitt)

Dean sinks those pearly whites into the flesh of his bottom lip. His top lip pulls up and back into a painful sneer. The usual rosy, pillowy fullness of that mouth is instead taut, whitening under the capture. You laser focus onto the pointy canine denting into the mouth you have debated sitting on since you began this teasing challenge.

jingle

You finish fashioning a sweet little bow with the ribbon. It’s ruby red and velvety soft.

“Well, I think that’s about the prettiest package I ever did wrap.”

jingle

“What do you think, Mr. Claus?” you ask, your voice as innocent and demure as you can manage.

Dean opens his mouth and expels a slow gasp. jingle “Fuck, sweetheart. You aren’t playin’ fair.”

“That’s the whole point.”

You rise from the edge of the bed and take in the entire scene. It’s magnificent.

He’s magnificent.

Dean is lying atop the forest green comforter of your bed. Naked. Well, not totally naked. A red ribbon - adorned with one single sleigh bell - binds his wrists together and anchors him to the headboard. His arms, jutting out and bent to create a diamond-shaped frame around his face, give you a prime ticket to the gun show. Biceps flex and tendons raise under the skin as he tries to remain as motionless as possible.

jingle

You aren’t a complete heathen. He’s got a fluffy pillow, the same deep green color as the comforter, to rest his head atop. Dean is anything but sleepy. He’s wound up. He stares back at you, the green of his irises electric and flaming with intensity.

You anticipate how sublime it will feel to strum the cords of his neck. Tickle your fingertips down that chest. You imagine Dean ring-a-ding-dinging and cursing himself if you take the time to trace the outline of his tattoo. Circle those perky nipples. Dip into his belly button and follow his treasure trail of baby-fine hair.

You marvel again at the other ribbon that you tied. You’d purchased a couple yards of red velvet at the craft store weeks ago with this in mind. With him in mind. You were ecstatic it had been enough to criss-cross around the crease below that fine ass. It wraps over a slight vee along his waist. The makeshift holiday jockstrap has Dean’s beautiful, now fully erect, cock sporting a bow.

Dean sighs. “Are you done decking my balls?” jingle

You giggle and fiddle with the belt of your robe. It’s red as well, but made of silk. “As we discussed, the end result of all of this is all up to you. Santa.” You flip a switch to turn off the ceiling light. The sconces stay on above the headboard. Two halos figure eight over Dean’s beautiful body, awash in a warm amber glow.

He’s a full print ad of holiday cheer and sinful debauchery.

“You’re being very naughty, (jingle) Mrs. Claus.” Dean licks his top lip—your core clenches at the deep timbre of his scolding.

You’ve been wet since you both finished Christmas dinner. Since you told him you had one more gift for him waiting upstairs. Since you left him in the bedroom with orders to strip while you changed in the bathroom. Since you pulled out the ribbons. Since you explained that if he was good and could keep his jingling down to a minimum through what you had planned, you’d fuck him into the New Year.

You inhale and shrug, then begrudgingly turn your back to the sight. It takes a few taps on your phone for you to get to the song. You stifle another giggle at the little jingles Dean can’t help as he waits.

Once you tap the play button, the festive and recognizable melody begins. A barbershop quartet bah-bums a bit before the sultry and smooth vocals of Eartha Kitt take the lead.

You look back over your shoulder at Dean and whisper along with Eartha.

You peel the silky robe off one shoulder then the other. Dean groans when the layer slips down to the floor. jingle

“Shit.” He moans and you grin in satisfaction at the hoped for reaction.

You turn back to face him, adding a dramatic hair flip. You're wearing a sexy little Mrs. Claus outfit. It’s a red velvet dress with a scandalously high skirt and a low-cut halter. White fur lines both the top and bottom. It’s all cinched nice and tight around your waist with a black belt and a gold buckle.

You bend at the knees and lean forward, shoulders folding in and hands resting on your thighs. It gives Dean the perfect vantage to ogle your cleavage. You purr along with the next line and modify the lyrics a smidge.

“Man, I must have been a really good boy this year.” Dean stares in awe, not even caring how much he’s jingling with his squirms atop the bed.

You let it slide for the time being, thrilled at the kid in a candy store grin plastered on his face and the way the bow sways with every twitch of his cock.

Dean tilts his head to the side. His gaze begins at your red-glitter heels and canvases every inch of skin from ankles to thighs. He pauses, stopping to stare at the hint of flesh under the skirt hem. jin-jingle jingle jin-jingle He pants out, “Mrs. Claus forgot her panties, huh?”

You lift a finger and wiggle it back and forth in the air. “Uh-uh-uh. Remember, really good boys stay still if they want their present.”

The bell jangles no matter how carefully he attempts to reposition himself. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles and you laugh. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be good,” he whispers soft and sweet.

The heels tap across the hardwood as you walk over to settle beside Dean. You adjust your skirt to let the scant amount of fabric fan over your naughty bits. Being so close to him makes you forget the lyrics to sing along with Eartha.

You rest a hand on his chest. Through clenched teeth, Dean inhales at the touch, the rest of him frozen in place. The bell is silent. Your other hand grabs one of the candy canes you had left on the bedside table. For reasons.

Watching him fight every urge he has to reach out and touch you is fascinating. And the power you have over him gives you a head rush. You continue the tease, twirling the candy between your fingers, then laving the cane’s hook with your mouth and tongue. Dean garners some pity from you as he whines, brows downturned, eyes attentive to your every swirl and suck. You swing the cane close to his mouth. “Wanna taste?”

He swallows. “Wanna taste you,” he states, the hint of hope escaping around the edges of a soft moan.

The thrill of his need quickens your pulse. No other man has loved and adored you as thoroughly and exuberantly as Dean Winchester. You nod. “You will. But, first,” you rub the wet-slick candy cane over his bottom lip, “show me what that mouth wants to do.”

“You know what this mouth can do,” he reminds with a little sass, letting the candy cane tap against his bottom teeth.

But soon enough, he indulges you. He slips the hook between his lips. His tongue slides out under the curve of peppermint, lapping at the sticky sweet. Again and again. Your breath hitches into your open mouth as you watch, enthralled at the ministrations of that thick and powerful muscle. He sucks the confection in a little farther, pursing his lips. The sounds he’s making, enjoying the treat, are downright pornographic and send any extraneous bell ringing to the back of your hearing queue. The red food coloring coats them like lip gloss by the time you break from the spell of his show. You guess it’s been minutes since Eartha finished her rendition of ‘Santa, Baby.’ The rest of the playlist you created has soft and dreamy instrumentals.

“My turn,” you cajole. You tug on the cane. He relinquishes, but not without some resistance. A little pop escapes his mouth once the hook is freed. You marvel at the progress he made. The hook end is substantially shorter and thinner than when he began.

He sniffs and tilts his chin up in pride. jingle “Your turn with that, or my turn with you?”

The cane slips back into your mouth, your fingers sticky from all the handling. You stand, kick off your heels, and climb back onto the bed on your knees. You grin as you suck on the candy.

His eyes soften. “Be careful, baby. Don’t want you to choke. Well, at least not on that.” He smirks.

He’s right. Safety first. You toss the candy onto the bedside table.

“You are so (jingle) fucking hot in that (jingle) outfit.” He grins and waggles eyebrows in anticipation. “Gonna let me down your chimney, Mrs. Claus?” jingle jingle jingle

The actions in the next few seconds are a blur. You wonder if Dean has some sort of Jedi mind control ability. Because even though you are supposed to be the one making decisions this evening, his seductively god-awful puns find you sitting on his face, reverse cowgirl.

“You might get the golden ticket to all my secret places if you’re lucky.” Your fingers tip-toe down his chest like a grinch about to steal someone else’s presents.

jingle jingle jingle

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dean murmurs under your skirt. Hot breath bathes your inner thighs and other areas you hope will soon be explored.

Your hands rest in the little divots created by his pelvic bones while you take his body in and plan your method of attack. You pull on the ribbon and release his cock of the bow. Then, you’re deep throating him like he’s your last meal.

Not one to be outdone at an all-you-can-eat buffet, Dean’s entire face gets in on the feast as well. Nerves respond to the tingling sensation of the residual peppermint on Dean’s lips and tongue. You shiver at the gloriously heightened sensitivity when he pulls back to blow on your pussy. “This is so much better than milk and cookies.” He moans and groans and jingles all the way.

As much as you’re loving the taste of his precome, the velvet texture against your tongue, and the way the tip triggers a tiny gag reflex at the base of your throat, it’s time to remind him of the consequences of all that noise he’s making. You release the hard length from your mouth and try to concentrate on your own breathing during the absolute virtuoso way he’s eating you out. As much as you’d love his fingers to get in on the action, you know you’d have no control over the situation. You sigh in relief that he’s trying to adhere to some parts of the game. The pitiful, half-hearted ribbon shackling of his hands to the headboard is no match for Dean Winchester.

You steady yourself on wobbly knees and one shaky elbow. A firm grip around the base of his cock makes Dean gasp. He stills after that. In your mind’s eye, you picture the beauty of that mouth and how his luscious pink lips were slick with peppermint. You imagine how slick they are with you now. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs and you feel him settle back onto the pillow. “I’ll be as quiet as I can. Can you blame me, though? Here I am, under your sweet little skirt, in the dark (jingle)... shit, sorry. But, you can’t drop a five-course meal in front of a starving (jingle) man and not expect him to wanna little taste.”

You squeeze his cock. “That’s part of the challenge.”

“I’m always up for a challenge. You always make me feel so good.”

You groan at the praise he bestows. Without releasing your hold, you shimmy off his chest. Channeling the prim and delicate sensibilities of Mrs. Claus, you crawl along the comforter and settle between nutcracker bow legs. With knees tucked under you and sat atop bare feet you accept him in your mouth again and get to work.

You take in the sight of Dean inventorying your every action. He’s gripping the top of the headboard with both hands to steady his upper body. You clock that the little stinker has also managed to palm the sleigh ball in an effort to silence or, at the very least, muffle it. You consider that move cheating. But he feels so sublime that you can’t bear to part with him to voice your irritation. He’s also whispering the sweetest filth to you while he watches.

“Damn. Yeah. Those lips of yours feel so good around my cock. You take it so good, baby. Wish I could fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, but I’d definitely jingle-jangle way too much.” A tongue swipe over his top lip accentuates the glossy look of his ruby-tinted mouth in the warm light. “You really are too good to me. You give the best Christmas presents.” He stiffens further with each downstroke. “Aw, yeah. Suck it.” Your rhythm increases. “So pretty. Wanna touch you so bad.” He gasps. “Fuck, I’m gettin’ close.” jingle jingle

You clamp around the base again and squeeze, freeze mid-swallow - your lips around the tip - as soon as he rings.

Dean squirms and grumbles.

You continue to bring him to the edge of orgasm, then halt. Your jaw is aching along with the rest of your body as time passes.

You’ve fucked Dean up in the best way possible. He’s blissed out, wound up tighter than a spring. You’ve got him begging. But his words grow into admonishments with each successive denial. “You can’t keep doing this, baby. There’s gonna be consequences. Santa’s gonna for real put you on his naughty list. Nothing but coal in your stocking,” he huffs.

You give your mouth a reprieve and stroke him. “Is that all that happens to naughty girls?”

He gnaws at his bottom lip before offering, “You really wanna find out?”

You nod.

The ribbon binding Dean to the headboard shreds with one mighty tug. He pitches the sleigh bell in the air. It jingles as it pinballs around the room.

You gasp as he cinches those hands under your armpits and drags you up his body. He crushes his lips into yours, tastes you with his tongue. The mixture of your arousal and a hint of peppermint melts you in his arms. Then, a sudden and swift rollover pins you beneath him.

He hovers, tosses your skirt up to your chest, and wedges between your legs. His hard, heavy cock slips into your folds and glides through your wetness. “I could drag this out. Or.” It’s his turn to tease. He notches snug against your entrance. You’re surprised your muscles haven’t pulled him into you of their own accord the way your entire body spasms with need. He whispers in your ear, “Let me be your Santa, baby.”

You gasp, “And hurry down the chimney tonight.”

He groans in victory and slides in, balls deep. He thrusts. One massive hand gathers your wrists together on the pillow above your head to anchor you in place. Fingers of his other hand grip the top of the headboard. Every sway in and out of you gets more frenetic. You’re screaming his name and he’s cursing yours.

“Good girls do what they’re told,” he states, out of breath, face reddening. His gaze locks with yours. He slows down. Releases your hands. Finds your clit amid the white fur and red velvet. Strums. Angles and hits your sweet spot deep within you with a harsh abandon. “Come.”

Minutes later, after you’ve both orgasmed, you’re curled into his chest. “That was…” you manage between heavy exhales.

“Yeah, that was awesome.” He kisses your forehead. “Every year, since I saved you from that ghost on Christmas Eve, you find a way to outdo yourself with the holiday cheer.”

“Well, you deserve it. I’m glad you can get away for a little while and get a special treat.”

He sighs. “You know, you don’t have to feel obligated to…”

You rest a finger atop his lips. “How I see it. Guy saves your life one time, you owe him the rest of yours.”

He smiles and pulls you in. “How about we just focus on tonight, yeah?”

You nod. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut #christmas smut

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bornagainmurdock · 7 days

Text

a sensory game

contents: 18+ ONLY, smut, matt murdock x reader, gender neutral reader, dom!matt, blindfold, hand bondage, use of 'sir,' minor impact play, hand kink

work count: 1.5k

"Now tonight, you don't get to touch or see anything," Matt adjusted the blindfold over your eyes again, trying his best to make sure you saw nothing, "You get to hear and feel, but only what I let you hear and feel. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir." Your hands were bound above your head attached to the headboard.

"Good. Let's get started." Matt smiled, with a twisted enthisiasm.

Matt stood up from the bed, and paced around to the other side. You could hear him shuffling some things around on the side table, but hadn't seen what he had put there originally.

Earlier this week, Matt told you that you were too stung up, too far in your own head and unable to get out. Thinking loops that never ended. You hadn't slept much, and when you did, Matt would wake you from the nightmares to keep you from throwing yourself off the bed.

His solution? This. Playing with your senses until you couldn't focus on anything at all but the feeling on him and what he close to inflict on you.

"Mattt," Your voice was already unsteady in anticipation.

"Patience. We'll start when I decide." He fidgetted with his hands before deciding on an implement. "We're gonna start with you breathing with me. I know it's gonna feel silly, but it's gonna get you focused on me."

You nodded before confirming verbally, "I can do that."

"I know you can sweetpea. Ready? In..." He took a slow breath in, guiding you. He held the breath at the end and then exhaled with purpose, Matt counting each section in his head before starting the next one.

In, hold, and out, hold. In, hold, and out, hold.

You counted in your own head, keeping up with Matt.

In, hold, and—

You felt something on your stomach, not heavy, not with any weight, but careful and gentle. Not sudden, but suprising. The middle was cold, like exposed smooth metal, but the end, which sat delicately on your bottom couple ribs, was skin temperature. Felt like skin, but rougher. The edges were smooth and kind.

Matt let it rest there for a few minutes, you sending your attention to figuring out what was on you. You moved your focus away from the tempteratures and settled on the weight, feeling it indent your skin so subtly.

What could you own that was both cold and not-cold, and also so thin and light?

"Got your guess? I can see the cogs moving in your head." Matt dragged the end of it down your torso towards your hips, the cold part no longer in contact with your skin.

It flowed nicely down your body like the feeling of morning sunshine cascading through the window, hugging and nipping at your skin, heating up every centimetre individually.

"Is it your cane?" You weren't positive, but it was worth a shot.

"Try again. Here, feel this."

The end was now perpendicular to your skin, dragging up towards your neck, resting it along your neck and collarbones. The corners were soft, not squared off.

"The crop?"

"Good job baby! It's the crop. Feels different when it's not against your ass, hmm?" Matt started gently tapping it against your skin, sound bright and sharp when it made contact.

Matt fiddled with the crop for a while, acclimating you to the sensation, eventually using more force behind each hit, leaving little square marks in its path.

You staretd to moan with each hit, Matt moaning along with you in harmony.

"God you sound so good, baby. So good for me." He took one last swing at your skin, hitting your left hip bone with more force than he had previously.

You hissed at the sting, but immediately whimpered when another hit didn't follow.

"Ready for another one?"

"Yes. Please." You panted.

The next object to touch you was a feather. No doubt, no questions about it. And it was agonizing.

"Matt."

Matt ran it lightly across your entire body. You squirmed and wiggled away from the contact, itching for something less delicate.

"Yes, baby." You could hear it smile through his words.

"Please no more." You whined, using your legs to lift your hips away from the feather.

But Matt continued, tracing the edges of the feather over your stomach and sides, focusing on the parts of you that drove you mad. The lack of pressure made it impossible to keep still.

"Sit still. Focus on how sensitive you are after the can. How does the stinging feel with such little pressure?" He dragged it up the center of your body, over your belly button, sternum, and to your neck, holding it at your chin.

"Feels like I'm on fire. Like the crop was mercy, and this is the torture, the pain." You tried to lay in place, allowing the sensation to flood you and hold you hostage there on the bed, "Feels like you're breathing right against my skin and reigniting the burn."

"How enchanting." He somehow lightened the pressure even more, chills shooting through your body. The sensation moved from ticklish to hot-beautiful-joyous-pain gradually, now lifting your body into the feather.

When Matt realized how much you were enjoying it, he removed it from your body, again leaving you wanting more.

He signed before walking back over to the pile of items. You could hear him searching, sorting, and eventually finding what he wanted, carrying it over to you.

Matt liked watching you squirm. It might be his favorite thing in the entire world, which means it wasn't a suprise when you waited what felt like hours for him to finally give you something again.

It was probably only a minute or so, but without sight, without being able to reach for something, it was excrutiating.

"Okay, this one's a little different." He said plainly.

The warning wasn't enough for what happened next.

You felt something splash against your stomach, cold and damp and floating down your skin towards the bed.

And then the cold stopped. Matt dripped his hands in the liquid, spreading it out across your body, focusing on when the crop did.

The liquid warmed up under his touch, firey and red-hot now, reheating your entire body.

"I'm sure you can guess what this is?" Matt's hands traveled all over your body, from foot to neck, he made sure to slick up every inch.

"Warming lube?"

"Close again, it's body oil. But it is warming. I'm sure you could tell." He giggled, starting to massage your shoulders and upper arms.

"Feels like sitting in a hot tub on a really cold day. Sucking in the icy air but your body melting and sweating at the same time," You slurred your words together, Matt jostling your body around with his force, "Feels like being fire."

"How would you know what being on fire feels like?" He hummed.

"I don't, but I can guess."

You attention was focused on the way Matt carressed your skin, pulling at it, and sinking the oil into every pore.

You dipped into the softness of his hands, the pressure, the deliciousness of Matt's hands on you.

God, his fucking hands. They drove you crazy. Matt wasn't aware of how beautiful his hands were, even before you gave him a whole skincare routine (including one for his hands, they got roughed up a lot and deserved some care, too).

His hands; Matt liked to hold your hand, or wrap his hands around your arm when you led him. The same hands he choked you with, the ones he used to cook you dinner and spank you, the same ones he used to caress your cheek, hold your face after a long day, same hands that held you at night to Matt's body, keeping you safe and sound, comforted and loved.

"You still with me?"

"Hmm? Mmhm, mmm'here." Your head returned to reality, Matt's hands still at it on your body.

"I love you." Matt trailed his hands back up your body from your hips, grabbing the sides of your face and kissed your forehead. "Feeling better?"

"Feeling your hands on me." You were dazed, focus unsteady.

"Flip over lemme message your back." He started at your sides to flip you.

"Whatever you say Sir."

"That's my sweet and oh so good angel."

#matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut

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sebstan2020 · 2 months

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Red Ties

Chapter 39

Mary, a sweet Christian girl living in the city of Brooklyn as a nurse had a simple life. She loved her work, her friends and attending church every Sunday and helping Reverend McCarthy. Her life was nothing out of the ordinary. However, it all changed one day when she bumps into the intriguing and intimidating James Barnes, Brooklyn’s notorious mafia boss and is introduced to a world of guns, lust and dominance.

Warnings: BDSM, Dom/Sub, Mafia, Violence, Gang, SMUT, Sex, Possessive Bucky, Overprotectiveness, Bondage, Sexual Themes, Dark Themes, Guns, Drugs, Gang Violence

Mary awkwardly followed James down the long hallway to the grand doors at the end. The halls of this hotel, BDSM Club, whatever it was called, were clean and simple. The hallway was lit with warm lights and a deep carpet with cream-coloured walls. The doors were deep wood with gold locks and were evenly spaced out, indicating the rooms themselves were large, and Mary wondered if they all looked the same. As they reached the door at the end of the hallway, her stomach flipped with caution.

Just a few hours ago, she was excited and curious about this club that James talked about and was about to step into his dark personal room of pain and pleasure. But after her encounter with Natalie, that feeling was replaced with nervousness and questions. She was questioning herself. Was she enough for James? Natalie knew all his needs and wants. She was his submissive for so long that she knew him inside and out, knowing every button to press to please him. Mary was nothing like her. Even her looks were of a higher standard. The way her breasts looked in that tight latex dress, her long, dark hair cascading down her slim body—compared to her, Mary was plain Jane.

Why would James pick her over someone who could please him down to a T? Mary was a novice to this whole submissive, BDSM world, so why would he pick someone so inexperienced when he could easily have someone who knew what they were doing? It was so confusing, and yet another hurdle had been thrown at them. It seemed like lately everything was a test for their relationship, and Mary was starting to overthink it again. No matter how much James assured her and comforted her that she was the one for him, there was always something in the way. Natalie was obviously jealous and was quite vocal about it, and Mary didn’t want the girl to win, but she couldn’t escape the facts.

James pulled out his personal key to the door, inserting it slowly and turning it; the click almost echoed down the silent hallway, and Mary’s stomach flipped. He opened the door, revealing his personal playroom, dungeon, whatever you wanted to call it, and Mary’s breath was taken away. If she had been surprised and stricken by his closest secret, then she was in for an even bigger surprise.

The room was huge, with warm lights imbedded into the high ceiling. To the right side of the room was a large bed, kind of sized with four posters, and a ceiling made from dark mahogany. The sheets were black and neatly tucked away. Each poster had a gold ring drilled into the wood, for obvious reasons, and the same on the headboard. Above the ceiling were more rings, and Mary imagined they were for the same reason. She suddenly envisioned a girl hanging from those rings on ropes, hanging at his mercy, and she imagined they could be tied in all sorts of positions.

Across the far wall were hundreds of implements. Floggers, canes, riding crops, belts, paddles, whips, and single tails, as well as long electric cattle prods and sticks, each hung on their own hook, ranging from the least to the most dangerous. As she stared at them, her body shivered as she imagined the type of pain they could inflict. She had only experienced the cruelty of the riding crop as well as its pleasure, but looking at the scary canes and long whips made her cringe. She wasn’t ready for those yet.

At the wall behind the bed hung bundles of different ropes, different lengths, leather cuffs, belts, straps, harnesses, chains, and handcuffs, each hanging on their own hook as well. She never imagined there could be so many different types of cuffs and bondage gear. Across the room at the other end was a built-in wardrobe set of cupboards and draws beside another door leading to the ensuite. In the cupboards and drawers, there were more toys. Different outfits range from leather, latex, stockings, playful outfits, including school girl uniforms, nurse outfits, and sexy lingerie with matching heels. Bondage gear consists of masks, hoods, gags, blindfolds, nipple clamps, candles, and more electrical play gear. The room also held a large couch, a plush armchair, a St. Andrews cross, and a padded leather bench. Above the ceiling were more hanging rings on a rig that could be pulled down. There wasn’t one thing James didn’t have in his room.

He had many submissives over the years of opening his club, and just because Natalie was his regular didn’t mean he didn’t divulge into other women and their needs. Some liked masociative pain; others enjoyed intense pleasure. Some enjoyed role-playing, while others enjoyed humiliation. He wasn’t just here to be pleased; he was there to please their needs.

It was all so intimidating and overwhelming that Mary hadn’t realised James had shut the door, leaving them to privacy, and had pressed a hand to her shoulder, making her jump back to reality. She turned to him with a flushed face but pale eyes, and he frowned.

“Are you okay?” He asked, and she sighed.

“Yeah… I just wasn’t expecting this,” she giggled nervously as she rolled her eyes at the hugeness of the room. But that wasn’t the only thing on her mind. She hated that Natalie had gotten to her, making her think about her and wondering if she was any good for James. She didn’t want to argue; they had such a nice couple of days since the argument about Reverend McCarthy, and now this. It seemed like they were never going to relax again.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” he agreed as he looked around as well.

There was an awkward silence, and Mary sighed, turning to him. She had to ask him; it was only going to play on her mind, and if they were going to enter the world of pleasure and pain, she wouldn’t be able to focus if this was running through her head.

“Why are you with me?” She asked straight up, and James looked at her, furrowing his brows as if he were annoyed.

“What?” He said.

“I mean, you could have Natalie or anyone else who knows all about this stuff and probably does it better than me; why would you pick me over her?”.

If James didn’t love her so much, he would have slapped her right then and there for saying something so stupid. But that definitely wasn’t the answer to this question. He scoffed and shook his head.

“How could you ask something so stupid? That display she just made is exactly why I’m not with her. Just because she was my submissive for so long doesn’t mean I feel the same way about her as I do about you. I never once loved her like I do you,” he exclaimed, and Mary stared at him with wide eyes.

Love her. Did he actually just say he loved her? The words had come so quickly from James’s mouth that he didn’t bother to try and stop them, and for a minute he didn’t realise he had uttered them until Mary squeaked them back.

“You love me,” she whispered, and James took a breath as silence fell between them. There was no going back now, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to go back. Not to Natalie, not to any of the girls he had fucked. He only wanted her. He wanted every inch of her forever and ever. He never wanted anyone but himself to touch her, kiss her, or fuck her. He wanted all her first, and so far he has gotten every single one of them.

“Yes. I do. Natalie is a sub, someone I used to fuck. You are my girlfriend, someone I love. I don't know her or anyone else, ever. I only want you,” he had stepped forward, his voice softening, and he reached up and took her face in his hands, cupping her gently and lifting up her chin. His fingers curled around her jaw and under her chin, and she rested in his soft hold. It was the first time he had called her his girlfriend, and it was a strange feeling. Not because she didn’t want to be, but because they hadn’t used labels up until now. Mary stared up at him with wide eyes and silence.

“I love you,” he said it again, and this time it sank in further. And right there and then, Mary could not hold back her feelings for him, and she said the words without thinking as well.

“I love you too,” she whispered, as if she were committing a crime. James stared at her and softly smiled, his lips curling at the corners, and he pulled her face up to kiss her deeply and slowly. She leaned into his kiss and melted into his touch. The words were out, and there was no going back. James held her tighter, his fingers clutching her face harder, and he pushed her backwards onto the bed, her knees buckling, so she fell. He fell on top of her, pinning her to the bed, and kissed her again. As he pulled away, they both caught their breath and stared at each other.

“Don’t worry about Natalie. She’s just jealous; she’ll get over it,” he assured, and Mary nodded. Right now she wasn’t thinking about her; in fact, the moment he had uttered those three words, she had left her mind straight away. She had won this fight. Mary one, Natalie zero.

James pressed a teasing peck to her lips before smirking as he pushed up from her. Mary stayed there, pressed into the soft, dark sheets with her arms out and her hair a wild mess, as she watched with curiosity as James padded to the wall with the hundreds of bondage ropes and cuffs. He meticulously picked up a pair of leather cuffs, a bundle of rope, and what looked like a stiff bar with cuffs on either side. He carried the items back to the bed and threw them beside Mary, the cuffs landing with a clink, and she felt her stomach flip. Just a minute ago, they were confessing their love, and now he was ready to divulge it in a hot kinky play. James placed his hands on either side of her head and leaned on top of her, a darkness across his face as his smirk deepened.

“Now, I think it’s time we do what we intended to do,” he whispered, and Mary felt her cheeks heat, and she couldn’t help but see the excited girl appear on her lips. She was stripped naked, pulled over to the clear wall, and pressed against it. James eagerly buckled the cuffs around her wrists, pulling them tight before roughly turning her against the wall. Her face was pressed against it. The tingles in her body grew, and her pussycat twitched. How did getting tied up make her wet already?

James placed what was called a spreader bar between her legs, explaining its purpose was to keep her legs open so she couldn’t close them. Her wrists were tied to two small rings drilled into the wall by the bundle of rope, and she was completely at his mercy, her back and ass on show for him. As he buckled the last buckle around her ankle, he ran his hands up the inside of her legs, across her thigh, and one hand cupped her wet, hot mound.

Mary moaned against the hard wall, gripping the small piece of rope she could grab. Her lips pressed into the polished wood, leaving wet marks as James pressed a finger to her wet slit, teasing her as he pressed against her body, his lips so close to her ear.

“God, you’re already wet, and I’ve only tied you up.” It was almost an insult, and that turned her on even more. The seriousness in his voice was a change from his gentle voice, and Mary was enjoying it. His finger gently rubbed back and forth, teasing her and sending tingles up and down her body. She yanked against her restraints, and the spreader bar was the most torturous of them all. The ability to not be able to press her legs together was both infuriating and addicting. She would receive every last bit of pleasure. James chuckled evilly in her ear and dropped his hand from her aching pussy, walking over to the wall of torture, deciding which implent to pull out.

Mary groaned and looked over her shoulder, getting just enough room to see what he was doing. She watched as James lazily walked over her clothes, having no regard for them. He was still fully clothed in his suit, and she wondered when he was going to undress. She wanted to see that fine body of his, feel his tough abs pressed against her back, and feel his long, strong arms wrapped around her body.

She softly gasped as he ran his fingers over every implement, teasing her from afar. He could stop at any moment and pick one of the more dangerous ones. But he wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to subject her to the masochistic torture some of the other girls live for. Not yet, anyway. Finally, he stopped at a large flogger with a hard handle and several leather strands. It was black all over, matching his suit, and he picked it up and gripped it hard across the handle. As he turned, Mary quickly turned her head back to the wall, as if she were going to get caught.

His light footsteps sounded so heavy in the silence, and as he reached her, his lips pressed against her ear again. “Do you remember what the safe word is?” He asked, and Mary swallowed.

“Red and Mercy, sir,” she answered, and he grinned, pressing a kiss on her neck. He pulled back, and suddenly she felt the strands of the flogger press against her back. They were torturers. running across her skin and teasing her with their softness. She knew they weren't going to be soft, and she shivered against them. James brushed the ends of the strands across the backs of her legs, and she flinched, pushing herself against the wall. When was it going to end, and would she feel their real intentions?

And then it came. the thudding pain that was released on her bare back. The strands flicked and whacked her, sending a harsh tingle across her body. She yelled at the first hit, pressing into the wall and pulling on the restraints. The spreader bar was making things very difficult for her, keeping her in place and leaving no room for resistance or movement, just as James wanted to see her squirming and trembling.

James flicked the flogger against her body again, and she gasped at its second hit. Her back was heating up quickly with every hit and turning a bright red colour, flush against her pale skin. It was getting warm, and a numbness was beginning to radiate across her body. But the pain was making her pussy drip, and she felt her pussy heating up, unable to hold back the pleasure. James worked so elegantly, throwing the flogger in all directions, across her back, down her thighs, and over her shoulder blades. She couldn't escape it.

Finally, the flogging stopped, and James stood a step forward, pressing his palm against her burning back. The touch was worse than the flogger, and as he pressed it in the centre of her back, she hissed and yanked at the cuffs. "Shhh," he hushed into her ear, running a light hand over the redness, his fingertips gently brushing her almost bruised skin. In a few places, the skin had broken and left red welts, and he gently ran his fingertips over them. Later, he would properly take care of those areas.

When he reached a hand between her legs, she was soaking. He pushed a finger inside her, and she moaned, falling into his hand and letting go of the restraints. James curled his finger inside, his thumb reaching out to her clitoral area and rubbing circles against her sensitive good spot. She shivered into his hand, and James pressed his lips against her neck, biting gently and then hard, leaving bite marks on her skin. He wasn't able to hold back now. He was in full-dominant mode now.

Moans, groans, and begs escaped her as James led her to orgasm. His finger worked faster as she crumpled against the wall, breathing heavily and shaking his fingers. The pain in her back was a blur now, and the pleasure of her orgasm was more torture than the flogging.

"Oh, please," she begged, and James chuckled softly in her ear.

"Please, what?' he teased.

"Oh, please, can I..." She felt embarrassed just saying the words.

"Can you say it?" he commanded, and she whimpered.

"Please, can I come?" She whispered with bright red cheeks. Whether that was from the humour or the whole ordeal, she didn't know, as long as she got what she wanted.

James rubbed faster and uttered the precious words, granting her the right to orgasm. She came into his hand, the juices falling onto his fingers and coating them. Her body spasmed, and she was complete with exhaustion, falling into the cuffs and against the wall with no energy. She huffed and puffed against the wall, fighting the exhaustion that threatened her. James untied her, catching her as she fell into his arms. She carried her over to her, laying her down gently on her stomach as her back was still sore.

Mary cracked an eye open, and a grin appeared across her lips as James gathered the aftercare creams and lotions from the cupboard. She loved this bit the most: James massaging her with his big hands, touching every inch of her body, and pressing soft kisses on those tender places.

"That was... different," she whispered, and James softly laughed under his breath as he climbed on the bed.

"Different good or different bad?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Different good," she claified, and he grinned. He poured a heap of lotion onto his hand and began to gently rub it into her back. massaging her shoulders, around her sides, and over her hips.

"What about you?" A sudden thought came over her as he rubbed the lotion into her skin, watching its white colour dissolve and soothe her sore back.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, confused as he ran his hands all the way to her neck and through her hair.

"I mean, you didn't get any pleasure," she said, and James slowly grinned, leaning down and kissing just behind her ear.

"Sometimes it's not always about me. Don't worry, you can make it up to me next time," he whispered, and Mary gently moaned. James finished with a deep heat cream across the very sore parts of her body, an antiseptic cream on the welts, and a kiss to the centre of her back for good measure. She had done so well, taking that beating that any girl could find painful.

James cralwed up the bed, pulling Mary with him so her head was laid on his chest, softly stroking her hair as she drifted off into a deep sleep, falling to the rhythm of his strokes. "You did so well tonight," he whispered, and she let out a soft grunt in agreement. She was too tired to answer with words, and his stroking was making her more sleepy.

He laughed softly and reached under her chin, pulling her head up and leaning down to kiss her softly.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

Chapter 40

Hey I hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think in the comments

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#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes fanficiton #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes dom

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delicate-moon-princess · 2 years

Text

His Favorite "Toy" to Use

Hi, everyone! I want to thank you all for 129 followers!! I can’t believe it. Your support has made me feel so inspired 🥹. I really can’t thank you enough. To celebrate this milestone, I thought I could take a shot at writing a sexy headcanon. Enjoy!

His Favorite “Toy” to Use

Warnings: 18+ smut, use of sex toys and other sex accessories, RPF, p in v, tiny bit of fingering, oral (m and f receiving), deepthroating, bdsm aspects, little bit of daddy kink, pet play, humiliation, anal play, corporal punishment, overstimulation, bodily fluids, mild sense deprivation, temperature play (both hot and cold)- Let me know if I forgot anything!

Any typos are my own!

Henry-Rabbit Vibrator

The toy sits in your underwear drawer. And whenever Henry is in the mood to use it, he walks towards the bed while holding it behind his back.

His grin gives it away, you already know what’s in his hand. Cheeky man.

You lean back against his chest as he sits up against the headboard. His legs keep yours apart as he holds the toy inside you.

He gets a rush from seeing your expression as your clit and g-spot are simultaneously struck by the vibrations. Occasionally, he moves the toy back and forth to heighten the sensation.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart. Does that feel good? Are you gonna cum for me, hm? You’re so beautiful when you cum.” He murmurs in your ear as you gasp.

He drags orgasm after orgasm out of you, making you gush around the silicon plenty of times. He beams in pride as you make the toy and his hand drip with your fluids. Luckily, he always has the foresight to put a towel down.

More characters under the cut…

August-Spreader Bar

The bar fastened to your ankles holds your legs apart. And as opposed to ropes or cuffs, it gives August the perfect handle to toss you around as he pleases.

Sometimes, he just flips you around to savor the dazed, fucked-out look in your eyes. Your expression feeds the feral animal inside him. You're his little ragdoll.

Other times, he loves to stand you up in front of him. Your legs spread wide, he straps a magic wand (his second favorite toy) to your thigh. The vibrating head is pressed to your clit.

The constant, intense buzzing has you dripping. Tears escape your eyes when your arousal coats your thighs and leaks down onto the carpet. Your toes curl as you sob.

“You’re making a mess on Daddy’s floor, princess. What am I to do with such a messy girl?” He clicks his tongue while shaking his head. You’re in for it now.

Sherlock-His Cane

It’s a muiltool. Used for walking, or a weapon if need be. Sherlock’s cane is also the perfect symbol of his immense power and social status.

And if you’re being mouthy with him, he won't hesitate to punish you with it. After he’s had enough of your attitude, he makes you strip and crawl naked to the bedroom in front of him.

That’s when you know better than to disobey him, so you just hang your head and crawl. Whenever you slow down to stall your thrashing, the tip of his cane nudges your ass to urge you forward.

“Keep going, little rabbit. Your punishment awaits. Save your tears, you know a naughty pet gets the cane.” He scolds you. Humiliation is always part of your punishment.

He’s excited by the loud sobs you let out whenever his cane whacks your tender bottom. He only stops when there are welts on your throbbing flesh.

Afterwards, he sits on the edge of the bed with your head in his lap as he strokes your hair. When you're done sobbing against his trousers, he gently cares for your wounds like the good husband he is.

Geralt-Gag

He doesn’t need any fancy toys. Geralt has two hands, a mouth, and a cock to please you. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t take joy in hearing you cry from underneath a gag as he slams into your poor body. And when you’re spending the night at an inn and he doesn't want to draw unwanted attention to the two of you, it helps.

It’s usually just a piece of cloth shoved between your teeth and tied behind your head. The fabric presses down onto your tongue, making you drool and gag whenever you try to whine.

It doesn’t muffle you completely. So when you let out an especially loud moan that can be heard despite the gag, his hand comes up to grip your throat.

“Silence yourself…. Before I shove my cock between your lips and do it for you.” He hisses, squeezing your throat hard enough that you get the idea.

It takes great effort not to sob as he fucks you even harder, keeping his hand on your throat as a warning. With his Witcher stamina, he doesn’t tire till the early hours of the morning. After your pulsating cunt has been fucked and filled by him dozens of times.

Sy-Jewel Butt Plug

Sy always makes sure to prep your tight hole with his fingers and plenty of lube before he slips it inside you. A jewel in the shape of a red heart greets him after your hole closes around the plug.

“What a sweet little pucker you got there, darlin’.” He growls, squeezing your ass in his large hands. He spanks you with a cheeky grin.

He plants a kiss right on the gem. His mouth makes the plug shift inside you, which jarrs you enough to squeal softly.

With a pillow under your hips to keep them elevated, Sy fucks you while you lay on you stomach. His large hands keep your cheeks spread, that way he never loses sight of the red jewel cradled in your hole.

He’ll pull out to cum, coating your ass in his thick seed. It drips onto the plug, marking the shiny treasure between your cheeks as his own.

Walter-Rope

This may or may not come as a surprise, but Walter is really into rope play. In the rare free time he has, he often studies the art of shibari. He’s mastered plenty of knots to trap you in.

Your arms and legs are hogtied behind your back, which is his favorite position to tie you in. He flips you over onto your front and drags your face to the edge of the bed. He uses your immobility as an opportunity to stand in front of you and fuck your throat.

You're drooling and gagging as he uses your mouth for his own pleasure. He keeps one hand in your hair as he watches your movements closely. Always keeping an eye out for your safe signal.

“I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face of yours, and you're going to thank me for it, little slut. Because you’re nothing but a cum hungry whore. That’s it. Cry for it.” He snarls, loving to see tears slip from your eyes.

Walter is adamant about aftercare, especially after hardcore scenes. He’s quick to untie you and massage your tense muscles.

He gives you water and lathers your raw flesh with some healing cream. His gentle praising and soft kisses ease you back down to reality.

Clark-Feather Tickler

It’s a tiny bit cheesy, sure. But that's just who Clark is; a traditional man. When he first presented you with the feather, he couldn’t stop blushing and grinning like a fool. You’ve never seen him so excited to try something in the bedroom.

He traces the wispy black feather all along your body. Goosebumps rise on your skin. You gasp when he tickles your nipples, making them perk up.

His mouth encloses over one of the hard buds as he trails the feather down your stomach to your pussy. It ghosts over your slit so delicately it makes you ache. You finally whine and beg him for more. He only continues to tease you.

It makes you so sensitive and needy. You threaten to use it on him next if he doesn’t indulge you soon. Of course, this only makes him want to do it more.

“Is that a promise, sweetheart?” He raises a brow with a playful smirk.

Napoleon-Blindfold

Napoleon wants everything he does to you to be a surprise. So, he cuts off your sense of sight with a silk blindfold. Sometimes, it’s paired with one of his silk ties holding your hands above your head.

To add to the deprivation of your senses, he even spins sensual music on the record player. He keeps the volume low, but it’s just enough for him to sneak around the room without you hearing him.

You don’t hear or see him reach for the bucket of ice holding the bottle of expensive champagne. Letting an ice cube rest between his lips, he leans down to trace his mouth along your neck.

Breathy gasps escape you as he trails the ice down your form. Along your collarbone, over your nipples and down your stomach. He lets the cube rest in your belly button so he can speak.

“I think this hot little pussy of yours needs a cooling down, don’t you think, darling?” He smirks before he takes the ice back in his mouth. You let out a cry when the ice touches your heated cunt.

He spends the night with his head buried between your legs, lapping up the water from the ice and your sweet nectar. Napoleon is a man of fine tastes, and you’re his favorite meal after all.

Charles-Candle Wax

You’re on your stomach as Charles holds the lit candle above your back. The hot wax drips onto your flesh and the initial burn makes you gasp. You’re reduced to whimpers as it cools and hardens.

The sensation makes you squirm, your arousal leaking onto the bed. He only chuckles and continues to hover the candle above you. Your body jerks when each drip hits you. Wax coats your shoulders, back and ass before he sets it aside.

His fingers wick away a bit of wax. You moan when his cool fingers soothe the mild burns on your skin. One of his hands comes up to massage the back of your neck as he admires the work he did on your back.

When his fingers dip between your legs, you whine. He hums, spreading your moist lips so he can gaze at your glistening folds. He lets out a moan when he collects some of your wetness on his finger.

“You’re absolutely drenched, darling. Do you enjoy the pain? Oh, indeed you do. What a wanton little thing you are, my love.” He whispers in your ear with a smirk, sinking his finger into your aching hole.

Mike-Vibrating Cockring

He came across it when he was making a snack run at the drugstore. On top of all the chips and candy he got, he also got the cockring. Mike can be a bit…impulsive.

The band makes him last even longer. It also makes him swell up, adding onto what is already a monstrously sized cock. As you ride him, it feels like you’re being impaled by his size.

With each bounce of your hips, the buzzing drums onto your clit. At times, you just grind to savor the feeling. You toss your head back and moan.

“Look at my girl work for it. So fuckin’ hot when you ride my dick, baby.” He grins, holding your winding hips.

He’s giddy as he watches you whine and grind on him. He gives your ass a swift smack. Seems like for once his impulsiveness paid off.

A/N: I tried to show all our boys equal lovin’ with 150-200ish words each. And I didn’t include all of Henry’s characters opps. Anyways, thank you all so much! I hope you have a good night/day. 🥰

Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212 @sunndust

#henry cavill headcanon #henry cavill characters #henry cavill x reader #august walker x reader #sherlock x reader #henry!sherlock holmes x reader #geralt x reader #captain syverson x reader #walter marshall x reader #clark kent x reader #napoleon solo x reader #charles brandon x reader #hellraiser mike x reader #mike x reader #henry cavill fic #henry cavill smut #henry cavill imagine

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corazondebeskar-reads · 8 months

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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter eight

well it’s love, make it hurt series

eight: all the better to hold you down

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: You and the Mandalorian wake up after your late night at Axis and have to deal with what comes after your boundaries have been eroded.

Warnings: bdsm, heavy bdsm scene, use of a safeword, delayed aftercare, dom!Din Djarin x sub!reader, soft dom!Din, Din Djarin takes the helmet off but does not reveal his face, oral (m receiving), p in v unprotected sex, impact play, flogging, caning, boot worship (no foot fetish), emotional distress, hurt/comfort, subspace, subdrop, domdrop, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober Days 15&16 - Boot Worship/Genital Worship/Impact Play/Sound Restriction, inspired by @absurdthirst’s wonderful prompt list,

also on ao3

3 ABY - Winter

You wake cocooned by peace and satin sheets. Mando’s warm body is pressed against you, and everything is still dark. At some point in the night, he removed his shirt, and now your bare backs are aligned where they curve. The ebb and flow of his breathing lulls you back asleep.

The world is still coming into the day when there’s a knock at the door. You’re awake enough to feel Mando slip out of bed, to hear the soft murmur of voices, to hear the whisper of the door being carefully shut. When he climbs back in, he moves slow and careful, settling on his side so he can wrap his arm around your waist and curl to the arc of your spine.

You slide your hand under his and weave it in, bringing them up to your mouth so you can kiss his long, thick fingers one by one. He groans his contentment, pulling you closer, and you nestle into his warmth.

Your head is empty, filled with fog and candy floss. It’s strange, how normal the moment feels. At home—or, well, on the Crest, you share a bed but do not linger. Mando is an early riser, and you don’t usually handle stillness or silence well.

You feel languid. Heavy, like a thick wool blanket, your limbs unspooled elastic. You can’t remember a time when just existing was so easy.

Mando’s breathing has slowed again as he walks the edge of sleep.

There’s pounding at the door again.

Mando groans and rolls over. You push up to your elbows and watch as he gropes around on the floor and then shoves his tunic at you.

“It’s Mara, with caf. She said I better have proof of your well-being when she got back.”

You tug the tunic over your head, smiling.

When you open the door, Mara is indeed waiting with a tray, mugs, and a carafe. You reach for it, but she pulls it back.

“You look well fucked,” she says bluntly.

You blink at her through sleep-heavy eyes and realize you must look ragged. You flush, and she grins.

“Everything okay still?”

“Yeah,” you say, and smile. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Good. Madame said you can hang around as long as you’d like, as long as you say goodbye before you leave.”

“We will. Thank you.”

She finally lets you have the tray and goes to leave, but turns around. “Oh, and Madame said to tell him that she made a call and found another lead.”

You nod, expecting the gears in your head to start whirring about the bounty, but there’s nothing. The thought comes and goes.

You make two cups of caf, both sweetened with a little milk. He may drink black caf most of the time, but you know he has a sweet tooth.

He’s lounging against the headboard now, watching you.

You raise an eyebrow when you go over to set his cup on the nightstand.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding his head at where his tunic hangs on your body.

“It’s not the first time I’ve worn your clothes,” you say, taking your cup around to the other side of the bed.

“Looks good every time,” he says. He watches as you settle on the floor, back against the bed, facing the wall. “What’re you doing down there?”

“I thought maybe this way you could have your caf? I promise I won’t turn around. That way, neither of us has to have cold caf, but I can leave the room or—”

He takes pity on your nerves and cuts off your rambling. “Thank you, cyar’ika.”

You hear the hiss of the helmet seal and freeze. You can hear him shift on the bed and pick up his cup, taking a deep inhale and equally deep drink. Sipping at your own, you become very interested in the wood grain, searching out where the incidental black smudges form faces or creatures if you stare long enough.

When he’s done, which is too quickly, you think, for him to have fully enjoyed it, he replaces the helmet and reaches over to comb his fingers through your hair.

“A sweet drink, a sweet girl. You’re going to kill me, cyar’ika.”

You lean your head back to catch his hand, seeking the comforting cradle of his warm palm. Your brain has gone all fuzzy again, like it was only capable of coming up with the one plan today, and now it’s done.

“You still feeling under a little?”

“Mhm,” you close your eyes and set the cup to the side.

“You want to stay there, or do you want me to help you up?”

You know he doesn’t mean the floor. There’s the smallest of tugs in the back of your brain, like a little flashing light on the Crest’s console out of the corner of your eye. You look away from it and reach for him.

He helps you climb back up into the bed, and brings you to his chest. You run your hand through the smattering of hair there and press soft kisses to his skin. He lets out a deep sigh and leans his helmet against the headboard.

“You’re so sweet and obedient this morning,” he muses, running a thumb back and forth across your bottom lip. You let them part but don’t seek out more. “Look at that,” he’s whispering now, voice catching on something you can’t identify. “Is that what you want? You want to just lay there and let me take?”

You hum noncommittally. It sounds wonderful, but serving him caf had opened a yearning in you. You want to please him, but more than that, you want to offer yourself up as sacrifice, want to bleed for him, want to deserve the reverent way he’s talking to you now.

It seems too heavy to put into words.

So you don’t.

Later, you’ll sit on the floor of the fresher and weep, knees pulled to your chest. Later, you’ll give that feeling a name that feels like acid in your throat. You’ll try to purge it, as if you could cry out a toxin, and let it seep through the drain to be reclaimed as something nonpotable.

But for now, you look up at him with wide eyes, hoping he can see everything you can’t say.

Somehow, he seems to. He strokes your cheek and softly says, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll make it hurt.”

The rush of gratitude and relief spreads through you, warming you from head to toe. You’re shaking a little, and he rubs your arm, staring at your face for a few moments longer, watching as you hold steady. You don’t have to fight the urge to hide from him at all—it isn’t there.

Later, when he sits outside the fresher and listens to you cry, having all but physically pushed him away, he’ll wonder if that was his point of failure. That he should have recognized you were too far gone in your head, that the wound you wanted him to tear open and climb into was festering.

But for now, he sees the devotion you’re aching to share with him instead of the desperation that lurks behind it.

And he takes.

He presses his helmet to your forehead, knowing you don’t know the meaning, but secreting it away for himself. He stands up and gets dressed, peeling the tunic from you with gentle fingers, and enrobing himself in full beskar’gam. Rarely does he wear it with you, but he knows you like it. Knows you like the way it makes you feel small and vulnerable. He crosses the room and prepares to indulge in his desires, beckoning you over with two crooked fingers.

You get off the bed, chilly now, but mourning more the spice and musk of him than the warmth. You take half a step before he shakes his head.

“Get down and crawl.” His voice comes out even raspier through the modulator.

You sink to your knees and obey.

He takes a shaky breath, shuddering. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.

When you reach him, you wait for no orders. Your heart is calling the shots, and something is screaming inside you to prove yourself, to earn his attention, so you prostrate yourself at his feet and give in.

When you press a kiss to the tip of his boot, he sucks in a breath. He has never asked this of you, never imagined you’d let go of your need to feel tough for anything like this.

His chest heaves, but he doesn’t move. He watches as you shudder against the heated floor, pressing your lips to him again and again. Your breathing is heavy now, too, and you rest your forehead against one boot.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs.

You whimper and finally look up at him. You look up at his face and then drag your eyes down to his cock. “Please,” you whisper. You rise up on your knees and nuzzle your face against where it lays beneath his trousers, straining against them as if reaching back out to you.

He says nothing. He can’t. His throat is tight, and all his muscles tense.

You continue your ministrations, nuzzling and kissing him through the rough fabric. The movements become sloppier, frantic.

He reaches down and cups your chin in one hand while undoing his pants enough to pull his cock out. He holds you there for a moment, centimeters from it, and he can see the strain as you wait.

When he lets go, you lunge. You’re clinging to his thigh, now, fingers scrabbling for purchase. You bury your face in him, needing the coarse hairs against your cheek and the smell of him flooding your senses.

At first, it’s the same, rubbing your cheek against him and kissing delicately on the tip, at the base, on each of his balls. You hover there, pressing in, smothering yourself in his heady musk, tinged with a hint of you.

By the time you start worshipping him with your tongue, he’s shaking. His cock twitches, straining to seek you out and take what he needs, but he doesn’t want to break whatever spell you’re under.

All the gentleness goes away when you bury him in your throat. There’s no buildup; you need to pull him into you until there’s nothing else left, pushing until you’re at the root of him. His curls tickle your nose, but you know no sensation but his cock.

It’s far messier than your pride usually allows. You’re holding yourself down; everything narrowed to the point where the fat head of his cock is hitting your throat. You don’t even notice that your body has other plans, that you’ve begun rubbing your cunt against the boot between your legs.

It’s not enough. You can’t possibly wrap yourself around his leg any tighter, can’t get the tip of his boot any deeper, can’t spread your jaw to fit more of him in.

He loses control when you choke yourself, trying to lick his balls with his cock all the way down your throat. It doesn’t quite work, but the tip flicking out in your single-minded focus almost takes him over the edge.

He yanks you off by your hair. “I thought you were going to take what I give you.”

“I’m sorry,” you yelp. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be good.” You’re nearly in tears.

He crouches down by your face and strokes your cheek. “You did nothing wrong. This is not a punishment. Understood?”

You nod, but it shakes a few tears loose.

He uses your hair to tilt your head up until you meet his eyes. “Get up on the bench.”

You scramble to obey. He’s set up what you thought was a padded table so you can lay your stomach across the long support. It’s not unlike a dining hall table, except the benches are meant for your arms and legs. It’s angled downward, pushing your ass in the air, with a raised rest for your head.

His gentle hands help you find stability and comfort, and he ties your hair back out of your face. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he started carrying a few of your elastics in a pouch on his belt; it feels like they were always there, part of his equipment. Gun - check, detonators - check, hair ties - check.

“I want you to be quiet for this, okay? Unless you’re crying. No words, no sounds. Do you want a gag to help, or do you want to try on your own?” he asks.

“I’ll be good, I want to be good.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. If you need to use your word, you do it. Promise? It doesn’t count as making noise.”

“Promise,” you say.

“Good girl.” He rubs his thumb over your cheek once more before stepping away to strap you down. There are thick leather cuffs for each wrist and ankle and another strap that he secures over your back.

He runs a gloved hand over your shoulder blades. “Still doing okay?”

You nod, afraid to break the rule. He rewards you with a soft smack on the ass.

When he comes back into your field of vision, he’s holding two implements not quite like you’ve seen before, but can easily figure out.

One has a thick leather handle and a dozen small strands, each knotted at the end. The other is a thin wooden rod. “Right now, you can talk. I want you to tell me how you feel about these.”

You don’t know what to say. He clearly wants to use them, so you do too. “Okay,” you settle on.

“Here,” he says and extends the flogger so you can grasp the ends with your bound hand. After, he trails it lightly down your back, and you shiver. Heat spreads through your body.

“Want to see how it feels?” he offers, and you nod.

The first hit is soft but teasing. The knotted ends spread the sensation like fireworks, so unlike his hand that you gasp. You open your mouth to apologize, and freeze because you aren’t sure you can.

“S’ok, I told you. Noise is fine right now while we try it out.”

You hear the swish as he pulls back, this time, a little harder. It’s incredible. Your cunt clenches around nothing, on full display to him.

“You like that, cyar’ika?”

You nod.

“No, I need to hear it out loud.”

“Yes, sir. Please.”

He grins. He gives you one more test strike, harder than before, and it knocks a moan deep from your chest.

“Fuck,” you whisper. If it all feels like that, you’re not going to be able to be quiet.

He sets the flogger down and comes back over to show you the cane. It’s rigid, unbending when you try. You get chills when he takes it away to test it, but the first strike isn’t bad. It’s not good, like the flogger, but you’ve already caught on to the game, and you know this one is supposed to hurt.

But you hold still and quiet, and the sting fades fast.

The medium-weighted strike is much worse. You jerk in the bonds and scream into the headrest. His hand is on you instantly, bare and soothing. He must have taken his gloves off, just in case. You relax into him, steadying your breathing.

“Too much?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, I can take it.”

“Alright. Ready?” He rubs his hand up and down your lower back, feeling you melt at his touch. He rubs his hand against your cunt, and you arch a little, biting down the moan.

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll play fair,” he promises. “Repeat the rules.”

“No words. No sounds. Except crying and my safeword.”

“Good girl,” he says, and brings the flogger down on your ass.

You buck in the restraints but don’t make a sound. He goes easy on you for the first few minutes, with light flicks of his wrist, just to build up the tension.

You squirm and jerk a little as your cheeks start to turn redder. You’re soaked, and he hasn’t even really gotten started. His cock throbs, and he has to resist the urge just to plunge into your hot, inviting cunt.

You start to struggle more when he puts more power behind the swings. You’re making little huffs of air, but he doesn’t count those against you.

He aims a little lower, several of the knots finding your cunt. You lurch forward against the straps, hands balling into fists. You’re panting now.

He can’t resist. He does it again, obsessed with how your labia are turning red and the way you’re shaking with the effort to be good.

The next hit lands hard enough to make a wet slapping noise, and you convulse a little. When it settles, you can’t stop moving. Wiggling and trying to grind your hips against the bench.

He watches your face, evaluating for any distress, but instead, he gets to see as you realize that you can’t ask to cum. Your lip trembles.

Mercifully, he switches back to your ass, giving your now-swollen cunt a break. It feels hot, and your clit is throbbing. It’s only slightly less torturous since he lands harder hits, bringing the thick knots down with enough force that you suspect you’ll be bruised tomorrow.

The thought makes you wetter, and you can’t hold still anymore. Unfortunately, the way your ass hangs off the pad means you can’t get your cunt close enough to make contact with anything, and you’re doomed to hump against the dry fucking air.

His next hit breaks you. He abruptly switched back to your pussy, harder than he hit before, and you cry out, pushing back desperately to reach him. But he pulls back.

“That’s one, sweetheart. You want it now or save them all for later? You can answer me.”

“Now,” you sob.

“Okay. Be brave for me.” He hadn’t missed your reaction to the cane; he knew you didn’t like it in the way you liked his hand or the flogger. But you weren’t supposed to like punishments, anyway.

He brings the cane down with a light flick, just enough bite to get your attention. Your whole body tenses, and he soothes the pain away with his hand, crooning praises as you relax.

When he resumes his efforts with the flogger, it’s clear that you’re not going to last as long this time. He tries to build you up slow, but right before a hard hit, he gives you permission to cum.

It’s too much. You don’t hear it, too much rushing in your ears as you fall apart, but you feel the cry leave your throat. “No, no, no, no, no,” you whisper, thrashing against the table.

“I’ll count that as just two,” he says. He pauses. “Check in, please.”

You gulp down air. “M’fine, I’m good, I can take it.” You still mean it this time. You’re mad at yourself for speaking right after you fucked up, and you want the pain.

He gives you both in rapid succession, the second hit landing before the first has a chance to bloom. His hand is back on you immediately, rubbing, but you’re starting to feel raw.

“You’re doing so well, cyar’ika.”

The words are a better balm than his hand, and you relax a little.

You don’t know what goes wrong the next time. He brought you to your climax again, and you thought you choked down the moan, so when he tells you “one” after, you begin to sob.

He stops. “Check in, please.”

You try to tell him you’re fine, but the racking gasps and tears are a garrote.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’m going to unbuckle these now.” He moves to unhook your wrists.

“No!” It comes out broken.

He freezes. “No, what?”

“No, no, no,” you sob, jerking against the straps like you’re a toddler having a tantrum. “I can take it. I can be good!”

“You’ve been so good,” he says, moving again to unbuckle you.

You keep sobbing, telling him to “just fucking do it, don’t do this to me, I want to be good.”

When he unfastens you, he goes to help you up, and you sob harder, slamming a fist at his chest. He catches your wrist in his hand before you make contact with the armor.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

“No, no, no. I didn’t do it, I didn’t tap out, please.”

“I am. Rancor. I’m tapping out.”

It startles you still. “What?”

“I’m using the safeword. I need to stop.” He sounds raw, under the helmet, and the horrible thought that he might be crying occurs to you.

You don’t know what to say, so you just sniffle and look away.

He carries you over to the bed, and you sit and wait as he removes his armor. He climbs into the bed and reaches for you, but you flinch. The sound that comes out of the modulator is like you punched him in the stomach, but it only makes you wrap your arms tighter around yourself.

“Talk to me, cyar’ika.”

You shake your head. Truthfully, you don’t think you can. Your throat feels raw, and your brain isn’t cooperating.

“Then come here, please? I need—I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I want to go home.”

He sucks in a breath and waits for a second, pushing down the way the panic creeps up. “What'd you say, cyare?”

“I want to go back to the Crest. Please.”

Relief blossoms through his veins. He doesn’t love the idea of leaving this way, of walking back without talking about this, but he gets it. If it’ll make it easier to be somewhere you feel safe, he’ll do it. And he's selfishly pleased whenever you call the ship home.

“Let me make sure you aren’t hurt, please. And then we can go.”

You step onto the floor and hold very still while he checks you over. There’ll be bruises tomorrow, he’s sure, but from the flogger and not the cane. No other damage, and though he wants to put something on it for the bruising, he’s willing to wait until you’re home to do so.

He goes to help you dress, but you’ve already snatched up your clothes and gone into the fresher, shutting the door. By the time he’s done putting the armor back on, you emerge. He suspects you stuck your face under the cold faucet because the splotches and swelling from your tears have mostly vanished.

“Oh, the Madame has a lead for us,” you tell him, voice steady. He can see the way your hands tremble but lets you pretend you’re back to normal.

“Okay,” he says. Shutting the door when you’re both out of the room feels wrong, like he’s leaving the unfinished business inside.

If Mara or Anissa notice anything off about you, they don’t say anything. He doesn’t think they’d let him leave if they had suspected anything was off. You were very good at stepping into roles and controlling your emotions. He takes the coordinates from Anissa and promises it won’t be another decade before he visits again.

You don’t talk to him on the way back. You pull away when he tries to take your hand. He gets the message and keeps an extra step behind you. You finally speak when you’re back on the ship, the ramp sealed, and the world quiet.

“I’m gonna—” and you point at the refresher.

He nods, and you disappear behind the door. He sinks down to the ground, fully armored, and waits.

He doesn’t know how long he’s there, head leaned back against the wall, listening to you cry. All he knows is that he’s glad he didn’t move when he hears you softly call out to him.

You’re so quiet, too ashamed of how deeply you need him, that you almost hope he doesn’t hear. But of course, the door is open just a minute later.

He shed his armor right there in the hall and was stripped down by the time the door was shut. The lights were already out (his heart ached at the thought of you breaking down in the dark, alone), so he ripped the helmet off and ducked under the stream with you.

He had to feel around for a moment, but eventually found you sitting, arms around your knees, tucked against the cold metal corner. He sat up against you, reaching an arm over your shoulder and closing his eyes in relief when you practically leapt closer.

The water is frigid. Even though he assumes it's run cold, he reaches for the handle to find it set to the lowest temperature. He yanks it up, not all the way but just enough. For a moment, he feels dangerously nauseous.

“Why were you in here in the cold?” he asks.

You shake your head furiously, wet hair smacking against his chest.

“You can’t do this,” he whispers, holding your head against him. “You can’t punish yourself.”

You start to cry again. You feel ragged, like you’ve been tracking a bounty for six days across a mountain range.

He pulls you onto his lap, and you fold into him, hands tucked against your chest, letting his broad arms pull you back together.

He knows you can feel his shoulders shake, and the way he buries his face in your hair, letting the burn of his tears wash away under the water.

When you’ve both settled, it’s a silent thing. He’s not sure it’s a good idea, but he doesn’t stop you when you reposition yourself and guide his cock into you. The water is actually starting to run cold now, but neither of you moves to turn it off. Instead, he holds your hips gently, and guides you as you ride him.

It’s slow. He’s exhausted and content to let you rock yourself, holding onto his shoulders.

“Cyar’ika,” he starts.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. He knows you can feel it, even if you can’t see him.

This is the first time you’ve been this close, with his helmet off and your eyes uncovered. The darkness is inky and smooth, no possibility of being seen, and he’s not afraid of that. He’s afraid of what it means that he’s doing it at all.

“Do you hate me?” you ask suddenly.

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because you had to use your safeword. Because I wasn’t listening to you when you wanted to stop.”

“That’s what it’s for, cyar’ika. And you did listen. As soon as I said it. I’m sorry I let it get that far.”

“It was fine, I was fine. It came out of nowhere, I wasn’t lying.”

“I know. I know you weren’t.” He presses your foreheads together, gasping a little as you grind down on his cock. “But there were signs. I should have noticed.”

“Stop,” you whisper. Your hips are moving a little faster, a little harder. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Later. Please.”

“Can I take care of you, pretty girl?” he asks, and when you nod, he slips his hand between you to rub your clit.

“There you go,” he murmurs as your hips stutter. “Can I fill you up?”

“Please,” you gasp into the darkness.

You find your pleasure together, and he kisses you right before you cum.

As you come down from your mutual high, he pulls you in against him. You nestle up, still breathing heavily.

The silence is warm, now. You know you’ll have to talk about it more tomorrow, but it feels like everything is okay. There are no bad feelings between you.

He knows it for certain when he tucks you into bed. You'd fallen asleep in the hull, waiting for him to come down from setting the nav. He carried you to the bunk, and you stirred but snuggled right up, fingers tangled in his shirt.

You know it for certain when you whisper goodnight. You're both almost asleep, but you hear his soft breath beneath the helmet.

"G'night. Love you."

You don't remember it in the morning.

*title from "New Again" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #dom din djarin #the mandalorian fanfic #make it hurt verse #in which toni has fucking lost it #stay tuned for qz joel pt 2 tomorrow it's already written i swear

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chvnnie · 1 year

Note

Stop bc the sub channie one had me on my knees 😩😩😩 If you could continue that one that would be great! 😂

usually I just leave thots as they are — but tbh I’ve been staring at my work computer since i posted, lost in this thought sooooo

SMUT - MINORS DNI

You’re too distracted to notice the steady creak of your bed. Felix’s tongue works vigorously, careful yet quick, he makes sure every inch of inch of your cunt is tended to. It makes it hard for you to focus, eyes fluttering as your hips grind. Moaning for him, soft pleas for more. Perfect, just for you—

—and Chan, who is damn near out of the bindings. They’re loosening slowly. He’s so close to getting enough wiggle room; tongue poking out, his focus is up. A little to the left. More to the right. Twist, twist, twist.

Right there, right on the precipice of freedom.

“Chan.” You snap, and he quickly looks at you. His heart is hammering against his rib cage. Fuck, how much did you see? Of course you catch on right as he was about to try and pull his hand out- “Eyes on me, baby. I don’t want to have to beat you in front of Felix.”

All your statement does is make him more ambitious. Hiding his scowl to the best of his ability, he nods. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Do you even hear him? Once you’ve scolded him, you’re back to losing yourself. Letting one hand curl into Felix’s golden locks while the other teases your nipple over your shirt. A captor of indulgence once again.

He needs to be quick. The more time spent trying to be careful, not wanting to attract attention, just puts him more at risk. So, Chan tugs harder. The frame hits the wall. Another rough pull. He feels it give more.

By the third time, you’re looking right at him again. And his left hand is free.

The grip on Felix’s hair helps you pull his out of your center, the younger man grunting angrily as heaven was ripped from him. “Stop.” You say firmly, catching Chan just as he sits up on his knees. “Sit.”

It’s like your speaking to a pet. Like you’re his owner. Laughable, really — and he does just that. “Absolutely not. Do you really expect me to watch this?”

“I expect you to follow my rules.” With your foot on Felix’s shoulder, you move him out of the way so you can stand. Grab the forgotten cane. “I’ll give you another chance. Sit.”

Channie’s a good boy.

When he wants to be.

“Try me, baby.” He says smugly, delighted in the way your dominance is crumbling. And it was this easy? Why hasn’t he tried this sooner? “I’ve never used a cane before. Should I try it on you, or Lix first?”

The threat should have scared the blonde man; ever the sweetheart, the people pleaser. To be given such a cruel punishment should make him like clay in Chan’s hands.

However, he seems unaffected. An almost bored expression on his face. The opposite of how his friend expected — and wanted — him to react.

“I don’t think you will.”

It takes him by surprise, confidence faltering slightly. Never has his friend challenged him, in any aspect, but especially not like this. Before you, was Felix. Always glad to help his friend work of his frustration, to have something he was sure to have control over.

Where did that bright eyed boy go?

“She told you to sit.” Felix says simply. “Don’t be dumb, hyung.”

His tone is so cool. So matter-of-fact. Emotionless.

That’s what makes Chan pause and consider his action. Felix’s coldness, and how much he enjoys it.

Chan isn’t allowed the silk ropes. Instead you use a flimsy pair of handcuffs found in the bottom of your toy box, tightening them until he complains of pain. Laying on his stomach, his knees are placed perfectly in line with his hips, which are raised. Neither you or Felix bothered to secure his ankles — one kick and they could easily overpower the stronger man.

Was his fleeting taste of control worth it?

Your back is against the headboard, legs open. Damp core just inches from Chan’s face. If he wiggles, could he reach it? Maybe if he positions his head at the right angle, his tongue might graze it.

So close. And just out of reach.

The lube is cold. Hissing, the older man clinches, fingers flexing behind his back.

“Oh, is that cold?” Felix is condescending, using the pads of two fingers to massage the lube against his hole. “I’m sorry.”

Tears start to sparkle in his eyes, frustration and pure, feral desire ripping him to shreds from the inside out. He doesn’t want Felix to touch him — all he wants is his cock. He wants to bend you over and rail you until all you can remember is his name — he wants you to beat him until he can’t walk.

The contradiction makes him dizzy, whines falling from his plush lips as he rests on his cheek. Defeated.

There’s a soft coo from you, then warm fingers are raking his curls. Nails scratching his scalp lightly, just like he likes it. How he always asks you to touch him when he needs to relax; when the control is too overwhelming.

A token. A reminder of your care for him. Even in moments like this.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, Channie?” As you speak, Felix is lining his cock with his entrance, teasing it with the tip. “To be touched?”

He rolls his head, looking up at you. It’s impossible not to cry at this point. “I-I wanted to touch you.”

Your fingers crawl from his locks, gently wiping his tears away. “Oh, baby.”

Then, he notices it. The bullet vibrator in your other hand, thumb hovering over the on button. As if timed, you click it, right as Felix roughly pushes inside Chan.

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #felix smut #lee felix smut #chvnnie thots

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